I was tagged for WIP Wednesday by @grad-writes (thank you so much! 💜) but it’s already Thursday to me and my brain is still boiling with work and plans for craft and such… I forgot that feeling already - when some ideas floating in mind but they are vague and fickle^^’
So, here is silly sketch of me and tiny Spite. (One of my true regrets of my own drawings, I like him so much but I have no ideas for him^^’ )) Concept of tiny Spite was inspired by works of @psin314 💜))
And - tags for everyone who would like to post some WIP today!)))
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Snippet from Veiled Souls. As Rook makes an odd choice about a demon in a well in the Hossberg Wetlands, Spite's feelings become a muddled up mess of confusion and awe...
Incense smoke, freshly picked elfroot, rose oil and rain on fallen autumn leaves.
“Smells like Rook,” Spite had rattled curiously through Lucanis’s vocal chords, as the scent enveloped him, so potent and sudden, lulling him toward it. Lucanis had hushed him, cheeks burning at his words, head swivelling behind him toward Rook and Davrin, who were trailing behind them. Spite rolled his spectral eyes and grunted impatiently. Neither mortal had heard him. The words weren’t for them, anyway.
The smell of something clutched close to their shared heart. Lucanis knew that smell almost as well as Spite did. It was merely a statement of fact.
They had been wandering around that desolate farm for hours due to Rook’s insistence. Spite didn’t understand her fixation on unravelling the fates of the snivelling strangers who had perished here. The warden and Lucanis followed her dutifully without so much as a single protest, much to Spite’s chagrin. Their doggedness in searching the fallow landscape was rewarded with fragments of delusional hope, madness, pain and loss. After carefully piecing them together into a picture of blighted tragedy, the group became noticeably sombre. Rook especially seemed to radiate with mourning, her spirit vibrating with a quiet keening Spite found startling.
Spite observed as, finally, a solemn decision was made.
Rook, Davrin and Lucanis grimly set about the work of dismantling and destroying the well in which Desperation dwelt, squatting and festering in its depths. He felt no sympathy for the slavering thing that lay in wait there. It was a creature that would always want and want and want, destined to never be satiated, no matter how much it consumed. It knew only the feeling of want, and not the purpose of it. The very concept disgusted him.
In Spite’s mind, want is merely another word for aim. You must reach for your desire with every fibre of your being. The meeting of desire with purpose - now that is true bliss.
At that thought, Spite’s glowing eyes drifted over to Rook, who had stepped back from the destroyed well with a shuddering sigh, a slender hand absently streaking dirt across her sweatslicked cheek as she rubbed at her red-rimmed eyes. She opened a small, rectangular emerald green leather pouch on her belt and drew out three thin white candles. Placing them in a solemn row on one of the broken stones of the collapsed well. She lit each candle by brushing her fingers lightly over each taper. Her magic, the colour of dewy moss, flowed from her fingertips, igniting tiny veil fire flames on each of the candle’s wicks. She began whispering secret words that Spite couldn’t decipher. But as each hazy word fell from her lips, they felt like a series of caresses… across a frostbitten cheek, a hot sickly forehead, a gentle, rhythmic stroking of hair…
As she spoke, the candlelight grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding in the dim light, their smoke curling upwards into the dank air, spiraling into each other to create a hypnotic pattern. On her final word, she held a small iron bell high and flicked it once. The candles were immediately snuffed out, the chime pulsing through Spite’s very core.
The blighted farm suddenly felt… lighter. Steadier. Less hunted.
Spite was mesmerised.
Spite was also hopelessly confused.
Such a creature as that did not deserve the mercy of calm. Why would she so willingly offer it to them? Could she not see how pathetic Desperation was? This world had warped it, made it into a slave of its inverted nature. It didn't resist. It had behaved accordingly. And yet.
Rook was not content to let Desperation sit in its misery to starve into oblivion, as it so clearly deserved. She sealed it away… and then offered it peace?
Spite didn’t understand.
Why did he want to understand? The attempt was making him feel like he was turning himself inside out with the effort! Wasteful, foolish! He grumbled, eyes still trained on Rook.
She was carefully packing the candles and bell away. The well was now as silent as the graves of the dead in the Necropolis’ Memorial Garden. Desperation had been lulled into an eternal sleep.
As the trio began moving away, back towards the meagre civilization the Wetland's provided, Spite felt Rook’s river water eyes slide over him. She wore a tired smile on her face as she spoke quietly with Lucanis and Davrin about their next steps.
She couldn't see him. But.
Her eyes…
Spite’s thoughts roared to a stop. Silence, except for the image of her eyes.
I've finally settled on titles and blurbs for the fics I'm working on!
Available on Ao3 now is:
Veiled Souls
Rook furtively glanced around them, like a thief checking for wayward guards. Satisfied no one was lurking nearby, she took his hand in hers.
“Follow me, and I shall show you something wondrous,” she whispered dramatically, wiggling the fingers on her free hand in a spidery motion as though casting a spell on him. In the turquoise gloom of the Memorial gardens, flecks of green light from the nearby veil fire danced in her teasing eyes. Lucanis was instantly entranced.
He chuckled, heart giddy at her adorable attempt at sneakiness. He bowed his head in silent invitation for her to lead on, ready to follow her to the ends of the earth.
A Dreamer, a Crow, and a Demon. Lost souls found and intertwined.
After this one wraps up, my next fic is a bit more ambitious as it's a YA faery romance AU!
Inkblood
Illario and Lucanis are Unseelie lords, heirs to the throne of the Court of Omens, held by their grandmother, the Iron Crone, an ancient and powerful storm-calling hag. Rook is a plucky human whose family has been serving a jovial being who calls himself the Bard, avid collector of mortal tales, for generations. When Lucanis, the favored heir, goes missing, the Iron Crone, distrustful of her deceitful kin, calls upon the reclusive Bard to find him, promising a boon if he succeeds. The Bard is not in need of a magical miracle, but Rook? They are, and they're willing to get tangled up with immortal affairs to get it.
What happens when Rook finds her mark, but the amnesiac fae prince refuses to cooperate?
This one will be a slow burn (both in plot and the writing process, so far I'm only in introduction and planning territory!) But I may post some snippets here as I go! 💚
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Prologue 1 Prologue 2 Tevinter days Part 1.1 Part 1.2 Part 2 On deadly wings Part 3 Extra Bloodbath Part 4 with Extra Family matters Part 5 Tension Part 6 Part 7 Fire and Ice Blood of Arlathan 1 Blood of Arlathan 2 Blood of Arlathan 3 + Extra 1 Extra 2 Part 8 (18+) Behind the closed doors Part 9 Extra 1 Extra 2 Tea-extra
Inspired by this post Thank you @ashyth-art ! I’ve never seen that scene through fly cam before and I got absolutely mad.
Can you imagine how devastated Lucanis will be after? How humiliated and stressed?
But the thing is - I believe he will be not the only one.
Seeing our close people suffer is a torture itself.
Later:
(Who said “work day in three hours?” I don’t know what you’re talking about X)))
