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florencemtrash · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else.

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks.

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms.

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.”

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien.

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.”

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.”

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.”

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings.

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work.

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back.

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning.

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through?

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it.

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly.

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact.

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red.

“Does Lucien know?”

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed.

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity.

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.”

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?”

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“How long has he known?”

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.”

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.”

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him.

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body.

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room.

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel.

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.”

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst.

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.”

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again.

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain.

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.”

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him?

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?”

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control.

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.”

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw.

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.

But you couldn’t do it.

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move.

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one.

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away.

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.”

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

I am not broken. But I am afraid.

You fled from his bedroom.

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall.

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime.

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way.

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either.

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There.

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you.

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea.

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air.

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands.

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him.

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun.

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners.

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?”

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.”

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick.

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.”

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle.

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.”

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x reader angst #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #I know the fandom has a toxic shipping culture around Elain/Lucien/Azriel in particular #leave me alone all right #I am going to write the couplings as makes sense because this is a READER X AZRIEL FIC #but also i don't stand for a lot of the Elain slander #smells of sexism to me sorry not sorry just let the girl be #obviously she's not perfect but she doesn't deserve the absurd amount of hate she gets #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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tmmyhug · 6 months

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rant incoming abt something i’ve observed for a while

i (american) feel like we need better traditions. so many young and queer people in my experience are completely disillusioned with most of our (western) holidays either because they’re related to religion and that’s awkward for many people or because they’ve become Capitalism Lite or both. it’s hard to really enjoy a holiday when it’s overshadowed by the uncomfortable truths behind all of it.

like, christmas is nice because you get time off but it’s a constant reminder that we live in an extremely christian society that chafes at even the idea of other religions trying to exist (happy holidays vs merry christmas drama). non-christian religious holidays get like zero acknowledgement from wider society. no time off work or school, no decor in stores, etc. thanksgiving is nice bc you get to eat good food, but it’s based on colonial bs. valentine’s day is nice in theory but also an inescapable reminder that our society sees you as sad and lonely if you’re not in a relationship and if you’re not willing to spend lots of money on a partner. then theres smaller ones like labor day which is important but hard to enjoy when you’re reminded of how hard we have to fight for even an inch of appreciation or rest for workers in the us. most of the other minor holidays are subsumed by neverending consumerism and advertisement, such as mothers/father’s day.

and tell me if i’m just projecting here. but there are so few actual holidays that we can enjoy that i think it accelerates the homogenization of the seasons w global warming and the isolation and lack of community everyone is struggling with.

this is part of my theory as to why halloween is so incredibly popular with gen z - it’s doesn’t come with religious or historical baggage, doesn’t force people to spend time with families they don’t like or shame people for not fitting into nuclear family structures, isn’t based largely around buying gifts/spending money, and is an important marker in the season of fall. also this is part of why i think we latch on to stupid little anniversaries ie. neil banging out the tunes. it’s lighthearted and silly and is a grounding landmark for the passage of time and it brings us together to have fun.

all this to say we should really promote more holidays that are just. for fun. or for the passage of time. summer solstice. moon landing day. new years does fall into this category. pi day. star wars day. april fools. i really feel like we should be emphasizing and celebrating these unofficial holidays!! bringing people together and hanging out w friends or going out somewhere specific or making specific foods or something. just a regular tradition that we can rely on. yk? it’s so important

#hopefully this makes sense #vees train of thought

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vidalinav · 4 months

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(lovingly banging fists on table) sick Nesta! Sick Nesta! Sick Nesta!

Okay, part 1! Though it doesn't include sick Nesta yet.

Oh! Also this is an acofas re-write basically.

"Maybe she decided not to come," Elain whispers to Feyre, peering through the window as if that might summon their sister--a ghost in winter white.

Cassian pretends not to overhear, but one look from Rhys tells him they're all aware of the missing Archeron sister who's decided to not grace them with her presence.

Mor claps her hands, moving to stand with a drink in her hand--probably to remind Feyre of birthday wishes and solstice celebrations--that life is not lived staring out of windows. Rhys only takes a sip of his wine, his eyes growing darker as he stares at burning firewood. Ashes and dust collecting at the bottom.

Not for the first time does Cassian wish he could peer into his brother's thoughts, like he can hear into his mind. He has a vague inclination as to what he might find, and Cassian can't help the feeling welling up in his chest, howling like the winter wind.

Nesta said she'd attend, but she's nowhere in sight.

She does have an act for haunting them.

Her absence is here in this room, and no amount of ignoring that simple fact will stop Elain from checking the windows or looking up at the door. Feyre keeps looking at the envelope he knows is filled with money--a bribe for coming to her own sister's birthday.

A bribe for coming to a place she'll know he'll be.

Because he hasn't forgotten that part. Cassian hasn't forgotten how Nesta throws him away, telling him in no uncertain terms she wants nothing to do with him. Nothing but... laying on his body to shield him from a fatal blow.

Nothing but almost dying together.

He can hear the crisp crackling of the fire. A snap and a twist, like bones and blood. A war that took from them all--but somehow left a ghost where Nesta Archeron used to be.

"She said she'd come," Feyre says, certainty in her voice. A certainty that no one in this room must share--not even Cassian who keeps thinking of her name as if that alone will call her forth.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

The wind howls it.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

The winter sings it.

Where must Nesta Archeron be?

"Do you think something happened to her?"

"I'll go look for her," Cassian says, standing abruptly in response to Elain's question.

Amren scoffs, sniffing at her drink like it might be blood. He wonders if she wishes she still had a taste for it. "You're probably the last she wants to see."

Cassian looks to Elain and then to Feyre, who stands by the door, the envelope tucked closely in her hand. "Do you want to go look for her?"

Mor huffs, grasping Feyre's arm. "It's Feyre's birthday. Should we not celebrate? Azriel can send his shadows."

At the mention of his name, Azriel peers towards him. Cassian can't read his mind, but he thinks he knows what that look means--knows that it's something he'll never say aloud.

"You should go," Azriel says, his voice strong if not quiet.

"But you'll be missing the celebration!"

Feyre only looks to Cassian at the words, her look stern and commanding. He is her loyal soldier after all.

"I want her here," she says.

It's Elain who offers her sister reprieve, a placating, soft palm resting on Feyre's shoulder. "What if she doesn't want to come?"

"She doesn't have a choice," Rhys grits out from his seat on the couch, his drink swirling in his hand. Cassian thinks of tornados and storms, a rumbling earthquake trapped in glass.

Feyre stands taller as she faces her mate. "She'll always have a choice."

Cassian doesn't wait to hear Rhys grumble or his muttering apologies or what he'll say about Nesta. He doesn't know if Rhys will keep quiet or not, but something tells him his brother is getting close to putting his foot in his mouth rather than biting his tongue.

So Cassian goes for his coat, and the scarf he knows Elain had meant to gift Nesta at the beginning of the season. It sits in the closet collecting dust, and so too does her name in his mind--calling and echoing, never silent. Never answered.

"Take my coat, too," Feyre calls. "Just in case."

Cassian gives one firm nod at his high lady, one grimace to her sister, and one glance to his family who look at him as if they've never quite seen him before. A look he's seen plenty. A look that means they just don't understand why.

Cassian isn't sure himself, if he's honest.

Or perhaps, it just hurts too much to be honest.

That this human turned fae, this woman turned saint, cauldron blessed or cursed, had not just taken from the cauldron.

She had taken his entire soul with her too.

He finds her lying in the snow with a fever in the next part. bye!

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acofas rewrite #vidalinav writes snippets #snip snip hooray

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lanitalay · 2 months

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One Day : Chapter 4

Azriel x reader : based on the netflix series by the same name

warnings: lil ansgty

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

This day used to be your favorite. For years you looked forward to having fun on the longest day of the year with the people you loved. But it's been twenty five years since Amarantha locked all of the High Lords Under the Mountain. Twenty five years since Rhys made Velaris impenetrable. Twenty five years since you’ve seen any of your friends, your family, from the Night Court. Twenty five years of fae becoming sicker, life becoming duller. All of the holidays made you feel miserable, but this one in particular. At least with Winter Solstice the weather matched your gloom, but on this day the sun is shining like nothing is wrong. A mockery, really.

So you do as you usually do. Go to the office where fae seek help getting better. Do whatever you can with the little magic you have left. Hope that the tonics, lotions and powders make up for what you have lacked for so long now. Then return to the cottage. Bolting the door, shutting the blinds and collapsing on your bed. Mentally preparing to do it all again the next day. Today you avoid everything except your bed, because last time you celebrated the Summer Solstice it had been with Azriel.

Azriel who you had loved for three decades. Azriel who was so excited when you told him Thesan found a replacement for you and you were to return to Velaris. Azriel who was upset when he came to help you move because Thesan asked you to train your replacement while he went to the party Amarantha was throwing. Azriel who told you to stop being so spineless. Azriel, who’s eyes darkened when you said that your world doesn’t revolve around him or his whims. Azriel who left with a slam of the door.

The blankets felt like a prison cell around you but there was no way you’d take your face out of them. The frames on the wall of people you can’t be sure are still alive glare extra harshly in the Solstice sun. Bec’s babe, now a woman grown. You’d missed the chance to see her grow up. Maybe she’s had more children. Maybe she’d forgotten about you. You hope they are safe. Pray that if you can’t get in neither can anything else.

You feel the bed dip beside you as Lenus lays down. “I made soup.” Of course he had, because he knew that today you would be in a state and he thinks that soup will soothe your soul. He stays there for a while, just keeping you company and you know he means well but he’s the last person you want to speak to today. Because he was Lenus who got in the way. He was the reason Azriel had become more distant in the few months before Amarantha’s reign began. “You haven’t visited in months, Az.” You remember telling him. “I don’t want to interrupt you and Lenus.”

“That’s ridiculous, you’re always welcome in my house. Plus Lenus doesn’t get most of the references I make so I have to constantly explain my-”

“Y/n, please.”

“What?”

“I’m happy for you, I really am but I can’t.”

“I’m- what are you talking about?” You remember that breath he took like it was your own.

“I can’t watch you be with him. It’s unfair of me, I know, but it kills me.”

And what could you say? “Oh, I- I didn’t know.”

The guilt was the worst. Because Thesan asked you to stay, but you only said yes to get an extra week with Lenus. By now he knows you resent him for it. He won’t hold it against you, at least not openly. Yet, you’ve caught him looking at sunsets as his eyes sparkle for possibility, hope and maybe someone else. Until he looks at you, and the sparkle fades to his usual shade of brown.

Azriel spent this day training. Letting Cassian command him to his most extreme exercises and doing them without complaint. Because this used to be your day but for a quarter of a century it has been a wound that wouldn’t heal. After training he will fly across the city until exhaustion lets him fall asleep.

He unfortunately wakes up just as the sun is setting. Mor banging on his door. “You have to eat!”

They don’t celebrate anything anymore. Not with Rhysand gone. Not when you're gone as well. “It wouldn’t count without them.” Cassian had said the first time a holiday came around. So they treat it like any other day. Trying to keep Velaris running without its High Lord. Azriel trying to stay afloat without half of his heart.

He’ll join Mor and Cassian for dinner. They’ll eat in silence until Cassian breaks it “you remember when y/n first met Rhys?” Mor smiles a little “she was so nervous” she adds with a little laugh.

“She was all like High Lords are not meant to get sick, this is not taught to us in training-” Cassian properly laughs recalling.

Even Azriel can’t help but add “and then her face when she realized he was just constipated.”

Mor cackles “he never ate vegetables until then.”

They quiet down. Azriel half hoped that you would punch his arm and say something like “it wasn’t funny, Az!” but your chair is empty and so is Rhysand's.

“It’s not the same without them here.” Cassian was always the first to say it. Azriel knew they all missed them. He suspected Amren skipped out on these dinners because she felt some sadness for the current situation. Even if she would not admit it.

“Do you think y/n got married? Maybe even had a baby?” Mor asked absentmindedly and Cassian kicked her under the table.

“I’m sure she would never get married or have a kid with how things are now.” The general said pointedly. Azriel thought it was sweet of Cassian to watch out for his feelings like that. But they were questions he had asked himself a million times before.

If you had a child he would no doubt adore it, but if you’d gotten married… He hates the way his heart twists when he thinks of that possibility. Last time he saw you, you were in love and in a healthy relationship.

But he doesn’t like thinking of the last time he saw you. How he walked out, slammed the door. Your jaw tight and brows furrowed. He regrets so much of that day. What he said, how he acted. More importantly, he regrets that he didn’t crawl back immediately and beg for your forgiveness.

#acosf #acowar #acotar #acomaf #acofas #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #rhysand #azriel x reader #azriel #az x reader #azriel acotar #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #one day series

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neon-candies · 3 months

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Babydoll: In the height of the disco era, Babydoll was a prostitute who took care of the girls on her block. If any John Doe mistreated or hurt them, Babydoll was there to ensure that John never hurt another girl again. But of course Babydoll's luck in kills eventually ran out. A John eventually got the better of her, landing Babydoll in Hell. But despite the situation, Babydoll still remains as bubbly and optimistic as ever.

Cheshire: An imp from the Envy Ring. She lived on the streets fighting for scraps and doing whatever she could to survive. When Annie was down in the ring with Bull, the two saw Ches being tossed into the trash. Annie pulled her out and even gave her a hair clip to keep her bangs out of her eyes. Ches has been a loyal follower of Annie ever since. That hair clip is her most precious possession.

Eclipsis: His family's job was to manage the veils between realities during eclipses and solstices. During those times, unmanaged portals between the Mortal Realm and Hell would open, allowing demons to spill through. However despite this important job, Eclipsis' family was always embroiled in the fight for succession. As the first born, Eclipsis had a massive target on his back. And with 4 brothers and 2 sisters, Eclipsis knew danger on all sides. Ultimately he was overthrown by his second brother and was cast from his family, left to fend for himself. Though he didn't have to wait long. Quite literally the very same night, Annie found him. And as she seems inclined to do, she picked up another stray to take home.

Bull: An Incubus that lived his life coasting and going with the flow. When the up and coming Puppeteer demon began making a name for herself, Bull was only mildly interested. Sinners are a dime a dozen, after all. But then he heard about said demon being able to traverse the different rings. And that made him curious. To satiate that curiosity, he went looking for Annie! One thing led to another and he ended up agreeing to work at her strip club. It was probably thanks to the cute goetia at her side managing the books~

#Hazbin hotel ocs

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aquagirl1978 · 4 months

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Scratch - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

A/N: Day 5 of my 12 Days of Christmas event.

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Prompt: Happy Belated Birthday Gilbert I had to sneak this one in during his birthday month

Word Count: 532

Tags: fluff

The winter solstice was the shortest day of the year. Some believed that the winter soltice’s lack of sunlight was caused by monsters who stole the sun away. Others saw the solstice as an opportunity to create good in the face of evil. To be born on the winter solstice was considered spiritually significant, as those born on that day were believed to be imbued with unique qualities such as wisdom and intuition.

It was also on this day that Gilbert von Obsidian entered this world.

Gilbert greeted you with a smile. A smile so blissful, so beautiful it stole your breath away. A smile you hoped would greet you every day for the rest of your life.

“...hi…” you mouthed, your voice stolen along with your breath.

Light laughter filled the room. Joyful and childlike, it was a sound you hoped Gilbert would never cease to make. He lifted his hand to your face, sweeping damp bangs from your forehead. His hand fell to your shoulder and down your bare arm, his thumb tracing the bite marks he left on your skin earlier that evening.

You shivered at his touch. Not from pain – your skin wasn’t still too sore – but the painful pleasure of his earlier bites remained on your skin like a fading memory.

His hand fell further to your waist. Wrapped in sheets, your soft skin was denied the pleasure of his touch. He tugged on the sheet, his fingers digging in through the thin fabric as he pulled your body closer to you, seeking your warmth.

It couldn’t have been long that you were asleep; you were still coming down from your euphoric high as he held you tightly. Throwing your arms around his shoulders, your fingers ghosted where you left your mark on his skin. Pressing your cheek against his bare chest, you smiled when you heard his steady heartbeat. The sign that he was alive.

“Happy Birthday, Gil,” you whispered as you dragged your hand down his spine, resting on the small of his back. “I hope it was a good birthday.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he replied with a wry smile.

Pressing your body closer to his, you looked up into his face, your heart in awe of his beauty without his eyepatch.

“I hope you’ll let me celebrate your birthday with you next year.”

He brushed a kiss upon your forehead, his lips smiling against your skin. “Little rabbit, you are the only one allowed to celebrate my birthday.”

Cupping his cheek in the palm of your hand, you brought your mouth to his, pressing another birthday kiss on his lips.

And with another kiss came another birthday wish for your love.

Let me love you, my Gilbert. Let me remind you every year, every birthday, how loved you are. Let me make your birthday a happy day. One you grow to look forward to. One you could look back on and recall happy memories.

My gift to you today and everyday is my love. If loving the villain means I am a sinner, then let me be a sinner for the rest of my days. Because nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters but Gilbert.

Tagging: @gilbertvonobsidian @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu

#12 days of christmas #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #ikepri fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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thedickgraysons · 9 days

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i love tamsand because it’s like. they are the face of each others biggest trauma. tamlin needs to resent rhysand. rhysand wants him dead. they were children together. they ate and sang and celebrated together. they mourned separately. they would brawl in the rain with teeth bared if given the chance. they would take each others hand and lace fingers, holding on tight and never letting go. rhysand won, he thinks. it doesn’t feel that way. tamlin still wears the illyrian knives. and carries the heartbreak. they were prythians og messiest divorce. every solstice they bang for old times sake.

#pro tamlin #rhysand #tamsand #acotar #listened to ethel cain and now im thinking insane thoughts about them sorry

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dreaming-medium · 5 months

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Animals Without Direction

Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Is this a prison sentence? No, if it was a prison sentence, you would be in a cell, bound and chained.

If it was a prison sentence, you wouldn’t have had the ropes removed from your wrists to shake hands with Bang Chan, Jarl of Miroh.

If it was a prison sentence, you wouldn’t be being led throughout the keep by the Jarl’s squire to your room.

And if it was a prison sentence, you most certainly would not be thinking about if you were allowed access to the collection of books that decorate every shelf in the building.

“Miroh is pleasant this time of year,” Jeongin’s voice brings you out of your head. “The Harvest Festival is in a few weeks.”

Erbus had only two festivals: one for the Summer Solstice and one for the Winter Solstice. Even then, the celebrations were scarce.

Based on what your mother used to tell you, the celebrations used to be poem worthy. People would dance in the streets, food covered every inch of the tables, songs would be sung for the entire night and into the next morning.

Not anymore. Now they were merely a formality. Some shopkeepers would set up their wares outside the store. A few taverns would serve a special dish, perhaps charge half price for ale.

Once Elves were banished, everything took a turn for the worst in Erbus.

“I have never heard of The Harvest Festival.” You answered Jeongin. You might as well attempt to be civil with him; you still feel bad for that nasty kick to the stomach.

Also, if this is your new life, may as well make friends.

Jeongin looked over at you surprised, “Really? I thought all kingdoms on the continent celebrated The Harvest Festival.”

“Nay, not in Erbus.”

Jeongin nodded, “Do you enjoy celebrations?”

You thought for a moment, keeping your eyes in front of you to watch where you were walking. “I do, I enjoy them very much.”

“Then you will love The Harvest Festival.”

A small smile creeps over your face. “I trust your word then.”

After climbing a set of steps, Jeongin takes you down a hallway with doors lining the walls.

“This is where higher level positions of the court sleep. Lord Minho, Felix, and Sir Changbin’s rooms are here as well.”

Looking at each door, they all looked the same. Except for one door that had a floral wreath on the front of it. Orange and purple flowers blooming on the ring.

“Is that Felix’s room?”

“Aye, perceptive, my Lady.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “I am no Lady. Please refer to me casually.”

Jeongin smiles and nods. When you look at him, you see the little dimples in his cheeks and it makes your heart melt. He looks so boyish when he smiles.

“Here we are then.” He says, opening one of the doors. The door directly next to Felix’s.

“I am to sleep up here?” You asked incredulously.

Jeongin blinked at you, “You are the Jarl’s mercenary, of course.”

He said it like it was the most obvious statement ever.

Truly, you were expecting to be put into a shared room littered with cots and one chest to put your belongings. Maybe if you were lucky there would be a divider between beds for some privacy.

“I…” your voice got caught in your throat, “I have my own room?”

Jeongin just stares at you as if you have three heads. His hand is still on the doorknob, keeping the door open.

“Yes, Y/N.” He smiles, it reaches his eyes, “You have your own room.”

Finally, you look away from him and into the room. The sun is setting, bathing the space in a brilliant orange and pink light. From your position in the hallway, you’re only able to see the foot of the bed and straight to the grand window on the opposite wall from the door.

It overlooked the heart of Miroh’s capital. In front of the window there was a cushioned bench tucked against it, creating a perfect nook to sit in. Various throw blankets draped over the red pillows.

Jeongin watched your face with a hint of his own amusement before stepping into the room and motioning for you to follow him.

Slowly, you let your feet bring you inside. It’s already warm, but not in an uncomfortable way. In a ‘blanket wrapped around your shoulders’ way.

That warmth was coming from the small fireplace inside the wall opposite the bed.

The large bed sat against the left wall, jutting out into the room. A large, fabric canopy covered the mattress. You had seen drawings of beds like this in books before. Usually princesses slept upon them.

The softest of linens covered the mattress with at least eight pillows on top of it. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden chest, a circular rug underneath it.

On the other side of the bed, to the left of the window, was a vanity. A plush stool tucked underneath it.

Reds and golds decorated every cloth in the room in a regal manor.

Your feet carried you towards the bed, fingers reaching down and running over the blankets. It’s so soft you could cry.

On either side of the fireplace were two large bookcases. The shelves were scarce, which, to you, meant endless possibilities. A wardrobe against the wall next to the door.

The flames in the hearth lick up the walls and crackle in a comforting manor.

Is this truly Miroh? This is the same Miroh that you were warned about?

Back when you were a child, when you would play pretend with the other kids, the evil monsters were always from Miroh.

“I never had my own bedroom before.” You whisper quietly, keeping your hand on the blankets. “Even as a youngling, the house my family lived in had one room. There was one table, one cooking spit, and one bed.”

Jeongin stands by the door, his lips press together in a thin line as if he doesn’t know what to say. He only watches you move around with a sympathetic look to him.

“Up until today, I slept on a bedroll every night, the night sky was my ceiling. Most summers I would save my coin so that I may pay for a room in the inn on those blustering winter nights where I just couldn’t take the cold.”

Sitting down on the side of the bed, you let yourself feel the softness underneath your body.

Every night, you’ll get to sleep on this bed every single night.

Your fingers glide over the fabric, it feels so luxurious and divine. The pillows look so soft.

“Well,” Jeongin grabs your attention, “I will leave you to decompress. I believe you’ve had a long day.”

The joke pushes a laugh from your chest.

“If you are looking to train at all, you could always join us on the training grounds tomorrow. The guards and soldiers all train together at first light.”

“You train with the guards?”

“Aye, even a Jarl’s squire needs to practice his sword arm.”

You smile at him, “I’ll consider it.” There’s a pause. “I apologize for the kick, Jeongin.” You apologize bashfully.

The squire simply laughs, it sounds so genuine. “No need, really. If anything, I should be appealing to you to teach me some of your abilities.”

“If I decide to show my face on the training grounds, I’ll practice with you as my apology.”

Jeongin smiles back at you and nods. “I’m holding you to that.” He laughs, “I will leave you to it then. If you ever need to find me, my quarters are down by the armory.”

You watch him turn to leave before a thought comes to your head. “Oh, Jeongin!” You catch his attention, he whips around to look at you. “Do– ah– are we able to get food somewhere?”

He chuckles, “The kitchens are always open. Help yourself.”

You nod a thank you and he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.

There’s a few moments where you sit there, listening to Jeongin’s footsteps fade away.

Is this real? Are you going to wake up any second now and you’re going to be chained to a torture table to be drawn and quartered?

Quickly, you reach over and pinch your arm.

No, this is real. The small sting of pain fades almost immediately.

Your room. This is your room.

Your body falls backwards onto the bed and your hands cover your face. A bright smile stretching over your lips no matter how much you try to stop yourself. Bubbling laughter comes from your chest and you cover your mouth to stop it.

How is this even possible?

The plushness of the mattress keeps you there for an undetermined amount of time. It’s like the furniture came with invisible arms, keeping you wrapped up in its tight embrace. It’s the comfiest thing you’ve ever laid on.

The sunlight in your room begins to shift and darken as the day passes. You simply lay there with your eyes closed. Not quite sleeping, but also not quite awake.

Three quick knocks at your door brings you out of your dream-like state.

Slowly, you stand up and make your way towards the door. Who could that be?

When you pull open the door, you peak outside warily and you’re met with with a ray of sunshine.

Felix’s smile immediately brings the sun back into your room and you open the door a bit wider to greet him.

“Y/N,” he smiles even brighter, “I believe I promised you the safe return of your belongings.”

When you look down, you notice a bundle of armor with a sword on top. A small sigh of relief comes out as you grab everything from him.

“Thank you very much, Felix.”

“It is no trouble at all. I am relived to see you in front of me, I have to say.”

“Oh?” You ask, turning around. You walk back into your room, leaving the door open for Felix to come in. The cleric follows after you, but sticks close to the door.

“Aye, some part of me worried that you would not take kindly to the Jarl’s offer.” He admits.

“It is not like I had a choice,” you mumble, setting your armor down on top of the chest. “It was either take the deal or be tried and hung.”

Felix makes a noise that he agrees with you, a small laugh coming after it.

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you as you take your sword in your hands, pulling it from its sheath slightly to inspect it.

Sliding the sword back in, you lean it against your bed.

“Y/N.” Felix’s voice catches your attention.

Without turning to look at him, you answer, “Yes, Felix?”

“Are you certain you took a tonic?”

Your heart thuds against your chest, a chill ripping through your arms. But you don’t show any sort of reaction, you take it in stride.

“Quite. I had picked it up from an alchemist a few weeks ago. It proved quite useful, no?”

“It is just…” When Felix trails off, that’s when you choose to look at him. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes watching the fire dance. “In my years of study, I have never seen a regenerative tonic have effects longer than an hour. If you were to have taken it before-“ he cuts himself off, sighing and finally looking back at you.

Those blue eyes. It looks like they see right through you. It’s a miracle you don’t begin squirming.

“Do you remember which alchemist you purchased it from? Perhaps I can study it?”

Quickly, you shook your head. “I’m afraid I do not. They were a traveling merchant I met on the roads of Erbus.”

The lies fell through your teeth too easily. This was more than lying, though, it was self preservation.

Felix stares at you for a long moment, an emotion flickers behind his eyes briefly, his eyebrows twitched and his lip quivered.

“I see. I fear it may be hard to obtain this tonic again, then. You see, I never travel to Erbus, I go out of my way not to.”

Your eyebrows pull together and your body turns towards his. “Felix?”

“Have a great night, Y/N.”

Without another word, Felix turns on a heel and quickly walks out of your room, closing the door behind him.

“That was… odd…” you whisper to yourself, staring at the door. ----------------------------------------------

You waited until the moon was in the sky for at least 4 hours before venturing out of your room to find the kitchens. If you waited any longer, your stomach may have eaten itself.

The only problem was that you had absolutely no idea where you were going. Every single hallway in this keep looked identical.

Sconces with lit candles sat between windows that allowed moonlight to stream in. Deep red curtains hung on either side of each window.

Occasionally you would see a small table with two chairs on either side, a candle or a bundle of flowers would be on top.

And of course, shelves upon shelves of books.

Most of the titles you had never even heard of. Some were in different languages and others appeared to be sold old as if they were stolen from tombs of the ancient.

You were stopped in front of one of the many windows, looking outside to what looked like the gardens.

Even at night, some of them seemed to glow. Perhaps Felix had some part of that, they looked like the flowers that hung in the healing ward.

A large stone fountain sat in the middle of a light cobblestone path, lined with beautiful rose bushes. The flowers were no longer in bloom, but you were able to identify them, even from this distance.

When you turned on your heel to leave, you accidentally smacked right into a body. A startled yelp leaving your lips.

“By The Six, I apologize. I usually have my bearings.” You say quickly, looking at who you ran into. His hands hot shot out to grab your arms to keep you steady.

He was tall, dressed in the same black leather armor that Minho was wearing earlier. Straighter brown hair hung over his forehead and stopped right above a sharp set of eyes. His lips were pulled in a straight line.

“You must be the mercenary then.” His voice is low, and if you’re being honest, much softer than you were expecting.

With the way his eyes track even the smallest movement you make, you expected his voice to be harsh.

“I am. I hope what you’ve heard is not too cruel.”

He takes his hands away, but you can still feel the warmth of where he grabbed them.

“What I heard is that an outsider came into Miroh, slaughtered four men in an extraordinary fashion, and was then offered a job.”

“I—“ you open your mouth to defend yourself but he cuts you off again.

“I must say, I could not wait to see you for myself. It is not every day we have such excitement within the keep, nonetheless receive a new court member.” A smirk crosses his face and your mouth snaps shut. “My position is similar to yours, except when the Jarl sends me on jobs, no one knows about it.”

“A rogue, then?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Your arms come up and cross over your chest.

“Aye, you may call it that.”

“You and I are two sides of the same coin then.” A smirk on your face mirrors his for a moment. His sneaky, playful nature seems to have rubbed off on you rather quickly.

“It seems that way.”

The two of you study each other for a moment.

“You have a name?” You ask.

“Seungmin.”

“Can you do me a favor, Seungmin?” His response to you is a lift of the brow. “Can you please show me where the kitchens are in this maze of a castle.”

A soft chuckle comes from his chest and the corners of his lips twitch. “Aye, I can do that.”

Without another word, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks in another direction. “Let’s go, Y/N.” ----------------------------------------------

“Erbus? I do not see why you were so adamant on returning there.” Seungmin scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was leaning against one of the countertops in the kitchens.

The staff went to sleep hours ago, leaving the ingredients to you. Instead of actually making something, you chose to sample some of the bread and cheese that was available.

“Perhaps it is not the best, but it is where I was born and raised.” you answered, taking a bite out of the loaf of bread in your hand.

Seungmin was holding the other half in his. He took a bite. “I have heard naught but cruelty and stories of woe from Erbus.”

“I have only heard the same of Miroh. My father used to tell me that the former Jarl was going to come get me during the night if I did not finish my chores.”

The rogue laughs under his breath. “We had similar stories about Erbus. As a youngling I was told that one of the villages was constantly bathed in flame.”

You bite your bread, “We do,” you tease, “it is awfully hot there this time of year.” The quick joke falls from your lips and is well received by the rogue, who lets out another easy chuckle.

“Are you always awake this late Seungmin?”

“Nay, I was departing for an assignment when I ran into you.”

Your jaw falls open, a bit shocked at his statement. “I apologize, I did not mean to distract you.”

He held up his hand to stop your rambling.

“It is quite alright, a quick detour to the kitchens will not cause my quest to fail.”

You let out a small breath before taking another bite of your bread. “Are you able to tell me what your mission is?”

Seungmin only smiles, “Of course not, silly mercenary. I would not even want to tell you and bore you with all the details.”

He pushes his weight off the counter and walks towards the door, passing you on the way out. Seungmin’s shoulder brushes lightly against yours as he passes you. “I trust you can find your way back to your chambers?”

“Probably not, but I will find it eventually.”

“Have a great night, Y/N. Speak soon.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you to your own thoughts once more. Every time you enter a new part of the keep, you’re met with a new face.

With the bread now in your stomach, you turn and fill a mug with some fresh water and take a long sip.

It’s your first night in Miroh. The first night of many to come it seems. When do you suppose that the Jarl will give you your first mission? What sort of quests is he going to send you out on anyway?

He’s the Jarl of the entire hold, what would he need you for that he cannot send out guards?

It wasn’t until you finished the mug of water that you realized how thirsty you were. When was the last time you had a sip of water? Most likely this morning when you and Guatier came to the hold.

That was another thing, what ever happened to him?

You assume he was killed based upon what they tried to do with you. But killing him seems too nice for what he did to them.

Perhaps he was down in their dungeons.

That was a question for another day.

Tomorrow, you’ll take Jeongin up on that offer to train with him and the rest of the guards.

But, for right now there was an enormous, cozy, warm mattress in your own personal bedroom waiting for you to rest your head in.

That was if you ever found your room again.

#stray kids reader insert #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #stray kids fantasy au #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic

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