#Gwyn is just pure goodness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bettdraws · 2 months

Note

Genuine question but if elain and azriel weren’t going to have some romantic relationship, why did SJM even write that first half of the bonus chapter? Elucien are already mates, she could’ve written a scene with them or not mentioned azriel and elain at all.

I’m not saying that gwynriel half of the bonus chapter was meaningless, they DID have good banter and the language used was eyebrow-raising at the very least, like something is def hinted there but I’m just confused about it. Like if she’s going in gwynriel direction, she could’ve JUST written the second half of the scene. We didn’t even KNOW elain and azriel were interacting before. Like why write a scene with Az + elain and then wreck them in the same chapter?

It’s so weird?? It could’ve easily been a set up for elucien and gwynriel but now it looks more like she was setting up for a love triangle between Az Gwyn and Elain.

I don’t know what to make of this 🤷🏻‍♀️ it just felt unnecessary lol bc if the next book IS azriel, I really don’t think she is going to have him move on from Mor to Elain, then Elain to Gwyn over the course of one chapter that didn’t even make it in the book?

It makes me so annoyed to think about that stupid BC. She should’ve never released it bc whether it’s gwynriel or elriel, that bonus chapter doesn’t make sense.

Like yeah yeah, we see how toxic elriel could’ve been and we see how they would never work - but like… tbh I didn’t think anything was happening between elain and azriel UNTIL the bonus chapter. I literally read that and was like HUH when did they—??? And then he was like “this was a mistake” and they went their separate ways and he ended the chapter with Gwyn. If SJM is going for Gwynriel endgame, it would’ve been so much better if she just didn’t even include the first part of the bonus chapter?? And vice versa.

If she hadn’t written the first part, I wouldn’t think elriel was a thing. If she hadn’t written the second part I wouldn’t think gwynriel was a thing.

I don’t think she did it just for drama either so I literally dunno what purpose it serves.

Hey!! That’s a great question, let me dive into it…

I think the bonus chapter has three parts, one with Elain, one with Rhys, one with Gwyn, not only to cement Gwynriel but also to give an end to Elriel. This also while deep diving into Azriel’s thoughts and motivations.

I for one, never really considered Elriel as strongly as their shippers do, but I could tell there was something going on there, in Acowar we got some winks at Elain being comfortable with Azriel (even if kind of in a childish, innocent way) and in Acofas we got the beginning of them acting awkward with eachother, Elain showing Azriel her plans etc, I remember thinking it was at best cute and Elain obviously had a crush on Az (but he was still pretty much still hung up with Mor and she was still mourning her fiance). When I read the BC I was so shocked and uncomfortable with Azriel’s purely sexual thoughts about Elain, it was deliberate, to show the reader Azriel is probably confusing lust with romantic feelings. That’s I think why you say the BC was the first time you saw them as a couple, but this shock to me was more in the way Azriel himself actually viewed Elain, until then we all at least agreed it was in a more tender way, and this was absolutely crushed with his pov (and we actually see this tenderness in the way he thinks about Gwyn instead).

Now to your main question: Why add Elain in his chapter? And to that we first need to answer why SJM wrote Elriel at all.

As an Elucien I can’t come here and say Elriel never existed because it did, but the reason SJM wrote it is not to lead them as endgame, but to add layers and tension to these characters. Firstly, Elriel for me was there to add some will-they-won’t-they to Elucien’s mating bond. Look, with no other couple did we have a mating bond snapped and proclaimed even before the two characters even spoke to each-other. This the first time we have this scenario, and things need to go one way for the tension to be there.

If Elain was just mourning Graysen (which relationship was ended in the same book Elucien gained traction) then it would have been too given that they would inevitably find their way to eachother. So she adds Azriel to the mix, who at that point had only ever been interested in Mor for 500 years, with absolutely zero possibility of her ever mirroring his interest. It just makes sense for his character to also find that fixation on Elain, another unattainable female. This was another way Azriel continued his self sabotage behavior, and so we had the first real stepping stone into what his character arc will be when he gets his book.

But we can agree Elriel started (to act as a red herring for Elucien, add character tension, give Az an arc), gained traction in Acofas, and when Sarah introduced us to Gwyn and had the realization she was perfect for Azriel, she had to close the Elriel thread. So here comes the BC.

As readers we needed to see with our own eyes why exactly these two characters weren’t good together, just like she did this with Tamlin in a more dramatic way before Feyre could see Rhys in a romantic way, Sarah gave us all the clues in the way Azriel thought about Elain hyper sexually, how he called their encounter a mistake, how he focused too much in her mating bond, even in ACOSF we got winks of him limiting Elain when she clearly wanted to help, because she should not be exposed to darkness. Then comes Rhys, asking Azriel the questions we as readers were asking him: what about Mor? No answer. Do you think you deserve Elain? Diverting the answer to say Lucien doesn’t (showing us his possible insecurity towards him). And then we have the Gwyn part, in which we see Azriel’s character actually shine, even if he still can’t see this is actually the way, not the doomed self sabotage relationship he was entertaining with Elain.

The thing is it IS a set up for Elucien and Gwynriel:

Elucien: Lucien was there in the same house when the almost kiss happened, this is a calculated thing, the chapter could have happened a day after and it would have worked perfectly, but no, Lucien was there too. Something tells me Lucien knows what transpired, he probably could feel it, hear it, smell it or at least have some perception of it. And this just adds more angst to what Elain and him are going to go through.

Gwynriel: the obvious banter, exact opposite of Azriel’s and Elain’s interaction (for the better), and the hints of their potential mating bond.

To sum it up, Elriel was a thing before the bonus chapter, thats for sure, but Sarah needed to end it before she could continue, however small and insignificant their relationship actually was. And I don’t agree that this set up a love triangle between Elain/Az/Gwyn, when Azriel said “this was a mistake” Sarah ended any possibility of that, Elain gave him back the necklace she was at first eager to receive, Lucien was there and probably knows something happened, Azriel thought he had been right to stay away, and it ended with him thinking about Gwyn’s glowing eyes and smiling about her.

I hope this answers your question, I actually think the bonus chapter was masterfully written to tell us everything we need to know about what was actually happening inside Azriels head, and give us a hint of his future and the future of the other characters.

If she hadn’t written the first part, then we could’ve never gotten those rich pieces of information into Azriel’s trauma, red flags, jealousy and thought process that will play a part in his own book (because they’re far from resolved). By having both we could see how Elain brings up the worse in him, while Gwyn calms the restlessness inside of him instantly.

#i should have just said elriel are eachothers rebound #i love deep diving into this #elucien #pro elucien #anti e/riel #pro gwynriel #gwynriel #azriel shadowsinger #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara

110 notes · View notes

azznyra · 1 year

Text

here’s part2. hope you guys like it as much as you liked part1. (also tysm to everyone for being so kind<3

no tw for this one. just pure fluffy fluff (a bit of angst)

Drunken night routine pt2

You were on your way to hell. No, actually, you were in hell already. You had already woken up feeling like an entire legion of soldiers had trampled over you, and now you had to get ready for training. Yes, it was two hours later than the usual time you all usually started training, but still. They would never let you live it down if you didn’t show up at all. However, you needed some medicine for the headache or you’d die. You surely felt like you were dying already.

You really hoped Nesta was in a worse state. After all, she had been the one to insist on opening a second bottle, and okay maybe the third was actually you, you thought, and what about the fourth ? And well, you lost count.

You rose to a sitting position in your bed, your legs still tangled in the sheets. You ran your fingers through your hair, already expecting to find it dirty because you were supposed to wash it yesterday. The day was barely starting and it was ruined. However, when your fingers wove through the strands, you found nothing dirty. Instead, the nice and familiar smell of your shampoo and favorite hair perfume arose. That didn’t make sense. You’d have never been able to do this, you remembered spending a good fifteen minutes trying to winnow inside the house yesterday, Nesta blowing you ear off about it like some rutted mammal while you told her she better ask Cassian to come fetch her if she kept yelling in your ear.

A few seconds after, everything became very clear to you, as you saw the cup of tea nicely waiting for you on your bedside table. Azriel had helped you and he was still helping you now. You took in the smell of the beverage, more like a disgusting shot, than tea, actually, and your eyes fell upon the paper lying next to it. Neatly tucked behind the cup was a small piece of paper. You picked it up and read the words there, left by the Shadowsinger. You felt like you were devouring them, reading the little note at least ten times before your mind could focus on them. Such a small thing he had done, getting you tea and writing off that you were already late to training as he wrote, and if you were reading this even later, then you were in serious trouble. Such a small note but it had already taken up an enormous space in your heart, right next to where everything he had ever done and said to you was resting.

You decided to be brave and pick up the cup and drink it in one go, then get ready for training. You told yourself you would at least show up, so it looked like you cared a bit about missing the whole thing. You honestly couldn’t care less. Your entire body was raging against you, your thighs and calves were sore, your head was still pounding while your heart was still going crazy over Azriel’s note.

Ten minutes later you were dressed in your own fighting leathers and headed up to training. Everyone was still there, you saw Cassian cleaning his knives before putting them back where they belonged. Nesta was busy stretching, well, more like chatting with Gwyn and Emerie. You could see everyone except Azriel. Where was he? He didn’t have any mission that required him to leave the Court, you were sure of it. You were so attentive to his schedule that you would’ve known. Had something urgent come up and he had to go away suddenly? If so, why didn’t he say in his letter? You were really starting to overthink his absence when you felt something cool curl around the nape of your neck. You leaned into the unfamiliar feeling before turning around and locking eyes with the Spymaster.

‘There you are. How’s your head?’ He was standing in front of you now, looking at you with such soft, soft eyes. His hair was slightly wet, Cass had more than likely poured his water on him. His shirt was also wet, clinging to his chest and abs, leaving little to the imagination. Not that you need much to imagine everything you’d like to do with Azriel.

‘Better now, thanks to you. You really didn’t have to bring me tea, you know. I could’ve gotten downstairs to fetch some. Or ask the House if I felt like I couldn’t get up’. Your face was burning up. You felt so vulnerable in front of him.

‘It’s fine, y/n. I wanted to check if you were alright.". So much concern was laced in his voice. You must’ve hit your head last night. There was no way this was all real. Why was he so caring? He added, ‘I’m glad you showed up before the end actually. We might still manage to get something out of you today’. And there it was, the cunning gleam in his beautiful hazel eyes, back to teasing you, just like he had done yesterday night before leaving you to sleep. He wouldn’t go easy on you, he had said. Like hell he wouldn’t. You’d make sure to puke all over his shoes if he pushed you too far. You were done being at his mercy at training. You vividly remembered Nesta’s pep talk yesterday about standing your ground at training and talking back to Azriel ‘I bet he’d like that’ she’d said.

‘Don’t push me Az.’ You said, trying to sound as threatening as he could, failing miserably. He smiled, and his eyes crinkled. It was a sight you could get accustomed to, very, very quickly. You tried not to dwell too much on it, tried not to stare at him like some crazed animal either. Instead, you turned your head towards Nesta, wondering how she managed to pull off coming here and completing the training Cassian had made specifically for his mate. Azriel followed your line of sight ‘He didn’t make her do much, don’t worry. She barely lifted a finger today. The only thing she did was ogle him. She’s got nothing on you, not with what I’m gonna have you do right now’.

You turned back to him so fast that you crashed into his chest, his hands immediately settling on your arms to steady you. You hadn’t felt him inch closer to you, but you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy the way his fingers felt on your skin. The ghost of his touch was still lingering on your scalp after yesterday. You looked up at him, tilting your head to the side ‘What will you have me do today? Everyone is done and leaving the area’ you said, trying to will your voice not to waver simply from feeling his thumb running circles around your left upper arm. If the alcohol had not killed you, this definitely would, and fast.

‘You need to learn how to defend yourself from an opponent.’ You opened your mouth, ready to tell him off for insinuating you couldn’t defend yourself. You very well could and he knew it. You had decimated entire legions during the War with Hybern without lifting a single finger, only using your magic — ‘No, without magic, y/n. What happens if you somehow can’t use it and end up knocked down in a second because you can’t land a punch, mmh?’. He didn’t have Rhys’ mind reading abilities but it sure felt like he did sometimes, especially right now.

‘Okay then. How will you do that? The girls are all gone now.’

‘You’ll be against me’. He said, as if this was obviously a fair fight. ‘Come on, get warmed up. I’ve already waited two hours for you’.

You did just that, practically leapt away from the male. You were burning up inside just thinking about fighting him. Well, not fighting him per se, but having his hands on you, being around you, so close, even if he was trying to knock you down.

While you did this, Azriel was beating himself up for being so selfish. You had had a rough night, he knew this. He’d been the one to help you unwind yesterday night, getting you ready for sleep while all he wanted was for you to sober up and let him take you to bed. He’d be too good to you, he’d make sure to ask what you liked, getting you off before he even though of pleasuring himself, making you feel beautiful, making you feel wanted, even loved. He was so deep into his feelings, he was actually considering this. Just offering himself to you, letting you have him any you wanted, and discard him afterwards, if that was your choice. He wouldn’t even argue. Anything to make you happy. Anything for you

He was so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you approaching him once again. His shadows had, though, already making their way to you. They didn’t listen to him as he tried to rein them in, no, the little traitors were already getting cozy around your shoulders, one curling around the tip of your ears, another lacing around your wrist. They looked like they belonged there, making you look even prettier than before. If that were possible. You weren’t afraid of them, he noted. Just like you hadn’t balked or stepped back in disgust when his hands steadied you earlier. He even believed he saw your pupils dilate as his thumb rubbed circles on your skin, the action so natural he hadn’t noticed he was doing it until his shadows informed him that you seemed contented by the touch.

He had to concentrate on actually training you to fight instead of panting after you. ‘We’re going to start easy. Just try to disarm me first and then we’ll work on better techniques’. He positioned himself in a fighting stance, motioning for you to do the same.

You were breathing heavily, sweat gathering on the nape of your neck and your forehead while Azriel looked untouched. You had been going at it for an hour already, you trying to disarm him, Az easily dodging you, smirking as he went. He always made sure to whisper sweet words of encouragement, though. Telling you that you were doing well, that you were learning quickly, like he knew you would.

‘You’ve done really well today.’, he said, handing you a towel. When you reached your hand out to take it from him, he shook his head, beckoning you over with his hand. You obliged and let him wipe your sweat. He did it carefully, as if you were a precious sculpture, a piece of art. When he was done, he put the towel away but his hands went back to your face, his hands gently cupping your face, so, so gently. He was handling you with such care, such finesse you wondered how people could ever think he was a vicious, cruel male. But, then again, he was only ever like this with you, you just had yet to realize.

‘Are you okay?’, his voice was so low you barely heard him. You would have been sure to have imagined it if you hadn’t been staring at his lips and seen them moving.

‘Mmh’. You knew it was a shitty answer but your brain couldn’t muster up anything else right now. Your mind entirely consumed by him. Your face was burning up, your eyes were still stuck on his mouth, which was curving at your stupid answer.

‘What is it, love? Can’t talk anymore?’. He was smirking. The bastard knew what effect he had on you and he relished in it. You were in deep shit. You were going to make a huge fool of yourself but you felt like you’d die if you didn’t kiss him right now. Still you were too scared.

‘What are you doing, Az?’, you had to make sure he knew, you had to make sure he wasn’t going to make his way inside of your heart and then leave it festering like a gaping, open wound. You wouldn’t be able to handle the fallout. As pathetic as it sounded, you didn’t feel like you could live in the same place as him if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings. It’d be too much for you, too humiliating.

‘I can’t do this anymore, y/n. I can’t keep acting like we’re friends when I want to be more than that for you. I want to be there for you whenever you need anything. I want to be your best friend. I want to listen to you rant about weird products or the newest song you like or whatever it is you have to say because I love listening to your voice when you get excited about a story. I want the good and the bad. I want to be there for you when you miss your parents too much, or when you’re so anxious you can’t stay still. I want to be there to help you organize your thoughts when you’re overthinking so much you can’t even talk. But honestly, I want anything you’d be able to give me. Anything, y/n. Anything for you.’ His eyes were staring into yours, gauging your reaction. He had gone stiff, waiting for your answer. You could see his shadows fretting over him, getting ready to shield their master if you ever intended to hurt him.

You couldn’t believe your ears. Azriel was holding your face, basically spilling his heart out to you, so clearly, it was so clear that you knew he must’ve talked about this with Cassian. Azriel was a very smart male but he’d never been one to articulate his feelings, certainly not this well. You were stunned into silence. Your brain had short-circuited for a moment before you felt a cool shadow brush your face and poke your cheek. You realized you had yet to answer him and the beautiful face in front of you looked more anxious by the second.

‘I want to be the one for you too, Azriel. If you’d let me’. You were so shy, having to take a few deep breaths before you were able to get the words out. He nodded, as if to ask for confirmation, which you gladly gave him.

Azriel grinned so hard you were momentarily blinded by his smile. He leaned down, his face inching dangerously close towards yours. Well, not dangerously anymore. His haze eyes were still looking into yours, as if asking for permission, stopping only a few millimeters from your lips. You nodded, head moving barely an inch south, allowing him to kiss you. He gave you another breathtaking smile, his eyes so full of adoration, before closing the gap between your mouths, his soft lips landing on yours. You fit perfectly on each other. It was barely a press at first, simply brushing his lips against yours. You were getting impatient, wanting more of him. You tentatively put your right hand on his shoulders and rose on your toes, just enough for your lips to fully press. Azriel hummed into the kiss, finally moving his mouth against yours, slowly, languidly. He was taking his time, learning the feeling of your lips, their shape, their taste. His other hand went around your waist, tugging you into him. What started as a sweet kiss quickly turned into something hungrier. You ran your tongue over his lower lip, once, earning you a sweet moan from Azriel. Fueled by his reaction, you did again, this time feeling warm all over. He was so reactive to you. You kissed for what felt like an eternity before you were forced to take a breath.

‘Go easy on me, yeah? You’re killing me right now’, Az said, resting his forehead on yours, a smile like you’d never seen before still stretching on his face. Your hand was sitting at the nape of his neck, running your fingers through his hair resting there, feeling so content.

‘You’re the one who was supposed to go easy on me’, you replied, reminding him of last night’s conversation.

‘I promised no such thing’, said the Shadowsinger. He was still cupping your face, and peppered your face with small kisses everywhere his lips could reach. Your lips, again, the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your nose again, your forehead. You giggled and he looked back into your eyes. ‘Are you hungry?’. You nodded, finally able to fill your empty stomach now that your heart was filled too.

Azriel offered you his elbow, again. Instead of taking his hands like you had last night, you indulged him today, resting your hand on his forearm. But not without leaving a small kiss to the back of his hand. Just to let him know that it was all the same to you, scars and all.

#azriel fluff #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acosf #acofas #acowar #acotar #acomaf #nesta x cassian

413 notes · View notes

cresswellslover · 1 month

Text

Moonlit Promise

Gwynriel — One-Shot

In the moonlight, Gwyn and Azriel confess what is burning within them and a promise is made to soothe their souls.

Word count: 1.431

a/n: keep in mind that this work is deeply inspired by M. Night Shyamalan’s ‘The Village’ (2004), and was made for the Gwynriel Weeks 2024 @gwynrielweeksofficial (doesn’t follow a specific prompt tho)

hope you like it <3

Gwyn doesn’t hear him arriving. His wings are silent, and his feet are light. But she knows he’s outside her bedroom chamber.

His light shines differently than the moonlight. It’s just as tenuous and pure. But more bluish. Not exactly cobalt like his siphons, but teal—like her eyes. Like Nesta, Azriel has a light that surrounds him that only Gwyn can see. She doesn’t understand that aspect of her powers yet, but that is something friends and her are trying to unveil. Nesta’s light is ruby-fire. Beautiful and fitting for her.

But his light through her stained-glass windows makes wonders to the colored glass. Instantly her room is a rainbow of colors. Instantly, she’s restless. Instantly, she can’t force herself to sleep.

Gwyn walks out, barefoot with only a shawl over her white night dress. She moves toward Azriel who sits on the balcony railing, overseeing Velaris, the City of Starlight. She’s still not used to the view, and is amazed by it every time she comes up the House of Wind. In her heart she hopes to never take that beauty view for granted.

He turns as she sits down next to him, throwing her legs over the railing.

“I heard the Inner Circle is going to have an inquiry tomorrow. Each member of Velaris is to be questioned in the meeting hall,” she says.

“Yes,” Azriel says. “To see how the border was breached.”

His breath turns to smoke as he speaks. There was an attack that afternoon, creatures attacked the city and some suspects that someone inside might have invited them in. That’s why she’s spending the night at Nesta’s house.

Gwyn shivers, but she isn’t scared—not with Az here—and doesn’t feel cold. Something inside her is burning, glowing.

“It is cold outside,” Azriel says. “You ought to go in.”

She pulls her shawl closer. “Why are you on this balcony?”

“It is not safe.”

She smiles. “There are other balconies.”

There is a moment of silence. She notices that he’s tense and disturbed by what happened earlier, so Gwyn searches for something to say, to distract him and help if she can.

“Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony was beautiful. I’m glad I went. I’ve always loved music and singing, but I fell in love with dancing that night. Cassian danced with me. He’s a good dancer and taught me some of his techniques.” She laughs quietly, remembering how happy she felt having fun with her friends. “You’re a good dancer too. I saw you dancing with Nesta and the High Lady.”

“Did I?”

“You did. But you didn’t dance with me.”

He doesn’t react. She isn’t surprised.

“I met many people that night. I liked that too. The priestess and the acolytes are good company, but I miss meeting new friends. Nesta’s sister was there, she’s very sweet—and her mate was there as well. They were acting very oddly, but I understand. I’m sure they’ll sort things out in no time.” Gwyn looked at Azriel, and whispered. “Do you know how I know?”

He shook his head lightly, “How?” he asked.

“Sometimes we don’t do things we want to do, so that others won’t know we want to do them.” The wind is the only sound around them as Azriel’s shadows dance around her feet, curling around her ankles and calf. “They never touch,” she says, quietly. “They didn’t even dance that night. And their eyes never met, one would stop looking right before the other turned to look. I guess they’re scared to act on what they feel, scared to reach a point of no return. All mates must feel that way, don’t you think?”

Az considers for a moment and says, “I can see that.”

Azriel must be thinking of Nesta and Cassian and how long it took them to accept the bond between them, as well as with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, as she was told. When she looks sideways at him, he’s staring at her, and she feels completely exposed before his eyes. They had never once talked about mates and… about them.

The moment is so intense she can’t breathe properly. So she blurts out, “Do you find me too much of a tomboy?”

Azriel frowns and shakes his head lightly, “No.”

In all fairness, it is a ridiculous question, but hopefully it’ll whisk his attention away from the previous topic. Gwyn has always been prone to be talkative whenever nervous.

Gwyn looks up at the sky. Hearth hammering, cheeks red, and says, “I do long to do boy things,” she confides. In a whisper, she says, “Like that game the Illyrian boys play at the stump at the camp. Cassian told us that they put their backs to the woods, to the creatures that might be there, and see how long they can wait before getting scared.” She leans forward and looks at the immense height beneath them. “It's so exciting.” Gwyn glances sideways towards Azriel, he’s not looking at her anymore, but his wings are higher, ready to fly—ready to catch her if she falls. There’s a little smile on her lips when she continues softly, “I understand you hold the record. It will never be broken, Cassian said.”

Azriel gives a small shrug. “It's just children's games.”

Gwyn rests her face on her shoulder and looks directly at him. “How is it you are so brave when all the rest of us are fearful all the time?”

He meets her eyes, and says, “I do not worry about what will happen. Only what needs to be done.”

She opens her mouth to say more, but he speaks before she can utter another word.

“How did you know I was here?” Azriel asks.

“I saw your light through the window.” He blinks, and she sees the curiosity in his eyes. “No, I won't tell you your color.” Gwyn smiles, “Stop asking.”

The wind blows stronger, and she sees snowflakes move all around them. One of his shadows darts forward fast to touch one, before coming back towards her to play with the end of her braid.

It’s a beautiful sight, she thinks. How his light and his shadows dance around as one. The burning sensation in her chest intensifies at the image before her. The beautiful winged male with shadows and lights dancing around his body, as he bathes in moonlight at her side. She feels more content and brave than ever.

In a moment of recklessness, looking at the shadow playing with her hair, she says, “When we are mated, will you dance with me?”

He chokes and looks at her, eyes wide. He doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t meet his eyes when she says, “I find dancing very agreeable.”

Gwyn counts her heartbeats as she waits for his answer, for something, whatever it may be.

He doesn’t say anything.

Impatient and shyly, she asks, “Why can’t you say what is in your head?”

“Why can you not stop saying what is in yours?” Azriel says abruptly.

Gwyn is surprised by the strength in Azriel's voice. She looks at him, his face is flushed with color and his eyes burn with something she cannot name.

His shadows pause, listening and waiting.

“Why must you lead, when I want to lead? If I want to dance, I will ask you to dance. If I want to speak, I will open my mouth and speak. Everyone is forever plaguing me to speak further. Why? What good is it to tell you, you are in my every thought from the time I wake? What good can come from my saying I sometimes cannot think clearly or do my work properly? What gain can rise from my telling you the only time I feel fear as others do is when I think of you in harm?”

She can’t breathe. Azriel looks as if he can’t either.

“That is why I am on this balcony, Gwyneth Berdara. I fear for your safety before all others.” His confession makes her insides burn. He looks at her as if something in him is burning too. “And yes,” he says softly. “I will dance with you at our mating ceremony.”

As Gwyn sits in the moonlight, unable to move, to say anything, tears stream down her cheeks. A scarred hand reaches out and wipes a tear. His touch causes more tears to fall.

So Azriel strokes the end of her braid and leans forward and kisses Gwyneth Berdara on her bedroom balcony at the House of Wind.

thank you for reading <3 you can find me on ao3 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/54568846

#gwynriel weeks 2024 #acotar #gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn #shadowsinger #short fic #one shot #gwynriel oneshot #gwynriel supremacy #pro gwynriel #gwynriel fic #pro gwyneth berdara #acotar oneshot #acotar fic

54 notes · View notes

curiousity-cell · 8 months

Text

sometimes i feel that people don’t really even /try/ to understand elain. like they have all these think pieces for lucien & azriel & gwyn etc, but they just don’t try with elain. they don’t bother. and it frustrates me to no end because you know exactly why that is - because she has more ‘feminine’ interests & this makes her ‘boring’. her hobbies are quiet, she likes to keep to herself & people often overlook her BECAUSE she likes to keep to herself.

rn i’m thinking of her childhood and what their mother says about elain & the sisters

- nesta was groomed to be the matchmaker - to find herself a match, elain a march & feyre eventually the find a match. that was her main priority. find herself a marriage & then sort out her sisters.

- feyre was ignored by their mother, not even considered. because she was a “wild thing” since birth and the mother evidently didn’t know how to handle that

- elain though? she’s deemed useless. mama archeron may not say it but you know it’s implied.

elain is pinned as useless and only good for her beauty. only good for what potential matches she could make in the future. i think this is integral to her character and why she keeps to herself so often. this is the potential context of her character that keeps me sympathetic to her and why i adore her so much. because after so many people call you useless from your childhood, eventually you start to believe it. eventually it sticks. eventually you only know yourself as useless and nothing more.

add on then their poverty when their soil wasn’t good enough to make vegetables, imagine how useless you feel there. that gardening and baking is the hobby you’ve found you’re good at, but you can’t even do that because the environment around you limits your capabilities. also, a lack of education in planting & harvesting vegetables because you can’t afford books and tools to learn how to do so.

[i’ve been trying to find the quote for the soil part as support but i can’t fucking find it so this is all i have]

imagine how useless you feel then. i think her becoming fae (as traumatic as it was) is actually helping her. it’s healing her. cerridwen and nuala are helping her, her discovery of being a seer is actively helping her realise she is not useless. she has worth. she is finding her worth.

this story to me (which will be in her book in acotar 5) is so compelling to me. elain discovering her worth and realising that she doesn’t have to be “the pretty one”, “the boring one”, that she /can/ be soft & strong all at once. that her optimism and her kindness is a strength.

i cant wait. i’m so excited. i adore her already based on pure observation i can’t wait to get inside her head. and i will continue to try to do it now until her book comes out because her story will always be compelling to me because it’s a different story to warrior-training-sword-fighting-uber-magical-powerhouses (no shade to feyre & nesta - i’m just very excited to learn about your sister :))

(I ALSO FOUND A REALLY CUTE FEYRE & ELAIN SCENE FROM ACOTAR 1 WHICH PROVES FEYRE FORGIVES HER i will post it later - i’m very enthusiastic about my archeron sisters & their bonding.)

149 notes · View notes

ember-amber · 7 months

Text

I have figured out what annoys me about dark magic in Elden ring. None of it is scary enough

Let me first elaborate what i mean with "dark magic". When i say that i just mean" magic that is against or opposite to the current status quo". Lava sorcery is dark magic, so is death sorcery, also frenzied flame spells, and black flame. Magic that is considered heretical or blasphemous.

Because elden ring has many forces trying take the lands between at once, none of them feel as antagonistic to the current order as The Dark did to the Age of Fire.

I am not calling The Dark evil or anything, Im no bootlicker. When I say that the dark was scarier, I mean that Gwyn would shit himself if he ever saw someone cast this:

God he would be horrified. What is this ball pf pure fire extinguishing darkness doing here? Why is it looking at me??

Dude literally killed himself to prevent something like this from existing. It goes against everything he worked for.

Now, I honestly cant imagine any of the current heretic schools of magic scaring Marika to that extent. Probably because Marika was a girlboss that committed genocide on anything that threatened her, but anyways.

Like:

- Frenzied flame would be a good candidate, it is a threat to everything and very scary. But the lack of spells and of, frankly, influence hurts its image for me

- Rot is scary, has influence and is a threat. But two spells dont make a school of magic. Also not really dark magic if its approved by the Greater Will.

-Im sure Firegiant magic was threatening at some point lmfao.

-Death spells still largely consist of deathbird magic, which is a severely weakened group from a past age.

-Gonna be honest, Rykard didnt do a very good job with his god devouring. Aldrich at least got one. Not very threatening to the order rn.

-and finally black flame, another weakened group that used to be a threat.

Now, this all can change with the DLC

If that is indeed an erdtree being choked by a deathroot tree, which some people theorised, then we have our villain to the order. Godwyn is scary, a threat, influential, and would theoretically get more spells in the dlc.

Plus itd be literally black magic, as in colored black, which i love. All the others feel to bright and colorful

#elden ring lore #elden ring #dark souls 3 #shadow of the erdtree #please buff explosive ghost flame #and the prince of death staff #fromsoftware

93 notes · View notes

foxglovethicket · 2 months

Text

Wild Things

Summary:

Some Nesta x Rhysand for day 7 of @sjmromanceweek !

Devour me, he used to urge her. Devour me, Nesta.

I love you so.

Devour me.

She would nip at the tips of his fingers in play, pretending to be a little feral thing. And he would pretend not to see the wildness in her eyes and dripping from her hair and glinting off her canines when she smiled one of her rare open-mouthed smiles.

(AKA, the toxic Nesta x Rhys fic that has been rattling around in my brain for months)

Chapters: 1/1

Read on AO3

November 11th. The first snow of the year numbs Velaris like novacane.

White snow, white sky, white salt on the roads. Clean and blank and pure for a new year—her twenty-fourth, as of sometime mid-morning. Upon waking, shivering under her dove-grey duvet, Nesta thinks: twenty-four is the year of not fucking things up.

The kitchen is the fire to her hearth. The spray of small yellow rosebuds in a vase on the island, Gwyn’s flame-lick of hair, Emerie’s embrace, the round smiles that fill their cheeks, the pastry waiting at her seat in a white bag, spots translucent with grease. It’s all warm. it all makes her blood move, down to her fingertips, where they prickle with feeling.

***

Want is a funny thing. The question—what do you want?—I want, I want, I want, like a black hole eating the stars. Nesta wants a lot of things: to be warm, awake, clean and untouched like the snow on her bedroom windowsill.

Emerie and Gwyn had asked her months ago what she wanted to do today—today, she has some extra measure of choice, today she’s allowed to want a little harder.

Today, Nesta wants to read and she wants to dance. And she wants—

No. No. So they tuck their feet up on the couch and pile on the blankets and Emerie makes her hot chocolate just the way Nesta likes it and the next few hours are pages whispering as they are turned, steam rising from half-empty mugs, snow curling down outside the window.

***

It had ended just how it had started: cold wind whipping off the Sidra to slice their cheeks wide open. The first time, it made their mouths split into smiles; the last, into trebuchets of hurt. Neither of them is good at pulling punches. His coat was on her shoulders. He said something, then she, and it was suddenly a vile thing on her skin; she ripped it away and threw it down onto the rain-soaked cobblestones. She didn’t throw it over the bridge, into the river, because that would have been irreversible, but now, now, she wishes she had.

That was September, the last long day before time jumped back and the evenings stopped clinging to the sun.

You’re fucking mine, Nesta.

I’m fucking gone.

She doesn’t think about it. She ruined everything, and it didn’t matter, and she doesn’t think about it.

***

Anyways, she’s good at being fine. She’s twenty-four now and she’s going to be fine forever, starting now. Gwyn has a carefully curated getting-ready playlist blasting from her speaker as she curls her hair. Emerie bites her lip as she draws eyeliner across her lid. Nesta sips from a wine bottle as she stares at her jewelry box: there are the little pearl-drop earrings he gave her when they went to Adriata for a weekend in August. I know you already have a favorite pair of earrings, but I thought these could be nice for the Patron’s Gala, maybe. If you like them.

Nesta fishes them out of the drawer and puts them in. She looks at herself in the mirror until her eyes turn red, and then she drops them back in the jewelry box, and stabs large silver hoops through her ears instead.

She turns off the light in her room and goes to the kitchen. Carefully, she pours the rest of the bottle of wine into a plastic Mountain Dew bottle, sucking the spilled drops from her fingers like it’s precious, and not a fourteen-dollar bottle. She plucks her coat off the hook and her keys from the dish by the door.

The three of them are laughing and chattering as they leave the apartment; Gwyn threatens to buy her a birthday girl sash, Emerie says, I think it’s too late for that, Gwyn says, The party store on East 12th is open until 11, I checked. Nesta says, I will strangle you with your own sash if you even think about it. They only laugh at her threat, and she can’t keep her face from smiling, and it doesn’t even bother her when the snow at the curb smears over her boots. She’s untouched. She’s new. She’s only started learning how to live.

***

It doesn’t really matter how it ended. There one minute and gone the next. He was there and gone, there and gone, like seasons, like purity, like the flash of a camera imprinted on the back of your retinas, there, and there, and there, and gone.

So he’s gone. And good riddance.

She used to like to hold his hand. Liked the strong, slim bones of his fingers, the veins that crawled up the back of his hand; liked running her fingers over the scar on the knuckle of his ring finger. He had a freckle on the inside of his left wrist, too, one she liked to press her lips to. I love you so, she would whisper. I’ll eat you whole.

Devour me, he used to urge her. Devour me, Nesta.

I love you so.

Devour me.

***

They step inside the club and check in their coats and the music is so heavy she can feel it pressing right through her muscles and into her bones. She tips her head back. Her spine is one long bass note. Yes, yes, yes.

Bodies shift around her, swaying like stalks of kelp in a western current, and she, an otter twisting among them as she dances. Sleek and warm and with only one wild and carnal drive: hunger.

She wants to devour this scene. The red lights. The upward-reaching limbs. The abandon. The singing mouths, the smell of vodka, the smell of perfume and cologne that surges when pressed too closely among the others.

“11:11,” says Gwyn, not long after they arrive. “Make a wish.”

You already know what she wishes for.

Emerie hands her a shot instead of a birthday candle. It sears her throat and then lights her aflame and she throws herself back into dancing and dancing and oh, when she tilts her head back like this, baring her throat, she feels knifelike and untouchable and violent, like she could strangle the whole world in her fists.

She imagines it. Sinking her teeth in. Getting the snow banks messy. Starting everything over so she doesn’t have to make so many mistakes this time. Sometimes, when Nesta buys a new book, she’ll bring it on the train and accidentally bend a corner when she goes to shove it in her bag in her haste to get off at her stop. Later, she’ll look at the crease, run her finger over it as if she can smooth it away, and fight the urge to buy a whole new copy—one she hasn’t irrevocably marred. She never does buy a new one; she knows, on some level, that it’s ridiculous to even consider it.

No creases this year, she reminds herself. She’s drunk now. Half of her blood is vodka. The music goes even louder, like a reminder or a threat. Emerie is grinding up against a striking blonde girl now; Gwyn is making eyes at someone across the room, sweeping her hair off her collarbones like a challenge; Nesta feels a drop of sweat run down her temples and sucks more swollen air into her lungs, her body greedy for it in the club’s heat.

All the lights go gas-flame blue, and that’s when she sees him.

***

So it ended. Fine. But it had started once, too.

Nesta had been in ballet as a child—no surprise, considering her family: upper class in a pearl-necklaces-and-endive-salads way. Everything was satin slippers and hair slicked back too tightly into unforgiving buns, until her mother died when she was fifteen and her father didn’t care enough to make her continue taking classes. It left her with a lithe body, a hatred of the Nutcracker, and a severe case of perfectionism.

Her favorite show to dance had been Sleeping Beauty, so last winter, when she heard the Velaris Ballet was showing it, she went to see it twice. Once, with Gwyn and Emerie, and again with Elain, except Elain canceled last-minute and Nesta thought about canceling both their tickets and staying home, but didn’t.

So, of course. He picked up Elain’s ticket.

During the show, she could drink up the colorful dresses, the masterful dancing, the beautiful shapes the dancers’ bodies made as they moved gently across the stage. When intermission came, she had no such distraction. There was only the stranger sitting next to her in his night-black suit, and of course he was devastatingly beautiful, how could she not notice? Admiring him was inexorable.

She caught him admiring her right back—those dark blue eyes making a steady, unapologetic map of her face.

It happened in textbook steps, alarming in its simplicity, really: He introduced himself. They talked throughout the rest of intermission. At some point during the third act, his knee made its way to press against hers, and he didn’t pull it away, and she didn’t pull away, either. When the lights flooded back on, the spell broke, or maybe it was cast?, and he asked her if she’d like to see the Balanchine performance with him the following week, and she wrote her number on the back of his hand with a sharpie she’d found in her purse. He had beautiful hands, like a piano player, and she asked if he played, and he said Tchaikovsky was his favorite to play, it was why he liked coming to the ballet.

Several weeks later, she would lie with her head in his lap, those nimble fingers combing through her hair, and ask, Play for me?, and he would, and it would become her favorite sound. And after that, she would sometimes sit on the edge of the bench, or kneel beside it, or stand behind him as he played, and close her eyes and imagine herself moving to the sound. Pas de bourré, pirouette.

But not yet. That would come later.

***

She sees him and the world keeps moving, even though she feels like it shouldn’t. She sees him and the world doesn’t end. It should. It doesn’t.

A current of blue bodies around her. He swims right through them. She doesn’t look at Gwyn or Emerie when he reaches her because she doesn’t have to see their faces to know their reproach.

She’s been locked into those stunning eyes since she first caught them; in this blue light, they are so, so dark, like midnight, and just as devastating. And they devastate her, they do.

Nesta thinks, You can’t unruin this. She thinks it so loudly that there’s no way he doesn’t hear it. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He just looks at her, and she just looks at him, and, light with drink, she sways with the other kelp, sways right into him.

She can smell the alcohol on his breath. He’s holding a drink—a gin and tonic. He always liked gin. Elderflower gin, something that sounded fairy-like and ancient, something that smelled divine and didn’t hurt going down. She takes the cup from his hand and downs half. It’s cheap; burns like hell. He takes it back. Holds her stare as he drinks down the rest and drops the cup on the nearest flat surface.

He’s already drunk; she can tell because his face is a little too devastated when he looks at her.

His hands on her waist. Her waist in his hands. His hips pressed to her stomach. Her stomach burning gas-flame blue.

Nesta, he mouths. His eyes drop to her lips. His forehead drops to touch her own, as if he could press a feeling straight from his mind into hers.

Don’t, she says. Or maybe she thinks it.

He kisses her.

She kisses him back.

It’s inevitable, after that.

Gwyn and Emerie don’t even bother to stop her. They know better. He leads her downstairs, to the front of the club. She collects her coat. She follows him out onto the snow-driven street. A fresh coat has fallen since she and her friends went inside those few hours ago. It makes her think of new slates and starting over.

It makes her think of the way her boots crush the powdery snowflakes to grey slush.

You can’t unruin this.

He lives close—close enough that they can’t justify anything other than walking. She doesn’t look over at him and he doesn’t take her hand as they walk, and it’s almost as if they’re colleagues, with this space between them. Space enough for her ghosting breaths to dissipate entirely before they could ever reach his face.

And then—the bridge. The quay. Inevitable, she knew it, knew they’d have to cross the slushy Sidra, but. But.

She can feel him looking at her.

They reach the middle of the bridge, and she can’t keep going anymore. She’s shaking, knees knocking together embarrassingly, like a child. Nesta stops and she turns and she looks at the snow on the bridge and hates it for how serene it seems.

“I missed you, Nesta,” he says.

Past tense. He doesn’t anymore. He has her now, is what he means. He won't let go again, not like last time.

“Are you cold?” he asks. “Do you want my coat?”

She bites her lip and shakes her head, still looking down at the snow. His shoes scuff the snow as he steps closer. He takes her in his arms and he is just as warm and comforting and safe as he ever was, and it makes her want to cry, but she doesn’t. She does let him hold her. Even though it makes everything worse.

Rhys tilts up her chin and she keeps her eyes closed. He kisses her, so gently at first that she shudders, and then her mouth opens to him like a rose, and she presses harder into him, and he isn’t gentle anymore.

Her lips, cracked from the cold, split and bleed when he bites into them, and their kisses change to copper.

***

Nesta threw up before their first date. She stood in front of her mirror, trying to like the grey dress she was wearing, but she started thinking that maybe a dress was too much, and then she envisioned herself sitting stiffly next to the man—Rhysand—for the whole two and a half hours, not looking at him, and the thought—the thought of the awkwardness made her physically ill. He wouldn’t like her anymore, and then she would never be able to go to the ballet again, and and and—

She threw up neatly into the toilet, flushed it, brushed her teeth, and left.

By the time she was walking up the steps to the theater, she was trembling like a fawn, but she needn’t have worried. He was charming—his hand holding the door for her, his hand steering her respectfully from the small of her back, his hand alighting on her knee during intermission and lingering there, light and steady, until the lights began to dim again and he pulled it away.

The second half of the performance, she watched him. The way his breath caught at the crescendo of a number. The way his fingers tapped on his thighs in time with the notes. The way the bare light that reached them from the stage cast a glowing outline around the beautiful parts of his face, which seemed to be all of them.

The ballet ended, and he invited her to get a late-night coffee; he knew a cafe, one run by real Italians, so she should know it was good. By midnight, she’d made him laugh so hard he’d choked on a sip of his cappuccino, and he had made her feel coltish and new and brilliant, and finally, entirely at ease.

He was always very good with prey.

***

Nesta isn’t prey. She has a mouth full of teeth and she uses them. He’d do well to remember that, for fuck’s sake.

She bites down too hard and Rhys makes a noise in his throat. She pushes him away and they stand there, panting, staring at each other.

“Nesta,” he says.

They stand on the bridge. The snow numbs sound, numbs hurt, numbs everything.

“Come home with me, Nesta,” he says.

She goes home with him.

***

He loved her too hard. Maybe that was the problem.

Rhys wasn’t clingy, desperate—nothing so plebian as that. It was more authoritative. More intense, like a bruise. He always, always wanted her. Sex, of course, but more than that.

When it was sex, it was hungry. It was always too much, and it was never enough. It hurt every time, but it was never painful. There was sweat and tangled hair and open mouths and tenderness, always, and gentleness, only sometimes, only after. His hands were always tight around some part of her flesh, as if he were afraid she’d disappear the moment he let go, as if he could have more of her if he held more tightly.

She could never stop herself from sinking her teeth in, anyways. His shoulder, his neck, his arms, his side. She’d never made a habit of it before. It was something primal only he could bring out in her.

When it wasn’t sex, it was a different kind of want. Uncontainable, devastating. He wanted her like it hurt him. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure if he liked her. He just wanted her.

One hot day that summer: billowing, gauzy curtains, Nesta in those lavender sleep shorts he liked so much, the hair around Rhys’s temples curling with sweat. Still, he held her close against him as they lay on the couch, her stomach to his stomach, her chest to his chest, her chin tucked against his shoulder.

Nesta asked, “Why did you ask me out that day at the ballet?”

His arm banded around her more tightly. He said, “I liked the way you watched them. Hungrily. I wanted to make you look at me like that.”

***

They step inside Rhys’s townhouse and the familiar smell hits her like a truck. It’s just the smell of a home—a home he’s lived in. Recently, without her. She wonders if his coffee machine still refuses to work unless he thumps the side of it as it gets going. She wonders if he ever got around to replacing the batteries in his TV remote. She wonders how many other women he’s brought here since everything ended. Maybe he fucks them in their own houses. Maybe he brings them here, has them on the couch, pushes the dove-grey pillows to the floor to make room for their bodies. She can’t imagine him fucking them in his bed, or she’ll throw up right here on his doormat.

The door clicks behind her, shutting out the cold. The air inside is warm and still, waiting for something. His hand touches her waist, moves her until her back is against the wall, and she thinks this is it, this is the part where he kisses her and takes her apart—but not yet.

Rhys kneels on the floor, takes her calf in his hands and slips off her boots, one by one, setting her feet down gently as if she were a child, or a queen. Something precious and vulnerable.

His soft fingers, piano-player’s fingers, trail up her body as he rises, hitching her dress up with them. She knows how this ends and it hurts. He kisses her wet cheekbones, one and the other.

“Nesta,” he says. He kisses her lips and she tastes salt.

She sinks her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him closer.

Their kisses get harder, serious. She hitches her leg around his hips, presses into him—his beautiful fingers are everywhere. They tangle in her hair and pull her head back so he can better lick her throat. They count her ribs, looking for a way in. They move over her hips, down, cleverly stroking the wet seam of her underwear, starting out gentle, just how he knows she likes it.

She reaches for his belt. She wonders, where will he have her? Will he bring her to the couch? Will he have her right here, against the wall? Will he take her back to his bed, or would that mean to much?

Rhys shudders into her touch, eyes rolling back. His mouth is saying things like Fuck, Nesta, I missed you, yes, harder, more, Nesta, Nesta, Nesta—

He chokes on his own breaths and pulls her hands away. With a few tugs, her dress is over her head, and he sinks to his knees again. She looks off to the side, towards the door, not wanting to face the way he looks up at her. Devotion poisoned by possession. His hands are hot on the backs of her thighs.

“Look at me, Nesta,” he orders. He pulls her underwear away—embarrassingly wet. The expression that flits across his face then—it’s a bit too relieved to be a smirk, but close.

She puts her hands into the silky onyx strands before her.

“Eat, then,” she says, unkindly.

He does. Like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. Like he’s afraid she’ll stop him, take it away from him. She wishes she would, but she doesn’t. She’s too weak to give up something this good. Something that feels so inevitable—what’s the use?

Nesta comes right there, silently, except for one gasping breath that she immediately stifles. It’s horrible, it’s so, so horrible, how badly she misses him in that moment. It hits her, a pain so sharp she nearly flinches. It’s so horrible. So obvious, how he’s ruined her.

A tug on the backs of her knees, and her body falls obediently to straddle him where he kneels on the floor, her lips coming to meet his, hungrily taking the taste of herself from his tongue. He pulls her back, back, until he’s lying flat on the floor of the hallway, and she’s sitting over him, fumbling to yank off his shirt, to shove down his pants. Her body remembers how to move with him, remembers the steps to this. It remembers, even if her mind feels heavy and watered-down.

There is a bright spark of pain as she sinks down onto him. Rhys looks up at her from the floor. His eyes glint like a country sky at night, his sin-dark hair splays across the floor like a sunburst, his mouth parts like submission.

Nesta takes his throat in her hands and squeezes. “I hate you,” she tells him, and he lets her. Her knees press into the hardwood. He jerks his hips up with a groan. She says, “I hate you, Rhys.”

She feels a tightness in her throat that means tears. She won’t cry. She lets go of his neck and bites into her palm to hold them at bay. She won’t cry, she won’t cry. Her fingerprints fade whitely from his skin.

Rhys flips them over and settles his body over hers, between her knees. He fits in her body like he’s made for her. Her head fits just so in the space between his neck and his shoulder. She breathes him in through her nose, out through her mouth, as he begins to fuck her. He had always smelled so good, like something she shouldn’t eat. Sweet and rich, with some kind of spicy undertone, like pepper or ginger. Achingly sweet with a stinger.

Rhys takes her hand away from her mouth and pulls her wrists over her head.

“You love me, Nesta, you love me so,” he says. He threads his fingers in between hers. “You love me so.”

***

Nesta closes her eyes as he washes her hair in the shower.

“Nesta,” he says, smoothing soap away from her brow. “Stay.”

She tilts her head up, but doesn’t open her eyes. “You keep saying my name,” she says.

She can feel the sigh come out of his chest. He says, “I’m afraid I’ll forget how it sounds.”

In spite of her will, her body begins to tremble. Anger and fear and rage and desperation all well up at once, and her eyes fly open, lashes dripping under the stream of the shower, and she means to say a hundred things—a hundred accusations and castigations—but only a single word comes out, choked in steam. “Please.”

His face changes into a shape she doesn’t know well. “Nesta,” he breathes, pulling her body into his.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, she thinks. But she lets him towel her dry and brush out her hair and braid it down her back with his nimble fingers, the way she taught him, once. He pulls one of his t-shirts over her head—her favorite one, god, she hates that she has a favorite—and tucks her close to him under the covers. His sheets smell like his detergent and him, and it’s miserable, knowing he’s letting her go after this, even though that’s what she wanted in the first place. Catch and release. You can’t uncrease a paperback cover. You can only buy a whole new book.

God. Twenty-four hours as a twenty-four year old and she’s already fucked everything up. She’s already let him ruin her.

They lie there in his bed in his sheets in his townhouse on the river. She’s still drunk. She’s still here. His heart is still beating just a few ribs away from hers. She counts those beats, those bloodier sheep. One-one. One-one. One-one. One-one.

She’s not entirely sure if she’s dreaming when he says it. She hopes she is. She wishes so badly that she is.

I won’t go, he promises into the dark, into the sweet warmth. Just eat me whole.

***

Snow falls overnight.

In the morning, when Nesta looks out Rhys’s window, her eyes hurt to touch anything at all, it’s so bright.

He is behind her, suddenly. His arms come around her, his chest pressing to her back. He fits. It is suddenly, terrifyingly, as if she never left.

“Nesta,” he says, one last time.

She turns in his arms, fitting herself into the crooks of his body. She is real, she is new, she is blinding like the pure fallen snow.

Nesta makes a decision.

“Rhys,” she answers, speaking against his heartbeat.

When she smiles up at him, secretive and small, her ribcage opens up and curls around him like the legs of a spider.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #nesta x rhysand #rhysta #rhysta fic #can we all be normal about rhysta today? pls and thx #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek

23 notes · View notes

lunainfortuna · 1 year

Text

Sorry, but the funniest shit is when ~some~ people say Azriel acts as a mate towards Elain. Call them dumb.

And you know why?

This is Lucien soon after he met Elain still as a human:

Elain was shaking, sobbing, as she was hauled forward.

Toward the Cauldron. [...] Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this.” [...] Lucien staggered a step forward as Elain was gripped between two guards and hoisted up. She began kicking then, weeping while her feet slammed into the sides of the Cauldron as if she’d push off it, as if she’d knock it down— “That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron.

Meanwhile, Azriel who had known her for a little while:

And Mor backed away. Step by step. “What a prize,” the king said, that black gaze devouring her. Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her.”

I mean, lmaooooo. He didn't give a single fuuuuck about Elain. His supposed mate. I swear 😂😂😂😂😂😂

But there's more! In ACOWAR, he showed once again his mate instincts:

But Mor replied smoothly, [...] One moment, Azriel was seated. The next, he’d blasted through Eris’s shield with a flare of blue light and tackled him backward, wood shattering beneath them.

And ps: Eris had just!!!! talked about Elain. Well...... Guess who didn't give a fuck again? Great mate we see here, guys.

From the first time Azriel met Elain, he treated her as Feyre's sister; he treated her with respect and kindness as he would do to anyone in need. Their interactions were superficial. They have never ever acted as mates towards each other; not even once! When he saved her near the end of the third book, he was freaking hurt and she didn't blink an eye. Would mates act like that? Er. (lets remember that Nesta was all about Cassian's safety). And in the end, after truth-teller, they didn't share any scenes together. She didn't ask about him nor did he ask abt her.

But Elain and Lucien?

“I’m fine,” Elain said quietly. And then asked, noticing the gore on him, the torn clothes and still-bloody weapons, “Are you—”

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.”

A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips.

Azriel only started "caring" for Elain and being overprotective when he did the math about the bond between Feysand and Nessian. Only then. And we can notice this regarding his and Lucien's interactions. Before that, he respected Lucien. :) It's pretty clear by now, thinking about Mor and then, Elain, that Azriel changes the way he acts when he decides someone should be his mate/lover. It's not something real and pure.

Good thing that,

In comparison, Azriel slaughtered every soldier in Sangravah when he found Gwyn for the very first time. Every single one. In comparison, it was only when her name came up regarding the Blood Rite that he showed any reaction. In comparison, he wouldn't go as far as call her a friend, but buried the image of her shining eyes deep inside his chest. In comparison, his shadows sing to her. And that's enough.

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel supremacy #pro gwynriel #pro elucien #elucien #elain x lucien #pro lucien vanserra #anti u know what

239 notes · View notes

not-poignant · 1 year

Note

It felt like everything kind of hit Gary in a new way in the last chapter at the end, when he hugged Efnisien instead of speaking? Am I reading too much into it? I LIVE for when he gets an idea of how bad things were

Hi anon,

You are spot on, re: everything hitting Gary kind of all over again?

I think Gary has this way of processing things where he can know something on a cognitive level, but not really understand what that means on an emotional level. Like, he figured out quite quickly that Efnisien was imprisoned and under directives, but then he sort of doesn't actually stop and think how that might still be impacting Efnisien, or the different ways it could impact him. (And frankly, even if you have a great imagination, people often can't conceptualise situations like that and the deprivation of liberty and power that the tormented undergo).

So hearing Efnisien saying 'I can say that it's bad' sort of freshly blew Gary's head open, with the realisation that Efnisien's never been allowed to do that before. And he's going to have a few knock on realisations from that (I think we see one of them in the next chapter).

He definitely had some strong emotions there, and I think after this shared sort of moment between them, he's going to be more protective and possessive of Efnisien overall. He's seen Efnisien now in a great deal of pain and distress, and been the one who had some (limited) power to comfort him, and so...in the very next chapter we see him start to bristle at Temsen for taking up his space.

We're flipping between them for a little bit now, because Gary's also very triggered at the moment re: James which is making him more emotional and less detached than usual. Efnisien being helpless and in pain very much reminds him of the terminal stages of James' cancer, and Gary will be thinking about that more than he'll be thinking about Efnisien, sometimes, because one thing is just knocking straight into the other at the moment!

#asks and answers #underline the black #fae tales au #dr gary konowalous #efnisien ap wledig #i really think like...#gary just wanted to offer pure comfort there #at the end of that chapter #it wasn't strategic #it might not have even been the best thing to help efnisien #(though it did help)#(because it's always good for someone to realise their story affects someone and matters)#but like...gary was very much just instinctively reacting vs.#the sections before in the chapter where he'd been following temsen's advice #or what he thought was 'best'#administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

16 notes · View notes

lady-riel · 1 year

Text

"Gwyn the Baby Whisperer" - Gwynriel one-shot

This scene has been sitting around in my google docs for a long time and I decided fuck it I'll post it.

Summary: Only Gwyn knows how to make Nyx stop crying.

Also some Elain/Lucien interaction. And Lucien is Gwyn's father. Yep.

Read on AO3

Gwyn the Baby Whisperer

Nyx’s wails could clearly be heard on the floor above where the court, plus Lucien, was gathered in the living room before their weekly dinner, which had started to become a tradition these days.

“Sorry for the noise,” Rhys muttered wearily, rubbing his eyes. “Elain’s with Nyx now; he just won’t settle down.”

“Is she…torturing him?” Gwyn asked, glancing up at the ceiling.

Rhys and Cassian both snorted, while Feyre shook her head exhaustedly. “He’s just been fussy the last couple days for no apparent reason. Rhys and I were up all night with him.”

“Why doesn’t she bring him down?” said Gwyn.

“Yes,” Mor interjected eagerly, “Bring him down. I want to hold him.”

Rhys shrugged. “Well, if you don’t mind the screaming…” His eyes turned glassy for a moment while he spoke to Elain in his mind. He nodded. “She’s coming.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as he spoke, Nyx’s wails growing louder. A moment later Elain entered the room with the bawling baby in her arms. Elain glanced around, studiously avoiding Lucien’s gaze.

Mor bounded up from her spot in the chair by the fire and took Nyx from Elain, who sat down as far from Lucien as she could get. As Mor rocked Nyx, she made cooing noises into his red face. He only cried harder, his little wings fluttering uncontrollably.

“You’ve got a real touch there,” joked Cassian. Mor made a face at him, shifting the baby to rock him on the other side.

“C’mon Nyxie,” she said into his screwed up face with a syrupy, sing-songy voice, “Be good for your Auntie Mor.”

Gwyn pinched the bridge of her nose like she had a headache coming on, and Azriel swept the curtain of her hair to the side and stroked his hand down the back of her neck soothingly. He glanced up to find Elain watching him. A dark look on her face.

On his other side, barely audible under Nyx’s wailing, Azriel could hear Nesta mutter under her breath to Cassian, “I don’t know that I’m ready to have children yet.”

Cassian smirked back at her. “Maybe ours won’t scream.” Nesta gave him a dubious look.

Abruptly, Gwyn stood, pulling out from under Azriel’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I can’t take it any longer.” She moved swiftly toward Mor. “Give me the baby.”

Mor opened her mouth to protest, but Gwyn swooped in without waiting for an answer and took Nyx from her arms.

She cradled the baby against her chest expertly, one arm around his bottom and the other hand rapidly tapping against his back, just below the wings. “Shh,” she murmured to Nyx, bouncing him in her arms.

Almost immediately, his screaming ceased, although low whimpers still slipped from his spit-shiny lips. He looked up at Gwyn with wide eyes, fisting a handful of her bright copper hair.

Gwyn gave Mor a fleeting look, ever so slightly frosted, matching the blonde’s own face, before turning away. As Mor slunk back to her seat, Gwyn made gentle soothing noises into Nyx’s forehead as she continued to bounce him.

In the sudden ringing silence, Feyre burst into exhausted tears.

Gwyn whirled around at the sound. She snapped her fingers at Feyre to get her attention. “No crying,” ordered Gwyn. “Pull yourself together.”

Feyre stopped out of pure shock. Rhys opened his mouth, looking back and forth between the two of them as silent tears still dripped down Feyre’s face.

“I mean it,” Gwyn said firmly, “You have to keep it together. Babies take their cues from their parents. If you cry, he cries. If you’re unhappy, he’s unhappy. Do you understand?”

Feyre wiped the tears from her face, nodding jerkily.

More whimpering came from Nyx. “I know, I know, it hurts,” Gwyn murmured to him in a sympathetic voice, “Let’s see what’s going on in there.”

Still bouncing him rhythmically, she moved towards the lamp on the side table, turning so the light shined into Nyx’s open, dribbling mouth. She angled her head to look inside, one hand on his chubby chin.

Turning away from the light, Gwyn took a step towards Azriel and reached out her free hand towards him. “Whiskey,” she said. His brows went up, but he held out his glass toward her. She dipped her pointer finger into the amber liquid, tapping off the excess against the side of the glass, and then stuck her finger into Nyx’s mouth, moving it in circles to massage the whiskey into his gums.

“Are you…planning on getting him drunk?” Rhys asked uncertainly. Cassian sniggered.

Gwyn’s lips tightened with mirth. “A drop isn’t going to get him drunk. But it’ll ease the pain, and probably help him sleep.”

At Rhys’ startled look she said, “He’s teething, and at least one is about to breach. He’s probably been in pain for days. Rubbing some whiskey into it and letting him chew on your finger will help.”

Even as she spoke, Nyx was happily gnawing on her finger, one little hand holding onto the side of hers. His other fist still tightly gripped a lock of copper hair. He babbled excitedly, smiling at her around the finger.

“The other thing you can do,” Gwyn continued, smiling down at Nyx at the same time, “is dip a clean damp washcloth in a few drops of whiskey and let him chew on that.”

Feyre’s tired, lined face was painted in anguish. “How did you know he was in pain?”

Looking at her, Gwyn opened her mouth and then closed it. She glanced down at Nyx still chewing happily around her finger. “I know you’re new parents,” she said carefully, “but you need to learn to distinguish the cries. The cry of pain is different from the cry of hunger, which is different from the cry of being wet, which is different from the cry of being tired. You have to listen carefully and learn to differentiate between them.”

Feyre and Rhys both looked dumbfounded.

“I didn’t—I can’t—” Feyre stuttered. “They all sound the same to me.”

“Me too,” muttered Rhys.

“It’s your first kid.” Gwyn’s voice was gentle. “You’ll learn. But you have to listen.”

They both nodded, somewhat chastened.

“How do you know so much about children?” Rhys asked.

Gwyn shrugged. “A great deal of experience. There were many children at Sangravah.”

She kept up an easy rhythm bouncing Nyx in one hand, who had cuddled closer against her body, his miniature wings drooping. Azriel felt a chord plucked deep inside of him, watching Gwyn holding a child like that. Especially a winged child.

A movement in the corner of his eye had him briefly tearing his gaze away from the sight. Elain’s face, he saw, was now twisted up with rage, her usually pretty features clenched into ugliness, and for once she was looking directly at Lucien, who was staring at Gwyn with a soft look, the corners of his mouth turned up. For all Elain’s protesting that she had no interest in her mate, Azriel thought, Lucien’s attention on another female clearly angered her. Even if that female was his daughter. For the thousandth time, Azriel thanked the Mother that Rhys had stopped him from kissing Elain that Solstice night. From starting something he knew now that he’d deeply regret.

He looked back at his own mate, his heart swelling at the sight.

Gwyn pulled her finger out of Nyx’s mouth, who had fallen fast asleep against her chest. “He’s out. Do you want to hold him?” she said to Feyre, who nodded and held out her hands eagerly. Gwyn gently set the sleeping baby into his mother’s arms before sitting back down on the couch beside Azriel and curling beneath his arm, her long legs folded under her.

“Do you…”—Rhys glanced at Azriel before looking back at Gwyn—“...want children of your own?”

Gwyn’s copper brows raised. She pointed upwards and said, “You mean, in addition to the thousand we already have?” Humor coated her voice. Azriel snorted as the shadows swooped down to swirl around her excitedly. Thrilled with the designation she’d just given them. Gwyn tickled a few of them before waving them back to Az’s wings.

“Do you?” asked Lucien, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.

“Want children? Eventually, I suppose. I need a good long break before that.”

“I love children,” Elain said suddenly. “I would have them as soon as I could.”

Lucien’s gaze shot to his mate, but her eyes remained on Gwyn, shifting briefly to Azriel then back.

“And how many have you raised?” Gwyn asked dryly, not missing the way Elain’s eyes slid to the shadowsinger.

The look on Elain’s face faltered. “N-none,” she conceded.

Gwyn gave her a small smile. “I love children too, but it looks a whole lot different on the other side of fifty.”

“You’ve raised fifty kids?” Nesta exclaimed astonishedly, sitting up straighter.

Gwyn’s eyes flickered across the ceiling for a moment, like she was counting, before she looked back at Nesta. “At least. It might have been more.” Her mouth tightened. “A half-century of war made a lot of orphans. Many of them were sent to Sangravah.”

Nesta pouted at Gwyn. “I wanted us to have kids together.”

“Then you’re going to be waiting a while,” Gwyn replied with a grin.

“What’s a while?”

Gwyn sighed. “I want at least a year—”

“I can do that,” Nesta said immediately.

“—for every kid I’ve raised,” Gwyn finished.

Nesta groaned and slouched back on the cushions.

Cassian’s eyes were wide as he gaped at Nesta. “You’re going to make me wait fifty years?!”

Nesta lifted her palms upwards before letting them drop back down to her lap. “Gwyn’s in charge,” she said matter-of-factly.

Leaning over Azriel, Cassian rounded on Gwyn. “You’re going to make me wait fifty years?!”

Gwyn rolled her eyes. “I’ve been raising children since I was seven and need a break. You can start any time you want.”

Cassian grumbled, “Nesta just said you’re in charge. You think I’m going to be able to argue with that?”

Gwyn smiled sweetly. “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

Cassian let out a huff of air, scrubbing his hands over his face and flopping back onto the couch. Azriel smirked at him. Cassian muttered, “Oh shut up.”

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #cassian #nesta #nessian #rhysand #feyre #nyx #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #mor

215 notes · View notes

estellaluna · 3 months

Text

when words fail, music speaks

Gwynriel college au

Warnings: None just pure fluff

Summary: Gwyn asks Azriel for a big favor.

words: 1.7k

"A hundred bucks. Take it or leave it."

Azriel smirked as he shook his head, making Gwyn roll her eyes in frustration. It has been 45 minutes since Gwyn started persuading Azriel to sing with her at an open mic event at the cafe near their campus on Saturday.

“Gwyn, love, look. If you’re going to have me sing in front of many people, probably even in front of some people we might know from campus. I might need a lot more than a hundred bucks,” Azriel said, propping his chin on his hand as he looked directly at Gwyn’s teal eyes.

“Fine! Name your price,” she replied.

Azriel stared a little bit longer, a few seconds to minutes until he finally opened his mouth again.

“I’ll think about it,” he said with a low chuckle, earning him a frustrated groan from Gwyn and a loud come oooon. He just smiled before turning his attention back to his computer.

Azriel and Gwyn have been friends since freshman year in college. They used to be only acquaintances from high school but when Cassian and Nesta started dating in their first year in college, the two became closer and soon became best friends. Gwyneth Berdara’s name is sort of a big deal around the university. She’s always known for her looks and her angelic voice. She is always viewed as the sweet girl, which is true most of the time, but not entirely from Azriel’s point of view.

Being friends with Gwyn made Azriel learn a lot about Gwyn’s personality. First, she is unbelievably competitive in any way. She also talks a lot about her favorite bands, her favorite books, her secrets, and hobbies that people are not aware of. She is really supportive of her friends. She sleep-talks quite often—Azriel has an album in his phone full of videos of her sleep-talking. All of these little things Azriel knew about Gwyn made him a little proud in some way.

“But are you really going to do it?” Gwyn asked once again, her head popping up beside his laptop screen.

“Yes, Gwyn.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Don’t let me down,” she said.

“I won’t let you down. You know I’m always true to my words,” he replied, looking at her. There is a huge smile etched on her face as he utters his words. He loves that smile—probably more than anyone else.

“You’re the best. I love you. See you later!” she said before leaving the study room they were in. He was left dumbfounded inside the study room recalling what she just said. Saying I love you to each other was normal to them, except recently when Azriel found himself yearning for her and her I love yous.

~~~

It was Saturday, and just like what Gwyn and Azriel talked about, they met inside the cafe for the open mic event. There were quite a lot of people, some were familiar faces, some were probably just there for the coffee, and some were probably there just to watch. The staff of the coffeehouse were preparing the little podium with two microphones and two guitars.

“I already signed up our names,” Gwyn said.

“You good?” Azriel asked as he pulled her cold hands towards him. Gwyn nodded.

Last night, they decided to change the songs they were going to perform. They both decided to sing the song Gwyn made not long ago. It was a silly song about friends falling in love with each other.

“You remember the chords?” Gwyn asked.

“G, D/F, E minor 7, C add 9.”

“Let’s do this?”

“Let’s fucking do this,” Azriel answered and Gwyn smiled.

They both made their way up to the little podium with neon lights all over. There was a sign behind the podium that said open mic night. Some of the people, mostly students from the campus recognized Azriel, and some were shocked that he was at an open mic event. He was also quite popular because of his friends. Although he was infamous for being cold and his unwelcoming aura. Unlike his other friends, Rhys and Cassian, Azriel is the only one who has a sort of unpleasant reputation.

“Hello everyone!” Gwyn said with her usual bubbly tone that earned her some greetings from the people as well. Azriel passed her the other guitar and placed the capo on the 3rd fret.

“My name is Gwyn…” Gwyn said, looking at Azriel beside her.

“And I am Azriel, her best friend.” The crowd cheered, some were whistling.

“Uhm…I actually just dragged him here tonight to sing the song I wrote recently,” Gwyn said with a chuckle.

“What’s the title of your song?” someone from the crowd asked.

“It’s called I don’t want to fall in love unless it’s you. It’s a song about…” Gwyn took a deep breath as if preparing herself to say something she had been meaning to say for a long time. “It’s about a girl confessing her love for someone special to her,” she added.

The crowd cheered once again. She heard someone ask if the song was about him but she just smiled and started strumming. She closed her eyes and the memories from the time she was writing the lyrics burst into her. She pictured the beautiful face of the man sitting beside her right now, playing the guitar.

Truth is, she asked him to come with her tonight to formally let him know what she has felt for him for quite some time now. She tried to tell him, but words always intimidated her, and she realized that the only way she could say her feelings out loud was through music. She imagined the time they became friends, the times he comforted her every time she got upset with academics or things about her life, the times he stayed up late to study for her exams, their shenanigans, the many times she told him I love you, hoping he would get the deeper meaning of it.

Her heart beat a little bit louder as they approached the bridge of the song. There is quite a long guitar solo at the bridge of the song, and she thought it was the perfect time for her to tell him, and everyone in the coffeehouse tonight, to say what she wanted to say.

“I hope everybody’s enjoying the song right now. Before I end this song, I just want to tell you something very important.” She switched her gaze to Azriel who was now very much confused but he continued to strum the guitar. She flashed him a smile before taking a breath in.

“Do you know a quote that goes, ‘When words fail, music speaks?’ To the person who asked earlier if this song is about this beautiful man beside me right now, my answer is yes. I am the type of person who always falters with her words, and music is my escape.”

Gwyn kept her attention to the crowd. “So, Azriel I know you are looking at me right now like I am the biggest idiot for confessing this way, but bear with me a moment until I finish this song…” she said and continued strumming and singing her heart out.

There was a pause after she finished the song then it was the people in the coffeehouse cheering and urging Azriel to say something. She looked at him, her face almost red, her heart racing unusually fast, her hands shaking as she put down the guitar.

Please say something, she prayed.

Azriel cleared his throat. “The reason why I agreed to this is because she bribed me with her ‘name your price’ tactic. But because I always liked teasing her, I told her that I’d think about it.”

He shifted his eye to her. “I guess I’m ready to tell you my price,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Gwyneth Berdara, go on a date with me. And what I mean by that is not only one date. Not two, not three. Go on a date with me until we’re both sick of it. Are you down?”

The crowd grew louder. “Fuck yeah! My lovesick brother finally had his balls!” Cassian, who suddenly appeared from the crowd shouted. Gwyn laughed and covered her face.

Azriel gently removed her hands from her face and whispered something. “Please say something, Gwyn.”

Gwyn just nodded, unable to formulate her words. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as possible, not wanting to let him go anytime soon, but they were still on the podium. She felt him kiss the top of her head like he always does but this time it felt different. It felt better.

~~~

After their performance, they both decided to get out of the coffeehouse to stroll around the college town. Azriel couldn’t keep his hands off her which she didn’t protest to. Gwyn likes his touches. His fingers intertwined with his fingers as they stopped below a sidewalk lamp.

“You said earlier something like until we are sick of it,” Gwyn said looking up to meet Azriel’s gaze.

“Hmm?” he murmured, tucking some strands of Gwyn’s hair behind her ear.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get sick of going out with you.”

“So do I, Gwyn,” Azriel said, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose.

His other hand went to hold her nape. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, barely a whisper.

She only nodded before he planted his lips onto hers. It was quick and soft. Her heart began palpitating. He never fails to make her heart burst into happiness and she loved every bit of it. His hand went up to her nape only to capture her lips again, this time deeper and with much more fervor.

Gwyn pulled away, giving Azriel a smile.

“You’re a great kisser, Azriel. I wonder how many girls you kissed to be that good.”

“Are you kidding me? Are you really curious about that now?”

“Gotta thank them because damn I get to kiss all of that every time? For me alone?” she laughed.

Azriel chuckled. “Sure you do. All of this is yours alone, love,” he said gesturing his body from head to toe.

Gwyn laughed again before diving in for another kiss.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #gwyn x azriel #azriel #gwynriel headcanon #pro gwynriel #gwynriel au #unbeta'd

24 notes · View notes

bookofmirth · 3 months

Note

A mating bond for Az, something that is big and important, would not happen off-pay especially in a book that isn’t ACOTAR. SJM develops relationship on paper. Some people have no comprehension.

On a upbeat note, I heard that Ember and Randall were cute!

Nope! My headcanon is that Az has felt the bond, he just doesn't recognize it for what it is because he's got his head up his ass. We saw Rhys recognize his and Feyre's in acotar, we saw Feyre learn about hers in acomaf, Lucien and Elain learned about theirs in acomaf, and Nesta and Cassian talk about when they realized they had one in acosf. Why in hell would we think that Azriel has a mating bond and he learns about it off page, and we are told about it in another series that a lot of acotar fans have zero interest in reading??

If you take away the Nesta/Az/Bryce chapter, take away Hofas, take away the Az chapter from acosf, people still have very good reason to think Az and Gwyn will be together; at the very least, they have interacted in ways that he doesn't interact with other women that he has an unhealthy attachment to. For me, just that tiny bit is a win for gwynriel.

I try to understand other people's perspectives and how they come to the conclusions they do, and the only thing I could think was that, if they are okay with their ship happening off page then they must assume that other people are also okay with their ship happening off page? They are just working with a completely different set of standards than gwynriels I guess.

Some of these theories are trying to go so deep into the page that they just blast straight through the paper and are seeing things that cannot be contained by mere cardboard, glue, and tree pulp, I guess. When actually, it's not that deep? Of course Azriel would say no.

It's far, far more damning to e*riel that he said he has no mating bond and no partner considering some people were so convinced that he and Elain were living together and pregnant at this point in the story. RIP that theory. Meanwhile, gwynriels are just sitting here twiddling their thumbs, waiting for their story to start on the actual page of the book.

Ember and Randall are cute! And I know that we have a lot of character who are 200, 400, 500 years old, but what I actually want are people who are in their 30s, 40s, and 50s being whole ass adults and not magically saving the world through pure will and gumption.

#gwynriel #antielriel #ask #anon #hofas spoilers #spoilers #house of flame and shadow #house of flame and shadow spoilers #I was never really a gwynriel shipper because az bleh #I just thought it was going to happen #however hofas az has me looking

19 notes · View notes

goddess-in-heaven-and-hell · 11 months

Text

Hand in Hand, Heart to Heart Part I - Gwynriel One-Shot

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, fingering, mirror sex

Let me know what you think! Hope you like it <3

Gwyn always thought of herself as having a good amount of discipline. Being a priestess to the Mother made her patient, focused and enduring in her studies and prayers. Training with two Illyrian warriors brought her that same challenge of determination, only for her body instead of her mind. Then of course there was that tiny bit of ambition engrained in her personality that drove Azriel insane. And yet, sitting at the dinner table in the beautiful mansion of the High Lord and Lady, she felt her reserve crumble.

It had been a great evening so far. Gwyn was now a regular invite at the dinner parties Rhys and Feyre hosted for their family. Especially Feyre had warmed up to her in a split second, and even though her deepest friendship was to another Archeron, she appreciated the calm and positive vibe the High Lady exuded.

Said calm wasn’t about to help her now, though, as she sat right across from her Shadowsinger and just physically couldn’t drag her eyes away from him. More specifically, his hands. All the while the chatter and clatter of their cutlery droned on in the background, faces of family and friends illuminated by soft candle light.

Gwyn had cursed the unsuspecting male ten times already in her mind. It was simply unfair. How he could sit there, not a care in the world, casually eating a potato, and making it look so damn hot.

He was dressed to impressed that night, the embroidered black tunic taunt against the muscle of his chest, some of his tattoos peeking out from the neckline. With his slightly disheveled black hair and that cursed smell of his, it was already enough to make Gwyn daydream.

Up until he had the audacity to roll up his sleeves. Forearms really weren’t on the list of body parts Gwyn found to be enticing – but looking at Azriel now, she had to update said list quickly. Maybe it was just him, and his specific ropes of muscles that moved and danced as he cut through the meat on his plate. The inked muscle made way to scars that spread out evenly over his hands, and it filled Gwyn with joy knowing that she was the one holding these hands and being held by them in return.

She was so completely absorbed in the living daydream that was Azriel, that she jumped just slightly at the feeling of something cold slithering around her ankle.

Her eyes immediately found Azriel’s, who was already watching, a corner of his lips lifted, nostrils flaring just a second. Of course he noticed. Gwyn couldn’t decide if she felt embarrassed or glad. Because if he knew, he might as well do something to end her misery. And he could do something to hide the arousal which was undoubtedly emanating in waves from her at this point.

Gwyn did everything in her power to remain calm, normal, unphased. She continued chatting to Nesta and Feyre, eating her food, drinking her water, doing her best to ignore the Shadowsinger across from her. His Shadows, however, were harder to ignore. Whisps of black continued to curl around her ankle slowly, sometimes reaching up just a tiny bit under her long skirt to flow down her calve. With every reach they became braver, even daring to brush the inside of her knee once. Gwyn was a puddle, mirroring another part of her that was equally drenched, and she was desperate for some privacy by the time dessert was served.

The minutes felt like hours, eyes always straying and coming back to the center of Gwyn’s attention like they were magnets and the male was made of pure iron, until finally, Azriel stood. The priestess held herself back just enough to not immediately jump to her feet, too, as Az came up with some kind of nonsense of where they had to go.

Kisses and hugs were exchanged, promises for the next time made, and then Gwyn stepped out of the house into the fresh autumn night.

Azriel came up behind her, his arms circling around her waist as his lips closed the distance to her ear. His voice basically lowered to a growl as he spoke. “You drive me insane. What possessed you to be such a Gods-damned tease in the middle of dinner?”

“Me?”, Gwyn half turned in his embrace, eyebrows drawn together, “what did I do?”

His amber eyes were glowing. She hadn’t even noticed that before. He seemed like he was serios, too, and just as hot and bothered as she was herself. Odd, she thought. She didn’t even do anything beside staring at him like a devoted priestess would stare at a God.

“Do you even have to ask? Wearing that dress, for a start. Smiling. Looking at me with your dreamy eyes. You’re lucky I didn’t drag you up the staircase to christen one of the thousand guest bedrooms Rhys has.”

Gwyn smiled right in his face now. The dress she was wearing wasn’t scandalous, or even slightly flirty by any means. Yet he actually looked like it personally offended him and his willpower.

“Well, if you wouldn’t have pulled that little Shadow trick halfway through dinner, that staring might have lessened.” Might. Unlikely, but what did he know.

Azriel lowered his head, his nose nearly touching hers. “I had to do something about that delectable scent of yours. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The priestess let out a soft snort. “As if you did that for practicality. You enjoyed every second of my squirming.”

She must have said something wrong, because her Shadowsinger’s features twisted into disbelief, mouth gaping slightly. Then one of his beautiful, strong hands came up to grab her jaw, forcing her to stare right into his eyes. “Do you think I enjoy that kind of torture? That my Shadows get to touch you, instead of me? That they get to be so close to you, while I sat a tables’ distance apart? I’m not a masochist, priestess. I wanted to be alone with you just as much as you wanted it.”

Gwyn’s breathing quickened by the time he was done speaking, so close to him that she felt every dip and curve of his body, his warm breath on her cheeks.

“We are alone now.”, she managed to get out, hopefully sounding at least a little composed.

The smile spreading on Azriel’s face was positively feral. “Seems like we are.”

The time they needed to reach their room in the House of Wind must have been a record. Velaris grew blurry under Azriel’s wings, and he didn’t even let her go out of his arms when they landed on the closest balcony to their corridor. Completely enveloped in the scent of him he continued carrying her until they reached their door, until he sat her down on their bed, lips already on hers.

Gwyn was perched at the edge of the bed, legs spread to accommodate the bulky figure of Azriel between them. As much as she previously dreamt of his hands, the original was way better. His fingers flew over her body, wanting to be in all places at once. He was assertive in the way he held her, squeezed her, not giving her any room to think twice about what was happening. It was so different from the way he touched her before, like she might crack with too much pressure.

Because him treating her like a porcelain doll made her feel like one. Now, she felt like his equal, deserving of his power.

Azriel groaned when she pressed herself harder against him, her own hands working their way over his shoulders and down his back, ever mindful of his wings. His scent of arousal hit her like a brick wall in their frenzied kissing. He must have dampened it while they were with their family and on the way home. The infamous Shadowsinger, nearly blind with desire for a modest little priestess. Gwyn almost messed up the rhythm of their kiss as a grind spread across her face.

“What’s so funny, priestess?”, Azriel spoke against her lips, lids heavy.

Gwyn could only shake her head, too focused on the task of littering kisses up and down Azriel’s neck.

Until a sharp tug on her hair made her arch backwards, her lips losing the warmth they sought.

“I believe I asked you a question.”, Azriel said in an almost bored voice, his fingers firmly tangled in Gwyn’s chestnut locks, pulling just enough to make her gasp in surprise.

“I just”, the priestess started, “I just thought about you desiring me so much.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper, yet it sounded to her like she screamed out her truth for anyone to hear.

“And that is funny?”, Az pressed languid kisses from Gwyn’s collarbone up her throat, his breath tickling her skin, “Weird. I don’t feel inclined to laugh much about that. But then again, you apparently aren’t the one driven to insanity with love.”

But she was. And he must have known it too, because his own grin fought its way to his lips.

He released her hair just slightly to let her close the distance to him again, before resuming his firm hold. The kiss they shared was anything but hard, though. It was the lightest of brushes, more like a tickling than anything else. And it reminded Gwyn that, no matter how tough Azriel seemed to be, she was his ultimate soft spot. And she was safe.

Azriel stood after a few lingering moments, abandoning his spot by the bed to lean against his wardrobe. Gwyn felt a surge of pride as she took him in. Completely disheveled, wings slightly flared, Shadows darker than ever and the scent of desire more than potent. The look on his face though was suspiciously calm. Gwyn imagined she herself looked anything but. In the back of her head, she wondered what might happen tonight, if she was ready, if she would be able to please him.

Like he read her mind, Azriel interrupted her spiraling thoughts in just the right time. “Undress for me.”

He didn’t make it sound like a command, more like a plea, yet he looked absolutely confident.

Gwyn really couldn’t do anything but rise from the bed herself, her mind going blissfully blank. She took a few small steps towards him, only to calm her nerves a little. And then, she began unbuttoning her dress.

The last person she had willingly shown herself naked to was her sister, Catrin. It wasn’t hard, not only because they had very similar bodies anyways, but because she loved and trusted her twin completely. As button after button sprung open now, she was consumed by that same feeling of utter peace.

When the neckline of the dress was opened enough, her sleeves already sliding down her arms, she just let go.

The dress pooled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but a pair of simple underpants. She couldn’t help the subtle flush that crept up her chest, her heart picking up pace just slightly, but her Shadowsinger’s reaction was all worth it.

It was like he got struck by lightning. Azriel sucked in an audible breath, his eyes unblinking as if she were a spirit and gone when he closed his eyes for just a second too long. His hands flexed by his sides, probably wanting to reach for her but giving her more time to adjust to this.

“You are breathtaking, Gwyn.”, he simply said, his body slowly starting to move towards her. His steps were measured and careful, eyes never straying from her form. When he stood right in front of her, he interlaced his fingers with hers before continuing to walk all the way behind her back.

Gwyn remained rooted to the spot, unmoving except for the wave of goosebumps that travelled all across her body when he brought his lips to her shoulder. A soft kiss here, another there, then, suddenly, Gwyn felt something cold on her waist.

Her muscles reacted before she noticed that it just had been Azriel’s bare hand. They contracted for a split second. But he drew away from her nonetheless, trying to figure out it she was genuinely scared.

“Gwyn?”, was all he asked.

She released a shaky breath. “I’m good, it felt cold, that’s all.”

A heartbeat of silence, then another. Gwyn started to wonder if she said something wrong, or if he didn’t believe her.

“I could wear gloves if you’d prefer that. I don’t mind.”

His voice was business-like as it travelled over Gwyn’s bare shoulders to her ear. But that nonchalance of his was practiced, forced, making it appear as if hiding away his insecurity wasn’t a big deal. Gwyn couldn’t believe her ears.

She half turned in his direction, lips parted in – offence? She did feel a little offended that he thought he had to hide away his scars from her. “Azriel, I jumped because I didn’t expect a touch there, and I didn’t expect the coldness.”

It just occurred to her, in this moment, that she might not be the only nervous fae in the room. Azriel just always hid it so well, had that mask of indifference and confidence protecting him from showing his vulnerable side. And before that night, he never really touched her bare skin, except her hands and arms.

Gwyn turned to him fully now, so close her chest brushed against the fabric of his tunic. She interlaced her hands with both of his, bringing them up towards her chin. And slowly, never breaking eye contract, she placed one lingering kiss on his knuckles, and another on his other hand.

“I never want to hear about you offering to wear gloves when you touch me ever again”, she whispered.

Azriel’s face didn’t betray any emotion as he gave a curt nod. He probably wished to pretend this conversation never happened, but it did. And Gwyn was determined to make him feel comfortable with her.

“You know what exactly it was that caught my attention when you noticed me staring during dinner? What got me dreaming about this?”, she asked him, letting go of his hands and slowly caressing his arms all the way up to his shoulders. “I was watching your hands, their strength, the way they moved so elegantly and self-assured. How the muscles on your forearm flexed when you moved. And I wished…”, Gwyn had so swallow, her throat dry from excitement, “I wished that those hands touched me. That they explored my body all night, and then held me as I fell asleep.”

She smiled at him as his expression softened almost imperceptibly. Gwyn was a master now at reading Azriel’s micro expressions, and she knew he started to believe her. “And I will always know it’s you who touches me. Not anyone. You.”

It was Azriel’s turn to swallow now. But he didn’t respond to her. Well, not using words anyways.

With those incredible Illyrian reflexes, he moved on her. Gwyn blinked and then found herself perched on the wardrobe again, Azriel resuming his place wedged between her spread legs. His hands cradled her head as he kissed her with abandon. Gwyn’s senses went into overdrive, every brush of his tongue on her lips sent sparks of electricity straight into her core. She tried to reciprocate, to give him her everything in return, but it was like something had snapped inside the male. He devoured her mouth, biting and licking at her thoroughly. He drew noises out of her that Gwyn didn’t know she could make, but they only seemed to spur him on more.

“Remind me, where did you wish my hands would be, my love?”, Az broke the kiss, voice all raspy and hot and so incredibly all-consuming that Gwyn only had one answer for him.

“Everywhere.”, she breathed, her own hands clawed in the fabric of his tunic.

Azriel dropped his right hand to rest on the swell of her hip, while his other dragged its way from Gwyn’s jaw down her throat and to her breast. His thumb circled her nipple at an agonizing pace before he palmed her with his whole hand. Gwyn had to look down her body, still in a bit of disbelief that he was touching her so freely, and that it felt Cauldron-damned amazing.

“Like what you see?”, Azriel whispered, one corner of his lips lifted in that cocky smile. Then, his hands suddenly dropped, and Gwyn was being moved again through the room until she stood in front of their large full-body mirror.

“Take off your pants and then sit, my love.”, Azriel ordered, already letting himself fall to the ground behind her. She quickly shed the last layer of clothing and found her space between his spread legs, in full view of her naked body, and the dark form of Azriel behind her.

It was a pretty picture to look at, as much as Gwyn not wanted to acknowledge the lewdness of it all. The pearly white of her skin contrasted beautifully with Azriel’s tanner one, and his black clothing and Shadows. Her hair covered parts of her modest chest, but the Shadowsinger was quick to brush the offending pieces behind her back. “So fucking pretty.” He mumbled, more to himself than to her it seemed, as his eyes raked her form in the mirror, centering in on the flesh between her legs.

“Now you’ll be able to see better.”, Azriel said with a hint of mischief.

Gwyn was worried that she’d see a bit too much, but was willing to submit to him nonetheless. She never felt so alive, so sensual in her own body than now, illuminated by the firelight and in the embrace of her love.

Azriel began caressing her, his hands brushing softly over every inch of her body. They drew lines up and down her side, sometimes nearing her apex but then withdrawing to circle around her breasts again. Squeezing them. Mapping out the skin on her inner thighs. Gwyn was panting, and just like at the dinner table, she wasn’t able to drag her eyes away from Azriel’s hands. The heat between her legs throbbed almost painfully now, but she didn’t want to close her legs hard enough to give herself some relief, since she would have trapped Azriel’s hand with the movement. His own arousal felt painfully hard against her lower back.

“Is that how you imagined it would be?”, Azriel asked from behind her. He knew fully well that he was teasing her, he wanted her to spell it out for him.

“Please, Az.”, she hoped her desperate whimper would be enough to break his resolve. But she was wrong.

“Please what, priestess?”, he kissed the spot where her neck met her shoulder, then bit down on it. “You can ask anything from me. But you need to do it clearly.”

Cauldron damn that male.

She couldn’t say it. That was a line that would need to be crossed another time, another night. Instead, she reached for one of his hands and dragged it down her body, until it cupped her sex completely. Both let out a moan at the feeling, Gwyn from relief, Azriel probably because he could already feel her wetness.

“I need you to spread your legs for me, love. Otherwise we can’t see what I’m doing to you.”

Gwyn complied eagerly, slowly letting her knees fall apart, leaving her completely open and vulnerable to Azriel. Their eyes locked in the mirror.

“You honor me.”, he simply said. Then he removed his palm from her pussy, leaving her bare to their view.

Gwyn never really looked at herself. When she tried to orgasm by her own hand, she only did it in the cover of night, under the blanket and as quickly as possible. Nothing would be hidden now, as she observed the pinkiness of her flesh, the sheen of wetness it revealed.

One of Azriel’s hands travelled up now, enclosing over Gwyn’s throat. He didn’t squeeze, but instead held her in place so that she didn’t miss a second of what was shown in the mirror. And then he touched her.

Gwyn drew in a gasp of air at the first contact. It was different than touching herself, more exciting, unexpected. Azriel groaned behind her at the feel of her warmth. “Is that all for me, my love?”

The priestess nodded. She was truly his at this moment.

His scarred fingers moved up and down her slit for a bit, collecting her juices and spreading them evenly, before he honed in on her clit. His pointer and middle finger drew tight circles around her bud, and Gwyn could have wept for the feeling of utter bliss it brought her. Her head fell back to his chest, eyes still trained dutifully on the spot between her legs.

After some time of circling, Azriel dipped his fingers lower to bring some more wetness straight from the source. He never actually let himself sink into her, but only the little contact with her hole made Gwyn greedy. “Az, I want you inside me, please.”

Azriel grinned, “Look at you, asking so nicely.”

One finger sank into her, up to one knuckle first, all the way in the second time. Gwyn moaned at the intrusion. His finger was longer than hers, thicker, and it had more texture due to the scars. She was so sensitive that she felt every single one of them as he slowly fucked her.

“More?”, he asked after a while with a kiss to her cheek. Gwyn already grew restless between his legs, squirming and moving to just get more.

She watched another finger stretching her, her juices nearly overflowing. Azriel’s hand that previously enclosed her throat now also joined in, resuming the idle circling of her clit from before. The combination of the two made Gwyn feel like she was in heaven. She never wanted this to stop. Maybe she even told Azriel that because he choked out a hoarse laugh at her moans and whimpers.

“Do you think you can come from this?”, he asked.

Gwyn forced her head to move up and down, beyond forming actual words. Azriel’s presence and scent behind her, his hands on her and Gwyn being able to watch it all was too much for the priestess. Her orgasm started building in her.

Azriel kept up the same pace on her clit, but started to finger her fast than before, curling his fingers up when he was deepest inside her. After the haziest and best minutes of her life, Gwyn felt the muscles of her legs flex, the pressure behind her spine dissolving.

She might have called out Azriel’s name when she came. Or it was just nonsense that came out of her mouth.

The Shadowsinger continued his movements to keep her on her high longer, until it became too much and she had to yank away his hands herself. She completely fell into him, every inch of her body relaxed and… happy.

Azriel picked her up and placed her on the bed lovingly. He quickly wiped her clean with a cloth before joining her. The hands that brought her so much pleasure just a minute before now held her closely and safely to his chest. He littered small kisses all over her face, her nose, eyelids and mouth.

“I’m so proud of you, you have no idea.”, he said after Gwyn’s heartrate dropped to a normal level again.

Gwyn smiled. A big, joyous, gorgeous smile. “Me, too.”

Taglist: @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship

#gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel smut #acotar #acotar smut #gwyneth berdara #Azriel

73 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 1 year

Text

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?"

“Wouldn’t the mating bond have snapped into place for them if it exists?” Rhys’s eyes shuttered. “I think that is a question Azriel has been asking himself every day since he met Mor.”

Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it

“And you were never with anyone after it?” Not the cold, beautiful shadowsinger who tried so hard not to watch her with longing on his face?

Azriel’s head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full of rage and pain as he snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch her.” Mor looked at Azriel—and there was real fear there. Fear—and something else.

"Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence"

“The issue, actually, wouldn’t be me. It’d be him. I could peel off my clothes right in front of him and he wouldn’t move an inch. He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone. Especially me.”

"He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it"

She wore a gown of pure white, little more than a slip of silk that showed off her generous curves. Indeed, a glance over her shoulder revealed Azriel staring blatantly at the back view of it, Cassian and the stranger already too deep in conversation to notice what had drawn the spymaster’s attention. For a moment, the ravenous hunger on Azriel’s face made my stomach tighten.

I had to look away to keep from laughing. Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

"I'll defeat him with little effort"

Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he's found Mor all those years ago. He'd been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris and kill them both.

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

She knew Azriel would say no, would want her safe. As he had always done. Az would have been pissed, and withdrawn even further into himself.

Correct me if I'm wrong but according to some, Azriel is completely over Mor after 500 years simply because a new female he's only known for two(ish) years has entered his life. Despite multiple books of buildup telling us of his love for Mor, despite Elain telling us as recently as ACOFAS that she didn't want a male and instead wanted a human man, despite centuries of love and longing and lust, he's easily moved on.

Moved on with a female that we've not seen he's had any feelings for that are uniquely special to Elain when you consider he's had the exact same thoughts about Mor.

So please do explain why Elain can't also be replaced just as quickly if someone else happens to come along? Someone who possibly turns out to be his Mate? Someone he already shows admiration for?

Love doesn't happen instantly but all he needs is another few months with Gwyn and Elain will simply become the new Mor.

Or.... What's more likely is Elain was never someone he truly loved at all and he instead transferred his unrequited feelings for Mor onto the only available female within his circle while she herself is looking to hook up with Az as a distraction to her own problems and the things she's been trying to avoid.

Rebounds are a thing and it does no good to pretend it's not a very real possibility. To me, Az isn't really over Mor and his focus needs to be on coming to terms with his past with her before getting involved with anyone else.

#anti elr*el #anti e/riel #gwynriel #azriel acotar #gwyn acosf

57 notes · View notes

val-of-the-north · 10 days

Note

OKAY IMPORTANT UPDATE SO Crow convinced me that the more appropriate Type Of A Guy group is Allant, Gwyn, Aldia, Aldrich, Micolash and Shabriri, and it was actually Laurence who I unofficial 7th member because his portrayal and being pair item with Micolash is very speculative even if reasonable. As we in Russia say, пока запишем карандашом. I'd now ask you to write something funny and cringey for new super cool updated cast thanks to that CHICKEN, but this will just come across as me barely concealing my simping -_-" So I'll just ask for YOU to rate The Guys. You need to speak your opinions more, it is always good shit

Noooooo now I have to ramble about characters I hate that, fuck you. I hate rating people lol. But fineeeee:

Number 6 - Micolash lmaoripbozo

Ok ok, that's not actually true... I think my actual number 6 for the time being might be Shabriri. That doesn't mean I hate the guy, but he is simply a fucking dick. Like, so far he's the only one with not a droplet of cohesive motivation, and ending the suffering of everyone seems like a front for his true desire of seeing chaos consume reality. I like myself a seemingly pure evil baddie, but if I have to rate him with all the other dudes, he sorta pales in comparison. Maybe the DLC will expand on his philosophy and what he did before he had the Nomads entombed and decided to set the world ablaze with chaos. He IS very fun though, I will give him that lmao.

At number 5 I'd probably put Allant, though he might be subject to change whenever I get to play Demon's Souls. As was stated a bunch, he is a more depressed Shabriri, which makes him more genuine. His desire to end the suffering of mankind is true, unlike the previous prick, even if his methods of attaining that are fucked beyond compare. And that's the problem with him lol.

He only increased the world's suffering exponentially, because that's arguably what benefits the soul-hungry demons in the long run. He failed the one thing he wanted to do and probably doesn't even see it because he is too blinded by his own suffering and hatred of life. He is the reason his kingdom is run by corrupt officials, that his son gives up on life, and that most of his people have become food for unfeeling abominations. He is a weak leader. There's nothing wrong with being weak, but you are not supposed to drag the world down with you the way he decided to do...

Number 4 was hard to place since I am still not sure what I am rating them for... so far it seems to be the complexity of their motivations/actions and the way they went about them. I guess this spot could go to Micolash in this case. Most of his motivations (if they even are his, and not just those of the School of Mensis as a whole) are context-heavy, which isn't really good in terms of building a compelling case as to why he should be above someone like Allant... still, the amount of cut content centered around him points to him having had a much richer role than what meets the eye, which I believe boost the likelihood that his character is well-defined even in the full game.

(To be honest, even if we know very little of that version of him, I suspect I would have liked him more like that lmao.)

His pursuit of knowledge probably had a concrete goal before it spiraled into what we see in-game. Despite its horrible fuckups, the Healing Church did start out genuinely seeking ways to better humanity, but it distanced from it the more it continued. The Choir, where he and most of Mensis probably originates, already sought to abandon their human roots, and the school he was part of likely did so even more. But they wouldn't seek guidance from the Great Ones, they'd become on par with them.

And to rise above humanity they did unspeakable things... some of them didn't even make any sense. Why stitch together those horrible corpse beasts? Why switch the heads of two animals? Why cram all those human remains into one casket? Not to mention all the people that were kidnapped: half of them were strapped to chairs and the other half turned to stone and merged into the walls. Everything just to try and proceed with a deranged ritual that was only made possible by desecrating an infant and its mother.

And when you finally meet him he is just rambling to himself, all alone and surrounded only by corpse puppets, Edgar and the occasional attendant. He has been stuck between those halls for long enough that his body has been mummified, and doesn't seem to have made any significant progress. He has likely lost his mind, rendering whatever it was that he was seeking worthless. But hey, at least he was closer than anyone to finding out about Kos from outside the Hunter's Nightmare, so I guess we can give him that.

Also his cut dialogue is pretty emotional, and makes me wonder just how different he was before he lost his mind... I ultimately think I have a soft spot for him ahahah

Number 3 is Gwyn, but it was really close with Aldrich on this one, lol. I decided his goals were assuredly less complex/noble, even though his means weren't as grotesque. To be honest, I think he's a pretty maligned character, for good reasons mind you. He effectively screwed over everyone in an attempt to keep the status quo intact, and before that, he took several preventive measures that just made life miserable for people in the long run. All of this paints a rather unflattering picture of Gwyn, and I do not deny this. What I argue against is the reason why he did what he did... to me, Gwyn was genuinely afraid.

Kaathe says Gwyn "trembled at the Dark", he was surely afraid of what darkness and an age of men entailed, especially for his people and family. What he did feels less like something a power-hungry lord who seeks to keep his power intact would do and more like one desperate attempt to delay a force much greater than you. His was a sacrifice in the end, and while his legacy is and will inevitably be cinders in an empty world, what prompted him to do what he did was something understandable, and very human of him ironically enough...

As an aside, I'm actually not super convinced that Gwyn fits neatly into this group of guys either. Honestly, Dark Souls 1 might lack a character that embodies this vibe. Instead, it has several with only bits and pieces of it. I find it more fitting to group him with the likes of Marika and Laurence rather than these other dudes.

Number 2 is Aldrich as you could have probably guessed. He is an awful awful man, but his course of action is probably the most anyone had been doing before the Unkindled woke up to make DS3 happen lol. The world had reached a point of stagnation when nothing new was happening. The dark threatens the light, but then the flame is kindled again, rinse and repeat again and again and again... he was doing SOMETHING different and prompting change, even if it was in a way that could be considered disgusting, unpleasant and evil. The once beautiful Deep had been turned into a seedbed of filth because of the stagnant nature of reality and this seemingly endless cycle, and he alone saw salvation through a different kind of age. The start of a brand new, different thing.

The path was arduous, the means deranged, but he DID want something more than chaos for chaos' sake, unlike Shabriri. He wanted to change things, but not passively like Allant. He did not lose track of his goal the more he accomplished like Micolash did, and he did not wish to uphold the status quo but rather challenge it, unlike Gwyn. But I really, REALLY understand why everyone sees him and recoils in horror or thinks there's nothing more complex behind his actions than a simple hunger for power and flesh.

But you know Miyazaki, he likes to write characters who do some really awful things but still portrays them as courageous and heroic in their madness and skewed ways. I get the same vibe from Aldrich, but that doesn't mean he wasn't intentionally portrayed the way he was to inspire discomfort or hatred in most players ahahah. Both things can be true at the same time, and they are!

Lol number 1's Aldia. He's got everything Aldrich has except for his abhorrent mannerisms and vices. He is someone wholly dedicated to the pursuit of answers, and from what I can tell most of his test subjects were people who accepted his invitations to the keep, which was mostly other madmen with a similar desire to break the boundaries of reality. Of course, it wouldn't be a Soulsborne game without a good dose of war crimes, so he did do things to the giants who ended up as prisoners of war during the two conflicts his brother took part in, but he wasn't making chimeras out of them or wasting them in useless experiments at the very least. Heck, he pretty much turned one into a superior being who seems to be all chill.

All horrors he committed in his mansion were for a singular goal: breaking the curse and finding a way out of a played-out cycle, even by the time of DS2. And while the depths of this obsession show some pretty horrible results, he isn't at all the same as Aldrich, who relished in the suffering of his victims. One can find his experiments horrid, but the man himself not so much. He was simply devoted. So devoted in fact that he destroyed himself to the point he was left with nothing but an endlessly-smouldering body. And despite achieving a form that's arguably outside of the cycle, he still saw it as a failure, because it wasn't what he wanted for humanity.

I've heard him get called a fence-sitter because he promotes inaction, but to arrive at such a conclusion you have to ignore everything that led him to his current state, AND his words to the Bearer of the Curse. If anything, this dude probably did everything one could do in the hopes of changing things, I think he is allowed to feel disillusioned at the end of it all without being described as a fence-sitter. In what way is he one anyhow? Both potential ages suck. Any witless fool can just waltz in and burn themselves or let the flame die. Someone like him would literally have zero reasons to care about either outcome because all his work was meant to lead to something beyond it... but he failed and awaited someone else who would challenge the order of the world and succeed where he couldn't.

At the end of the day, I'm not saying he didn't do anything wrong lol, he still did some pretty weird shit... but I don't think it's insane to say that he is more respectable than basically everyone else on this list by virtue of actually being pretty selflessly motivated and for never losing the plot of why he was doing all those things in the first place.

I still don't know if I did good lmao, but yeah, this is what I think. If you noticed I get more verbose the deeper we go, that was intentional. It's not as if I don't have anything to say about Shabriri (you should know), it's just for the purposes of this "rating". Ultimately they are all prime characters.

#dark souls #dark souls 3 #elden ring #bloodborne #dark souls 2 #gwyn lord of cinder #micolash host of the nightmare #shabriri #aldrich devourer of gods #old king allant #aldia scholar of the first sin #I had to think a lot about it and I am still not satisfied #but I best not overthink it and just post it lol #never ask me anything ever again!!!!#(I am joshin' ily)#val-responds #val-post

9 notes · View notes