#Winter Court Week?

[numericalpie]

WCW 1: Iced Coffee and Unwritten History

Prompt: High Lords, Ladies, and Emissaries @wintercourtweek

180142. 2 wraps, wool, for Morana. 25 coins.

180143. Food for Solstice Fest. Audria - 180 coins, root vegetables. Morgi - 300 coins, bread and pastry. Boris and Varvara - 500 coins, wine, ale. Total: 980 coins. {Must remember to switch vendors next year. Ridiculous} 

180144. Musicians, SF. 600 coins. 

180145. SF gift for V. 64 coins. 

180146. Candles. 120 coins.

180147. Weekly foodstuffs. 47 coins. 

180148. OT staff for SF. 300 coins. 

180149. Preserves, cranberry, for [next 40 lines obscured]

181021. Apothecary, 20 coins.

181022. Text, Isalfar, for V. 40 coins. 

181023. Sled repair. 40 coins. 

181024. Court dress, for Morana. 1800 coins. {V insists it must be dyed. M disagrees. Dye? Extra [obscured. Subsequent pages missing.]

Viviane slammed her laptop shut and winced immediately. The cover didn’t come off, thank the Mother, but the little track on the bottom that was already fucking broken flew across the table and into Kallias’s forehead. 

“Ow,” he said, monotone. It hit the floor and stuck, rubber and tacky, but in her head it shattered like a dropped plate.

Viviane groaned and let her head droop to the suspiciously-warm top of her computer. The fan was going, whirring oddly softly. 

So it wasn’t mad. Nice. 

“Having fun with your fragments?” Kallias asked. She didn’t look up, but in her mind’s eye he  was looking at her that way he always did, a little I told you so and a little really, what’s wrong?

Which was only fair, because actually what was she doing, and why did she think this was a good idea? Why was she doing this degree? What the fuck was wrong with her? Where had she gotten the audacity - 

“No,” she said, picking her head up. “That is the Devil speaking.”

Kallias looked up from his code. “What?” 

She flapped an arm in his direction and he looked back down. 

“I told you the material was awful,” he said, very quietly. 

“You know,” she said, trying to decide if the sticker on her laptop - ihtfp - was thick enough to imprint itself on her cheek if she went back down. Four hours of sleep had not been enough, thank you very much. 

It probably wouldn’t. Maybe. And would it matter? Mor wouldn’t care - if she was even in the dorm. Probably she wouldn’t be. She practically lived with Azriel and Cassian, which was the sort of mess Viviane was firmly not getting into, thank you very much. 

“If my partner actually bothered to work on our project, my computer would still be in one piece,” she drawled. 

Kallias frowned. “I don’t think the track counts. And I thought you said it was broken earlier.”

He looked very nice under the white library lights, which was not even a little fair of him, for fuck’s sake, why - nope, nope, nope. 

Viviane was not blushing. 

“I’ve done everything,” she complained.  “You agreed to do this topic -” 

“Because you thought it’d be fun to write about our namesakes! Viv, the assignment has been live for two days. We have a week.” 

She glared. 

He held her gaze for just a minute, which was admirable, but she knew he was going to drop and he did, which was significantly more satisfying than it should have been. 

Kallias sighed, and Viviane could not help the smile - the spark of delight - she won, miracle of miracles, she had seen him stare down their polisci professor twice, but he folded!  

“I have a deal,” he started, leaning back in his chair. Not enough to tilt it back, but enough that it made the line of his neck look - nope. 

“Go,” she said, sitting back herself. 

“I” - he held up a finger “- run for coffee. I get your order.”

“You don’t know my order,” she protested. 

He wagged his finger. “Large. Iced, and you don’t care that it’s snowing. Three sugar-free pumps of vanilla. Unless they have white chocolate. If they do, white chocolate, and don’t ask questions about the sugar.” 

She scoffed. “Clearly,” Viviane began, “you don’t know my order, or you would remember -”

“No room for whipped cream,” he interrupted. “An extra handful of napkins so you don’t have to buy them. And a dollar in the tip jar to justify overconsumption of plastics, which doesn’t make very much sense, if I’m honest -”

“Shut the fuck up. Also I would like a pain au chocolat.” 

He paused. “Those are the chocolate croissants?”

She nodded. 

“Good,” he continued. “That. And then” - a second finger “- I will spend at least an hour in defense of Lady Viviane’s political career.”

“Two,” Viviane countered. “I’m going to have to explain everything to you, first.”

Kallias frowned. “I’m sure -” 

“I have plans, Kal,” she insisted. “You’re going to change the font size or something if I don’t -”

“I would never,” he said, hand over his heart, affronted. “Viviane, I swear before the Mother, I wouldn’t dare.” 

“If you’re sure,” she grumbled. 

“I promise. And then we’ll go back to mine or yours and watch the episode of - what was it?” 

Viviane laughed. “How could you forget the beauty of The Ultimatum?” 

Kallias shook his head. “Acceptable?” 

Viviane considered it. “I suppose.” 

She drew it out, sup-pose. He jumped from his seat before she finished the word, slipping away from their cubic-whiteboard-cubby in seconds. 

The moment he was gone, she dropped her head back to the top of her laptop. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fucking fair. 

Ihtfp, she could feel it, sinking into her skin. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“I never asked,” she whispered out into the air. To the Mother, to - it didn’t matter, actually, none of it fucking mattered, because he was her best friend and nothing was ever going to happen. 

Two years, Viviane reminded herself. Two years, only two years, and then she could quietly start to cut off contact - go to grad school in Night, or something, Mor would take her in. Nevermind that she’d lose her best friend in the process. He’d be off to the fucking capitol, probably, working for the state department, and she could wither to dust in fucking Night with Mor’s family under a fucking mountain, and everything would be fine. 

Yes. Fine. Very fine. Perfect. 

She lifted her head - the acronym was firmly branded into her cheek, she could just tell - and opened the page again. The rest of the document was more ledgers, apparently, decades and decades from one High Lord’s personal bookkeeping. 

The next link from the Wikipedia article sources looked promising. “Ribbons of blue: the personal communiques of Kallias, lord of Winter, XVII, r.d. 57-107. Trans. Hauk Saudson.”

Viviane,

Do you think I should try sideburns? I think I could grow sideburns if I tried hard enough. Saw a glacier earlier that you’d love. We should come back. Morana could run wild in the tundra and make friends with all the caribou. I cannot help but picture it.

We must come back. When the court is not in session. I know you cannot bear to be drawn away from the visiting emissaries. I wish you could go abroad again - I know you wish to. 

I cannot bear to let you go. This week has nearly been too much to bear. I cannot do without you. The separation drives me to foolery - writing letters in the dark of night. Evidently. 

I love you. 

Kallias

Nothing much of use toward their project, except the bit about the emissaries. That might work well for their paper, might prove the Lady’s involvement in political affairs. That would show her professor. He could not argue against hard evidence. 

The next letter was short and to his daughter, who was - 7? 10? 

Viviane switched to Firefox: how old was HL Morana in XVII 58 

Six. Huh.

Morana,

Have you finished the story I left you yet? If you have, tell your maman. She knows where the next one is. And I hope you have slept well. I instructed all the monsters under the beds to play very quietly, so they do not wake you up. 

Be good for your tutors and your maman, and know I will always be,

Your loving papa. 

Nothing of use. She couldn’t make herself switch away from it, all the monsters under the beds. Viviane clicked to open another tab. The one after looked promising, finally: a letter in the Lady’s own swooping hand. 

Kallias, 

You have been gone for too long. Come home. 

There, I said it. Consider that your permission to leave whatever has given our dearest lord of southern wastes another hernia behind. He can manage it, we both know that, he’s just dragging things out so he can tell all of his holders that he has the favor of the High Lord. Ridiculous male. And ridiculous you, because you’ll laugh at this letter and proceed to suffer through two more days. 

Two more whole days. I cannot believe you would do this to me. How dare you. I sleep terribly without you, as you well know, and I will remind you that until your sleep schedule is improved you cannot criticize mine. 

I would like to visit, though. Dutiful wife that I am, I shall forget you said anything immediately. There, now you don’t get to complain about piecing together something for our anniversary in the midst of the legislative session. Not that you do complain. Nor that I would be upset if something else were to come. Perhaps forget I said anything? I know you won’t, but you could. If you wanted to.  

Of course I am enjoying the emissaries. I won’t write of it - you’ll have to come back so I can tell you everything. Some of the other Courts - well. I said I wouldn’t write of it, and I won’t, but frozen dead, Kal, you’re going to lose your mind. I’m losing my mind. I’ve settled everything, of course, don’t worry over that, but I promise you’ll want to know. 

I miss you. 

Your Viviane. 

PS. If you grow sideburns I will desert for the Continent. I mean it. 

“Coffee,” Kallias said, handing her the plastic cup. “Straw. Extra napkins. Croissant.”

“I found evidence,” she said, not looking up from her screen. She took a drink - nice and cold and sweet. Perfect. 

“Oh?” he asked, setting his own order down. Black coffee, hot - disgusting, honestly, there was something wrong with him. 

He looked good in his sweater, which was not something Viviane was supposed to notice. Fuck. 

“Here,” she said, pointing to the lines. “She’s “settled everything” regarding some foreign emissaries.”

He leaned over her shoulder, which - oh, shit, he smelled very good. Cardamom. Pine. Something that she couldn’t identify and frankly shouldn’t be thinking about. Fuck, fuck. 

“It’s not explicit,” he said, finally, leaning back. “But if there’s more…”

She looked down at the bottom. “Only eighty pages to look through. And sixteen other sources.”

“We could expand beyond Wikipedia,” he suggested. 

The air grew tense. She looked over her shoulder, and he was so close - so fucking close, one of these days she was going to do something stupid and kiss him if he kept getting so close. 

Viviane did not, though, pull away. 

“I hope you’re joking,” she whispered. 

He squinted, and pulled away. “Obviously, Viv. Who do you think I am?”

She laughed, a little higher than she should’ve, but for the sake of the Holy Mother she did manage to laugh like a sane person. And then she wrote until she remembered that her iced coffee was melting, and then she took a break to heckle Kallias while hurriedly drinking half of it. 

(They got a C on their paper, for “overly expanding the role of the Lady Viviane in Court affairs.” Viviane was so angry that she went back to her dorm and railed at Morrigan for an hour about it all. Halfway through she dropped her crush on Kallias - her enormous, boulder-sized crush on Kallias - and though she didn’t notice, Mor certainly did. Hijinks commenced, the sort only drawn up by drunk friends trying to help other friends. Viviane and Kallias were dating by the end of the semester. 

He becomes an economist, or something. Viviane goes on to get a PhD in History, proving in her dissertation that the High Lord and Lady Viviane were corulers, the first known example of a regnant Lady in the history of Winter. 

The vindication is sweet.)

[queercontrarian]

A New Home

@morweekofficial day 2: home

after mor is found at the autumn/winter border the high lord of night initially agrees to let her stay in the family home in velaris until she is healed. when tensions between him and keir start to escalate over his errant daughter's whereabouts, the high lord chooses his steward over his niece and sends mor into exile in the winter court. while she is not allowed to return to the night court or see her family as long as the old high lord still lives, she finds a new purpose in winter.

staying with one of the high lord's closest advisors, she is finally allowed to pick up a sword herself and train with the warriors of the winter court army, which has always allowed females to join. she learns to master her powers and finds her true strength. in the war against hybern she fights for her new home, the winter court, joining the alliance of day, night and dawn on the continent. when she returns, she is legend. she is the morrigan. every child in winter knows her name.

in winter, she also finds one of her closest companions outside of the night court in viviane, her host's young daughter whom she gets to see grow up after the war and whom she loves like a sister, as well as viviane's friend kallias, the younger brother of the winter court's general.

she only returns to the night court after her uncle, aunt and cousin die and rhysand, now high lord of night, asks her to come back and help him rebuild their court of dreams.

mor's dress here is inspired by some traditional mongolian clothing. i pull most of my inspiration for winter court styles from inuit, sámi and mongolian culture. i see her picking up red as her signature color in the winter court specifically because of how much the red stands out against the white snow.

[dawneternal]

Kallias // winter wakes the wolf

[codywinter-isms]

Just a fun poll to see what people think / would want! I’d want teal/turquoise but I’m biased! 😆

[acourtofladydeath]

Poly+ SJM Week D1: Whose Court is it Anyway?

Welcome back to the "To Become A Vanserra" universe, where he Vanserra's have quite a ritual to join the family. This fic features all OCs, and will be the first multichapter installment of the series.

Neve Aenson, only daughter of the Winter's Autumn Court Border Emissary, has only ever met the Vanserra's a few times before. That is until she decides enough is enough and takes over her father's role, hoping to readapt treatise in her Court's favor. What she didn't expect was to find a mate, let alone two. Conleth Vanserra never expected Neve, never expected love at all. He doesn't do emotions. Neither does his brother, Fintan. Those who have met them would say the brothers are polar opposites, despite having been forced together as young boys. How will they deal with being forced together once more?

Join me for Chapter 1: Apples & Contracts to learn about the first arm of this closed V for day 1 of @polysjmweek: Whose Court is it Anyway? As with all TBAV fics, they are best understood if you have read the entire series in order. The fics are chronological. Find a snippet below, or read the whole thing on AO3!

The urge to rub his arms made Conleth itch. He hated the cold. Snowflakes landed on his eyelashes, his cheeks, nearly burning his skin. Blinking furiously, he cleared the damned freezing powder from his eyes. It melted against the heat of his body, running down his pale, freckled skin in tracks. The fact that he had to cross the border into the Winter Court on foot was upsetting, insulting even. But it was his job to maintain relations along this border, and if walking into the court prevented war, or more importantly, Beron’s wrath, Conleth would suffer through it.  Though the cold was oppressive, the view was intoxicating. Hands in his pockets to maintain what little warmth he could, Conleth strode purposefully across the frozen lake toward the manor built into the icy mountain before him. The white marble walls fit perfectly against the iced-over stone, making the building look like it was part of the landscape. And while the snow was hell against the fire trying to stay lit beneath his skin, it looked gloriously soft falling against the beautifully harsh landscape. Conleth didn’t like soft, but something about the snow was different. Not bothering to consider why, he moved his gaze down to his feet, watching the snakes of snow skate across the blue ice and wrap around his thick boots. Mentally he began to prepare for the meeting he’d crossed the border for.  The Winter Court emissary assigned to communicate with Autumn resided in the beautiful manor. Conleth had conceded to alternating meetings in Autumn and Winter to improve relations, and this month it was his turn to travel. The male was docile enough, easy to maneuver and manipulate so Conleth could get what he wanted without pushing too hard. His manner made these trips worth it. 

Finish the chapter on AO3.

Special thanks to @nocasdatsgay, @climbthemountain2020, and @secret-third-thing for their unyielding support on this fic and during OC development. And an extra forehead kiss for CC who has helped me beta the entire thing.

Let me know if you want on or off the taglist! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @climbthemountain2020 @amalhe-kofee @molcat07

[wintercourtweek]

It's officially time, friends!

Below, you'll find the prompts for @wintercourtweek. These prompts are designed to let you flex those creative muscles and celebrate the season freely.

Divider courtesy of @tsunami-of-tears.

Day 1 (Sunday, December 15th): High Lords, Ladies, and Emissaries

Day 2 (Monday, December 16th): Traditions and Festivities

Day 3 (Tuesday, December 17th): Folklore and Fairytales

Day 4 (Wednesday, December 18th): Cold and Cozy

Day 5 (Thursday, December 19th): Gifts, Wishes, and Winter Dreams

Day 6 (Friday, December 20th): Friends and Family

Day 7 (Saturday, December 21st): Winter Solstice / Free Day

As a reminder, rules and regulations can be found here.

Let's make this a fun and festive week together!

[bloomingdarkgarden]

Thistlemaidens | Lesser fae of the Winter Court

A contribution to @wintercourtweek Day 3: Fairy and Folk Tales

Legends say the Thistlemaidens are derived from a lost conclave of priestesses who, during the early wars of Prythian, found sanctuary in the deep forests of the winterlands.

It was there they worshipped Sigrún, a cruel, ruthless goddess of the first frost, who sheltered them from the violence of the outside world. It is said the ancient goddess inspired a devotion so pure that her followers abandoned all attachment, vowing to live a solitary existence for the remainder of their immortal lives. It is said that pleased by this, the frost goddess blessed her acolytes with cruel, cold beauty and strange magic. Thistlemaidens are now known to be reclusive creatures which dwell in the wild woods of the Winter Court. It is said that any who dare touch the skin of a thistlemaiden shall receive Sigrún's lasting gift- to be eternally frozen in a breath of ice, a lasting offering to the ancient frost goddess.

[shadowqueenjude]

For @wintercourtweek

Moodboard for our lovely High Lady, Ms. Viviane

[animezinglife]

In Winter's Light

Pairing: Viviane x Kallias Written for @wintercourtweek (Day 2: Traditions and Festivities) Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slight Angst Rating: T (maybe T and a half). ;) Note: I'm so excited to share this short fic with you all leaning into traditions and festivities. Sometimes, traditions can an experience shared between two people. Please do not copy or re-post this anywhere, and please do not feed this into AI or any sites supporting it. You can also find this on my AO3.

Viviane wasn’t surprised she’d found him here. Kallias never had taken to planning Winter Solstice festivities to the degree she had, and three full days of countless meetings with everyone from Winter’s most famous ice sculptors and bakers to their city’s guards gearing up for the high volume of visitors. Her husband and mate wore his High Lord mask well during these meetings, but she knew him: details like these tended to blur together. As meetings and visits dragged on and grew more numerous, he would slowly start to retreat back into himself, and Viviane would take his hand to ground him again.

To celebrate Solstice again was a blessing. Their people were overjoyed by the prospect of having something to celebrate again, and grateful that it would once again be with their High Lord. 

Though none were quite so impacted by this as Viviane. 

This would be the first Solstice they’d celebrate together after their marriage and mating bond had snapped. It was the first they would share together in an entirely new light, and it would be alongside their people.

Their safe and thriving people, who still worked every day to put the pieces of their lives back together again.

Viviane took in her husband’s form. His back was to her, but she could envision his face clearly: lost in thought, his blue eyes focused on something far away from where they were now.

Or, more accurately, lost in a time that had thankfully passed.

She sent a tug down the bond before she approached him, and in the glowing twilight, his shoulders seemed to relax slightly at the feeling of her near. She circled his waist with her arms, breathing in that familiar scent of evergreen and cold she’d clung to the memory of during those awful days he’d been gone. Kallias covered her arms in his own, letting out a long, steadying breath.

“Does it feel the same?” he asked her, still staring out over the frozen lake. Then, more quietly, “I took Solstice for granted, once.” 

“I did, too.” A wave of warmth fluttered through her as he traced a circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. Neither wore gloves: their resistance to the cold was far higher than others’, though Viviane doubted she could ever feel cold when he was near. 

Kallias was winter personified. He carried its cold, otherworldly beauty as though he’d been born of the frost and snow itself. His white hair swept up above the collar of his jacket like a snowdrift, and she had seen how the High Lords and emissaries of other courts looked at him. Like winter, he was quieter than most, never feeling the need to present himself to them for anything other than what he was.

Yet Viviane had seen some of those looks: two parts intrigue and wonder, and the other reserve. 

He was beloved by his people and respected. They both were. Yet even in their own court, too few saw him for what he really was.

She loosened her hold, resting her hands against his waist and urging him to turn. He did easily, and when she met his eyes—startlingly blue and so full of life, depth, and warmth—an ache settled into her chest. This Kallias was so different than the boy she’d grown up with; whom she’d called friend for so long with no notion he’d been in love with her all along. The Kallias she’d loved before Amarantha had always been reserved, but had worn his shy smiles more easily. His boredom towards festivity planning would have been more apparent, and he would’ve made a sarcastic remark to her or two in confidence when one of the ice sculptors inevitably burst into a dramatic fit about a giant, carved swan’s eye being less than a half snowflake’s width larger than the other.

She rested her hand on his face, their bond surging into a warm fire between them. There were days he smiled less now. Moments she could tell he was back under that mountain. The horrors he had endured had sickened her, and it had taken some time before she’d admitted how much they had. 

At the time, they had not known about their bond, yet Viviane knew it would’ve changed nothing. When he had flung out his plea and his declaration of love with the last of his magic, she had been gutted in ways she’d never thought possible. 

She had risen to protect their people.

She had ruled in his stead with love and strength knowing how badly they needed both if Winter were to survive. 

Yet there had been moments only she had known during her darkest nights alone. Viviane had called to him with both voice and magic; screamed as tears had streamed and frozen against her lashes. Her knuckles cracked and bloodied from pounding them against the ice in hurt and rage: at Amarantha, for their people trapped under that mountain, and for the male she’d realized too late that she loved.

And she had loved him: she’d often wondered how long as those terrible days had crept by. She felt that love in every fibre of her being; in the excruciating ache in her chest at his loss as if her very heart had been ripped out. 

Later, she’d realized that hadn’t even been the bond that shattered her. Without even realizing it, she had fallen in love with her best friend. 

Kallias had never doubted her, and Viviane had held the Winter Court together. She’d been the picture of strength despite feeling like a shell of herself. She had ensured their people had food, shelter, and what small glimpses of happiness they could find when it seemed like none existed.

When Kallias had winnowed back to her that day and their eyes had met, Viviane had kissed him. She had felt both his shock and relief, and they had held each other there, refusing to let go until her eyes had run dry and lips swelled from their desperate union.

Kallias had gotten down on one knee, and Viviane vowed to never let him go again.

Their bond had snapped on their wedding night.

They hadn’t emerged for weeks. 

Presently, she smiled as he leaned his face against her touch. “You can stop hiding now,” she teased, though her voice was barely above a whisper. “The sculptor realized it was a trick of the light.”

What distance Kallias had held in his eyes subsided a little at that, a small twinkle in their striking blue. “Wonderful. Here I thought Solstice would be ruined forever by a swan.”

“You could help him, you know,” she teased, sliding her hands down his arms and taking his hands in hers. Her smile turned coy. “These hands must be good for something.” 

The twinkle shifted to a knowing gleam, and despite himself, a faint blush rose to his pale cheeks. “Perhaps we should put them to the test,” he suggested.

“The sculptor will be rather offended if he's been put out of a job.”

“There’s nothing he can craft that won’t already be put to shame.” He rested his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up at him, studying her like a master craftsman examining a work of art. Chills trickled through her at his touch, heat pooling pleasantly in the pit of her stomach. The bond pulled between them, and her eyes lowered to his lips: so full and flushed from the world around them. She traced over his knuckles with her fingertips.

The soft light that stretched across the lake had begun to fade into night. The ice would begin to sing soon, its old creaking, ancient song a reminder of passing time. Vivane would never take winter for granted again. She would never stop savoring every moment she and her mate found together. 

“Do you want to do something fun?” she whispered, and his eyebrow raised slightly and blush deepened. She smacked the hand that still rested beneath her chin lightly. “Not whatever wicked thoughts are swimming through that pretty head of yours. Something…” she paused, tilting her head towards the lake. “Something we used to do, Kal.” 

His eyes softened then, and the ache in her chest begged her to take him in her arms and give him even wickeder thoughts to consider. “Viviane. Always.” He pressed a kiss–soft and lingering–against her forehead before releasing his gentle hold and turning back to the lake. He bent one knee and then the other, running his hand along the sole of his boots until two blades smooth as metal were bolstered along the center and balanced with a tough ice shell. He stepped onto the lake and turned, a small smile tugging at his lips as he offered her hand. 

Viviane paused, her grin slowly spreading. Instead of her hand, she extended one foot forward, raising her skirt past the top of her boot and above her knee as her husband’s eyes lowered to follow it. Despite his blush, he smirked.

“Is that how this is?” he asked, lifting his gaze back to her as he knelt against the snowy bank and positioned her foot against his thigh. She inhaled at the nearness of his scent all over again, changing just enough for her to take notice.

She had every intention of hers changing, too. 

His hand was strong against her calf as he held her in place, free hand trailing beneath her own boot until another perfect blade had formed beneath it and rested against his leg. The heat in her stomach burned as he tilted his head then, his eyes locking with hers as he pressed his lips against her knee. Her thigh.

With a feigned hmph, she rested a single fingertip against his forehead and gave a gentle push away. His grin grew as he shifted and she offered her other leg, raising her skirt more slowly and stopping its hem much higher on her thigh.

His steadied himself with a breath, though she hadn’t missed the subtle shift in his posture as he formed her second skate with his magic. “Something we used to do,” he repeated slowly, the bond humming as he met her gaze again. “You've always tormented me.” 

“Should I stop?” she asked innocently, resisting the urge to yelp at the slight pinch he left at the tenderest skin too high on her inner thigh. She bit her lip as the ache sunk to her core, and as Kallias stood, she almost regretted requesting they do anything else first. Blades intact, he took her hand and backed onto the ice, guiding her as they glided away from the shore. 

“I hope you never stop,” he murmured, pulling her against his strong frame. The world seemed to slow as they began their dance, a series of drifts and spins that they’d fallen into so long ago. It seemed like ages ago since they’d first danced together on this same ice, when he’d still been gangly and awkward and she hadn’t yet known loss. 

They fell into perfect sync with each other leaving the world at the shore. Winter’s dances were made for the ice even more than they were for the ballroom, and Viviane embellished his lead, adding dynamics to the turns he lead her through, reaching for him with her entire body in the moments they drifted apart, and finding her center with him again when their bodies became one again. 

They danced until the last of the light had sunk beneath the snow; until sweat gleamed against Viviane’s neck and Kallias’s brow. They danced until her thighs burned from exertion…and from the need of bracing against his.

When they at last skidded to a stop, they held each other close, their breaths small clouds that danced together in the freezing night. She breathed him in: her best friend, her husband, her mate, and she kissed him once, letting her lips linger against his as she uttered a single word. “Kal.”

Later, she would wonder if the blades he’d made had simply melted as he’d carried her back to their quarters. She would forget what the cold had even once felt like as they set each other ablaze again and again, leaving a mess of tangled sheets and sweat. They would miss their first meeting the next morning, and their second.

Kallias would blush when a trusted emissary stared in amusement at the mark on his neck his jacket hadn’t fully covered, and flush deepening when she adjusted his collar to hide it.

They would go into this new season together as they would for every Solstice after: together.

[elliemarchetti]

Of Handmade Gifts, Soft Wishes and Prophetic Dreams

My entry for @wintercourtweek's day 5 prompt (gifts, wishes and winter dreams)

Part 1

Words: 794

Plot: For your second day of stay at the Ice Palace, we would like to invite all our guests to take part, after a hearty lunch and the custom exchange of gifts, in one of our most beloved traditions, the Lantern Festival on the shores of lake Ylìr. To fully enter into the spirit of the event, we recommend claiming one of our renowned steeds from the stables, where the ostlers will be happy to advise you on the best of your needs and skill level. For those who find riding beneath their rank, we will provide a carriage upon request.

The air was filled with the scent of spices and burning wood, a heady blend of oak, pine and cedar made to cloud their judgment and hide the metallic stench of blood coming from the uncooked game waiting to be roasted. Everyone was drinking, the practice mainly aimed to warm their bodies and souls, but some outsiders didn’t seem to need it, ready to jump at each other’s throats, or in each other’s pants, despite the apparently armless activity they just busied themselves with.

Taking even himself by surprise, once the mass of most eager and hopeful participants had dispersed, Eris had scribbled something on the piece of parchment tied to one of the colourful lanterns, and holding his mother’s arm, who had approached him silently but with a smile speaking volume on her face, he had watched it disappear, headed towards a place where humidity would’ve smeared the ink and erased all traces of his weak heart.

When he had peeled his gaze off the brightly lit firmament, ready to wish his mother goodnight before she could return to her chambers with his father and brothers, Eris had encountered an a pair of intrigued yet icy eyes, whose owner had now joined the other females in their dance under the crackling lanterns in a rare burst of carefreeness, the nine-foot-tall statue of the Mother watching over her with a good-natured gaze, as if enjoying the delight the celebrations brought to her favourite daughter. For the occasion, Nesta had ditched her usual crown braid in favour of an evergreen wreath, an entwine of yew, holly, and mistletoe a noble youngling she had entertained the previous night with tales of glorious battles and moonlit masquerades had gifted her. Despite the festive atmosphere, there were quite a few people peeking furtively, some in apprehension, some in disdain or even fear, at her hair of burnished gold, loose on her naked shoulders and adorned with dozen bells jingling with her every movement. She seemed unbothered, the sound of her laughter lost among the lively rhythm of the percussion and the exuberant notes of the accordion, the prove of its existence painted on her plump lips stained of berry juice. Her velvet dress, whose design belonged to no Court in particular, twirled around her slim ankles every time she was dragged into a pirouette by one of her companions, the young warriors all so different from each other and yet united in reclaiming the space they deserved in a world that didn’t seem to want them on its soil. The youngest, a typical Autumn beauty, moved with a grace unnatural even among that group of excellences, the river nymph blood soaring in her veins in tune with the music as she lifted her freckles arms. Bejewelled golden ivy climbed her fair skin, leaving her barely visible curves intact, lean body hidden beneath a tunic made of a yarn at the same time warm and almost impalpable. She was the portrait of innocence, worthy of a painting posterity would look at with admiration and a hint of envy, a thought even the Shadowsinger, who observed the scene keeping a safe distance from the rest of the guests, seemed to share.

“Curious ensemble, don’t you think?” commented a silken voice on his right, so different from how he remembered it and yet not so dissimilar to his own. Eris didn’t need to turn to know it was precisely him that Lucien was addressing, nor to guess what his goals were, although it wasn’t exactly wise to showcase their rekindled brotherly bond in front of so many people after his abrupt departure from the only Court who agreed to be his ally in Beron’s deposition.

“Not as much as the one you arrived with,” Eris replied, never taking his gaze off the eldest Archeron, whom was about to be approached by a not so determined, yet drunk on the words of encouragement Tamlin had whispered in her ear for the good part of an hour, Elain. His brother’s mate had put on a little weight since the last time he had seen her in Hewn City, and where once he had glimpsed hollow cheeks there was now firm and rosy skin, and her hazel eyes didn’t scan the crowd with fear and a vague disgust oozing on her soft features, but with eagerness to partake in the celebrations. He could only hope that one day it would happen to Nesta too, once her sister's prophetic vision had come true.

“Not the strangest one I’ve been associated with,” retorted Lucien, who in turn was studying the reconciliation taking place in the heart of the party, ready to intervene if things went awry. Judging by the hugs exchanged, it didn’t seem the case.

[fakewedge]

i know this is about how winter is a spy and has a million codenames but truly she smacks of transgenderism. to me

[dawneternal]

The Winter Court

while in the secret dark a fresh snow falls

filling our tracks with stars

- Gillian Clarke

[nopoodles]

Prompt: Dare OCs: Aodhán/Sinhán + their father, Sin From: Fae Courts/Winter King Spoilers: No (not yet published, still playing with the universe)

Title: I Thought You Loved Me

Aodhán slammed the door to their father’s office open. Magic crackled, lighting everything possible in the space: candles, lamps, the fireplace that might not have been there before Aodhán’s entrance. The papers, physical manifestations of magical contracts and things to do mixed in with real paper reports from all of Sin’s spies, rustled with the wind Aodhán brought.

Sin glanced up, turning his attention back to the papers across his desk, as if Aodhán’s presence was of little consequence. He glowed. He always did. Dripping sunlight magic wherever he went. Staring too intently was just like staring at the sun itself. Blinding, impossibly powerful. But he’d been a young fool once, as everyone seemed to manage – especially those with magic. And once upon a time, he had taken a piece of himself and formed it into the only being in the entirety of faerie or possibly the entire universes who might be able to withstand that power. And that one singular being was stood in his office right now being ignored.

“Father,” Aodhán snapped.

“Yes, Sinhán?”

Sinhán, little sun. Tiny Sin. His. Defined only as such. Aodhán had been called such for almost as long as they had existed. It had begun as a nickname, but faerie changed these things.

“Aodhán,” they corrected, voice suddenly going quiet. They couldn’t do this. They shouldn’t have started it. They should have let it be. They should have left it. They should have known better than to expect the sun itself to give them the same attention they offered to it.

“Did you need something?” Sin prompted.

“Yes. I… Could you look at me when I’m talking to you?”

Sin’s eyebrows rose but he didn’t look away from his desk. Offended, but not enough to take his attention away from whatever he had decided upon.

“This is important.” Again Aodhán’s voice settled itself in a softer register. Too quiet. They needed to make themself heard and this wasn’t the way to go about it. Sweeping in here in a burst of magic and then soft and demure and sweet afterwards. “Someone opened a portal to the human realm.”

“I know,” Sin replied. “I took care of it.”

“That’s the problem,” Aodhán said. “You set me that task. Guardianship of the portal was mine.”

Sin waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

Aodhán’s hands shifted to fists. Magic burned in their chest, spreading over their limbs.

“You don’t need to light up like a torch, Sinhán, I dealt with it.”

“I don’t want you to deal with it,” Aodhán snapped. “I want you to actually let me do my supposed job. I want you to not undermine me in front of the entire court and beyond.” They waved an arm at the doors behind them. “Practically the entirety of faerie knows you set me to the task of guarding the portals and you just whipped that responsibility away on a whim. It was my job.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your reputation isn’t important.”

“Excuse me?”

Finally he looked up, those gold eyes shining with power. “Your reputation isn’t important except how it reflects on me. You are here as a reflection of my power. I can show just how powerful I am entirely by being more powerful than others with you sitting pretty by my side.”

“No. I will not be some pawn for you.”

“You always have been. You were designed as such.”

Aodhán’s hands landed on the desk, they leaned across it, teeth bared in a feral snarl. “You think I have no memory of my own design? You think you can gaslight me into believing that was my intended purpose all along when you were the one who called me into creation?”

“You need to calm yourself.”

“I willnae.”

Power flashed. Growing around Sin in a swirling yellow and gold display of light. It flared like tentacles, and pressed against Aodhán, hot and dry and heavy. “You dare speak to your king like this?”

Aodhán’s power flared in response. Sin might be the sun, but Aodhán was still fire. They could burn bright and hot and fierce too. “I’d dare do more than speak.”

Sin sucked his power back in. Trust him to do so. Like a click, as if it was easy. He always was a fan of playing power games like that. Out and out fighting was, he said, the realm of the barbarians in the Winter Court. “My child. I think I have the perfect job for you that will help you have confidence in your own skills and power.” He tucked their face in his hands, placing a fatherly kiss on the top of their head. “You can become my ambassador to the Winter Court. Pack your bags, I’ll send the missive now.”

This has been I Thought You Loved Me by Will Soulsby-McCreath. Feel absolutely free to reblog around Tumblr but don't copy and paste to anywhere else (c) Will Soulsby-McCreath

[shallyne]

Mor Week - Friendship - Mor & Viviane

The Morrigan & the Lady of the Winter Court

@morweekofficial

[wintercourtweek]

We're only ONE WEEK AWAY from @wintercourtweek!

'Tis the season for cozy reading, and when we asked, you delivered!

See which fics your fellow fans recommended to help us celebrate the season below. Don't forget to leave a like and comment on the fics you read to show the authors some love! (Divider: @tsunami-of-tears).

Ice Under the Mountain by Intrinsic_gray (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

A short one shot of Kallias & Viviane before the events in Under the Mountain (50 years prior to ACOTAR). Short insight of their relationship (Kallias POV). Rating: G

Here You Come Again by MuseOfTheFanatics (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

Kallias and Vivianne are meeting again after years away from each other, and trying to navigate their friendship, family, emotions, and the impending danger of their home. Rated: T

My Frozen Heart by HugeWingspans (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

Kallias and Viviane are 13 when they first meet in a secluded clearing outside the Winter Palace. What starts out as a tentative offering of friendship grows into undying devotion as Kallias tries to navigate the dangers of court and Viviane tries to get her stubborn father to see her value as a soldier. Power schemes and plotting royals stand in their way as the court grows more and more perilous - and on the horizon, a shadow is gathering its might to ravage all of Prythian and leave no good or living thing untouched. Rating: T

if we dreamt of snow by numericalpie (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

Viviane always knew she'd run out of time eventually. Somehow she'd never thought it would be quite this soon. Or: How Viviane of Glacia became the Lady of Winter. Or: The Fall of the House of Kuklahéen of Winter. Rated: M

The Fates That Intertwine by peoniesinparadise (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

Kallias and Viviane have always been close, he'd sacrifice things beyond imaginable just to keep her safe and close, but Viviane's never noticed, has she? While Kallias was under the mountain, Viviane tried to take her life. Viviane couldn't say she regretted it, but since the Mother had granted her a second chance, she decided she would make plenty use of it. Rated: M

A Dance in Winter by @animezinglife / wyse_ink (Pairing: Elain x Lucien)

While visiting the Winter Court leading up to Solstice, Elain and Lucien find some time alone. Rated: E

Upon a Midnight Clear by @bloomingdarkgarden / ehoney (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

“Long night?” she quipped, bitterness lacing her tone as she sharpened a particularly formidable arrow tip. “What are you asking me, Viviane?” Rare of him to use her name. Kal leveled her a stare, which always had a way of undoing her. Those piercing blue eyes, sharper than honed sapphires, saw it all. The invisible essence beneath her skin. Viviane was never any good at backing down from that stare. Rating: E

Snow Scattered Hearts by Novelhub (Pairing: Kallias x Viviane)

Fifty years before A Court of Thorns and Roses, Seven High Lords fell for a trap set by the wicked Amarantha. This story follows Viviane, a dear friend to one of those High Lords; Kallias. She struggles while he is gone, has trouble coming to terms with what it will mean for the Winter Court, and most importantly, makes a discovery about their relationship that will greatly affect the two Fae forever... if he ever makes it home. Rating: E

Happy, cozy reading!

[bloomingdarkgarden]

Ship wars got you down?

Are the winds of WHIMSY calling you to escape from the dark bleak nights of your mortal bounds?

Join us at @wintercourtweek next week!

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