#spite week 2025

[sorcerousadventurer]

Spite Week Day 1

Candles/Scent

Hosted by @dread-red-queen

Smells like... Bergamot and rosemary.

Yay, Spite Week! I've got a few things already done but I don't know if I'll be able to do something for every day. For me it's more Spite x Rook week (I blame vintage couples photo references I've been digging through lately).

Is this nsfw? I don't think it's nsfw.

[ladyliesmith]

Smells Like Sugar

This is my entry for Day 1 of Spite week! Prompt: Candles/Scent! Also available to read on AO3!

Spite was learning many things from his union with Lucanis.

Most of it was useless.

He didn't need to learn how to kill with 'flair' or how to brew coffee. Emotions were the hardest for him to grasp. He knew Spite. And he knew Determination, somewhere far in the back of his consciousness, a remnant of what used to be.

But he was learning.

Curiosity had feet, fire and seemed to be infectious. Because Spite was now Curious about things he hadn't cared about before. Why do onions make Lucanis cry when the Ossuary hadn't? When is it 'appropriate' to comment on someones scent? (Spite thinks that there's a word for when Taash does it and tells him he can't, a word that isn't unfair but close. He hasn't found that word yet.) What do candles taste like? They burn with a fire that's similar and different to the fire that Curiosity has, and many of them look like they would be both hard and soft. He wonders what they taste like, whether the texture is like the butter that Lucanis often cooks with. A lot of them look like butter.

But both Lucanis and Emmrich had told him no.

Apparently candles are not for eating.

How is it that they can look like butter, do not have an unpleasant smell and they are not for eating yet the foul smelling, lumpy things on Lucanis' plate when the dwarf that smells like dirt and herbs cooks are.

Spite would rather try his luck with the candles.

He's currently perched on the table in the kitchen while Lucanis reads and tries to ignore him. Again. Much to his hosts irritation, it's hard to scold the demon for sitting where food is consumed, considering said demon doesn't truly have a form to sully the surface with. It's an irritation that Spite finds great enjoyment out of, especially when Lucanis refuses to read to him and is hell bent on ignoring his existence. Spite's focus drifts between thoughts for a little while, but is pulled back to the kitchen when the door opens.

Rook!

Of course the Crow already noted that, given the open door and the need to be aware of his surroundings, but if Spite had not been attempting to drift comfortably, he would have noticed first. Lucanis was almost as perceptive as him when it came to their leader, however his human sense of smell often held him back. Rain and dust, lavender and lightning. Sparkling, bright. She smelt like she would taste good too.

That thought, as it always did, had Lucanis clearing his throat and willing back the pink that often rose to his cheeks when they were alone and Spite let this particular brand of thoughts run wild.

Spite enjoyed getting reactions from Lucanis, but that was one of his favourites.

He enjoyed it enough that it took him a moment longer to realise that Rook has something in her hands. A tray. With… candles?

Spite is immediately close to the other Crow, peering over her shoulder and sniffing at the tray in her hands. Why. Does she bring… Candles? Spite had never seen her carry candles before. Had never seen anyone replenish the ones that were dotted around the lighthouse. He assumed that much like the rooms, the Lighthouse itself just replaced them as necessary. And the ones in the kitchen at the moment still had plenty of burn time left in them.

Lucanis himself just looks over at her in mild Curiosity, closing his book and resting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward. "Spite is asking why you are carrying candles. I find I too am wondering the answer to that question." He relays Spites question, and Spite leans in even closer to Rook. These candles smell different to the other ones. These ones smell… sweet? Almost like the hot drink that Bellara likes.

"Spite, wanna take a step back, buddy?" She speaks, and he moves instantly. Much to his delight, Rook had started to be able to tell when Spite was close. Something about their magic being similar, Emmrich and her had spoken about it, but Spite had been too busy touching her hair to listen. Lucanis had not been happy with him that day. "Thank you." Rook says with a smile, moving to place the candles onto the kitchen table before turning to grin at Lucanis.

Smells like sugar. Pride. Playful. Mischief.

"I remembered the conversation at Blackthorn Manor, between you, Spite and Emmrich. And I think I found a solution to your candle problem." Rook tells him, motioning to the unlit candles behind her. There were two, both small, perhaps three inches tall, and slim. "You think Spite will stop trying to convince you to eat every candle if we allow him to eat these two?" She asks, still grinning, and Spite fills with glee.

Can EAT? He asks, looking directly at Lucanis for guidance, before back at the candles, stepping in close to get a better look at them.

"Rook, you realise we have been trying to explain that candles are not for eating, yes?" He asks dryly. Still, he stands and walks over to the table to inspect the candles himself.

"Candles are not for eating. Apart from these two very special candles that I have procured just for Spite." Rook says, her hands lifting to rest on her hips. Lucanis can see a little of the pride that Spite could smell, then.

"Procured, hm?" Lucanis enquires, looking back at the de Riva.

"Perhaps I had a hand in their creation." He arches a brow again, well aware that while her talents were many, none of them seemed to lie in a kitchen. "I promise they're edible. They're even two different types!"

Excited. Proud. Wants to make. US happy.

You, happy. It would seem. Lucanis thinks.

I want to talk. To Rook! To ask. To thank. Can I? Eat. Too.

"I do hope you know what you're doing." Lucanis muses with a fond smile and a shake of his head. The reigns are his, then, and in two blinks the browns of Lucanis' eyes flare purple, and Spite leans forwards to sniff with both his and Lucanis' senses.

"I can EAT these? Why?" He asks first, poking at one of the two. It feels a little like a candle. Although Lucanis hadn't let him close enough to touch many in fears of eating it.

"I already said. They're special. Made of special ingredients. Go ahead, but you have to promise not to try and eat any other candles, and to stop pestering Lucanis to do so. Okay?" Rook asks, levelling him with a stern look on her face.

Spite is nodding almost immediately. "Yes! Spite promises."

The candles are different to one another. One is softer than the other when he bites into it. Both are sweet, too sweet, and to his surprise he finds he cannot finish either.

Candles, he decides, are not as tasty as he had thought they would be.

But it was now something he no longer had to be Curious about.

"You really made candles out of chocolate, and sugar?" Lucanis asks, amusement colouring his tone later that evening while they sit and read together, Rook's legs draped over his lap. It's a moment that Spite had allowed them alone, and he chuckles as Rook beams at him and nods.

"White chocolate, yes. And fondant icing. I know that you like sweet things, but in moderation. I had hoped that he would lean that way too, and this would sate his curiosity without actually making you eat wax."

** Divider credit goes to @dread-red-queen! As does the joy of Spite week! I'm so excited to join in on my first character week, and it's perfect that it's for the fandom that has me writing again! **

[trevisowillbefree]

Spite Week 2025. Day 1 - Candles/Scent

Lucanis could feel Spite pulling at his mind. He'd been more... trying, almost excitable, recently. Especially after he'd spent time with Rook. He couldn't work out why, but it unnerved him. He tried to keep control, but he could feel himself drifting off. He needed to find out why his demon was trying so hard to take him over. Was he breaking their deal?

"Spite, what are you doing?" Lucanis asked. His exasperation bordering on desperation as he fought for control of his own body.

"I WANT. THE. CANDLES!" Spite growled.

"Mierda, we've been over this! You can't eat them. They'll make me ill!"

"BUT THEY SMELL. LIKE HER!"

"Who?"

"ROOK!" The demon replied. His own exasperation with his human companion teetering on the edge of anger.

Lucanis went quiet as a knot formed in his stomach and his cheeks flushed. He had bought new candles recently, ones that smelled of native Antivan flowers, but they were to remind him of home whilst he was in this hellish place.

"Spite, they're just Antivan flowers. I wanted them to remind me of Treviso."

"LIES!"

"I'm not lying! I had to come straight from the Ossuary to here. I've barely been able to spend any time in Treviso since I came home."

"NO! THEY REMIND YOU. OF HER! I REMEMBER. YOU THOUGHT HER HAIR. SMELLED LIKE HOME. SHE SMELLS LIKE HOME. TO YOU! TREVISO REMINDS YOU OF HER!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Spite."

Lucanis tried to be nonchalant about what his demon companion had just said, but the truth was, he'd gotten under his skin. He felt that knot in his stomach growing tighter as he tried to think of a way to put a stop to Spite's insistence that he was thinking of Rook, but the former spirit of determination was showing his nature.

"WE LOVE. ROOK! SHE SMELLS LIKE HOME. TO US!"

"We? No, Spite! I'm not letting you near her!"

"WON'T HURT. ROOK!"

"NO! I'm NOT letting you near her!"

Spite growled in frustration. His human was even more stubborn than he was. He knew that Lucanis loved Rook, but he just wouldn't listen to him. His frustration boiled over into anger, and suddenly, Lucanis was forced to sleep.

"I WANT. OUT!"

At that moment, Taash entered the pantry to see what all the noise was about. They immediately noticed that Spite was controlling Lucanis and stayed to prevent him from leaving. The demon wasn't concerned about the dragon hunter. He could easily escape them, but before he could make a move, she came into the room.

"Demon's back," Taash said.

"I don't think he ever leaves actually," Rook replied.

"Then he's acting weird."

"SMELLS LIKE... MELON AND WOODSMOKE."

"I'll handle this. Maybe make sure the eluvian room is blocked?"

Taash grunted and left her with the demon.

Spite's lips curled into a smile when he realised he was alone with Rook. All he'd wanted to do since they'd met was talk to her, but Lucanis had never allowed him to. She was the one person who'd been kind to him since he'd been forced to share Lucanis' body. Even Emmrich, who was always polite to him, wasn't as kind to him as she was.

She'd never been afraid of him, and she always treated him like a person. In this strange and hostile place that he found himself in, that had been a soothing balm to him. Whether Lucanis believed it or not, he could never hurt her. Even if the Crow couldn't admit that she was in his heart, he could. It may not be right now, but he would. For now, he would just enjoy this chance he had to talk to her.

"NOW. WE GET TO TALK."

She walked closer to the demon, wondering what he might want to talk about, but her first priority was to make sure Lucanis was safe. She thought it might help to hear what Spite's frustrations were and see if she could help. She smiled reassuringly at him and began their conversation.

[selennes]

Spite Week 2025

Fashionably late on the last day with the Day One entry! 🥳

Also touching upon Day 3 Rook/Lucanis (it's inevitable) and almost all other prompts 😅

“Spite.”

The familiar voice — Rook! — makes him freeze mid-bite.

“Please put the candle away.”

Rook doesn’t sound angry, or afraid, or at the last vestiges of her patience, or deceptively calm, ready to unleash a shrill scream, but Spite has been listening — what Lucanis calls eavesdropping — long enough to know that tone. There’ll be no needling or distracting her to go back to trying peculiar things that the unmoving world has to offer. He also knows that even if he follows his desire, there’ll be no living with Lucanis when he wakes and wrenches the body back. His cell — flesh — mate can get rather cranky for no reason. And Rook!

Rook will apologize. For failing to stop Spite in time from having his fun in the brief gap between the thick eyelashes coming together tightly and the light of consciousness chasing the darkness behind them away. As if she’s a guard whose duty is to keep eternal vigil.

What do they know? Maybe Spite loves the idea of Rook always being close. Close to see. Close to scent. Close to touch. But no, he never gets what he wants, be it through the means of the shared body or his own incorporeal faculties alone!

Lucanis will apologize as well. For giving in to the limitations of the fallible human — not even crow — body, and falling asleep, and letting Spite prance around being a bother and acting stupid.

Lucanis is the one who is stupid! Stupid and stubborn and contradictory! Who does not know what is good — for him, for Spite, for all three of them!

It'll be a neverending vicious circle of apologies — empty because something like this will certainly happen again, Spite will make sure of that, — accompanied by sad eyes and staring longingly at one another without acting. In Spite’s indisputable opinion, if they like tiptoeing around each other so much, they better do a round dance. At least they’ll be holding hands then.

Spite follows Rook’s command and leaves the candle alone. It doesn’t even taste that good. Pah!

Now he can turn the entire body towards Rook unhindered. The sight of her hands catches his attention.

While she isn't doing it on purpose, not even noticing his interest, Rook crosses her arms under her chest, hiding her small hands — smaller than his, by virtue of Lucanis, — almost completely from view. He almost whines out loud. He wants to try the strange game he’s once seen two mortals play where they align their hands together. Spite keeps wondering what’s so delighting about the simple comparison of palm size and finger length. With Lucanis awake, alert and focused on the task at hand — groceries — throughout that moment, there’s no lingering glee of disrupting the ritual of the infuriatingly giggling couple nor trying it out for himself.

With Rook, of course. He has no interest in touching other people’s hands — or them touching him, both of them.

Rook’s face relaxes slightly, her lips curving into the smallest, gentlelest smile known to Spite, but he’s taking his wins as he sees them. He has half a mind to kick Lucanis awake — this is how you do it, — but then he’ll have to trade places at the helm and lose the light of Rook’s eyes directed right at him, the music of her voice different without Lucanis’ sharp human hearing. And she won’t be talking to him directly, either. Even when addressing him to try and calm the fussy Crow down. 

So much time spent in the damp, miserable pit after an eternity of leisurely existence in the Fade, and only upon meeting Rook he realizes that he wants to be seen. To be a fixture in her life, if he cannot have all her attention to him. Or — sigh — them. Credit where it’s due.

“Spite,” Rook says again, calm as before even as he treads closer slowly.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t take a step back. Her eyebrows quirk in slight amusement as she guesses correctly his mock attempt at intimidating her: whatever he is now, no matter what he’s called, it’s beyond him to fight his nature. Her smile grows slightly wider. She doesn’t laugh — aw — but the pretty lightning pattern on her cheeks curls slightly around her mouth. Spite thinks it’s a good sign. It’s friendly.

He wants to soak in the amity emanating from her like he used to in the tumultuous Fade currents — and to wrap Lucanis’ body in it and hiss “Enjoy” in his ear as his mortal blinks blearily, too slow of thought to recognize the gift his demon has gotten him.

“You hungry?”

Spite blinks himself, taken by surprise, then grins widely. Rook. Doing what she does best. He doesn’t have it in him to make plans to get back at her. Never has he felt malice towards himself — or Lucanis, for that matter — from her, so he will stay his hand.

He has grown accustomed to mortals’ constant basic needs without fulfilling which they cannot do anything properly. Sleep. Bath. Nourishment. Clothes not to feel the cold and discomfort… and for something called modesty and appearances. He’s heard once of a spirit with a similar name but never encountered one. It tends to feel good to have Lucanis satisfied in most of these aspects. Aside from their effect on their shared body, Spite doesn’t care much for them, more perplexed than curious.

But if Rook is offering? He’ll be a fool to send her away — unlike his thick-headed fleshmate.

Spite grins and nods eagerly. Rook's smile changes — almost imperceptibly, but not for him. It neither grows wider nor diminishes but curls differently. Behind it is not concealed laughter anymore but tenderness. Spite commits her many smiles to memory with the same care and attentiveness as Lucanis does with people's traits and weak spots, physical or not. Rook is among those people, yet Spite has no need for his fleshmate’s mind to know her. Humble as he is, he's well ahead. Both of them are immensely grateful for the opened doors, yet Spite is the one who always carries the thought in their shared hands — or the ones he pulls through the Veil for Rook to step on when she needs a helping hand.

He can almost hear Lucanis groaning with disdain in his sleep, and cackles to himself. His grin is so wide the cheeks begin to hurt, but he can not, wants not to stop. Rook is fun. Her very existence is such a good thing that Spite wonders occasionally how Lucanis doesn't see the entirety of it, doesn't carry her in his arms, always close to his still beating heart. But then she would not need Spite’s help to cross over whatever precipice she encounters, so Spite is magnanimous enough to forgive Lucanis’ short-sightedness.

“What's got you in a good mood, Spite?” Rook asks conversationally as she gestures towards the dining table.

“Rook,” he tells her amicably as he follows her.

“What?”

She blinks at him in slight confusion. Her smile fades, the corners of her mouth no longer up, eyebrows knitting, and he has to put into many words what a single one — her name — holds, to try and coax the smile back. He doesn't mind explaining this time. Even if Rook doesn't always understand him, she makes a genuine effort to. Unlike Lucanis who covers his ears, as if it can help him, every time Spite wants something and isn't afraid, unlike Lucanis, to say it, except there's no escaping the fleshmate — for either of them, they're in the same boat, no matter how much Lucanis likes to pretend he's having it worse.

“Rook,” Spite repeats, sitting down in a chair close to the kitchen corner, close to her. “Rook is fun. Rook is bright. Rook makes the darkness go away. Rook tells the best jokes.”

He wants to say more, but several things happen in quick succession, interrupting him and making the rest of the word torrent redundant. No matter. He can say them later.

Rook's face goes alight with pink like the sunset in Treviso. The colour compliments the faded lightning branches on her cheeks. She doesn't hide her face or her eyes like she does with Lucanis or anyone who flusters her, without thought or on purpose. Spite isn't determined to do that now, he simply speaks the truth.

Her lips, which Lucanis has been looking at more often lately when she speaks, curl back up at the corners. Yes. She tends to smile wider when she's genuinely amused by something, even showing her teeth, though not as a threat, but this is deeper, this isn't a declaration for any passing busybody to glimpse on accident. This is between the two of them. Perhaps one day Lucanis will see this, too.

Rook chuckles, her eyes screwing up in delight. She doesn't wave him off, calling out empty flattery or dismissing his assessment of her.

“Thank you, Spite,” she says, quiet mirth trailing her voice. “Nice to know someone appreciates my sense of humour.”

She tilts her head to the side, the long strands gleaming in the flickering of the fire. No matter how many times he sees it, Spite always watches them waver for a moment or two.

“To bring joy to dear people,” Spite adds unprompted. He almost sounds like Compassion. “To dispel the gloom. To make salty water come from a happy place.”

Rook watches him for a couple of heartbeats. Her smile appears frozen, cryptic. Luckily, Spite has no problem gazing right past it. The warmth of the hearth inside of her fluctuates, a tendril of it flaring up towards him. A mortal would never know about it unless expressed in words or actions, but this is what feeling touched, appreciated, grateful for being seen is like. Spite grins. Compared to what she has done — and keeps doing — for them, this small protuberance seems like a drop in the sea. It is not. Spite hates seeing Rook down. And the unmoving world only seeks to keep her there.

Rook steps closer and lifts a hand to his shoulder. She always makes sure they know she's going to touch them, her palm always in their field of vision as it approaches slowly but steadily, unless something out of the ordinary is happening. Lucanis never tells her how much he appreciates this. Spite doesn't either. If he cannot have the fundamental truth of the ever changing Fade, he's having Rook's gentleness in its stead. Whether Lucanis wants to express something so glaringly obvious, it's up to him. Spite isn't going to make it easier for him.

She pats his shoulder lightly. The weight of both her hand and her touch despite the layers of Lucanis’ clothing is all the more tethering, especially with how soon it leaves. She wants not to impose. She doesn't know they'd never consider her as such. She turns away to get him the promised food.

Spite doesn't care much for food. It's something their body needs to keep going. Down in the Ossuary it's terrible, can barely be called that. There are lots of different foods above, but there are even more things Spite may only have glimpsed in a mortal’s dream that the Fade reflects whimsically. Not everything in the unmoving world provides sustenance. So many complications! And no way to know what is and isn't edible. Why do the candles smell nice if you cannot eat them?!

Rook puts down a small but full plate in front of him. Spite considers the contents critically. He is slightly disappointed that she hasn't used magic to heat them.

“No fire?” he cannot help asking.

Rook blinks at him then bursts out laughing upon realizing what he is talking about. The sight of confusion flowing into epiphany then levity is fascinating to watch as well as sense.

“Heating food, you mean?” she smiles without a hint of pungent annoyance. “While that's easy to do to the broth cooked in the field or to a cup of tea, I'm afraid I'd ruin Lucanis' cooking if I tried the same with it. Besides…”

She closes her eyes for a moment, doubt and worry clinging to her like stale rain drops.

“I don't think you should be eating anything heavy. You're controlling Lucanis' body right now, but he's sleeping… And I want you to settle down after you eat. Perhaps I shouldn't even be giving you this…”

Spite pulls the plate closer before Rook can make up her mind and take it away. She made this for him. She cares. He will not let it go to waste.

He grabs a peach and bites hard like he didn't get to do with the candle. The sweet smell permeates the air. The sweet pulp fills his mouth. The sweet juice overflows, no longer held back by the thin rind.

Spite frowns. After chewing and swallowing he raises the hand and licks a long strap of skin, gathering the fragrant liquid with his tongue.

Rook's eyes go wide, her mouth slightly agape.

“Spite?.. Spite, wait, there's no need for that!”

He hears giggles bubbling in her voice and goes back to licking off the spilt juice. She's not angry. She's just flustered, although the cause evades him.

“Careful with the stone inside,” Rook points at the unfinished leaking peach. “Then use this to wipe your hands.”

Spite is careful with the stone just as she asks, fishing it out of the pulp and leaving it on the plate before devouring what remains of the fruit. He shakes his head at the offered wet cloth after he's done, though.

“Spite. You absolutely have to. I'm not explaining to Lucanis why his hands are sticky!”

Rook is glowing softly with laughter and joy. Mortal eyes cannot see it, but, luckily, Spite is no mortal.

Rook goes around the table and comes close with the cloth ready. Spite can fight her off or throw the chair to the floor to get away, but there's something in the curve of her eyebrows, the corners of her lips going down, that causing mischief doesn't seem like a worthwhile course of action. He lets her wipe his hands in gentle, precise motions.

He does act upon his nature when she least expects it. He throws his arms around her torso, pulling her closer, pressing his ear just below her chest. Her heartbeat spikes like a spooked prey taking off.

Rook stiffens. Her hands fly to his shoulders, but she doesn't push him away. Nor does she rest them on him affectionately like he wants her to. Spite frowns. Does Rook not like being touched? Lucanis sure doesn't, though other mortals don't notice: he either turns and twists in inconspicuous ways to avoid being touched without drawing attention to his intention, or endures the unwanted touch stoically when he cannot escape it, Spite being the only witness of his discomfort.

Spite doesn't like to be touched, either. It's alien. It's invasive. It's inconsiderate. He's fortunate here that Rook's clamour dislikes him and doesn't try to get close. With Rook being the obvious exception.

But as for Rook herself, he has seen otherwise. She wraps an arm across the Scout Dwarf's shoulders, even though she has to bend slightly, and nudges her with her hip when discussing something conspiratorially. She rides the Horned Giant's wide shoulder when he hefts her up with a booming guffaw. She touches the Tinkering Elf’s arm reassuringly to cheer her up when the latter feels down. She shakes Curiosity's Friend’s hand when thanking him for his insight into some matter or a helpful piece of advice. She doesn't mind when the Burly Elf helps her stay upright after an exhausting battle.

And when her fingers brush Lucanis' when passing dishes, or a drying cloth, or cups, or books, or quills, then sparks of shy excitement ignite on the tips, spreading into her face and chest. Shy, and hopeful, and feeling both greedy and undeserving — all at the same time. There is indeed a difference between spirits, demons and mortals. Were Spite to experience so much at once, he'd combust on the spot.

Does she not like him touching her? Is it because he's in Lucanis' body, using his arms to cling to her? Because she'd rather have Lucanis with her? Spite growls quietly in anguish. Rook is nice to him, but he wants her genuine affection. Lucanis gets everything: his home, his brew, his Rook.

Her heartbeat calms, the rigidity slowly melting away, as if she's reading his mind, and her hands move tentatively. One palm slides down to rest between his shoulder blades — she doesn't scratch him there, but Spite still sighs happily, — and the other pets his head, stroking soothingly from the crown to the back, ruffling his hair a bit. Spite purrs audibly. Rook starts then giggles softly. Spite settles more comfortably against her: she doesn't mind having him in her arms.

There's still uncertainty in her motions. She's probably expecting Lucanis to wake up any moment now and take Spite's place. Contrasting his previous line of thought, she doesn't look forward to it for some reason. Spite snickers. He's seizing the entirety of this moment if he can help it. Lucanis will have to come up with his own plan to get into this position.

Rook leans down and kisses the top of his head, light and quick as the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

“I think we should part now,” she murmurs quietly.

Spite gives a tiny shake of his head so that his ear doesn't leave the soft fabric of Rook's tunic, doesn't lose the rhythm of her heartbeat. He cannot imagine getting tired of this.

“Spite, please,” she sighs. “You should return to Lucanis’ room, and I should get back to work.”

Spite lets her go with great reluctance, Rook not stepping away immediately a small consolation. It just occurs to him that she must have come to the hearth place with some goal in mind, and it wasn't to prevent him from eating candles.

“Rook. Hungry herself?” he croaks.

Rook blinks at him then smiles, bashful and tired.

“Yeah. Just dropped by for a quick snack,” she shrugs weakly.

He nods at the otherwise untouched plate.

“Eat this.”

And has to add before she argues:

“Not hungry.”

It's true. She's given him her attention, the time of her tightly packed day. He's satiated. He wants to take care of her in return.

“Thank you, Spite,” she says, both surprised and appreciative.

She sits down opposite of him and moves the plate closer. She hesitates, expecting him to mock her and rip the nourishment out of her hands, and he crosses his arms over his chest to show she's in no danger of staying hungry. 

Rook makes quick and careful work with her peach. Spite watches her nimble fingers around the fruit, captivated. She doesn't lap up the trickle of juice when it does escape the confinements of the torn rind, going straight for the damp cloth to get rid of the mess. Obscene, Lucanis' mind supplies Spite with the correct word suddenly. It's obscene otherwise. There's something else behind this word, something related to excitement, but different, unfamiliar. Spite doesn't understand it, so he banishes the thought.

The rest of the plate provides less of a curiosity. Rook only stands up to make herself tea. She raises the teapot at Spite: Want some? He shakes his head. He wants the sweetness of the peach to linger. Wants to savour this moment with Rook, the memory of it after she leaves.

“Will you go to the pantry now?” Rook asks with a touch of sadness.

Spite doesn't feel like fussing, happy that she has enjoyed this brief respite in his company. He simply nods in response. Rook's face brightens. She reaches for his hand to squeeze it gently in gratitude, and Spite goes for it.

He clasps her hand in his — carefully, unlike that one instance of grabbing her to the point of bruising, — lifts it and turns it to align with his. Lucanis'.

It tells him nothing he doesn't know: that Rook's palm is smaller, her fingers shorter and thinner yet no less elegant. But the feel of her palm on his, hers hiding fully behind his, is something he does not regret experiencing. It's simple. As all things should be.

He lets go before Rook can express her confusion beyond the questioning curve of her eyebrows, and stalks into the pantry, closing the door behind him and heading for the hard cot. He feels both spiteful and regretful that Lucanis has no way of knowing what his demon is up to while his fleshmate sleeps. There's so much Spite can rub in his face now!

That's even better than having his Crow sputter and get the wax out of his teeth.

Author's note: the "Horned Giant" is Iron Bull, of course. Taking a page out of @elishnord's book, because why would Alma and Harding look any further than their former Inquisition pal and self-proclaimed dragon killing lover? 😁

[alpaca-clouds]

Spite is Weird

It is Spite Week right now (@dread-red-queen) and I thought I would share one thought that I keep having writing about our favorite little demon.

Spite is weird. His possession of Lucanis is weird. Because the possession does not work like most possessions in the universe we have seen so far.

Normally, when we see someone possessed, they usually morph into one being with the spirit. Worst case this create a full abomination in that the body will also merge and stuff, becoming all body horror. Best case, they will maintain appearance, but it is still impossible for anyone involved to say where one begins and the other ends.

Anders is probably the best example here. Sure, you can see very well when Justice/Vengence takes over completely, but other than that it is hard to tell how much Justice is in each word Anders says and how much it is just his own sense of justice.

Lucanis and Spite are different. Lucanis can tell most of the time very clearly who he is and who Spite is. Same goes for Spite the other way around.

And we can now speculate to no end why this is. Is it because of the method of the possession? With both of them being equally forced into it. Was it because Lucanis is no mage? Was it for some other reason?

But after now finishing Inquisition again, I will notice that there is one place were we see similar possessions: the Avvar. With the Avvar there is also clearly a seperation between spirit and mage. Which is why they can just ask the spirit to leave, when they are done. Without killing the spirit. Without any danger. It is a fairly normal ritual for them.

It makes me wonder if actually Spite leaving Lucanis would be much easier than we are lead to believe, given that their minds/souls/whatever have stayed so seperated.

I kinda want to send the two of them into the Forstback Basin. But obviously I cannot as in my stories I have already committed way too deeply into making everything worse. lol

But yeah, I totally could see them going to the Avvar and learning that actually Spite and Lucanis seperating would be possible.

[rosha84]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Yay! Spite Week is here! 🙂🙃 Here is day 1 "Candles" (also on ao3)

The hour was as indeterminable as ever in the lighthouse. But since most inhabitants were deeply asleep, it could be safely argued that it was around midnight.

Only two people were up and gathered in the dining hall around the large wooden table, a dozen or so candles between them.

“One. More,” Spite urged, eyes gleaming gleefully.

With a friendly hiss, Manfred lifted his bony finger – his glove held in his other hand – and focused.

His green, many-faceted eyes turned and then-

A small flame sparked to life. Proud, Manfred lifted it to ignite the next candle.

Spite had watched him closely, wishing he could summon fire too.

Watching the flame dance on the wick, he reached out, trying to pluck it. But it only stung his fingertips and vanished into smoke.

Frustrated, he tried another. And another. Each time, only more smoke and stinging.

With a frustrated roar, he swept the candles from the table. Wax and flames tumbled across the floor; some shattered, others sputtered out.

“No!” Manfred wailed, pointing wildly at the mess, his feet tapping a frantic dance across the stone floor.

“Quiet,” Spite hissed, feeling Lucanis stir in his slumber. He wasn’t ready for his fiery game to end.

But Manfred was too distraught and quickly shuffled off, muttering.

Spite dropped cross-legged onto the floor, gathering the scattered candles into his lap. The warm, pliable wax was a curious toy. He kneaded and rolled it into lumpy spheres, crooked snakes, stubby knives. The more he worked, the more his creations edged toward shapes of people.

When the wax cooled, he rolled the stubs near the hearth and watched them sag and soften again. Nimble fingers pulled at the pliant mass, tugging long wicks into hair.

This time he was deliberate: a body, a belt-line, crude clothing. A face. Two eyes. A mouth.

When the figure hardened, he lifted Lucanis’ dagger and scratched finer lines.

Not perfect - not even close - but still: a waxen little Rook.

Grinning, he rose and padded to the pantry. At Lucanis’ bedside, he nudged aside the clutter of empty mugs to make room and set her proudly in place.

Satisfied, he sat on the cot and stared at his “Rook,” only then noticing the layer of half-hardened wax coating his palms.

A memory flickered - a dark mansion filled with candles, Lucanis’ voice echoing, “No!”

But Lucanis wasn’t here to say ‘no’.

He sniffed the wax. Honey and smoke. Underneath, Lucanis’ scent from his skin.

Curiosity tugged at him. He stretched out his tongue and ran it over his palm, scraping wax free with his teeth. Chewed.

He tasted honey first - faint, but with a cloying, unpleasant grit. He spat, rubbed at his tongue, only to smear more across it.

“Get off!”, he ordered, pinching his own tongue between his fingers. “OFF!” His voice rang against the walls.

Something stirred behind his eyes. Another mind waking from sleep. A nudge, then a shove and Lucanis pushed through.

He yawned, stretched – and froze.

“What the…?”, his voice rasped, tasting wax.

Spite cackled unheard by all but the assassin as Lucanis staggered to the bedside table, gagging down bitter coffee to scour his mouth. His disgust deepened when he turned and spotted the crooked wax-Rook grinning from the bedside.

"Spite!" Lucanis voice echoed through the pantry. The word slightly slurred by the wax-coated tongue.

"What?" Spite laughed mischieviously. "Don't you like my gift?"

He listened Lucanis muttered curses, felt the irritation boiling under his skin. Oh, they'd have words about this later. But he didn't care, he just wondered how to show his gift to Rook. She would surely appreciate it.

Or perhaps, she'd rather have a wax-figure of him and Lucanis?

Next time.

[silurisanguine]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook/Spite Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Rook (Dragon Age), Rook De Riva, Teleri De Riva, Spite (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: fade sex sort of, Lighthouse enhanced sex, Spite can have a physical body in the Lighthouse, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Post game ending Series: Part 2 of Fade born dreams Summary: Spite's new ability allows him to finally make Teleri's deepest desire come true. For Spite week 2025′s day 3 prompt Lucanis/Rook.

This is the sequel to my Viago/Lucanis/Rook fic - Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

[serialsforbellara]

Spite Week 2025 - Day 4: Compassion

Where Spite understands compassion.

Hosted by @dread-red-queen who also provided the cool divider!

Context: This takes place as part of my long-fic Tale of an Antivan Canary in chapters that are drafted but not posted yet. This is post-Murder of Crows, where Illario is hiding in the Lighthouse while the Veilguard team makes their way towards the end game.

Also on AO3.

Rook taught Spite compassion was not weak. Rook allowed Jacobus to grieve after the death of his cousin, back when Spite didn’t know she could hear him, back when Lucanis didn’t understand they both loved Rook. Plus, Jacobus proved to be spiteful and wrote fun codes, so Spite was excited to go to the Necropolis (not the Shrouded Halls) when she asked.

Emmrich and Curiosity met them at the eluvian. The Necropolis was oddly quiet and calm. Spite had missed the fight with Johanna Hezenkoss but knew she had stolen some of the Necropolis and now it was back together. Spite understood what it meant to feel whole. Ever since he pulled Rook into Lucanis’s mind and she burned down his Ossuary mind prison, he felt whole.

“You displayed great compassion in providing this star-crossed duo an opportunity to live out the rest of their lives together,” Emmrich said to Jacobus.

“A Venatori and a Crow,” Cousin muttered as he walked next to them. “It’s a-”

“Terrible reminder of your own mistakes?” Lucanis asked caustically.

“Well, yes. But I was going to say, astounding that they found common ground.”

“Why are you here?”

“No one stopped me from coming.”

They stood back while Emmrich, Rook, and Jacobus approached the couple. Spite swirled ahead, peering into the faces of the two people saved by Jacobus’s compassion. Love. Gratitude. A bit of fear when the Crow saw Lucanis standing to the side.

“SAW YOU! FIRST TALON. OF THE CROWS. MAYBE YOU SHOULD. HAVE STAYED. AT THE LIGHTHOUSE.”

‘Mierda. You are the one who insisted on coming! You cannot have it both ways.’

“DON’T STAB. ANYONE. SHOULD BE FINE.”

Lucanis huffed but Spite felt the hint of a smile.

Rook had compassion for Jacobus. Jacobus had compassion for these strangers. Bored when they regressed into small talk, he floated back to Lucanis and Cousin. “WAS OUR AGREEMENT. TO SAVE COUSIN. COMPASSION?”

He felt Lucanis contemplate his question before answering. ‘Yes. We understood he was lost, that Zara corrupted what wanted and twisted him around until he almost became something he did not want to become. But he didn’t. He remained himself and waited for us to open the door, to give him a way out.’

“IS COUSIN HAPPY?” The couple was holding hands and smiling while they chatted.

‘He’ll get there.’

“WOULD HE BE. HAPPIER. AT HIS HOME?”

‘Yes. It isn’t safe for that yet.’

They had missed the assassination attempt during the First Talon ceremony afterparty but had been there for the attempt after the symphony. Maybe Spite didn’t understand the real reasons people wanted Cousin dead, but living at the Lighthouse with Cousin, he could relate.

“IS IT STILL COMPASSION. IF I WOULD BE HAPPIER. WITH HIM. AT HIS HOME?”

‘Yes. We would all be happier.’