Here are a few new sketches of Irina, the young Russian aristocrat from Spinning Silver, and one scene in particular that immediately made me want to draw. 👀
Bothers me when the distinction between Witch and Wizard is drawn according to gender. The Witch/Wizard distinction is one of class. Wizards live in towers and have cursed artifacts. Witches live in shacks and have crooked teeth.
Both witches and wizards can be evil, of course. But when a witch is evil they turn you into a frog. When a wizard is evil they try to tear a hole in reality or raise an undead army. You don't see witches doing that shit because they're working class.
The witch is looked down upon because they are competition to the hierarchical work of wizardry; they present an alternative to state monopoly on magic.
Absolutely. Witches perform folk magic--you'd never catch a wizard getting overly preoccupied with practical magic like soothing ulcers or curing the flu, but witches are always brewing up stuff for those kinds of reasons.
Magic is like programming. When it's seen as practical and tedious, it's "women's work." When it's seen as academic and intellectual, you get a huge salary and an audience with the king.
“So the fairy silver brought you a monster of fire for a husband, and me a monster of ice. We should put them in a room together and let them make us both widows.”
I was glad to be beneath the notice of the tsar, who was young and handsome and cruel, but I would have liked to be pretty enough or charming enough that at least someone might want to marry me, instead of only taking me as a codicil to whatever begrudging dowry they could wring out of my father.
I think it's hilarious that hands down the worst way to learn magic is the actual rulebook. Please do not read that. It's just there for reference when something weird happens
“ A series of photographs by Piotr Sikora, created in collaboration with Piotr Bondarczyk, depicting Polish folk costumes in the context of contemporary multi-ethnicity. The project deals with the recent changes taking place in Polish society, which became almost entirely homogeneous after the Second World War when communism took the country in control and which is today experiencing a groundbreaking openness towards other cultures. . “
Rana, USA, Kurpie costume and Maya, Algeria, Nowy Sącz costume
Nutsuko, Japan, Lublin costume and Thesus, Puerto Rico, Kraków costume
Folake, Nigeria, Opoczno costume and Umi, South korea, East Kraków costume
Leandro, Italy, Nowy Sącz costume and Maya, India, in Kaszuby costume
Jevone, Jamaica, Highland costume and Miu, Japan, Łowicz costume
so i was rereading the scholomance for the third time, and i just finished the second book-- and i guess this is the first time i've actually read the author bio on the back?? because oh my god-
If someone is a necromancer its cuz they have no money to hire men and no charisma to convince people to their cause u have to understand they only fuck with skeletons because they have no other option
wizard who's too lazy to name things properly and so can't ever find the incantation she's looking for bc her spellbook is full of spells called shit like 'aaaa1' and 'asdfghjk'
I was tagged by @becausedragonage for her new Tuesday fic activity, Reflection Tuesday Ruesday! The idea is to go back into your WIP folder, find something old you actually like, and share it. Maybe you go back to it, maybe you don't, but at least it gets seen!
This is actually a fic I was writing for Uprooted by Naomi Novik. The prompt was a fake dating AU and it features Agnieszka and the Dragon going to Kralia together and trying to convincingly present themselves as a couple. I even sent what I had to @wherestoriescomefrom for beta reading circa 2021, but I just never came back to it! I've left in my notes to myself because I always think it's interesting to see how other people block out story beats.
I will tag @bbcphile, @laurelsofhighever, @saessenach, and anyone else who wants to participate <3
...
I rested my elbows heavily on the stone frame of the Dragon’s window and looked through the thick, warped glass down to the courtyard below. I could make out the skirts of the women who kept flitting back and forth: bright splots of color that swayed and paused and vanished into one door or another. Emerald foliage studded with flowers nodded from the corners, casting shadows over the figures.
He had a better view than I did, of course. I wondered whether he had chosen our rooms. Probably not—but it was one more annoyance on the pile.
“Come away from there,” he said absently from behind me. “Someone will see you and start talk.”
I turned, still leaning against the wall, to see him running his hands over two coats which lay on his bed—comparing their material. “Don’t you want people to think we’re together? Isn’t that the point of all this?”
He gave me one of his sharp looks. “I want you protected at court, and appearing strategically together is the best way to accomplish that. Having you seen at my bedroom window at odd hours of the day and night could do quite the opposite.”
I pushed away from the wall and came to stand next to him as he finished selecting a bottle green coat with bronze embroidery around the sleeves and collar. He shrugged into it, wincing a little as he maneuvered his right arm but turning to hide it from me. His scar must have been hurting him—my rush healing job had been far from perfect. I bit my lip and said nothing.
I wondered if he saw me biting back replies whenever we spoke. Part of me felt that I had earned the right to question and bicker after saving the Dragon’s life twice in the Wood, but since our arrival in Kralia I was too restless and exhausted to find satisfaction in prodding him. When we argued at the Tower he would often retreat to the library or some other remote room, allowing me time to spend as I pleased. Here, I shuddered to think of him leaving me to my own devices.
He seemed tired too, though he was careful to hide the cause. Perhaps nightmares of the Wood woke him in the night as they did me. Perhaps he had yet to recover his energy after such severe injury followed by a week’s travel. Perhaps he was simply worn out by whatever meetings kept him busy for long stretches of the day. Whatever the reason, both our sharp edges were dulled enough by our present situation that our time together was mostly civil, and I didn’t comment on the room or his winces.
“All right, let’s practice. Change your gown.”
Once again passing over an old argument for the sake of efficiency, I complied. “Vanastalem.” My already-dirty dress from that morning, a “simple” rust-colored gown with a lace overskirt, rustled and swirled as more petticoats blossomed beneath the skirt. The sleeves ballooned like sails as the fabric transformed into pearly white silk with deep green and bronze brocading to match his coat. I felt cold emeralds at my throat and a weight that told me more jewels had appeared in my hair.
“Good.” He nodded with an air of frank approval that was rare for him and I felt the back of my neck grow warm. “You certainly look the part—let’s see if you remember the motions too.”
Look the part of your lover? I wanted to ask. Of a castle-born noblewoman? The thought was irritating for reasons I didn’t care to examine closely.
He cleared his throat and indicated his arm, which I had not realized he was offering to me. I stepped next to him and took it, gingerly placing my hand on his forearm.
We both looked at our reflections in the small mirror on the opposite wall. I stood slightly taller than the Dragon, although my hair and jeweled headpiece made the difference look greater. He looked stiff and stern, as though he was posing for a portrait. I looked like I was obliged to hold something distasteful, like an overpoweringly scented bouquet of flowers gifted by someone you don’t wish to offend. An uncomfortable laugh bubbled out of me at the sight.
His reflection raised its eyebrow. “Is something funny?”
“We don’t look convincing.” I fidgeted with the jewels at my neck, which were starting to feel like a collar.
He frowned. “The dress looks fine. You just need to practice your bearing.”
“No, I mean no one will believe that we’re—together. Unless you want people to think that we’ve formed some kind of reluctant power alliance.” I gestured to the mirror, indicating our postures and the space between us. I tried a smile to show that I was making a genuine suggestion. “It looks like we hate each other.”
This time I felt his arm shift under mine as his frown deepened. “We look appropriate for hinting something at court. This isn’t a dance in the Dvernik square. Just stand up straight.”
I scowled at him but straightened my spine. “Fine. Good enough?”
“Adequate. Now watch me.” He stepped one foot in front of him and sank down as he bent deeply at the waist, pausing for a moment with his forehead pointed to the floor. “For a formal court appearance, you should bow this deeply. If this were a first introduction you would wait to be instructed to rise. Since it is not, you need only hold the position for a breath.” He straightened, his eyes on mine in the mirror. “Show me.”
Stepping one foot forward like he had, I curtsied low, sliding my hand down his arm slightly as I did. He bit off a hiss and I felt him tense. I stood up quickly enough to see his wince.
“You’re still hurt.” It was meant to be a question but it came out as a statement.
He jerked his arm away from mine. “It is healing.”
“Let me look at it, I might—”
“Just try to focus for once, please. I really don’t have time for—”
“Sarkan.” His eyes widened and he stopped trying to speak over me. I had only used his name sparingly since he had shared it with me, and each time he reacted the same way: surprised and almost confused, as though he felt the same power I did when I spoke it. It made me wonder why he had told me, but it was useful when I needed his attention. “I used Jaga’s spell for burns but it was meant to be a quick solution. I might be able to do more now.” I grabbed for his arm and this time he glared but didn’t stop me—possibly still stunned from me speaking his true name.
He watched as I gingerly pushed back his sleeve. “I haven’t relied solely on your work. I have applied Grosho’s [?] spell for burns, but the burn itself is healed.” He was correct: his arm was smooth and pale as always. Only that gnarled silver scar remained like a vine growing under his skin.
“And it still hurts? Here?” I pushed away the memory of what had caused the scar in the first place and the heart-pounding fear it conjured and brushed my fingers over the raised silver skin.
This time he didn’t bother to stifle his hiss of pain. “Yes,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “It would seem that there is still magic bound up in the wound. Magic that I cannot control,” he added pointedly.
I frowned. “You think my working is preventing it from healing fully?” I had never heard of such a thing, but then again, I had little experience with healing. My magic did seem to have a mind of its own at times. “Let me try something.”
Surprisingly, he made no protest, though I could feel his gaze burning through me as I stroked my fingers over his arm again. I mentally flipped through Jaga’s spellbook. The scar was like a vine, but I didn’t want anything for killing plants—or for growing them, for that matter. Tracing the raised shape again, another similarity came to mind: it looked like my haphazard attempts at sewing when my mother had decided I was old enough to mend my own dresses. I recalled Jaga’s spell for hiding seams and smoothing edges. It was as good a place to start as any.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a slow breath through my nose and centered my focus where my fingertips rested against Sarkan’s feverish skin. “Mikew,” I breathed. “Mikew, mikew, mikew,” encouraging the skin to smooth and soften and forget that it had ever been split.
[She senses the remains of the working that she did with Solya to heal the Dragon in that field after the Wood.] There was a seam between my magic and the Falcon’s, like the line where one river feeds into another and the waters don’t quite mix.
[While casting, she manages to communicate that Sarkan should join her working. Together they heal the remaining damage and cast a unified healing in the way that A and Solya couldn’t. Their magic combines in that same way it always does, although not quite as intense as the rose illusion, and they move closer. A feels a pull to finish the working by kissing his wrist and looks away, confused and resisting the instinct.]
[She sees them in the mirror as they stand now, heads tilted together, her hands gently cradling his arm, bound together by power, and sees how they could appear convincingly as a couple, just as the working ends]
[In the pause after the spell ends, before Sarkan can pull away and roll down his sleeve, she tells him to look and comments that they look convincing now. He flushes and leaves, telling her not to be late meeting him for the event tonight and they will just have to make do with the practice they’ve had]
[Watching him go, Agnieszka’s annoyance returns and she reflects how impossible Sarkan is to please, even when she tries to play along with what he wants and even heals him]
I really like reading Naomi Novik and I always feel like I can get perfectly in the flow of her writing. Not just because my own writing brain was heavily influenced by reading her, but because I feel like we've both been steeping in the Fandom Tea in a way that informs how you think about character and setting and narrative. I feel like I can see "behind the scenes" with her writing in a way that makes it feel more artful, not less.
Anyway, a couple reflections from Buried Deep and Other Stories so far:
I know NN is familiar with Dragon Age so I started thinking about the Scholomance setting in terms of the mage circles and several things clicked into place in my brain in a way that made that series much more compelling to me
The way I YELLED when fern flower was the macguffin for one of the short stories when one of my most popular Uprooted fics centers around the fern flower. Delightful. Many, many, MANY hours of research into slavic folklore immediately validated.
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
stormborns
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
