#( iorveth && pearl )

[irresistiibles]

@mischiefxmuses asked: “I can’t comment.” - Iorveth to Pearl

"can't comment on human problems? well, i suppose they should be confusing to just about everyone." though it was less of a response than she expected when she went and rambled on about short lives and the time wasted being stuck here in this city. "it's not a personal concern of mine anyway, just a lingering thought." and she had all the time in the world to just sit and think here.

[henryyarden]

Comparing yourself and your boyfriend to iornon is insulting. You are both not strangers, you do not care about each other, you have common things and understanding, you also talked a lot. There is also clearly no evil ridicule and humiliation in your relationship.

It's none of my business, but I just hope that you two are doing great in a relationship and understanding like RocheCiri, and not like iornon.

(Okay, I said I'm going to ignore her, but this is too much, I just can't. Please forgive me.)

DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT THIS IS WHAT WE DO? Honey, this is not how cosplay works. We do not change our whole personalities and our relationship dynamic for our costumes. Not to say how often we would have to throw out everything about our relationship to fit what we are just doing.

No, we don't think we are Iorveth and Vernon (thank gods) and if you think about your life this way, please don't. Don't bend your life to your favourite fictional characters. And if you already do, try to get some help. These characters are not real. Ciri and Vernon don't exist in our world. Just as Iorveth and Vernon don't exist.

I know that from my Tumblr profile it looks like I do not have anything else to do in my life than simp over Rorveth just the way it looks like you don't have anything to do in your life than to hate every ship that is not Roche/Ciri, so let me get this straight.

Doing Rorveth photos doesn't mean we compare ourselves or our relationship to them.

Just as we don't compare our relationship to lord Hans Capon and Henry of Skalitz.

Just as we don't think we are Nilfgaardian soldiers.

Just as I don't want my husband to pay with his life for making him the captain of the Black Pearl.

Just as I don't steal and he doesn't kill people.

(Honestly I still live for this ship from completely different settings.)

Just as we don't want to go on a journey to destroy the One ring.

Just as we don't think we are important figures of Tamriel.

We don't compare our relationship to any of these characters and their possible ships. We are cosplayers. We are a couple that share a passion about movies and books and video games and we love to discuss them as proud nerds we are, but we don't share a mental illness which would make us actually believe we are the characters.

I don't want our relationship to look like Iorveth and Vernon, and I for sure don't want it to look like Vernon and Ciri (who by the way didn't share a single sentence in the source material if you so insist on comparing). I want it to be just the way it is - two people who love each other and share a strong passion for their common HOBBY.

You don't have to be worried about our relationship, because WE know what is real and what is fiction. Maybe you should also try it.

[bomberqueen17]

momentum

last year i kept missing updates and people were so sweet like “you don’t have to post X often! you don’t have to hit a deadline! do what suits your schedule!” and that was lovely and I did appreciate it, but the point of the deadlines was momentum. Now I have fallen down so thoroughly on posting ever at all, zero routine left, no concept of it even, that I have no momentum and my brain is like clearly no one cares about this so give up, and that sucks, and i’m exhausted and cranky and useless and shitty but by god i am not abandoning my like fifty WIPs that i care deeply about i swear and so anyway i am trying to force the engine to turn over, as hard as I can, i swear other people were excited about this and i can use that to get myself excited about it again, i can do this

so please help me get excited about literally anything, i am in despair.

SNIPPETS of THINGS i am TRYING TO MAKE HAPPEN:

direct prequel to Fit For Pearls:

“Did he ask you to tell me about the meeting?” Ciri asked, eyeing him.

“He did not directly ask,” Voorhis said stiffly, “but he knows I intended to ensure you had the opportunity to attend such meetings. Had he not wanted me to tell you, he would have needed to order me not to.”

“Is that how it works?” Ciri asked.

“It’s how that works,” Voorhis said, very stiff and formal and not much like his normal self. She wondered what he was trying to convey. Was it displeasure, that this was his task? Was it nervousness, that it was in fact not his actual task and he was perhaps taking advantage of some confusion to play politics?

She hated politics.

She’d chosen politics.

“I thank you,” she said wearily.

next bit of the Peace-Tied series, a tender little Iorveth & Yennefer moment with hair-braiding, very self-indulgent:

By the time they finished writing and elaborately illuminating the placard, Yennefer’s hair was caught back in a series of delicate little braids that then twined around one another, and caught her hair up off her neck. She was also inexplicably near tears at the tenderness of all of it. 

Iorveth knelt up to finish fastening the ends of her hair behind her ear, after having twined the braids up over her head. His body was a long, warm press along her back, his hands warm and big cradling her head. 

She tipped her head back and he held her like that, gentle and reassuring. “How’s that?” he murmured. 

She took a shaky breath, and he smoothed a hand down the side of her face, settling down on his knees to put his arms around her from behind, cradling her back against his shoulder. “There,” he said. “Now your hair looks like someone cares for you.”

“Is that what it means,” she murmured.

“It does,” he said, and pressed a kiss against the side of her head, above the hairline. “Thank you for fixing my face. I wasn’t ready to die, not like that.”

“I am glad that I could,” she said.

and finally this weird modern a/u (tw for self-directed ableist language in dialogue) i’ve been working on slowly forever that is so close to cohering and yet doesn’t quite, in which I think you can guess what Joe’s thusfar unknown real name is:

A hand caught him by the arm, two hands, steadying him, and helped him sit up. Joe was even more frightening up close; Roche had noticed the eyepatch from a distance but his face was heavily-scarred on that side, like somebody had gone at the eye with a knife and missed. Or, like something had hit him very hard in the face, taken the eye, then bounced off his cheekbone and twisted down his face. 

But his hands were strong and he steadied Roche for a long moment, and despite the frightfully leering aspect his damaged face gave him, his expression was actually neutral. “Is anything broken?”

“I got shot,” Roche gritted out, “twice, a year ago, this is as good as it fucking gets. I just landed badly, just now, and it takes me a minute.”

He saw Joe notice the cane. “Ah,” the man said. “I hadn’t realized.” He looked around. “Dogs knocked you over?”

“The saluki is a fucking menace,” Roche said. He couldn’t sit like this, it was agony on his hip. “They’re all fucking menaces.” He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t stay down, he was shivering with the pain.

“Let’s get you to a chair,” Joe said, calm and businesslike. “Where’s the damage? Hip and shoulder?” Roche managed to gesture, and Joe proceeded to mostly lift him unaided, which hurt like a motherfucker, but once he’d dumped Roche, surprisingly gently-- he was very strong-- into the armchair in the corner it was easier to get his various joints at angles that didn’t hurt. “Do you need anything else,” he said, far too neutral and calm. 

“Yeah,” Roche said, savage with agonized frustration, “I need to not be a fucking cripple.”

Joe didn’t answer for a long moment. “While I can relate to that,” he said, “I meant, do you have any medication or anything that would help?”

Gritting his teeth, Roche pointed to the paper bag he’d left on the sideboard, that still had the pill bottle in it. There were still a couple of pills in the old bottle but he wasn’t going to have Joe wander through his house looking for them. 

Joe took the bottle out of the bag. “One or two,” he said. 

“I can-- one,” Roche said, giving up; Joe was already opening the bottle. 

“Can you dry-swallow or do you need water,” Joe said, but he was already moving over to the dish drainer to retrieve a glass. 

“Water,” Roche said, resenting it. Joe put the bottle down and filled the glass, bringing over a pill between his thumb and forefinger, and the filled glass in his other hand. 

Roche took the pill and the glass, inwardly fuming. He could get the lid off a fucking pill bottle, and he hadn’t asked for this. 

“Would an ice pack help or is it past that?” Joe asked, and while his tone was neutral, it grated over Roche’s last nerve. 

“You know,” he said, “I didn’t ask for your fucking pity.”

Joe said nothing, just stood regarding him. After a moment, he bent down, looming uncomfortably close. “I know we don’t know one another, Vernon,” he said quietly, “but I want you to look me in the eye for a moment, and then tell me that you think I don’t know what it’s like to have to adjust to a new way of living after a bad injury.” *

Roche’s anger flattened out abruptly, staring into his neighbor’s mangled face. The remaining eye was green, astonishingly green against the medium-brown of the man’s complexion. “Uh,” was all he managed; he didn’t have an answer for that.

“I understand that you’re in pain,” Joe went on quietly, straightening up and smoothing his hand down the front of his battered jacket, “and I can extend you a little grace based on that, but I want you to realize what you’re doing.” He glared down at Roche. “One last time, is there anything else you need, or are you all right on your own from here?”

Face burning, Roche managed to grit out, “I’m all right on my own from here.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment, and then turned and left, closing the door carefully and quietly behind himself. 

The canine energy surged through the kitchen again in the wake of his departure, but then Strega came over and put her head in Roche’s lap, and he fondled the silky curls of her ears and said, “Awesome work, guys, we’re doing great!”

*yes this is the Look Deep Into My Eyes Ernie meme, i could not resist

[witcher-trash]

Weekly (?) Witcher Fic Recs 10

A Rocky Shore (ciri & geralt, teen, complete, 500) Ciri grieves alone.

Cloves (eskel/lambert, explicit, complete, 6k) A contract goes sideways and Lambert improvises. Eskel suffers the consequences.

Fit for Pearls (ciri/oc, teen, wip, 70k) Part of the Meet Death Sitting series In a multimedia property where the Chosen One character is a girl who is WLW in every canon (c'mon Netflix don't let us down), we deserve a fairly sweet Disaster Lesbians love story with an Emily Dickinson poem at the front.

For the Wretched of the Earth -series (berengar & kiyan, mature, wip, 3k) “That sounds like a job for a Witcher,” he’d said when the alderman had brought him a drink and described the issue. “Are you not a Witcher, then?” the alderman asked, confused. “No,” he said, ignoring the weight of a medallion against his breastbone, hidden away under his shirt. He wanted nothing to do with whatever was happening here, and he refused to be sucked back into a world he’d left behind years before. Somehow he’d ended up here anyway. Berengar isn’t a Witcher anymore. Still, he finds himself searching the crumbling ruins for whatever had taken up residence there.

Lambert's (Not-So) Mysterious Vial of Oil (aiden/lambert, explicit, complete, 11k) Part of the Fuck That Kinda Destiny series Lambert discovers that Aiden has been using spit - fucking spit - along with a laundry list of other disgusting alternatives for sex (tallow, yeah, that was on offer too). He whips up his own lube using a centuries-old recipe and they go to town.

Missing You (eskel/jaskier, mature, complete, 2k, modern au) Jaskier is curled on their bed above the blankets, legs tucked into his chest, cuddling what looks to be one of Eskel’s sweaters. He must have fallen asleep watching tv again, and the quiet sounds of Say Yes To The Dress play softly in the background. Eskel places his spaghetti on the bedside table, then climbs onto the bed next to Jaskier and leans in to kiss the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, running a hand up and down the smaller man’s back. “Mmm, you’re home,” Jaskier murmurs. He doesn’t open his eyes, but rolls over and clings to Eskel’s warmth, searching for more kisses. Eskel pulls him closer and kisses him properly this time, then nuzzles the younger man’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of Jaskier’s shampoo. “I am. That my sweater?” “Yeah. Missed you.”

The Fall (vesemir-centric, mature, wip, 25k) Tensions run high between humanity and the witchers. Vesemir, Master of the wolf school, attempts to keep himself together as the world starts falling apart around him

Under The Table (iorveth/vernon roche, explicit, wip, 10k) Part of the Meet Death Sitting series Midwinter 1272, the nations sharing a boundary on the Pontar meet in Vizima for a discussion of trade networks. The Upper Aedirn Free State, for some reason, sends Iorveth. Roche finds himself babysitting. Hijinks, and some violence, ensue.

Will-o'-the-Wisp (ciri & lambert, ciri&coën, coën/lambert, teen, complete, 2k) Part of the Fuck That Kinda Destiny series Coën nudged the Wolf triumphantly as awe blossomed over Ciri's face. “There now, a tale of drunks and devils is not fit for a princess. But mystical beings from another world?” Lambert scoffed, but Ciri looked thoughtful. “Why are there two different stories? I've heard of the part about the evil spirits. That’s true of every tale, but...” “Stories are a cobbling together of the morals, myths and realities of the people that tell 'em,” Lambert said, scratching idly at his beard. “In my village, we had drunks a'plenty, malicious fucks, so their tales of evil all warn against it.” Or: Lambert and Coën share stories from their childhoods with Ciri while will-o'-the-wisps dance across Morhen Lake.

[bard-llama]

Phillipa, again in Vergen, learns that Saskia wants to marry for love (and maybe a little as a political statement) Iorveth: "Well, we have to find a way to gain some political benefit out of it. At least he is not Stennis, though..."

OH GOD NOT STENNIS!!! I mean, I usually kill the fucker anyway, even though I don't think Geralt would let him die, canonically. BUT knowing that he never faces ANY punishment in canon, I let the fucker die.

But for canon, I do have a WiP where, post-Witcher 3, Iorveth recruits Roche to help him murder war criminals (sans themselves) who profitted off of others' suffering. He figures they need to work their way up to King Stennis of Aedirn. I know that's not what this ask is about, but I love this part, so I'm gonna include a snip under the cut.

Anyway, Philippa - she would 100% find a way to bilk their marriage for all its worth.

So I’m gonna include 2 snips from the WiP whose working title is “Becoming Terrorists Together” 

You know what? Fuck it. Here’s 90% of the whole WiP lmao Seriously, there’s only like, half a page after this.

When Nilfgaard dictated terms that actually favored you after they literally tore a swath across the continent, a reasonable person would listen.

Vernon Roche was not a reasonable person. In point of fact, he typically enjoyed spitting on reasonable people. Especially if they were Nilfgaardian.

Unfortunately, no one asked him his opinion. In fact, there was very little asking going on at all.

“What do you mean, ‘congratulations, you’re in charge now’!?” Roche bellowed. He had a very good bellow, developed from years and years of yelling orders over the battlefield. 

Emhyr var Emreis, Emperor of the Nilfgaardian Empire, King of Cintra, Lord of Metinna, Ebbing, and Gemmera, Sovereign of Nazair, Temeria, and Vicovaro, and Overlord of Aedirn, Redania, and Toussaint was not impressed. “I mean, congratulations. You’ve successfully managed a Free Temeria. Now you have to rule it.”

Roche sputtered. First off, ‘Free Temeria’ was a helluva way to say ‘Temeria, Protectorate of Nilfgaard’. Secondly, “I’m not a ruler.”

“Aren’t you? Shame,” Emhyr said tonelessly. He didn’t look up from the report he was reviewing. “What’s the problem? Isn’t this everything you’ve been fighting for?”

Roche gnashed his teeth together. Unlike a certain former intelligence operative, Roche’s goal had never been to rule. Why the fuck would he want to do that!? Roche was a behind the scenes kind of guy. He most certainly was not the guy to wear the crown.

Also, he’d seen firsthand how much paperwork the guy with the crown had to do. No thank you.

“I don’t know how to run a country,” he growled.

“Then you’re in for a sharp learning curve,” Emhyr shrugged. “I’d get started if I were you. Your swearing in ceremony is in an hour.”

“My fucking what?”

“Your swearing in as the Imperial High Commissioner of Temeria, Administrator of Mahakam, Governor of Ellander, and Presiding Overseer of the Northern Imperial Capital of Vizima, of course.”

Roche gaped in horror. “There’s no way in fuck that I’m becoming – that.”

“Oh?” Emhyr raised a single eyebrow. “Would you prefer that I assign a Nilfgaardian administrator?”

Roche grit his teeth. If Temeria were ruled by a Nilfgaardian still sore about the war efforts, then Temeria’s people would be subjected to harsh treatment, and that was the opposite of everything he’d worked for, dammit.

Still… ruling Temeria? Him!? And that fucking title – no way was he keeping that.

Ah hell, he was going to agree, wasn’t he? Emhyr played him too damn well, knew that Roche wouldn’t be able to say no.

He pursed his lips, frowning deeply. “What exactly would I have to do?”

Emhyr smirked, eyes still focused on the report in front of him. Roche had never wanted to stab anyone quite so badly in his life.

Forty-five minutes later, he was dressed in absurdly expensive Temerian blue robes and three maids were attempting to remove his chaperon.

“Sir, you are to be sworn in as the ruler of an Imperial protectorate! You must look dignified.” Emhyr’s chamberlain insisted.

“I shaved, didn’t I?” Roche shrugged. What was it with Nilfgaardians and beards, anyway? Who really cared if he had a five o’clock shadow?

“You did, sir. But I am afraid they absolutely cannot place your crown over a chaperon. So if you would remove it–”

“Wait, wait, I don’t need a fucking crown!”

“It is Nilfgaardian tradition, sir. Every Imperial Representative has been sworn in with a crown. The people expect a crown. You simply must wear it, I’m afraid.” Mereid, the chamberlain, somehow managed to look innocent and helpful, even as he nodded for the maids to grab at his chaperon again. 

“The people expect an actual fucking ruler,” Roche muttered, dodging the maids. “Chaperons are traditional headwear amongst Temerian nobility. If anything, it’s more dignified to wear it!”

Mereid’s eyes narrowed and Roche felt a prickle of fear at the base of his spine. This was a man who even the Emperor deferred to. He was not to be messed with.

But dammit, did it have to be the chaperon?

“Sir,” Mereid began, his tone icy. “I must ask that you refrain from further struggling and remove the hat.” His eyes looked exactly like Ves’s three seconds before she knifed someone.

Roche removed the chaperon. 

As casually as if he hadn’t just won a protracted battle, Mereid snapped his fingers. “Tend to his hair,” he ordered, and the maids immediately launched themselves at Roche again.

It took every bit of control he had not to bolt. 

Ten minutes later, his hair was slicked back with a truly ridiculous amount of oil to tame his curls. Combined with his undercut, it looked absolutely ridiculous, but apparently Mereid was pleased.

“Now,” Mereid clapped, “we must proceed to the throne room.”

Roche blinked. “There’s not like, actually going to be an audience for this, is there?”

Mereid gave him a look. “The purpose of a coronation is for it to be witnessed, sir.”

“Ah fuck, Ves is never gonna let me forget this,” he groaned. 

“It shall be forever memorialized, of course,” Mereid said casually. “The court painter is already working on your portrait.”

“Oh my gods, I hate everything.”

“Shall we depart, sir?” Mereid gestured to the door in a way that clearly suggested that it was not a question.

Roche glanced at his reflection in the mirror and thought of this being how he was remembered. “Fuck,” he grunted. Nonetheless, he followed Mereid when the chamberlain started out of the room.

Ves laughed at him, of course. She didn’t even have the courtesy to hold it in until after the ceremony. Instead, Roche had to listen to her cackle as Emhyr fucking var Emreis slowly lowered the crown of the King of Temeria onto his head.

Despite what Ves later claimed, he did not tear up at all when Foltest’s crown came to rest on his brow.

“People of Temeria,” Emhyr proclaimed grandly, “I present to you, the Imperial High Commissioner of Temeria, Administrator of Mahakam, Governor of Ellander, and Presiding Overseer of the Northern Imperial Capital of Vizima, Commander Vernon Roche!”

Roche felt vaguely like throwing up even as he stood and faced the scattered applause.

––

A month later, Roche did not want to set everything on fire any less than he had from the start. If anything, the urge had only gotten stronger with each paper he signed. 

He was also, somewhat disappointingly, actually pretty decent at ruling a country. Temeria was doing better than it had since the war had started, and the economy was projected to be back at the level King Foltest had achieved by the end of the year.

Roche still hated it.

With a heavy sigh, he took off the crown and reverently placed it on a cushion. He would love to just be able to toss it aside when it got too heavy on his head, but it was Foltest’s crown. He couldn’t treat it with anything but the appropriate amount of solemnity and respect.

His robes, on the other hand. 

Roche tore off the ridiculously heavy clothing as quickly as possible, leaving his hair a rat’s nest above his head. Then he headed for the one luxury he actually appreciated – the huge opulent bathtub. It was truly ridiculous – made from polished copper, it was inlaid with mother of pearl edging and was everything he hated about rich people – and also really, really nice to soak in.

Once the tub was steaming, Roche slid down until the surface of the water tickled his ears. The tub was deep and he let himself relax into the heat, tilting his head back and letting out a long sigh. The stresses of a life he’d never wanted began to sluice off of him with the water and he rolled his shoulders back against the side of the tub, stretching his neck with a yawn.

When he opened his eyes, he encountered dark red fabric and an olive green eye about three inches from his nose. It took his brain a half-second to process what he was seeing and then Roche found himself screaming, high pitched and shrill, as he grasped frantically at his chaperon to cover himself with.

Jerking back at his scream, the elf wanted in every northern kingdom and Nilfgaard blinked at him. Iorveth, somehow hanging from the ceiling, just stuck a finger in one ear and grimaced at the noise.

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Iorveth said, offering him a bar of soap as if the leader of the Scoia’tael interrupting his bath wasn’t reason enough to yell.

“What the fuck!?” Roche yelped. “How the fuck did you even get in here!?”

Iorveth shrugged, still hanging upside down. “Your security needs work.”

Roche sputtered. “Why the fuck are you here!?”

“Why, to pay respects to the new Imperial High Commissioner, Administrator, Governor, Overseer, and Commander, of course” Iorveth smirked, mischief sparkling in the eye that was still far too close to him. 

Roche poked Iorveth’s forehead with his pointer finger and pushed him away. “Ever heard of space? Privacy? Not being a shithead?”

Iorveth snorted, and did some sort of complicated flip through the air that left him standing next to Roche’s bathtub. Roche frowned. On the one hand, he didn’t particularly want to be naked and unarmed with Iorveth in the vicinity. On the other hand, he literally just got in, and it would be such a shame to waste the hot water.

Decided, he crossed his arms and glared at Iorveth. “What the fuck, Squirrel?”

Iorveth ignored his glare, poking around his room instead. “There’s no way you aren’t hating every minute of playing king.” The elf flicked the tip of Foltest’s crown.

Roche scowled. “Why are you here? And why aren’t you – you know – killing me?”

“Even death isn’t enough to escape Nilfgaard,” Iorveth said.

Roche’s forehead wrinkled and he squinted at Iorveth. Iorveth continued to search through his room, though the elf considerately stayed within Roche’s sightline.

Roche was suspicious.

“There were rumors you’d died,” he finally said.

Iorveth shrugged. “Not the first time. What, did you believe them this time?”

“No,” he found himself admitting. “Only I’m allowed to kill you.”

Iorveth glanced back at him with a smirk. “Don’t seem to be trying at the moment.”

“Water’s still hot,” Roche grumbled. Iorveth muffled a laugh and Roche was hit by the utter strangeness of chatting casually with fucking Iorveth while sitting in a ridiculously fancy bathtub that he only had because he was currently ruling Temeria.

What the fuck was his life?

Gods, the bathtub really was fantastic, though. He slumped back against the tub and let himself enjoy it, muscles slowly unwinding. If Iorveth killed him, the elf would be doing him a favor. But Iorveth was right – even in death, he probably wouldn’t be able to avoid fucking Nilfgaard.

Roche hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he opened them to see Iorveth staring at him again, though fortunately from much further away this time. “What?”

“This ruler thing isn’t allowed to kill you before I do,” Iorveth said eventually, turning back to poke at the shit decorating Roche’s room. “Fucking shit, your shoulders look tight enough to chop wood on.”

Roche snorted, shrugging shoulders that really were painfully tense. “What, are you offering a massage?”

Iorveth dropped the trinket he’d picked up and fumbled catching it, graceless in a way Roche had never seen an elf be before. Then Iorveth turned to him with a wide eye and what Roche almost thought was a blush. Roche’s eyebrows rose slowly.

“Actually,” Iorveth cleared his throat, “I was thinking of a more violent type of stress relief.”

“What?”

“Nilfgaard wants to quell all unrest in their lands, so they’re not going to prosecute any war criminals. Which means they’re fair game.”

Roche blinked at him. “Iorveth,” he said slowly, “you do realize that technically we are both war criminals?”

Iorveth just shrugged. “‘Least we haven’t gotten rich off of other people’s suffering.”

That was true. At least he and Iorveth had fought for a cause, even if what they did was monstrous. People driven by pure greed disgusted Roche, and he knew there was no shortage of greedy predators preying on those devastated by the war.

“Are you… inviting me to go murder assholes with you?” Roche asked in disbelief.

Iorveth tilted his head, shrugging again. “Essentially.”

Roche sucked on his lower lip. It was a terrible idea. He was leader of a country now, he couldn’t just swan off and do whatever he wanted. And what would they do, run around like vigilantes, punishing the cruel?

That actually sounded really fun. When was the last time he’d had fun? Definitely before fucking Emhyr’s grand fucking idea.

He pursed his lips. It really would be an awful decision, but gods, for the first time in ages, he actually felt interested in something. Excited about something.

“Huh,” Roche huffed, “I don’t think I’ve killed anyone in at least two months.”

Iorveth looked mildly impressed. “We could fix that.”

“It is definitely wrong to long to murder people,” he pointed out.

“Moralize later, dress now,” Iorveth said, picking through his wardrobe. “Where’s your armor? There’s no way you let them take it away in favor of these ridiculous things.” Iorveth held up a velvet brocade robe to support his point.

Roche laughed. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, after all. “Under the bed. Had to hide it from the chamberlain.”

Iorveth turned to the bed, an absurdy lavish four poster bed with chiffon draped ever so precisely around the bedframe. Laying on it felt like laying on a cloud.

Roche hated it. He usually slept on the floor instead. 

“We’re waiting until my bath is done to leave, though,” he said and Iorveth shot him a disbelieving look. “I can’t just waste the hot water,” Roche justified, flushing slightly. A lifetime of little money had taught him that nothing should be wasted. Baths didn’t cost him coin now, but old habits died hard.

“What, and I’m just supposed to wait for you?” Iorveth grumbled.

“Hey, no one invited you here,” Roche pointed out. “I don’t care what you do, but I’d recommend not getting caught at it. You’re still wanted… pretty much everywhere.”

Iorveth smirked proudly, “I know.”

Roche rolled his eyes, yawning and leaning back in the bath, stretching his neck from side to side. 

“That’s a gigantic bathtub,” Iorveth said, something contemplative in his tone.

“Uh huh,” Roche grunted.

“If you’re enjoying the hot water, I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” Iorveth said nonsensically, and Roche opened his eyes to stare.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Iorveth just arched an eyebrow and reached for the straps holding his weapons. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Roche asked in disbelief. It wasn’t that he objected, necessarily – years and years of military life had removed any shame he might’ve felt at being naked in front of his enemy. But naked and sharing a bath? “You know this is weird, right?”

Iorveth just snorted, now setting about removing his numerous weapons. Roche was a little impressed by how many the elf managed to fit on his body. “You, Vernon Roche, are currently ruler of Temeria. Is there any part of your life that isn’t weird nowadays?”

Roche opened his mouth to respond – and then closed it. Iorveth wasn’t wrong, after all. “Claiming to be part of my life?” he finally asked.

“Of course I am,” Iorveth said confidently, “I’m your nemesis and you’re mine.” 

Roche swallowed at that, watching as Iorveth removed his belt, gloves, and all the various straps that held his hodgepodge armor together. Apparently he was really doing this, really planning to join Roche in the bath.

Seriously, what was his life now???

Instead of thinking too hard about that, Roche cleared his throat, jerking his gaze away as Iorveth pulled his chainmail over his head. “So, this murder thing…”

“Mm?” 

“You have a hit list or something? Or were you just planning to run around until you found an appropriately irritating war criminal?”

“Wouldn’t be that hard,” Iorveth muttered. “Stennis of Aedirn is top of my hit list, but not necessarily the best place to start.”

Roche blinked. “Stennis… as in King Stennis?”

Iorveth shrugged, and in Roche’s memory, he could hear that brash voice easily declaring, king or beggar, what’s the difference?

Back then, Roche had had many opinions on the difference. The likes of King Foltest could hardly be compared to some beggar on the streets. Or even some whoreson who had somehow found his way into power.

Now? Now Roche had the blood of two kings on his hands, and really, what was a third?

“That will require careful planning. He’s probably got good security.”

Iorveth was silent for long enough for Roche to look at him again, and he flushed when faced with the sight of Iorveth’s bare chest, ribs visible and skin a handful of shades darker than Roche’s. Iorveth’s gambeson lay in a pile next to him, and the elf was currently working to remove his hose – only at Roche’s words, he’d apparently stopped to stare at Roche instead.

“What?” Roche asked, hoping the heat from the bath hid his blush. Why was he suddenly feeling awkward about nudity? It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen the worst of each other before. Who cared if there was a bit of skin on display?

His eyes caught on the peaks of Iorveth’s nipples, darker than Roche’s – almost the color of polished cedar. Roche bit his lip, feeling oddly fixated as Iorveth’s nipple hardened in the cool air under his gaze.

“I’d heard you killed kings now,” Iorveth said eventually, shifting enough to break Roche’s gaze and when Iorveth bent to remove his hose, Roche quickly turned away. His face and ears felt hot and he sank lower into the tub.

“Gods, I hope people aren’t going around gossiping about that,” he groaned. “Both were supposed to be fucking secret, dammit.”

Iorveth pursed his lips, staring at Roche. “You really did it,” he said slowly, and there was something in his voice that made Roche look at him. Standing naked with absolutely no shame, Iorveth frowned at Roche. “Radovid I get. You got a Free Temeria out of it, and even most dh’oine agree he was insane. But Henselt? Really?”

Roche cleared his throat, determinedly keeping his eyes trained on Iorveth’s face and not the miles of bare skin that lay in front of him. “He deserved it,” Roche grunted.

“He was a king,” Iorveth said, as if that explained everything. Roche frowned at him. “What did he do to drive you that far?”

Iorveth sounded genuinely curious and Roche swallowed. He didn’t really want to talk about this, didn’t really want to remember the way the Kaedweni king had stolen his family from him. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, trying not to go back there. 

A touch on his shoulder startled him and Roche jerked around, blinking wildly as he realized that the touch had been Iorveth – what, comforting him? That was fucking weird. Still, Iorveth’s touch was cool against his slightly-overheated skin, and the look on the elf’s face was more akin to understanding than pity.

Roche supposed that was acceptable. He swallowed harshly and forced himself to answer, “he murdered my men.”

Iorveth inhaled sharply, clearly not having expected that. “Oh,” the elf murmured, obviously lost for words. 

Roche cleared his throat. “So, King Stennis…” he changed the subject, shifting in the tub to allow Iorveth room to climb in.

Iorveth was silent as he took the invitation and stepped into the bath, sighing softly at the touch of hot water. They sat facing away from each other, and the press of Iorveth’s back against his was oddly hypnotic. Roche found himself only able to focus on the places they touched – and the places they didn’t.

“I’m… sorry,” Iorveth eventually said.

Roche blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. “Why?”

Iorveth tapped his fingers against the side of the tub. “Enemies deserve respect,” he said. “The Blue Stripes were uncommon enemies – efficient and ruthless and well-led. I may not feel anything at their deaths – but they were your unit.”

Were. Roche swallowed roughly, digging his fingernails into his palms. “Let’s talk about Stennis,” he grunted forcefully. 

Iorveth sighed, and for a moment, Roche almost thought that Iorveth’s shoulders pressed against his more intentionally. Offering comfort again? What a strange thing for his nemesis to do.

“Why did you come to me?” he asked, not sure if he expected Iorveth to answer truthfully or not. 

Iorveth hummed. “We are remnants of a past age,” Iorveth said slowly. “Our skills are no longer needed nor wanted. Instead, we’re supposed to fit into nicer, less controversial boxes.” Roche could feel Iorveth shrug against him, “I’ve never been one to conform to societal expectations.”

Roche snorted, “yeah, no shit.”

Iorveth huffed in amusement. “I figured you probably hated all this as much as I do.”

Roche grunted in agreement. “The bathtub is nice, at least.”

Iorveth actually laughed, twisting around to face him. “It is. And yet, you still look tense enough to string a bow.”

Roche grumbled. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d left his back exposed to his nemesis, not until cool fingers hesitantly touched his shoulders. Inexplicably, he didn’t tense further, even though touch typically meant violence, especially coming from Iorveth.

Only Iorveth didn’t hurt him. Actually, Iorveth’s touch was gentle as he traced the line of the tattoo that spanned Roche’s shoulders. Roche shivered at the light scratch of Iorveth’s bow calluses, unsure why he was allowing this.

Except that it had been so very long since anyone had touched him in kindness and Roche couldn’t make himself pull away. If he was lucky, this wasn’t some sort of ruse to get him to let his guard down before Iorveth slit his throat.

Though really, Iorveth could kill him right here and now with little resistance – and yet, he continued to live and breathe. Instead, he felt Iorveth’s fingers dip under the surface of the water, continuing to trace the tree tattooed across his back, each branch a tribute to the men he’d lost. 

Roche swallowed, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. He pinched his index finger and thumb together tightly, letting the pressure ground him. 

“So,” he coughed. “King Stennis? Why do you want to kill him?”

“He poisoned the Dragonslayer and faced no consequences,” Iorveth said, a growl in his voice. His fingers traced back up the trunk of the tree on Roche’s back and then he dug his thumbs into Roche’s traps.

Roche gasped sharply, the pressure a painful ache until his muscles slowly unwound under Iorveth’s touch. 

“Seriously,” Iorveth said casually, as if he weren’t apparently giving Roche a shoulder massage. “How are you even able to move right now? You feel like a brick shithouse.”

“Gee, thanks,” Roche snorted, wincing slightly as the heels of Iorveth’s palms kneaded between his shoulder blades.

Then he felt the moment his tension released, and he practically melted into Iorveth’s touch, feeling looser and more relaxed than he had in… fuck, who even knew how long?

Iorveth continued massaging his shoulders, moving up to circle his thumbs against Roche’s neck and dipping down to work at his back on occasion. But Roche wore his stress in his shoulders and Iorveth spent the most time there, fingers strong and agile, pushing and pulling at his muscles with surprising ease.

Roche sighed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to remember the thread of the conversation. Right. Stennis. And the Dragonslayer. He poisoned her? Really?

“I thought the Dragonslayer was alive and well and running the only country that hasn’t succumbed to Nilfgaard?”

“She is,” Iorveth responded, voice low. It added a sense of privacy to their conversation that made Roche feel oddly special. “Geralt and the fucking sorceress healed her. The peasants wanted to make Stennis pay, but apparently Gwynbleidd’s morality won’t allow for a lynching. The nobles, of course, don’t care if Stennis is a poisoner, because he’s royal, so…”

“So now it’s left to you to get revenge?”

“Some might call it justice.”

Roche turned his head to look at Iorveth over his shoulder. “Somehow I doubt anyone would picture either of us as agents of justice.”

“Who cares what others think?” Iorveth shrugged, sliding his thumbs up the nape of Roche’s neck. 

Roche turned back around and let him. “Most people,” Roche answered, leaning into Iorveth’s hands. 

“You don’t,” Iorveth said, voice utterly assured. “As long as it’s for Temeria.”

Roche huffed. He wasn’t wrong, but still. “I think I’m supposed to care now. The whole ruling thing and all?”

“You hate it.”

“Of course I fucking hate it. That’s probably why fucking Emhyr forced it on me.”

Iorveth hummed in agreement, massaging Roche’s neck and the base of his skull. It felt ridiculously good and Roche felt his body melting into Iorveth’s touch, putty in the elf’s hands.

Iorveth could have done anything and Roche wouldn’t have been able to stop him. He could slit Roche’s throat, could drown him in the bath, could break his neck, hell, Iorveth could even suffocate him in a chokehold.

The elf did none of that. Instead, when the water began to cool, Iorveth slid his hands down Roche’s neck and across his shoulders, squeezing them briefly. Then, cool lips pressed against the curve where Roche’s neck met his shoulder. By the time his gasp found voice, Iorveth was already pulling away, rising gracefully to his feet and stepping out of the tub, stealing Roche’s towel.

“There’s a Redanian,” Iorveth said casually, as if he hadn’t just kissed Roche. Roche gaped at him, but Iorveth didn’t appear to notice as he began dressing. “Former general, hoarded medical supplies and food and charged exorbitant prices for them. Located in the Outskirts of Vizima, so figured we could start with that.”

Roche swallowed, belatedly pulling himself out of the tub. Iorveth helpfully passed him the already-wet towel and Roche took it with a grumble. “What’s the target’s name?”

“Arnold of Denesle,” Iorveth answered, still acting like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He’d even pulled Roche’s armor from under the bed and laid it out for him.

Roche sucked on his lip as he dried off quickly, reaching for his armor. Technically, he supposed, a kiss wasn’t that much stranger than the rest of this situation – i.e. Iorveth having snuck into the royal palace, joined him in the bath, and even given him a massage. Maybe Iorveth was playing some sort of mind game with him?

If that was the case, Roche should really push it from his thoughts. As he got dressed, he tried to do so – but there was something about the way Iorveth’s chapped lips had brushed against his skin that had him shivering, the spot still tingling.

Sometimes, he felt he knew his nemesis well enough to know how Iorveth thought. Other times, it was very clear that as much as he’d studied Iorveth, he had no idea what went through Iorveth’s head.

If Roche’s tattoo sounds familiar, it’s ‘cause I used the same concept in How to Fluster an Elf. This WiP was actually written first, though.

[bomberqueen17]

current writing status

yeah so i’m way behind on updates and a lot of that is that i’ve been dividing my scant writing time between about a zillion WIP docs.

But. i’ve finished the next chapter of Golden Towers, I think, so that’s gonna be the next thing that goes up tooooday or tomorrow probablyyy. And I plan to follow Golden Towers through to another prequel, which will detail how the Upper Aedirn Free State got re-established as Ciri’s like, first Am I Really A Princess Or Is This Position Decorative Because I Could Just Leave Anytime You Know little test, and as a necessary component of that, I’m gonna manage to work in a new character that’s going to be in the next Peace-Tied update as well, and boy i wish i could do graphical timeline things because not even I am sure how that chronology works but listen once I have that done, then I can hop to sequels of Fit For Pearls, and then I can catch the Peace-Tied series up to the “present” as well, and then I can have the events of Trust happen in the other two series and get them all onto the same page.

Anyway there’s a slim chance I’m just gonna start updating a Peace-Tied story with the new character in it without explaining them at all and just figure y’all can catch up, but we’ll have to see.

[A side note: the next Peace-Tied update has been somewhat delayed because I’m slightly nervous about it. Why? Well because I had decided that Faengil, the Everyone’s Favorite Baby, should get to grow up a little, and I wrote up a whole thing and it’s mostly played for laughs and like, awws, but I’m worried because of course he’s Plausibly Minor-Coded and while fandom as a whole doesn’t mind child soldiers, what if someone fucks one! no! so it’s like. Nobody’s going to give me shit about this, he is thirty-two years old and the entire point is that this is self-directed, right? but I’m still nervous about it. So anyway. I’m getting there.]

I keep getting distracted by 1) future timeline bits of how fucking messy Ciri’s going to be about poor Morvran who has no idea what to do with any of it, and 2) an entire 50,000-word story I’ve written that is a modern AU of Roche/Iorveth featuring a bunch of dogs for some reason, no I don’t know why, I’ve spent so much time on this and it’s still not postable but it will be, and it’s close enough for me to admit that it exists.

Anyway-- I have so much shit written but it’s out of order so nothing that’s quite ready to post, but a lot will be ready quite soon and I do have, believe it or not, a tiny vacation coming up, and maybe I will have time to actually stitch things together and fucking post them, we shall see. But it’s in progress! and very close!

[bomberqueen17]

lolll update soonish i promise

did i write at all this past week? notttt realllyyyy

but i do have more of the Iorveth Gets The Flu story to post, and I was going to polish it this morning, but instead suddenly in among the work multitasking the nebulous and numinous muse (i’m just typing words there) was like “oh here is the next bit of Fit For Pearls” and since i’ve been stuck not progressing on that one for a while I was like oh okay I will focus on that. So.

snippet:

“Ah, excuse me,” a voice said-- she’d heard someone come in but assumed they were there to take a file from the shelves, which was Ioan’s business to attend to. She glanced up and was startled to recognize the speaker, a young man in a soldier’s uniform. “I’m looking for the latest file on the--”

“Brych,” Luliana blurted, as the recognition slotted into place. “Why it’s-- Still a captain, I see.” The insignia was clear on his uniform-- the undress uniform for daily wear, no ceremonial patches and no armor, suitable for an officer on peacetime duty within the palace, who would not go about armed. 

He blinked at her. “Oh! Ma’am,” he said, and made her a courtesy. 

The other insignia that was clear on his uniform was that of the Alba Division, and the realization dawned across Luliana’s awareness of what had surely happened-- a likely young man, exonerated and moreover proven to have behaved with merit. He was surely now a staff officer. 

“Voorhis poached you, didn’t he,” she said. 

Captain Brych smiled, a little shyly. “He did,” he said. “My prospects didn’t look like much, even when the court-martial found me to have behaved correctly, but his secretary was waiting immediately after the whole thing concluded.”

“He’s a sharp one, that Voorhis,” Luliana said. 

“He is,” Brych said, “which is funny because that’s not at all the reputation he has.”

“It is not,” Luliana conceded.

Weave! Those! Ends! Back! In!

Anyway I am progressing, and moreover, hopefully have both time and Internet for this week, so we shall see how I do.

[irresistiibles]

"An elf." She repeated curiously. The word was sort of familiar, like something from one of the fantasy shows. Pearl shrugged. "I've been told I'm not particularly approachable myself. I don't know if the judgement actually means anything." Though she was occasionally rude to humans, she was getting better, and liked to consider that the more important point of it all. "And injuries may just mean you've been in combat before. That's more relatable to me than anyone sitting around with a smile."

"No I am not. I'm from a place called the Continent. I'm a Scoia'tael elf." He bowed his head in greeting. He could be a brute and a horrible person but he did still have some manners. He was attempting to not judge too quickly here but it seemed she didn't care much for human problems so possibly she wasn't one either. "No I suppose not but I didn't think I was the type to look very approachable." He motioned to the eyepatch and scaring on the right side of his face.

[bomberqueen17]

omg

omg omg omg

i just realized the Peace-Tied section of the series has finally caught up to the stuff I wrote for it back when I thought it was just going to be a side plot chapter in Fit For Pearls. Remember how I sent Yennefer to Vergen? That’s where she is!

here’s Iorveth’s character intro:

Yennefer cleared her throat. “Did you have something to ask me?” she said to the unseen person who was perched behind the shutter on the windowsill of her room, perceptible only by the faint thrumming of life-force-- not a magically gifted person, but likely an elf, from the aura.

There was a fraught moment of silence, and then a resonant, slightly nasal voice said, “No,” and the shutter swung back to reveal, yes, an elf, crouched on the windowsill looking unbothered. He was tall and well-built and dressed impeccably in forest green velvet and brocades, and he had a woven band arranged diagonally across his face covering one eye which, from the scar protruding from under the band and hooking down to the corner of his mouth, likely meant the eye was missing. 

Yennefer had seen him before, somewhere. She pondered it a moment, and placed him: plucked from Geralt’s memories. “Iorveth,” she said. Scotia’tael commando leader, former agent of Nilfgaard via the Vrihedd Brigade, betrayed in the peace after the second war, he’d escaped execution and fought on, and had somehow cadged himself a pardon and was now highly-placed in Saskia’s government, here in the Upper Aedirn Free State. 

A survivor, and from Geralt’s impressions, he rather liked the elf, so that was two points in his favor, to set against this unwelcome intrusion. 

and here’s Roche’s

The first time Yennefer laid eyes on Vernon Roche she immediately knew Geralt had slept with him. He was a handsome, weatherbeaten man of excellent bone structure, built lean and spare with an incredibly square jaw, deep-set dark eyes and a piercing gaze. He was wearing a padded gambeson and an elaborately-wrapped old-fashioned chaperon, but she had an expert’s eye and could easily pick out that he was both younger and more lithe than he looked, and he had the stance of a swordsman and the gait of a huntsman. Geralt would not be able to resist him for a moment. 

and that’s all there was going to be of their backstory!

This is going to need rewriting of course because I’ve learned so much more about them, but that was initially my whole plan, and then I added in Geralt’s offhand observation that he’d smelled Iorveth in Roche’s bed, and then I was like but what if I did tell that story.... actually first I fugue-state-wrote the entire elf baby subplot which like, hey S2, get out of my head, also mine is both more interesting and funnier. I’m going to have to heavily annotate that when I put it up eventually, as it was predicated on Book!Francesca’s canonical rant about how Elven reproduction works, instead of S2′s but what if we did the opposite of that instead-- which is valid! but. will be confusing to Netflix fans. I’m not a book purist, I swear, it’s just that the books existed then, and S2 didn’t, and when you’re writing shit this long there’s kind of a lead time.

[bomberqueen17]

new work: Growing Out

I am trying to get back onto my Friday update schedule.

I am not feeling any less bad for inadvertently leaving Fit For Pearls on a cliffhanger (yes shh it did not occur to me that people were going to be in suspense there, listen I am not, well, on the ball at the moment), but-- okay the Vergen plotline is still behind and needs to catch up. So this is Yennefer’s arrival in Vergen, and some more background on the situation, and a continuation of Iorveth and Saskia and Breniriel and the rest of the polycule. Extremely apropos, given yesterday’s comic update. ( @cacheth, the artist, complained after uploading it that Iorveth’s hair had grown slightly longer over the course of the comic, and I don’t see it, but it’s funny that I coincidentally had made that a theme of this chapter/work, especially given the theories we’d brainstormed about sex with dragons stimulating hair follicles. Because you’re worth it, Iorveth.)

But a large part of this chapter, I wrote a very long time ago indeed, and I am delighted to finally have a place to put it.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, I presume,” Iorveth said, unfolding himself gracefully from the windowsill. He was tall-- quite tall--  and well-built, and it was clear that the scar was interrupting a face that had been strikingly, classically beautiful. Yennefer wasn’t in a mood to be swayed by beauty, however, and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him an unimpressed look.

“Well?” she said. “Had you anything to ask, or to say, or are you here sightseeing?”

“We’ve a mutual friend,” Iorveth said. “I had wanted to enquire after his health.”

Well, that answered her first question. Geralt hadn’t been up here recently. It also began to answer her second, new question, which was Did you and Geralt fuck? It was one of her favorite inward games to play, when she met people who knew the witcher. Geralt had wide-ranging tastes, unfettered by gender or class or… really any criteria that Yennefer clearly understood, though she was starting to tease out patterns. She had certainly begun to develop a good eye for what he went for. And what he went for was certainly this.

[bomberqueen17]

fic update!

yeah i took today off work, and then finished this chapter before 9am, with the sun rising directly into my eyeballs. i realy needed to see the sky for a minute. just a minute!

anyway i’ve been editing it and my darling betas have poked it so hopefully it is worth the wait. i was really gonna update twice this week, really i was. but. this took forever. it’s a bit long and there’s a sex scene but i figured we all deserve that.

(We did it, guys. We survived February.)

Chapter 3 of Lion, Sable, Passant, on AO3, completing this work and I promise the next one is where shit really starts lining up. This one has the bit from chapter 6 of Fit For Pearls though, this is just Roche’s POV of it.

This was the design his aunt Nottie had made him get tattooed on before he’d gone off to war. He pondered the carved stone grimly for a bit. It was quite old, undoubtedly. The stone was cracked and damaged, and moss had grown thickly around the base. Locals had set up little offerings around it, oddly-shaped stones and bits of candle ends and little talismans carved from wood or wound from wool. Sticks with carved little notches seemed to be popular. 

Geralt noticed where he’d gone, and followed him over after a few moments. He slid a look at Roche. “Is this--”

“Yeah,” Roche said, “it’s--”

“It’s on your arse,” Ves said cheerfully, “don’t think I haven’t seen it. But that’s dead common, Silas had it too.”

“Velen boys,” Roche said, a bit wistfully. “All the Velen aunties insist on it. Meant to be protective.” He looked at Geralt. “Do you know what it means?”

Geralt looked thoughtful. “Think it’s Elvish,” he said. “See it carved into very old trees sometimes. Usually near roads.” He tilted his head. “Think this one’s sideways. Yeah-- the pillar broke. That’s recent, ish.” He gestured. “During my lifetime, somebody broke it. I remember how it looked before. See? There. This is just the top half. Came off there, landed here.”

“So it’s sideways,” Roche said, heart sinking a bit. He’d sort of hoped Iorveth was just fucking with him. 

“Yeah,” Geralt said. He picked up a stick, and drew it in the dirt. “Usually looks like this, on trees.” And he drew it, rotated about ninety degrees. 

Roche nodded. “So it-- think it was maybe related to the roadway, here? This is an old road.”

“Yeah,” Geralt said. “Some kind of road sign. Distance marker maybe? Other places I’ve seen it, it’s less clear, but they’re usually beside old trackways at least. Places people go, not wilderness.”

“Hmm,” Roche said. 

“Does your ass say twelve miles to Gors Velen on it?” Ves said, delighted. 

“Gors Velen’s only three, that way,” Roche said absently, then laughed. “If it does it’s far from the worst thing carved on me.”

Ves nodded. “The dick,” she said.

“You knew about that?” Roche demanded, disgusted, then turned on his heel and went and got back onto his horse, not waiting for an answer. Ves’s laughter was answer enough; they really didn’t need to get into it further.

[bomberqueen17]

fic update!

yeah Fit For Pearls is fighting me, BUT, dependable old Iorveth is there for me.

chapter 3 of Growing Out, on AO3

Dania leaned in next to him with a rustle. “Who’s that woman,” she breathed.

[Iorveth] freed a hand from his cloak to tap his fingers lightly on the table, signing to her absently before he remembered that she likely did not know the sign language. It took effort to focus enough to take the little lead pencil stub she’d brought to take notes with, and use it to scrawl on the paper she had in front of her. Yennefer of, he wrote, and then could not make himself spell her place-name correctly. It came out with a V and some b’s and a g in it but it was not the correct name, and he tried again and still failed, and then gave up and set the pencil stub down. He heard Dania huff a little laugh at his attempts, and flicked his fingers dismissively at her, before returning his hand to the warmth of his cloak.

ALSO @cacheth drew art of a pair of OC’s I introduced in this chapter, because I brainstormed them in the Discord chat, so I link to them at the end of the chapter but please have this link here as well:

Dania and Cece Fitzhugh

Their entire characterization was “ok I need there to be an herbalist in Vergen” “hmmm I think I gotta make up a couple people here” ... “what if they were lesbian vampires”, and then “what if one of them was fat and butch”, and then “oh the wife should be high goth” and then “oh! the wife should be Black and high femme goth”, and let me tell you just like, ticking the character creator boxes made them both spring to life on the page and I now love them both enormously, in a modern A/U Dania would be one of those older butches with a jingly keychain clipped to her belt and probably one of those ID badges on a retractable thingy and absolutely the most enormous multitool you’ve ever encountered on a holster on her belt, who when she shows up you’re immediately like oh thank fuck, we’re gonna survive this, and Cece, well, we’ll meet her next chapter, she’s actually wound up kind of important so we’ll get to know her in due time.

The other bonus material for this chapter is to brainstorm how badly Iorveth misspelled Yennefer’s name when he wrote it down for Dania in the meeting.

Yeneffer of Vamberger Yennefferr of Vengeber Yinefr of Vingbeefer Yamefer of Vambefer Ymmmmfmm om Vmmbbmmfmm

[bomberqueen17]

early chapter update

I realize that the new season of Witcher is coming out tomorrow.

I won’t get to watch it for... well I don’t know when I’ll get a chance. This is a pretty bad time of year. So I’ll have to lie low; I want spoilers, but only really specific ones and only from people I have specifically asked for them.

But I’ll also be really busy and probably offline a bunch.

(I’ll be sorely in need of distraction, probably, so if I can at all manage I’ll probably try to update again early in the week, but I have no idea how that’ll go. It’s-- well it’s a bad time of year. If you ever wanted to comment kindly on any of my work, round about next Tuesday would be the time to do that.)

So it struck me that I should do this week’s chapter update a day early, just so it’s not totally overshadowed by the new season, and everyone either posting about that or blacklisting everything to avoid spoilers.

I had really been working to get the Roche/Iorveth chapter done for this week, but it’s not quite there and in fact I think I have to split it into two. (Iorveth, will you shut up and fuck him already? No, Iorveth will not. This happened last time they fucked too. He had to stage a whole play that time, I guess I’m getting out of this much more easily this time.... or am I.)

So instead, here is another Fit For Pearls update, this one fairly horsey.

Chapter 16, on AO3

[Voorhis] fixed Geralt with a keen look. “Do you know anything about them?” He flipped the cuff back, showing the lining, which was embroidered.

“Ciri had ‘em,” Geralt said, and then made the conclusion. “Oh, she gave them to you.” The embroidery was a little stylized bird. He’d seen that, on things of Ciri’s. Had to be her device, she’d used it as a signature. Well, that was a bit-- unsubtle, giving a fellow your device to wear. That seemed significant.

“Yes,” Voorhis said, and he stepped in, closer, his aspect going serious. “Do you know why?”

“No,” Geralt said, “we didn’t discuss it, I just saw her with them.”

Voorhis looked briefly anguished, and turned away. “What does she mean by it,” he said quietly.

That, Geralt could have sympathy for. Not from his own experience; he’d never had a long courtship where he’d wondered about the other party’s feelings. But from romantic novels, he knew what this was like. And because so many romance novels featured nobles, he could even begin to guess that it was a lot more than some people’s feelings riding on it. Voorhis’s entire future depended on what Ciri thought of him, really.

“Seems to me it’s meant to be a sign of favor,” Geralt said. “I mean, she’s giving you her symbol to wear.”

“It does give that appearance,” Voorhis said, measuring the stirrup leather against his arm and then needlessly adjusting the buckle, which was already on the correct hole of the strap. He paused, took his gloves off, and replaced them with the new ones, which fit him so perfectly they very clearly had been made for him.[...]

“Is it so crazy to you,” Geralt said, “that she might like you?” Voorhis seemed upset, or unsettled, not at all like Geralt would have expected.

Voorhis let out a very short, sharp, humorless laugh. “The prevailing gossip around all of the palace is how angry she is with me,” he said. “No one is sure what I did to her, but one of the guards who overheard her angry tirade to Emhyr about me has been eagerly recounting it, so there is no shortage of rumors. She just suddenly appeared there, you see, by magic, and leapt up onto the balcony, and was shouting, but it was in Nordling and he doesn’t speak it well, so he only got the gist but he certainly heard my name.”

[bomberqueen17]

opening lines meme

List the first lines of your last 20 stories. See if there are any patterns and choose your favorite opening line!

tagged by @deputychairman

ok 20 is a lot? but also it doesn’t even get us to the beginning of the Witcher shit, so anyone who wanted cross-fandom analysis here.... sorry LOL.

Looks like I tend to try to start things in motion, either with a line of dialogue or a quick, close-POV establishing shot. A priority I obviously have is that you know whose POV this story is from-- sensible, as I often switch POVs at scene breaks, and I’m quite sure if you looked at all my scene/chapter breaks you’d find the same pattern. There should never be a time where the reader is skimming and wondering whose POV this is, but I also cordially dislike having little tags to tell you-- it should be obvious, straight away, who you’re following. (In Very Dark Magic, below, we don’t get a proper name because the POV character can’t remember it, and we find it out fairly directly.) If I can do that in very few words I will; more complicated action scenes and establishing premises get ridiculous run-ons, trusting the reader to follow the momentum through. (Under the Ribs, for example, is an action scene I started halfway through a specific action [yes that’s a cowritten story but I know I wrote the opening line], and Trust isn’t action but it’s Something-Changing Dialogue so I’m scrambling to get all of it crammed in and get you into the POV character’s very emotional headspace. Anyway-- those are the techniques, I don’t think they’re particularly mysterious or Literary but they’re functional.

I don’t have any shame about any of this, I think it works pretty well and it’s a pretty deliberate thing I’ve honed. Last lines, now... well...

I do remember noticing, long ago, that I had a penchant for beginning scenes with people waking up, and I seem to have moved away from that, so I’m pleased to see that but I also sort of miss having a “tell” like that, LOL. (Can you tell I brainstormed all my early stories in bed? I still sort of do, but I seem to be better at divorcing it from that context now.) May not be an improvement, though-- now I struggle with putting in a scene break and just have things drag on forever. Pacing is like.... not... my strong suit. But opening lines don’t reveal that too readily.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36878308 Lion Sable Passant instant backstory via dialogue

“It was all going so well,” Thaler sighed. “And now Roche has fucking rabies.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31289303 Fit For Pearls action and context, with a tiny bit of drama, but the simple title is doing a lot of heavy lifting here

The second time Luliana met her mistress, the Crown Princess Cirilla, she screamed and dropped an inkwell, shattering it on the floor and dousing herself, her mistress, and the room with its contents. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35008744 Under The Table this one is just a hook, doesn’t give the reader any answers, but does establish a couple of things immediately.

They heard the Upper Aedirn delegation long before they saw them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34514956 A Dedication I’m cheating and giving more than one line because this is the opposite of the action sequence cramming, where I’m taking multiple lines to get to the point and hoping to draw the reader in that way.

Iorveth was well over a century old, creeping on toward a century and a half. He’d lost track, and actually didn’t know exactly how many years he’d been alive, due to a change in calendar systems somewhere in there. He’d survived a great deal of torture in that time, but this was possibly the most unbearable by dint of being the most pleasant.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32023453 Peace-Tied and this one I’m not giving the rest-- it’s a long paragraph, hedging, and doesn’t quite get to the point for a bit, but in the process gives all the extremely complicated backstory I’m trying to convey (including that this is slightly an a/u from where W3 strictly left things), but the ostensible point is to get into the character’s headspace and reluctance to be here, via infodumping all of the situation.

Of course Vernon Roche had to attend the inaugural ball in Vergen, to celebrate the establishment of the Upper Aedirn Free State.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32764837 Under the Ribs action!

Roche made it to the top of the wall in a mad scramble off the boost Ves had given him, and was unsurprised to find jagged stones set into the top; he’d prepared for this, worn full gloves and hauled up a thick pad of canvas that he now threw down on the top of the wall so he could climb over.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31087637 Headache Remedy context! dialogue within action! the very next sentence establishes who “she” is and that she’s the POV character.

“Fix her headache,” Aiden said to Lambert just after they clattered through the door and started shedding Witcher equipment everywhere. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30201588 Decent Forage context and POV, immediate

It was cold enough that Eskel was keeping an eye out for this rain to turn to snow.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876890 An Involved Process who, and where, action

Grinning, Ciri grabbed Geralt by the wrist and yanked, and he stumbled after her through several hundred miles of instantaneous nothing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29217987 Under Torture I really like this line.

Yennefer wasn’t a cottage-in-the-woods kind of witch. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276716 Dusty Corridors context, POV, and places you in timeline straightaway.

The revelation of what it felt like not to be in any pain from his eye came pretty close to flooring Aiden, but he managed to scrape himself back into an approximately human-shaped object in time to peer out the window as the mage left.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523 Learning Experiences Timeline placement was most important for this one, as it’s out of the normal timeline.

It wasn’t Geralt’s first year on the Path, but it was his first time coming back to Kaer Morhen.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297152 Shorts This gives you who and a couple important bits of context, I think.

Geralt followed the sound of Ciri’s laughter through the house and out the back door.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993699 Very Dark Magic This is the one where we don’t know who because he doesn’t either:

He spent a lot of his time in a kind of fog, unaware of the passage of time, unaware of his surroundings.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919201 Trust a confused scrambled paragraph for a confused scrambled character

“Do you trust me?” Keira asked Lambert, and she had her hands behind her back for two reasons, maybe three-- firstly, because then she wouldn’t twist them together and show her agitation, secondly, because that meant her chest was the frontmost part of her and the way she was dressed now meant her tits were on display for him to look at, so he would, because that was the shorthand they’d settled on about that, and thirdly because then maybe he’d think she was hiding something in her hands, something either dangerous or fun or maybe both, which was the thing she knew he liked most about her: she was both dangerous and fun.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578783 A Delicate Hand not a great hook but it’s more functional than snappy so here we go

Keira had never lived domestically with someone like this before.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847148 The Ideal Man Who and where, right away.

Lambert stood uneasily at the door of the tidy little farmhouse.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27436687 Embroidery Who and where, again, with some emotional context.

The library at Kaer Morhen was… not what Jaskier had hoped.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367553 Aretuza Craftsmanship who and where

Yennefer raised her eyes from her desk to look at the sorceress in her doorway.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25640818 What Mages Are Like who, and what’s going on, but I’m letting this being an immediate sequel do a bit of heavy lifting here.

Geralt laughed at himself, finding he had sore muscles in his legs that made it hard to walk.

I’m likely supposed to tag other people but I don’t know who actually wants to be tagged. Mutuals, if you have 20 published works, please do this. I know that’s a cop-out but I hate putting people on the spot.

[bomberqueen17]

disorganized dilemma

so i’m. well. writing several interlocked pieces of fiction.

i went through a rough patch where i was super busy and had no time to update either of them.

the way the timeline works, one of them is set later than the other. the one set earlier has a bunch of time still to cover before it catches up.

the one set later is just about to start interlocking into an already-published bit that’s set even later.

also i got writer’s blocked on that bit with a bit of unexpected unattached plot, and so i haven’t updated that one in a while. but i just got unblocked and managed to finish another chapter.

the one farthest back in the timeline, i have just sat down and kind of blocked out where the chapters are. I have four and a half chapters done of that one. but not the climax of the story, which is going to have the scene i will surely take the title of the piece from. i know what’s got to happen, roughly, but i have not written it.

so on the one hand, i should update the one that’s going to start the interlocking part, because that’s exciting and that story has been waiting longest.

but on the other hand i should start posting the one farthest back in the timeline, to start catching it up.

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm

details behind cut, and brief snippets. i miss doing polls on LJ, wish I could do one here. Which story should I focus on updating first, hmm??

so. Trust is published. It takes place from like.... November to March. Fit For Pearls is ongoing, and has been on unofficial hiatus; they’re at like... February. Soon is the scene where Keira shows up in Nilfgaard to confess to murdering Halmatia during Aiden’s rescue, which iirc is in like, Dusty Corridors or so. We’ll need Luliana and Morvran’s POV on this.

and then the Peace-Tied arc, up North, featuring Iorveth and Roche, is still back in November. The next story is midwinter-ish and does not tie in to the others save to set up a situation that will then resolve in yet another story that then will tie into the continuity of Pearls and Trust.

anyway.

our update choice:

1) Pearls, featuring Geralt adopting Morvran at a boring party:

“Hey,” Geralt said, sidling up next to him and nudging Voorhis’s elbow with his own. “Did you try these scallops? They’ve got some kind of fancy ham wrapped around them.”

Voorhis turned empty eyes toward him, though he didn’t quite make eye contact. “Yes,” he said, “very good.” 

“Now,” Geralt said, “can’t help but notice you’ve got a sapphire in that ring of yours. Did you know it used to be forbidden in Temeria for anyone not in the royal family to wear sapphires?” 

Voorhis focused on him slightly more accurately, clearly trying to puzzle out what Geralt was getting at. “You know,” he said, “I don’t-- think I knew that?”

“No,” Geralt said, “it was only for a few years.” He shifted his weight a little, putting the bulk of himself between Voorhis and anyone else. “Shall I tell you about it?”

Voorhis’s gaze darted around uncertainly, taking in the various people around them, seeing that now that Geralt was in position no one else was trying to talk to him. He finally looked at Geralt’s face then. “Yes,” he said, quiet but intense. 

and 2) Peace-Tied’s sequel, featuring Roche bemusedly contemplating elven adolescence:

Of all people, it was Faengil who rode up next to Roche, and stared at him. Of course the kid was a good rider. If he really was a kid. Maybe they were just fucking with Roche. After a few minutes the kid dropped back a little, and said to Ciaran, “Eighty.”

“Oh fuck off,” Roche said, “I am not eighty,” but he knew he’d more or less set himself up for this.

“Too old or too young?” Faengil asked, in apparently sincere earnestness. All right, he was young, that kind of obliviousness would be hard to fake.

“Well humans don’t live to be eighty,” Ciaran said. 

“That’s not true,” Ruarigh said, “they absolutely do, I knew a woman who was ninety.”

“They live to be ninety,” Faengil said, with great conviction. From the way he said it, it was obvious he assumed that every human not otherwise killed dropped dead on the stroke of ninety.

“How have you never spent enough time with humans to know how long we live?” the former soldier asked. He was riding with Ves.

“Well we know how you die,” Iorveth said, but not loudly enough for the soldier to hear. Roche shot him a look, and Iorveth looked innocent. “Well? How old do Aen Sidhe live to be? Do you know?”

Roche sighed. “Not much older once I meet them, historically,” he said, gesturing resignedly with one hand. “Can we just acknowledge that neither of us has much of a leg to stand on, and move on?”

“So you’re seventy,” Faengil guessed. Roche glared at him. “I’m going the right direction,” he said confidently, and in that moment Roche could clearly understand that were this boy human he’d guess him to be no more than seventeen. “So, sixty!”

[bomberqueen17]

scraping

I spent yesterday doing a scorched-earth rewrite of a scene that hadn’t quite worked, as written. Thanks to @bittylildragon‘s useful feedback, I could see it wasn’t saying what I meant it to. So I did the hard version of editing, where you open a new window and have the original on one screen and the new in another and you copy-paste absolutely nothing, you just type it all over by hand. That’s the only way I can make myself really fix things.

So I did that, for the one scene-- 3k words-- and then the scene after it stood better on its own, another 1500 words, but to round out the chapter I have to wrap it up in another like 1-2k scene and literally nothing in that scene works either, so I have to scorched-earth rewrite it with new reconceptualizations of the logistics.

This is what I get, for trying to sum up a whole complicated backstory in flashbacks. This is exhausting!

It doesn’t help that this is for the Iorveth/Saskia thing, which as a rarepair is getting approximately half the attention of the Roche/Iorveth prequel. (I hope the Roche/Iorveth sequel regains some of the traffic of the prequel despite this interruption, I hadn’t realized how much that was bolstering me. It has been, though, even though I’ve been shit about replying, I love the things people say in their comments and I treasure them and shit has been Bad this summer/fall so it’s been real necessary.) I can’t blame people for not being so interested in rarepair stuff, but to be honest I’d vainly assumed Roche/Iorveth was a rarepair, LOL. And I’ve been spoiled by a lot of people willing to follow where I went, and thought more people would be excited about a threesome with a dragon. But Roche isn’t in it, and I guess people are holding out for that character tag! Well anyway, for those who’ve followed me down that rabbit hole, thanks, the next chapter is going to be an exquisitely-crafted doozy, if not porny, alas (I tried), and then the sequel after that is going to have the Roche/Iorveth dynamic everyone likes. (I’ve written a lot of it ahead while I’ve been stuck. There’s a snowball fight. I promise it’s good too.)

OH but Chapter 2 has a beloved video game character cameo. More than cameo! Buckle up for Eibhear Hattori feeding dumplings to Iorveth, W3 fans!

What about Ciri? y’all might ask, and thank you if you do ask. I’ve been stuck on the chapter after Morvran’s lil breakdown, in which it’s Geralt’s POV and he’s trying to figure out why Voorhis is having such a bad time at this boring dinner party. It’s going slowly but it is going. Once I get over that hump I think I can start to integrate the timeline of Trust-- but the Roche/Iorveth stuff is behind in the timeline so I’ve been doing more updates on that side to try to square them up.

(Pearls is set in like, February, and Peace-Tied was November, so. To get back to Trust, Very Dark Magic is set in like, March. It’s gotten rather complicated.)

Anyhoo that’s the state of the state there.

{oh. I could rewrite it one more time and punch up the complexity between Eibhear and Iorveth though. Iorveth has been a partisan and Eibhear a collaborator, and while each could respect the other as a survivor, surely each is going to resent the other-- Iorveth resenting Eibhear for never fighting, Eibhear resenting Iorveth for raising the level of violence in the conflict. It would be behind them, now, but that underlying tension... listen IDK if I can squeeze any more shit into this story.}

{Shit... now I’m plotbunnied...}