art by @the.sketching.hour on instagram
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Sneak Peek at the sketch work for an upcoming commission!💙
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Gwynriel introduce Catrin to their family
Hold onto your ovaries
“Gwyn, look at me.”
Gwyn turned away from her reflection in the vanity mirror, swiveling on her stool as she secured her second pearling earring.
She looked up at her mate who stood before her, their two month old daughter cradled in one arm, while the other gestured to himself limply. Her eyes grazed him. From his neatly tousled dark hair to his midnight jacket and trousers, looking for whatever he was trying to draw her attention to.
He looked dashing as ever. Even with the shadows beneath his eyes from being up all night with Catrin yesterday. Though speaking of shadows, Azriel’s seemed to be caressing his arms soothingly. As though trying to comfort him.
“You look very handsome. Hardly as Solstice festive as Catrin,” she grinned, nodding at their daughter who was donning a snowy white blanket. “But handsome nonetheless.”
“But do I look like a father?” Azriel asked, hazel eyes imploring.
Gwyn’s lips curved up in a warm smile. “Yes. You look very fatherly.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, then approached the vanity, bending at the waist to inspect his own reflection.
He sighed, brows furrowing. “Liar. I look like an angel of death.”
Gwyn snorted. “Az—“
“Here, take Catrin,” he said, passing their daughter to her. “I’m changing.”
Catrin yawned hugely, nuzzling into Gwyn’s green knit sweater. She wondered how long she would remain so well behaved. They’d likely pay for all her sleeping tonight when they tried to go to bed.
“Shadowsinger,” Gwyn called, rising from her stool and pacing their bedroom, rocking Catrin in her arms, “how does one ‘look like a father?’”
“I don’t know,” he replied. Gwyn heard the rustle of clothing being discarded in their closet, as Azriel no doubt began to rifle through his wardrobe. “But Cassian and Rhysand pull it off somehow. You look like a mother.”
Gwyn’s chest pinched at the words, one of her fingers lifting to brush a dark tuft of Catrin’s feathery hair. “Thank you?”
“It’s a compliment. Trust me.” She heard him growl with irritation. “Somehow I can’t manage to look like a parent. I look like a Spymaster that’s glamoured a dagger to appear as a babe.”
Before Gwyn could summon a teasing reply, the shadowsinger emerged from the closet donning a gold tunic with silver embroidery. “Is this… fatherly?”
Gwyn grimaced. “Is that the tunic Mor gave you for your birthday?”
Azriel looked at his arms, sneering at the fabric. “You’re right. It’s hideous.” Then he vanished back into the closet. “Any suggestions?”
Gwyn smiled to herself. Despite his distress, it was really quite adorable to see her shadowsinger so obsessed with “looking like a father.” Precious really. The dagger-wielding spymaster was so troubled that upon seeing their family for the first time since Catrin was born he wouldn’t look like the doting father he had become. The one who sang lullabies. Who when he was spit up on, gingerly patted his daughter’s back and said “well done, Cat.” The same male who got endless amusement when their daughter burped loudly.
“Be yourself, Shadowsinger, and the father in you will shine through.”
He poked his head out of the closet, giving Gwyn a stern look. “Stop talking like a priestess and give me some real advice.”
Gwyn snickered at that. “Fine. Well, you can’t go wrong with a sweater.”
“I know the one,” Azriel said resolutely, vanishing yet again.
Sitting down on the edge of their bed, Gwyn smiled to herself and bent her neck to inhale Catrin’s scent. Cedar. Sea salt. Ginger. A little bit of Gwyn. A little bit of Azriel. She was perfect in every way and Gwyn couldn’t wait to show her off to their whole family tonight. The cutest babe of the entire family. More than Nesta and Cassian’s twins. More than Feyre and Rhysand’s new toddler.
Gwyn looked up to see Azriel in the fuzziest white sweater she’d ever laid eyes on. When had he even come into possession of this? She made a mental note to hide it as soon as he took it off.
Gwyn blanched and Azriel frowned. “It matches Catrin’s blanket. And it’s a sweater.”
“White is not your color, Shadowsinger…”
“I can’t wear black!” Azriel groaned, motioning to himself bleakly. “I’m meant to be—“
“A father,” Gwyn finished with a smirk. “I know. So wear that navy cable-knit sweater in the back of the closet. Easy.”
Azriel snapped a finger at her. “Brilliant. Yes. The navy.”
A moment later Azriel emerged from the closet clad in dark trousers and the navy sweater Feyre had gifted him the previous Solstice. Gwyn gave an approving nod, but the shadowsinger still confronted his reflection in the long oval mirror on the closet door, hazel eyes shrewd with scrutiny.
“Catrin, doesn’t your father look so fatherly?” Gwyn asked the still snoozing babe in her arms. She inclined her head, her ear beside Catrin’s lips. “What’s that?”
Azriel turned to face them, brows high with amusement.
Gwyn grinned. “He looks like the most fatherly father to ever father?” Her teal eyes roved him from top to bottom. “I agree. He does. Not lethal in the slightest.”
Azriel’s shadows danced along his arms, and her mate had the clarity to look slightly abashed. He rubbed the back of his neck, approaching Gwyn then taking a seat beside her on the bed.
He ran a hand down his face. “I know I'm being ridiculous.” A wry smile. “It’s just important to me that I look… compassionate. You know?”
“I know,” Gwyn confirmed, handing Catrin over to him. “But you do. No matter what you wear.”
Azriel snorted in disbelief, a scarred finger tracing the outline of Catrin’s chin as she settled into his arms.
“Just the way you look at her, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn said softly. “If you could see how your eyes light up…”
A blush stole his cheeks, and he pressed a tender kiss to Catrin’s forehead.
“Do you remember when you were worried because you didn’t know how to be a mate? Or a husband?” Gwyn asked, a smile in her voice.
Azriel chuckled quietly at the memory. Weeks before their ceremony he’d confessed to her that he was concerned people would look at them together and see a monster who’d stolen an angel. That they’d see an assassin and a lady. That they’d see a male undeserving and too dark for someone made of light. Gwyn had tried to talk sense into him but it was Cassian who convinced him in the end.
“You may not wear your heart on your sleeve, brother,” Cassian had said, “but around Gwyn it is only too obvious how much you love her. And how much she loves you back. That’s all that matters.”
Remembering his words, Gwyn decided to try them herself. “If you don’t believe me, that just the way you look at Catrin makes it apparent you’re a doting father, then you should think about the way she looks at you.”
Azriel didn’t look up from Catrin’s sleeping face, but something flickered in his eyes. Something warm. So Gwyn continued.
“How when you come home she claps her hands,” Gwyn said, her head falling on his shoulder. “Or how when you sing to her she falls straight asleep. Or how when she cries, all she has to do is be placed in her Papa’s arms and she gives you that toothless smile.”
Azriel’s throat bobbed and Gwyn looked up to see his eyes were lined with silver. “Just wait till they see you cross your eyes for her. Wait till they see the silly faces her dadda makes.” She kissed his cheek. “And don’t get me started on all the voices you do when you read her a story…”
“You’re the one who suggested that,” he said gruffly.
“You’re a much better performer than me though, Shadowsinger. I could never achieve your Blue Bear voice.”
Azriel laughed wetly. Then his expression became somber. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever have this. A mate, a child, a family of my own.” He swallowed hard. “And now that I do… I just want to be my best.”
Gwyn released a quiet breath. She’d worried he was going to spew some garbage about “not deserving them.” An insecurity they’d conquered long ago. And while worrying about being his best was still ridiculous, it wasn’t nearly as insurmountable as his lack of self worth.
“Look at me, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn said, lifting her head and cupping his chin. She turned his face to look at her, and when his gaze met hers she felt her heart pinch at the longing in his eyes. “You are. You are absolutely your best. All the time.” She pecked his lips gently. “And everyone can see that.”
Azriel exhaled a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “Ready, then?”
Azriel walked into the river house, Catrin in one arm, their satchel of diapers, milk, and toys slung over his other shoulder. Gwyn shut the door behind them with her foot, her hands currently occupied with the gifts they’d brought along. A meager supply this year as most of their time and funds had been devoted to Catrin.
Out of the foyer and down the hall, warm light glowed from the parlor, the buzzing of conversation began ringing in Azriel’s ears. This was it. The grand presentation of Azriel and Gwyn as a mother and father. And while Azriel had admired his mate, cradling their daughter and poking her nose and appearing as the picture of motherly love, he was hard pressed to see himself in such a light. Even with Gwyn’s convincing and coaxing before they’d left.
That icy sensation spread through his chest. Azriel’s shadows whispered words of comfort as his demons came calling.
Then a steadying brush against his shoulder. Azriel looked over to see Gwyn leaning against him, beaming. “Ready, Papa?”
The ice thawed. The demons quieted.
And Catrin cooed restlessly.
Azriel’s gaze immediately snapped to his daughter who yawned and opened her big teal eyes. She pursed her tiny lips and Azriel smiled. Whenever she woke up he always thought she looked like Gwyn. Surprised and mildly aggravated.
Upon observing her father’s expression, Catrin’s lips curved up in a toothless smile and Azriel nearly swooned in response. All traces of anxiety and insecurity vanishing.
“Come on, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn whispered. “Let’s show her off.”
He hummed in agreement and they started for the parlor together.
Azriel’s feet carried him faster than he’d thought. One moment he was in the dimly lit hallway, trailing behind his mate, and the next he was in the parlor.
Every head turned in his direction. Every eye fixed on the cooing babe nestled into the crook of his arm.
But Catrin didn’t look away from her father’s face. She instead removed her hands from the confines of her blanket and extended her chubby arms. Azriel’s shadows leaned down, weaving in between her little fingers. Catrin gurgled happily in response.
Azriel’s chest tightened to the point of pain and he had to blink back the tears stinging his eyes.
“Look at you two!” Nesta said, rushing over to them. She peered down at Catrin who was still enamored with her father’s shadows as they took on the form of a small cat and danced through the air. “Oh, Az, she’s got your smile.”
Azriel’s eyes shifted to Nesta, and at the sincerity in her smile he found himself teetering on the losing side of the battle with his tears.
Nesta’s smile became teasing. “Does she have your wingspan to match?”
Azriel chuckled. “They’re actually on the more fragile side, according to the healer. So they have to remain wrapped for several more weeks.”
“Oh, that’s alright,” Emerie said, coming to join Nesta. “They’ll get stronger with a little Valkyrie training, won’t they?”
Catrin hiccuped a laugh as the shadow cat pranced across her chest then disappeared. Her attention turned to Emerie and she smiled so wide at the Illyrian female that her teal eyes crinkled.
Emerie gasped. “Mor, I want one now!”
“I want to see!” Morrigan said, bounding across the parlor to come peer down at Catrin. She clasped her hands together. “Oh, Gwyn, she has your eyes!”
“I know!” Gwyn called from where she was depositing their gifts beneath the Solstice tree.
“I want her to have her mother’s freckles too,” Azriel interjected, voice rough with emotion.
Hearing him speak, Catrin looked back at her father. He met her eyes and she screamed gleefully, spit spraying and snot dribbling from her nose. Azriel snickered, pulling his sleeve over his fist to wipe Catrin’s face clean.
So absorbed in his daughter, Azriel missed the adoring murmurs of his family.
Although, he thought his heart may cleave in two when he heard Rhysand remark to Gwyn from where they stood beside the tree: “It looks good on him. Fatherhood.”
There was an affectionate tug on the bond and Azriel swallowed down his tears, taking a moment to smile at his mate. She smiled back at him.
All Gwyn said back to Rhys was, “I know.”
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Gwynriel short sweet morning scene
He came close to her side, peeking over her shoulder at the book in her hands. Absent-mindedly, she stirred her tea, one foot propped in the space behind the right knee, leaning against the counter. Azriel’s breath brushed against a loose strand of hair that had escaped the messy bun, tickling her ear. She smiled, closing the book one-handed and snuggled into his arms. His low chuckle sent shivers down Gwyn’s spine and made her feel at home. His body heat felt searing seeping through the thin fabric of her top. His arms came around her waist, warm and steady, giving Gwyn her much needed dose of serotonin to start the day.
Sun rays filtered through the cracks between the window blinds enveloping the kitchen in a soft yellow light, small dust particles drifting through the air. There was a certain calmness in the early hours of the morning when the two of them felt the most at home. The multicoloured birds outside their window were chirping and zooming from tree to tree, their song transporting the lovers into a secluded paradise all their own.
Gwyn set the book down, stretching her arms up to wrap them around Azriel’s neck. She pulled his head down, his nose gently nuzzling the sensitive skin below her ear. She grinned, eyelids drooping shut. Being taller than her her by a head, his knees were bent to make it easier to pepper kisses up and down Gwyn’s neck, nipping and sucking at the skin, making sure to leave marks. Her little gasps amused Azriel. His hands shifted to grip her hips, destabilising her so she fully rested against his chest. Gwyn rubbed her cheek against his stubbled one smiling and sending thanks to the Mother and the Cauldron for making Azriel her mate.
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Gwyn: I'm sneaking broccoli into the mac and cheese so Caitrin won't know she's eating vegetables. That's what being an adult is all about: helping children... through lies.
Azriel: Well, it's not just the children. I've been sneaking vegetables in your waffles for years now. Even before we were together.
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currently thinking about how i have to wait until 2023 to have my elriel endgame
like just imagine the longing, the angst, the softness and the tension, the forbidden love trope of THEIR story.
of elain's journey about HER choices and HER life alongside her beautiful shadowsinger to support her till the end.
urgh can't wait tbh *screeches*
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Have you written about Azriel discovering that he is Gwyn's mate? If so, where can I find it? And if not, can you write? Please 🥺
I hadn't written that...I don't tend to write in canon a lot...but guess I'm doing so now. 👀😂
You will now get to witness a few of my headcanons that don't come out much, particularly: the bond looks different for everyone and Azriel's shadows don't actually speak to him...I know a lot of people write it that way, but personally, I believe that the "language of the shadows" is something far more intrinsic and deeper. It's feelings, unspoken guidance.
Also, let's not forget that they both have a lot of healing to do...especially Az. 😬
Word Count: ~1,500 | Warnings: Az still has issues...
Azriel couldn't deny he was more excited to get back to the House of Wind than usual.
It's not that he didn't like the House, but he often felt the same indifference to arriving there as he did numerous other spots around Velaris when he was just idly traveling there. Or, in this case, traveling home.
However, he'd been away for almost a week, and he was shocked at how difficult he'd found it. This was his job. And he excelled at it. Being away for a week or two to gather information was nothing. He'd once spent over two months hiding and observing a possible enemy and hadn't been even half as anxious to get home as he was now.
Not that he didn't know why.
No, that was rather obvious, considering the face that haunted his dreams each night. The teal eyes that sparkled, stars in the night sky of his dream world. The sound of a laugh that calmed him. The smile that hid in his heart when awake, only to come out in full force as soon as he closed his eyes.
Gods, he missed it all so much. Their private training sessions. The game nights at the House she'd join them for. Something Azriel was exceedingly pleased by, considering how difficult it was to actually get through a game with just Cassian and Nesta. Their secret conversations within the library when he was there doing research. He couldn't wait to get back to all of it, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't hoping for more. To maybe get the chance to take her out to dinner, if she was willing. Or, maybe, have a private dinner with her at the House, if that would make her more comfortable. Or a picnic outside of Velaris, out of the House, but not surrounded by so many others. He'd likely prefer that too, if he were being honest.
It was new for him. This feeling…the desire to be around someone constantly, to be so desperate to see them when they weren't around. Azriel didn't know what to make of it. His feelings for Mor and Elain had been so different, but he just couldn't believe that meant his thoughts around Gwyn were wrong. If anything, they made him start to realize how horrid his feelings had been for the other two.
He'd never once dreamed about Elain's smile, her eyes. Never once heard Mor's laugh in the depths of his mind and felt so restless. And he certainly never fantasized about teaching them a new card game he'd learned, or planned out possible ways he could take them out on a date.
He was just about to land on the balcony when his shadows pulled him up to the training ring, instead. It was like a whisper on the wind that inserted itself into his mind, no words or images, just a feeling that directed him.
So Az flew up to the balcony where the training ring was held and landed silently on the surface, only to find a flurry of copper hair flowing in the wind as she worked through the exercises he'd taught her.
A deep breath in, and Azriel was moving closer, watching her every movement.
She was flawless. Each step perfectly timed, every swing of her sword mortiferous. Her hair was loose, her leathers tight against her body in a way that had Az's mind scrambling as he tried to keep a hold on himself.
He wasn't sure if he should call out to her or not, knowing she'd realize he was here sooner or later. If not given away by himself, his shadows would surely do it. But, before he had the chance to decide, she did a move that had her twirling around and halting, their eyes locking as a smile instantaneously spread on her face.
And suddenly his entire world came to an end as something wholly new blossomed before his eyes. As threads of deepest cobalt and sparkling teal joined together, twirling as they created one thick bond between them, slamming itself into place in a way that had Azriel truly gasping.
Glowing brightly before him, he could have sworn the sun's rays focused in on it, on them, even as his shadows danced around it.
The force of the snap had him losing his footing and falling to his knees as he stared up at Gwyn. His heart was thundering wildly, his mind depleting of every thought but her and that one word that rang through him, reverberating off of every bone.
Gwyn's smile had softened as she walked toward him. And then, suddenly, he felt something akin to a gentle tug on one of his ribs. His hand snapped to the spot as he watched Gwyn's eyes widen in amusement.
"Took you long enough, Shadowsinger."
"What?" he rasped, watching as she knelt before him.
Gwyn huffed a small laugh as she sat back on her heels, and Az mimicked the motion. "I was starting to think you might never realize…"
"You…you knew?" Her smile brightened and completely stole Az's breath as she nodded. "For how long?"
"A few months, though I suspected before," she explained, her eyes dropping to look down at the ground. "At first, I didn't tell you because I thought you knew and didn't want…" Her voice trailed off for a moment, and Az placed a finger beneath her cheek to softly lift her face, removing it the second their eyes met again. A flash of something mischievous flew across her gaze. "But, after a little while, I realized you had no idea. And then I just got curious, wondering how long it would take you. You were really slow."
A wet laugh burst from his lips as he watched her, as he followed those freckles, her face scrunching slightly while she spoke.
"I-I'm not…not ready for…"
"Gwyn," Az sighed, interrupting her stuttered sentence, "I just want to spend time with you. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, even if that means not spending too much time with me alone."
"However," he continued, "if you are willing to, perhaps we could try having dinner together? We don't have to go out into the city, or even leave the House. But if you want to, maybe we could take a picnic to a pretty lake I know? I'm sure the House would gladly pack a picnic if it knew it was for you."
Gwyn chuckled softly at the comment. "Expect a lot of chocolate."
She let out a sigh, slowly taking his hands in hers, her thumbs caressing the top of them, sending shivers down his spine. "I'd like that." Her voice was tentative as her eyes lifted, meeting his gaze again, a light shining in them Az wasn't sure he'd seen before.
Az couldn't help but smile widely at her, at the response. "We'll start with that, then. All I want is to spend time with you, Gwyn. However much you're willing to give me."
"Then you should make sure it's a great picnic."
"I'll do just that," he laughed, finally finding the strength to stand, his hands remaining in hers as he helped her up.
Gwyn let out a deep breath. "I should get going. I've got quite a bit of work to do this afternoon."
Az nodded in understanding, bending down to pick up the sword she'd been using. "I'll put this away. May do some exercises myself."
"Okay. Tonight, then?"
"Tonight," he agreed.
His eyes followed her as she left, and it wasn't until she was out of his sight that Az finally fully realized what happened.
With the shock fading away, Az was left dealing with an internal war. A desperate desire to follow Gwyn against the pounding thoughts reminding him who he was. Reminding him how perfect and lovely and amazing Gwyn is, and how he would darken her life.
They settled within him as he shed his jacket and began his own exercises.
He didn't deserve Gwyn. Could never deserve someone so wonderful, so bright. She was a true light, and all he would be is a shadow in her life. Not a gift from the Cauldron, but a curse. And he knew that, one day, Gwyn would realize that. She may have seen him at his most feral, may not be scared of him as others were, but that didn't mean she could love him, could ever truly want him.
Like he had been, she was just overwhelmed with the snapping of the mating bond, too surprised to think straight and see this truth. It intrigued her, made her want to know more. Until she learned the pieces that would have her pulling away forever.
And as he swung the sword, as he moved with the wind, Az realized he had a choice ahead of him.
Did he let her go now, to ensure he never darken her path? Or did he take the selfish route, and spend as much time with her as possible until she finally saw the truth?
@live-the-fangirl-life @boredserpent @moodymelanist @sv0430 @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @confusedfandomslut @imsointobooks @sayosdreams
If you'd like to be added to my Gwynriel tag list, please let me know! 😄
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Azriel : *being literally a dark mercenary the most feared and intimidating man of the night court *
Elain: *Trust only in him showing him her small plants at 3 am *(she is so soft i can't)
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Basically 1k+ words of Az internally gushing about El. Enjoy x
She really was breathtakingly beautiful. The manner in which her full lips formed around words as she spoke animatedly, the way she did whenever she was talking about her plans for her gardens, really was so alluring. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled and crinkled in the corners when she described all her plans to expand the flower beds, add a fountain in the back terrace, edge the footpath leading to the front door with begonias in the spring.
Azriel had stopped pretending to read the reports Nuala had handed him that morning long ago, opting to instead watch Elain. Simply watch her work. They sat together in the library at the River House. She lay sprawled out on the ornate rug in front of the deep velvet couch he sat in. She looked so at ease, at home. She had plans and blueprints haphazardly scattered around her, clippings and notes scrawled on scraps of paper, full of her ideas for different gardens across their families’ residences in the Night Court. As if she needed to catalogue her chaotic plans all times of day or night and scribbled onto anything she could get her hands onto before the thought eddied from her mind.
The skirts of her periwinkle gown flowed around her legs which she had elegantly folded beneath her, and as she leant forward, resting on a palm, she made an adjustment to one of her sketches, crossing out a description and jotting down a new thought. Her golden-brown hair fell forward into her face as she did so and she pushed it back behind a pointed ear impatiently, all the while still prattling on about her plans as Azriel silently listened.
And it wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in what she had to say. He cared about everything she said. He never forgot a thing she shared with him. It was simply that so few got to see Elain in this manner; sprawled on the floor, barefoot, hair unbound, speaking almost non-stop about something she enjoyed so passionately. He adored this side of her. It never ceased to amaze him that she had grown comfortable enough in his presence to show him this side of her. And so, whenever this version of the sweet, reserved sister came out, he made a point to just listen, and observe. Track every movement, every mannerism, every word she spoke. He documented it all. He found her voice so melodic and soothing. Even his shadows purred in pleasure around her, settling contentedly and being lulled into a security he seldom felt around anyone else.
She turned in place and pulled a thick, heavy tome from a stack behind her on Horticulture that she lay on her lap, flipping open to a page about water irrigation systems. She continued her monologue, wondering aloud if Rhys had ever considered installing such systems in his Courts’ gardens and parks. She was sure many of the plants in the City’s arboretum would benefit from such a feature and it may even provide further opportunity in the Hewn City to be able to grow more variations of plants in the underground acropolis. Did they grow many plants in the Hewn City? Could she cultivate more varieties with such little sunshine? She would have to take note next time she visited.
He silently marvelled at her. Completely in awe at how she could even perceive beauty and worthy potential in a place as horrid as the Hewn City. That she would even think to insert loveliness in a place so dark, so full of shadows and monsters. He couldn’t help but think that those who thought Elain Archeron did not belong in the Night Court were so sorely mistaken. What utter nonsense that she could possibly belong anywhere else. Where others thought of the Night Court containing only nightmares and terrors, she understood that good lived amongst it, in fact required it, to be what it is. That even though you may not be ready for the night, it cannot always be day. That shadows and darkness cannot exist without sunshine and light. She was the Night Courts’ perfect oxymoron, the opposite side of the same coin. She soothed those dark corners and dim thoughts and balanced them with her own special breed of light and optimism. Not a foe, but someone who saw all the darkness had to offer and simply said, I see you.
And indeed, she saw it all. Not just through the Sight the Cauldron had gifted her. But through the innate goodness that was her. For had it been by an alternate twist of fate that Elain had not been gifted with such resplendent powers, her abilities of empathy would not be diminished in this sense. That this young female saw so much goodness in the entirety of the Night Court gave him hope that someday she may see the good in him too. That she would look upon his shadows and darkness and see a male who was worthy of her attention. I wish I could call you mine! he so desperately wanted to confess. Not that he thought himself worthy of her loveliness, her admiration, her consideration. He pushed the self-deprecating thoughts back down.
He continued watching her, so passionately describing to him how her plans over the next season would hopefully bring to fruition the successful cultivation of moonflowers and wisteria, bred to bloom at night and provide a lovely backdrop for their Starfall festivities in a few months’ time. She explained to him how they flowered seasonally, and their perfume would be strongest at night. Gods. How he longed to reach out and brush her hair from her face and utter that if she were to be present at Starfall, no one would notice the moonflowers and wisteria. They would simply be too enamoured, be irrevocably enchanted, by her. He ached to trace his fingers along the dip of her collar bones, up her creamy neck… To express to her how he valued her and her input in brightening up their lives, in her own unique way. How invaluable she was in this Court and in this family.
But for now, he just settled more comfortably into the soft cushions of the sofa to watch her talk about her plans. And he listened, with rapt attention. Never even considering missing a single word she uttered. Documenting every minute detail and enveloping them in his shadows, for him only. Keeping them safe.
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It's always I love you and I miss you never you’re the new ribbon 🎀
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GWYNRIEL FANFIC UPDATE: ‘THE SYMPHONY OF SHADOW’
CHAPTER 20 IS UP ON AO3 + WATTPAD
The next update will hopefully be in the first week of December, and the next few chapters are going to revisit my beloved Gwynriel friendship - with a tiny bit of angst. Or a lot of angst, I think I'm biased. Basically, the next few chapters will have less plot, more Gwynriel <3 Also, sorry for the cliff hanger :)
SNIPPET WITHOUT CONTEXT:
No, he was left with a force so great, pushing him backwards as its energy spread within him – all through his body, warping around his heart.
TAGGED: @andreeajm | @cozycomfyliving08 | @camreadsum | @katekatpattywack | @azrielsupremacy21 | @meher-sumedha | @flora-shadowshine | @sv0430 | @trashforazriel | @ disgreisful | @onemorenightdreamer | @shisingh | (let me know if you want to be added to the list)
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A reminder on this day amid the ACOTAR ship wars
Happy Thanksgiving to all my USA friends!
Just a reminder for the upcoming holiday season to be kind to one another.
Now, that doesn't mean if someone says something ignorant, you shouldn't reply. Because silence fixes nothing.
I just hope people THINK before they type. There has been some truly offensive, toxic, disgustingly hurtful stuff spewed on social media by people hidden behind a keyboard.
The golden rule I go by for social media: Would I say this to someone's face?
In most cases, even a "fuck you" in reply, I would. Sometimes, it's absolutely warranted.
But then there's the stuff I've read that I'm like, damn, would they say that in person? Or is this just ignorance and false bravado in anonymity? Because if they truly think some of this shit, and would say this in person? Well, then they are truly despicable people.
As Thumper's mother said, “If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all.” Which is the nice, sweet way of what I often say to myself: "Don't be a cuntwrap supreme."
Anyway, enough rambling. Happy Thanksgiving.
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Azriel tweeted this
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Gwynriel: The Dreamless
“Sorry!” Gwyn said, raising her hands in surrender. She grimaced. “I should’ve announced myself.”
Azriel lowered the dagger he had poised at her, running a hand through his hair. “No, no. You’re—you’re fine. I guess I’m still not used to having company here.” He regarded his shadows sternly, cross that they hadn’t alerted him to the priestess’s presence sooner. When he looked back up at Gwyn, she was cautiously lowering her hands, still smiling at him sheepishly.
Azriel exhaled the tension from his chest. “Congratulations. On cutting the ribbon.”
At that, her expression brightened. She folded her arms behind her back, walking towards the rack of sparring weapons. “Told you I could do it.”
Well, that response was unexpected… Though Azriel supposed that he should expect the unexpected from the priestess. He’d only known her a short while, but by now it was no surprise that her irreverence took him off-guard.
Azriel sheathed Truth-Teller, crossing his arms and watching her with quiet amusement. “I never said you couldn’t.”
She studied the weapons rack. “Well, I’m more motivated to prove people wrong than I am by any faith they may have in me, so for my sake let’s pretend you doubted me.”
Azriel chuckled and took a step back towards the bench on the outskirts of the ring. He lowered himself with a sigh, watching as Gwyn plucked a wooden sword off the rack. She placed the tip of the handle on an open palm and balanced it vertically, tip towards the sky as she continued to stroll leisurely about the ring.
“So? Can’t find your favorite dagger, Shadowsinger?”
He arched a curious brow then recalled their conversation from Solstice night where he’d informed her that he couldn’t sleep without his dagger. The edge of his lip kicked up as her response echoed in his ears. A comfort to every growing child. It was rare anyone spoke to him in such a teasing manner. Anyone who wasn’t in his family, that was.
The truth was, Azriel was here because of a nightmare. One that had woken him in a cold sweat. One that he had often. It was of chains and fire and the smell of melting flesh. But he didn’t want to talk about that. Not with Gwyn. Not with anyone.
So he deflected. “What brings you here?”
She didn’t take her eyes off the wooden weapon precariously balanced in her palm when she responded. “Stayed up finishing a book. Then I realized that the next installment won’t be released until summer. My mind wouldn’t rest after that. I kept trying to figure out what would happen next,” she said mildly — though her tone betrayed that she wasn’t necessarily upset about her current circumstances.
Azriel briefly wondered if Gwyn, like himself, was grateful for the distraction from her rest. Did she too have nightmares that left her restless and unsettled? Did Sangravah haunt her as the cellar haunted him? As the smell of oil and the crackle of flame made his stomach turn?
“Want to talk about it?” Azriel asked, leaning his elbows on his knees.
Gwyn continued her balancing act. “Talk about what?”
She smiled softly. “You don’t want to hear about my book.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Truly, he would be grateful for some idle chatter. He wanted her to talk. Even if it was about a book where the plot was dull as dishwater. Anything to drown out the shrieking echoing in his ears. The sounds of his own desperate cries from when his half-brothers had poured—
“Well, it’s called The High Lord Who Loved Me…” she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Still interested?”
He angled his head. “Is the title meant to deter me? Do I strike you as someone who would turn their nose up at a little smut?”
This time her smile crinkled her teal eyes. “Fair enough.” She spun on her heel, still expertly balancing the wooden sword. “Our protagonist's name is Paulina, and gods, does she have questionable taste in men…”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Gwyn said, propping up her elbows and resting her chin on her fists. “You’ve actually done that?”
Azriel snorted, casting a knowing look to where she lay belly-down on the floor from his seat on the bench. “I’ve been alive for five-hundred years. It’s safe to say I’ve done a great many things.”
Gwyn’s expression was both amused and incredulous. “How many times?”
“Twice?” she repeated, jaw falling open.
He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “What can I say? The merfolk love me and they love water-play even more.”
At that Gwyn burst into laughter. “Listen to you! Talking like Sellyn Drake wrote your dialogue.”
Azriel’s chest rumbled with laughter and pretty soon, it spilled from his lips.
“Do it again,” Azriel said through his laughter.
Gwyn squared her shoulders, sitting cross legged before him on the training ring floor. “Pain is only a mindset.”
The shadowsinger held his side as pain lanced through his stomach. He hadn’t laughed this hard in ages. Then again, no one had ever done quite so impeccable of a Cassian impression as Gwyn was doing right now.
“Hold on,” Gwyn said through her own snickering. “Hold on, I have another favorite.” She stacked her spine, clearing the giggles from her throat. “You have to be hungry for it! You’ve got to feel that hunger flowing in your veins!”
Azriel laughed so loudly then that he thought he may wake everyone in the House. He fell onto his back on the training ring floor, his hand still pressed to his abdomen as he shook with laughter.
“Pain is weakness leaving the body!” Gwyn growled.
Azriel’s laughter became soundless. Breathing was hard in a delicious way.
“You’re making them up now…” Gwyn grumbled.
“No, I am not,” insisted the shadowsinger, pointing up at the open ceiling and the stars overhead. “That one is supposed to be The Great Crane.”
“It looks absolutely nothing like a crane. It looks like… like a poorly whittled duck.”
“What do you know about whittling?” scoffed Azriel, folding his hands over his stomach.
There was a pause, then Azriel turned his head to look at Gwyn where she laid beside him. Her eyes were skyward but her lips were pressed in a flat line, eyes sparkling with amusement.
When she answered him she was smiling. “So I may or may not have tried to whittle a dagger out of a stick with a butter knife as a child.”
A chuckle bubbled in his chest. “Incredible.”
“It was,” Gwyn insisted.
He narrowed his gaze at her.
Gwyn looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips curving up in a smile. “It was awful. The butter-knife was more lethal.”
Azriel blinked awake, to find Gwyn standing above him. He was sprawled on the training ring floor, wings spread beneath him, the warm light of dawn bathing his grey tunic and black trousers in a buttery yellow. He rose up onto his hands, leaning back on his palms and tucked his wings in tight before Gwyn could gawk at their size (as many did). He’d fallen asleep…
“What time is it?” he yawned, staring up at her blearily.
It was another few seconds before he realized that she held two steaming tea cups in her hands.
She lowered herself to the training ring floor gracefully, then extended one of the cups to him. “Barely even dawn.”
Azriel accepted the drink, flinching slightly as the porcelain warmed his scarred fingers. It was a pleasant warmth, but warmth never failed to unsettle him… At least for a moment.
“Apologies. For falling asleep on you,” Azriel muttered.
“Oh, that’s alright,” Gwyn said with a shrug. “But you did fall asleep in the middle of your story about Rhysand’s fear of snakes…”
“Ah,” Azriel said, a smile spreading on his lips. All restless, all unease melted away. “Where did I leave off?”
Gwyn slurped her tea. “You heard the squeal of a pig and were going to investigate…”
Azriel snorted. “Yes. Well, it wasn’t the squeal of a pig after all. It was Rhysand.”
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Shadowsinger Part 33 - Gwynriel
ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter*
Masterlist with all previous chapters
Waking up with Gwyn in his arms was an honor that Azriel still wasn't sure he deserved, but he'd known the moment that her gaze had first lingered on him a little longer than necessary that he would do everything he could to be worthy of her. She shifted in his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, her hands still tightly gripping his shoulders, as if to reassure herself that he was still there. She'd practically climbed on top of him at some point, and the way his wings were now loosely draped over her, covering everything except her shoulders and head, it felt natural, right somehow. Azriel brushed his fingers through her unbound hair, each strand a burning fire in the dim dawn glow. The fire that had once savaged his hands had glowed orange and red, the only light in his tiny cell, and he'd hated the colors ever since, but on Gwyn, it was beautiful, calming. He twirled the ends of her hair around a finger, absentmindedly tying and untying little braids, the way Rhys' mother had once taught him, and their little sister had demanded every day since he'd learned. It had been almost five centuries since he had last braided anyone's hair, excepting the prank they'd played on Cassian. Azriel chuckled to himself at the memory of his brother walking outside with little pink bows still in his hair after he and Rhys had rushed him to get ready so that he wouldn't look in the mirror. Azriel had spent the next decade sleeping with one eye open, but Cassian had never retaliated, at least not that he knew of.
Gwyn stirred in his arms at the movement, and he brushed her hair gently, murmuring nothing and everything until she hummed and quieted again. Even the shadows had fallen quiet, a rare moment of stillness, the one part of him that had never sat still, always having something to do, but here, with Gwyn. It was contentedness he realized, for the first time in five and a half centuries, the shadows were truly content, and it was because of her. He'd woken earlier than he'd needed to, instinct still telling him that the moment the sun rose he was in danger, but the moment he'd opened his eyes he'd relaxed, no momentary panic, just that calm that found him whenever Gwyn was around. He closed his eyes, and must have slipped back to sleep because Gwyn was blinking her own eyes open when he opened them what had felt like moments later. She smiled sleepily, and nestled into him a little more, his heart swelling in his chest at the display of trust, of comfort. She blinked again at the sunlight starting to stream past the poorly closed curtains,
"What time is it?"
"No idea," he wrapped his arms tighter around her as she wriggled to try and see the clock,
"Azriel! You should have woken me!" He shrugged, "It's almost midday,"
"I don't care," she shrugged him off and made to sit up, but he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back down, "No, you're warm,"
"Off," she ordered, but giggled when he narrowed his eyes in refusal, "Off," she laughed, "I promised I'd look for a spell for Amren in the library,"
"Stop being a baby and let me go,"
"Five more minutes," he complained, for possibly the first time ever, memories of being the one to drag Rhys and Cassian out of bed surfacing at the thought,
"Fine." Azriel kissed her temple when she snuggled back into him, "You're such a bad influence,"
"You were already bad," he teased, "You just needed a little nudge," she snorted, but turned to stare up at him,
"I missed you,"
"I could tell," he chuckled, and she smacked his chest, her cheeks coloring as she ran through last night's events,
"Last night," she started, and broke off, her words trailing into nothing, "I want you to know, I, I don't regret it, and, thank you for looking after me," Azriel brushed a hand up her spine to cup the back of her head,
"Thank you for trusting me like that, and you never have to thank me for looking after you, it's rare you need it, but I will be always, always be there should you need it." A gentle smile was her only response, but Azriel knew that the words had taken root where they needed to, she would remember, and would actually ask him for help if she needed it, stubbornness aside.
Gwyn allowed him another few moments of comfortable silence before she extracted herself from his arms, laughing to herself at his grumbles and complaints, but made no move to answer them.
"I was thinking," she started,
"Uh oh," she glared at him, "Don't hurt yourself, love,"
"You're one to talk," she countered, and sat in front of the mirror to braid her hair back, grinning to herself when she found a little braid that Azriel had left, "Did you do this?"
"Rhys's Mom taught me, you have such beautiful hair, it was a crime not to play with it," she chuckled again,
"Do you want to?"
"Do my hair, you can if you like," He shifted to sit up, and slung a pair of pants on before crossing to stand behind her,
"Brush," he demanded, and she grinned as she handed it over, leaning slightly into his touch as he teased the tangles out of her hair, his fingers remembering the style he'd always liked best, even without his thinking about it. Two braids, pulling the hair off of her face, tied up behind her head, forming a crown as the rest fell loose around her shoulder, it would suit her. "What were you going to say?"
"Oh, right," she hesitated for a moment, as if thinking about how she wanted to say it, but Azriel didn't rush her, she could have all the time she wanted, and he would wait until she was ready, "I wanted to ask if it was okay if I moved in here permanently? With you I mean, I just, I never actually asked, I just moved in."
"Of course, you can, but, what about the library?"
"I think, I mean, it was a place to heal, to recover, a temporary haven unless I wanted it to be permanent, and I thought I did for a while. Then I met Nesta, then I truly met you. What I'm trying to say is that I think I'm ready to leave the library, I want to move on with the next stage of my life, I want to stay with you. The library will always hold a special place in my heart, but it's not my safe place anymore, you are." Azriel faltered, and swore as the braid slipped loose,
"I'm your safe place?" He whispered, and she inclined her head slightly, so as not to disrupt him again,
"You have been for a while, you make me feel the safest I've ever been."
Gwyn's steps were light as she made her way down the steps to the library that had become her safe haven, her home, and now, a place that she was ready to move on from. Clotho looked up at her arrival, surprise evident in her movement, even thought Gwyn could not see her face,
Gwyneth, I had not expected to see you back so soon,
The enchanted pen made its way across the paper with a slight glow in the dim light,
"I need to find a spell, Amren and Feyre have been searching, but have come up empty, Amren asked if I might have anything in here, any ideas?" Clotho hesitated,
Try level four, the fifth stack on the right, it has spellbooks that I have never seen elsewhere,
"Thank you." Gwyn made to leave, but hesitated, "Clotho?" Clotho looked back up at her, "I assume you are aware of my relationship with Azriel?"
Yes. The two of you are well-matched.
Gwyn chuckled to herself, they certainly were that, but that wasn't her point,
"I've been staying with him recently, and I, well I wanted to make that permanent,"
You're ready to leave us.
"Yes." She had no other words, but Clotho nodded,
I wish you a lifetime of happiness with him, and you are welcome here whenever you want to return for an hour or a week, we will miss you.
"I'll miss you, all of you, and I will return, hopefully more frequently after this rebellion is dealt with."
She bid Clotho goodbye, a weight she hadn't known she'd been carrying lifting from her shoulders at Clotho's blessing. She counted the steps down to the library's fourth level, her mind focusing onto the task at hand.
She allowed her gaze to run across the stacks, pausing at the one that Clotho had suggested, waiting for her instinct to act, to tell her where to look. Her gaze snagged on a dusty tome above her head, the dust settled around it in a such a way that it couldn't have been removed from its shelf for years, a hum of power filling the air as she reached up for it. She pushed herself up onto her tiptoes and jerked her hand back as it made contact with the ancient leather binding, the feeling like a bolt of lighting had arced down her arm. She yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over a chair and glared up at the book once she'd crashed to the floor.
It had been years since that book had been touched, perhaps it was just a build up of power that had been released. She eyed the still-glowing book again, perhaps not. She dragged a stool over and peered closer at the book, its barely-visible dark power almost reaching for her when she moved her hand close to it. If it was her touch, perhaps she could still retrieve the book, and she pushed her sleeve down, careful not to let the book touch her skin until she set it down on a nearby table.
Bound with leather, golden script marking out faint words that she couldn't decipher, the binding along the spine, it was typical of one of the truly ancient tomes, one that may have been written prior to the High Lords creation. She narrowed her eyes at it and it, it hummed, sentient? Could a book even be sentient? She didn't doubt it, not with all of the strange occurrences she'd seen in this very library.
Hello Shadowsinger, a voice purred, and Gwyn pivoted to glare into the gloom, a chuckle filling the air around her,
"Where are you? Why do you call me Shadowsinger?"
Are you not one? Do you not converse with shadows, do they not protect you? Or perhaps it is because of your-
"Stop." She demanded, whirling back to the book, the chuckle louder as she stared it down,
You cannot hide from the truth indefinitely,
"I'm not hiding from anything,"
But you are, you know the truth, fear it, yet you want it at the same time.
"You know nothing," she snapped, doubt creeping into her mind, a million questions fighting to be acknowledged, but her voice was steady as she asked, "Do you have a spell to keep winged faeries from taking flight?"
Perhaps. Perhaps not. Are you brave enough to read these pages?
"What was the power I felt just now?"
Ancient, lovely death. It crooned, and Gwyn resolved not to touch it again, but it almost certainly contained something useful. Amren would know what to do with it, and the ancient, lovely death part, perhaps Nesta would have more luck, power limited or not. She shucked off her jacket, using it to carefully handle the book without risking touching it again, and shivered at the sense of malice that descended upon the library.
Darkness swirled around her feet as she made to move, and old fear rioted in her veins, the urge to run almost overwhelming. A dark chuckle from the bundle in her arms, damn! It had never meant for her to leave here with it, at least not alive. She refused to give in to that fear, and she snarled in defiance,
"Was it you last time?"
I wanted to know what kind of power had awoken in my library, it was you, but I cannot allow you to leave, we still have so much to discuss.
"Discuss? You disgust me," another chuckle, Mother above, it was really starting to grate on her nerves now, and she channeled all of her fear into that anger, and power awoke within her, that familiar hum building into a crescendo in her ears, the sun's rays dancing at her fingertips as she let it go, not much, but the darkness recoiled, and couldn't break through this light as it had before. But there was too much, and it surrounded her. She clutched the book to her chest, spinning around to block a lick of darkness that shot for her exposed back. She wouldn't last long like this.
Azriel! She screamed the word into the ether, he would never come, he couldn't know, but she silently screamed for him again and again. She screamed for Rhys, for Feyre, clinging to the slim hope that their daemati abilities might allow them to hear her. The darkness was getting closer and closer, recoiling with each attack of light, but she was tiring, her breathing already labored, her vision starting to fail, she was going to lose, but she was going to go down swinging.
Azriel was running through Gwyn and Maddy's findings when a bolt of fear that was not his own flashed through him. He started and dropped his pen, shaking his head to clear the sensation, but moments later he heard it, faint, distant, but clear as day. His name, screamed in desperation, a plea for help. Gwyn. He didn't think, didn't plan, just acted, winnowing to the library in a heartbeat, not bothering to ask for permission to enter.
Some sixth sense steered him down, and he landed hard, not caring that the impact had jarred his knee, sprinting forward before he'd finished recovering. Shadows swirled in his wake, more and more, as if the library was lending him its arsenal, the darkness thick, almost as if it were attempting to hinder him. It was, he realized when it skittered away at the glimmer of a siphon, he'd seen it before, it was the very same power that had attacked Gwyn once before, and this time, this time he would destroy it at its very source.
A faint light glimmered in the stacks ahead of him, disappearing and reappearing mere heartbeats apart. The next time it appeared, he made out a flash of auburn hair, teal eyes wide with fear, and something else, something so uniquely her that he couldn't name it, and he sped up, running faster than he'd ever thought possible. His shadows shot out in front of him, slamming into the darkness around Gwyn as a shield of glimmering blue encased her, the darkness unable to penetrate it. She was panting, swaying slightly on her feet, but she held her head up high, a book clutched to her chest, triumph now in her eyes.
The darkness parted around him, slinking off to the depths of the library, but Azriel sent power shooting for it, blocking its path, leaving it trapped between the stacks, trapped with him. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears as instinct demanded he destroy it all. Power surrounded each piece of sentient darkness, blue light flaring as the killing power squeezed tighter, tighter, until one piece exploded into blue sparks.
It wasn't long until the air around was filled with the same sparks, and the faelights that usually filled the library began to glow anew. Azriel's heart was thumping in his chest, his breathing heavy, but his anger started to fade, and fizzled out at a light touch on his arm,
"Az?" He turned to find Gwyn gripping his elbow, "What was that?"
"Are you hurt?" His voice was hoarse as he scanned up and down her body, "Who did this to you?"
"I'm fine," her voice was steady, quieter than usual, but steady, and she wasn't limping,
"Who did this?"
"The book," she gestured to the book in her arms, and Azriel reached out to examine it, "Don't touch it!" She yelped, "It has some sort of power,"
"Did it hurt you?"
"It did, didn't it? What happened?"
"It just sort of blasted me with power and I fell over, it's fine," Azriel narrowed his eyes, and Gwyn sighed, reaching up to cup his cheek, "I'm fine, Azzy, I swear," he leaned into her touch,
"You're not coming back down here alone until I figure out if that thing can summon more of that darkness," defiance shone in her eyes, but faded as she considered the sense of his decision, it was fueled by fear, fear of losing her, but it was sensible, and she wasn't stubborn enough to deny that. She didn't complain when he scooped her up and shot into the air, soaring out of the library, ancient book in tow.
tags: @teagoddess99 @brenda5601 @azrielsdarling13 @1helena @shisingh @valkygwyn @soffiiione @toolazymyguy @awesomelena555 @trashforazriel @dealingdifferentdevils @ximena-inlovewithazwyn @almosttenaciousmoon @aightimmaheadoutsblog @alexoik @selfdestructionfetish @cozycomfyliving08
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Gwyn: Do you want to know something weird?
Azriel: First of all, it's four in the morning.
Azriel: Second of all, continue.
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After a long tiring day at work, Azriel comes to his room, sits on his bed and simply stares at the head ache powder Elain got him. He stares and stares until his eyes prickle with tears.
He wants nothing more than to be able to go to her, talk to her, simply be in her presence. But he can't. She won't even look at him anymore.
And on the off chance their eyes do meet, Elain's are filled with hurt and accusations. He can't look at them anymore without wanting to rip his own heart out.
So he flies to Rose Hall, going inside, the fire place is burning, his mother is sitting on a rocking chair lost in her thoughts. Az says nothing. He sits in front of her, and allows his head to fall on her knees. Closing his eyes. His mother doesn't say anything either, no. She simply runs her scarred hands lovingly through his hair.
And as she does, Azriel can't help the tears that fall. The sobs that break out of him. All of the pain and hurt he tries so hard to contain, bursts open. He allows himself to drown. Drown in the pain that only love can bring.
Once again he was that little boy who would cry on his mother's lap.
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My Gwynriel commission by the very talented Ginger_art3. Message her on Instagram or Twitter for commissions. Please reblog, do not repost. Support the artist.
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Feyre hit Rhysandn with a heel
Nesta hit Cassian in the balls
Then elain will hit azriel with a bread ???
just me and my thoughts that don't let me sleep at night
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Cassian: Doesn’t count when you use your hands to do most of the work.
Nesta: I bet that isn’t what you’ve been telling yourself at night.
Cassian: Is that what those smutty books teach you? That it’s only at night? It could be anytime—dawn’s first light, or when I’m bathing, or even after a long, hard day of practice.
Nesta: Sounds like you have a lot of time on your hands, Cassian.
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