#Roch will be fine he's had worse
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Just flirt through the blood loss
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Holy War Chapter 11
“I’m sure he’s ok. I just want to make sure he didn’t hurt anything we aren’t seeing. We’ll be back soon.” He scratches behind Kiva’s ears. He missed being around working dogs like this full time. This one in particular seemed pretty calm, whoever trained him and whoever handled him had done an incredible job.
“I’ll go with you.” Ava nodded, stepping around the table toward Dr. Roch, again not wanting to leave Kiva. Beatrice would absolutely go with him if she were her to do it. Ava wasn’t about to leave his side knowing that. Not if she had a say in the matter.
Apparently she didn’t, as Mother Superion placed a hand between her shoulder blades. Ava’s head snapped around to catch those eyes firm but not cold like they used to be leaving no room for debate as she pressed her toward Jillian and Lilith. “No. You’ll stay here and get checked out yourself.”
Ava agreed wordlessly following her to the table where Lilith had her shirt off on the table still getting checked over. Jillian had just finished checking over her back, the wings shrinking back into Lilith’s shoulder blades. Ava always wondered if it hurt when they did that, extending or retracting really. It couldn’t have felt great.
Jilian’s fingers gently probing over her ribs on either side. Moving up, as they moved over Lilith’s neck and jaw palpating for more injuries asking all the while if there was anything that hurt. Lilith denied anything like that stating that she was “just sore. I’m fine.” So Jillian took Lilith for her word and pulled her fingers away after maneuvering Lilith’s neck to have the warrior trace a light in front of her eyes.
When Jillian didn’t find anything she clicked the pen light off and smiled at Lilith. “You’re in the clear. But you need to rest. I’ll keep an eye on that wound on your wing over the next few hours since you’re insisting on not needing any x-rays.”
Mother Superion scoffed at the last bit, insisting Lilith follow Kiva to get some ‘pictures’ taken.”You’ll be going.”
“Mother, I am fine.” She looks over Jillian’s shoulder at Mother Superion as the doctor pulls the nitrile gloves off. “I’m already healing.” As if to prove her point the small scrape on her cheek glowing as it healed itself, something Mother Superion and Jillian weren’t quite used to seeing. “See.”
“Humor me.” Mother Superion deadpans. Reaching out to catch Ava by the back of the collar as she started to sneak away. “That goes for you as well.” She tugs Ava to the table, steering her with enough force Ava would listen without risking hurting her if she was, only letting go once Ava was sitting on the bed next to Lilith.
As she shifted Ava couldn’t help but squeeze her eyes shut the stiffness in her back only growing worse as the day wore on instead of better. It only served to further prove Mother Superion’s point, something apparently wasn’t going to let slide as she helped Ava get more on the table with gentle hands as she whispered to her, “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”
“You’re still dehydrated.” Jillian passes Lilith a bottle of water cracking the plastic seal as she did. “Drink a few of these. I’ll have someone bring up some food. You need to rest. I suspect you’ve got bruised ribs for the time being.”
“Thank you.” Lilith nods between sips from the bottle, weirdly thankful for it being room temperature instead of cold. She still felt chilled from the evening even after the warm shower and clean clothes, even after they’d turned the heat up a little bit in the room for them.
“I’m serious.” Jillian continues addressing Lilith as she readies to evaluate Ava, ducking her head back in Lilith’s line of sight. “You need to rest. I’ll have a bed brought in.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The warrior perked up a little at that, stiffening next to Ava on the table.
“I insist.” Lilith dropped her head but made no move to stand. Even as she clearly lost the argument with the Doctor.
“Lil, I’m fine.” Ava looks at her friend from where her head was bowed forward waiting somewhat patiently for her turn. It surprised her a little bit that Lilith was refusing to leave her side. Even after how she had just been with her in the shower. The protective side of Lilith being directed for her benefit was something Ava was still getting used to. Something she was deeply thankful for, especially now, so she moved hand over to her friend's knee to give it a comforting squeeze.
“I told you not to call me that.” It was too familiar. Too much like Shannon and Mary. Like Beatrice. Even Camila before everything went to shit. Before Shannon was murdered. Before Ava got the halo. Before she betrayed everything she loved for that monster.
No matter how her mind had been twisted there was no excuse for that and that was a name she no longer deserved. Especially not from Ava. Whom she had tried to Kill on at least three separate occasions. Had ultimately succeeded with once.
Ava - for all her juvenile jokes, and terrible puns she hid behind - was incredibly perceptive. So now when Lilith was hurting, starting to get trapped in her own head she squeezed her knee drawing Lilith’s attention back to her, “Spouse of Satan.”
“That is enough.” Mother Superion pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d been confronting all of her religions' potential of falsity, but Ava’s particular penchant for blasphemy still struck a chord. “Both of you.”
“Yes Mother.” - “Yes Mom.” They answered properly, scolded, though Ava was still smiling as she ducked her head, her hand yet to leave Lilith’s knee. Despite her hard earned cold reputation the older woman covered the hand on her knee with her own, giving Ava’s hand its own squeeze.
Jillian shakes her head watching the interaction closely as they essentially hold hands on her exam table. The softness was something she hadn’t expected to see out of the warriors with each other. Ava and Beatrice, absolutely. Ava and Camila even, sure everyone was softer with Camila. Lilith included.
These women… they’d become something akin to daughters- maybe nieces- to her, especially after her Michael… after the second time. Seeing them needing to comfort each other like this didn’t settle well with her, even as she was glad for a momentary pause in the sibling like bickering. “Ava, where were you injured?”
“It will be better soon.” She gave a non answer, essentially admitting that she was and denying help in the same breath. It didn’t matter, Ava had a one track mind at this point now that Jillian was standing in front of her. “How is Beatrice?”
“They’ve got her internal bleeding stopped, and hypothermia under control. She’s still in surgery. No word further than that yet. I’m trying to let the surgeons work. They are very good at their job, Ava.” She sighed, trying to comfort the woman before her without lying. “Where are you injured?”
“The normal post fight places. It’s just sore.” Ava rolls her neck releasing a string of pops though it’s clear it wasn’t actually all that helpful as she squeezed her eyes shut tight at the motion. “See, better already.”
“Right.” She scoffed at the insistence, listening to Ava breathe through a stethoscope as she further probed for more information. “The halo?”
“Oh definitely on its last legs.” Ava breathed deeply without prompting from the doctor as she moved the stethoscope across her chest to her back. These little checkups had become fairly regular after missions. Especially after it’d been clear the four of them had been dodging medical attention.
“If you would.” She motioned to Ava’s torso, requesting for her to, at the very least, lift the jumper over her back so she could get to the halo and better check for more injuries.
“Do I have to?” Ava pouted, eyes still looking at her hand in Lilith’s on the other woman’s knee. She didn’t particularly enjoy having the halo checked over. Nor did she feel much like moving more at the moment. She didn’t mean for the question to come out so childish. Which apparently it did because Lilith pulled her hand from over Ava’s and moved to rub over the spot the halo rested between her shoulders, something she’d seen Beatrice do several times to sooth Ava.
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#reluctant big sister lilith#kiva finally gets some help#mother superion being mom#jillian is worried#lilith and ava are too stubborn for their own good#camila is still unconcious as fuck sorry bout it#news on bea soon#avatrice#warrior nun#ava silva#ava silva x sister beatrice
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You have to wonder if Sephiroth just gets so annoyed with Zack that he just starts assigning Cloud to missions with Roche or Kunsel or someone instead. Just to be petty. XD
[concluding a meeting of Firsts]
Sephiroth: I would like to spar this afternoon, so—
Zack: [absentmindedly doodling in the side margins of his notes with his pen, dopey smile on his face] So...
Sephiroth: [knows what this is most likely about, but is still v. salty he had to cover for Zack and fight a giant tentacle monster while Zack was on a ‘mission’ to the Gold Saucer] ...so if there are no other objections to this schedule, then... [cuts eyes at Genesis, who sticks his tongue out in response]
Zack: [sketching what looks suspiciously like a person with a chocobo-shaped head of hair and himself sitting in a hot spring together] Aren’t you forgetting something?
[Genesis groans and slumps in his seat, Angeal stifles a sigh and mumbles something that sounds like ‘here we go again’]
Sephiroth: I do not forget assignments, Zackary.
Zack: [mildly annoyed, but too content with doodling misshapen hearts around his drawing to care] Fiiineee. Aren’t you forgetting someone~~? For my mission to the hot sp— [pauses] I mean, Mideel~~~? [practically bats his eyelashes as Angeal pinches the bridge of his nose.]
Sephiroth: [already deeply regretting taking Gen’s advice about petty revenge being satisfying — he feels a splitting headache coming on] You have a simple monster clearing mission on the outskirts of Mideel, First Class Fair. You have no need for extra personnel to accompany you other than Second Class Luxiere.
Zack: [Kermit face]
Zack: Where’s Cloud then.
Sephiroth, maker of grave errors: Cadet Strife has been assigned to accompany Third Class Roche for the week.
[Genesis’ eyebrows are almost lost to his hairline, before he realizes what is going on. When he does, he starts practically radiating evil glee. Angeal, in contrast, looks like he is rapidly aging in his seat as the light dies in his eyes.]
Zack: [pen immediately snaps in two] I’m sorry
W h a t. (:
Sephiroth: ...
Zack: [deadly calm] Wanna run that by me again, Sir? (:
Sephiroth: [actually a little unnerved at Zack’s personality switch, ngl] He is... interested... in obtaining a driving permit for a bike. SOLDIER Roche is the ideal candidate to teach him how.
Zack: [slight eye twitch, voice tight] Makes sense. (:
Sephiroth: [acutely aware that he is in damage control mode now] In case you don’t know, Third Class Roche is—
Zack: [legit seething, cutting him off] We’ve met. (:
Zack: [abruptly stands up to leave] If that’s all, then I will excuse myself. (: I think I left my stove on. (: Silly me. (: Ha ha. (:
Sephiroth: [awkwardly glances between Genesis and Angeal for answers after the door shuts again]
Genesis: [claps hands together, thoroughly entertained] Well! That was oddly terrifying.
Genesis: Is he always like this about that one cadet, Hewley?
Angeal: Absolutely not.
[contemplative pause]
Angeal: He’s worse.
—Bonus—
Zack, on the way to back to his apartment: This is fine. (: It’s totally fine. (:
Zack’s brain: You think Cloud will hold on to Roche’s shoulders or around his waist?
Zack, the second his apartment door closes: It’s not fine. (:
#crack taken seriously#kinda#shinra electric blues#crisis core headcanons#occasionallyyandere!zack fair#zakkura#clack#cloud strife#cadet cloud#zack fair#cloud x zack#sephiroth#ff7 headcanons#angeal hewley#genesis rhapsodos#ff7#ffvii#ffviicc#crisis core#crisis core: final fantasy vii#asgzc friendship#final fantasy 7#final fantasy vii#roche#ff7 roche
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5. “It’s been two days since you’ve moved in and you’ve already nearly burned the house down…step away from the stove.”
😍 Isendain Isendain Isendain Isendain 😍
i have to admit, this fic took me a LOT longer than I wanted to write and fought with me quite a bit... but long at last, it is complete
warnings: none!
genre: flufffffff
word count: 1300
Eldain didn’t consider himself to be a bad cook. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t the worst. Sure, the soup he had been trying to cook for him and Isengrim was a bit charred, but that didn’t mean anything. Neither did the burn marks on his favorite pair of robes, though he was less than happy about that. However, no matter how good of a cook he considered himself to be, he knew Isengrim would have some very choice words to say if he got back from having tea with Iorveth and their lovely new cottage in Upper Aerdin had already nearly gone up in flames. Isengrim was not fond of messy places, and to be fair, neither was Eldain, but the idea of Isengrim coming home to a messy kitchen was not appealing.
Especially since Eldain had a very particular piece of jewelry he was planning on gifting to Isengrim in his pocket and Eldain didn’t want to risk it.
So, he began scrubbing dishes with a shitty rag they had stolen from Iorveth’s house (which, now that Eldain thought about it, might have been one of his headscarves). He began to hum one of his newer songs as he worked, the splashes of the water providing a good enough beat to support his singing. This particular composition was very important to him, as it was one of the few genuine love songs he had written. As he reached the bridge of the song, he heard the door open, and he began to sing out the lyrics as well as he could, hoping Isengrim would focus on him rather than the charred pot.
When he was done with the song, Isengrim rushed to him, wrapping his arms around him tight. Then, he let go and stepped back, and Eldain knew that it was time to face the music.
“Eldain, you know I adore you-”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I swear it won’t happen again.”
Isengrim shook his head and took a deep breath. “It’s been two days since we’ve moved in and you’ve already nearly burned the house down…step away from the stove.”
“I’m done cooking though!”
“Yes, yes I suppose you are… for a very long time.” Isengrim pulled Eldain away from the sink and brought him to their couch.
“It was just soup? I don’t see the issue, it could have been far worse.”
“That was fucking soup?” Isengrim asked, looking horrified. “How do you fuck up soup that bad?”
“How was Iorveth?” Eldain asked, frantically trying to change the subject. He really didn’t need Isengrim to know just how bad of a cook he was.
“Eldain. How the fuck did you burn soup?”
“I forgot to stir it, anyway, how was Iorveth. Is he still with that fucking human?”
“You forgot to-” Isengrim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to take deep breaths and pretend his boyfriend, his wonderful, lovable, one of the scariest (ex)commanders of the Scoia’tael, did not burn soup. It didn’t work, and when Isengrim took a deep breath in through his nose, he could smell it. After a moment, he decided burnt soup wasn’t worth an argument, and answered Eldain’s question. “He was good, and yes he is. But, apparently, Roche is not a human.”
“He’s not? What the fuck?”
“Half-elf. I walked in on them and Vernon wasn’t wearing his hat.”
“What.”
“Yeah.”
“Sweet fucking Aelirenn.”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Eldain said, still in shock. “That was unexpected.”
“You can imagine my shock. I was the one who walked in.” Isengrim exclaimed as he sat down on the counter next to where Eldain was standing and had been cleaning the pots.
“I really can’t. What’d they say in response to you walking in? How bad was it?”
“Iorveth tried to block Vernon, and Vernon tried to cover his ears.” Isengrim paused, “Are you going to clean the dishes?”
“I was distracted by your beauty…” Eldain started before Isengrim pulled him into a quick kiss.
“I call bullshit, El. I’m not cleaning the damn pot that you burned while making soup.”
“I hate you.” Eldain pouted before he started cleaning the pot again. “Was this one of Iorveth’s towels that I’m using or was it one of his headscarves?”
“Fairly certain that is -or was, I should say- one of Iorveth’s headscarves. I don’t think he’ll want it back though, so it’s probably fine that you are using it.”
“Ah,” Eldain paused, “How was the journey there?”
“Relatively good. I came across a small family living in a cabin, and they let me spend the night at their place.”
“They were elves, I’m assuming?”
“Yes. They had a child.”
“Oh.” Eldain hadn’t seen a pureblood elven child since before the massacre of his village when he was younger. “How old?”
“I don’t know for sure, but they let me hold her. She was beautiful. I was told that if I ever wanted to visit, I was more than welcome, and I may have offered our services as babysitters..”
“I doubt they’d want me there though,” Eldain said sadly. He knew his reputation for being cruel and ruthless was well known across the Continent, and there was no way that this small family wanted someone as terrible as him to be there to watch their child. Even if they somehow trusted him with them, he was too angry and too bitter to properly watch a child. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt this child as a result of his anger.
“Eldain, they know who we are. They trust us not to hurt the child.” Isengrim smiled at him softly. “But enough of that. How did you manage to lead a commando without being able to cook?”
Eldain mumbled something under his breath and glared at Isengrim, though Isengrim could tell he was trying not to smile.
“What was that?”
“...Aeyrin always was in charge of cooking…”
Isengrim grinned at Eldain’s sheepish look. “I knew it. You always would run from where they were cooking when we had festivals.”
“Fuck off, you’re not that much better.” Eldain shot back, grinning.
“I despise you-” Isengrim started before he was interrupted by Eldain kissing him hard. When he went to give Eldain another kiss, Eldain backed away. “Hey-!?”
“I thought you despised me,”
“Love, c’mon-”
“Fine.” Eldain finished cleaning the pot and quickly dried it. “C‘mere,”
Eldain picked Isengrim off the counter and Isengrim wrapped his legs around his waist and they stumbled to the couch. Eldain lay down and Isengrim cuddled into his side. “I missed you when you were gone.”
“As did I, El.”
“Isengrim….”
“Yes, El?” Isengrim looked up at Eldain. His face was aglow with a light blush and his eyes didn’t quite meet Isengrim’s. “Is everything okay?”
Eldain reached into his pocket and pulled something out with shaky hands. “I love you so much and after everything, I just-oh sweet Aelirenn… Will you marry me? I can’t cook for you, but I swear I’d give my life to you just- I’m sorry I keep fucking this up but….will you?”
“Oh, El…” Isengrim pulled something out of his pocket and passed it to Eldain. “If I say yes, will you?”
Eldain felt his eyes begin to water as he stared at the ring inside of the box. It was gold with emerald accents. It was beautiful and Isengrim clearly designed it with Eldain’s taste in mind.
“Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes-”
Isengrim wiped his eyes and laughed. “Then it is settled. We get married and I’ll cook for you so you never cook again.”
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I’m gonna have to write a fic for this pairing, aren’t I?
Nevermind the fact I still haven’t finished my Eddie/Venom/Flash one yet and I can never just write a short fic, no, it has to be a Thing and I always go for the really small pairings.
I just have a lot of feelings about the concept of coming to know yourself through your shadow, and let’s face it, Roche and Iorveth are each other’s shadows. All the qualities they hate about each other are the same things that personally drive them.
And it��s true for both of them but I just keep sticking on Roche for some reason, the loyal Temerian Hound, who committed a lot of wrongs at the order of a king who saved him, and then lost that king, and, uh...
Look, I’ll be honest, I haven’t played the second game so I’m not too clear on what happens with Saskia and Vergen and Henselt (besides the fact he’s shit and Roche kills him, spoiler alert I guess), so I can’t really say how all that ties in to where he ends up in the third game, but in the third game he’s in a pretty shit situation, doesn’t seem all that concerned with the Socia’tael anymore, and is more than willing to kill Radovid for the sake of Temeria. I’m assuming the general idea is that Anais will take over the throne, and then what?
What does Roche do from there?
He has the blood of two kings on his hands and Emhyr isn’t exactly the kind of man to give into his promises without some kind of backhanded result. Making a deal with him is like the damn Monkey’s Paw, and it wouldn’t really be smart of any ruler to give Roche a position of power in a court.
So we have a man who’s known nothing but war and following the orders of his king, who has decided one of his first acts WITHOUT orders is to kill another king for his country, and then really has no place in that country afterwards.
We could obviously go down the PTSD and depression route very easily here, but I’m not the kind of person to just settle on that and Vernon Roche probably isn’t either. Now that he has no ties, it’s time for this bitch to go find himself.
And maybe that means just wandering aimlessly for a little bit.
And maybe that means coming across some wayward elves getting harassed.
Roche, naively maybe, had thought that with Nilfgaard taking over, shit like that would have stopped. It was supposed to stop. The elves are allowed wherever they wish now, so long as they behave, and these ones clearly aren’t Socia’tael or the people harassing them would have been long dead. And that’s how Roche finds himself helping Aen Seidhe refugees under an alias and realizing how much of an absolute shit lord he had been.
I know some people like to have it where Roche doesn’t hate non-humans, he just did it because he was ordered, but shit like that tends to be a bit more engrained. When you’re around someone, ADMIRE that someone, and they’re so flippantly disregarding the lives of people they consider OTHER, it rubs off. Roche is not immune to propaganda, nor is he necessarily a good person since there’s really no such thing. There’s just people, who sometimes try their best and sometimes don’t, and who sometimes change and sometimes don’t.
So here we have Roche realizing the hate he felt for these people was never really his own. There’s nothing here to hate. The Socia’tael, yeah, maybe, but not the innocents he drove from their lands and sometimes killed if they didn’t obey Foltest’s ordinances.
So he does a Personal Growth, which both makes him feel shitty and wrecked with guilt, and also makes him determined to help and be Better.
And then fucking Iorveth shows up and nearly blows his cover to shit.
At this point, it’s still okay to hate the Socia’tael for Roche, because they’re war criminals and gods dammit, if he can be better, then so can Iorveth, Iorveth just chooses not to. But whatever, Roche has officially decided that he’s not going to pick a murderous fight over this because he’s not that kind of person anymore and it’s not his job to enforce the rules. He’s helping now.
But, uh. Roche can have a little fistfight sometimes. As a treat. Because Iorveth’s face is very punchable and Iorveth is his usual haughty, smug self who takes way too much amusement from Vernon fucking Roche helping elven refugees.
Only he’s not just very amused, he’s only amused to pissed off Roche, reality is he’s pretty confused and suspicious of this. Because HE would never go off and help dh’oine no matter how bad off they are, so obviously Roche wouldn’t go off and help Aen Seidhe without some ulterior motive.
Iorveth bides his time and somehow manages to find a time that’s ripe for Talking. Not the goading shit-talking they do, but like an actual TALK. It maybe starts out as an interrogation, but Roche doesn’t raise to the bait like Iorveth assumes and then Roche is all sincere about shit that happens to relate a lot to what Iorveth has been feeling too, and oh gods damn it all, now he’s sympathizing with Vernon Roche. Empathizing, even.
Iorveth hates it.
Roche doesn’t seem to particularly care how it makes Iorveth feel and Iorveth hates that too.
Overall he regrets he even asked.
Then something something something they have to do a Thing together. I don’t know the exact details, probably has to do with displaced elves.
Let’s just say Nilfgaard hasn’t fully conquered the North yet, like they’re almost there, it’s in that stage where they technically occupy the area but there’s a lot of unrest and certain people (racists) aren’t very keen on certain rules (rules telling them not to be racist) so they’re causing Problems about it.
Maybe they get wind that there are some Witch Hunters holding a decent amount of elves hostage, but not quite enough for Nilfgaard to bother with them, so Roche is like, sure, okay, I’ve been getting better at this whole sneaky sneak thing, I’ll go sneak the elves out. And Iorveth is obviously not letting Roche go do that alone, because it’s Roche, and Iorveth still wants to be suspicious of him and doesn’t like him, and someone needs to be there to actually rescue the elves if Roche dies, also he kind of wants to see Roche die (he doesn’t, but semantics) so he goes.
The sneaky sneak plan fails, go figure. And here’s where I might have to twist canon a bit because how well known is it that Roche helped plot against Radovid? Dunno, but we’re gonna say not too many people actually know, just those in power. And Temeria is established and under Nilfgaard, but Roche isn’t in a position of power there and when the sneaky sneak plan fails, he’s not wearing any indication that he’s WITH Temeria. So say someone that knows him from his Blue Stripes days sees him and they’re like, huh. Vernon Roche hates non-humans and didn’t immediately ally himself with Temeria and Nilfgaard. Clearly this is an ally.
So at first getting caught is sort of fine, because now he’s making awkward conversation with a racist and getting introduced to other racists but no one is trying to kill him so like. Okay. Could be worse.
And then the alarm sounds because Iorveth was spotted and they drag Roche to go corner him.
Iorveth is fully expecting Roche to keep up his little ploy and he can’t even say he blames Roche, because it’s a good way to sneak in and save people, IF Roche isn’t seriously considering going back to being a shit lord just because it’s convenient. They’re pretty out numbered. Fighting would be a bad idea. Iorveth is still pissed, obviously, and feels betrayed, and he plans on giving Roche no end of shit about this later even if he DOES use the position to save the elves.
Only Roche curses under his breath and turns his sword on the nearest Witch Hunter and all hell breaks loose. For the first time Iorveth finds himself fighting WITH Roche instead of against him.
And it’s kind of fun.
Just as thrilling.
And they actually turn out to be a very deadly team together.
So they rescue the elves and have every intention of escorting them back to the refugee camp they know of when they’re told about the camp these elves came from. One that was attacked by Witch Hunters. It’s a thing they’re doing now, kidnapping elves and destroying refugee places. So instead they point the elves in the direction of the camp they came from since the roads are all clear, and they go on their little crusade to save elves.
And along the way they learn stuff about each other.
Roche learns more about elves in general, and the uncultured swine actually starts finding himself more and more fascinated by the deep complexity and emotional connection to the world they have. He envies it, even, because even when Iorveth has nothing, he has that connection. Roche has only ever had Temeria and now, well. Only himself, really, and he’s still trying to figure out what to do with that.
Iorveth takes the slightest amount of pity for the useless dh’oine, because the idea of not having that connection, that thing to moor him down, sounds intolerable. How do humans survive without that? So he starts making a half-assed (or at least he tells himself it’s half-assed) effort to help Roche recognize the natural world around him a bit more and have more respect for it.
It’s the fact that Roche is TRYING, genuinely TRYING that really makes Iorveth feel a certain way.
And he opens up a bit about himself, his past, why he joined with the Socia’tael, and after seeing everything he’s seen, and what he’s STILL seeing, Roche starts understanding it a bit more. The actions of desperate people pushed to the edge, what they do when diplomacy fails, when assimilation means death, the tactics they resort to because there is no fair fight otherwise.
Now he can’t hate the Socia’tael either. He can’t even dislike them. Hell, he even finds himself admiring them.
And Iorveth learns about humans.
Nothing groundbreaking, exactly. Not about the species as a whole, anyway. Maybe that they’re capable of change, which is pretty revolutionary in his mind, and sometimes they stop into places and Iorveth sees that some humans do, indeed, have compassion for things that aren’t exactly like them.
The most interesting and useful thing he learns is that human body hair isn’t that bad and against what he would have assumed, he actually kind of likes it? Especially the stubble that Roche can never seem to entirely shave off in the morning--because it turns out Roche is actually pretty cleanly for a human when he has regular access to be.
The texture and burn of it scraping at his skin is nice, okay? It’s new and nice and maybe he can understand why there are so many mixed-elves running about despite how awkwardly bulky and clumsy dh’oine are. Also they’re warm. And, at least in Roche’s case, large. So yeah. He’ll concede the point that they make good bedpartners, and that’s ALSO something Iorveth learns about humans.
#rorveth#vernon roche#iorveth#witcher 2#rocheiorveth#this might have gotten away from me#anyway if anyone wants to rp it#just like#hit me up#i might write it#but my motivation to write stuff that isnt an rp is p shite so#dont hold your breath
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Lightning In A Bottle Ch. 3
Ace had been in Alabasta for all of a week, looking for his brother. Luffy should be arriving anytime now, if he didn’t get sidetracked when he was in Drum Kingdom.
...okay, so maybe Ace would have to wait around for a couple extra days. It was possible he should have just stayed in Drum and waited for Luffy there, in the cold and the snow, but he knew that he made the locals uncomfortable. They hadn’t realized he was a pirate, but the snow had melted off of his skin and coat and rolled off of him like rain. It made them weary. They knew there was something unnatural about this stranger that had come to them, asking so many questions about a man who had nearly destroyed their kingdom.
Teach left a trail of destruction in his wake, and Ace did his best to follow it, but it seemed like that was all he was able to do. Follow the trail.
And now he had to stop following Teach for a hot minute to wait on a perpetually tardy brother. There were a couple of leads about Teach and his slowly growing crew in Alabasta, but none of them were near enough to the port for Ace to investigate and get back in time to meet up with Luffy.
So he was stuck in town, cooling his heels.
That was fine, Ace had started to learn patience. He could hang out in town, look for leads, and wait for Luffy to show up. He hadn’t seen him in almost three years now, after all. A lot had changed. Luffy was a captain of an up-and-coming crew, Ace had joined the Whitebeards, and hundreds of smaller things that they needed to share with each other.
Ace wanted to tell Luffy that he’d finally met Shanks (and just how the hell had Luffy gotten the hat of an emperor? Honestly), and he wanted to tell him about his adventures in Paradise and the New World, and all about his crew. He just knew Luffy would get a kick out of Deus. In all actuality Ace had a whole laundry list of things he wanted to tell Luffy, everything from getting stranded and eating a devil fruit to being forcefully adopted by Whitebeard. And wasn’t that just the most ironic thing? Luffy, and to a lesser extend Sabo, had basically forced Ace to accept their friendship and later their brotherhood, and Whitebeard had literally kidnapped Ace and swatted every attempt on his life away until Ace finally gave in and let himself be adopted.
In retrospect, Ace should have recognized the stubborn streak in his captain. It was exactly like Luffy’s.
So he was content to wait, and when Smoker showed up he thought he would get a good fight to keep himself entertained for a while, even if he would rather finish his lunch.
He gave Smoker the chance to turn and walk away, but Marine’s were damn stubborn. Ace was halfway out of his seat, heat simmering under his skin.
Then something slammed him through a half a dozen walls and his fight with Smoker was forgotten.
Ace actually blacked out for a minute before he picked upself up out of the rubble, a headache starting to throb behind his eyes. All he wanted to do was find his little brother before he went back to hunting that damned traitor. Was that too much to ask? Did touble have to shadow him every minute of every day?
Of course it did.
“Just who in the goddamn- Sorry, enjoy your dinner,” he bowed quickly to a family in one house while he picked his way through the rubble. “Who in the goddamn Blue’s is picking fights!”
Ace finally climbed back through the first hole he’d made with his head.
“Hey!” he shouted into the restaurant.
A familiar face blinked at him from the spot at the counter he’d held himself only a few minutes before. Ace’s anger evaporated instantly.
“Lu-ouch!”
He was slammed face first into the ground by a gloved hand while Smoker leapfrogged over him.
“Strawhat!”
Ace glared at the broken stucco wall under his face. He could feel his eye twitching in annoyance. Just who did Smoker think he was, ignoring Ace for his brother! And how did they know each other?
“I've been looking for you, Strawhat. So you did come to alabasta. Quit eating!”
Ace could have told him that was a futile thing to say. Luffy would stop eating the day he died.
Ace slowly picked himself out of the rubble and resecurred his hat. He looked up in time to see Luffy shovel the entire table’s worth of food into his mouth and grab the hand of a girl sitting next to him that Ace didn’t recognize. Her red hair was a wild mane around her head and she looked bruised and scuffed up.
“Run!” Luffy shouted around his food, and bolted for the door. The girl yelped and threw something at the chef that clinked like a bag of coins.
Oh good. That meant Ace didn’t have to pay. Which he was totally gonna do, honest .
...Eh, he was a pirate.
“Luffy! Wait! It’s me!” Ace scrambled to his feet and went after them quickly.
Luffy dragged the girl through the streets of Nanohana, with Smoker on their tail and Ace right behind them. There was something a little too familiar about sprinting after Luffy after he’d managed to get himself in trouble while Ace wasn’t looking.
Luffy had to let go of his companion when a girl came at them with a sword so he could jump onto a rooftop out of the way. Ace was almost mad, Luffy was immune to bullets and fists but he could still be cut! But, of course, the little Marine wielding the sword didn’t come even close to Lu.
To her credit, Luffy’s girl drew a short sword from her side and blocked the attack easily. She held her weapon with the comfortable grip of someone who knew their way around a fight. Ace hadn’t noticed it before but her haki was a small step above most people’s he’d seen in Paradise. She must had had some training with it.
Good. Then he didn’t need to rescue Luffy’s swordwoman.
Ace landed next to the two.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said politely, startling both of them into looking away from their crossed blades to Ace instead. He tipped his hat towards them, then the building that Luffy had jumped up onto. He was blocked from it by their swords. “I have to catch up with my brother now.”
“Uh, sure,” said the marine girl. They pulled their blades away to make a path for him. It was amazing how people responded to polite requests. .
“Why are you telling us this…?” the redhead countered, looking confused. Ace noted that her eyes were as red as her hair. She faltered when she got a good look at his face. “Hey, hold on-!”
“Sorry, I can’t,” Ace waved to them and shot over the rooftops, after his brother and Smoker.
He was pretty sure that girl recognized him. He wasn’t surprised, his face had been plastered all over every inn and tavern in the Grandline for a while, and he was pretty well known as the Second Division Commander.
If she was with Luffy, he’d no doubt see her again later.
Idly, Ace wondered if Luffy’s crew knew what they’d signed on for when they agreed to sail with him. Or if Luffy had even given them a choice.
Ace laughed to himself and picked up the pace. They’d figure it out.
Ace wanted to spend more time with Luffy. He wanted to spend at least a night with him, and drink and talk about everything that had happened in the last three years. He wanted to grab him and check him for injuries, wanted to tell him about his own mistakes and help him prevent making the same ones as Captain.
But.
But, he had to go. With Teach still on the loose and his blood debt unpaid, Ace coudln’t stay with his little brother any longer than he had, not without the excuse of waiting for him. He didn’t know all the details about what they were doing in the kingdom of Alabasta, nevermind why they had the princess of that same kingdom travelling with them these days, but it was just going to have to be, in Luffy’s words, a mystery.
At least, that’s what he thought.
While the crew set up to leave the Going Merry at the mouth of the river Ace excused himself to make a call.
He sat in the seat of Striker, with his shell-phone in hand. It only took a few rings for a familiar voice to pick up on the otherside.
“Whitebeard pirates, this is Izou speaking.”
“Izou, hey, it’s Ace. Is Pops around?”
“Ace! Let me get him, hold on.”
The sound of footsteps and muffled shouting followed, and in a minute Izou was replaced.
“Ace, my son, how are you?”
“I’m good,” Ace felt himself start to smile. “I haven’t caught up to Teach yet, but I’m getting close. I’m with my brother’s crew right now.”
“Ah ha, the infamous Luffy.”
Ace’s smile grew. He’d been rabid when it came to showing everyone Luffy’s first bounty. He’d gone to Blenheim and asked him for all the information they could get a hold of when it came to Luffy’s new crew. So he knew about Nami, Usopp, Zoro, and Sanji. Nami had a reputation among East Blue pirates, Usopp was fucking Yasopp’s son, Zoro was a bounty hunter with a decent name for himself, and as it happened Pop’s was old friends with Sanji’s father, Zeff.
“Yeah. He looks good. He’s just as goofy as he’s ever been, and he picked up a couple of extra crew mates. He’s a doctor, thank the Blues. Tony Tony Chopper. I think he’d a raccoon zoan, or maybe a Mink. I didn’t ask. It seemed rude. And a swordswoman he picked up here in Alabasta. Roche Nao. She’s pretty quick on her feet.”
“Wait.”
Ace paused. “Yeah?” He’d never heard that tone in Pops’ voice before.
“You said Roche Nao. Does she have red hair? And eyes?”
Ace cocked his head. The snail reflected the hard set of Pops’ jaw and the wildness in his eyes.
“She does. Do you know her?”
“... Listen to me now Son. I need you to stay with the Strawhat’s. Teach can wait, you have to keep an eye on Nao. We’ll meet you on Sabaody when your brother’s crew arrives. Do you understand?”
“Wait, what?! But Teach-”
“I understand how you feel about Teach,” Pops’ voice gentled for Ace. “But this is something I have to ask of you. If the government get’s ahold of that girl, what awaits her is a fate far worse than death.”
“She’s like you, son.”
Ace sucked in through his teeth. Like him? How?
“Can I count on you to guard her from the navy?”
“I’ll bring more attention to them,” Ace warned. The idea of shelving his hunt for Teach was bitter on his tongue, but if Pops said he needed Ace to guard this girl, he would. “How do you know her, anyhow?”
“It isn’t a story for a den den. When we meet again, I’ll tell you everything, if Nao hasn’t done it herself. Just promise me, Ace.”
Ace swallowed his irritation about Teach. This was something Pops was asking of him. Something important to him on a personal level beyond what even Teach had done.
“I promise. I’ll do everything I can to keep her from getting arrested.”
The Den Den relaxed.
“Thank you. I’ll see you soon, son.”
“Yeah. I’ll see you then Pops.”
Now Ace just had to find an excuse to stay with the Strawhats. He’d heard a very vague rumor about someone pretending to be Blackbeard in Yuba. He could start with that, and then find another reason to stay later on. He doubted that Nao would appreciate him puppy guarding her.
She’d said it herself. She was her own captain.
#One Piece Fanfiction#one piece#monkey d. luffy#Portgas D. Ace#original character#Whitebeard pirates
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▼ For Roche, I know it's going to be sad, but I love him, so idc
▼ - childhood headcanon
you guessed it anon, this is sad. like, cw for discussions of underage prostitution, rape, sexual abuse, fucked up power dynamics, the whole shebang
send a symbol! (or two or three or four)
vernon roche was, quite literally, born into prostitution. and, despite his mother's protests, had to contribute to their family
his mum tried to raise him away from it all, but she simply couldn't leave the girls she had been protecting and watching over for years behind. the brothel would charge her extra for having a kid, but she still made more money than she would on her own
she would send vernon outside during the day, hating the way customers would eye him. roche didn't quite understand it, but he went anyways. even when the snow came and made his bare feet turn blue. even when he was lonely and hungry and scared and just wanted his mum to hold him and sing a quiet song until he fell asleep. even when the other kids would beat him to an inch of his life.
but survival had always been his curse. the need to live, by any means necessary.
when vernon roche looks back on the many many awful things he did to stay alive, stealing would always stand out. not for the morals of it, he couldn't give two shits about those, but for what it lead to.
he can't remember when he started to steal, just that he was so hungry he was nauseous and the baker's back was turned and there were some fresh rolls that looked so so good.
but stealing is what got him into the whole mess of paying for things with sex. because no one stays lucky forever and the city guard was far less inclined to track down his mother with a hefty fine is they had their fun with him first.
in his childish mind, it made sense. business is business, the herbalist by the river would say. roche let them do that to him, and in exchange his mother was safe. he just wished his side of the deal didn't make him hurt hurt hurt so badly.
he didn't get payed with money until he was 13, when his mother was at the market and some soldier saw him and told the madam he'd pay 200 crowns for an hour with the kid
but roche was already a professional. he already had the wonderful ability to retreat into his mind and make flower crowns in an imaginary meadow while his body made the little noises and movements that made it all end quicker
at least now he was getting paid. in a day he'd make more than his mum would in a week
but that was almost worse, now he was needed. he couldn't stop working, not when his mum relied on him to help her make rent and put food on the table.
roche wished he could explain this to the other kids in the town. that he and his mum weren't hurting anyone, they just needed to eat and live like everyone else! but diplomatic conversation was never his forte
throwing punches, however, that was. enough that by time he was 16 he could supplement his income with cage fights. the kind that then-prince foltest loved sneaking out of the palace to watch
foltest changed everything. he gave roche a purpose, aside from taking care of his mother. but roche would never think about it like that, like he was taking his king's side over his mother's, because he knew at the end of the day, he'd choose temeria. he'd choose temeria over the woman who raised him, who worked 14 hours a day to give him food, who protected him as much as she could, and that scared him.
but who would be scared of serving their country? a traitor
so he pushed that fear deep inside his mind, the same place he kept the particularly sadistic guards and the painful longing he had for his father.
#not gonna put this in tags aside from organization#roche tag#hc tag#mine#anon#shaun the sheep talks to humans#haven't got a fucking queue
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i am drunk on power: 3. Canon Divergence + q. Meet Messy + 53. “Kiss me while everyone’s looking.” or 51. “Play along.”
Uhhh I don’t know what happened here, because this started out kinda funny and then got kinda sad and then kinda funny again. Soooo yes, please enjoy this take on Geralt speedrunning through Chapter 1 of The Witcher 2 by way of sucking dick.
***
Geralt crept forward toward the sound of the flute, Vernon and Triss following behind him, and blinked when he saw the elf perched atop the tree branch as if waiting for them. Iorveth certainly had a flair for the dramatic. He stood when he saw them and gestured toward Vernon with his flute.
"Vernon Roche! Special Forces Commander for the last four years. Servant of the Temerian king. Responsible for the pacification of the Mahakaman foot--" Another sweeping arm gesture had made him lose his balance, it seemed, and he teetered precariously at the edge of the branch, flailing, before slipping off it.
He hit the ground with a loud thump, and Vernon barked out a laugh beside him. "Serves you right, you grandiose son of a whore."
Iorveth wasn't moving. Geralt heard faint rustling up in the bushes on the cliffside, above them -- Iorveth's men, no doubt.
"This could be a trap," Triss said, looking around.
Iorveth was very, very still. "Don't think so."
"Then let's take him in. We can interrogate him in Flotsam." Vernon stepped forward, and Geralt threw an arm out at chest level, stopping him.
"His archers are up on the cliff. They'll shoot us if we try to take him." He watched Iorveth for a few more seconds, wondering how to break the ridiculous impasse. The archers would have to take the long way around in order to come down and help him, but they wouldn't leave their position with Vernon Roche, a sorceress and a witcher still standing over him. He sighed, then simply put both of his hands up and raised his head to shout up to Iorveth's men. "Don't shoot. I'll help him."
"Help him?" Vernon repeated, sneering.
Geralt took a couple of steps forward, experimentally, and heard no sound from above. He approached Iorveth and crouched next to him. "Hey. You conscious?"
Iorveth groaned and curled in on himself, clutching the side of his head with one hand.
"He's faking," Vernon called out. "Be careful."
"Look at me," Geralt said, ignoring him. Iorveth raised his head and squinted up at him, then closed his eye tightly and covered it with his free hand, cursing in the Elder Speech. "Great. Went and gave yourself a concussion, didn't you?"
No answer came. Geralt stood and walked back to Vernon and Triss. "I'll escort him to safety. You go on to Flotsam and see what you can find out."
"What?!" Vernon wasn't happy -- no surprise there. "I'm not letting you leave with Iorveth. Do you have any idea how many of my men he's killed?"
"We'll never find the kingslayer if we take him in. His Scoia'tael will warn him and he'll slip away. Let me do this. I'll meet you in Flotsam." He turned and went to Iorveth again. He'd sat up, eye still squeezed shut, and was rubbing at his head through his scarf.
"Be careful," Triss told him. He gave her a nod over his shoulder and she and Vernon left toward Flotsam, muttering to each other.
"My men will... will shoot you if you hurt me," Iorveth ground out through his teeth, looking rather unsteady even sitting down.
"Uh huh. Can you stand?"
He gave it a valiant try, pushing himself to his feet and managing to straighten up most of the way before swaying sideways and falling down again. "One-- one moment."
"No. We're too close to Flotsam. Gotta get you outta here before somebody spots you." He reached for Iorveth, then paused. "Call your men off. I'm picking you up."
Geralt suspected Iorveth wasn't the kind of man who liked to be carried, but he must have been in too much pain to protest. He gave a half-hearted scowl but waved his archers away. Geralt waited until he heard their retreating footsteps, then picked Iorveth up and tossed him over his shoulder. "Just had to bloviate at us from a tree branch, huh?"
"Shut up," Iorveth's voice floated up from behind him, sounding more unsteady than angry. Geralt shook his head to himself and headed away from Flotsam, back toward the beach and then up into the forest. It wasn't long before Iorveth spoke up again. "Put me down." His fingers scrabbled clumsily at Geralt's back. "Vatt'ghern. Put me down."
Something about the tone of his voice made Geralt stop, and as soon as he put Iorveth down he crawled away on all fours and retched into the underbrush. All that came up was bile, and Geralt thought about how light the elf had been, even wrapped up as he was in chainmail and leather.
"Why are you helping me?" Iorveth ground out once he was done, sitting back and wiping his mouth on the back of his gloved hand. "You're with Roche."
"Came here with him. Doesn't mean I like him." He crouched down and this time Iorveth was able to meet his eyes, though he was still squinting against the sunlight. "I'm looking for the kingslayer. I've been accused of Foltest's murder."
"Pity. He's under my protection."
"Why? You think he's killing kings because he cares about elf rights? He's using you."
Iorveth shook his head, then winced and raised a hand to his temple. "I... I care little what you think, vatt'ghern. We're working toward a greater purpose."
He still looked rather green. Geralt sighed. "You have a camp nearby?"
"Yes."
"I'll take you there." He made to grab Iorveth again, but the elf held up a hand, stopping him.
"No. I'll be sick again."
"Then walk." Geralt stood and held out a hand, and Iorveth managed to pull himself up after taking a deep, steadying breath. He spat onto the ground, then started walking unsteadily, holding on to Geralt for balance.
Iorveth's men caught up to them before long -- four of them, bows out, winded from running through the forest. "Iorveth," one of them said, eyeing Geralt as if waiting to see whether they'd receive orders to shoot him.
Iorveth waved a hand at them dismissively. "We're headed to camp," he started, and it looked like he'd wanted to say something more, but he hissed in pain and closed his eye, relying on Geralt's guidance to keep walking.
"One of you run ahead and get a bedroll ready," Geralt said in his stead. "And a fire. I'll need boiling water."
"Do as he says," Iorveth added much more quietly.
It took some time to reach the camp. It wasn't much -- a narrow gap in a rock wall that opened up into a small, low-ceilinged cave, with a few bedrolls spread around a small fire and a set of old crates serving as rudimentary stools. There were three more elves waiting there -- one led Iorveth away from him he collapsed onto a bedroll, breathing heavily. He was pale and sweating from the short walk.
"What's wrong with him?" a woman asked, shooting Geralt an accusatory glare.
"He hit his head," one of the archers responded, and it seemed he respected Iorveth too much to offer any further detail. Vernon would have no such scruples; Geralt suspected that most of Flotsam would have heard the story by the time he got there.
He sat by the fire and set about making a potion, similar to one he'd use on himself but diluted enough that it wouldn't harm an elf -- something to help with the pain in his head and settle his stomach. The elf woman stood staring at him suspiciously, and he showed her the dried herbs and ingredients as he pulled them from his satchel. Once he'd gotten the lot of them brewing, she gave him a grudging nod and went to sit by Iorveth's side.
"You his lover?" Geralt asked to fill the silence, stirring the contents of the small pot over the flames.
"He'd have to hit his head a lot harder than this to lie with a woman," one of the elves muttered in the Elder Speech somewhere behind him, and a few of them snorted in response. Geralt filed the information away into a corner of his mind. The woman pressed her lips together and glared at him, apparently unamused by her friend's jest.
"Fine, don't talk to me. Still with us, Iorveth?"
Iorveth's jaw was clenched tight and his eye still closed, but he gave a small nod.
"Try to stay awake. I'm making something for the pain."
Someone gave Iorveth water, which he promptly threw up. Geralt snatched the empty mug and filled it with his concoction while the woman mopped up the mess with a rag. He watched the small group for a few moments as he blew on the hot liquid. They looked pale and drawn, all of them, and stank of hunger and exhaustion. He sighed and set the mug down. "Make him drink this once it's cooled down. All of it, slowly. There's more in the pot if he can't keep it down."
He stood. They eyed each other but let him go without a word, and he headed deeper into the forest.
He came back to the cave later, carrying two rabbits, a handful of wild carrots and some mushrooms. There were only two elves left with Iorveth -- the woman and one of the archers. The rest of them had been up in the trees when he'd approached, standing guard, but they'd let him pass without comment again. He set the food down near the fire, then added a few potatoes and some plums from his satchel.
Both elves stared at the food silently, their stomachs growling, audible even over the crackling flames. Geralt sighed impatiently. He hated seeing elves reduced to this -- their stubborn pride only made it worse. "Take it. He'll feel better if you get some food into him."
He turned to Iorveth, who was still lying on his bedroll, curled under a blanket with most of his armor discarded around him. When Geralt sat down, he opened his eye and seemed to have an easier time focusing on him than he'd had before. "Gwynbleidd."
"Geralt," Geralt corrected.
"Gwynbleidd is a much better name."
"Fine. How do you feel?"
Iorveth's eye fluttered shut. "Strange. Dizzy, if I try to sit up."
"It'll pass in a few days if you get enough rest." The elves were rustling around behind him, chopping the food and skinning the rabbits. He left them to it, keeping his focus on their leader. "Gonna tell me where the kingslayer is, now? Just want to talk to him."
"Lies aren’t a good look on you, Gwynbleidd." His eye opened again. "You've got much kinder eyes than the other vatt'ghern does."
Kind eyes weren't something Geralt had ever been accused of having before. He blinked. "Yeah, well. If you're just going to compliment me in exchange for saving your life, might as well get out of here and look for him myself. Hope Roche doesn't find you like this in the meantime."
He didn't even make it to his feet before Iorveth wormed one hand out of his blanket, touching his leg to stop him. "Wait. They have Ciaran, my second in command. He's being held in Flotsam on a prison barge. Find a way to free him and I might set up a meeting with the kingslayer."
Well, that was much more of a lead than what they'd arrived to Flotsam with. He gave a short nod. "I'll see what I can do."
***
The next two days passed in a mad blur -- he'd met Dandelion and Zoltan (who'd narrowly escaped the gallows thanks to Triss and Vernon's intervention), hunted for ostmurk, killed the kayran, and finally broken Ciaran out of the prison barge in the dead of the night with the help of Triss, who'd had to mend what had looked like half of the poor bastard's bones before he'd even been able to walk.
He collapsed into one of the inn's dirty beds, slept like the dead for a few hours, then dragged himself back out and into the forest to seek out Iorveth again.
He checked the cave first, and this time one of the sentries up in the trees greeted him with a nearly cheerful "ceádmil" as he walked by. He figured that probably meant Ciaran had found his way back to the group and put him firmly into the Scoia'tael's good graces. "Good afternoon," he replied in the Elder Speech, and the elf frowned at him from between the leaves of his tree. Geralt recognized him as the one who'd mumbled about Iorveth in front of him; maybe that'd teach him not to run his mouth around strangers.
Iorveth was alone in the cave and seemed to have heeded Geralt's recommendation to rest; he was still on his bedroll despite the late hour, propped up on one elbow and working on a piece of waybread. "Gwynbleidd," he said warmly in greeting. "Ciaran came back to us this morning. I'm in your debt."
"Twice, now," Geralt replied, but couldn't bring himself to mind much. There was one fewer elf in prison, and Loredo was probably pissed off. Win-win. "Feeling better?"
"Mostly. My head still hurts at times, and I tire easily."
"Like I said, give it a few days." He sat down and Iorveth held out his waybread silently. Geralt blinked at the offering, then broke off a piece. "Thanks. What about Ciaran?"
"He's doing better than he ought to be. He said they beat him to within an inch of his life and left him to die in his cell." Iorveth's expression had darkened, and he dropped the rest of his waybread as if his appetite had suddenly left him. "I'll make sure his captors suffer just as long."
"Mm." Geralt tried his piece. It was bland, but better than a lot of the things he ate on the road. "He isn't just your second in command, then."
Iorveth's eye narrowed. "What are you asking, vatt'ghern?"
He shrugged. "Heard one of your men talk about you the other day. Don't think he realized I could understand him."
"I don't know what you heard, but you must have misunderstood. Ciaran isn't my type."
"So what is your type? Witchers?" Geralt asked, then had time to ask himself what the hell he was doing during the short silence that followed. The opening had been too perfect, and he'd reacted the way he would have had any beautiful woman been in Iorveth's place. A stupid reflex.
The corners of Iorveth's mouth quirked up into a small smile. "Certainly not Letho."
Letho -- now Geralt had a name, and perhaps that had been worth a moment's awkward silence. He popped the rest of the waybread into his mouth, chewing slowly as he thought. He couldn't recall hearing the name anywhere, but that didn't mean much; there were a lot of things he couldn't recall.
"Ciaran filled me in on how he was captured. It seems you were right to distrust Letho. He tried to convince Ciaran to betray me and take over the unit. A fight broke out when he refused. Some of my men died."
"Where is he now?"
Iorveth hesitated only briefly before speaking. "He usually stays near the ruins of Cáelmewedd."
"The baths?" Geralt asked. Iorveth nodded. The ruins weren't far, but Geralt could hardly go on his own -- he didn't know what kind of mutation his School was into, but Letho was built like a brick shithouse. And Iorveth was in no state to help, so he'd have to go back to Flotsam and--
"Iorveth." One of the sentries poked his head into the cave. "Letho's coming."
"Shit," Geralt hissed. Letho couldn't see him here. He'd smell him, though, even if he managed to leave without being spotted. He heard the sound of Letho's heavy footsteps outside and tried to think of a plan.
Iorveth had been thrown off-balance, too. He stared at Geralt, green eye searching his, then grabbed at the edge of his jerkin and pulled. "Come here," he said quietly in the Elder Speech. "Play along."
They'd been through too much over the span of a couple of days for Geralt not to trust him. He let himself be maneuvered around by the elf, unsure what was happening until he found himself lying between his legs. Iorveth flipped his blanket over him, covering his upper body, and Geralt groaned when he realized what the plan was.
"Iorveth," Letho called out, and Geralt heard his armor scraping against the edges of the cave opening as he made his way inside.
"I don't want to be bothered. Come back later."
He'd slowed his breathing down and was doing a decent job at sounding distracted, his voice low and his fingers creeping into Geralt's hair. Still a stupid plan, though, because Letho would be able to smell Geralt, and then smell that Iorveth wasn't even aroused. Unless...
"What are you playing at? We both know who that is."
Unless he was aroused. Geralt palmed at Iorveth's cock through his trousers, resisting the urge to shake his head at how his stay in Flotsam was going, and Iorveth's breath hitched above him. "And?" he asked Letho.
"He's here with Roche. Am I supposed to think this is a coincidence?"
Geralt squeezed Iorveth's cock. It was stirring in his hand -- wasn't just his kind eyes Iorveth had been admiring, that much was clear. He started working on the fastenings of Iorveth's trousers. "I don't care what you think, Letho. He helped one of us break out of the prison barge."
"And-- and his reward is to suck your cock?" Letho retorted with a disbelieving snort.
Geralt rolled his eyes as he pulled Iorveth out of his trousers. He'd sucked a cock or two before, decades ago during a particularly cold, lonely winter at Kaer Morhen, but hadn't felt the urge since and hadn't exactly shouted it from the rooftops, either. His reputation would never recover from this -- kingslayer and cocksucker. "It seems some of your kind can appreciate the finer things," Iorveth said, then moaned softly as Geralt put his tongue on him. He was playing up his reactions, Geralt knew, but he still felt his own treacherous cock twitch in response to the low, breathless sound.
Well, at least there'd be no mistaking the smell that was coming off of him now. Off of them both. There was a long pause, which Geralt filled by pressing open-mouthed kisses to the head of Iorveth's swelling cock and flicking his tongue over it, knowing Letho could hear him.
Finally there was the scrape of Letho's boots against the ground as he took a step back. "We'll talk later," he muttered, sounding a little lost. He left, adding "fucking elves" under his breath as he went, and Geralt rumbled out a laugh around Iorveth's cock, now hot and heavy in his mouth.
Iorveth pulled the blanket off. He'd acquired a pretty flush across his sharp face, and his eye was hooded as he watched him. "You can stop," he said in the Elder Speech even as he tilted his hips, pushing himself deeper in.
Geralt paused, considering. He was hard, too, and he shifted uncomfortably against the cold ground, reaching down to adjust himself. Iorveth groaned at the sight and let his head thump back to his bedroll. And then he groaned in pain, having apparently landed on the bruised spot on his head. Geralt snorted, slid one hand up under his shirt and onto his stomach to hold him still, and kept sucking.
#gerveth#geralt x iorveth#geralt/iorveth#iorveth#oops this got way longer than i wanted it to be#but it was fun rewatching some of the cut scenes#iorveth is so hilariously dramatic#'four hundred years of killing over the mold of the auricle' WHO SPEAKS LIKE THIS
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The Witcher Fic Masterlist
Masterlist of all of my Witcher fics, updated as of June 5, 2021.
If you like my writing, consider donating to my ko-fi! I am writing gift fics for all donors.
Here is a masterlist of all completed multi-chapter fics.
Series:
Families of Choice
Geraskefer Canon Divergent AU
Summary: The best families are those you choose. Jaskier realized that early in life, but his family continues to expand over the years.
Series Masterlist
Cintra Happily Ever After Series:
AU from the Families of Choice Series (as of the end of 5 Dinners with the Lioness chapter 5)
Summary: A series in which I pretend everything is fine and nobody dies, and Geralt makes Cintra his home base after the feast in episode 4.
Series Masterlist
Chronic Pain Series
Summary: Unconnected shorts in which I vent my pain onto fictional characters.
At Her Back
Summary: Yennefer was born with a twisted spine. Her transformation had cured her, but she still felt the pain as if nothing had changed. Geralt offers Jaskier's services as a masseuse.
Coming to a Head
Summary: During a confrontation gone wrong, Jaskier gets hit with a spell that is supposed to cause unimaginable pain. So why does Jaskier seems mostly unaffected?
When Pigs Talk
Summary: When seeking pain relief, Yennefer takes something that makes the pigs in her pig pen start talking. It’s the start of an interesting evening.
Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep
Rated E
Summary: Geralt’s eyes burn and ache like he’s undergoing the trials again, so Jaskier does his best to help distract from the pain.
Don’t Cry for Me, Temeria
Iorveth/Roche Witcher 2 Different First Meeting AU
Summary: A Witcher 2 Canon AU in which Iorveth and Roche meet before either of them know who the other is. Somehow, this changes absolutely everything.
Series Masterlist
Fish Out of Water
Iorveth/Roche MerMay AU
Summary: Once upon a time, all elves lived in the sea and had mer forms. Now, Iorveth is something of a novelty, one of the last true elves.
Series Masterlist
For You, My Love, I Bleed
Iorveth/Roche angsty AU
Summary: Iorveth and Roche had been happy, or so Iorveth had thought. Then King Foltest recalls Roche to the capital, and suddenly Iorveth is left alone as Roche returns to Foltest. Roche made his choice, clearly, and Iorveth just has to deal with that.
But all is not as it seems, and Roche considers everything worth sacrificing if it protects the man he loves.
Series Masterlist
A Hard Day’s Night
Iorveth/Roche interrogation AU
Summary: Iorveth ends up imprisoned, with Vernon Roche as his interrogator. From there it only gets worse - or better, depending on your point of view.
Series Masterlist
If You’re Good to Mama
Iorveth/Roche Outsider POV
Summary: The Clarabelle is the finest brothel in town and its located in the shittiest part of town. Follow the adventures of the Madame, Eliza, and the brothel workers as they start working to supply food to the terrorist elves in the Scoia'tael.
Series Masterlist
Keep Me
Iorveth/Roche fanart AU
Summary: All Vernon Roche wants in life is someone to keep him and appreciate him. Surprisingly, he may find exactly that - in the form of his enemy, no less.
Based on this art.
Series Masterlist
King and Country
Iorveth/Roche divergent AU
Summary: When Foltest rejects Vernon Roche, he sets into motion a series of events that have consequences he never could've expected. A universe in which Roche's anger and hurt at Foltest remove the rose colored glasses.
Series Masterlist (NEW ADDITIONS!)
Love Shack
Iorveth/Roche Secret Relationship AU
Summary: The Love Shack: a ramshackle cabin in the forest that happens to be Iorveth and Roche's only respite from a reality full of violence, war, and hate. In the Love Shack, all that matters is each other.
Series Masterlist
The Lovestruck Fox
Iorveth/Roche Schoolgirl Crush AU
Summary: It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that the Scoia’tael Commander holds his opposite in the highest esteem.
Series Masterlist
Petals and Stripes
Iorveth/Roche Hanahaki AU
Summary: Those that felt the deepest of deep loves could develop a condition known as the wasting disease. Those afflicted slowly suffocate as their lungs fill with fruit representing the one they love.
Well, it's supposed to be fruit. So why is Commander Roche coughing up flowers?
Series Masterlist
With A Look I May Not Meet
Iorveth/Roche capture AU
Summary: When Iorveth is captured using his relationship with Vernon Roche, Roche is forced to make a decision. Stand with King Foltest and Temeria as he has always done - or choose Iorveth and go on the run.
Series Masterlist
The Woodland Fox and The Temerian Hound
Iorveth/Roche animal transformation AU
Summary: Roche usually didn’t mind Triss’s magic much. Sure, she poked at him with it all the time, but it was always playful, inviting him in on the fun.
This time, however, something had gone very, very wrong and he was quite sure that it would take him a long time to trust her magic again. Because somehow a rebound spell had hit him, and now he had a tail. A dog’s tail.
Well, he was always getting called Foltest’s attack dog. Now it was just a bit more literal.
Series Masterlist
Under the cut:
New! Gen fics (22)
Yennefer fics (4)
Geraskier/Geraskefer fics (25)
Geralt getting railed fics (4)
Cintra fics (Calanthe/Eist and others) (9)
Lambert/Aiden fics (6)
Lambert/Jaskier fic (1)
Wolf Witcher fics (2)
New! Iorveth/Roche fics (45)
New! Saskia fics (3)
Gen Fics:
(They came after me) With Masterful Deceit
Summary: When Jaskier discovers that Yennefer has Elven blood, he is forced to confront his prejudices.
Beauty and Imperfections
Summary: Jaskier signs up to be a nude model. He's expecting it to be a fun, sexy time. It goes a lot differently than he expected.
The Blood of the Covenant is Thicker Than the Water of the Womb
Summary: Found Family prompt fills, focusing mostly on Iorveth and Roche.
Chapter 1: Geralt invited all of his family to join him in Corvo Bianco, which is great, but has the downside that finding a moment alone is near impossible.
Cards Out For Your Country
WiP
Summary: In which a great number of people are convinced or coerced into posing for a Gwent Pinup Calendar.
Greg the Demon Horse
Summary: Jaskier tries to make a stuffed toy for Ciri. If only he knew how to sew properly.
Gwent, The Good Old Game (NEW!)
WiP
Summary: Zoltan, Dandelion, and Priscilla decide to go all in on a new money-making scheme involving gwent. This time, they are going to sell stories and dolls of the characters that appear on gwent cards. It's guaranteed to make a killing.
History is Written by the Victors
Summary: “Dara said grandmother’s men laughed as they raped women and killed babies by - by swinging them by their legs, bashing their heads in.”
Fuck. Tentatively, Jaskier wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a hug when she didn’t flinch away. In his head, he could hear Filavandrel’s voice, the humans proudly watch these very fields grow... our babies fertilizer for their grain. He swallowed against rising bile.
Against his neck, he could feel Ciri finally succumb to tears. “How could grandmother order that? I know her, that wasn’t what she was like! But Dara wouldn’t have lied.”
Wherein our characters struggle with knowing that good people can do awful things, and that everything you think you know is probably wrong.
How to Train Your Roach
Summary: The story of how Jaskier's stupid ditties on the road accidentally trained Roach.
Inspired by Her Fire
Warning: Spoilers for Witcher 2, specifically something from the end of Iorveth’s Path.
Summary: Saskia's POV during the Council Meeting where Saskia introduces Iorveth.
It’s the Little Things
Summary: A collection of fills for various prompts!
Chapter 1: “You. Rest. Now.”
jaws that crack the bones the lion leaves
Summary: Jaskier writes a song about the Slaughter of Cintra.
Life is a Cabaret
Witcher 3 Canon/Spoilers
Summary: Set during the Cabaret quest, after Geralt helps Dandelion with his staged fight, he decides that Dandelion's big comfy bed at the Rosemary & Thyme is perfect for a bit of rest. Dandelion doesn't exactly mind.
The Lion That Haunts My Dreams
Rated M
Summary: Calanthe does what is needed to protect her kingdom.
Dara just wants to forget. Two perspectives on a genocide.
Marilka
Summary: Geralt knew he couldn’t claim his Child of Surprise. Destiny had punished him harshly the one time he’d thought about raising a child. He could not risk its wrath again.
Power
Summary: Yennefer had been forced to fight for every bit of power she had. So why does the power to make people see her seem so unattainable?
An introspective look at Yenn during the Dragon Hunt (but ignoring the break up because I can)
Sentenced to Write
Summary: A collection of fics from 1 sentence prompts.
Chapter One: Thief!Ciri
Chapter Two: Kid!Calanthe
Soft Words and Kind Hearts
Summary: A collection of fills for Geralt Fluff Week 2020.
Day 1: First times. Geralt gets a tattoo and becomes part of the Blue Stripes Commandos
Sweat and Blood and Tears: A Geralt Whump Collection
Summary: Collected shorts for Geralt Whump Week
What Makes a Family
Summary: Ciri spends her first birthday since the Fall of Cintra at Kaer Morhen.
What You Meme to Me
Summary: A collection of Witcher fics inspired by memes. Just because.
Second chapter: Jaskier doesn't understand why people are so obsessed with gender. Why would what's in their pants matter?
The White Wolf
Summary: Geralt always gets named the White Wolf in fight clubs, even before Jaskier gave him the name. Sometimes he even hid his medallion and gave a fake name, and still, he was always called the White Wolf.
Your Voice is Your Life
Summary: “Your voice is your life.” His old teacher used to tell him. Jaskier largely disagreed, but then a djinn steals his voice.
Bottled Appetites from Jaskier's point of view
Yennefer Fics
To Be...
Summary: Collection of shorts for Yennefer Appreciation Week on Tumblr!
A Tribute to the Fae
Rated E
Summary: When Yennefer accidentally trespasses on fae land, she must pay the price.
Viscount Pankratz and Wife
WiP
Summary: When Jaskier receives an invitation to a fancy party addressed to him and his wife, he decided he deserved a night of fun causing problems for people. Who better to help than Yennefer of Vengerberg?
Yenn & Djinn
WiP
Summary: Bottled Appetites AU Jaskier’s last wish is for Geralt to appear. This manages to change everything.
Geraskier/Geraskefer Fics:
(I would not wish) Any Companion But You
Summary: I’m not your friend, Geralt always insists whenever Jaskier calls them such.
100 Ways to Love You
Rated E
Summary: A drabble collection for Witcher OT3 sex
Okay, it might be more double drabbles than drabbles, but shhh
Awaken in Pleasure
Rated E
Summary: Geralt dreams of having Jaskier waking him up with sex. He finally manages to ask for it.
Bounce a Coin Off Your Witcher
Rated E
Summary: Jaskier has lots of thoughts about Geralt's arse in leather pants. And then they get stuck in a small room together.
Butter That Biscuit
Rated E
Summary: Bottled Appetites Ep 5 AU – When Jaskier awakes in Yennefer’s room, he does, in fact, butter that biscuit.
Five Almost Kisses and One Happily Ever After
WiP
Rated E
Summary: What it says on the tin. Geralt knows he wants Jaskier, but why would the bard ever be interested in a witcher? Five times Geralt ALMOST figures it out and one time he actually makes a move.
Five Times Geralt Frotted Against Jaskier’s Ass and One Time He Fucked It
Rated E
Summary: Based on this tumblr post about Geralt frotting against Jaskier's ass in his sleep.
Fulfilling a Need
Rated E
Summary: Geralt has been twitchy and restless lately. When Jaskier confronts him, he discovers that what Geralt needs is for Jaskier to take control and fuck his face. So he does.
Gestures of Affection
Rated M
Summary: A collection of shorts featuring any configuration of the relationship between Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer and the ways they show affection to each other. With bonus Ciri, because she’s their family.
Hit Me Baby (One More Time)
Rated E
Summary: Jaskier desperately wants physical evidence of Geralt’s love for him.
How to Spoil Your Pet
Rated E
Summary: Yennefer and Jaskier team up to give Geralt everything he wants. He wants a lot. Good thing they're amenable.
Howling Swirling Storm
Summary: Jaskier is a winter spirit who has always been shit at hiding his powers. But somehow Geralt still never figured it out?
Jaskier’s Words are Horseshit
Summary: The thing about Jaskier is, he never shuts up. Literally, ever. That was the first thing Geralt noticed about the bard, but he was not prepared for all that entailed. Jaskier was, quite literally, always making noise of some sort. If he wasn’t singing, he was humming, muttering, strumming at his lute. Even in his sleep, the bard hmm’d and sighed and mumbled and snored continuously.
A Kiss With a Lash
Rated E
Summary: Geralt asks Jaskier to punish him for the Break Up (TM)
Making Amends
WiP
Rated E
Summary: Jaskier is putting his life back together after the Mountain™. So what is he supposed to do when Geralt arrives at his doorstep?
Pamper Your Witcher
Rated E
Summary: Geralt doesn't let himself have the finer things in life. So Jaskier decides to pamper him.
That Wild Blue Yonder
Summary: Jaskier lives in the modern world as Julian Alfred Pancratz. When his family vacations at an old castle his cousin owns, he discovers an old wardrobe that leads to the Continent. Specifically, it leads to a wardrobe belonging to Madeline de Stael.
The Pleasure of a Good Bath
Rated E
Summary: Geralt had always enjoyed baths. Since Jaskier had joined him, they'd gotten even better - and it was making it difficult to hide that he wanted more.
Porny Prompt Pile
Rated E
Summary: Just porny fics based on prompts.
First chapter: Geraskier - blow job while standing
Second chapter: Geraskier - Jaskier riles Geralt into rough sex
Relationships Require Communication
Summary: Jaskier liked to joke about him being allergic to the word ‘friends’, but he wasn’t far off. Geralt was aware that he was not good at talking, not good at feelings, and definitely not good about combining the two.
After Yennefer and Jaskier leave him on the mountain, Geralt does some thinking about what happened and how exactly he messed up. And how to fix it.
Rushing Thoughts and Pulsing Hearts
Rated E
Summary: Geralt knew he was in love with Jaskier, but what could he do about it? No one believed Witchers could love. Not even him, sometimes.
So hold me, lover, like you used to
Rated E
Summary: When Geralt brings Cirilla to Oxenfurt to search for Jaskier, he was not expecting to walk into a concert the bard and another were giving together. Songfic based on The Amazing Devil.
When Words Act As Phantoms on Horseback
Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt used to the lack of silence. Without him, the silence creeps up on him and itches at his mind until he must break it.
AKA how Netflix!Geralt slowly becomes more like Game!Geralt.
With Knot But A Look
Rated E
Summary: Jaskier asks tamed werewolf!Geralt to fuck him in the forest under the full moon.
Worth 100 Words
Summary: This is a Witcher drabble collection, using prompts. Mostly OT3 and family fics with Ciri.
Geralt getting railed fics:
A Cintran Welcome
Rated E
Summary: Geralt’s Witcher stamina is too much for Jaskier to handle alone, but he wants Geralt to experience being fucked to exhaustion. So he arranges a gangbang in Cintra.
Featuring Geralt’s self–loathing getting overwhelmed with pleasure.
Forest of Plenty
Rated E
Summary: Geralt goes to visit his friend Mousesack for some fun and discovers that Mousesack and Jaskier have already anticipated his arrival and prepared quite a surprise for him.
I’m Yours to Claim
Rated E
Summary: Geralt knew he would eventually agree to go to Cintra. It was Jaskier asking, after all. He hadn't expected to run into his old friend and fuckbuddy, Mousesack, but it was nice to see him again.
Size Matters: The Geralt Size Queen Chronicles
Rated E
Summary: Just porn about Geralt being a size queen.
Cintra Fics:
5 Gifts from Family, 1 Vision of the Future, and 1 New Start
Summary: Pavetta gets to know her family after the banquet.
Artistic Endeavors
Rated M
Summary: Calanthe discovers that her daughter has a habit of drawing rather explicit art. For the Banned Together Bingo prompt "Porn". Set before Episode 4: Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials
Falling Into the Lion’s Den
Rated E
Summary: Calanthe and Eist have slept together many times, but it was never about feelings. So why does Eist propose to her and insist on changing everything?
Her Mother’s Legacy
Summary: Ciri had always had trouble with schooling. So if Geralt wants to train her in monster lore, he's going to have to do some things for her. Featuring ways Pavetta helped Ciri figure out how to manage her ADHD.
Like a Punch to the Face
Summary: “Oh sweet Cintra, you were so promising, from your spoiled princess to your stupid old king! But when I arrived, the royals were dead! Tossed out a window or shot in the head!”
Ciri forced herself to keep walking past the puppet show, feeling like a fist had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart.
The Lion in the Woods
Summary: Mousesack teaches Ciri about the importance of balance.
The Lioness and the Seahound
Rated E
Summary: A collection of Calanthe/Eist porn fics.
Chapter One: Calanthe positions Eist so that she can ride him while giving the illusion that she was taking him. Eist loves it.
Mousesack’s Educational Retreat for Proper Young Nobles
WiP
Summary: 13 year old Calanthe gets sent to a “whip-your-heirs-into-shape” 6 weeks and she is not happy about it. She’s also not delighted by this kid Eist, who is determined to become her friend, and sharing her room with 2 other noblewomen was not fun.
Featuring 13 year olds’ interpretations of cultures, some significant cultural misunderstandings, and some slow but sure developing friendships.
O war! Thou son of hell
Summary: In the aftermath of war, Calanthe waits to feel the way everyone said she was supposed to.
Lambert/Aiden Fics:
An Evening of Frippery
Rated E
Summary: When Lambert and Aiden get invited to a fancy party, it’s the perfect excuse to dress up, dance, and have some fun.
Fuck Me Properly (NEW!)
Rated E
Summary: Aiden stumbles upon Lambert getting fucked by a plant. With tentacles. Then his brain kind of shorts out.
One Way to Skin a Cat (NEW!)
Summary: A reflection on Aiden's thoughts in the aftermath of his near death, and a realization of what Lambert must be thinking.
pretty witcher (walking down the street)
Rated E
Summary: Lambert decides to finally make his move, dressing up in his prettiest dress to encourage Aiden to give in to temptation. Before he has a chance, though, bandits force them into an unexpected position.
Silk and Lace
Rated E
Summary: When Aiden and Lambert split up on the road to tackle separate contracts before meeting again, Lambert takes the opportunity to spoil himself with pretty clothes and slow, drawn out pleasure.
Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This (NEW!)
Rated M
Summary: Lambert wakes up when Aiden has a bad dream. Fortunately, he knows a good way to get Aiden's mind off of it.
Lambert/Jaskier Fics:
Desperate Affection
Rated E
Summary: Lambert didn't know when he'd fallen in love with the bard, but he could no longer imagine life at Kaer Morhen without him.
Wolf Witcher Fics:
Ensnared
Rated E
Summary: Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel have a long tradition where Eskel ties them up. This time, they've invited Aiden and Jaskier in on the fun.
The School of the Wolf
Summary: Vesemir is old, the oldest Witcher alive. Witchers don’t retire, they get slow and they die. He knows he's slowing down, but all he has left in this world is the boys he trained, and the legacy of the School of the Wolf.
Iorveth/Roche Fics:
A Kiss Can Mean A Thousand Things
Summary: Fills for kissing prompts based on the 50 Types of Kisses Writing Prompts
And Ghosts Did Shriek and Shrill
WiP
Rated M for violence/gore
Summary: After the unjust murder of his team, Vernon Roche is willing to do anything to get them back. Even if it means drawing on unspoken-of beliefs from a childhood in Velen.
Before All Else, Be Armed (NEW!)
Summary: Iorveth and Vernon Roche are finally getting together. But when it comes time to disrobe, they run into a few problems. Namely, the sheer number of concealed weapons each of them carry.
Brewing Romance and Dissent
WiP
Summary: When a spear to the eye means that Iorveth needs to take at least a year to recover, he decides to spend it undercover in a coffeeshop in Vizima's Royal Quarter. He's also not expecting his favorite customer to be a human.
Can’t We All Just Get Oolong?
WiP
Summary: In which Iorveth and Roche discover that Roche's mom Eliza works for both of them, drink lots of tea, and slowly get to know one another.
The Chase
WiP
Rated M
Summary: Iorveth likes making Roche chase him when the Blue Stripes and the Scoia'tael clash. When Roche manages to catch him one day, something entirely unexpected happens. And then it keeps happening.
Commander Roche’s Secret Lover (NEW!)
WiP
Rated E
Summary: Commander Roche is very clearly hiding a lover. His team tries to figure out who it could be.
Deep Inside Me (NEW!)
Rated E
WiP
Summary: Iorveth longs for things he shouldn't want and his attempt to ignore that ends up making everything worse.
Devour What’s Truly Yours
Rated E
Summary: When Roche discovers Iorveth inside a magical circle of flowers with pollen that makes you feel good, he was not at all prepared to find out what they had to do before they could leave.
A Dh’oine’s Only Use (NEW!)
Rated E
Summary: Iorveth arranges for his Scoia'tael to make use of his new whore, Vernon Roche. After all, a dh'oine's only use is as a hole to be fucked.
Dream a Little Dream of Me
Rated E
Summary: It totally doesn’t mean anything that Roche dreams of Iorveth.
‘Ere Our Souls Are Ground To Dust
Summary: After Nilfgaard conquered the continent and deigned to let Temeria be self-governed, Roche finds himself drowning in work trying to build a new government and keep an economy afloat (well, more get it back there for some parts of Temeria). Meanwhile, he and Iorveth were managing to live a fairly domestic life together. It had only been a few months, but it was going well.
Then they have their first fight. Over coffee, of all things.
Every Kiss Begins With Kayran (NEW!)
WiP
Rated E
Summary: Every once in a while, there was a local brave enough to seek out the Kayran for a pleasant distraction. The Kayran was delighted to oblige. And sometimes, sometimes there were people who wanted a more regular experience. People like Iorveth, who had scheduled monthly fuck dates to work off the stresses of command.
Neither of them expected to get discovered during one such session.
Explore That Which Sets Your Soul Aflame (NEW!)
Rated E
Summary: Iorveth very much was not expecting Vernon to ask about his ears. But if he's going to satisfy Vernon's curiosity, it's only right that Vernon satisfy his in return.
Eye on You
WiP
Rated E
Summary: 5 Times Iorveth Accidentally Watched Roche Come and 1 Time Roche Watched Him
False Positive (NEW!)
WiP
Rated E
Summary: When Iorveth sneaks into Lobinden in disguise to enjoy the Imbolc festival, the last thing he expects is to deal with Vernon Roche - especially because Vernon doesn't know it's him.
The First Seeds of Trust
WiP
Rated E
Summary: As soon as Iorveth had started fighting vines rather than fighting him, Roche knew something was up. Still, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.
Great Eggspectations (NEW!)
WiP
Rated E
Summary: In the aftermath of Temeria's fall, Vernon Roche is feeling unmoored. So it only makes sense to track down his once-enemy. Iorveth has always encouraged his mind to bring its best and right now, he dearly needs that.
He's in for a slight surprise when he actually finds Iorveth, though.
A Heart’s Fire (NEW!)
Summary: Skellige is the only kingdom without a price on Iorveth's head, so it only makes sense to seek shelter there after the Scoia'tael are disbanded. The isles are nice, but what had been pleasantly cool in summer now turns freezing in winter and elves were not made for temperature extremes. So of course Iorveth manages to get caught in a blizzard.
How to Fluster an Elf
WiP
Summary: When Geralt, Dandelion, and Zoltan make a casual remark about never having seen Iorveth flustered, Roche decides to take it as a challenge. Featuring Nilfgaardian feasts, cultural differences, really fancy beds and baths, and a witcher, a dwarf, and a bard who are having the time of their lives watching Roche try to catch Iorveth off guard.
It’s the Little Things
Summary: A collection of fills for various prompts!
Chapter 1: “You. Rest. Now.”
The language of friendship is not words but meanings
WiP
Summary: When Geralt is hired by the Blue Stripes and the Scoia'tael to find their missing commanders, he discovers that not only have said commanders somehow turned into children, but that the two groups managed to scare them away before introductions could be made. Fortunately, Roche and Iorveth both have their own ways of making themselves understood.
Leap of Faith
WiP
Summary: When Roche changes the rules of engagement in a skirmish with the Scoia'tael, Iorveth ends up captured.
Needs More Dragons
Summary: Frankly, 2 dragons in all the Witcher stories? Not enough. So have some fics with random dragons!
Chapter 1: Honey, I Adopted A Dragon: Iorveth may have acquired a baby dragon while Roche was traveling. Roche is about to find out.
Never Have I Ever
Summary: The Blue Stripes have an evening off. What better way to spend it than by playing drinking games?
On Knife’s Edge
Rated E
Summary: After they assist in the Battle of Kaer Morhen, Iorveth and Roche end up traveling back to Temeria together. An injury to Roche’s arm leaves him unable to shave himself, so it’s only polite for Iorveth to offer his assistance… right?
Olfucktory Senses (NEW!)
Rated E
WiP
Summary: Iorveth typically found the smell of human exertion to be nauseating. But when it's Vernon Roche's sweat, somehow he finds himself responding entirely differently.
Orificial Business
Rated E
WiP
Summary: When Roche hears a rumor that the Scoia’tael might be frequenting a brothel on the edge of town, he decides it’s worth going undercover to see.
Pining and Poignards (NEW!)
WiP
Rated E
Summary: Iorveth may spend a lot of time thinking about Vernon Roche, but it didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. Doesn't stop him from contemplating the possibilities, though.
Meanwhile, Roche attempts to teach himself Elder Speech to translate the carvings on a knife Iorveth stabbed him with.
The Portrait of Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon (NEW UPDATE!)
WiP
Summary: Ciri hates the portrait from her childhood that Geralt displays openly and proudly and loudly. He shows it off to everyone he can and she wants to destroy it.
Lucky for her, two fighting enemies present a prime opportunity to make the portrait's destruction look like an accident.
The Pride of Temeria
The Blue Stripes are Temeria's elite Special Forces Unit. Their mission is to hunt down the Scoia'tael, but in between fighting and drilling, they get up to an awful lot of shenanigans.
“He looks like he’s dead,” Shorty said, poking the sleeping form of their commanding officer with a stick.
“Shorty!” Silas hissed shrilly. The newbie was still scared of breaking rules and he fidgeted nervously.
“What?” Shorty shrugged, “He sleeps like the dead, it’s fine. As long as he’s not actually dead, anyway.”
“He’s not,” Ves, their erstwhile second in command, rolled her eyes. “He’s just fucking weird.”
“Are you sure he’s okay? How can he possibly breathe like that?” Igo frowned in worry, which wasn’t surprising for the man who had accidentally become their de facto team therapist.
“What he needs,” Thirteen pointed in what would have been a dramatic gesture if not for the drunken stumble, “is a goo’ pair o’ tits to bury his face in.”
Red is the Rose (Complete!)
When Roche gives Iorveth a rose of remembrance, Iorveth doesn't know what to think. Legend has it that if you give a rose to someone you love, then it’ll live forever, but surely that can't be true. After all, Roche is his enemy.
Run Away With Me
Summary: Iorveth and Roche spend a starlit night together.
“Run away with me,” he murmured, only half aware of the words he was saying. But when Iorveth froze, they truly processed and suddenly cold fear gripped him. He stuttered a correction, “I mean – I know, obviously, you can’t just leave your people. It’s – I–”
Iorveth cupped his face, cutting off the stream of words. “Vernon,” Iorveth said, voice soft and wondrous. “Vernon,” he said again, tugging Roche forward into a desperate kiss, full of wanting and longing and regret.
Even though Roche already knew the answer – of course they couldn’t just run away together – he still had to close his eyes and brace himself against the words he knew were coming when Iorveth drew back again.
“Cariad,” Iorveth whispered, stroking his face. “Were my life my own, I would go anywhere with you.”
Scenes from Another World
Summary: Standalone scenes based on different trope AUs, but set in the canon Witcher universe.
Sentiment and Condescension
Summary: Roche hadn’t been planning to go to the Vengelbud party, but as soon as Emhyr told him not to...
Now if he could just get Iorveth to leave him alone, he could get wasted in peace.
Seven Seconds in Holding
Summary: Iorveth is very, very unclear on how his last fight with the Blue Stripes led to him here, spooning Roche in the Blue Stripes’ holding cell, both their wrists cuffed together.
Spousal Privilege
Summary: Stuck at a diplomatic conference, Roche is frustrated that none of the elves in the room will even acknowledge he exists. Then Iorveth enters and it's like seeing an old friend. And then somehow they end up pretending to be married.
A Stubbornly Persistent Illusion (NEW!)
WiP
Rated E
Summary: Roche wakes up in a different world, one where he and Iorveth are raising Foltest's children in the dwarven city of Vergen.
These Boots (are gonna walk all over you)
Rated E
Summary: Neither Iorveth nor Roche had expected their fight to go like this. Inspired by this gorgeous art.
Time is Cruel, To Rob Us from Ourselves
WiP
Summary: An AU of Don’t Cry for Me, Temeria/(Im)Perfect Strangers where a magical artifact sends everyone back through events of Iorveth’s past. Iorveth is less than pleased, but the insights into his character may be invaluable for more than one person present.
Under Pressure
WiP
Rated E
Summary: When Iorveth defeats Vernon Roche, he intends to take his time interrogating his enemy. Fortunately, an abandoned mage’s house nearby provides him with the perfect toys to make this fun.
The Value of a Man
WiP
Summary: When Iorveth finally defeats Roche, he decides that such a valuable prisoner is worth ransoming back to the King. After all, surely the King's Enforcer is worth a few concessions to elven rights.
Right?
To Weave The Strands of Fate (NEW!)
WiP
Summary: There is a tradition in Velen. Whenever a child is born within Velen, a lock of their hair is cut off and gifted to the Ladies of the Wood. According to whispered legends, the Lady Weavess could add the hair to her loom and thereby change their Fate.
What Happens in the Cave-In Stays in the Cave-In
WiP
Summary: When Iorveth and Roche’s fight ends abruptly because of a cave in, they find themselves trapped together as they wait to be unburied. In the meantime, Roche is injured and Iorveth has herbs that could help - but all he knows about humans is “they need more”.
Wolves and Squirrels and Stripes
Rated E
Geralt/Iorveth/Roche
Summary: A collection of Witcher 2 short fics featuring Geralt, Iorveth, and Roche.
Chapter 1: Iorveth had never expected this to happen when Geralt invited him to visit Kaer Morhen.
Saskia Fics:
Damned Be The Thoughts That Refuse To Leave (NEW!)
Rated E
Saskia/Iorveth/Roche
Summary: When Saskia gifted him a toy shaped like a large human penis, Iorveth had sworn he would never use it. After all, it wasn't as if there were any humans he desired... right?
Shared Custody (NEW!)
Rated E
Saskia/Iorveth/Roche
Summary: Iorveth wasn't sure how walking into Saskia's office to see her talking with Vernon Roche of all people led to the three of them jammed into a closet with him in the middle, but he supposed it could be worse.
What Goes Around Comes Around (NEW!)
Rated E
Saskia/Philippa
Summary: Philippa decides to give Saskia a little treat to wake up to. Saskia repays her in full.
#my fics#the witcher#geraskier#geralt x yennefer#geralt x yennefer x jaskier#witcher ot3#geralt of rivia#jaskier#dandelion#yennefer of vengerberg#ciri#cirilla fiona elen riannon#fic masterlist#laiden#lambert/aiden#the witcher 3#calanthe/eist#queen calanthe#eist tuirseach#the witcher 2#iorveth/roche#iorveth#vernon roche
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Sanemi x F!S/O: Slow Burn (Modern AU, SFW Scenario)
Summary: Sanemi wants to get married immediately for personal reasons, and it just so happened that a feisty woman at a restaurant caught his eye. Little did he know that she was going to be his future boss— and even knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to pursue her. Cue (Y/n), whose siblings are all meddlesome and bratty; enough to tell their father that she had a boyfriend, just for laughs. Not wanting to disappoint him with the thought of her living the rest of her life by herself, she sets out to find the perfect fake boyfriend.
Note: This was written waaaay back in 2017, but it never saw the light of day. But I rewrote it for Sanemi, and here it is now. This is only the first part, since i initially planned it to be a three-part fic. But, enjoy, bbys. Hopefully I get to writing part 2 soon. It really depends on your feedback. Haha.
Words: 6,252
Warnings: This is more OC-insert than reader-insert. Weird kitchen terms will fly. Which is why I want to scrap the idea altogether, but not without sharing it first.
***
Being away from home was always hard; not only did the person that was away miss the people closest to them, but also felt like they were wedging a gap between themselves and all of their loved ones as time went by. The longer someone was away from home, the bigger the gap grew, and the clearer it was to them that life moved on without them in the picture.
It hurt— of course it did— because it felt like everyone that that person left behind had forgotten about them, like they had become insignificant. But life did go on, even for those who had been the ones to leave— still, that didn’t erase their longing for days long past when their world seemed a much smaller, and marginally simpler place.
Almost nine years had passed since (L/n) (Y/n) moved away from her home to pursue her dreams. She wasn’t going to sugar-coat her story and tell people that she struggled financially while studying at Les Roche International in Switzerland for her Bachelor’s Degree in Hospitality Management, nor was she going to lie and say that she got into the New York campus of the Culinary Institute of America after so many setbacks.
She had been, however, downplaying her lifestyle after getting her associate degree for culinary arts at CIA. It was like she was leading a double life that the friends she made, while flitting from kitchen to kitchen, didn’t know about.
At 25, she had moved to Tokyo by herself to work at the city with the most Michelin Stars in the world; and now that she was at the cusp of turning 27, she was still in the same city, and the same restaurant, with the same one Michelin Star award— but she was a chef de partie now, which just meant more work for her.
Her one-year experience spent working in America after culinary school was a walk in the park compared to working for her current restaurant— well, three restaurants, if one were to be technical about things. Back at her old kitchen in the west, there was a full staff— and a very low employee turnover rate; in fact, it was rare to have people quit back there.
But her current place was— most possibly— worse than what everyone imagined when they heard the term ‘hell on Earth’. It was so bad that it was a regular sight to see people on the line quit on the spot, once they were so deep in the shits during service. She could have always left along with the others before her, but she found a perverse sense of joy from surviving in such a toxic workplace.
Not to mention the fact that she got to rub elbows with some of the best chefs from all over the world, when they came in as guests for one of the three restaurants.
The breakdown of the restaurants was the fine dining restaurant (where the Michelin Star was awarded), a gastropub, and a sub-kitchen for the events that they catered— as well as for those guest chefs that came in once a month for an entire week. The restaurant was huge— spanning 14,500 square feet, as well as a having a basement level where all the nitty gritty parts of the kitchen were.
When she first started there, she felt so exposed in the expansive open kitchen, that allowed the guests in the gastropub to see the hot line in the kitchen; while the pastry and garde manger stations were tucked away behind the wall, that separated the kitchen from the fine dining restaurant.
She couldn’t find a perfect way to describe the layout because it was just that big but, basically, the fine dining restaurant was tucked away from all the commotion— and people had to pass through a tunnel of sorts to get there.
While the gastropub housed both an open bar and the open kitchen, the event spaces as well as the sub-kitchen were hidden away at a loft-type space. It was so confusing to get around at first, but she eventually got used to it.
And now here she was, enjoying the last five minutes of peace of her supposed lunch break standing at the sauté station— her new station— and staring at the 22-quart Cambro filled with freshly-made Mornay, that she had almost shouted at one of the sous chefs about.
She was just lucky that she came in three (unpaid) hours early for work, because she wanted to get ahead on her prep; so she had enough time to squeeze in making the mornay with the other hundred things she had to do.
With such a big kitchen and a lack of people, everyone ended up stealing each other’s prep— whether it was for a VIP, or a party, or basically whatever that needed to be made. As long as it was in the walk-in fridge, it was fair game.
She was just happy to finally have been taken out of garde manger because— even if the station was meant for two people since it was prep-heavy (four if you count the two other people needed to take care of the parties)— she had been stuck working it by herself for the past five months.
“(Y/n), did you go on break yet?” The executive sous chef yelled from the pass— which was basically the area where their executive chef stood and expedited food during service; and just behind the pass was the stairs leading down to the basement floor. They also had an elevator, which was extremely helpful… when it wasn’t out of service.
“I am on break, chef,” the (h/c) haired girl answered with a laugh— when she just wanted to punch the guy square in the face, since he was the one who had used up the 14 quarts of Mornay that she had in the upstairs walk-in fridge yesterday.
“You know you shouldn’t be working, right?” The man asked her with a sardonic tilt of his head, that made (Y/n) want to scream. Just because he was higher up in the ranks than her made him think that he was the shit when, in fact, he was just shit— shit at his job, and shit as a person.
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. She repeated her age-old mantra in her head, and then answered, “I know, chef. I’m-” the apology was about to slip from her lips when she caught it. “It won’t happen again, chef.”
“Make sure it doesn’t.” One of the banes of her existence called out before going down the stairs.
“Oui, chef!” (Y/n) cried, gritting her teeth afterwards, so she could hold back the snarky comeback that was threatening to spill from her lips. Really, she loved her job, but it was pricks like that who stressed her out.
And so, she took a deep breath and exhaled it in one strong gust— refocusing her mind so that she would be ready for the five parties up in the lofts, as well as the 250 covers that they had in the fine dining restaurant.
***
“Fire trio!” The executive chef, a 37-year old man from Florida (that used to be fit when he first arrived at the restaurant a year ago), called out from the pass— marking the ticket in his hand and tucking it into the slider bar mounted to the steel shelf that was mounted to the ceiling.
Everyone called out a loud chorus of ‘Oui’ in response.
Trios were there appetizer, and those got sent to the table before anything else, so it was synonymous with ‘another table just sat down’.
(Y/n) kept on making the orders that she had on her board, often moving from her stove to the Josper oven to put sauté pans with food inside. She was running out of burners on the stove, and it was starting to piss her off.
From behind her, the ticket machine whirred to life and started printing out an extremely long ticket. She internally groaned, before picking up one of the sauté pans on her stove and giving the mushrooms in it a little toss.
And all of that was happening while she had another ticket in her hand— memorizing all of her items on it.
“Order in! Four soup, two kale salads on the fly!” Whoever was serving the table on this ticket must have hated her, because she was already in the shits without any orders of their version of vichyssoise. But they just had to recommend the fucking thing now.
“Oui, chef! Four soup on the fly! Give me three minutes, chef!” (Y/n) yelled in a gruff voice— letting her frustration out in a non-hostile manner as she practically threw the pan of mushrooms in her hand, into the Josper behind her to cook them further.
Her brain was buzzing with so many things that she had to remember— the mushrooms in the Josper, the pan of broccolini she put in before the mushrooms, the truffle gnocchi that she still had to make in the next five minutes, and all of the other dishes from her station that needed to be up for the next table.
Sometimes even she amazed herself when she managed to finish a busy night, without getting yelled at even once.
“171 up at 15,” the executive chef yelled once more, and (Y/n) clicked her tongue as she hurriedly heated up the soup, while simultaneously plating her orders on that ticket— since it was already 7:14, so she had only a minute to get that done.
“Where’s my soup!? How long here, chef?”
“One minute, chef!” Her head was pounding with so much stress, but she pushed through it by taking all the food she had for table 171, and parked them beneath the heat lamps at the pass— calling out ‘hot, behind’ frantically at almost the top of her lungs.
“Fuck my life.” (Y/n) grumbled under her breath, as she plated up the dry components for the soup. She then grabbed her quenelle spoon from its secluded bain to make rochers of whipped crème fraîche. And once those were done, she poured the soup into four tiny, ceramic pitchers, before putting everything up at the pass. “Soup at the window, chef!”
No answer came, which was normal, so the (h/c) haired girl kept on cooking whatever was printed out on the new tickets that came in. It wasn’t until she picked up one of the pans on her stove that she froze.
She wanted to scream and let go of the pan because she had forgotten that she had just taken it out from the Josper, yet she couldn’t let it go, because it was filled with the truffle gnocchi. So, she slammed it down on the steel countertop beside her before she waved her right hand around.
There was a nice, clear burn mark where the piping hot steel handle had touched her skin, and she clicked her tongue as she resumed working; trying to ignore the pain as she put up ticket after ticket.
***
Shinazugawa Sanemi had been watching her all night from his table, that was a mere few feet away from where she was working.
The moment that he sat down and turned to watch the show inside the kitchen, his gaze instantly gravitated towards her. She didn’t stick out because she was a woman, no, he was used to seeing women not being forced into gender roles now— but she stuck out because of the way that she moved in there. She held herself with so much poise and grace, that it looked like she was gliding across the floor at times, all while yelling in a brusque tone.
He took a sip of his beer and licked his lips— eyes never leaving her. It was so obvious that she was getting overwhelmed with the influx of orders bombarding her every second, but he was impressed with the way she handled all of that pressure with a mere furrow of her brows here and there; until she burned her hand.
Sanemi expected her to stop the show to ask for help, and he chuckled in mild disbelief when she merely shook her right hand, before picking up where she had left off. It was as if nothing had happened.
That woman was really something, and his curiosity was piqued.
Sanemi had to admit that he had been lacking female company as of late, because of four things; namely:
He had gotten tired of sleeping with his flings, because they always expected more than one night.
No woman had a personality that kept him interested for longer than a week, as every single one of them had a heart like a marshmallow— too soft and sweet.
No one could put up with his abrasive personality, and most importantly…
He wanted to get married. The sooner, the better.
Part of his desire to get married was because his younger brother, Genya, was already engaged and getting married next year— so he wanted to get another thing over his brother. He had been taught better than to think of a life commitment as a means for a competition, but he simply didn’t care: he wanted to have what his brother always said was unparalleled happiness.
But the more pressing issue was that… he was starting to feel lonely. He didn’t make a habit of getting jealous, but he found himself going green with envy whenever his married staff— both from his previous company and the new one— mentioned even the simplest night with their respective wives. He wanted that for himself as well.
Hell, he was prepared to pay any amount to any woman that could keep up with him, just so she would marry him. But maybe he was doomed to stay single forever— he didn’t know.
So, there he was— out drinking beer by his lonesome self on a Thursday night, because he didn’t want to be alone in his apartment.
He had thought that it was too small for his taste at first but, as time went by, he realized that it felt cold and empty without someone to share it with. After the party was done and all the bottles of alcohol were picked up, he was always left with a cold feeling of emptiness weighing him down.
“Would you like another pint, sir?” One of the waiters asked Sanemi as they were passing by. He didn’t even realize that he’d finished the whole glass.
The silver-haired man shook his head even though he wanted nothing more than to get plastered, so he could just amble home and instantly fall asleep on his bed. “No, thanks. But… could you get me a menu?”
It didn’t take long for the waiter to get back to him with a menu booklet in hand. He briefly thanked the man and browsed through the pages; lifting his eyes up to the (h/c) haired woman every once in a while. Based on what he had observed, the dishes that she was making wasn’t on this menu, so he flagged down another waiter.
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
“I was wondering if I could order some soup to start?” Sanemi asked in a no-nonsense manner, that he hoped would let him order something that clearly wasn’t on the menu for that part of the restaurant.
The waiter cast a glance over at the kitchen, and seemed to hesitate before nodding. “Of course, sir. Our soup is our chef’s version of a vichyssoise-” The young man drowned his voice out then, only half listening as is gaze flitted back to the woman. “Do you have any allergies or specifications?”
“No, no allergies.”
“Would you like anything else to go with your soup? A steak, perhaps? Or our truffle gnocchi; it’s one of our best sellers.”
He vaguely remembered her using truffles, so he found himself nodding in agreement. It didn’t even matter to him that he had no clue what gnocchi was. “Sure. And I’d like to send a glass of red wine to one of the chefs— the finest you have.”
Again, he didn’t know a lick about wines or any of the fancy food that they served. And since he was more of a beer and anything-with-rice kind of guy, who was trying to get her attention, he had to play it up. He did have the money for it, so why not?
“Very well, sir. To which of the chefs would you like me to give your present to?” The waiter asked graciously, and Sanemi pointed over to where the woman was still working.
“To her.”
“Oh, I… uh…” the guy stuttered uncomfortably, hesitating a bit as Sanemi raised his eyebrows at him. “Yes, sir. I’ll give it to (Y/n); may I tell her who it’s from?”
“No. Just tell her that it’s from a new admirer— and that she should get that hand checked.”
***
“Chef, I have tomorrow and the next two days off, okay?” (Y/n) chirped as she popped her head into the chefs’ office, only to see the higher ups filing last minute orders and double-checking inventories for the night. It was always like that every night after service; everyone on the line would clean up in the kitchen— consolidating their mise and storing them in the upstairs walk-in chiller— before scrubbing everything down and doing their own little tasks for their stations.
“Why?” The executive chef asked, turning his chair so that he was facing her. “When did you ask me to give you that off?”
“Two weeks ago, chef. Remember?” She rolled her eyes with a sigh, which she never would have gotten away with during service. But after she was off the clock was a very different story. “I even wrote it down on a blue sticky note— right there!”
The man laughed. “I’m just messing with you. Have fun doing whatever it is that you’re going to do.”
“I wish I could, but I know that it’s going to be boring as fuck.”
“You can always work.” He offered with a grin.
(Y/n) laughed and shook her head. “Nice try, chef. But no. My attendance is a must at this family thing.”
“You’re going home to Osaka?” The sous-chef asked, turning his chair as well, so that he could look at the (h/c) haired girl standing in the doorway.
“No. If only Chef Jason would let me have a week off, right, chef?” She turned to the executive chef— Jason— with an innocent grin. “But alas, he’s going to miss me too much.”
“Your station’s going to crash and burn without you,” Jason griped with a huff.
“You’ll manage, chef. It’s only three days. But please don’t burn through all of my prep. I already stocked up on the things I could stock up on, and the rest of the gnocchi is in the freezer. I also finished doing my prep list. So, I’ll be going now! Bye, chefs!” With a wave, (Y/n) hightailed it out of there before they could tell her to get a jacket on and help them with party prep for tomorrow.
Like hell she was going to let that happen again. Fool her once, shame on her; but fool her twice… then she was dumb as fuck.
Once she made it out of the restaurant, she slowly made her way up the street— thinking about whether she should call an Uber to drive her to her condominium building. It was only three blocks away, but her feet were already killing her.
In the end, she took out her phone and sat down at the nearest bus stop to wait for her ride.
She looked down at her hands under the dim light above her, sighing heavily as she took note of how her cuts and burns stood out starkly against her skin. What once used to be unmarred and flawless— the envy of her friends back in high school— were so different now. Ugly as fuck for everyone else, but for her… “It gives me more character.”
A quiet laugh escaped her lips at that, and she heaved another sigh when she was reminded of what she had to face tomorrow at Nanafumi’s 50th anniversary party. Had it been any of the other companies in the long string of companies under her family’s ownership, she wouldn’t have even bothered to show her face, but since it was her family’s flagship company in Japan, attendance was a must.
Nanafumi was the crowning glory of her father’s empire— and it was the closest to his heart, because it had always been his late wife’s dream to become a big player in the Japanese market. Fifty years later, and the company that she had helped build was still one of the biggest players in the business world.
Along with the news of how the upcoming anniversary was going to be extremely fancy, there were so many talks going around that (Y/n) was the one who was going to be taking over the company. Since it was a food manufacturing company, many people thought that it made sense for her to take over.
But she didn’t want to take over the company; not because she was being rebellious, but because she wasn’t born with her father’s business acumen or her mother’s sharp business mind. Her sharp tongue, yes, but her mind… not so much.
Hell, there were six other siblings of hers to choose from, and all of them were just as qualified as she was to run Nanafumi. She could run it, but she would be running it into the ground.
(Y/n) was shaken from her reverie when a car pulled up in front of her. She checked the plates, and once she confirmed that it was her Uber, she hopped in for the quick trip to her building.
Suffice to say, her living quarters were… more than adequate for one person to live in. It used to be where she and her family lived when they spent month-long vacations in Tokyo, and her dad had given it to her as a present… along with the building itself.
She didn’t want to accept it at first, but she was a reasonable person. Not only was the unit already fully-paid for (which meant no rent to think of), but she also used the profits from the building itself (from the commercial spaces on the first three floors, to the monthly rent that some residential tenants paid) to pay for her own expenses.
She was basically set for life, but she didn’t want to just sit back and be a bum for the rest of her existence. Her mother had raised her better than that.
Even though both of her parents came from old money, they were pretty decent people. They didn’t look down on others, and made her and her siblings know the value of working hard for something you were passionate about. She liked to believe that all seven of them turned out to be well-rounded individuals.
And they were. If only her four older brothers and two younger sisters weren’t batshit crazy.
If she were to be honest, her family was like a pack of wild animals when all of them managed to get together. Everyone was so rowdy (sometimes even herself), but all of that was due to their closeness with each other; not because they fought or anything like that.
Yes, they did fight, but that was only when a good number of them were drunk as fuck.
She was just about ready to collapse when she managed to enter her place, swinging the door shut behind her, as she kicked her kitchen clogs off in the foyer. With a sigh, she walked towards her phone and pressed the button to hear all of her messages.
In this day and age, only her family would still use landline phones, and leave messages on answering machines.
“(Y/n), don’t forget the party tomorrow. It’s at seven.” Her father’s deep voice rang in the cavernous living area, making her smile as he spoke in their native Kansai dialect. “And bring your boyfriend with you— Miko told me that you got one over there? Is he husband material? (Y/n), you’re already 27, it’s time you got married and had kids.”
A loud groan escaped (Y/n)’s lips, as she pressed stop on the machine. She was going to kill Miko— her youngest sister— tomorrow. But tonight, it was time to eat something for her first meal of the day, get showered to get rid of the horrendous kitchen smell, and then get some much-needed sleep.
There was a stigma about people who worked in a kitchen: that they always had time to eat because they had access to so much food, but that was a laughable rumor.
They didn’t even have time to breathe, because they were always so busy doing their prep for the day. The most that she could eat on busy days was a French fry, or maybe a piece of raw tuna, but that was it.
And there was that time, about two weeks ago, that she got a glass of wine in the middle of service. The waiter didn’t say who it was from exactly, only that it was from an admirer— someone that knew about her burning her hand.
It was weird, not to mention creepy, but she took the glass with fervor and raised it up to the dining room— thanking whomever had sent her the alcohol, before downing it.
It certainly wasn’t her most refined moment, but she needed alcohol in her system at that time— and that more than did the trick for her. She had a slight buzz going, which emptied her mind and made her work more efficiently, so whomever it was that sent her that glass of wine had saved her from losing her sanity that day.
The wine kept coming every other day or so for a whole week, until it just stopped. She was bummed at first— because hey, it was free alcohol— until she had almost completely forgotten about it; until that moment.
She grabbed a pack of instant ramen from her cupboard stash, and promptly set out to make it.
Another misconception about chefs was that they always ate the best kinds of food— even at home, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Most chefs— especially those who worked full time in a restaurant— ate junk when they got home. The quicker it cooked, the better.
So all those last-minute aglio olio dreams, that some people imagined that chefs ate at home were just those: dreams.
The irony wasn’t lost on (Y/n), though. She spent her days making some of the best and most expensive food for people, but she always ate like a broke college student at home. Hell, broke college students even had time to order pizza— and she could have done that, if she didn’t get out of work at 11 or 12 at night.
Still, she loved what she did. After all, she also had a little of the crazy gene in her.
***
Dresses weren’t really high up on (Y/n)’s list of things that she liked to wear. Not anymore, anyway.
When she was in university, she loved dressing up and putting so much effort into her make up, but when she entered culinary school (where everything that wasn’t an ingredient was a food safety hazard) she let go of all the make-up, and the dresses, as well as the high heels that went with them.
There was one thing that culinary school helped her with, though: her confidence. When before, she had a hard time talking to people and had to force herself to be sociable at parties; after culinary school, she was so used to being the center of attention, because some of her mentors had a knack for yelling at their students in front of the entire class.
Hell, in the restaurant industry, people tended to treat everyone like shit— so she had basically been through a few mortifying situations that toughened her up enough to be somewhat shameless.
A downside to being toughened up by the kitchen was the potty mouth that came with the territory, though. And so, it took quite some effort for (Y/n) to keep herself from slipping a few casual ‘fuck’s, ‘damn’s, ‘shit’s, and a few other choice words into regular conversation, like she was adding salt to a bland dish.
“(Y/n)!” Her second-oldest brothers— twins— chorused as she entered the expansive events hall.
“Hello, motherfuckers,” (Y/n) greeted with a grin, which made a few heads turn to look at her, because of her language. Frankly, she couldn’t care less. She then hugged her brothers tightly and kissed their cheeks. “I haven’t seen you two in forever. How’s life in sunny Australia?”
“Really hot,” Yoshio, the older one of the twins, answered— fanning himself with his hand to emphasize his point.
“Lots of kangaroos,” Ren, the younger one of the two, piped up with a laugh. “Some even find their way on campus.”
“And you didn’t bring one for me? What kind of brothers are you?” (Y/n) asked with a chortle, before making eye contact with Yoshio. He hadn’t been trying to be discreet with his perusal of the faint scars that littered the backs of her hands.
With a brief shake of his head at his twin, Ren vocalized his thoughts, “It’s part of her job, bro. And haven’t you gotten used to seeing them on her already?”
Yoshio didn’t even have time to answer, because he was suddenly tackled in a hug from behind. The same happened to Ren, and (Y/n) just about laughed, only to be cut off when a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her in a bear hug.
“Akio-nii!” (Y/n) managed to breathe past her lips, and her older brother set her down once more. She whirled around to face him, and was about to hit his chest with the back of her hand, when he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head.
Out of all her siblings, she had to admit that she had always been the closest to Akio. They were the closest in age, but that played very little with their closeness. When their mother died a few years after Miko was born, Akio was the one who had doted on her. It was as if herself and her siblings had become self-sufficient once the matriarch of the house was gone.
The twins took care of Miko and Chiasa— which explained why the girls were clinging on to each of their brothers tightly. And while Akio took care of her, their eldest sibling— Masaru— served as their father figure, as their actual father was almost always away on business.
In line of birth order, it was Masaru, Akio, Yoshio and Ren, then her, which was followed by Chiasa, and last came Miko.
People were starting to stare at their sizeable group, but they paid the prying gazes no mind as they all caught up with each other’s lives.
“Where’s your boyfriend, (Y/n)-nee?” Chiasa asked aloud. Her curiosity wasn’t even veiled with any sort of pleasantry. It was plain as day that her younger sister wanted to meet this nonexistent boyfriend that Miko had been talking about.
“Boyfriend? There’s no such person?” (Y/n) answered with a glare at Miko. Her sister frantically shook her head and raised her hands up in mock surrender.
“It wasn’t me. It was Ren-nii that told me about it.” Miko replied in her defense.
All five pairs of eyes swiveled over to the man in question, who only balked before shaking his head. “It was otō-san. He told me you had a boyfriend.”
“But he left a message telling me that it was Miko who told him.” (Y/n) quirked her eyebrows at her sister, and then added, “Miko, tell the truth.”
“It really wasn’t me. I swear!” The youngest (L/n) pleaded earnestly, which made (Y/n) sigh and shake her head in mild irritation.
“(Y/n), there you are.” Masaru’s familiar voice rang out over the din of voices inside the ballroom. And all six of his siblings turned to look at him, as he crossed the room with an envelope in his hand. “Dad wants you to deliver the speech. Just read this. Come on, the program’s already starting.”
Her eldest brother didn’t give her much of a choice after that, as he took her by the wrist and dragged her over to where a stage was set up. She couldn’t even look over her shoulder to see their other siblings’ expressions, since she was too busy trying not to do a face plant on the floor.
It didn’t take long for her and Masaru to reach the side of the stage, where a lady in a pantsuit was waiting rather impatiently. She looked a bit frazzled already, so she didn’t want to add anymore to her stress. She knew what being under so much stress felt like, and she wasn’t going to be the reason why someone had a breakdown.
“I just need to read this, right?” (Y/n) snatched the envelope out of her brother’s hand.
“Yeah,” Masaru answered with a slight smile. He then wrapped his arms around his sister and pressed a kiss to the top of her head; which was an easy feat considering how tall he was. “Dad would do it, but he’s running a bit late. He said that he wants you to do it.”
That just sounded off to (Y/n), but she remained quiet. Now wasn’t the time for protests about taking over the company, or anything like that. If that wasn’t heavy implication coming from her father, then she didn’t know what was.
And with that, the lady with them explained her cues, before practically pushing her up the side stairs of the stage. She listened attentively to the host as he went on about useless drivel concerning the party, and then some of her background information, before finally introducing her to the crowd.
Gingerly, she made her way to the podium that was set up to the right side of the stage, and smiled at the crowd. She couldn’t exactly pick out who to smile at, since the spotlight practically blinded her, but she didn’t dwell on that fact as she opened the envelope and read through the speech that was written inside.
“What the fuck is this?” She whispered to herself, as she quickly skimmed through the contents of the speech. It sounded so impersonal and generic, even to her.
So, with a suppressed sigh of irritation, she folded the speech up and set it down on the podium. She reckoned that anything that came from her mouth would sound more sincere and personal than the drivel that was written in that letter.
“Good evening, everyone. It’s nice to see all of you celebrating with my family and I tonight,” (Y/n) began hesitantly, but eventually gathered up the courage to push through with her sudden change of plans. She just had to remember not to curse, and she would be good. “As all of you may know, Nanafumi was my parents’ dream fifty years ago. It used to be called Mochifumi, as my mother loved mochi very much. But it was changed around nineteen years ago, after my youngest sister was born. That made seven of us, hence Nana in the name, and Fumi— as in Fumiko, our mother.”
From the corner of her eye, (Y/n) saw her father enter through a side entrance by the stage. He even had the gall to grin and offer her two thumbs up, which made her chuckle and shake her head. Her old man had always been a sly one.
He had planned this; down to the shitty, pre-written speech.
***
To say that that speech had taken a lot out of (Y/n) would be the understatement of the century. She felt as if most of her energy was sapped the moment she got off that goddamned stage. And one measly glass of champagne wasn’t going to cut it; which was why she was already on her third one when he came up to her.
“That speech was quite something,” Sanemi hadn’t meant for his words to come out as mocking, but they had, and he already wanted to slap himself. Initially, he was surprised to find out that the lady that he had been so hard-up for at that restaurant was his boss’ boss’ boss’ daughter; but he had gotten over that initial shock and had carefully crafted a plan to get her to go home with him.
Or maybe even make out with him in a supply closet somewhere. Anything to get her to think about him enough to make her interested.
“Thank you, but… do I know you?”
Sanemi had to admit that the comment stung, but he wasn’t going to let that deter him from getting the (h/c) haired woman where he wanted her; preferably in his bed.
#shinazugawa sanemi x reader#sanemi shinazugawa x reader#sanemi x reader#shinazugawa sanemi#sanemi shinazugawa#demon slayer fanfic#demon slayer x reader#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#kny x reader#jen writes
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Creep- FFVII Biggs X Reader Chapter 10/?
summary: you get on the bad side of one of Don Corneo’s men and now you have a target on your back.
Warnings: sexual harassment
A/N: Sorry this chapter is late! hopefully that extra chapter made up for it though. on a side note - I feel so gross writing this level of fluff
Staying at Jessie's was surprisingly less stressful than you thought. Since she had to finish the bomb for tomorrow's mission, she was much more no-nonsense then usual. It was a weird side of her to see, her only making jokes and teasing half as often as usual, and even then, she didn't carry anything on. It was both nice, since you and Biggs have been her main targets recently, and a little unsettling. Maybe something was wrong with her?
As soon as you had got to her house, (and after she flirted with the mercenary) she heated up a quick little meal for the both of you, though you insisted you weren't that hungry as her mother had just done the same. She didn't listen, and you couldn't complain; it was really good. She definitely got that skill from her mother.
After that, she got her room ready for the two of you to sleep in. Once Biggs found out that the two of you would share her bed instead of one of her roommates' beds, he tried to argue his way onto the couch. He didn't think it was right to take her bed, and it just made more sense for you and her to share it instead of you and him. You knew from the previous night not to argue about it, though you did feel guilty taking her bed too. Jessie stayed firm. "Because you're my guests!" She said, but you could see that devious little smirk on her face.
She made sure to acquaint you with her room, bathroom, and kitchen, since she would need to concentrate that night and didn't want to be disturbed with an onslaught of questions. With that, she permitted you to use anything of hers you needed. Then, she gave you both a pair of clean clothes to wear to bed (Biggs recieved an ex's old clothes) and she would later wash your dirty clothes for tomorrow's mission.
After all that was done, and in lightning speed since she had work to do, she sat down at her kitchen table, readying supplies to finish the bomb. Biggs observed this, watching her carefully until she noticed his not-too-subtle gaze.
"I'm going to finish making this bad-boy, and then I'm going to bed," she started, "You two should get some sleep, too. You've got an early morning ahead of you."
"That's a good idea," you replied, turning on your heels to get ready for bed. Biggs, on the other hand, kept his eyes glued her hands as they fiddled with the wiring.
"Do you need any help?" He asked her, and she stared at him a moment before giving him a quizzical look.
"I appreciate the offer, but... do you actually know anything about bomb making?"
"Well... no," he said. You couldn't help but notice how strange he was acting.
"Biggs," you said, and he finally turned to you. His eyes were filled to the brim with worry, about tomorrow's mission no doubt. His overthinking was no secret to anyone, though he only ever showed it when it got really bad. Now was one of those times. You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease some of his nervous tension, "We should probably get some sleep. If we want to do our best on the mission tomorrow, we need to get some rest."
"Yeah, Y/N's right. I think I can handle this alone, but thanks for the offer."
He stared into your eyes, and then looked back at Jessie, before nodding silently. You held onto his arm as the two of you entered Jessie's room, closing the door behind you.
"You're worried about tomorrow, aren't you?" You asked. He stayed silent for a moment, taking a seat on the bed and taking a deep breath. You followed him to the bed.
"Y/N, do you believe in omens?" He asked. You were taken aback by the question.
"Well... I don't know," you sat down beside him, "I'm guessing you do?"
"I don't know," he said, and you laughed softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was still so tense.
"Then you shouldn't have to worry."
"Just... so many things have gone wrong recently, I can't help but feel like it's a sign for something worse to come. I don't want anything to happen on tomorrow's mission."
"There's only so much in our control. We can try our best to prepare but we can't change the inevitable," you brought your hand down onto one of his own, squeezing slightly, "but I guess that won't stop you from trying, right?"
"It hasn't before," he said, eyes glancing down at you hand over his own. And he was silent for a moment more, no doubt battling the thoughts in his head, "It'll probably be fine. I did plan it, after all."
"Humble," you laughed, then there was a pause. Both of you needed to get some sleep, but both of you smelled pretty bad, too. The two of you had worked up a real sweat on Jessie's mission, "I know what'll make you feel better: a hot shower. Besides, you need one. You smell like ass."
"You don't smell too hot yourself," he replied, and finally there was a smile on his face.
"I know, I'll get one after you."
So Biggs took his shower, which did help him feel better, and then you took one next. Jessie's bathroom was surprisingly nice for a bathroom in the slums. She had a lot of expensive products, gifts from her mother, apparently. And she said you could use any of them you wanted, you smiled, she may regret that later.
In the end, though, you felt too guilty to abuse the privilege, only using what was necessary. Her shampoo and conditioner quickly became your favorite. They were salon brand, and after the shower you could really tell the difference. Too bad they were so expensive, or else you'd buy your own bottles. After that, you put on a set of clothes Jessie let you borrow and then blow dried you hair.
Then, you picked up one of the new, sealed toothbrushes Jessie had picked up for you and Biggs before the mission. After opening the package, you wet the brush under the sink. Picking up the toothpaste, you squeezed some onto the brush. There was a knock on the door.
"What do you need?" You asked.
"It's Jessie. I've got to take off my makeup."
You opened the door, stepping back so that she could have access to the sink while you brushed your teeth.
"Have fun on the mission tonight?" She asked, taking out her makeup remover and cotton pads from behind the mirror.
"Yeah, almost dying was a real blast," you said dryly.
"C'mon you didn't almost die," she shot a look back at you.
"Yes I did."
"When?"
"When I was thrown off the bike,"
"Oh... yeah, sorry about that," she wet the cotton pad and then placed it over her eye, "how's your hip?"
"It still hurts," you mumbled, mouth filled with foam. There was a beat of silence.
"Thanks for going with me," she said, another beat of silence, "I didn't want a repeat of the last mission... I don't want any more blood on my hands."
You moved to the sink to spit the froth out of your mouth.
"We share that blood, Jessie."
"But I made the bomb," she said, trying to say it as monotone as she could, as if it weren't hurting her, but you could tell it was.
"You didn't know the explosion was gonna be that big. You didn't want all of our work to go to waste."
She didn't say anything, instead taking out another cotton pad, wetting it with the makeup remover, and working to massage the eyeshadow away.
"Jessie,"
"Let's talk about something less depressing," she said, "so, you and Biggs?"
She plastered on a mischievous smile, but even her pro-acting skills couldn't hide that it was fake.
"This is eating away at you, isn't it?" You asked, she took the cotton pad off of her eye and threw it away.
"Is it not eating away at you?"
"Well..." you thought about it a moment, "I've been blocking it out for a little while now."
"I've tried that... it hasn't worked."
You wrapped your arms around her from behind, and for few moments, she just stared at the scene in the mirror. Then her hand grasped around your forearm, which was around her shoulders.
"Gosh, Y/N, when did you become such a sap?" She said, halfway grinning through her words. You laughed, "You've been hanging around Tifa too much, she's rubbing off on you."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No, no it's not."
You let go of her, but stayed in the bathroom to keep her company. After putting up her makeup remover, she pulled out a few more skincare products from her behind her mirror.
"I know I tease you a lot, but I want you to know that I really care about you, Y/N." She said, completely unprompted.
"I know, Jessie. I care about you too."
"Sap."
—————————————————————
As you entered Jessie's room, you noticed Biggs was fooling with the alarm clock on the bedside table, trying to set it to 6:00 am. Oh, how fun it was gonna be to wake up that early.
You slid into bed as he did that, waiting for him to turn off his light. You couldn't help but be reminded of last night, and though you enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, you did NOT want to seem to eager. So you kept your distance, and soon the light turned off and Biggs got comfortable on his side of the bed too.
You stared up at the ceiling for a while, your mind replaying all that had happened recently.
The past two days had been the most chaotic days you've ever lived. From the mission to the creep and his friends, the debacle with roche, and breaking into the Shinra warehouse, you've aged 10 years in a measly 48 hours.
That guy... the man you could only call "creep" or "pervert." You didn't know anything about him, but he knew your name and where you lived. He could be outside the house right now, getting ready to break in. You didn't want to think about it, so you pushed to to the corner of your mind. Besides, you had two of your best friends with you and they swore to protect you. You just hoped you could protect them, too.
The last 48 hours left you exhausted, and even though chaos and fear spread through every aspect of your life, creeping into every corner and crevice of your mind, you fell into a deep sleep as soon as you closed your eyes.
They were surrounding you, all of your harrasser's men, smiling and circling in on their prey. Then came the onslaught of profanities, obscenities more like, hurled at you. Just like this morning. Except this time, you were all alone.
But your friends promised they wouldn't leave your side. They promised, and yet they weren't here. You stood there, like a poor, defenseless sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves. The darkness only made it worse, as you couldn't make out the faces of your harassers, only their shadows. You were all alone.
You tried to scream for help, to call out the names of your friends, but it fell on deaf ears.
"Hey sweet cheeks, miss me?" A low, husky voice whispered into your ear. You jumped, turning around quick. He chuckled at your response. It was him, the creep from the train, "I thought you said you weren't scared of me?"
"I'm not," you said, though not convincing. He only laughed louder, taking a few methodical steps towards you. What has he doing? You took a few steps back to keep distance.
Then he rushed forward, grabbing your arms. You desperately tried to escape his strong grip, but failed.
"Don't touch me!" You screamed, still struggling in his grasp. Tears were falling down your cheeks now, so much for not showing fear. He let out another obnoxious laugh when he saw them.
"Wake up," he said, a large grin on his face. You furrowed your brows, still trying to tear away from him. What the hell did he just say?
"Don't touch me!" You screamed again, louder this time.
"Wake up," he repeated, and you still didn't understand what he meant. You managed to pry away one arm from his grasp.
"No! Get away from me!"
"Y/N, Wake up!" It wasn't the creep's voice this time. Your eyes shot open, and immediately sat up, breathing heavily. A hand fell on your arm and you jumped, quickly pulling away. Still surrounded by darkness, couldn't tell where you were, "Hey, it's ok, it's me."
You turned to the voice, eyes finally adjusting enough to where you could see a face in the darkness. It was Biggs. He reached out to touch you again, this time slowly as he watched for your reaction.
"It was just a dream, you're safe," He said, and once you finally realized that it was in fact a dream, and you were safe, you couldn't help the tears welling up in your eyes, "Come here."
Your cried into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his body as you make sure he didn't disappear, that you weren't alone again. He held just as tight, his hand rubbing up and down your back as he whispered comforting words.
The door opened and the light to the room turned on. And then there was another pair of arms wrapped around you. Breath quickening again, you stiffened up in this person's grasp.
"It's just me, Y/N, it's Jessie," she whispered into your hair. You relaxed a bit once you realized it was just her.
"I-I can't live like this any more. It's gonna drive me crazy!" You admitted between sobs, "I've got to do something. I've got to end it."
"I'll kill him. I swear I'll kill him." Jessie said, and by the tone of her voice, she meant every word.
And you were so grateful to have your friends in that moment. They weren't going to ever leave you alone. You would never have to deal with that creep, or anything else for that matter, on your own. They had your back.
The three of you stayed that way for a while, Biggs rubbing circles into your back and Jessie brushing her fingers through your hair. They've never seen you so vulnerable before, almost no one has. And yet, even though your instincts told you to be ashamed, to be embarrassed even, you weren't. You trusted them, and that's what mattered.
Jessie and Biggs shared a look with each other over your shoulder, a look of fear, pain, but mostly rage at the man who made you like this. And though Biggs never said any words, his gaze told Jessie exactly what he was thinking. 'I'll kill him, too.'
Eventually, once you had calmed down enough and were no longer crying, Jessie took another glance at Biggs, he nodded to her. She slowly moved away from you, giving one more squeeze to your arm before heading back to her living room.
There was another moment's pause between you and him. Your face was still in his chest, as you weren't ready to leave his comfort just yet. He wasn't rushing you, though, his arms were still wrapped around you.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.
"Not really."
"It might help."
You took a deep breath before moving away from his chest and looking him in the eyes. You were sure your own were still red and puffy.
"You already know what it's about."
"Humor me," he said, laying his back against the headboard. You moved to do the same, bringing your knees up to your chest.
"It was like what happened this morning, except it was dark and," you stopped, letting out a shaky breath. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, "and I was all alone. It was just me and all those men, circling me like I was their prey.... I hate to think what's gonna happen if they catch me. I mean, killing me is one thing, but.... I think he wants to do worse."
Biggs' grip around your body grew even tighter, his jaw clenching at the mere thought. If that man did lay a finger on you, he'd kill him. No hesitation and no remorse.
"That's not ever gonna happen, and you're not alone. I'm not gonna leave your side until this is over, and I don't think Jessie, Tifa, Wedge, or Barrett will either," his hand rubbed up and down your arm reassuringly, "Not to mention all the guys in the neighborhood watch. They'd escort you everywhere if they found out about this, and knowing Barrett, they probably will. There's a lot of people that little pervert would have to kill in order to get to you."
"That's what I'm afraid of," you said, almost so quiet he couldn't hear it, "What if they hurt someone I care about? I couldn't live with it. All because I couldn't control myself on that train."
"That's not going to happen. Everything's going to be fine, I promise," he said, moving down to rest his head on the pillow again.
"I'm holding you to that," you said. He laughed, that familiar sound making your heart skip a beat. You slid down into bed, too, pulling the covers up to your chest.
"We should probably get some more sleep," he said, "Think you can after that?"
"I don't know..." you admitted.
"Come here." And just like last night, he welcomed you into his arms.
Your mind was still racing, but the gentle rhythm of Biggs' breath along with the patterns he drew on your back calmed your nervous system. He always made you feel less scared, less alone. And the promise he just made, you knew he would keep.
The nightmare had left you more exhausted than before you went to sleep, and soon your eyelids started to droop. You let them closed, and just before you surrendered to sleep, there was a kiss placed on the top of your head. You froze at the contact, and underneath, you felt him freeze too.
"I'm sorry, I hope I didn't cross a boundary just then," he whispered. You took a breath, finally relaxing back into his hold
"It's ok... It was sweet," you admitted. And after that, the both of you fell back into the same pattern. You fell asleep, and soon after, he did too.
—————————————————————
The alarm blared through Jessie's small room. Biggs gave the device a big smack over the top and fought his instinct to stay in bed. You were rousing too, but just barely. And you were too out of it to realize what situation you were currently in. All you knew was the the alarm was loud but the surface below you was warm, too warm to get up from.
Biggs looked down at your form, so peaceful he didn't want to wake you. But he had to. The mission was the most important thing right now, though whether he would ever get to hold you like that again was a close second.
There was a hand on your back, softly shaking and trying to rouse you. But you wouldn't get up, no, because you were so tired, and the surface below you was so warm.
"Wake up," a voice said, but your brain was functioning so slow; you hadn't registered the owner of the voice yet.
"No," you moaned, curling up further into the warm object. And then you recognized the voice, it was Biggs' voice. And the warmth was him too. And you just curled up into it.
You shot up, face going red when you realized what you had done. Your wide eyes met with his, just for a moment, before you turned away out of embarrassment. He let out a warm chuckle.
"I'm sorry, I-" you laughed nervously, "wow, this is so embarrassing..."
"Hey, don't sweat it," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing, before getting up and heading towards the door, "besides, it was cute."
A small smile found its way on your lips; he called you cute.
And as he left the room to go get ready, he couldn't help but replay that moment in his head. Every time, his stomach fluttered.
Biggs handed you your clothes from the dryer and the two of you got ready in tandem. He changed in her room while you changed int he bathroom. Then he joined you in the cramped bathroom as both of you made yourselves presentable to leave the house. All the while, you kept quiet as not to disturb Jessie. She still had a while before she was needed for the mission.
What you didn't expect was to see her sitting at her kitchen table drinking a large mug of coffee. Her hair and makeup had already been done as well, giving her a very awake and alert look. It was just 6:30, why was she up this early?
"Hey guys!" She said, and you and Biggs stared at her a second longer, "I wanted to wish you two off. Y'know, incase I never see you again."
"Jessie!" The both of you said, accidentally in unison.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," she laughed.
"You better be!" Biggs said, placing an arm on his hip.
"I did want to say goodbye though, and good luck. You're leaving pretty soon, right?"
"Yeah, we're just about to."
"Then get over here quick!" She said. The two of you approached her, and she went to Biggs first, hugging him around the neck. He slowly patted the girl's back in surprise. And then she turned to you, pulling you into an even longer hug than Biggs'.
"You two better make it back," she whispered in your ear before pulling away.
"That's the plan," you replied.
And after another quick goodbye, the two of you left for the sector 5 plate.
#biggs#biggs x reader#ffvii remake#final fantasy#ffvii#barrett wallace#ff7 biggs#ff7 wedge#ffvii tifa#jessie rasberry#cloud strife
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In Plain Sight, Chapter 3
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Obiyuki AU Bingo
Any AU of Your Choice (Witness Protection AU)
The thing about lying is: Shirayuki is terrible at it.
“So, Claire.” There’s no way her neighbor can know it’s a fake name, there’s no way she can be stressing it, not this perfect-picture Texan housewife who probably hasn’t thought about Witness Protection since the last time she watched Witness. “What is it you do?”
Shirayuki stares dumbly, mouth dry. She has a-- a brief or whatever, sitting somewhere in her luggage since it seemed silly to just whip it out during the flight, letting everyone seated in row eight see her new identity, but she--
She has no idea who she is. Who Claire Roos is.
“Um,” she manages, scuffing the edge of her sandal on the curb. “I, ah--”
Don’t have a job yet seems like a terrible way to start a conversation, especially right in front of a dream house that is too big for one single academic and definitely cost quite a bit of cash, so thankfully she’s saved the indignity by the unmarked white van that skids straight up to where they stand.
Oh, good. Now would actually be a great time to be kidnapped. Anything to save her from this.
“Excuse me, young man,” Mrs Kino calls out stridently as a man twice the size of them struts out of the driver’s side, her mouth pulled into a disapproving frown. “This is a neighborhood with children!”
Shirayuki stares at her. So does her kidnapper, popping one of his earbuds out. “Come again?”
If anything, this only makes Mrs Kino’s countenance more forbidding. “We have children here, sir.” When he continues to stare blankly, she clarifies, impatient, “Please drive with more care!”
“Oh.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Roos?”
His gaze swings between them in question, but his slouched posture gave the impression he wasn’t all too concerned with the answer.
“Not me,” Mrs Kino says, sending her an expectant look, and--
Oh. Roos. That’s her. She’s Roos.
“That’s me. Roos!” she blurts out smoothly. “Claire Roos.”
“Okay. Great.” He slides open the side of the van, and she braces herself--
For him to drop a half dozen boxes at her feet. White boxes, with the word WALMART emblazoned on the side.
“What?” she murmurs, toes shying back. “I didn’t--”
“Have a nice day,” he says, slamming the door. “Make sure you give the delivery five stars, okay?”
“O-okay.” She stares down at the siege of low-quality home goods around her. “But I really didn’t--”
He’s already got his earbud back in, strutting around to the driver’s side and-- and she’s stuck with whatever is in these boxes. Probably pin-up girl shower curtains and whatever the doormat version of The Kiss poster is, if her handler had a hand in this.
She glances up at her house, dread squeezing her chest. He might have decorated the whole place. He might have even picked this house out for her. There might even be a galley kitchen in there.
“Well now, looks like you planned ahead!” Mrs Kino remarked, surveying her sea of boxes. “Wouldn’t have even thought to get a delivery on moving day.”
“Oh, I didn’t--” she bites down on the words-- “even remember it was coming.”
“Ain’t that just the way.” Mrs Kino shakes her head, giving a wry laugh. “Moving just gets everyone all turned around, doesn’t it? Anyway, you best get those inside. Don’t want anything to go bad right out here on the lawn, do we?”
Shirayuki just stares, wondering how cheap home goods could expire any more than they already have. “Ah...right. Of course.”
“You need help carrying these up?” her neighbor nods at the winding steps up to the door. “Might save you a trip.”
Oh gosh, the stairs. They’re nothing now, just a lovely little accent built into her yard’s natural hill, but in the winter, she’ll have to--
Her whole body jerks to a stop. She’s not in New England anymore, she’s in-- in Texas. The South. She won’t have to shovel them.
“Claire?”
She wipes the grin from her face. “Um, yes! If you don’t mind.”
Mrs Kino smiles up at her brightly. “Why, not at all. It’s the neighborly thing to do! Around here, we’re all as close as family.”
“Oh.” Her lips pulls tight against her teeth. “Just perfect.”
“That looks like all of it,” Mrs Kino pants, dropping the last box up at the door.
It takes every last ounce of willpower for Shirayuki to not just collapse on the stairs. She knew it would be warmer here-- after all, going south mean getting closer to the equator, and the equator means hot, so it made sense that the further south she went the more heat there would be, but--
Garack once had to do a timed experiment for four hours in the warm room, and sometime around hour two, when Shirayuki thought that if she dared to move she would collapse like melted ice cream held together by the magic shell of her skin, Garack announced that this was as miserable as Satan’s asscrack, and well--
This place is worse than that. By at least an order of magnitude.
Mrs Kino casts a pointed look to where she clenches the wrought-iron rail and asks, “You sure you don’t want help bringing them in?”
“Oh, no!” Shirayuki waves her hands, keys jingling against her palm. Even the sound is strange, like how room keys jangle when on vacation, hollow and far too few. “The house, it’s really--”
She doesn’t know what it’s really, because she’s never seen a single piece of it. Which is part of the problem, since presumably people look at the houses they’re going to buy, even if they’re clear across the country.
“Messy,” she settles on. That’s safe, at least. “I’ll need a few days to get it into ship-shape.”
“Oh, of course!” Kino gives her a wide smile, more earnest than she deserves. “I know just how it is. But you just holler if you need anything. Me and Harold are just a hedge away!”
“Ah, yes! Right!” She edges back toward her door, fishing for the keyhole. Holding this smile is starting to hurt. It’ll be the last thing left of her if she melts, just a pearly white set of teeth on top of a pile of vaguely Shirayuki-ish goo. “I’ll...holler.”
“Good.” Kino makes it nearly two stairs down before turning back. “Oh, I clear forgot to mention. I always have the ladies of the neighborhood by Thursday afternoon. Just a small little get-together. You’ll have to come.”
Oh no. No.
“Of course.” The reasonable part of her watches in horror as instinct takes over and her body nods. “I’d love to, Mrs Kino.”
“It’s Martha, please,” she laughs, waving her off. “I’ll have to let all the girls know you’re coming by. They’ll be pleased as punch, I can tell you.”
Shirayuki watches her walk away with a pit of dread growing in her gut. “Great. I...can’t wait.”
With a grunt, Shirayuki hauls the last box into the foyer. She’s half tempted to just crawl the last step in rather than walk. As it is, she barely stumbles over that hurdle, hauling herself up the last half foot before she collapses against the door. Its cool surface is a godsend; she slides down it with a long, loud squeak, leaving a trail of sweat behind her. She’d be horrified, if it didn’t feel so good.
The AC is blasting, and the vent hits her where she sits, cold air cooling the slick surface of her skin, turning it blissfully sticky instead.
Well, those are words she never quite thought she’d use in that order.
The sweat she’s been dripping onto the beautiful natural wood floor beneath her slows to a stop. With a sigh, she leans her head against the door, grimacing as her hair sticks to her neck. She needs a shower.
But first the boxes. Then she can think of a way to thank Mrs—Martha for her help, and next Thurday when she goes to—
Oh no. Lunch. A ladies’ lunch. What was she thinking?
She needs an adult. Ridiculously, she wonders if Agent Jiang would pick up.
No, not him. Agent Jiang-- Obi was probably the one who thought ordering home décor from Walmart was the pinnacle of adulthood. He’s the sort of man who has one kitchen towel, and it has chili peppers on it.
A sweaty palm claps to her cheek. A ladies’ lunch. Oh gosh, she’s going to have to make something.
She doesn’t even have groceries. She’ll have to-- to go out and find a store and buy them. The produce might not even be local. They might have a bad organic section. There may not even be a Whole Foods for miles. The World Food’s aisle might only have pasta in it.
Shirayuki isn’t cut out for this-- this whole moving thing. She likes knowing that the Roche Brothers on the corner buys their produce local, but that the Market Basket has the better selection of spices. Or that the Whole Foods is cheaper but the Trader Joe’s two towns over has a better freezer section. Now she doesn’t even know if there is more than one store, and she--
She breathes. In. Out. She’ll just have to live with it. One step at a time.
Step one: open up these boxes. Better to find out now what inappropriate shot glasses her handler got her to christen the kitchen.
Slipping her key between her knuckles, she slices the first box open, flipping the lid to find--
Shirayuki blinks. Tilting the box, she reads Walmart, right on the side, big star in the middle. That...can’t be right.
She peers back inside, but the contents haven’t changed: fresh produce, still leafy and green. Carrots, spinach, a couple of cheerful looking eggplants, and even a clamshell of strawberries is tucked underneath.
“Well,” she murmurs, stymied. “That’s...unexpected.”
She turns to the next box, a heavier one, and it’s packed to the top with spices. Cinnamon, coriander, garlic, oregano, basil, thyme, curry, cumin-- big bottles she would have had to buy out of the Goya section back home. And now they’re all sitting in this box from Walmart.
Settling back on her heels, Shirayuki surveys the last four boxes, just as big as the first two. One of them is cold to the touch.
She blinks. “Walmart sells groceries?”
The only answer is her echo, but that-- that’s fine, because every box she opens is packed to the gills with foodstuffs-- chicken and beef and shrimp in one; flour, sugar, a dozen other baking needs, including two bags of chocolate chips; another filled with butter and eggs and milk. By the last box, she has a fully stocked kitchen, plus or minus a few personal needs.
“Well,” she breathes, “looks like he might know his way around the kitchen after all.”
That, or he has a very helpful coworker. Either way, she has food, and a--
“Kitchen!” She peers down the hall, curious. “I need to find the kitchen.”
Hauling herself to her feet, she lifts the box of dairy and detours past the stairs, leading into--
Oh, well. That’s a surprise.
Shirayuki can admit it: Marshal Jiang has outdone himself. Or at least, whichever agent vetted this house for purchase.
The kitchen could be straight out of one of those home and garden magazines Oma liked to have laying out around the B&B: track lighting hung right over the kitchen island, granite countertops, a double oven with separate range. It’s every improvement Opa had vetoed to their own, saying it was all a pipe dream when they still had repairs to do to the bathrooms, and the roof would need to be redone in the summer--
A summer that never came. And never would, now.
Her hands tighten around the box. There’s no time to dwell, not now when she has perishables to rescue and a kitchen to organize.
Start with what you can fix, Opa would say, the content of his tool box littered around him, and forget about what you can’t.
“Right,” she murmurs, setting the box on the counter. “Dairy first.”
The entire house, once she’s showered the sweat off and is finally able to explore, is as impressive as the kitchen. The whole first floor is open concept, kitchen flowing into the living room on one side and the dining area on the other, bathroom and home office tucked down a small hallway-- and every inch of it is homey, done up on soft fabrics and warm woods, looking both lived-in and clean.
But the pièce de résistance is the master bedroom, because--
“Oh gosh.” The words are muffled through the world’s fluffiest duvet. “It’s memory foam.”
Shirayuki flips onto her back with a sigh. It’s definitely not home-- nothing could be-- but it’s something. Something she can try to make into one.
“Hot in!” someone yells, muted, and Shirayuki bolts upright, heart pounding in her chest.
“So hot in here!” they continue, a siren blaring behind the words, and she realizes-- it’s her phone. Her phone is...singing to her.
She frowns, reaching across the bed to snatch it up from the nightstand. There’s no picture on the caller ID, just the words Sugar Daddy.
She definitely does not know anyone named that.
“Hello?” she squeaks, dragging herself further onto the bed. “Who is this?”
“It’s me,” says the man on the other end, and the quick jolt in her belly identifies him better than a name could: Marshal Jiang. Obi.
Anxious butterflies beat against her rib cage. He must have some-- some reason for calling. Official reasons. Marshals don’t call their charges just to chat.
Probably. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He sounds amused through the speaker; she can almost imagine the smug grin he has on his face. “I just wanted to check in. Make sure you’ve settled in all right. Hear any complaints.”
“Oh, right.” She rolls upright; they might be on the phone, but lounging on a bed while talking to Obi seems...weird. “I’m...good?”
He hums, amused. “No trouble?”
Besides him abandoning her to her fate on her front lawn, and her inability to lie for more than three minutes at a time?
“Well, I don’t think I said anything strange in front of my neighbor,” she says instead, stomach clenching as she rifles through her memory. “She invited me to meet the other neighbors at lunch, or, um, tea? Something like that. I’ll have to make something, I think.”
“Oh,” he murmurs. “That’s something.”
“It’s the neighborly thing to do,” she informs him. “I think I might go with cookies. That’s simple, and everyone likes cookies.”
“I know I do,” he agrees, and she has no idea why it sounds like he’s on the verge of a laugh. “But I mean: no signs of Umihebi or her people? No one lingering outside your house? No unmarked vans? You feel safe?”
“Oh!” Right, because that’s what he’s worried about: her getting shot. Or kidnapped. Or whatever it is that mob bosses do to girls like her. “Yes. I mean, no. No one hanging around. Though the Walmart van was unmarked, but-- groceries.” She lets out a laugh. “Did you know they deliver groceries?”
He’s definitely smothering a laugh. “I sure did, miss.”
Right, because he’s probably the one that ordered it. Or had a PA order it, or whatever. “I didn’t realize they had, um, food.”
“Yeah,” he hums. “It’s popular around here.”
She goggles. “For groceries?”
“Sure is.” There’s a pause, and she can just feel his shrug, even if she can’t see it. “There’s Kroger’s too, and I think a Stop and Shop a few towns over, if you look real hard, and a Wegman’s that just opened in the strip mall--”
“Do you live here?” She cringes. She could really do to sound less interested. “I mean, close by? Nearby?”
“Close enough.”
She raises a brow. That was more than a little cagey. “Close enough to know all the grocery stores.”
“Close enough for you to tell my boss I’m a very helpful handler when review time comes around.” He lets out an amused huff. “I can tell you who has the best pizza too.”
“Oh, um.” She’s half-tempted to ask, but that seems-- personal. He might like that greasy Mediterranean style, and she just-- she doesn’t need to know that about him. “Well, you can give my compliments to the person who decorated the house. It’s lovely.”
“O-oh?” He’s suddenly removed, almost shy. “You think so?”
She runs a hand along the duvet, floral and yet somehow not grandmother-y. “Very. She did a great job.”
“Right. Yes. She did.” He hesitates, clearing his throat. “Anything in particular you like? For, uh, feedback reasons. She loves to hear specifics.”
“Well, the kitchen is--” Shirayuki sighs, content-- “heaven.”
“The kitchen is the heart of the home.” He coughs. “I mean, that’s what she says. A lot.”
Shirayuki smiles. “Well, she’s right.”
“Mm,” he hums, absent. “And the couch is okay?”
“It’s the perfect softness,” she enthuses. “I don’t disappear into it, but it still hugs you, you know?”
“Good, great.” His fingers drum in the background. “That’s the hardest part.”
“Oh?”
“I mean--” he hesitates, so long she can hear him breathe-- “so she says.”
“It’s perfect.” Shirayuki settles back onto the pillows-- there’s a thousand of them, just like she likes, all different sizes and shapes, a veritable army of throw pillows like any self-respecting bedroom should have. “And I haven’t slept on it, but the bed--”
Shirayuki stops herself. He isn’t-- Obi probably isn’t the best person to be talking about beds to, not when her lips still tingle from touching his. That’s not...safe.
“It’s fine,” she finishes lamely. “Is there anything else she’d like me to compliment? I’d be happy to get her into heaven, if she wanted.”
“I think she’d be happier with a raise.”
She cocks her head, pressing the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Something to mention around review time?”
He sniffs. “Only as an addendum to how handled you feel under me.”
He doesn’t mean it as-- as anything, just trying to be funny, but something sweeps through her, not heat but-- but something like a shiver, like the tingle of a limb waking up, and she’s not sure if she likes it.
“Well,” she manages, mouth utterly dry, “I don’t know how they’ll feel about the nickname Sugar Daddy...”
“Ah, well.” He at least has the grace to sound contrite, even if it’s in no way sincere. “You’re welcome to change it. You’ll be paying for all this yourself anyway, soon.”
It’s good they’re on the phone; he can’t see her grimace. All this on what will probably be an adjunct’s salary. She feels faint just thinking about it.
“Which reminds me,” he continues, “I’ll send over your new resume tomorrow. You’ll probably want that when you apply for jobs.”
Shirayuki bites back a groan. It’s a herculean effort not to ask why the government could pay for all this upfront, but somehow not arrange for a tenured position. Or at least an interview. “Great.”
“Is there anything else you need?” he asks. “I’m here to serve.”
“Aren’t you here to handle?” The words just fall out of her before she can stop herself. “I mean, ah...”
This is terrible, how much she wants to impress him. Shirayuki’s known him for less than twelve hours, and her palms are sweaty just talking to him. Every time his voice drops, she thinks about how he laughed as her mouth chased his, how he’d said I’ve missed you too--
Ugh, if this is what middle school was like for everyone else, they can have it back. This is torture.
“Handling you is already the most fun I’ve had in years,” he remarks, so casual, like he doesn’t even know how that’s going to make her heart misbehave in her chest. “But nothing else.?”
She doesn’t want to end on this, on her just blurting out an innuendo and letting him think she means things, so she grabs at the first thing she can think of. “Can I change the landscaping?”
“Wha--?” he replies, eloquent.
“It’s just…” She clears her throat. “Lawns consume a lot of water, and just are for show. If I put in a garden, or natural grasses, I could—“
“Sure,” he chokes out. He’s laughing. “I think you can do whatever you want.”
“Great.” Now he thinks she’s--weird. That’s fine. That’s...probably accurate. “Good. So, um, good night?”
“Yeah.” It’s quiet when he says it, a little more than a breath. “Good night.”
Shirayuki thumbs the End Call button, watching as Sugar Daddy flashes before disappearing from the screen. That went...well. As well as could be expected, considering how all she can think about is his hand threading through her hair and his hand at her back and--
Things. Professional things. Professional things she can totally handle. Because she is not thinking about how her handler could definitely handle her, and--
She takes another breath. In. Out. It’s fine. She may be experiencing this whole-- attraction, but it will pass. Hopefully. And if it doesn’t, well... she only has to deal with this for the rest of her life.
Shirayuki drops the phone like it burns, claps her hands over her face, and screams.
#obiyukibingo2020#obiyuki#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#witness protection au#my fic#ans#this whole fic is just shirayuki being an awkward turtle in every situation#i'm sure she'll find her footing#at some point#but it won't be any time soon#and obi just thinks it's adorable#and also a problem#his own personal problem
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Blood of the Lilies 2/?
AO3 Link
Character(s): Vernon Roche, Ves
Pairing: Roche/Ves
Words: 3,619
A/N: Since this delves a little deeper into references of Witcher 2, I'll mention that this story takes place with the setting of Geralt choosing Roche's path and with both of them becoming close friends.
I've also taken liberties of my own about Roche's past, and the history of the Blue Stripes, which will be obvious in the beginning and end of this chapter.
_____________
He was atop one of the many dormer windows of the Royal Palace, staring out into the night, watching the flickering lights of the Vizima spread out beneath him, and even further than that watching Lake Vizima shimmering in the moonlight like a sheet of silver. Sounds of particularly loud music and laughter would drift up to his ears whenever the wind turned, and even occasionally the smell of food being roasted over open spits in the streets.
Before…so shortly ago it could not even be considered a distant memory, he would have been lurking in the corners of alleys, starving and staring at the merchants with hungry, resentful eyes and thinking of a hundred different ways to try and snatch a piece without receiving a blow to the head from the butcher. And now he was sitting on the roof of the Royal Palace itself, nursing a goblet of Toussaint Red in his hands, spending his very first Velen stuffed with more food and drink than he had ever seen in one place in his entire life.
It still felt strange. The change. How differently a Blue Stripes uniform fit over him than his usual street clothes, or his plain infantry uniform, or even his richer garb of being an aide of the king, and yet this one felt like it belonged on him. It shrouded him like a well-worn cloak, and kept the chill wind of autumn off of him.
He looked down at the goblet he cupped in both hands. The red wine inside seemed black in the night. More expensive than a week’s worth of savings back in the slums.
He took a sip. It tasted of change. Of new chances. The night wind had pleasantly cooled it, but it left a trail of warmth inside of him when he swallowed.
“Ah, seems some damn fool left this open,” came the familiar voice of Percival. The Commander of the Blue Stripes.
He froze, completely and utterly, hardly even daring to breathe. He, of course, had left that open, in order to climb onto the roof of the window he was on in the first place, and if his commander closed and locked the window he would be left stranded up here—
“Do you want to find another place?” asked another man’s voice. Mather. One of the captains of the Blue Stripes.
He only barely stopped himself from groaning out loud. Great, he was in the shit now.
“No, no, not at all. I’d rather sober up with some fresh air anyway,” Commander Percival replied, and Vernon released his breath in a very soft, slow exhale.
They were just below him, barely a few feet away, and he drew his legs up to his chest, supporting himself on the roof carefully. They could not see him anyway unless they stuck their heads out and looked onto the roof, but it made him feel safer. He looked around, wondering if he could safely creep away to find some other fortuitously-open window to sneak back into. Eavesdropping on both of his superiors, however accidental, did not sit well with him at the moment, and knowing him it would be just his luck that something would happen to give his position away—
“So, what do you think of Roche? He’s been doing well so far, hasn’t he?”
Every thought of leaving abruptly fled his mind. Again he held his breath, knuckles gripping the goblet so hard that his fingers went numb.
“You’re impressed,” Mather replied, his words careful as ever. “I’d say that’s praise-worthy alone.”
“Speak for yourself. Hell, you like him, and you don’t like anyone.”
“I…respect his drive. He’s incredibly focused.”
A snort. Though the sound of it made it seem like he was doing it while drinking from a mug at the same time. “You’d call a dragon a lizard. Have you looked at the task board recently?”
“Yes. His list is up there, as usual.”
“And just his list. Not requests, requisitions, overdue tasks that have been up there for weeks— ever since I put him up as ensign and told him that that was his one and only duty as a junior officer, it’s been cleared. He cleared it within two days, and any extra requests or tasks are taken down almost as soon as they’re placed up. I’m finally getting my orders on time, without the King’s personal messenger having to chase me down and deliver it.” A long sigh. “I looked at the first few tasks he partitioned out to the rest of the Stripes, just to make sure they were being done properly and he wasn’t playing favorites, but then that was it. I don’t know how he makes them do it and how so well, and a part of me doesn’t want to know. Feels too much like meddling with magic.”
“What do you plan to do with him?” Mather asked the very question Vernon had been thinking.
“No idea,” Percival grumbled, almost under his breath. “Why couldn’t the King have plucked up that scoundrel a few years earlier? I would have picked him over Emnet for Lieutenant in a moment and not have this mess on my hands.”
There was a long moment of silence. Vernon began to wonder if they had actually left and he simply did not hear, when the commander’s voice came again. “Let us go back, before someone notices our absence.”
“Of course.”
And this time he heard footsteps. Still, he stayed, still as a gargoyle atop the roof until he counted several minutes after the sounds had faded away. Only then did he feel safe enough to uncurl himself.
He tipped his head back and drank the rest of his wine in four huge gulps, downing it all recklessly in a red, warm flood.
_____________
His eyes cracked open again, amidst darkness and swirling dreams and voices of men years-gone, and stared blankly at the darkness above him. Shadows and lines of light played with his sight, a confusing mess scribbled by the hand of a madman that he could not make out in his exhaustion and muddled thoughts until it suddenly clicked in his mind that he was looking at firelight dancing along tree branches.
Where was the tent? Why had the others not pitched it?
Roche’s mind whirled in the first grasping notes of confusion and panic, trying to remember where they were and what they were doing here and why those idiots had not put up a ploughing shelter—
Because they were all dead.
His heart thudded in his chest in a single, unbearable beat that felt like a blow from inside of his own body, before then it started racing. Memory came back, Kaedwen, the Blue Stripes hanging from nooses in rows with their lips as blue as their uniforms, Loc Muinne, then the desperate fight on the border with Nilfgaard—
That was a failure.
He tried to sit up, and found himself frozen to the spot, his body unresponsive to the command of his mind. Then his side began to ache, pointedly reminding him of his injury, but what was even sharper than that was the jolt of alarm when he glanced at the fire and saw that he was alone.
“Ves?” he demanded, his voice surprisingly quiet even to his own ears, though his chest felt as if it was ready to burst from the assault of his pain and his memories.
He heard a sound from his other side and immediately turned his head, gritting his teeth at the effort, and saw her at last. She was scrambling to her feet, laid upon her own blanket that was, absurdly, placed between him and the trees. What the hell was she doing there? Did she want to get stepped on?
“Roche!” he heard her gasping instead, and then she was right next to him, her eyes frantically searching his while her hands patted delicately—but insistently—on his body. “Thank the gods, are you alright? How are you feeling?”
One of her hands rested on his forehead and the other barely grazed his bandages, and he grunted a little from the pain. It was a muddled, hot feeling, and his relief at Ves being here had his head nearly swimming. “I am fine,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Damned hurts sometimes, but I’ll be fine.”
She muttered something again, something thankful, and she looked to peer at the dressing on his side. “I’m going to get a look at it,” she said. “I need to see how it’s doing.”
“Leave it,” he ordered, trying to calm his breathing. It was already hard to breathe and talk, and he hardly needed her hands touching there. “Messing with it all the time will just make it worse.”
“We need to check on it!” she protested hotly. “What if it’s getting infected?”
“It won’t get infected within a few hours,” he tried to explain patiently. It was hot and pulsing, whether he breathed or held his breath. “If you dressed it fine and cleaned it well, then it will be fine.” He saw her opening her mouth again to argue without a doubt, and his temper flared. “Leave it, Lieutenant.”
She glared at him, though he could not see it. But he could feel her gaze and his mind could all too readily conjure for him the image of her large, incredible blue eyes glaring up at him, even more intense from the heat of her anger. Was that memory or just his mind playing tricks on him?
His hand moved, far better than the sluggish waving about he had been doing before, but he still clumsily grasped the back of her hand before he managed to work his fingers around hers.
All of her fear and anger, everything she was just barely keeping under the surface, he could feel in how tightly her hand gripped his own. As if she was afraid he would slip away the moment she left go. Roche gripped her back, just as tightly as he could make it, anchoring himself as well as her in a world that was dark, and terrible, and mad, and the ground was threatening to swallow the both of them up.
For the moment, they were both completely, and utterly alone in the world. All they had was each other.
“Ves,” he spoke again, through sheer strength of will placing himself in the present. Her hand on his helped, her strong grip that he mirrored in his own. “We can get it looked at later, when we are out of here and out of danger. Right now we--“ he paused briefly, his mind already on a dozen different threads of thought at the various kinds of “danger” they could be in, and he forced himself to leave those thoughts alone for the moment. “Right now we need to think, and need to get out of here soon, understand?”
Her hand squeezed his. “I-I understand, Roche,” she said, her voice steadier than it had been a moment ago, though he thought he sensed the tremor in it still. “You won’t pass out again on me, will you?”
He mouth quirked into a wry smile. “I shall try my best not to.”
There was a scoff from her, but she did not bite back at him. “I made you tea, like I offered, but by the time I turned back around you were out again.”
“I will gladly have some now,” he said, taking his hand away at last and giving her a nod.
That had always been as good as a spoken order to her. She turned to obey, stoking their fire while she was at it, and as the small flames began to lick at the new branches she was laying on them, he could see her face better. Her eyes were troubled, deeply, and her hands moving with a nervous energy as she grabbed their mugs, and some bread from that morning, and handed both to him.
He thanked her, and for his part tried to focus on his careful breathing as he sat up, and to make sure he did not show any evidence of his wound troubling him in general. He was Vernon Roche, Commander of the Blue Stripes, and he was the one who needed to be calm in the face of adversity, and Ves would be calm as well. It was easier when he sipped his tea and warmth flooded his body, taking away the edge of his pain, even if it was sharp and bitter. “Willow?” he asked after a moment, blinking in surprise as his mind identified the taste.
Ves nodded, a small smile twitching on her lips. “Found a tree a few days ago. Thought collecting the bark would be useful, and now here we are.”
“You were always very clever, Lieutenant,” he said, giving her a nod. What would he do without her? Even when he thought that he had everything already thought out, Ves would show up with something that would surprise him and always end up being something they needed later. She had always been smart and had initiative, which had made her a perfect lieutenant.
The willow would help with the pain, certainly, and he nibbled the bread while his mind buzzed with thoughts. He couldn’t hear anything no matter how much he strained his ears. No shouts or sounds of movements, none of the undergrowth in the forest being disturbed, absolutely nothing. Yet he could not imagine the area not swarming with Nilfgaardians, unless they were the luckiest duo this side of Mount Carbon and they had just managed to find a place where neither of the armies managed to even pass close to their hiding place.
His heart thudded as he thought of the Temerians. Where had they all gone? No doubt every which way but most of them would at least try to head back to Vizima. But who was in charge of the army? He hadn’t seen John Natalis since that afternoon—it already felt like a century ago. He had gone to support the right, which was exactly where the cavalry had hit and—was he even still alive? He could be dead or captured or on the run like the rest of them at this point. Baron Kimbolt? His men held the center, and who knew how many of them had survived the bombardment of the mangonels. Their position had been the least enviable one.
Who they really needed was Natalis, the army would rally behind him. But where was he? And where to head? They could not just stay here no matter how badly he was injured, the Black Ones would soon swarm the land. They had to retreat with the rest of the army, head to Vizima with the Nilfgaardians harassing them every step of the way now that there was no army to stop them.
The mere idea of the banners of the Great Sun being within sight of the city’s walls set his gut churning, his mouth dry. Sipping the tea did not help, as his mind chased itself in endless circles, a hunter searching for the elusive track of a deer. There had to be some way out of this, some way to beat them back, but he could not think of one, and the alternative was unthinkable. Just let them take Vizima and gut Temeria herself in one blow?
“Roche .”
Long habit and training kept him from starting, but his fingers did twitch for a moment as Ves’s voice dragged him out of his spiral of thoughts. It didn’t sound like the first time she had called his name.
He looked to her, to her face which was cast half in light and half in shadow from the flames she had coaxed back to life, and met the one eye he could clearly see. Blue as her uniform, and piercing at him in worry.
The blue reminded of something, of a snatch of thought half-remembered, that slipped between his fingers the second he believed he had a grasp on it.
“What is it, Roche? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past minute,” she said, her gaze locked on his.
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking,” he replied, and drained half of his tea in a hot gulp. “We need to get to Vizima.”
She frowned at that, ever so slightly. “The capital is days away, Roche, and that’s when you’re in a good condition to walk. Which you are not .”
“It’s either that, or stay here and wait to be captured by the enemy. No doubt we would both make good prizes for them,” he replied, scowling fiercely at the very idea of it. “No, we are going, immediately. We, all of the Temerians, need to regroup at the capital, that’s where the Nilfgaardians are likely headed right now.”
It made his hands grip his mug tightly and his blood burn. His lips wanted to curl back and snarl, like the hound that he was so often called behind his back when others thought that he couldn’t hear them. But Vernon knew that if there was a Nilfgaardian in front of him right this second he would have flung himself at them and torn their throat out, injury be damned. He would leave a trail of Nilfgaardian blood behind him to water Temeria’s soil as they made their way back to Vizima, and it was no better than what every single one of those whoresons deserved.
To him it looked as if Ves wanted to argue. But while she was stubborn and thought more with her heart than her head at times, she still knew when he was right and made a good point. “We’re in Mahakam now,” she said after a moment, reluctant, but now the gears in her head were turning, working in the direction that her commander had steered them towards. “We know this region, Foltest sent us to pacify it years ago and we ran up and down these foothills hundreds of times.”
Her face twitched at her words, all too abruptly, and Roche felt the same emotion shuddering deep inside of his heart, like a sliver of ice reaching out to chill his veins.
We, she had said. We. But it was not the we of her and her commander, alone as they were now. It was the we of all of them, how every single one of the Blue Stripes had walked these lands, left their marks and imprints on them, had breathed the same air, slept under the same trees—they might have even made camp in this precise spot for all he knew.
It felt like a lifetime ago, another lifetime past Kaedwen, and the lifetime past the siege of the La Valettes. He had been forced to live several lifetimes all within the past few weeks, time crammed so tightly within that it was hard to comprehend just how brief it had all been.
And yet he could recall every detail fresh to his mind, even when they had all been in Mahakam pacifying the dwarves, as if he was simply reminiscing on yesterday’s events.
He remembered how Thirteen complained endlessly about his boots getting torn and soaked—it had been spring and the mountain rivers had swollen to three times their usual size from the melting snow, and more than once they had to avoid getting swept away by sudden floods. Silas eventually snapped and said if Thirteen kept bitching all day yet again he was going to throw him into the river. That spiraled into a fistfight which ended before Roche even had to intervene, and with both of their sour moods taken out on each other they were laughing over dinner again.
He remembered how Finch spent diligent hours practicing the local bird calls, until he could mimic them perfectly.
He remembered Shorty and Sheridan and Igo all sitting around the campfire, bickering quietly over various Temerian regiment names to give to the newest of Shorty’s brood.
He remembered Fenn, perched in one of the trees as their lookout, always silent, always watching. The only time he ever truly talked was around his comrades, and his even rarer smiles—
He broke off from those memories with a snap, like he had touched a hot pan and was jerking his hand away from the fire. But the burn remained. The pain was there.
And Ves. She had been in that tent when he had found her. When he had found all of them. He had only been there for a few minutes—how long had she been curled there, weeping and waiting and probably thinking that he was dead along with the rest of the Blue Stripes?
He dug his nails into his palm, forcing his mind on the here and now, and looked up at Ves just as she looked at him.
Neither of them said anything. Neither of them needed to.
Roche tried to smirk, to try and brush it all off as a mere second of distraction, but his lips refused to move in that treacherous expression. And that made him angry because they still had to go. He held onto that thought with all of his willpower, like a dog refusing release a bone. He let it flood him, motivate him to move, to keep going, to just—do anything that was not remembering.
“That’s more like it, Lieutenant,” he said at last, breaking the silence between them, but not the thing that lay in the silence between them. “Come, bring me my maps, we have enough light to chart a route through this blasted terrain.”
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Phantom Network: Malware Uninstall
A common question bandied about in regards to the Phantom Network is how a bunch of (insert adjectives like “lowlife” or “no good dirty”, etc) thieves manage to work together without constantly stabbing each other in the back. Yes, I’ll admit, even I didn’t quite understand it back when I was but a wee passive civilian living a mundane life, but I now realize this was only because I grossly misunderstood what a Phantom Thief is.
Most often, you hear “thief” and you picture someone taking something for themselves--a selfish hoarder who collects by any means necessary. A Phantom Thief, however, has more noble goals in mind...and a flair for the dramatic. Bit of a tangent, but important to note. You see, Phantom Thieves don’t steal for themselves: they steal for others. We take from the rich and give to the poor and all that jazz, because even if it’s only a drop in the ocean of wealth the elites have built up, the act of stealing from them proves that they aren’t invincible. It’s all too easy to feel powerless in this world. But when those with power aren’t able to stop regular people from knocking them down a peg, you get a tiny bit of hope, and more often than you might expect, that tiny bit of hope can make all the difference. Those dedicated to making that happen join the Phantom Network with a simple vow: “honor among thieves”.
Usually, that’s enough. But no organization is inherently pure, and no matter what your goals are (especially when you’re working outside the law), it’s only natural you’ll attract some folks who are in it for the wrong reasons. And that’s what we have the FW Protocol for! If a thief is found to have no honor, the Protocol strips them of their privileges and finds the safest way to expunge them from the organization. We don’t go as far as to execute somebody, but with how difficult memory deletion is to pull off, lifetime imprisonment is a fairly common result. The system works...most of the time. The Protocol can’t be too aggressive, so it usually waits for someone else to file a complaint. But, with the whole “honor” thing, a lot of good Phantom Thieves won’t feel right ratting on their colleagues unless they go way over the line, at which point they’ve probably already caused an incident and have the Protocol on their tail. Plenty of thieves manage to operate in that gray area, serving themselves without pissing anyone off too much...and I’ve all too frequently had the pleasure of dealing with one such individual.
Kari always pushed the limits even of that gray area. But it’s rare to find someone who can competently manipulate time, so she wasn’t entirely wrong in thinking that the Network needed her. Even after being betrayed over and over, I still haven’t filed a complaint, because she hasn’t outright ruined any job she’s been on and I don’t want to resort to drastic measures just for being personally wronged. Like I said, honor among thieves. I had decided to just put the whole thing behind me, not work with or even think about her ever again, but...things took a bit of a turn.
The “courtroom” we have at HQ is rarely used, so it’s a bit cramped. I practically had to wedge myself into the corner as I took my seat and waited for things to kick off. Opposite the door, the Phantom Network Admin sat at a blocky steel desk: a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned individual with a cyan bionic eye and metal down one half of their face, the other partly obscured by their many red curls. Between us were four lightly-armored folks who each wore solid red shades, and in the midst of them, Kari, with a jamming bolt stuck to her alchemar between her shoulder blades and shackles on her wrists.
“Phantom Thief Kari, the Epoch Swindler,” the Admin said. “Following the recent incident at Navy Canyon, the FW Protocol has conducted an investigation and found you in violation of your vow as a Phantom Thief. What do you have to say in your own defense?”
Kari adjusted her bangs with a puff of air. “Listen boss, I know I’m not exactly a paragon of virtue--honor isn’t something that comes all that easily to me. But have I really done anything that awful? I’m still serving the essential functions of a Phantom Thief, and none of my transgressions have impeded operations in any meaningful way.” Under her breath, she added, “Until Navy Canyon, at least...but that was an accident.”
“It is worth noting there have been no formal complaints filed against her,” said one of the FWs surrounding her. “However, when we interviewed those who have worked with her in the past, we noticed a running theme of dishonorable conduct. Several such thieves have been brought in today to share their accounts on-record.”
The various assembled thieves were called up one by one, each sharing a lovely little tale about some time Kari shafted them. Honestly it was hard not to laugh: I felt their pain. Through it all, Kari just stood there, completely silent as her misdeeds were laid out before her. Part of me couldn’t help but take satisfaction in the sight. But, another part...
“Lastly, we would like to hear from Phantom Thief Roche.”
I pushed my way to the front of the room, avoiding eye contact with Kari for as long as I could. When I faced the FWs, though, I could see her out of the corner of my eye, staring dag...huh. Well, she was staring, but not as maliciously as I was expecting.
“Roche. On how many occasions have you worked with Kari?”
“Ah, nearly a dozen, I guess,” I said.
“And during these occasions, did Kari conduct herself in a manner you found questionable?”
“Every time.” I saw Kari look to the floor. That’s the most remorse I’ve ever seen her show.
“In particular, please share your recollection of the Cosmic Sapphire heist.”
“Right.” I shifted my weight a little. “A certain Mr. Snyder had the national museum display a set of fine jewels he had collected over the years, so the two of us set out to steal the exhibit. Breaking in was easy, and then I went to the display room while Kari disabled the security. As soon as I had an opening, I snatched the jewels, but as I was headed out I was jumped by a mercenary using a sound alchemar. Turns out Snyder had shelled out quite a sum bringing in extra help once we warned him we were coming. I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail about why fighting sound-users is tricky--suffice to say I was on the back foot, with things only evening out once Kari showed up. We were doing okay, so I made a plan to end it. I got in close as a distraction...next thing I knew, my bag felt a good bit lighter, and I was eating concrete. Took me a minute to piece everything together, but basically: Kari stopped time, took the jewels off my hand, and then bolted back here on her own. Not to be dramatic, but I almost died there. That’s the only time since joining the Network I’ve had to make an emergency call. In the end, Kari got full payment, I looked like an amateur, and…”
Hesitation struck. See, I haven’t taken a look at the Cosmic Sapphire Collection--it was turned over to the Admin and stored in the Network’s cache--but I’ve always had a strong suspicion that a few of the jewels didn’t make it back to HQ. I wanted to bring it up, but...it’s not like I had any proof. It was baseless, and I’d just be slandering Kari and making her (already very bad-looking) case look a lot worse. She was still looking at the floor, and it was still weirding me out.
Nodding, one of the FWs asked, “And?”
Mmm, I might hate her, but I gotta be fair. I sighed, continuing, “And, I’m just mad about it. Being left to die and all. But, there you have it.”
I went back to my seat. The Admin folded their hands before their face, staring at Kari as they sifted through the information they had just absorbed. “Well. It sounds to me as though you’ve been awfully consistent, and all that’s saved you from comeuppance is the reluctance of more honorable thieves. Do you have anything to add, Kari?”
She shook her head. “...No.”
Yikes. I’d never seen her like this, and it was really starting to get to me.
“This selfish streak casts itself upon your current claims. Having previously been so willing to let your colleagues come to harm, it becomes more difficult to believe that the losses suffered at Navy Canyon were simply an accident. Especially considering how flippant you were in the wake of the incident.”
“Makes sense.”
The Admin paused, and boy did it drag on. Eventually, they said, “Have any come to speak in defense of Kari?”
“None,” answered an FW.
“So we truly have only your word to go on that this was an accident?”
“Come on, I--” Kari snapped, but cut herself off with a huff. “Alright. I’m an asshole, no two ways about it--it’s not like I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t react right to what was going on, but at this point, what do I have to gain by lying about it? It was an accident. I didn’t want those thieves to die. Believe me, don’t believe me, whatever. Are we gonna keep running in circles, or can we just get this over with?”
Damn, okay. Something got to her.
The Admin said, “You must have an idea of what my decision would have to be if we leave things here. Are you alright with that?”
“I just want it over with,” Kari mumbled. “If there’s no changing it, then this is just torture.”
So...she’d already accepted being banned from the Network? And was still insisting it was an accident? Why? What did she benefit from being honest at that point?
The Admin sat up straight. “Very well.”
Hold on.
“Kari, you are hereby--”
“Wait!” I said. All eyes turned to me. “...Boss. To be fair...I think she’s telling the truth about Navy Canyon being an accident.”
The Admin raised an eyebrow. “You do? Even though she’s put your life in jeopardy before?”
“I mean I’m still mad about that, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like she let the others die and then got out of there: she stayed and finished the mission, and even saved the lives of the right flank later on. Why would she do that if she had killed the vanguard on purpose?”
After another all-too-long pause, the Admin said, “You make a fine point. But even if that was simply an accident, the trend in her conduct still stands.”
I glanced at Kari. She was staring at me, eyes wide with confusion. Don’t ask me, I didn’t get it either. “Of course. But, we don’t need to overreact, right? I think the fact that she stayed after that accident shows she’s not a completely lost cause--maybe we can help her to be a little more honorable, given enough time and incentive.”
The Admin considered this, leading to yet another long silence during which I could feel myself growing old.
“Plus, where are we going to find another time-user on her level? Not to sound like a business bastard, but you can look at it as an investment.”
The Admin chuckled. “Practical. I suppose if we lock her for a while, we can take the time to educate her on proper Phantom Thief conduct. Mandatory, of course, and she’ll be confined to quarters otherwise. Reparations will also need to be arranged, but that’s something we can work out at a later date. Does this sound acceptable to you, Kari?”
She turned back to face the Admin. “...Well, doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time, but...I suppose it’s better than my other option.”
“This will only work if you are truly willing to learn. If you remain obstinate, this verdict can and will be amended.”
“Okay, I get it. I’ll take it seriously.”
“Good. Does anyone else have anything to add?” No one did. “Then we’re done. Please escort Kari back to her quarters and confiscate her alchemar. Once you are satisfied the conditions are secure, please inform me, and then we can proceed.”
The FWs ushered Kari out of the room. As she passed, she stared at me, but I kept my eyes forward. The other thieves filed out, and I stayed where I was until finally the Admin walked up to me.
“I have to admit, Roche: I wasn’t expecting that from you.”
With a shrug, I got to my feet. “Yeah, me neither. Couldn’t tell you why that happened.”
The Admin smiled. “I see. You know, if we’re going to instill a sense of honor in Kari, there’s quite a bit she could learn from you.”
Every muscle in my body went stiff as I began to question recent decisions.
“Don’t worry, I won’t put you through that.”
The tension drained out of me all at once. You’d think it’d be cathartic, but it was more like the experience of finally vomiting after hours of nausea.
“Thank you for speaking up, Roche. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Kari was locked for a good few months after that. She wasn’t entirely responding well to her training, but she did make an effort, and eventually we got somewhere. After doing a handful of supervised jobs pro bono, she was allowed to leave her quarters, and no one at HQ saw her for another couple months after that. But, she did come back eventually and resumed duties as normal. I haven’t interacted with her since the investigation, and I don’t really feel an urge to change that. I’d like to think she’s made some real progress, but...it’s hard to give someone the benefit of the doubt after repeated betrayal. I’m gonna keep my distance. With any luck, she’s at least got some sense of honor now, and she won’t be my problem ever again.
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Hi!
What do you think about Iorveth in realationship? And can you write differences (if you think they will be), if his "love" is human or elf.
yeah! i can!
as a multishipper (heehee) ill just write for all of them bc i imagine each take place during VERY different times in his life. it also describes the relationship and that dynamic so yea. i hope this is what u wanted. oops
its also a bit long!! so there is a cut
tw: (all are mentioned and its not too in deth but be careful) death, trauma, drinking
first, id like to start of with iorveth as a youngster:
-he was probably rlly fucking hot as teen/young adult before he really got involved in the scoia'tael and got the scar and probably. slept around a lot. he probably wasnt big on commitment as he was young and maybe was in a few long(ish) term relationships but he mostly just chilled until his parents were killed by humans and he got his scar
next, onto beginnings of scoia'tael years/cedric:
-i think that iorveth and cedric joined together as friends but gradually grew closer
-but, after he got the scar i think it fucked up his self esteem so he was a lot less open with his affections
-the trauma of losing his parents and being there was. in short. not good.
-i feel like he definately got incredibly invested in the scoia'tael during this time because it and cedric were all he had
-and he dearly loved cedric, and although he had lost a ton of his self esteem, he found strength in cedric and they were a power couple for a few decades. the slept together, they cuddled, they held hands whenever they had the chance, and they truly truly loved each other very much
-until cedrics health/mental health got worse and they broke up (which broke both their hearts), and iorveth blamed himself when cedric left the scoia'tael.
moving onto ciaran:
-ciaran (as per my previous hc on him) lost his parents as a teen and was wandering around trying to get revenge on humans whenever he could for years before iorveth met him.
-naturally, iorveth fell hard.
-but, after cedric left he decided to bottle it up and ignore bc he didnt want to ""ruin"" anyone else again by being too invested in the scoia'tael.
-unfortunately for iorveth, ciaran also fell in love with him, and after years of waiting when hes second in command, ciaran confessed
-iorveth flipped the fuck out because he was like. no. that cant be possible! im unlovable and i hurt people and im just going to ruin him!
-this is partially because of what happened with cedric, and partially because ciaran (although CERTAINLY an adult), is definately younger, and iorveth thinks he deserves better than him
-he knows what hes done for the scoia'tael and knows hes not a good person, and hopes that he can scare ciaran into leaving.
-it doesnt work. and they both end up crying.
-once they are together though, there is a definate change in their relationship vibe from iorveth and cedrics. they certainly sleep together and cuddle and do all the relationship things that cedric and iorveth did, but iorveth is clearly holding something back
-they decide that while they both love each other dearly, they cannot be in a health/stable relationship with just each other because its clear that iorveth is in no way able to properly be in a relationship at that moment
-they decide to open up the relationship and thats where vernon roche comes in
yeah. vernon roche. this is where iorveth sorta has a. oh fuck its a human moment.
-as you all know, roche was the leader of the scoia'tael in flotsams greatest enemy, the blue stripes, a special forces commando designed to stop the scoia'tael.
-after having a WHOLE enemies to lovers situation, they find themselves in a situation.
-they both love each other. and they are both two war criminals who FINALLY end on the same side after years of fighting (lets just say iorveth joined for the kaer morhen fight against the wild hunt) and it seems like everything is fine
-its not.
-first of all, they both have lots and lots of issues other than that they are both war criminals:
1. iorveth has never dated a human before, let alone a man he nearly killed and has nearly killed him on many occasions.
2. iorveth feels like hes betraying the ideals of the scoia'tael along with his parents for dating a human, and this feeling hits even moreso bc its roche.
3. iorveth has loads and loads of attachment issues, and even though he and ciaran still have their thing going on (that roche is aware of and understands), he still really hasnt been in any recent relationships that havent ended in someone leaving
4. iorveth really doesnt quite understand human customs other than what he can tell from spying. he spends lots of time in the woods and knows far more about trade routes to and from flotsam than he really knows of human culture. its almost embarassing.
5. iorveth sometimes gets worried its all a ploy to get roche to kill him and that theres plans to hurt the former scoia'tael due to anti-elf racism
moving onto roches issues, which while there are less of, they dont help:
1. as a child of a sex worker and single mother, roche found himself also getting involved in sex work, which gave him consent issues bc he really did have a choice in the matter bc it was do the job or starve.
2. hes a half elf but right before he was drafted into the army he cut the tips of his ears off to make him look more human. this makes it hard for him to connect w iorveth bc he really doesnt know elf customs, but doing human customs just never felt right
3. he also has some issues from his previous relationship w foltest, which was Not Even slightly healthy, and is still trying to cope w the realization that it was worse than he thought
all of this results in a lot of miscommunication, especially because iorveth (for a long time DURING the relationship) didnt know roche was half-elf and wanted to do all the elven traditions he hadnt been able to join. they dont know what the other wants, and they dont know what the other needs because once again. issues galore. iorveth also probably would be more able to get into fights than any other relationships (because unlike ciaran or cedric, roche is abrasive) which means that there would be a lot of hurt at the beginning of it.
HOWEVER, after they actually talk, and roche is like. hey im half elf, and more than willing to do things the traditional elven way (which iorveth is far more familiar and comfortable with), they sorta get into a routine of things.
and it begins to be a secure and steady and healthy relationship.
tdlr: iorveth has shitty self worth, trust issues and struggles with communication sometimes so things get muddled but when he falls, he falls hard. but the relationships hes in are very different depending on who it is. hes more comfortable with other nonhumans, but even before knowing roche is half-elf, he would give his life for them.
#thank u for asking!!!#hope this is what u wanted eblkslw#iorveth#ciaran aep easnillen#cedric witcher#iorveth/cedric#iorveth/roche#iorveth/ciaran#the witcher#witcher 2#my hcs
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Stalling Expulsion
Hey, gems! This is my day 13 of @hamiltonholidaycalendar ! I’m super excited and really proud of this. Sorry if the endings a bit rushed, I ran out of time,,,
Rated: Teen Audiences
TW: Mentions of violence, drugs, death
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Whistled tones whipped down the halls of the large country boarding school, as wind teased the maroon common room curtains through extravagant glass windows. Crumpled currant toned bed drapes lined the circular boys dormitory, and the posts hung bed curtains which were open and crinkled. Clothes lay strewn across the old hickory wood floors, a mix of old socks, pyjama pants and unwanted shoes. The whole school had gathered in the great hall for breakfast, all but four. They were huddled in the dormitory bathroom, slinking around waiting for first class.
The eldest being sixteen years old, tall and broad, yet far from the most responsible. The youngest was a lanky French boy, who had recently become fifteen. The other two were also fifteen, but one not far off his sweetest sixteen. None of which were very responsible when it came to fun. Smarts, well, you may suppose they contained some sort of brain-cell. Although it appeared to bounce around their head like a DVD screensaver. You may even conclude, that the four shared a brain-cell, taking single turns on it like small children sharing a piano.
The oldest of them all was the one whistling, he was tweeting a soft tune, one that seems to be without meaning or purpose, but instead one you may subconsciously commit yourself to when bored.
Smallest of them, a boy who had his fifteenth a simple month before, tightened his ponytail and swiped a sniffle from his nose. Perhaps skipping breakfast in favour of hanging around like a gang of uneducated delinquents wasn't their best plan, but at the very least they had learned not to do it again. Not that he ever planned to admit his wrong doing.
One boy, who bore a curled ponytail that hung low, sat on a sink, his back against the wall and his feet in the porcelain bowl of it. He piped up with a skip in his voice, "why did we skip morning meal again?" He inquired in his distinct North-Carolinian accent, as his stomach growled angrily at him. He was missing out on his wake up food of three slices of buttered toast and a pile of breakfast potatoes and his body was not overjoyed.
"Because we don't want to be around Jefferson, Jackie," the smallest replied, sinking down. Jackie was not the boys birth name, but instead a curious nickname gifted to him by his closest of friends. The boy who has spoken had his back pressed against the wall, and he crossed his legs as he sat.
"You know," the French boy started, "I don't really see the problem you all 'ave with Thomas," he shrugged and continued leaning against a stall.
The whistling abruptly came to a close, and all heads turned to look at him. "Dude, he's horrible," the eldest started, "like, do you see the way he acts around Alex? He treats him like some sort of dirty scum he found on the bottom of his polished boots."
"The reason he hates me is even worse! Just because I don't have rich parents to go crawling back to for Christmas. He acts like I'm a dirty spot that he doesn't want to touch. Like... Like I'm food at the bottom of the sink, ya know!" Alexander explained, gesticulating as he did so. John, the student who had been nicknamed 'Jackie', leapt from his resting place in the washing basin and patted Alexander on the back gently in a friendly attempt to calm him down. "Sorry for yelling, Laf... It's just... He bugs me so much."
Lafayette shrugged his shoulders, his wine red blazer - part of his uniform forming creases as he did. "I mean, he's targeting you because you're an orphan, non?" Alexander nodded as a silent agreement and response, "well, 'e doesn't know that I am too."
"I completely forgot about that, Laf!" The broad-shouldered, tall boy examined a little too loudly. He found himself being bombarded by rushed hushing. "Sorry, guys," he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.
Lafayette rolled his eyes. "Stop apologising, 'Ercules, we know you mean no 'arm," he assured and patted Hercules' shoulder.
"If I meant no harm, then why am I here?" Hercules sighed and shrunk into himself. The other three went quiet, they couldn't answer.
The boarding school was technically called, 'Fredrick's School for Troubled Teens and Youngsters,' but everyone just called it, 'School for Annoying Pricks and Rich Dicks.'
Everyone who attended had been removed from public school for one preposterous thing or another. An assortment, ranging from fights to skipping school to just becoming a general nuisance.
Hercules Mulligan had been previously expelled from three schools, for fighting three people and hospitalising two of them. His reputation was ruthless and cutthroat, not afraid to start an attack at any moment. However, he was simply a big softy.
Alexander Hamilton had been ostracised from his school for arguing with the professor, who promptly frog-marched him to the head master, to whom he fought against once more. He was told to leave and not come back after referring to his head master as, "a pompous fool, detecting the frivolous minds of easy moldable youngsters to bend them to his will."
John Laurens was excommunicated from Church, and from his very Catholic school when they discovered his homosexuality. His father had disowned him from home and sent him off to the 'School for Annoying Pricks and Rich Dicks,' in the hopes that it would, "return him to his Godly roots and strip him of his male desires for other men." His father, Henry Laurens had accepted the concept that sending him to a school where he would spend 99% of his time with guys and had imagined that it would 'fix' his brain into lusting over women.
And then there was Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Mortier, Marquis de Lafayette. His exclusion was a momentous occasion. His head mistress had discovered the acute, shimmering pocket knife in his satchel, after demanding a look as another child had accused him of threatening him with said weapon. The child had ridiculed his younger brother who had sadly passed away just mere weeks before. So yes, maybe he should've been thrown out of school for that. He goes back and forth, contemplating if what he did was incredibly illegal or, in fact, the right thing to do.
The four knew fine well why the other people were tossed from school, however, no one else knew anything about no one. Asking why another person was attending the boarding fortress was distinctly taboo. Like a horrid, violent invasion of protected privacy. Only if the student felt astonishingly close to you, and trusted you with their life and prized possession would they ever confine in you the reason they attended Fredrick's.
Another point, everyone came from privileged backgrounds, that were somehow ruined. Lafayette had rich parents before they died, and then he had a rich uncle. Then he was rich. John’s parents had piles of money, and then they disowned him. Alexander was fairly middle class, and then their debt skyrocketed when his father abandoned him and his mother passed in his arms. And then there was Hercules. The other three spoke much more articulated than him. He just simply couldn’t. He wasn’t from a bad family, but they most certainly weren’t the most educated they could be.
"Listen, Herc," Alexander inexorably spoke up, offering comfort, "we're all here for one reason or another! I called my professor a sithering idiot, and them the head master a pompous fool, John's gay and Laf, hell, Lafayette threatened someone's life. Lets be honest, we all deserve to be here," he peered up at Laurens, who had retaken his position of roosting on the sink, "apart from Jackie, obviously."
John defended himself and chortled. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Before I had to listen to homophobic slurs all day, now, I can simply be a homo every hour."
Hercules' solid frown tweaked, and he turned to laughter. "Okay, okay, fair enough," He lifted his arms up before slumping them down, "you got me."
"Yeah we did," Lafayette nudged Hercules harshly, which earned him a shove back.
-
His toast lay burnt and uneaten, and half a sausage rolled around his plate depressingly. A metal fork was lazily tossed by his tray, and the red paper napkin was scrunched up on his plate. His seat was barren now, as was the one across from him.
Reticent nattering echoed all over the spiral staircase as two boys clambered upwards towards their shared dorm. Their room was home to eight boys, all of which they both hated, except for each other and one pupil, a young male Aaron Burr from New Jersey and Thomas supposed that Lafayette wasn’t too awful.
Thomas pushed the oak dormitory door open with a dig. He went on speaking, but was silenced by his friend flapping his hand in front of his face. "James-"
"Shush! Can't you hear that?" James spoke, "there's people here..."
Muffled exclamations voiced themselves from behind the bathroom gateway. Thomas crept over and pressed his ear up to the carved antique door as every ounce of his sixteen year old attention span focusesd in on eavesdropping.
There was a blast of flat laughter that exploded from the room, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “What are they saying?” James breathed serenely as he watched Thomas run his fingers over the door handle.
“Quiet, Jemmy,” Thomas instructed in a low voice, “they’re talking now.”
A despicably mocking articulation voiced itself from beyond the door. “Oh yes, I mustn’t! For I shall mess us my sheep’s wool hair! No! Do not touch that! It was sent to me from a Gucci store from my father!” It was in a false Southern accent.
“Holy crap, Laf! I don’t like how much that sounds like him!” The familiar boisterous tones of Hercules Mulligan exploded out the cracks in the door. “Okay, okay, John your shot.”
He heard the rambunctious crackling of knuckles, and a clearing of throats. “Hello, y’all! Rootin’ tootin’! I’m from the fucking South where the grass grows green and I’m better than y’all! Because I’m Jefferson, and I hate you if you don’t have a rich father!”
James, who had been tuned in to the harmful conversations past the door, soared upwards towards him. “Tommy, don’t-“ he muttered harshly. James had been friends with Thomas since the very beginning, he had been there to witness every hardship and every tantalising moment where the world stopped spinning. He was by the teens side throughout each adversity, and would comfort his best friend without exception.
Yet Thomas didn’t listen. He shoved the door open unceremoniously, the sheer force blowing a gust towards the bed drapes. His stance remained strong and rigid as four pairs of brown and hazel sprinkled eyes darted towards him. With the pupils that burned into his skull, from both in front of him, and James who had settled behind him, Thomas composed himself. He ran a hand through his hair before taking it upon himself to stride back to his bed.
His lips remained stuck together as if to be two birds of a single feather. Alexander looks at his friends, and they rise from their resting places, stiff joints cracking like grandmas getting up from their nap in an armchair. Their stomachs rumble hungrily, screaming for nutrients, but they push past it to ignore it. James looks back at his accomplice, who is rummaging through a antiquated, walnut duffle-bag. He can see Thomas’ look of determination as he pulls his hand from the storage unit and wanders back to the bathroom, past the gang who was previously been loitering in the room. In his hand, is a egg-shell painted cardboard packet of sorts, and a rectangular glass lighter. The lighter is black as a cold winters night, and Thomas carries these into the bathroom with him.
“Thomas!” James exclaimed as he spotted the two items. One of the many reasons Thomas was at the boarding school. The bathroom door slammed closed and the all too familiar sound of a clicking lighter.
The four friends glance at each other, sharing a mutual moment of what the hell is happening, as James pounds on the oak door. “Thomas, I swear to god, open the door. I won’t let you do this again!”
“What’s going on?” Alexander hissed from the corner of his mouth. His dashing attempt to be inaudibly failed, as a result of his naturally vociferous voice it failed. Madison’s head rotated to face the not-so-fantastic four with a choleric grimace.
Lafayette opened his mouth to begin explaining, yet no words escaped. Only a brief swept of breath as he fidgeted with his own fingers, bending them in ways that really shouldn’t be possible.
“Why were you talking about him?” James spoke softly, as if the delinquents were toddlers who needed to be lulled off into slumber.
Alexander shifted on his heels. Why this small student was so intimidating fascinated him. James was always a perpetually timid youngster. Someone who sat at the very back of the class, head constantly bent down over his work, hunched and tired. Yet now, his eyes glimmered with rage and every inch of his body shook with unsheathed emotional torment.
“We-“ Alexander started with confidence, but trailed off quickly into inaudible - protecting himself - mumbling.
James rattles his knuckles off the door again. "I won't let you get expelled from another school!" He exhaled and fiddled with the handle. "Just, open the door... We can talk about this." He grovelled desperately. The door handle moved, and Thomas deliberated from behind the gateway. As the wood cracked open, James spread into a grin.
Thomas exhaled smoke downwards, blowing it down to the very depths of hell. "What?"
"You're smoking," John observed with a light shudder. He planted himself on Alexanders bed, tugging at the wrinkled sheets and grasping for the cream pillow, for the scarlet cover of the cushion had been stripped from it, and thrown somewhere across the room, it had been missing for days. Alex theorised that Thomas had disposed of it out the window, or in a garbage can in the main courtyard. Either way, Alexander and the students residing within that dormitory were lucky that a staff member hadn't inspected their room just yet. If it was found that articles of bedding had been cascaded like dirty wash paper then a worthy punishment would be awarded.
“Am I?!” Thomas took the lot cigarette away from his lips and glared at it. His eyes narrowed, “am I really!?”
“Yo, there’s no need to talk to him like that!” Hercules piped up with a stare. “He didn’t do nothin’ to you,” he spat.
Thomas rolled his eyes and took another quick puff of the cigarette before disposing of it in a sink, and running the cold water tap. “Yeah, he said nothing sure.
“Stop,” Alexander insisted, beginning to rise. He observes as Thomas struts into the dorm and throws his cigarettes packet and lighter onto his bed, before dropping down on James'.
Lafayette hastily crept over to beside Thomas and sighed. "My apologies, Thomas," he confessed, "it was wrong of us to... Eh.... Talk bad about you." He stumbled over his words, a bit like a newborn calf taking its first wobbly steps.
"I'm like, 99.99% sure smoking really breaks school guidelines," Hercules chimed in, twittering away in the congregated background.
"Yeah? Why else do you think I'm here? Because I want to be?" Thomas jeered, messing with his hair absentmindedly.
"Well, because your family bathes in pots of melted gold and dines on silver platters served by their monkey butler," Alexander prompted immediately, the words sliding off his tongue like venom before he could halt them.
Thomas and James scoffed in unison. "I'm here because I was expelled for drug use," the jaws fell to the old floors, "weed, mostly. Over the counter painkillers and anti depressants. That sort of stuff, ya know?" He shrugged, so nonchalantly.
“Drugs?!” John exclaimed in utter shock. “How did you even get a hold of them?!”
“Well,” Thomas gridlocked in his tracks, hitting the breaks on his brain, “why am I telling you this?” He sneered at himself, fanning his face in his own stupidity.
“Because... you want someone else to trust?” James mumbled, “other than me...”
Thomas’ face fell and he grit his teeth in annoyance as he came to terms with James’ unsettling words. He ran a tattered hand through his mop of sheep's wool. He remained mute and simply made a random hand gesture.
“James,” Hercules breathed and was quiet for one of the first time ever. Or ever since the others had met him, “why’d you get sent here? What’s the deal?” They all gasped, the taboo had been broken, and Hercules graced his eyes around the room, his pupils widening with terror. “Wait, no! I didn’t- it’s... it’s just, you don’t seem like the person to be sent to Annoying Pricks and Rich Dicks school.”
Madison blinked rapidly in thought. “No, no, it’s fine...” he took a large inhale, “I was bullied a lot... and one day I just... flipped. I attacked them when they followed me to class through the halls. The kid got away with a slap on the wrist and I was expelled. Then sent here...”
“Yeah, just after I was expelled, James came after me. Missed me that much?” Thomas chortled, stretching his arms and for just a moment, his arms and head placement made him look vaguely like a cactus in the dry Arizona sun.
“Not really, class was much quieter. I did lose my only protection though, because someone decided to get high on marijuana in the boys bathroom!” James really emphasised each syllable of the word, ‘someone.’
Thomas frowned lamentably. His sighs echoed around the room. “In fairness!” He stopped, “I actually can’t justify it. I was just being stupid and impulsive okay?”
Alexander cackled away loudly in the back before taking enough initiative to muffle it with his hand.
“Oh you can’t laugh, ‘amilton! You swore your professor out!” Lafayette teased with a snicker and Hercules let out a soft, ‘ohhh!’ punctuating Lafayette’s words.
“Yeah? And you whipped a knife on someone!” Alexander yelled back playfully. Hercules continued to laugh.
“Oh, shut up, ‘Erc! You can’t say anything! Two people in ‘ospital who?” Lafayette jerked, progressively getting himself more and more worked up. His cheeks were glowing a lipstick red and his eyes darkened with fury.
“‘Two people in hospital, who?’” Hercules mocked in a false French accent. It was awfully stereotypical, and fake as hell. But it annoyed Lafayette to the point where he leapt from his bed and pointed pressingly in his best friends direction.
“Lay off!” John jumped up and separated the two with his arms. “Okay! We all did things wrong, like... I disappointed god!” John beamed with a singsong voice, pleading to cheer those up.
“Disappointed god?” Thomas questioned pressingly, his voice ripe with curiosity.
“I was kicked from Catholic school for my ‘deadly homosexuality that could infect others’.” John chortled and moved away from Lafayette and Hercules, adjusting to the fact that the tension in the room was still thick enough to be sliced with a knife.
“Oh damn,” James whispered mistily to himself, scratching at a scab in his forehead, located just about his right ear.
Alexander rolled his eyes. “Oh no! I’ve been infected by the gay!” He yelled and Thomas exploded with laughter. It made Alex smile, and realise that Thomas, in fact, had a nice, boisterous chuckle.
“You can’t pray away the gay,” Hercules spoke in his often loud voice, smirking for the world to see once more.
“We can sure as hell try!” Lafayette knelt on his bed and placed his hands in a prayer motion. “Be gone, homo!”
John fell backwards dramatically and flopped to the floor. His hand touched his forehead as if fainted.
Alex snorted.
The dormitory door clanged with the pound of a fist. “Get to class, boys!” The familiar booming and authoritative tone of Head Master Washington exploded into the dorm.
“Sorry, Mr Washington!” Alexander apologises with a grit of his teeth.
“Suck up,” Thomas mouths and stands, leaving with James hot on his polished heels.
Lafayette stood and nodded towards the ajar door. “Wanna go hang in the courtyard?”
“And risk getting detention?” Hercules scoffed, “obviously.”
“Let’s fucking go!” John exclaimed, picking up his boots and shoving them on his feet.
From the slightly open door they could hear a yell. “Thomas, I swear to god!” And then the muffled reply, ‘what? She despises both of us, let’s just hang out in the courtyard!’
“Sounds like someone else is thinking about skiving class!” Lafayette sniggered, hoisting the door wide open and heading out. “Coming?” Hercules nodded and rushed after him.
Alexander stuck his fist in the air and clapped. “Anything to skip Mrs Reynolds class!”And they ran down the stairs, leaping down the stairs two or three at a time. It was dangerous.
And they loved it.
#hamilton#hamilton: an american musical#alexander#alexander hamilton#lafayette#marie joseph paul yves roch gilbert du mortier#john#laurens#john laurens#hercules#mulligan#hercules mulligan#thomas#jefferson#thomas jefferson#james#madison#james madison#ee writes#ee’s writing#hamilton fic#hamilton fanfic#hamilton fanfiction#hamilton oneshot#hamilton fluff#hamilton angst#tw drugs#death mention#mild violence#no ships
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