Hey, thought I might as well do a proper introduction.
I'm Carina, I write and draw to keep myself sane and my hands busy when I'm not working (ok, sometimes when I should be working) or taking care of my home and pets and family.
You can find an overview over all my fics here.
When I'm not doing either of those things, I occasionally do LARP (more often TTRPGs), sew (both for comfort and for costumes), read, play videogames or get my hands dirty in the garden.
Image selection likely to feature my ongoing hyperfixation(s). I don't do commissions (because who's got the time?), but I do take suggestions :)
A propos of nothing (definitely not procrasting work, shhh):
I know that people love to cast Lucanis as a vampire in related AUs; vampires are canonically sexy and domineering and I know y'all love that kind of stuff.
But to me, he'd definitely be more of a were-creature in that kind of universe - unable to control his urges / transformation, changed against his will but still very much warm-blooded, feeling cursed, etc.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
New chapter up! (And new cover, because we're very much not in Antiva anymore :D)
In which we finally learn about Elora's prophecy.
Snippet:
"Long time no see," Elora said, something brittle about the quirk of her lips. "Or more like never, I suppose."
The silence following her casual words was all but deafening — a crystal at it's breaking point, just waiting for that last drop to shatter and cut. For several long heartbeats, no one said a word, barely a breath stirring the air. Then:
"Leave us."
The king's command left no room for dissent, and all but the royal family — and Lucanis, and the core of the Antivan delegation — left the room in a hurry, closing the ornate doors behind them. As the last echoes of their footfalls faded, King Farris' shoulders sagged, and he raised a hand to briefly rub at his temples.
"I feel like we would all benefit from a chance to sit down for this conversation. If it would be agreeable to you, your Majesty, your entourage may inspect the rooms we've had prepared for them so that the five of us might retire to chambers more suitable for what comes next."
Ambassador Lazar glanced between his liege and the foreign monarchs like a mouse caught in a cattery. Lucanis felt a little bad for him, thrown into the drama of their arrival without a word of warning. This was very much a diplomatic affair, and yet none that he would be welcome to intercede in.
"Your Majesty, if I may —"
"It's alright, ambassador. We will call for you when your services are required."
Lucanis exchanged a glance with Elora, then nodded towards the Quarinian king. "Please, lead the way."
The room reserved for their needs appeared to be a smaller conference chamber, the kind a king might use to meet with select officials to discuss matters of state. The shelves at the far side of the room held a number of scrolls that may as well have been maps, with ink paintings of native landscapes decorating the walls. At King Farris's behest, Lucanis and Elora took their seats opposite the royal family.
For several moments, only the creak of chairs being moved into position and the whisper of silks settling around their wearers filled the room, all of them hoarding their breath.
This time, the queen was the first to find her voice again, her eyes riveted to her daughter's face like she was the only person present.
"We spent more than two years searching for you. Why did you run away from us? And why return now, like this?"
For the fic ask game: W for bw Evka and Antoine please!!
Did you forget asking me this for the fic ask game, @epiphany-jones? I didn’t! My brain just stubborn refused to go back into canon-realm while on the BW fixation and then, as you know, even more stubbornly refused to do anything at all. Why it decided to abruptly spit this out all at once, I cannot say, but here it is.
(I did slightly misremember the full prompt and only remembered ‘waiting’ but, uh… I mean, look, it’s halfway there, right?)
W. Waiting for something impatiently
It is a matter of patience and strategy, these days, to secure a moment or two of the First Warden’s time.
Antoine did not have too much cause to complain. He did, after all, manage to secure a great many more of them than most. But they were often stolen things, tucked in where time allowed—more often than they once were, less often than he’d like.
Fortunately, he is inventive.
There is a short queue of people waiting beyond the closed door of Evka’s office. (There is always a queue of people waiting beyond the door of Evka’s office. On better days, it is short.) It is understood, generally, that Antoine will join it with the rest to wait his turn. In official matters, after all, he is a Senior Warden of no other particular distinction, and posted at the Hold to boot. The same can’t be said for all gathered, on either count. It is unfortunate for them, then, that he is not here on official matters today.
“Ah—my apologies. Martin must have been called away or he would have been here to tell you—” Martin had indeed been called away. By Antoine. But technically, true. Yes. “—the First Warden has obligations this afternoon and will not be available for the next few hours. If you have anything written to deliver, I’m happy to pass it along.”
Grumbling follows, naturally. (There is also always grumbling.) And a few reports, which Antoine tucks neatly beneath his own to rediscover after dinner. Then the group disperses, and he is left alone to wait.
Five minutes is entirely reasonable. Ten, even—whoever is with her beyond the door waited just as he is, surely, after all. At a quarter of an hour, Antoine decides it’s been plenty of time to have made it through the major points, whatever they are. The nuances will keep. He gives a brief rap on the door but does not wait to open it.
Two sets of eyes turn up at the sound. Evka herself blinks and then raises an eyebrow at him, the silent question plain. Beside her, Rook doesn’t lift her finger from the long paper unrolled across the desktop before them, but her face does brighten with the sudden smile.
“Pardon! If I’d known it was you in here, I would have interrupted much sooner.”
She laughs and withdraws her hand. “I was wondering where you were. I popped by your workshop when I got in earlier.”
He holds up the battered leather folio containing his own report. “The old manor again. The soil there finally seems to be starting to recover. But that’s not what you’ve come for. Please, unless you’d prefer I step back out…”
“Why make Evka repeat it later?” she grins and returns her attention to the desk. After one more look, more skeptical than searching now, Evka does the same as Rook resumes whatever it was she’d been saying. “So… right, yeah. Here—it’s about a two-day ride south of Brynnlaw on my side. They’re not coming up anywhere I can find along the edge of the forest, so we’re thinking something must have opened up not too far inside. Dav and I figured…”
It goes on a few minutes more, an excellent opportunity to set the reports gathered from those he sent away down for later.
“Alright,” Evka says eventually. “I like it. You two let me know how many you think you’ll need and we’ll go from there.”
“He ought to be coming in today, too. I’ll catch him and we’ll come back to—” Rook falters only briefly as Antoine catches her eye. The adjustment comes quickly. “—morrow. Morning. Once we’ve gotten some names together.”
Not quickly enough (of course, with Evka, it rarely is). “Mm,” she says, looking between them. “Tomorrow then.”
Rook rolls up the paper but leaves it neatly to the side of the desk. “Left a few bags of that coffee you liked in your shop, by the way,” she says. “And I’ve got a message from Viago. Something about Ghoul’s Beard. Find me when you’re free.”
“My thanks on all counts,” he tells her, though of course he means mostly for the one where she leaves. Given the quick wink on her way past, she seems to have gathered as much.
“He doesn’t need more coffee,” Evka grumbles, and Rook’s laughter is abruptly muffled by the door she pulls closed again behind her.
“She’s a week or two early, no?”
“Soil?”
Again, Antoine raises the folio. “A report—for the First Warden’s consideration.”
She does not seem to have quite decided whether she is amused or bothered. “You’re here to bring me a report on soil.”
“There are some very promising signs,” he assures her, which is quite true. And then, “I waited,” which is certainly not.
Perhaps amused is winning. Only just. “You waited out there.”
“I did.”
“On the line.”
“It was my turn.”
“But you didn’t notice Rook, standing right in front of you.”
There is that, yes. “Some others may have wandered away,” he concedes. “I’m sure they will return.”
Evka rolls her eyes, hand outstretched for the folio, though a hint of a smile does appear all the same. “I’m sure they will,” she says, and opens the cover to look briefly down at the top page. She does not sound the slightest bit surprised when she adds, but a moment later, “This is blank.”
“Oh, no, it is quite dense, I assure you,” Antoine takes it back when she extends it towards him, if only to set it to the side. “An hour’s worth of reading at the very least. Perhaps two.”
“Antoine.”
“It may even need your attention through dinner—to address any questions.”
No longer a hint, her smile, but a battle, and one she seems disinclined to fight for much longer. (A promising sign.) “You know I can’t.”
“Mon cœur, no one is in the hall—”
“Because you got rid of them, I’m assuming.”
“—and if something pressing comes up, we are not exactly well hidden here, no? Someone will come along.”
Evka considers that, her hands on her hips, and there is a smile, yes… though not a decision. Not yet.
But Antoine has nowhere else to be than right here, where she is, now or any other time. He does not mind to wait.
“Just this once,” she finally says, and allows him to catch her hand, to draw it up until he can press his lips to the back of her fingers.
Just this once is perfectly fine. He can come up with something new next time. He is, after all, inventive.
Trying to get in the habit of doing these regularly again.
This time, you get a snippet of Fairytale!Illario trying to pass the time ;)
Never having shown any great inclination towards scholarship, Illario had not been asked to join the research group in the royal archives.
He tried to tell himself that he didn't mind; he hated having to spend any length of time between dry and dusty shelves, squinting at letters until his eyes felt like sandpaper when he could be out among people. Unfortunately, the people here weren't quite as warm and welcoming as he would have liked, and the only one with an easy smile had disappeared into the maw of library too.
It was hard not to feel left out when even the taciturn physician had been asked to join them. Not that he was a stranger to that particular sensation, not where his family was concerned. He'd just have to make his own fun — or find someone who could point him in the right direction.
It was entirely coincidental that his feet carried him towards the same pond where he had found princess Vareva the other day; entirely coincidental, too, that she could be found there again.
"Your highness," Illario greeted her with an elegant bow, "did your invitation get lost in the post as well?"
The rakish grin he wore upon straightening was perhaps a touch too much, but one had to find amusement somehow, and judging by the faint blush covering her porcelain cheeks, it did not miss its mark.
"It is not my place," she murmured. "I have no special expertise to add to the task, and doubt my sister would appreciate being crowded."
Illario snorted. "She does have a bit of a temper, your sister. From what I've seen, it's mostly your mother she wants to fry at the moment."
He joined her on her bench, careful to leave ample space between them and definitely not paying attention to the rueful smile that followe his words.
"Your brother mentioned as much."
Ah. Of course she'd smile thinking of Lucanis.
Gently tagging @karinamay and @blightwashed and @bigshrimp365 :)
canon is what happens in the text. e.g. merlin tries to poison morgana
a headcanon is a fact that you have personally made up as an elaboration of canon. it is your invention. e.g. i think morgana and gwen had a teenage lesbian situationship before the events of canon. or, i think modern morgana would love evanesence.
an interpretation is how one reads the existing text. it is not an invented fact nor is it a headcanon, it is a reading. e.g. i think merlin tries to poison morgana out of misplaced self-hatred. or, i think that one line was delivered with suppressed malice and shows a nuanced relationship.
fanon is the general fandom’s accepted headcanons and interpretations that elaborate or recontextualize canon. e.g. merlin is a badass waif and morgana is a bitch.
these are all different words with different meanings.
Also, for an interpretation to be valid it needs to be based on the text. It cannot just be a vibe. One can disagree on readings of the text, but if someone comes with quotes and/or historical context and you just have vibes, then sorry, your interpretation is inferior and may in fact just be a headcanon.
Reblog this if you would not only accept, but welcome fan art, moodboards, etc. of your fics
All of these used to be so common for people to show their appreciation of different fics and authors, and I think it’s a shame people don’t do it anymore. I love seeing fan work for my fics!!
In which Rook and Lucanis infiltrate an illegal fighting ring.
Snippet:
Bellara disappears with a round of well-meaning clucking, leaving Lucanis to stand awkwardly in the hallway while he waits. The little paper-bag disappears into a pocket. He's just about to join the commotion to remind the ladies of their time-table when Rook steps into the hallway, and he forgets to be annoyed for a minute.
The ear-piece is fine, following the shell of her ear in an elegant silver curve.
The dress is … a problem. It's not exactly indecent; the hem brushes her knees, and the neckline is perfectly suitable for their intended cover, but it does dip deep enough to reveal the tips of a pair of wings just peeking out between her breasts, and he desperately needs something else to focus on.
"Your hair …"
One hand raises self-consciously to cover the delicate length of her neck, no longer hidden by shoulder-length locks.
"I was due a haircut anyway, and this seemed as good an occasion as any," Rook mutters, not quite meeting his eyes. "Besides, it's easier to colour that way."
Because she didn't just cut it down to her earlobes; the previous venom-green has given way to a bright purple — almost the exact shade of his uniform gloves and boots. Coupled with the little black dress, it's … almost a statement, but he's not entirely sure what kind. Judging by the nervous glance she directs his way, Lucanis may have been staring in silence just long enough to make things awkward. He clears his throat. "It suits you."
He very deliberately does not pay attention to the blush spreading across her cheeks, but meeting Neve's wolfish grin just past Rook's shoulder is hardly an improvement.
"Are we all set then?"
"Almost," Rana's voice announces from yet another doorway, leaning over to hand Rook a clutch. "Can't forget your equipment."
Rook accepts the small handbag with a frown. "I'll never understand the purpose of a bag that you have to actively hold in your hand at all times."
"There's a very thin strap stuffed inside, if you really need your hands free," the templar explains. "Can't close the zipper anymore when you use it though."
Your inability to read environmental storytelling, listen to ambient conversations, or in any way absorb and analyze context, does not make this statement in any way meaningful or true.
This is a blatant misrepresentation of the game, which was not under obligation to lower itself to your literacy standards.
(And of course, because people are big mad that their headcanons weren't played out on the screen, this post has hundreds of notes agreeing with it.)
Veilguard did not retcon shit. That is a lie. Veilguard left specific things open ended enough for you to mentally fill in whatever your worldstate was, which I know is an exhausting endeavor for some of you, but if you keep practicing your brain will eventually develop the necessary wrinkles. It didn't misrepresent shit. You didn't pay attention.
Stop lying about the game just because you didn't get what you personally wanted.
Okay, but Rook asking Lucanis to promise they aren’t in the fade anymore and Lucanis, who never makes a promise he cannot keep, SWEARS! Like, I see your promise and raise you a DONT YOU EVER DOUBT YOURSELF OR ME OUR LOVE TRANSCENDS THE FADE!
No, because let's talk about it. Not only does he not make promises he isn't certain of, this is a man who is one thousand percent aware of how fallible he and everyone around him is, fresh off multiple weeks of believing he'd never see Rook again, and who often cannot trust his own reality standing on the fact that this moment is real, that Rook is there, and that he's absolutely certain of it all so Rook has something solid to lean on.
Up to that point, Rook's been the one certain of him, the one solid for him, the one pulling him out of the unreality. Not only does he know how he feels, he knows how they're feeling. The grief, the uncertainty, the daunting task ahead of them still. It's not merely an expression of love, it's Lucanis being able to be there for Rook in the same way Rook has been there for him. As a culmination of the romance, it's really very sweet and shows a lot of character growth on Lucanis' part for being able to acknowledge all of these things he would have previously repressed.
