#i am so sorry i was coin flipping for trick or treat

[capn-twitchery]

trick! unlawful device! 💥💥💥💥

[roguish-gallery]

Can you do a headcannon for the rouges on halloween?

Saved this one for the right time! Also!!! TW for some NS/FW mentions!

Rogues + Halloween HCs!!

Bane:

He might hop around from party to party, just for kicks! He doesn’t stick around any of them for too long, though.

You know those unsourced facebook articles that your aunt and your mom share each year about the guy who apparently lives in every neighborhood in the country who sticks razor blades into the chocolate bars he hands out to kids? That’s Bane, but he doesn’t even give out any candy. Just knives. He tells every child that knocks on his door how they can properly defend themselves should they ever get imprisoned for crimes they didn’t commit, or how to properly gut that one bitch who keeps hogging the good kickball at recess.

He dresses up like a Roman gladiator! It’s cool and gritty, and he doesn’t have to worry about finding a shirt that fits his body. Plus, he looks really good in gladiator sandals.

Catwoman:

She’s either attending some boring Halloween party with socialites she’s planning to rob, or watching some shitty scary movie with the rest of the sirens.

That being said, she makes sure that every child that knocks on her door gets the full-sized candy bars. 

She dresses up like a witch! Classy and simple, but lots of opportunities to add her own creative touches!

Harley Quinn:

She’s out there living her best life, being a grown-ass woman... and still trying to Trick-or-Treat. Anyone who gives her a toothbrush or a bag of pretzels is gonna get a brick thrown through their windows later that night.

She managed to convince Basil to lend her some of the horror films in his collection, and despite the fact that none of this shit is scary, she loses her goddamn mind during every mildly frightening scene.

She’s wearing one of that inflatable T-Rex costumes!!! Mostly because they’re really funny and because she KNOWS that people are expecting her to dress up as something “sexy” and this is her way of giving them a middle finger. (also if she’s in a big t-rex costume then it’s harder for the people handing out candy to realize that she’s a grown-ass woman).

Joker:

He’s the annoying bitch in the morph suit that shows up to every party. He thinks that people won’t be able to recognize him but. Everyone knows it’s him.

Killer Croc:

He has a genuine love for Halloween because it’s one of the few times of the year where he can walk around in public without anyone freaking out.

Fdskjfhskdj he shows up to costume contests and tells judges that he’s “Godzilla” and he leaves with some cool ribbons and a nice chunk of prize money for his “life-like costume”

Like I said, he’s either Godzilla or Kaiman from Dorohedoro. Whatever sounds more fun at the time!

Mad Hatter:

The only person here who made their costume entirely from scratch. It will be a cold day in hell when he gives a cent of his hard-earned money to a Spirit Halloween.

Surprisingly enough, he does not dress as an Alice character (he already does that every other day, and it wouldn’t be fun to do it for Halloween too). Now he’s dressed like a Victorian-style ghost!!

“Boo!! Give me your candy, and complement how dashing, smart, and spooky I am, or I’ll... uh- I’ll haunt you!! Boo!!!”

Penguin:

Surprising no one, he throws an excellent Halloween party at the Iceberg Lounge and he somehow prevents any of the other Rogues from setting any fires. A successful night!

He’s honestly not super festive when it comes to Halloween? At least in comparison to the other Rogues. He decorates the Iceberg accordingly for the party, but it’s more for the sake of entertaining his guests.

Tbh, he’ll just wear one of his regular suits, apply extra eyeliner, and slap on some fangs and tell everyone he’s a vampire. He’s glad that he finally has an excuse to wear one of his capes in public. Might fuck around and go as the Phatom of the Opera or some shit.

Poison Ivy:

Spends the entire month fuckin around with the pumpkins, as one with plant powers is ought to do. If the pumpkin you’re trying to carve into a jack o’ lantern suddenly grows arms and stabs you back with your knife, Pamela probably had something to do with it.

Harley ate all of the candy she bought a week ago, and she forgot to grab more so Pam awkwardly hands out leftover food from her fridge to any trick-or-treaters who come over. Pam hopes that the toddler in the Paw Patrol costume enjoys the hummus he got because Pam was really looking forward to eating it.

She dresses as Demeter! I love Pammy so much and I’m sorry to say this but she is 100% the type of person who gets huffy whenever people (or children) don’t immediately recognize who she’s dressed as.

Riddler:

Jon rents all of the Exorcist films and bets Eddie 100 dollars that he wouldn’t be able to watch through the entire series. Ed promptly accepts that bet… and quits 30 minutes into the first movie.

… He’s dresses as Captain Kirk for Halloween. Ed is a shameless Trekkie and I will die on this hill.

He individually texts every Rogue and officer of the GCPD this exact copypasta, and then he… turns his phone off for the rest of the week and refuses to respond to any calls :) or death threats :) or warrants for his arrest :)

Scarecrow:

Ahhhh…. Do you hear that? The shrieks of terror?  That crisp autumn air? Those Pillsbury sugar cookies with the pumpkins on them? Yes, Jonathan Crane is in his natural element.

Sdasdfsdfkj He sneaks into the local haunted house and corn maze attractions so he can upstage the actual scare actors.

He just wears his scarecrow outfit; if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. (that, and Jervis made him swear to not buy a cheap costume at Spirit Halloween.)

Two-Face:

He’s just chillin!! Having a fun spooky time!! He can buy apple cider back at the store again, and life is good!

Harv will make trick-or-treaters flip a coin, and based on what it lands on they either get a full chocolate bar, or a box of raisins and a toothbrush.

He’s dressed up like a biker! Leather jacket, cool shades, and tight jeans- he and Bruce used to dress up like bikers for past Halloweens!

[cheri-translates]

[CN] ASMR Transcripts (Lucien)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for ASMRs which have not been released in English servers! 🍒

This post contains transcripts of the following:

> eating on the sly - 偷吃

> unexpected night - 意外之夜

> whispers on a quiet night - 静夜私语

> dazed - 迷乱

eating on the sly - 偷吃

[ sound of footsteps ]

What’s wrong?

Walking quietly on your tiptoes - are you preparing to open the refrigerator?

[ flipping of paper ]

Why are you walking towards the kitchen then?

Come here.

Sit next to me.

[ MC walks over to him and sits down ]

Didn’t you say you were going to sleep early starting from tonight?

You want to eat desserts?

If I remember correctly,

It seems you just went to see the dentist yesterday.

You needed to do so for a photoshoot?

Are you sure you aren’t lying me?

[ rustling noises ]

Silly.

It’s not that I don’t believe you.

[ rustling noises, then Lucien sighs ]

I can’t do anything about you.

But let’s make it clear.

You can only have one share.

[ Lucien walks to the fridge and returns. MC starts eating, cutlery clinking ]

Eat slowly.

It’s all yours.

This bite is for me?

All right.

But I might not be able to give a professional assessment.

[ Lucien takes a sexy bite ]

Mm.

The method of preparation and taste are very authentic.

[ sexy biting noises ]

The only flaw… hmm… its sweetness seems to be on the high side.

[ cutlery clinking sounds ]

Eh? Why have you stopped eating?

Your teeth hurt?

As expected.

I shouldn’t have agreed to let you eat it.

Does it hurt a lot?

Wipe your mouth first.

[ tissue sounds ]

Open your mouth and let me have a look.

Your teeth don’t seem to have any issues.

As for your gums…

Why do they look so red and swollen?

[ Lucien sighs ]

Looks like from today onwards,

You won’t be able to eat desserts for a period of time.

This…

[ Lucien takes the dessert ]

I’ll be taking it away.

Sit here obediently.

I’ll bring the painkiller spray over.

[ Lucien walks away, rifles through a cupboard, then returns ]

Come here and put your head on my lap.

Don’t move.

Nothing.

But if you keep moving, I can’t guarantee that nothing will happen.

Open your mouth.

“Ahh”

Open wider.

Wider.

Mm.

[ spraying sounds ]

What’s wrong?

It sprayed onto your face?

Didn’t you agree not to move around?

[ Lucien grabs a tissue and wipes MC’s face ]

Even though this is a painkiller spray

It doesn’t have many irritants.

But you still need to clean it with water to prevent any remnants.

[ Lucien wipes MC’s face ]

Let me have a look.

[ Lucien wipes MC’s face ]

Mm. Wiped clean.

Still want me to wipe it a little more?

Persevere for a while longer.

[ Spraying sounds ]

After spraying, keep it in your mouth for a while.

Don’t swallow it.

For around a minute.

The instructions say that doing so will allow the medicinal effects to be optimised.

All right, I’ll have to trouble you to persevere for a while.

[ Lucien walks away to store the spray into a cupboard. Then, he returns ]

Is it very bitter?

The pain hasn’t eased?

Hmm… If it’s bitter, shake your hand.

It the pain hasn’t eased, nod your head.

Good. If it hasn’t eased, you might have to disturb the doctor tomorrow.

[ Lucien flips through some documents ]

Almost done.

Give it a try - does it still hurt as much as before?

Mm. It’s good that it doesn’t hurt.

Your expression just now - you looked like you were suffering.

[ Lucien laughs ]

Are you genuinely tired, or are you trying to change the topic?

[ rustling noises ]

But it is time to sleep.

Why are you looking at the fridge again?

[ Lucien sighs ]

Looking at me like that - does it mean you want to eat?

You agreed just now.

Only once.

Hm?

[ Lucien sighs ]

Even if you need it for work purposes, you can’t.

You don’t have to put on a brave front.

The job of being a taste tester - you can give it to someone else.

Or once you’re well, you can taste test as much as you want.

So, promise me.

Go to sleep now. All right?

Mm. That’s being obedient, and worthy of a reward.

As for the contents of the reward…

How about this?

[ Lucien kisses MC. Once. Twice. Thrice. ]

Why are you hiding so far away?

This isn’t called taking advantage of somebody’s difficulties.

It’s called “compensation”.

[ Lucien laughs ]

I’ll stop messing around.

Go on. Wash your face and rinse your mouth.

After that, return to the room and sleep. Okay?

unexpected night - 意外之夜

You’re back.

Why are you being so secretive today?

What are you hiding behind your back?

Hm?

[ rustling of bag ]

Spicy duck clavicle?

Let me guess. Is it because I mentioned that I’ve never had duck clavicle before? Which is why you specially bought it for me to try?

Hmm. I am indeed quite curious.

In order not to disappoint you, it looks like I’ll sample it properly.

[ rustling of bag ]

Mm. It smells fragrant.

It feels like there are a mix of various spices.

Mm. Right now, another sweet fragrance has been mixed together with it.

You can’t wait for me to try it? Hm? I’ll try it.

[ rustling of bag and Lucien’s crunching ]

Mm. It’s a little different from what I imagined.

When it first enters my mouth, it’s sweet.

After chewing for a while, it becomes a little spicy.

The meat is very firm.

[ more Lucien munching sounds ]

Mm. Delicious.

A greedy cat looks like she’s about to start drooling.

Come and eat it together with me.

[ rustling of bag and Lucien chewing sounds ]

Hm. So this is the flavour you like.

If I ever chance upon similar small bites, I’ll remember to bring some back.

After all, as compared to enjoying these delicacies myself, I obtain more satisfaction when watching you eat.

Especially when I think of how this cute sight of you eating is something only I can enjoy.

Come to think of it, I seem to have discovered something. Lean closer, and I’ll tell you.

Hmm… I discovered that when compared with the clavicle you’re eating now, yours looks even more tempting. Could I have a try?

Why are you hiding so far away from me? Are you afraid the oil on my hands would get onto you? All right, I’ll stop teasing you. Eat quickly.

[ more crunching ]

Hm? I can take my spices?

I guess you could say that. The sense of spiciness is more accurately the burning sensation created by the capsaicin stimulating the tongue. This is why we often say that spice is a type of pain rather than a taste.

Perhaps I am not as sensitive to this type of pain.

[ rustling of bag, footsteps, sound of running water ]

However, I don’t think this is an ability that one should be envious of.

People who are more sensitive to such pain are better able to experience the stimulation caused by spicy tastes. Am I right?

Realistically speaking, I’m very curious about such tastes.

I even want to give it a try.

For example, like you – eating until your mouth has become red, and your eyes are red too. As though it’s a special experience. Subtle pain is often more stimulating to the senses.

Many people cannot resist such stimulation.

Especially when it comes to a greedy cat who can’t resist temptation.

However, the thing that was originally meant for me to eat ended up being eaten by you.

How should I punish you?

Hmm. As compared to the spiciness from the food, here. Your slightly swollen lips and their redness - they present a greater temptation to me.

One cannot help but want to give it a try.

[ Lucien kisses MC ]

Mm, delicious.

This is also considered a dirty trick?

Hmm, if that���s the case, it does make sense.

After all, you specially bought this delicious food for me, and yet I’m bullying you.

It is a little too much.

In that case, how do you want to punish me back?

How about punishing me by letting me kiss you two more times?

Hm? I can’t do that?

How about this. You set the rules. Whatever you allow me to do, I will do.

Punishment time will last till you’re satisfied. Is that okay?

dazed - 迷乱

[ Lucien’s breathing ]

Sorry.

Did I wake you?

Just continue sleeping. Nothing’s wrong.

[ rustling of sheets ]

I’m not lying to you.

Aren’t I all right and laying by your side? I’m not going anywhere.

Hmm...

It’s true that I can’t really sleep.

I wanted to disturb you.

But when I saw you sleeping so soundly, I couldn’t bear to disturb you.

Okay.

When I can’t sleep next time, I’ll tell you.

[ MC takes something ]

That thing in your hand -

Is that the “Unhappy Blind Box” you gave me? I’m not unhappy.

I just want to take a look.

Maybe that note had accidentally fallen off.

Even if I’m not unhappy,

I can take a look at what you’ve prepared for me.

[ box sounds ]

Mm.

I really want to open it and take a look.

I really, really want to.

Really?

[laughs] Okay.

We’ll treat this as a small exception.

It will definitely not set a precedence.

Mm.

What’s stored in this box

Seems to be a somewhat special coin.

A prop for hypnosis?

So that when I’m unhappy, I can be hypnotized and forget my unhappiness? 

[laughs]

I don’t need such props.

I’ve already been hypnotized by you since a long time ago.

It’s not that I don’t trust it.

It’s just that from a scientific viewpoint...

[laughs] Okay.

I’ll trust that it’s a prop that can hypnotize a person.

You want to prove its efficacy?

[ MC takes the coin out of the box ]

Looks like I’ve completely roused you from sleep, haven’t I? Let’s give it a try then.

I’ll help prove it to you.

Mm.

I’ve already been hypnotized by you.

[ Lucien’s breathing ]

How I feel now...

A little warm.

Because you’re leaning in very close.

How could I dislike it?

You could even come a little closer.

The closer the better.

These are words from my heart, of course.

After all,

Right now, I’m under your hypnosis.

I’ll do everything according to what you say.

Anything at all.

You’re the cutest person in the world.

I won’t remember everything that happens during the hypnosis. I’m lying down properly.

Touch me? Of course you can.

Anywhere is fine.

[laughs]

It feels a little ticklish.

Warm?

Me?

I don’t feel that way though.

Nope.

You’re the first person to touch me like this.

Mm, very comfortable.

If you continue,

I can’t guarantee that nothing will happen.

Are you still going to continue?

[laughs]

Based on your typical rash and curious style,

I even thought you wouldn’t stop.

I’m not lying.

I said that I’d help you prove

That it’s a prop which can hypnotize a person

Aren’t I doing what you said?

Saying that you’re the cutest person in the world -

It’s naturally words from my heart.

Lay down properly.

I’ll let you,

Just like this,

Touch me.

[ Lucien’s breathing + kiss ]

Here.

[kiss]

Here.

[kiss]

And here.

Does it feel comfortable?

I also want you to experience what I felt earlier. Right now, you can’t sleep even if you wanted to. I’ve found a way to fall asleep.

Only you can help me.

whispers on a quiet night - 靜夜私語

Come in.

Just put it on the table.

You’ve worked hard.

Head home early.

[ clinking sounds ]

There’s no need to keep the equipment over there.

I’ll need to use them later.

You…

…what are you doing here?

You’re here to help me.

Where’s Pete?

You’ve already let him return?

Of course it isn’t a problem.

It’s just that

I didn’t expect for you to appear here…

I’m a little surprised…

However…

I like this surprise very much.

How is this teasing you?

Could it be… that you don’t like this?

[laughs] That’s good.

Give me a moment.

I’ll be done soon.

[ clinking sounds + footsteps ]

All right.

I’m off work now.

Let’s return to the office first.

Why is your hand so cold?

Are you cold?

In that case…

[ Lucien blows on MC’s hand ]

Is it a little warmer now?

[laughs] Silly. There’s nothing on your face.

It’s just that

I simply want to look at you.

Really.

Just simply looking.

I’m not lying.

Mm… I’ve been wanting to ask since just now.

This white coat on you

It seems a little big.

Hm.

This piece of clothing -

Is it mine?

Hm. Let me have a proper look.

[laughs] I’ve seen it clearly.

It’s indeed mine. [laughs]

In that case, I’ll be taking back my earlier comment.

Hmm. This white coat -

It’s very suitable on you.

It looks very nice.

You look like a professional and qualified assistant.

Does this count as acting shamelessly?

But

I’m just saying what I genuinely think. Is that not allowed?

[laughs] All right, I’ll stop teasing you.

Wait for me to send a report.

Hold on for a while longer.

Is that okay?

[ footsteps + typing ]

Hm?

Working overnight today -

Pete told you about it?

Mm.

It’s only for today.

I’ll be resting tomorrow.

Really.

[sighs] All right.

Let’s…

Eh? What’s wrong?

All right, I’ll sit down.

Judging from your expression,

It seems you’re going to criticize me.

Mm.

I was wrong.

I promised you -

To get off work punctually,

And get rest punctually.

Today is an exception.

It won’t happen again.

[laughs] All right.

Pinky promise.

[ typing sounds ]

You… even brought a bolster over.

Are you… intending to give me a massage?

[laughs] Here?

Sure.

I’ll listen to you.

In that case… could I request for this little assistant

To help me remove my spectacles first?

[ sound of spectacles being removed ]

Thank you.

Next,

I’ll leave myself to you.

Mm.

Your bolster is very soft

It’s very comfortable.

It feels

Very easy to fall asleep.

It’s okay even if I fall asleep?

But

You’re here.

I can’t bear to sleep.

Are you going to start?

All right.

[ Lucien breathes ]

Hm?

It doesn’t hurt.

[ Lucien winces ]

It’s a little painful.

It’s a very comfortable type of pain.

Because the spots you located are very accurate.

[ Lucien breathes ]

Hm?

I’m not laughing at you.

I just think

You really do look like a “professional”.

Of course, it isn’t just because of the white coat.

You know much more than I can imagine.

For instance,

Professionally planning my work and rest,

Professionally curing fatigue,

No matter whether it’s physical

Or emotional.

Professionally lifting one’s mood,

And,

[ kiss ]

In this matter.

You’re also very professional.

[laughs] All right.

Since it’s already past working hours,

Accompany me in being wilful.

Is that okay?

Come, sit on my lap.

Also,

This isn’t the laboratory.

So this piece of clothing… you can remove it.

I’m still more used to such rest.

Just like this.

Don’t move.

I’ll recharge my batteries for a while.

And we’ll go home.

Is that okay?

[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.

[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.

[siobhom]

Fic: The winner takes it all (A Peraltiago kid halloween heist fic)

This is a @b99fandomevents fic written for @yaboring-yabasic

Thank you for the prompt, hope you enjoy! 

“Heist! Heist! Heist!” she continues to chant as they wander around the neighbourhood, candy bags held tight as they adhere to Amy’s pre-made chart of whose doors they’re allowed to knock on.  

And Amy’s already worrying about the impending tantrum when Jake whispers, “We should put a little fake heist on for her.”

And so they end up in the living room, Jake and Amy grinning widely at Mia, as Jake holds Mr Zebra up high and Amy declares, “The winner needs to find and hold onto Mr Zebra until the clock says three, do you remember what the number three looks like Mia?”

Read it on AO3 here 

Amy knows she’s one of Miss Ryan’s favourite parents. Of course it’s a disadvantage that she doesn’t get as much face-time as the mums who get to do regular pick-ups and drop offs, but she likes to think she makes up for lack of quantity with quality. She volunteers to help out on school trips, science fairs, sports days and other activities and projects whenever she can, along with helping to organise them, a binder ready for every eventuality. She’s also very engaged in Mia’s learning and development (she also has binders for this but doesn’t show these to teachers anymore after previous incidents where they felt like Amy was telling them how to do their jobs) and tries to attend all of the little award ceremonies (or make sure Jake attends the ones she can’t).

There are a couple of marks on her record, like the one time she had to pull out of helping with a play at the last minute due to a break in a case, and Jake had also been undercover that week, she had gotten Rosa to attend. And while Amy knew Mia was more than happy with that (probably happier than actually seeing her parents there, who praised everything she did and therefore were not difficult to impress, whereas impressing her favourite tia Rosa actually meant she had done something that was worth being impressed over) she had felt Miss Ryan’s judgement.  There was also the time that she had gotten over-excited about a project and sent too many emails at once. But Amy has used her Most-likely-to-befriend-a-school-administrator spirit to maintain a good rapport with Miss Ryan and has regular discussions with her about Mia’s progress.

She has no reason to suspect this discussion will be any different to the usual ones. Okay, so it’s in person, which is a little out of the ordinary, especially at this point in the year where there aren’t any parent-teacher conferences and there’s nothing coming up that needs planning. But Amy thinks it’s probably just about something good Mia has done. She’s not worried.

Well, she’s not worried until Miss Ryan asks, in a gentle voice,

“Are you and Jake having problems of some kind?”

Amy tenses and Jake sits up straighter in his chair.

“No. Not at all, why, what’s going on?”

“Mia has expressed upset that you are making her choose between the two of you…”

“That’s… I don’t understand… We’re not fighting and even if we were… we would never!”

“…She said something about a Halloween Heist.”

“Oh.”

Amy’s immensely shocked and horrified (both that they’ve clearly caused Mia a lot of distress with their questionable actions and that she’s definitely not going to be Miss Ryan’s favourite parent anymore).

“I am so sorry about this, of course we won’t involve Mia in the heist any further and we’ll have a discussion with her about this whole thing.”

Jake says, “Actually we won’t take part in the heist at all this year and that way we won’t even be tempted.”

His grin is too bright and Amy already knows where his head is (that he’s a terrible father just like his father was) but that’s a ledge she’ll have to talk him off later. Now, her focus is on Miss Ryan, and as much as she hates the idea of forgoing the heist altogether, Mia’s teacher is frowning a little less and so Amy reluctantly agrees.  

“Miss Ryan, we really are very sorry about this, I understand that some of our choices here have been questionable, and of course we take full responsibility and will do our best to fix the damage, but I hope you will give me a chance to explain the whole story. I really think that with full context you will understand a lot better,” Amy’s tone is slightly pleading and she gives Mia’s teacher an imploring look.

Miss Ryan has the same look on her face she gets when Amy has a New Plan that they both know is going to be very long.

“Of course, go ahead.”

And Amy sends her an apologetic look, because it is a long story, starting seven whole years ago.

----

Seven years earlier

After a long day of baby-friendly Halloween craft activities and trick-or-treating, Amy’s lounging on the couch, drinking coffee and waiting for her energy to pick back up: it’s heist time. All they have to do is wait for the baby-sitter. And then her cell starts ringing. She answers to the sound of coughing and spluttering, followed by the baby-sitter saying in a weak tinny voice,

“Ms Santiago, I’m very sorry, I’m sick.”

“So sorry to hear that sweetheart, I hope you feel better soon,” Amy says, hoping she’s masking her disappointment appropriately. She walks into the bedroom, where Jake is pretending he’s not doing something related to his heist-plan, “Baby-sitter’s sick.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So do you want to flip for who stays and who goes?”

“We should both stay,” Jake says.

Amy smiles. “That’s sweet, but there’s no reason for us to both miss out.”

Jake sends her a beaming smile in return.

A moment later, an idea strikes, and they both simultaneously say,

“Wait, did you plan this!?”

And

“You did this didn’t you!?”

“Me?” Jake retorts incredulous, “You’re the one who got a ‘phone call’ from the babysitter.”

“Yeah, a call clearly arranged by you! How much did you pay her to cancel?”

“Nothing. Because clearly the babysitter didn’t even call you.”

“Let’s call her back and find out.”

“Oh please, do you think I don’t know that you would have planned for that.”  

“I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

“Yes, we are at an impasse,” Jake says with an eyebrow raise that says, look I used that big word correctly, we both know what that means, Amy just rolls her eyes in response, “I guess we’ll have to flip for it after all.”

They both inspect the coin thoroughly. Amy flips it and Jake calls, “Heads.”

“It’s heads,” Amy says, disappointment purposefully bleeding into her tone, if this is part of Jake’s plan she’s not letting him get away with it guilt-free.

“Yes! ...Wait; this is part of your plan too, isn’t it?” Jake accuses, “You want us all to think you’re not playing, just so you can go behind our backs again! Well I’m not falling for it! You go, I’m staying right here!”

“Or maybe that’s exactly what your plan is! I’m staying here.”

“I guess we’ll just have to both stay here then!”

“Yeah, I guess we will!”

They pause, both frowning.

“We could take her with us?”

“Ooh, yes. Let’s do that.”

 They draw up a timetable of when they will take turns looking after her, it requires a lot of negotiation, mainly over the last half an hour of the heist (which they’ve ended up having to split into six minute slots, Jake has Mia for the final twelve minutes in exchange for Amy having her for the first half hour of the heist).  

“This is the final schedule,” Amy says, “there will be no deviations, except that we are each allowed one emergency handover which can be used at any time up until the final hour of the heist.”

Amy, never one to forgo an opportunity, discretely plants a bug on Mia. Mia happily toddles near Amy, not understanding what’s going on but clearly enjoying the energy of the whole game. She almost regrets having to hand her over to Jake (she’s so adorable to watch).  

As soon as Jake hands her back, Amy shuffles them to the evidence lock-up, retrieving the bug, and begins listening, she grins. Oh this is perfect! She laughs, loud and excited. And Mia joins her, clapping her hands together like only a toddler can.

“You’ve done very good work,” she tells her daughter, “well done.”

Mia claps more, squealing with laughter.

It’s then that Amy hears it; Jake planting a recording device of his own. She shakes her head, immediately rewinding and messing with the recording, she can definitely use this to spread misinformation, she smiles at Mia, telling her, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

 Six years earlier

“Heist!” Mia says the next year, eyeing the Halloween decorations as Jake puts her in her tiger costume.

“Heist! Heist! Heist!” she continues to chant as they wander around the neighbourhood, candy bags held tight as they adhere to Amy’s pre-made chart of whose doors they’re allowed to knock on.  

And Amy’s already worrying about the impending tantrum when Jake whispers, “We should put a little fake heist on for her.”

And so they end up in the living room, Jake and Amy grinning widely at Mia, as Jake holds Mr Zebra up high and Amy declares, “The winner needs to find and hold onto Mr Zebra until the clock says three, do you remember what the number three looks like Mia?”

Mia nods vigorously and enthusiastically.

Jake and Amy don’t put much effort into pretending to look, after all Mia is too busy running around looking for her stuffed toy to notice or care.

And later, she points to the three on the clock as she proudly clutches Mr Zebra.

Her parents clap and cheer. They tell Mia they love her, and put their coats on just as the babysitter takes her own off.  

And their daughter is young enough that most kids her age wouldn’t question what’s happening here. But unfortunately, little Mia has inherited all of her parents detective instincts.

Her face falls.

“Heist?” Mia asks; her voice small.

But she doesn’t start bawling or throwing a tantrum, both things her parents could deal with. Instead she gives them a deeply disappointed look, that’s equal parts hurt someone-just-poked-his-abandonment-issues Jake (that Amy is powerless in the face of) and stressed an-authority-figure-expressed-dissatisfaction-in-her Amy (that Jake is powerless in the face of).

And so they cancel the baby-sitter and they both search her for recording devices three times before leaving.

Amy’s too focused on her plan to see how it happens, but somehow the heist ends like this:

Jake successfully gets Mia to run across the room to him carrying the heist object (a blue shoe). Amy’s enthralled- her heart filling up as she watches her daughter run with joy and determination. And as Jake swirls Mia around in celebration, both laughing a little uproariously, Amy thinks it’s almost worth losing.

 Five years earlier

Mia’s just as excited the following year and this time they don’t even bother booking a baby-sitter, it’s understood that she’ll be coming with them.

Two thirds into the heist Mia gets her hands on the prize, a gold medallion, and starts caterwauling any time anyone even tries to take it off her.

“This is cheating. We should disqualify both of them,” Rosa says, pointing at Jake and Amy.

“I have nothing to do with this, if anyone should be disqualified it should be Jake!” Amy exclaims.

“Let’s just get the thing off of her,” Jake says, waving a peanut butter cup in her face, and then Mr Zebra, and then an Ipad showing her favourite episode of Doc Mcstuffins. Mia doesn’t budge. “Mia,” her husband says in a sing-song voice, “if you give me the shiny thing I will take you to Disneyland.”

“Jake!” Amy admonishes.

“Don’t act like you didn’t start this,” Jake replies.

“It’s got to be Amy!” Charles says.

“Unless Jake’s bluffing and he’s promised to actually only take her to Disneyland if she doesn’t give it up,” Rosa says.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s still a baby!” Terry says, “She’s probably just more interested in the shiny thing.”

“Or maybe Terry’s behind this whole thing, he got to her, just like he got to Cheddar,” Amy says.

And so the argument goes on and on and on.

Mia hands over the medallion to Amy with a minute left on the clock.

 Four years earlier

“I’m a big girl and I’m going to decide what I do this year,” Mia states, and then quoting one of her favourite TV characters says, “I am a strong, indepeppendent, team player!”

“Of course you are sweetheart, it’s pronounced independent by the way.”

“In-de-pen-dent.”

“Very good. Well done.”

“What’s your plan mummy?” she asks.

 “Daddy, I’m secretly on your team,” Mia whispers way-too-loud, but both of them pretend Amy hasn’t heard it even though they know she has.

 “Mummy, I told daddy I’m secretly on his team but I’m actually secretly on your team!” Again, she’s well within Jake’s hearing range and the both of them smile indulgently.

  Three years earlier

Mia is solidly team Jake. They make the best team: they are going to win. She has a little binder and everything. She says with her binders and his ridiculous spontaneous (and yes, she can pronounce it correctly) ideas they will be unstoppable.

Two years earlier

Mia is solidly team Amy (because daddy is a loser who made her lose).

One year earlier

Mia is solidly team Jake until an hour before the end when- in an act of ruthless betrayal- she reveals she’s been on team Amy all along.

----

“I see,” Miss Ryan says once the tale is done, seemingly happier now, “That makes more sense. I know that to adults it may seem like it’s just teams for a game, but children, especially at Mia’s age, when greater understanding of the world around them and concepts of empathy are becoming more fully formed, can be particularly sensitive to such things. Just be aware of that in the future.”

“Of course,” Amy says as Jake nods vigorously.

 And so, on the 31st, Jake and Amy are sat snuggled on the couch, with a bad horror movie ready to play and mugs of hot chocolate warming their hands. And a bowl of candy ready for trick-or-treaters.

It’s pleasant, Amy thinks. “I’m so tempted to go to the heist right now,” she says.

“We can’t!”

“Mia’s not even here, she doesn’t ever have to know.”

“I still can’t believe she abandoned us to go trick-or-treating with Cagney and Lacey and Ava, we’re awesome at trick-or-treating!”

“I know! Our baby girl is growing up.”

“So the heist?”

“No, you’re right, we can’t. She’ll find out and then she’ll feel left out and she won’t tell anyone the next time she’s upset about something.”

“Cool, cool, cool.”

They watch the movie. Amy laughs at Jake’s commentary and temporarily forgets about the heist entirely.

Jake and Amy both get up when they hear Cagney knock on the door, ready to great them and admire their respective candy hoards.

The last thing they expect is Mia grinning, holding up a trophy and exclaiming, “Suck it, losers!”

“What…what is happening?!”

Mia grins smugly, “I won the heist!”  

Amy flitters between absolute outrage and absolute pride.

(And part of her is annoyed with herself because she really should’ve seen this coming. After all Mia has inherited all of her competitiveness and all of Jake’s competitiveness).

Before she can formulate words, Jake says, “Our baby girl really is growing up!”

“I know!” she replies, before turning to Mia, “Well played, congratulations!”

“Yeah, congrats! You earned this!” Jake adds.

“Thank you,” Mia says, doing an elaborate victory dance.

 Amy hovers in Mia’s doorway that night, “You know your dad and I love you very much and we’re both very proud of you, not just for today.”

“I know mum.”

Amy continues, “Having said that. At next year’s heist, I’m going to destroy you.”

Mia smirks. “Not if I destroy you first.”  

[monstersandmaw]

Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Ten

Lein and Argis pass their first evening at Windstad with Iona and Val. A little slice of Hjaalmarch life for you.

<—- Previous Chapter | Table of Contents

Lein had made a number of additions since he’d finished the core of the house. The armoury stood on the eastern wing, while on the west was his enchanting tower. To the rear, behind the secluded little sitting area was another tower, devoted to alchemy. Little terracotta pots sat on the shelves, filled with strange plants which Lein had left in Val’s capable and surprisingly tender care; some of them even required regular flows of magic to keep them alive, and Val was a skilled enough mage to keep them flowering all year round. Hundreds of tiny glass phials and bottles stood arranged in perfect rows on shelves, with sacks and barrels and buckets of other, less delicate, ingredients stored on the ground floor. The second floor of the alchemy tower housed his alembic and distilling equipment, along with a range of pestles and mortars, knives, and various other equipment for the brewing of potions and the preparation of salves and ointments.

Lein loved his house, and had added extra rooms and features since completion. One such change was a massive, dwemer-inspired boiler in the basement, and two massive copper baths, each one twice the size of the ones at the Moorside Inn in Morthal. Deciding to give Argis some privacy, he insisted that his housecarl have the honour of bathing first, and made him swear an oath to soak for as long as he wanted. Argis, ever true to his word, was an hour in the tub, and Lein had just begun to think he might have passed out down there, or fallen asleep, when he heard the latch on the basement hatchway go, and caught the creak of the wooden ladder as Argis’ feet stumped up the rungs.

Lein was sitting in a chair by the fire, his feet resting on the raised hearth, a book in his hands, his hair down, leaning back against the cushions. He looked over his shoulder, tipping his head right back to watch Argis as he emerged from the sitting room into the main hall. “Feel better?” he asked as Argis came into view.

Argis had dressed again, but instead of his usual armour, he was wearing the soft, dark trousers he’d often worn in the evenings in Markarth, and a linen shirt fell open at his throat to reveal a small sliver of his chest beneath, dark golden hair just visible. His braids had come out in the water,  his towelled hair was still wet, and there was a softness, bleeding into plain tiredness, to him that made Lein’s heart lurch. He wasn’t the only one affected by the sight of the other, however, as Argis’ feet faltered when he saw Lein leaning languorously back to look at him like a khajiit in the sunshine. He didn’t speak for a moment, only stood there, his breathing shallow.

Finally Lein realised he had to get up and move, speak, do something before everything grew weird, so he closed the book with as much grace and dignity as he could muster, and cracked his neck and back slowly, deliberately. “Been talking with Iona about the wedding,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. They’ve booked the Temple of the Divines in Solitude for the winter solstice.”

“That’s, what, a week from now?” Argis asked, crossing one ankle with the air of a horse resting a hock.

Lein nodded. “Look, I’d love you to come as well, but I’m aware that you’ve not been here long, and you don’t really know Val and Iona yet… It’s fine if you don’t want to, but I’m heading into Solitude in a couple of days’ time to get some decent clothes. We could get you something then if you wanted to come.”

So much for not making things awkward, he thought as he watched Argis’ cheeks colour a little.

Argis sucked in a great breath and then smiled. “Sure,” he said. “Never been to a fancy wedding…” His eyes glittered and a smile played at the corners of his lips. “If they’re alright with me coming, I’d like to go.”

Lein’s stomach flipped over and his own face split into a grin. “Great,” he beamed. “Alright, well, I’ll go and have a bath. Please, treat this place as your home. No standing on ceremony here.”

“Yes, thane,” he said, and for once, Lein couldn’t tell if he’d said it to remind either one of them of his position, or as a joke.

Perplexed, Lein narrowed his eyes for a second, and then headed down into the basement without another word. Argis was a puzzle he was determined to figure out.

When he climbed up the ladder from the basement in just his towel almost an hour later, the most delicious smell hit his nostrils, and his stomach growled. As he rounded the corner from the sitting room into the dining hall, something flew at his face and he reacted on instinct, swiping it out of the air and adopting a ready stance as though he were expecting an assailant. The knot on the towel never slipped.

“Told ya,” Val’s voice rumbled.

“Told who what?” Lein barked, straightening and relaxing his body out of the fighting stance. “And why are people flinging things at me?”

“Reflexes of a cat,” Val chuckled. “You can’t sneak up on Lein.”

Lein’s gaze flickered to where Argis was standing quietly, carefully not saying anything. If Lein had been a betting man, which he most definitely was not, he would have bet serious money that Argis thinking of the time he’d saved Lein from the wolf in the rocks. His eyes still said plenty and Lein just winked at him, which made Val and Iona exchange their own glances. It was seemingly resolved when Iona tossed Val a gold coin from the pouch on her belt, and turned back to stir the cook-pot.

“Anyway, when we’ve all finished treating Lein like some kind of menagerie animal who occasionally does tricks to order, what’s for dinner? It smells amazing.” He stooped and picked up the tea-towel that Val had launched at him, and folded it tidily over the top of a ladder-back chair at the dining table.

He was still wearing only his towel around his slim waist, all his knotted scars on show, and Iona pointed her wooden spoon at him and shook her head. “Prove to me the menagerie animal knows how to dress properly, and then I’ll feed it.”

He laughed softly and obediently made his way upstairs. He could almost feel Argis watching him from his spot on the far side of the hall, tall body leaning against one of the massive wooden columns.

In the quiet stillness of his bedroom at the top of the stairs, Lein sighed. Two massive wardrobes were stocked with simple shirts and leggings, soft leather boots and cotton trousers - things he wore in the comfort of his warm home - and he pulled a pale blue shirt out, the colour of a thrush egg, and shook his shoulder-length hair free from the collar. It had almost dried, and indeed, as Iona had said it would, it shone like burnished silver in the low light. He dug out some black leggings that hugged his lean, slender, but still muscular thighs, and it would have been a lie to say he hadn’t chosen them to show off his figure for Argis. Things were starting to get interesting; the thick outer ‘bulwark’ of his housecarl shifting to reveal cracks and secret ways in. Lein may have been a fair bit shorter than most towering Nords, but he knew he had a good body, if scarred and perhaps pale even by Nord standards, and he’d seen the way Argis looked at him. There was something there, but patience was the key, he knew.

Finally donning some thick, woollen socks, he ran a hand through his white hair one last time, and realised as he rubbed his jaw that he really ought to trim his beard again. That would have to wait. His stomach was chewing its way through his body to his spine, and he was probably going to pass out if he didn’t have some food.

As he trotted down the stairs, he saw Val pulling back a chair, and Argis moving to take a seat opposite him. Argis, his eyes drawn instinctively to the movement by years of military and guard training, swallowed visibly when he saw Lein, but Lein just tossed him a roguish smile and clasped his hands over Val’s shoulders when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m surprised you waited,” he grinned.

“You might be Iona’s performing menagerie animal,” Val said, his tone slightly altered now, more formal, weightier, “But you’re my thane.”

Lein sighed. Nothing like formality of a social situation, even if it was just dinner, to remind people of their place in the hierarchy. “Well, that’s as maybe, but you’re my friend too, Val.” He glanced around and saw that there were no bottles on the table and asked, “You decide on something to drink?”

“Oh Nine,” Val swore, shoving his chair back so sharply that Lein had to skip to the side to avoid being rammed by it. “I’m sorry!” he gasped. “What do you want me to fetch?”

Lein’s laugh bubbled into his words and he waved a hand. “At ease,” he said. “It’s venison, by the smell of things. Am I correct, Iona?”

“You are,” she said, beginning to plate up the casserole by the fire.

“Hmm, how about one of those bottles of Argonian Bloodwine?”

Val’s thick eyebrows shot up. “I thought you were saving that for a special occasion?” he asked.

“I am. And this is,” he looked over at Argis and said, “He got me here in one piece, despite my best efforts to thwart him it seems. The man deserves a decent drink.”

“Please,” Argis blushed, “Don’t open anything special on my account…”

Lein rolled his eyes and jabbed his thumb in the direction of the cellar. “Go on, Val. Get the fucking wine please, will you?”

“Only you could be so politely foul-mouthed, thane,” Val chortled as he moved away.

Lein crossed to the other side of the table and tugged back the seat beside Argis, lowering himself into it with a grunt. The injury to his torso from that necromancer’s arrow still sent a sharp jab of pain through him every now and again, and it caught him by surprise as he hit the chair. He winced and closed his eyes a moment, unconsciously bringing his fingertips to the place where the star-shaped scar was.

“You alright?” Argis murmured, his gruff voice low enough that Iona, busy with the dishes, would catch his question and begin to fuss.

He nodded and looked up as she set his bowl of steaming venison down. “Thank you, Iona. This smells delicious.”

“It’s got some of those juniper berries in that you brought back last time,” she said with a smile. “And the beans are the ones we planted in the little greenhouse. They’re doing well.”

Lein didn’t miss how Argis’ eyes lit up a little at the mention of the garden, and he turned to him just as Val came back in and began pouring them all glasses of wine. “You like to cook, don’t you Argis? Do you also happen to know much about crops and farming by any chance?”

“I know some,” Argis said, swallowing a mouthful of his stew and looking at Iona. “This is beautiful, thank you.”

She smiled.

Argis cleared his throat and met no one’s eye as he went on. “I grew up on a farm, so I know a bit. Why?”

Lein’s expression brightened. “We’re looking to try and grow a few more crops here at the manor,” he explained. “Morthal is a bit of a hike, though not that far, but it just doesn’t have the trade to provide us with all that many vegetables and fruits. I built the glasshouse here with Val when we’d finished furnishing the main house, and we put in one or two things - a couple of types of bean, some peas, and a lemon tree, but other than that, we’ve not really done much with it yet.” He paused, taking another bite of food. “Perhaps if you want, you could help us?”

“Sure,” Argis nodded. “Though we didn’t have a glasshouse, so I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

“I’ll show it to you in the light tomorrow,” Lein said. “And then when we go to Solitude, maybe we can find some seeds and stuff as well.”

Iona perked up at that. “You’re heading to Solitude?” she asked. “When?”

“Day after tomorrow. I want to get some new clothes for the wedding,” Lein said. “Why, you need something?”

“Would you mind taking a message to Freir at the Temple for me please?”

“Sure.”

The rest of their dinner conversation revolved around polite questions to Argis about Markarth, and Lein regaling them with tales of his adventures, or, as Val snorted halfway through his third glass of wine, Lein’s misadventures. Iona was horrified to hear about the time he’d nearly been skinned alive by a pack of Forsworn before being made thane of Markarth, and it was only when Lein reached the end of that story that his stomach dropped horribly and he realised he probably should have kept his mouth shut. Argis was breathing steadily enough beside him on his right, but Lein could see the way his knuckles blanched as he screwed his left fist tight in his lap below the table. Lein thought for a moment that Argis had caught him staring, until he realised he was sitting on his housecarl’s blind side.

“Nothing like a gruesome story to crush the mood at the dinner table, eh?” Lein grimaced. “I’m sorry. Tell me what’s been happening here? How’s Millicent been doing?”

“The cow is doing much better since Val worked his healing on her,” Iona smiled. “But we lost a couple of chickens to wolves a month or so ago. I wish you still had that dog from the Dawnguard. He was such a sweetheart.”

“Sceolang is a darling, but he’s too busy ripping the throats out of vampires with Isran and Durak at the moment,” Lein chuckled. “No trouble other than the wolves? No bandits?”

“No, but don’t forget about that giant who decided he absolutely hated what we’ve done with the front porch and found it utterly offensive,” Val added, waving his wine cup around. He had a higher tolerance for alcohol than Lein, but the fine wine had gone to his head and made him even more extroverted than usual. Lein could only smile. Val was a happy drunk and a pleasure to be around.

Argis eyes widened. “You get giants this far north?”

“Occasionally,” Lein said. “They’re mostly wandering loners though. They don’t herd their mammoths too close to us in these parts. They like the plains around Whiterun a lot, and in Eastmarch too.” He turned to Val and asked, “Did it do any damage?”

He shook his head. “Iona shot it in the eye from the enchanting tower, and I brought it down with that daedric battleaxe you asked me to sharpen. Hamstrung it like felling a tree. Sol and I dragged the carcass up to the northern beaches and left it there for the snow bears to pick over. Shame really, but if he hadn’t decided to dismantle the porch for us, we’d have left him alone…”

Lein nodded and then cracked a jaw-popping yawn.

“You must be exhausted,” Iona cooed. “Let me clear the things away and you can relax in the sitting room.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Lein said. “I want to turn it into Argis’ room. He needs a space of his own while he’s here. We have the components of a spare bed in the cellar, and we can knock it together in no time.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Argis said hastily. “I can take a bedroll by the fire…”

“No, no,” Lein said, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve got the space.”

“Well,” Iona said, standing and gathering the plates. “Why don’t you boys do that now before you’re too drunk to see straight, and I’ll sort all this out.”

They passed the bits of the wooden frame up the cellar ladder, and assembled it in a quarter of an hour with a wooden mallet and only a couple of mistakes. Val found an empty, linen, single mattress-bag and headed out into the snow to begin stuffing it with clean hay from the hayloft over the stables. When he was done, he and Argis carried it between them back into the house while Lein found some bedclothes and blankets from a cupboard. All in all, it took them under an hour.

Lein dug out a good bottle of Flin from Solstheim and the three of them returned to the dying fire in the dining room to share three glasses of the fiery liqueur before bed.

“I thought I might take Sol out tomorrow and show Argis some of the country,” Lein said, swirling the dregs of his Flin around the bottom of the specially shaped, hand-blown glass.

“If the weather isn’t too bad,” Val said, more than a bit of a slur in his words now.

Lein waved his hand dramatically, accidentally catching Argis’ elbow. “Sorry,” he laughed. “I was going to say there’s a shout for that anyway.”

“There’s a shout to make the weather better?” Argis asked, astonished.

“Oh yes,” Lein said. “Those Greybeards have come up with a shout for a lot of things. Look,” he said, remembering to put his glass down first this time before opening his mouth. “Feim zii gron,” he rasped, and Argis nearly dropped his own glass in surprise.

Val roared a laugh, and immediately stuck his finger out to try and poke Lein in the chest. When his hand passed through the ethereal image before him, he laughed again and said, “Now that’s a useful one!”

“Becoming ethereal is great,” Lein said, his voice sounding strange, disembodied almost, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. “I can hurl myself off a cliff and arrive in one piece at the bottom. But,” he added, swiping his fist in a parody of a punch at Argis, who actually flinched and held up his hand in defence, “I can’t do any damage either.”

“How long does it last?” Argis asked, ignoring Val’s slightly derisive laughter at his reaction to Lein’s punch.

“Not long.”

“So…” Argis said, looking at Lein’s Flin glass in his hand, “I’ve got time to finish your Flin as well?”

“Don’t you dare!” Lein shrilled as Argis brought the glass to his lips. His breath fogged the clear glass rim, but he didn’t drink it, lowering it again, laughing quietly.

“You got balls,” Val chortled. “Don’t mess with your thane’s drink…”

“Our thane,” Argis grinned, cocking an eyebrow.

“True.”

“I can’t believe you two haven’t tried to kill each other yet,” Lein said, looking between the two men. “I mean, Lydia did everything she could think of to piss you off when I brought her here that time.”

“I like him,” Val said, not taking his eyes off Argis, “We can still go at it if you want us to, but I like him.”

Argis grinned lopsidedly and said, “I’m sure we can always go a couple of rounds in the morning with some practice swords or something if you like.”

“I would like that,” Val said, “But not for the reason Lein’s thinking. It’s been bloody ages since I’ve had a good sparring session. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, looking guiltily around him for his fiancee, “Iona’s a bloody tomcat with a pair of daggers, and I’m grateful to Lein for teaching her how to handle a bow, but I can hardly go all-out against her, can I?”

Everyone shook their heads, and Lein’s body winked back into full existence. “Give me that,” Lein said, gesturing at Argis for his Flin. Argis obliged, and Lein popped another cavernous yawn after finishing the dregs of his drink. “Right,” he said, “I’m off to bed.”

Standing and setting his glass on the dining table, he waved coolly at the other two. “See you in the morning. Not too early please.”

Val nodded. “Honoured to have you back, thane,” he said seriously.

“It’s a pleasure to be back, Val,” he replied. “Night, Argis. See you tomorrow.”

Argis nodded curtly and Lein tried not to fall up the stairs as he went to undress and get into bed. He wondered if he’d sleep through the night, bone tired as he was.

Sadly, of course, it was not to be.

Chapter Eleven

[survivor-tierradelfuego]

Ep. 13: “I just want to bury my head in a mountain of blankets and sleep.” -  Sarah

Najwah

Well, that was shit. I feel as though I really tried to get Amy to vote with us but Pedro wanted to get her out so everyone just decided to write her name down too. Also, she basically used my name as a decoy too. And I used Maddison as a decoy too so she could flush Olivia's idol. It worked. I had my superidol at the ready too. I feel like this game is just going to get more insane from here on out. We are so little people in the game. So close and yet I'm content with just being here. In the final seven. This feels good. I'm glad Pedro is with us and I wish we had gotten him on board a while back. We haven't told anyone else about our idol and superidol yet. I wonder if Amy really gave Pedro the fake idol lmao that would be hilarious. Anyway. I'm just going to carry on playing I guess. Amy had crazy big plans and I loved them but I felt like her allegiance to Maddison ruined our common goal. I wish she'd just been on board with us voting Maddison like she wanted to when we voted Grae out. That's when it all started. That's when we were causing waves in the game without anyone even knowing. Sigh. I wish things could have been different. 

Olivia A

So it looks like Maddison and I got Pedro to agree to work with us!! This is very very exciting. We can get Aimee to flip easily (even though she does keep going back on that promise) and have a majority. Assuming it goes as planned, Maddison and I will then have our pick of who to go to the final 3 with (Aimee or Pedro). I have felt 100% solid with Maddison from day 1 and we have made every single decision together. I don’t wanna be at the final 3 with anyone but her.

Aimee

All Maddison had to do was play her idol on Amy and Cody would of went home. Maddison was scared that Old Hanuha was lying to me again and that those 3 were voting Maddison and Pedro and I would be left out and vote Amy. I wanted to put Cody’s down but I knew it would of been rocks, four versus four vote.

Dang I wish I would of known about the idol sooner so I could of had Old Hanuha put the votes on Maddison and get Cody out that way. It would’ve been such a huge game move for me and Maddison that would have looked super great for the jury, and if Cody left this game would be wide open again. Also it would’ve been believable that Pedro ratted the vote out to Maddison instead of me so I could’ve hid behind that too and old Hanuha never would’ve known I told Maddison the vote. But I get it and Maddison was nervous it was her. We still have an opportunity to flip this on the next vote too. It just requires Pedro and the personal connection I have with him to flip with me. He will have to put personal things aside with Maddison and Olivia if he wants to be more than fourth or fifth in this game. He knows the best he can get here is fifth with them....he even told me this straight up. I wish I didn’t have to flip because I love these people but I know that Cody Najwah and Sarah are a final 3. And I’ve been wronged so many times before that it would be a nice little treat for Ben and everyone else hahahaha. Actually Sarah flipping would be great for her own game too but I’m not sure if she is really going to do that or just is waiting for the right moment to maybe flip with me and Pedro as well. It’s interesting with Sarah because it’s almost like we are both staring at each other waiting for the other to say we wanna flip. Wonder if we are thinking the same thing and maybe planning the same moves. Wouldn’t surprise me, Casanova 👑 has a really similar game to mine, even if it’s portrayed differently.

Aimee

Also, after listening to that podcast. WHOS THE TOP PISCES NOW, ZACK! https://64.media.tumblr.com/ce6ed38bc4ad9c69ee92e5e764c19e5e/tumblr_njj8unqiGl1sqbiv1o5_400.gifv

Sarah

From three days ago but I just got it to upload.... https://youtu.be/w5g35793Bkc

Sarah

From last night... https://youtu.be/IBPzYsGfIRU  Najwah I had a brain fart at the end of that game and I said something so ridiculous. I just want to bury my head in a mountain of blankets and sleep. 💀💀 What a fun game though I enjoyed it! But... Embarrassed for life. 

Aimee

https://rainbowkarolina.tumblr.com/post/616209748381122560/ I wore my jacket looking fancy for this immunity challenge. Too bad my mood was shit. Oh well. Congrats Cody!! 🥳🥳🥳 https://64.media.tumblr.com/b1324cd7cf8c621547f61c8cb20d5fda/eaeee04a03e6c254-72/s540x810/eaf80576f97d63015f9a99cffb28fe7b46e888cb.gifv

Najwah

No ones ever going to see that video again so let's write a better confession. Here's the thing, I am playing for fun at this point. After hearing and having time to listen to Zack's podcast, I realised how intense I was initially too. How I'd do anything to win. Whether it was stay up until 6am, avoid my job, accidentally stay without food, stay in bed, not call my parents for weeks, blindsiding James just to get to merge. I no longer feel stressed and angry. One thing I liked about Zack's podcast segment was that I have a whole new perspective on a lot of things right now. I'm here, in the fucking top 7. Never thought that would ever happen. I have made friends and gained so much from this. At some point in this game you get to a crossroads and you have to decide who you are. Are you a vicious blindsiding, backstabbing bitch or do you want to see your people WIN more than anything. Tonight Cody won immunity. He fucking deserved it. I'm so happy he can go spend time with his nieces and nephews and not worry about being a target. Me? Oh I'm burning to use my damn superidol so that I can at least try to win ONE immunity.

Everyone in the game right now has won individual immunity except Pedro and I. Which is funny bc I always thought of Pedro as a challenge beast. I miss Amy. I don't like not seeing her in this game. I've been thinking about how we left things all day. Why did she want me to vote her? Why did she trick me about the vote or was that just her protecting me? Either way, we played the same game at each other as our last play. The double decoy. I don't know if I mentioned this yesterday, but Amy wanted to vote Olivia out so that we could form a 4 person alliance with Pedro and Maddison. I've never spoken to Maddison ever. And Pedro is a loose cannon. I don't see how that would have ever worked. And she said our first play would be to get the strong players out: Cody, Sarah.. Like? In my opinion Maddison is the strongest player in the game. If Maddison were at the end, I wouldn't hesitate voting her in a heart beat. I didn't get how she wanted. To hide behind Maddison forever and not take control of her own game. I didn't get that she wanted Maddison out but whenever it came down to it, she would hesitate to get her out? She's told me every one of Maddison and Olivias advantages and idols etc. She's spilled so much tea while I've never told her anything negative about the people I'm working with because I didn't want them out? Ugh. I guess some day I'll ask her. If this were a real game of survivor perhaps I'd take Sarah or Aimee out, like I'd flip on them for a million bucks maybe coz they're strong players but as long as this is an online game ima be cheering everyone on bc this game is long and tough and we have been through things together, ya know? 

Olivia A

Just talked to Aimee about flipping to work with Maddison, Pedro, and me. She said she’s in for now but still wants to talk to og hanuha people and see their plan for this tribal. She still said that she realizes if she doesn’t flip all of our games (including hers) are done. So even thought she hasn’t given full agreement, I think we’re all solid on this. We are planning to vote Sarah out. I think this will completely turn the game around. I don’t wanna think too far ahead but I’m starting to see my trajectory to FTC pretty clearly. Don’t wanna speak too soon though so if I get voted out don’t hold this against me lol.

Pedro A

trying to break the trio...have a bad feeling about this tribal ....working with maddison and olivia isnt the best....i hope they dont lie AGAIN....at this point..if i get out....they are next...so its kinda dumb to vote....BUT IF I LOSE....i will scream ALELUIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...cause damn im exhausted 

Aimee

This song is dedicated to Cody and his immunity win!!!!!🙌💚🖤 https://youtu.be/weRHyjj34ZE Sharika - Whenever, Wherever Our humor knows no distance 😻🌵🌈💞 😅I’m trying my damnedest to get Maddison and I as far to the end of this game as possible. So sorry about the confessional about me wanting the idol to work to get you out. https://64.media.tumblr.com/562258ad5eb14f6498ceff24aa8392e7/984582d2a107588c-d2/s540x810/1b6cf1576e95c3672122cfb7887ffd5a644d87da.gifv So I hope no hard feelings! I love that we can laugh over pop divas, gay culture and just life in general. 😂 We are gonna tear up the city as soon as we can hang out in person. I hope Texas and Ohio is ready for this! Olivia A

Pedro being so paranoid about Aimee’s commitment is getting frustrating. Since we brought this plan to him we’ve told him she’s 100% in she’s been talking about flipping forever and he still gets so nervous. I understand the paranoia bc it’s a big move but I wish he would listen to what we’re telling him and trust our intuition. That doesn’t really matter though bc tonight we are voting Sarah and it’s going to work! :) Oh also Maddison and I keep saving up coins to buy things that end up being nothing it’s getting really frustrating but oh well!

Pedro A

Sarrah says she wants to vote maddison...and now aimee..is trying to get me to vote...with maddison and olivia who want to take out sarah.....(i already know about the plan, i made the plan lmao)......somehow i feel like im the one GOING HOME TONIGHT

Maddison

I’m putting trust in someone that I never wanted to have to trust. Pedro, here’s to you bud.

Aimee

https://kasugano.tumblr.com/post/154832341580 Well I figured I would try! I will do everything in my power to keep Maddison here on Skype survivor island. https://rainbowkarolina.tumblr.com/post/612534208936755200/ I just keep losing one close friend after another in this game. I’ve honestly become numb to it at this point. I just see that light at the end of the tunnel. 2 weeks just 2 more weeks. I don’t plan on going to jury. I’m just so excited to finally reconnect with my people at the end. I’ll keep fighting like I’ve been doing since day 1. I feel like Maddison being voted out just kicked me into overdrive. The adrenaline is here and I’m ready for what’s to come next. This lady is strong and a fighter. https://rainbowkarolina.tumblr.com/post/613061232697753600/

Cody A

https://youtu.be/S8iY2_ho8-Y