Feb 21, 2023
me: hey, i'm ready. let's write again. i have the ideas, i have the music and the plot, let's do this!
my brain:
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me: hey, i'm ready. let's write again. i have the ideas, i have the music and the plot, let's do this!
my brain:
Trickery of Snow
Illyrianwitchling's Holidrabble
Day 4 For: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @clockworkgraystairs ❤❤❤❤
Prompts: Jurdan + "You look even more beautiful covered in snow" & Snowball fights "I'm going to get you back for that, [name]!!
A/N: sorry if I clog your feed loves! Until I get my laptop, I can only post via mobile. I'll be be too busy the following week to back track drabbles. I'll fix it as soon as I can. Anyway enjoy!
Masterlist
Cardan stood alongside Oak. Against the bark of an aged tree. Its limbs barren due to the frigid winter of the mortal world. True in Elfhame, they had "winters" where a slight chill swept through the lands and a little snow dust over the earth. The snow there however, more reminiscent of powdered sugar on doughnuts instead of actual snow.
Yet here in the Mortal lands, there was a stark difference. What was once covered in dirt and grass the brightest greens is now blanketed thickly in a shimmering white. Enough to the point, they had specialty shoes and garments for the weather.
It took Cardan some time to get used to these puffy coats, his in black, of course, and the awkward heavy boots. Snowshoes, he remembered Jude telling him. For a while, he couldn't fathom why anyone would willingly go outside in this icy weather. The idea of sitting in warmth, in freeing clothes, a hearth alight with embers, and mulled wine sounded much his style than...snow.
Until now, this fight, for lack of a better term, was intriguing. If only for the thrill of competition.
They busied themselves, making as many snowballs as possible before Jude finds them. Oak was somewhat surprised with how quick Cardan became at making them. Within minutes, both had eight each, tucked securely within the pocket of their hoodies.
"Ready?" Oak’s tone laced with amusement, a grin on his youthful features, "and remember," he said, crouching into the snow a gloved palm keeping his arsenal steady, "Don't hit me."
"I do know what a team is," Cardan replied as if offended—repeating the movement.
They sat behind the tree listening for Jude. Sure, since joining The Court of Shadows, she mastered the art of slyfooting. Here with the heavy fall of snow, Cardan picked up her footsteps quickly. It wasn't as loud as, say, Vivienne or Heather. Jude's steps were softer, lighter, yet there's a subtle crunch on the floor when she moved. Like the one Cardan heard a second ago.
Oak seemed to notice the High King's reaction. Keeping his eyes and ears alert for his sister and turning to look at Cardan, pointing to himself and the left. Then Cardan and the right. The High King nodded.
"Be quick and keep low to the ground," Oak hissed.
"This is our third round of snowball. I assure you, Oak. I know the rules." Cardan replied a bit harsher than intended.
"Well, we lost the last two," Oak grumbled.
Cardan scowled, watching him sneak off to the left side, hiding behind another tree. Before surveying the area. Looking out for his wife, he knew lurked by.
The High King briskly moved from tree to tree. Stopping at each trunk to listen. The feather-light crunch of boots on snow guiding his way. A few minutes passed, he wasn't sure if this is working. Cardan spoke a moment too soon. Unexpectedly, Jude appeared, prowling the forest, snowball in hand, heading to Oak's location. Cardan smirked with a hint of playfulness, quietly following his wife. The Ghost trained Jude how to listen and track faerie. Cardan took every step with caution. Careful to not step on any loose branches. Keeping close to trees and inching as close as he dared to.
He caught a movement from behind a tree standing at the edge of a clearing. Immediately Cardan knew it was Oak; to his disadvantage, so did Jude. Of course, she would. Lethal, beautiful, and intelligent, he would've felt pride in his scabrous heart, had it not been for his teammate she was sprinting towards. Cardan darted in between the barren trees. Adrenaline pumping through his veins as he closed in on his wife, his darling god.
Taking a snowball from the pocket of his hoodie, Cardan pulled his arm back and swung. Watching with half-closed eyes as the rounded ball of snow soared through the sky, striking Jude on the back of the head. Glistening snow crashed against her free-flowing tresses. Like melting snow on the earthy floor. He found it striking in appearance
Jude stilled, turning gradually towards him, with a wicked glint in her eyes, stepping towards her husband.
“Three rounds and you finally landed a hit,” her steps were calculating, assessing him silently as she moved around. “I’m proud of you, husband.”
“Well, my dearest Jude, a slow learner, still learns,” he quipped, trying not to watch Oak in the back sneaking up to her.
Unfortunately, Cardan did give his nephew away. As Jude turned, Cardan shouted, “now!”
In rapid succession, Oak threw snowball after snowball at Jude. Cardan joined in, racing up to them, unleashing his entire stock on her. In one moment, Cardan stood tall, then another, his legs were kicked beneath him. He was falling into the soft snow below. Jude straddled him, hips over hips.
She leaned in, kissing the top of his ear, "I'm going to get you back for that Cardan." A promise, a threat, perhaps both. With Jude, one could never be too sure.
He only smiled up at her, all the confidence in the world on his smug expression, "Get me back how?"
Kissing him sweetly ignoring Oak's blatant disgust at her public display, before she spoke, "like this," his wife reached into the snow next to him, dropping the pile on his face. Cardan shook it all away. Hearing both Jude and Oak laughing at.
"Really, Jude?"
"Does it help if I tell you, you look even more beautiful covered in snow." She laughed, like the sweetest of wines.
"As much as I appreciate the comment, my sweet villain, I look beautiful everywhere and in everything."
"Ugh!" Shoving him into the snow and ice, "you're such an ass. Come on, Oak. Round four, you're with me."
Oak whooped and cheered, being on a team with Jude. Cardan gaped on in disbelief as the two walked away from view.
"I should've stayed inside with the mulled wine."
Tag list: @jurdanhell@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @hizqueen4life @clockworkgraystairs @b00kworm @negativenesta @sjm-things @whataboutmyfries @justgiu12 @illyrian-bookworm @thesirenwashere @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nightbringer @vanessa172003 @thewickedkings @sleeping-and-books @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @alittledribbledrabble @iminsanenotobsessed @theoceanfaewriter @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves @figuredihadanodustollensofalife @awkward-avocado-s @maastrash @knifewifejude @st00pid231 @elide-lochan-salvaterre @gisellefigue08 @pcarnatio @wanderingjpg @bookishwitchling @sayosdreams @flintandtinder @starborn-faerie-queen @hopefullyanauthor @junipersuns @thewayshedreamed @hopefullyanauthor @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @blade-given-form @perseusannabeth @notanapostatemage @danaanruhn @thegoddessofyou @swankii-art-teacher @nestable @darlinminds
Laws and Lattes
Merry Christmas @clockworkgraystairs!! Have a Manorian coffee shop au as your cliche little Christmas gift 😂 Thank you for all the scheming (as well as screaming. coughs in the infernal devices) and help with other fics. ily!
Dorian was 28 years old and had long since given up on finding love in a coffee shop. A coffee shop. He was the youngest politician in the country, for fuck’s sake.
When the magic ink showed up on his wrist at midnight on his 18th birthday, he'd guffawed at Chaol who'd waited up with him, ever the believer in this soulmate crap. In miniscule white, bubbly letters, the words "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?" Great. That was really just his luck. Just 2 weeks before, Chaol's wrist had been emblazoned with "Not tonight, buddy. I'm just a girl in a bar tonight." She sounded like a fun girl.
Suffice it to say, considering that he was born and raised in New York then moved to Seattle, he'd seen more than his fair share of the chain's stores. For the first couple of years, he'd replied to every hot barista's greeting with "Is it you?" and secretly prayed that none of the more homely ones would perk up after hearing his order. By the time he'd graduated university, he'd given up.
When he walked into the establishment at 4th and Pine, he glanced down at his wrist and rolled his eyes, joining the queue.
-
At midnight on her 18th birthday, Manon Blackbeak sat in a circle with her half sisters, Asterin and Vesta, and her little sister Sorrel. When "I'm sorry, no, I just got called into a city meeting," appeared on her wrist in sloppy, harsh lettering, Asterin and Vesta let out excited squeals, while Sorrel just rolled her eyes.
The three of them had decided ages ago that they were all going to be surgeons like Asterin and Vesta's mom. "So, that settles that, then. Political science is a definite."
“You were supposed to come to the dark side," Asterin growled, climbing into her little sister's lap and nearly knocking her over. She was already in her first year of Med School and Manon's hero. Somehow, she was managing to take care of Asterin, who was still in high school, and their ailing mother, all while managing to progress in her classes at UW. Manon remembered the long, teary phone call with her the week before her graduation from Dartmouth, telling her about her mother's diagnosis, and how she'd have to forgo Northwestern and settle for UW, citing that at least she'd be nearer to her. It had taken its toll on her, but by then, almost a full year from that phone call, you could hardly tell.
Even though she seemed genuinely happy for Manon's definitive first-words, it still stung that her tattoo had merely said "Excuse me."
While she herself was a sophomore in College already by then, having skipped grades when she was younger, Manon wasn't sure that surgery was where she was headed, despite being pre-med. That merely sealed the deal.
She'd only gotten this job to kill time and save up a few dollars while waiting for her internship at the hospital to start. She just knew that she wasn't going to meet the love of her life in a coffee shop. How cliche and boring would that be? Still, it was cute the amount of young adults who came in, eyeing her suspiciously and asking some variation on "Are you her?" after her company-standard greeting with a wanton desperation, only to deflate when she shook her head sadly. That just wouldn't be it for her.
She knew that it was frustrating. She saw it in the way Asterin had flinched every time a stranger moved around her on the street or tried to get her attention in a bar up until the night before she started her internship. The fact that he turned out to be a surgeon and her boss proved only to be a minor stumbling block the next morning.
That was all going to come to a close for Manon soon. She could feel it. She was going to be a kickass politician and find her equally kickass politician spouse. The fact that this was her last shift just made it all that much better.
Despite all that, she couldn't help but notice the ridiculously sexy, brooding man that just walked in and secretly mourned that her tattoo didn't read something like "Doppio Espresso and a coffee cake, please." After a moment, she let it go.
The line progressed efficiently and there he was in front of her and, god, he was even more beautiful up close, she thought, but found herself interrupted by the sharp chirp of an old school pager. Pager, she thought cheerfully. Politicians use those! Returning to reality, she found herself absently chorusing the typical greeting, "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order."
The words didn't seem to rouse the man from the device. "I'm sorry, no, I just got called into a city meeting," he answered and turned and walked out just like that.
Manon's heart hammered away in her chest as the next guest babbled their long, frothy order at her, but it was irrelevant. She hadn't heard a word they'd said. Turning away, she waved over a coworker and pointed at the register, before she retreated into the back of the store. Holy shit. She'd met her soulmate in a coffee shop. And as quickly as he'd come, he was gone.
-
That night, Manon cried in her sister's arms, describing him over and over to Asterin in perfect detail thanks to her photographic memory, and swearing she hadn't made him up. "His first words defined who I'd become. What if this was it? What if I'm destined to be alone because I let him walk out?" she hiccuped. "What if he's my soulmate but I'm not his? Can that happen?"
"No, Manon," Asterin cooed. "That doesn’t happen.”
It was only after the 5th time that it clicked in her head. "What time did you say it was?"
Sniffling pathetically, she answered "8:11".
"And, you said he was tall, with salt and pepper hair?" she asked, straightening herself out in front of her and putting her hands out on her shoulders.
She nodded a little.
"Do you love me?" Asterin asked her sister, question met with an indignant grunt. "Come in early for your shift tomorrow. There's someone I want you to meet. Get some sleep, hon." With little more argument, Manon headed up the stairs and into bed. As soon as she was certain she was out of earshot, Mer reached into her pocket and called her own soulmate, remembering how she'd bonded with someone over having a generic tattoo, but how she'd assured him that his soulmate probably had something great because he would be so sick of listening for it. "Chaol, are you busy?"
-
Morning light changes people. When she woke up, Manon felt incredibly stupid. Obviously, that couldn't have been him. She had a lifetime full of customers in front of her. The chance of meeting a politician and her soulmate in a Starbucks? Slim. Infinitesimal, even. That didn't change the fact that Asterin's persistence in getting her in early this morning was thoroughly irritating.
"Just trust me," had been the incessant refrain. "You won't regret it." She couldn't help but take her sister's urgence as a slight mockery of her reaction the night before.
Rolling her eyes, Manon sighed impatiently, "I'm fine." She grabbed her coat off the hook and headed for the door. "Really, this isn't necessary."
She merely smiled, practically pushing her to the car.
-
"This is stupid," Dorian moaned from where Chaol had him lodged in the hallway. "Why do I have to be here to meet your stupid girlfriend's stupid little sister?
His best friend smiled his normal 'because-I-know-what's-best-for-you-dipshit' smile, and answered "To humor me? Besides," he urged, "You never know. She might be fun to hang around."
He turned away from his best friend coldly, rolling his eyes and burying his shoulder in the wall, having decided that he wasn't just going to stare at the elevator like a chump.
-
Leaning against the handrail, Manon groaned "This is stupid." She couldn't believe she'd had her sleep cut back an hour before work. “You know I'm going to be here later than anyone else. Why did you have to make it even longer?" She missed her bed already and they weren’t even out of the car.
"Because you trust me. And I'm your evil big sister." Who you're going to thank endlessly in 5... 4... 3... 2...
-
The elevator dinged and the two girls left the car and Asterin dragged Manon straight for the men leaning against the wall with an absurd amount of pep. She couldn't even bring herself to mind that her little sister seemed more interested in her shoelaces.
"Hey, beautiful," he started, planting a chaste kiss to his girlfriend's cheek. "Manon," Chaol greeted, swatting at Dorian to get his attention.
Asterin smiled, bumping her hip against her sister. "Manon, this is Dorian. He's the senator here." From his posture, Asterin wondered if he'd fallen asleep.
She looked up with her standard friendly smile and stopped cold, jaw suddenly lax. She recognized him instantly. The guy from yesterday. Glancing between her sister and Chaol, not sure what to do. Chaol tapped his wrist and pointed at Dorian. Asterin nodded and whispered "Say it."
Her tongue grew thick in her mouth. She shrugged at Chaol. She knew what she'd said to him, obviously, but all she was sure of was that what he said was on her wrist. She decided to give it a shot. She tapped Dorian on the shoulder and repeated the company line one final time: "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?"
The older man whipped around and stared at the girl, ready to lay into her, until he realized that she was holding her wrist out to him. He read the words in his handwriting over and over again, trying to place why they sounded so familiar until it clicked. Starbucks yesterday. When he'd ran out, that's what he said to the barista. He hadn't even thought to look up before he took off. Now, he wished more than anything he had.
After the brief silence grew to an uncomfortable length, she repositioned her hand from showing the white ink on her wrist to offering it to Dorian. "Manon Blackbeak."
"Dorian," he fumbled, reaching out to shake it. He stared at her for a long time, like he couldn't believe after all this time that she was real.
She smiled, pulling his hand closer and looking down at the etching inside his wrist. Her handwriting. Those words. "I thought I'd never see you again after you ran out of there."
"Guess it was meant to be," he answered. In that moment, some 10 years after his ink showed up, Dorian really, firmly believed in soulmates.
TOG taglist: @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves @starborn-faerie-queen @addies-invisible-life
Elfhame Folk! Today, we are celebrating a very special member of The Living Council, and one of our dear friends.
@clockworkgraystairs HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS LOVE!!!! We hope you have an absolutely magical day, filled with books, birthday wishes, and chocolate milk. We raise our glasses to you! 🍷🥛🍪
Hi! Can you please tag me in The Uptown Lowdown please?? I'm so intrigued
Yes!!!! Thanks for reading!!! 💖
Idk if somebody already asked this one but: Jem Carstairs
not yet, this is my first one!!
do I like them: of course, jem is a literal ray of sunshine
5 good qualities: kind, loving, witty, strong, talented
3 bad qualities: does he have any???
favourite episode/etc: when he comforts james after he first realizes that he has warlock magic, or any sassy moment with will
otp: jessa
brotp: heronstairs
ot3: herongraystairs
notp: him and jessamine, i guess? if i had to come up with one
best quote: “Do not let any of them tell you who you are. You are the flame that cannot be put out. You are the star that cannot be lost. You are who you have always been, and that is enough and more than enough. Anyone who looks at you and sees darkness is blind.”
head canon: he spends every morning after breakfast playing the violin to build his skill back up to what it used to be and better
give me a character and i’ll answer
Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool~) 🌈🌈🌻
awwshsjsns sorry i’m a bitch and forgot about this!! better late then never i guess
1) i’m intelligent 2)i love to play and listen to music more then words can describe 3)my love of reading4)my ability to always give people the benefit of the doubt5)i’m a good friend
thank you so much for sending this to me!!! ✨✨✨
'Before the beginning' and 'next' for the ask meme pls?? Ily lost sister! 🧡🧡
ahhhh ily lost sister!! 🥺❤️❤️
BEFORE THE BEGINNING:
"I wasn't going to murder him, you idiot," I said, a laugh bubbling effortless past my lips. Like breathing made easy, the slide of a knife through warmed butter.
Laughter isn't the cure to sadness. It isn't really anything but a temporary high, a rosy-lensed relief—but it surely blunts the sharpness of even a most astute pain. I thought I didn't need relief, so for a very long time I'd gone without.
Which is why, now, in the yellow wash of light from the street lamp, egging our mutual enemy's car, I indulged myself in laughing for far longer than the joke entailed.
And all the while, he stared at me like if he breathed I would stop.
NEXT:
Heat blooms violent across her cheeks, lips parted like the heavens, and gods her hair. It's a fucked out mess on the cushions.
I'm sure it's a dangerous thing, allowing myself to believe this is actually happening. It's witchcraft the way her chest heaves in tandem with mine. Her stare beguiles me.
"What are you doing?" she asks, probably because I've stopped to ogle like a dickhead.
Before I can stop myself I sweep a stray lock away from her eyes. And, look, given the unlikelihood of the current situation, I know I'm not really in a position to make demands. But still I find myself saying, "Your hands. My hair. Now."
no excuses wip ask me!