aujxx

[aujxx]

but like i genuinely do think gwynriel and elucien have the potential to be the healthiest most loving ships sjm has ever writter

[aujxx]

I want Azriel's shadows to treat Gwyn as if she's their mom..

But I also want the shadows to be used during sex....

And I want the shadows behaving like puppies...

Do you see my dilemma??!?!!!

[aujxx]

YOW OMG ive been scrolling to op's posts and she is wise, my frens.

Azriels actions towards Elain are fuelled by guilt

Guilt because he had an arrow in his chest, that prevented the IC from stopping Hybern throwing her into the cauldron. It’s the same guilt he feels around Mor. His failure at finding Mor earlier is why she was left alone for so long brutalised outside the autumn court.

Azriel is familiar with guilt and self hatred and cruelly places himself in situations to continue that cycle. He knows he can’t be with Elain- he’s punishing himself by refusing to give himself a meaningful relationship by pining for her, it’s the exact same thing he did with Mor.

[aujxx]

me @ characters who have a tragic back story and uses sarcasm as a coping mechanism:

[aujxx]

Almost done with ToG and I searched the pronunciation of Nehemia. Turns out it’s this:

I’ve been pronouncing it like anemia SKKSKSKSKSKSK

[aujxx]

Poppy: if i don't acknowledge my problems, then they aren't really there, right?

Casteel: that's not how-

Poppy: it's similar to what you did, you know?

Casteel: how so?

Poppy: i stab you, you get horny instead of furious because of that, which makes you ignore the real issue.

Poppy: me wanting you dead.

Casteel:

[aujxx]

Cassian: fuck you

Nesta, hating herself: yeah, fuck me

Cassian:

Cassian: 🎶 if you gave me a chance I would take it 🎶

Azriel: as designated chaperone, I do not condone——

[aujxx]

GWYNRIEL BLURB

Oye, Gwynriel mijas! Es hora de comer! Come get your Gwynriel fix. It’s a tiny blurb, nothing elaborate, but a moment I thought of for these two and how they make their first accidental bargain with each other. Enjoy 😊

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“What’s your favorite song?”

The question catches Azriel by surprise. So much so that his sword drops an inch and that was all the opening Gwyn needed to get hers at his throat. He rolls his eyes, but he does not yield. Five hundred years and he has yet to learn to do so.

He brings his sword up in a high arc, swinging down onto Gwyn’s sword with a harsh force.

“I don’t have one.”

She parry’s—quite well, in fact—and her footwork is so clean, so quick that he recognizes the move. It’s his. His eyes quickly flick back up to Gwyn and he smirks. So, she’d been studying him.

“That’s nonsense,” she pants. “Everyone has a favorite song. Especially singers.”

“What’s,” he side steps her swing. He’ll have to remember to tell her later when they’re done that she swung too fast. “Yours then?”

She grins. “Easy. Siren Seas.”

He swishes up, curves down at a sharp angle, and right as he’s going for the downward move that usually makes his opponent yield, Gwyn blocks him. The sharp sound of their swords in the night, their panting, it’s almost enough to make him say this one. This is my favorite song.

“Typical,” he says instead. “The Nymph picks a sea song.”

Gwyn’s brows narrow, her nose scrunches. She swings hard, but again too fast. “At least I have a favorite song, asshole.”

Azriel huffs a laugh as he quickly jumps to the side, narrowly avoiding the graze of Gwyn’s blade. He likes her like this: angry, insistent, and thus honest. He doesn’t feel like many people give him that—the truth.

She’s lagging now. Her left arm—her sword arm—is getting tired. Her elbow drops when she goes to slash and her footwork is becoming repetitive. She knows she can’t beat him yet, but she’s put up one hell of an effort. Of all the priestesses, and the Valkyries now, Gwyn is the fastest learner.

He feigned left, a move that she always fell for, and darted his sword to her vulnerable right flank.

“Yield,” he pants, a winning smirk on his sweating face.

Her teal eyes squint up at him and for a thrilling moment he thinks she’s going to hit him when he’s not expecting it, but she lowers her arm with a resigned yet tired sigh.

“Fine.”

She walks to the water station and he notices that she doesn’t walk with the limp she had three days ago.

And then he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck because he’s starting to notice a little too much about Gwyn these days.

“You fought well.”

She finishes the rest of her water, a drop of it spilling over the side of her mouth and down her neck until it disappears down her Illyrian leathers. “I know.”

He quirks an entertained brow at her and says, “But you’re swinging too fast. Offensive doesn't mean speed, it means pushing your strategy onto your opponent. You’re showing them you’re ten steps ahead.”

Gwyn nods, her eyes distant like she was writing that mental note down. Her tongue darts out and she licks her lips, her hand rubbing a knot in her neck.

His shadows curl in tight around his neck. Their wisp like touches cold against his skin.

Lovely, the shadow tickling at his ear whispers.

Do you see it? The shadow creeping up his neck says.

A darkness, the one at his other ear. A darkness shrouded in light.

We like it, they whisper in convoluted voices. We do we do we do.

He wants to ask what the hell they mean, but Gwyn is looking at them. He wants to shy away, like he always does when his shadows catch someone's eye, but the look in Gwyn’s eyes—a stunning shade, really—are not reproachful. She’s curious. Her head tilts and her right brow furrows.

“What do they feel like?”

For the second time tonight, he is asked a question no one has ever asked him before. For some reason—maybe it’s his shadows slowly inking away from him and closer to Gwyn in curious slithers, or perhaps it’s the light in her eyes and the slight lift of her hand as if opening her palm to them—but, Azriel decides to be honest.

“Cold,” he says. “They feel cold. Like a refreshing breeze on a scorching day, or the cold side of a pillow.”

Like dogs, his shadows nip around her heels. They move in jerking motions as if sniffing around her, as if waiting to see what she’d do.

Gwyn only kept her hand out, waiting and patient and curious.

It astounds him.

She looks at him suddenly, a mischievous curve to her full mouth and a teasing glint in her eyes. “Do they have a favorite song?”

His head falls back and he laughs. From the stomach deep belly laughs. He is completely shocked by it, his shadows skirt around his feet as if looking up at him in shock, too.

Gwyn just smiles.

“I play mostly instrumentals,” he confides. “I like the piano best.”

“That’s good because I mostly do lyrics. I’ll just have to put words to what you play, then.”

“Who says we’re going to play together?”

She tilts her head. He’s starting to think she does that when she sees a challenge. “I do.”

“I never play for anyone else.”

“And I never leave The House,” Gwyn counters and his shadows curl around her ankles. “Looks like we both have things to work through. Add that to our training sessions, I guess.”

He glares at her, but her head remains tilted in that challenging stance as if asking him if he yields. Never, he says to the prospect. He meets his challenges head on.

He sticks his hand out between them. “Deal.”

She has a surprisingly firm grip.

And she surprisingly doesn’t flinch away from the rough skin of his ruined hands.

“Deal,” she grins, like the true winner of the night.

They shake on it and it’s only then does Azriel realize what he’s done. His eyes widen in horror at his own stupidity. Time slows as he feels a flash of warmth on his wrist and he sees the recognition appear in Gwyn’s puzzled face. He wants to jerk his hand from out of her grasp, but she’s got a tighter hold on him then she realizes. He wants to apologize, to say he didn’t mean to phrase it like he did, but Gwyn just looks down at her wrist and…laughs.

She laughs and laughs and releases his hand to look at the bargain mark now on her wrist.

Did she realize that she squeezed his hand right before she let go?

“Well,” she giggles. “That’s...that’s just hilarious.”

“Gwyn,” Azriel starts, shaking his head and stomach dropping in dread. “I didn’t mean for this. I’m so sorry. So, so—

She shrugs. “I shook on it and said the word, too.” She looks down at her wrist again. “It’s fine, Azriel. Really. It’s a small bargain anyways. No stakes. Just music. There are much worse things. Besides, I like the tattoo.”

He finally looks down at his own wrist. It’s small and shocking and damn, how many more shocks can he take tonight?

The bargain tattoo is of two lines and a horizontal S above it.

The symbol of congruence.

How strange, he thinks. Of anything—any word, any symbol, it’s this one.

The symbol of congruence was an old Illyrian symbol. One he hardly ever saw as it was not usually in line with customary Illyrian beliefs. It was the sigil of agreement and harmony. Of compatibility.

“Well,” Gwyn said as she dropped her arm to her side. “See you tomorrow then, duet partner.”

He barely looks up from his wrist in time to watch her leave. One of his shadows trails her all the way to the door, her red hair swinging in its ponytail. As the door shuts, he could have sworn that the shadows seemed lackluster in color for a moment. They seemed to pale and still their constant movements.

Looking down at the bargain tattoo, he felt something in his chest. Something unknown for right now, but to be discovered another day. He smiled then. He’d have that other day. With Gwyn.

Another shock, but not an unwelcome one. In the corner of his eye, a white ribbon flickers in the night breeze.

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Here’s Pt. 1 of my Gwynriel headcannons and here’s Pt. 2

[aujxx]

🧜🏼‍♀️ Gwynriel Headcannons Pt. 2 🦇

I am here to feed you all once again 🤌🏽

Here’s pt.1 ✨

They are BIG hand holders!!!!

This is such a big deal to Azriel because his biggest insecurity has always been the way his hands look and they are also physical manifestations of his fear of being hurt by those he is supposed to love and trust.

Gwyn always makes a point to give them little peppered kisses. They make Azriel’s heart flutter every. Single. Time.

“My hands have done monstrous things,” Azriel whispers one night as Gwyn tangles his fingers with hers.

“They’ve also saved a lot of people.” She looks up at him with those wide teal eyes and he’s in love again. “Me included.”

Gwyn loves his hands. They’re big and long 👀 and are always gentle with her until she doesn’t want them to be gentle anymore 👀

I don’t think they are overly affectionate in public but they are always holding hands. Always.

They want a private mating ceremony with just the two of them and one of the Priestesses to solidify the bond. Gwyn gives Azriel a vanilla bean macaroon and Azriel gives her a black ring that has subtle teal sparkles as a finish. It’s both the color of her eyes and the color of the night sky.

They both cry exchanging their vows.

“I will always be your friend in the dark.”

“I will always be your shadow of solace.”

“I will always give you the last chocolate croissant.”

“I will always let you choose the key of every duet.”

“I will always walk into a room first.”

“I will always guard your back.”

Gwyn tries to learn to bake but dear god she’s terrible at it. She tries so hard, she really does. For Azriel’s birthday she bakes him a platter of chocolate croissants. He takes one bite, slowly puts it back down, looks at Gwyn’s wide, wary, and hopeful eyes. And says:

“You know that I love you.”

She nods excitedly.

“I love you more than my own life. You are my heart. My soul. I would gladly never eat chocolate again if it meant saving your life.” He takes her hand now. “But, my love, my mate, dear fucking gods never bake again.”

Azriel also has the worst mouth of the entire inner circle. He says fuck the way some say um.

Azriel is scared he’s going to hurt her feelings because she went through all of this for him but she throws her head back and cackles. She kisses him silly, horrid baking forgotten, and it is the very best birthday he’s ever had.

And he’s had over 500.

Gwyn continues her work in the library but she works her way to up Curator.

The way I see the Priestesses is a bunch of PhD students trying to outsmart each other and come up with the best thesis.

Gwyn is working on post-war literature and its erasure of female heroism. She writes a searing dissertation on the negative impact war has on societal structure and Fae sociology by shifting power and creating imbalances.

It’s so damn good that Merrill is 👁👄👁 and Rhys is ✍🏽 and Nesta is 🥵🤬👍🏽🤯🥰🤌🏼🤌🏼 and Azriel is 😭 because damn his mate is a genius.

Clotho and Merrill both agree to promote Gwyn but she doesn’t want to stay in the library anymore. She wants to continue studying her theory through an anthropological lens.

She wants to travel. She wants to study every court—not just the Night. War does not leave a single town unscathed and there are so many more stories worth telling.

Azriel follows her on every adventure.

It takes her five years, but she finishes her book. She calls it Women and Ruin: Stories Now Told

He calls her my love.

She calls him my song. It’s so so so cheesy and honestly mortifyingly sweet and Azriel has a reputation to uphold so she only calls him that in private.

But he loves it. He thrives on the nick name.

Azriel sings a lot more these days.

He much prefers to have his duet partner because he’s positive he’s voice doesn’t sound nearly as good as it does when he’s harmonizing with his mate, but he’s not so shy anymore.

It’s a tradition for Azriel and Gwyn to sing at birthdays, Solstice, and Starfall.

But they always leave the crowd wanting more. They always leave one last song for themselves to sing just to each other when they’re home alone in that stunning house on the shore Azriel built for them. For her.

When they sing alone it’s magic. It’s golden and it’s incomprehensible how something so pure and wicked could coexist so harmoniously.

As a mating and home warming gift, Rhys wants to give Azriel this lavish grand piano that is heinously expensive, and of course Rhys insists, “nothing but the very best for my brother.”

Except Azriel does want a specific piano—just not this new one Rhys is trying to push onto him.

Azriel wants Haizea’s (Rhys’s mother) piano. The female had purchased it when she started to notice Azriel’s musical aptitude. She taught him every note she knew until Azriel was teaching her.

Haizea made sure that Cassian and Azriel felt as much her sons as Rhys was, so she has special things she did with each. For Rhys it was fashion and flying. For Cassian it was poetry and training

(you will have to pry the headcannon that Cassian is secretly a poet out of my cold dead hands).

And for Azriel it was music.

Rhys gladly gives Azriel their mother’s old, ancient piano that needs to be retuned once a month. Because Haizea was their mother. All three of theirs.

Azriel plays for a long time when he has that piano in the heart of his home. He plays until his fingers ache and after that as well. Gwyn watches from afar, patient and honored to see the very nature of Azriel’s soul pour itself out in the music that sounds haunting but hopeful. When she knows he is about to break, when the grief is unbearable, she sits beside him and holds on tight.

There is no humming or singing this time.

It is not always needed.

It takes Gwyn a very long time, but she is finally ready to give her sister the nymph burial she deserves.

She thought she would have refused for the rest of her immortal life to never set a foot on Sangravah land, but for her sister she would. She would face that wretched place with her mate by her side and the found sisters of her heart.

It is a long and painful day exhuming her sisters bones. Gwyn sobs for a while. She is quite for a while. She is steadfast. She is grieving. She is strong. She is sad. Whenever she falters, Azriel is there to be the strong one. Whenever she feels guilty, Nesta and Emerie are there to remind her she is loved and held.

Azriel offers to be the one who carries the blanket holding Gwyn’s sister, but she refuses. It has to be Gwyn. Her sister deserves this last act of love from Gwyn.

They go back to their house on the shore where a small boat is waiting. Azriel sails them out while Gwyn sings a mourning song in the old language. She sprinkles salt on each of her sister’s bones and one by one she releases them into the sea.

Each time she feels a little lighter.

Gwyn stays in bed for the next two days and does not feel shame. Does not feel weak. She allows herself this space to mourn exactly how she needs to and all the while is safe in the arms of her mate.

For all the shit that Azriel gave Gwyn about being a shit baker, turns out he’s even worse. He tries a vanilla bean macaroon recipe and Gwyn doesn’t even finish chewing before she’s hacking it out.

“I recognize now that I should not eye ball measurements,” Azriel says, demure and very unaccustomed to not being good at something.

Azriel has never once worn them in public, but when he’s reading reports and his eyes are tired HE WEARS GLASSES.

Tbh I see them as Potter glasses. Not hipster chic at all, but big spectacles that get the job done.

Keeping with the “mates making bargains” tradition in previous books, Azriel and Gwyn accidentally make one.

I love that these two genuinely brilliant people have one brain cell between them.

It happens after a battle. The Valkyrie’s (led by Nesta 😭🤌🏽) are holding one line, and the Illyrian’s are holding another. Cassian and Azriel do not cope well with being parted from their mates during battle but Nesta and Gwyn are unbothered and focused queens.

Yes they are worried about Cassian and Azriel, duh, but they are more able to move past that and do what needs to be done.

Gwyn takes a nasty gash to her Achilles heel.

Azriel takes four arrows to his shoulders.

Honestly, Azriel 🤝 Getting shot in literally every single book.

And they don’t tell each other they got injured as to not worry the other.

Gwyn is getting stitched up in the medical tent when she looks across the way and sees fucking Azriel looking like a whole ass porcupine.

Gwyn: 😐

Azriel: 🦔👁👁🦔

🎶he looks at me and I look at him and he looks at me and I looOoook at hIiiiIIIIMMmm🎶

Which is stupid and they both come to their senses about that.

They keep trying to tell each other they’re fine but the sword that got Gwyn was laced with Ashwood and Azriel’s was laced with something new and dangerously potent. They are certainly not fine.

Gwyn glares at Azriel as she holds his bloody hand. “You should have told me.”

Azriel glares right back at her as he holds her bad leg up on his lap. “Fucking ditto, my love.”

Too tired to fight, to relieved her mate is okay, she just says, “From now on we tell each other when we’re hurt. No matter how bad.”

Azriel nods. “It’s a deal.”

“It’s a deal,” Gwyn repeats.

They don’t realize what they’ve done until there’s a quick warmth on both of their wrists. They look down to find matching tattoos.

It is the symbol of congruence.

Azriel, slightly delirious, laughs raucously. “I can’t believe we accidentally made a bargain.”

“Yeah that’s pretty pathetic. We tell no one. We say it happened on purpose. They can never know. Nesta would never let me live it down.”

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

Another flash of warmth.

“FUCK!” Azriel shouts as another damn accidental bargain tattoos itself on them. He falls back on his cot, pulling Gwyn down with him. She fits into his side like a dream.

She lifts her shirt to find the musical symbol of rest on her ribcage. She lifts Azriel’s and finds the same.

Gwyn is the one who hogs all the blankets. She also has really cold feet and is constantly shoving them under Azriel’s legs.

Gwyn starts getting Azriel to drink valerian root tea to get better sleep and the first time he does he sleeps for thirteen hours. It’s the best sleep he has ever gotten and Gwyn doesn’t mind that he’s on top of her the whole time and her arms are numb. She just strokes his back and his hair.

Azriel is a massive snuggle bug. If they’re lying down, he’s spooning her.

Their favorite meal is breakfast— but at midnight.

“I have to admit something,” Gwyn whispers into Azriel’s chest late one night. It’s the eve of their sixth mating anniversary and she can’t keep lying about this.

Azriel’s fingers still in her hair.

“I know I told you with practice you could, but you really can’t sing soprano.” Azriel is quiet and his chest is shaking. “It’s so bad,” Gwyn whispers. “It sounds like a bird is trying to laugh.”

Azriel can’t hold it in anymore. He’s roaring with laughter.

Gwyn leans up on her elbows. “It’s like the sound of wobbling glass, my song.”

Azriel is laughing a stitch into his side.

“Nesta and Cassian’s newborn daughter does a better soprano.”

Azriel is laughing so hard tears spill over and it is not an uncommon experience anymore. Gwyn is the funniest person he knows and he could fall in love with her all over again by how she makes him laugh.

They never go to bed angry.

If they’re angry at each other they will hash it out for hours if they must, but they will always always go to bed on the same side again.

It’s Solstice and Nesta and Gwyn, ever the gossips, are watching ravenously as Emerie and Mor laugh over at the drink table.

Emerie has always had a crush on Mor

But is that Mor leaning into Emerie’s much too casual touch?

Is that Mor with a lingering stare?

Across the room of dancing people are Nesta and Gwyn’s equally busybody mates. Cassian and Azriel watched the exchange from afar as well. Cassian with a gleeful look in his eye and Azriel with his nose in his whiskey glass, a brow quirked. Cassian whispers something to Azriel with a grin on his face. Her mate rolls his eyes but shakes Cassian’s hand.

Azriel looks exceptionally handsome tonight. She has half a mind to take his hand and leave the party early.

More than half a mind.

Nesta nudges her with a playful elbow. “Filthy, Gwyneth.”

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, holds it for a tortuously long moment, and winks.

It sends her heart tumbling and her blood warming.

Gwyn is not impossibly happy because this sort of deep rooted joy should not be impossible. She does not want anyone to believe such a thing. That to have joy and love was to accomplish the impossible.

But she does feel exceptionally lucky.

[aujxx]

✨Gwynriel Headcannons 🦇

This got away from me and is super long so buckle in, mi gente 🤭 it’s more of how they become mates and less little things about them. I’ll have to make a pt. 2 at this point with the little things about them as mates because you know I am already strapped with those headcannons.

Azriel headcannons pt. 1 , pt. 2

Of all the mates in the inner circle, I think Gwyn and Azriel are the most complicated in terms of all the hurdles they will have to jump through.

Azriel’s entire life has been confusion. He loved Mor for 500+ years—

(anyone else think Azriel low key knew about Mor being Bi and kept her secret without her knowing he knew?)

— and then Elain comes into the picture and confuses him even more.

Azriel, at his core, is desperate for love. Moreover, I don’t believe he’d recognize true, healthy love because the “child weaned of love considers harm a comfort.” - Gillian Flynn. Case and point Mor and Elain.

Gwyn is also a survivor of a brutal attack and that healing journey is so commendable and has to be done without the idea of Azriel as a prize or her being “ready again” as a prize either.

Gwyn’s healing must not be centered around a romance plot because that is such a cheap way to “solve” a sexual assault.

That makes me think that Gwynriel will resemble Rowaelin very strongly in terms of creating a deep friendship rooted in understanding and shared secrets and trauma.

Their love and eventual realization of a mating bond will be really slow. Silver Flames has already started the ground work that Gwyn trusts Azriel.

That said, Azriel is the first to recognize the signs of the mating bond. Like Rowan, Azriel doesn’t/isn’t sure about it because of how utterly unexpected it is. He sees Gwyn as his friend, and even that bond is tentative at first because he understands her hesitancy with males.

Their friendship begins to form during private training sessions that happen accidentally. Gwyn prefers to train on the roof at night because “there is no safer place to fail than in darkness.” Azriel, our resident night owl and all around insomniac, is like damn girl you’re right.

Azriel also canonically trains at night, too. So, they begin to train together and Azriel helps Gwyn with all the maneuvers Cassian overlooked because he was too busy simping over Nesta’s ass in those Illyrian leathers.

Cassian and Nesta’s cool down was about silence and stillness of the mind. Azriel and Gwyn’s cool down is about stillness of the soul.

Stillness of the soul comes from sharing pain and grief—two things that demand to be witnessed. We release hardship and trauma when there is a friend with us in the dark who understands. This is the foundation of Gwynriel: a friend in the dark.

Azriel starts opening up about his childhood. Gwyn talks about her sister. Neither feel judged about how dark their souls truly go.

Gwyn, ever the chatterbox, begins to discover that our silent Shadowsinger isn’t all that shy or silent. Mans, to her utter shock, meets Gwyn’s chatter energy step for step. They can talk for hours. They do talk for hours.

When your soul feels seen it will sing and sing and sing.

Not that Azriel never felt understood by his brothers or the inner circle. It’s just different when you find your mate, the other side of your coin, the other end of your very long tunnel.

One night, under a clear sky full of stars, Gwyn sings a raunchy sea shanty about a crew of female pirates who, rum drunk, steal an entire treasure trove beneath the unsuspecting noses of a male rival pirate crew. The shanty is entirely inappropriate and absolutely hilarious.

It’s the first time Gwyn hears Azriel’s laugh.

Azriel, when he’s truly laughing, laughs from the stomach. It’s full and deep and loud with a musical lilt to it. Gwyn decides his laugh is her favorite song.

Gwyn is working on slowly leaving the House, and every time she does Nesta is there like a comforting panther ready to strike at any who approach. As comforting as a panther can be.

One day Nesta is away with Cassian on court business, but Gwyn is adamant on maintaining her schedule of acclimating herself to being away from the House. She goes by herself, and for a while she’s doing great, until she isn’t. She’s sweating, she’s breathing too hard, and she wants to hide hide hide.

Azriel doesn’t know why, but he feels the sudden urge to fly out to the side of the Sidra along the base of the House.

As Gwyn is focusing on her Mind Stilling, a shadow casts overhead. She hears a rush of wings, the soft landing of feet, and Azriel is suddenly beside her.

She glares daggers, knives, and swords at him. “I’m fine.”

Azriel’s face is impassive. His eyes stray to her sweat soaked nose and Gwyn wants to shove him when he says, “Of course.”

She doesn’t ask him to leave and he doesn’t offer to. Neither talk and Gwyn finds she can breathe a little easier.

She hears male laughter and her whole body tenses. Azriel steps closer, his eyes straight ahead. She knows she is safe. She knows anyone who tries to take her on is asking to take on the famed and feared Shadowsinger and the entire might of the Inner Circle. Hell, if anyone harmed her they’d have Nesta to answer to. But she is still afraid.

She hates it. She hates her own fear. She is a Valkyrie godsdamn it. Males should fear her.

But she is still afraid.

Beside her, Azriel hums.

It’s not a song she knows and she knows every song. His voice is low and deep and Gwyn finds herself harmonizing. They continue like this for quite sometime until Gwyn realizes this is the farthest she’s ever gone. Her grin and whoop of glee echoes around her and in the corner of her eye she sees Azriel watch and smile, too.

Later, Gwyn will realize that she has never harmonized with anyone as well as she did with Azriel.

Later, Azriel will realize the same.

It’s Nesta’s birthday and to everyone’s shock she wants to celebrate at the River House.

Gwyn asks about Nesta’s decision in private and Nesta says, “There were so many parties I avoided or ruined at that house. I want to cover those memories with new ones. I want to laugh with Feyre and tease Rhysand for how lavishly he gives me gifts. I want to play with my nephew and know that I belong.”

Gwyn decides that she will not miss Nesta’s birthday. Emerie is with her as she leaves the House and they walk together to the River House.

Nesta is glowing. She’s laughing, she’s chasing Nyx, she’s happy. Cassian has an arm around her and Nesta leans into it. They kiss they laugh and the look in their eyes...

It makes Gwyn want to be happy, too. So, when Nesta asks her to sing Gwyn gladly does.

The inner circle sings along and sometimes she sings alone, but Gwyn is having the time of her life.

There is a grand piano that Rhys doesn’t know how to play but purchased because it looks aesthetically beautiful, and for the occasional Azriel serenade.

When Azriel sits on the piano bench he raises a challenging brow to her. Gwyn lifts her chin and feels the way she did towards that white ribbon. As Azriel starts the beginning notes of a familiar song, Gwyn follows with a vibrato.

Their duet is like nothing he’s ever felt. Azriel enjoys singing. He does it all the time even though his brothers only think he does it once every few hundred years. He sings when he flies, when he needs to think, when he feels alone.

But singing has never felt like this. He goes low and Gwyn instinctively knows whether to join his note or go high. He drags a note and she follows. She changes the key and he adjusts quickly to her. His fingers on the piano keys answer her quickening pace. Their voices are so in tune he’s never felt so complimented before.

It feels like a challenge. It feels like an answer. It feels like something has come to a climactic completion.

They end a song on the same note, on the same breath, and they are both panting, both wide eyed and delighted.

Nesta smirks to herself.

Mor, a glass of wine in hand, holds it out in cheers when she and Azriel catch each other’s eye.

Cassian and Rhys secretly watch with shock and excitement because Azriel has never played or sung without being prompted. When Cassian whispers something in Rhys’s ear, Rhys grins and shakes Cassian’s hand.

Elain, in a chair with Nyx, frowns.

But Azriel and Gwyn don’t notice. They stare at each other and they catch their breath. They grin.

Trouble is stirring at the Summer Court and Tarquin suspects he has human spies trying to infiltrate his court. Rhys, in a display of friendship, sends Azriel, Cassian, and our three Valkyrie baddies.

Cassian cannot go anywhere unsupervised.

During this trip, Gwyn finds out about the Elain-Necklace-Re-gift.

Things do not go well.

Nesta is enraged for both the sister of her heart and the one of her blood. Nesta approaches Azriel with every intent to beat his ass, but Cassian interjects. That is until Nesta challenges Azriel to a Blood Duel.

A Blood Duel is a Valkyrie custom that is a contained and controlled fued-letting. The challenger decides how many cuts they wish to inflict, and if the challenged party accepts, the duel cannot end until the number is exacted.

Nesta only asks for three. One for Elain, one for Gwyn, and the last is for Azriel himself because he has to decide to stop doing things that harm him.

The Blood Duel is private and the two fight for three hours.

Nesta is floored when Azriel, after the three landed cuts, cries.

He feels like his father who was terrible to his mother. He feels like Eris who was terrible to Mor. He feels like Tamlin who was terrible to Feyre. Azriel just feels terrible and worthless and horrified.

Nesta, who understands this all too well, doesn’t tell him he isn’t. She knows that when a person is this low, when they hate themselves this much, they don’t want to be proven wrong. They just want to stand back up again. So, Nesta only asks Azriel this one thing, “What do you want to do about it?”

Azriel does not feel shamed or judged by Nesta when he says he doesn’t know. When he admits he’s never had to apologize for his actions and doesn’t know how to start now.

And this is when Azriel realizes that he is beginning to heal because Gwyn is no longer the only person he shares his hurt with. That Azriel was able to look at someone other than his brothers, other than Gwyn and whatever she was becoming to him, and show the side of him that felt regret.

Azriel later finds Gwyn on a private beach. The dammed necklace dangles between her fingers, her red hair ruffles in the salt breeze, and Azriel feels his knees falter.

He cannot remember the last time that has happened to him.

They are quiet for long moments. The waves break on the shore, palm branches scratch above, and there is a haunting hum in the way the sea ebbs and flows.

“It wasn’t about the necklace,” Azriel finally says. “It wasn’t about Elain, either. It was about how I felt discarded. How I’ve always felt that way. Giving you the necklace was giving you the last piece of me I had to offer—the piece that desperately wanted someone to choose it, to love it.”

Gwyn’s throat is painfully tight and she doesn’t respond for a moment. Azriel’s tight face is drawn and so so sad when she asks, “How badly did Nesta get you?”

It’s not what he was expecting, but Azriel huffs out a small chuckle when he shows his left arm. The gash is the deepest one and hurts like a motherfucker. It is the gash she said was for him.

“I think Nesta is one decade away from taking over the world,” Azriel says.

Gwyn’s lips twitch. “More like half that.”

The necklace catches a glimmer of moonlight and they both watch the charm spin.

Gwyn takes a deep breath and releases it into the sea breeze. She looks fully into Azriel’s eyes and says without hesitancy or a tremor, “I do choose you, Azriel.”

His eyes gutter. His chest feels like it’s concaving in relief and disbelief because he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve the hand Gwyn extends to him as she stands, doesn’t deserve the way she gives a small squeeze when he takes hers.

“But I don’t choose only this,” she says to the necklace she holds up. “I choose all of it.”

And then she puts the necklace in his hand.

“So, I don’t need it.” Azriel is shocked he doesn’t fight the hand that cups his face, is shocked he leans into it. “But I think you need it. You need to choose yourself, Azriel.”

He hears Nesta’s voice in his head. What do you want to do about it?

He hears his father’s horrible voice. He hears his mother. He hears his screams as his hands were burned. He hears Mor’s laughter as she avoided his eye for so many centuries. He hears everything and it’s too much.

But he also hears a song. A soft crescendo of courage and friendship, a raunchy sea shanty, a duet that was both an answer and a challenge. He hears Gwyn. He hears himself.

With the entire force of his body, Azriel throws the necklace into the ocean.

Gwyn is a steady presence beside him and in the space between their souls, something that feels like a shore begins to form.

I could write an entire fic about their time at the Summer Court, but the Valkyrie’s accidentally decimate TWO buildings in a skirmish and Cassian, bless, takes the blame for Nesta.

Tarquin near has a whole ass aneurism and makes a decree forever banning Cassian from Summer. The decree is sealed with a Sea Gem engraved with Cassian’s name—it is the second highest threat below the Blood Rubies.

There is a noticeable difference between Gwyn and Azriel when they return from Summer.

They walk together most every day.

Every day they make it further and further into the city and every day that shore between their souls becomes a little more clear.

One day, they make it to Azriel’s favorite bakery. Azriel orders them chocolate croissants and coffee and when Gwyn offers him a bite of the vanilla bean macaroon she’s eating he PANICS.

He doesn’t know know but there’s something instinctual in him that leaps at the idea of accepting her offer of food. There’s also the part of him that deeply loves and respects the friendship they’ve built so taking the macaroon from her hand without her understanding what it would mean, without him fully understanding what it means, is a betrayal.

He shrugs off the macaroon. “Not a fan of vanilla bean.” A lie. He loves it. Has had that macaroon plenty of times.

If Gwyn notices Azriel acting off the next few weeks she doesn’t mention it.

But Azriel’s brothers sure do.

“The fuck is up with you?” Cassian asks bluntly.

Rhys, with the more gentle approach, says, “you’ve had this look of having a branch of ash wood up your ass that last few weeks.”

They’re at the River House and Nyx is crawling around their feet on the grass. Azriel has known Rhys for over 500 years and has never seen the look on his brothers face as he watches his son. Rhys didn’t even look this way around Feyre. This was the face of a father besotted with his son—who was looking more and more like Rhys every day.

“I want to build a house,” Azriel avoids their questions.

His brothers look at him bewildered. Even Nyx pauses and blinks up at Azriel.

Cassian raises a brow. “I am genuinely worried about you.”

“You and your big ass forehead can keep your worrying to yourself,” Azriel retorts.

Cassian bellows in laughter at the call back to Azriel’s first words to Cassian when they were children. Nyx claps along with Cassian’s laughter and Rhys just watches Azriel with that infuriating Rhys look.

Of everyone Azriel has ever known, Rhys has always known him best. That is, expect for Gwyn. Stars wink in those violet eyes and Azriel wants to punch his brother for that damn knowing look. Rhys always fucking knew.

“We’ll help.”

Cassian shoots a look at Rhys but he’s already grabbing his son and heading inside.

Cassian glares at Azriel. “I have a feeling you just lost me a shit ton of money.”

Azriel shrugs. “You’ve always been a terrible gambler.”

And then Cassian gives Azriel a look that surprises him. A look that says Cassian knows more than he lets on. “Do you want to know what I bet Rhys?”

Azriel looks long and hard into his brother’s eyes and sees the answer in them.

He looks away. “No.”

A month later, Azriel lands on the roof of the House and is bone tired. True to his word, Rhys and Cassian helped Azriel build the house on the shore. The little spit of land he’d had his eye on for years. He’s exhausted from the labor of building the whole damn thing with his own hands and doesn’t notice the shadowy shape in the distance until his own shadows leap and dance around him as Gwyn nears.

“You’ve been hiding.”

There’s no reproach in her voice and her stunning teal eyes are only curious. Worried. For him, he realizes.

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve been...”

“Building a house,” she supplies with a raised brow.

Fucking Cassian.

Azriel stammers for an explanation but Gwyn raises a hand. “You don’t have to explain. But, I have missed you.”

She doesn’t know what those words do to him, but Azriel doesn’t know what his absence has done to her.

He wants to tell her the house on the shore is almost done and he’s built it with her in mind the entire time.

She wants to tell him she walks alone now and doesn’t feel afraid.

He wants to tell her she helped him find his voice.

She wants to tell him he helped her find her courage.

He wants to tell her that this is love.

She wants to tell him that this is love.

He looks at her and that shore in his soul is singing. His chest aches.

She looks at him and feels safe.

“You know where to find me whenever you’re ready,” and then she’s gone. He’s alone on the roof and his shadows for the first time feel lonely and he wants to scream what he’s feeling, what he’s suspecting.

But Azriel deep down doesn’t believe he deserves this.

“You do.”

Fucking Rhys.

His brother always knows when he needs him and always has a way of sneaking up on him.

Azriel sinks to the ground and lays on his back. “I’ve done heinous things, Rhys.”

Rhys lays beside him. “Same.”

“I’m not a good person.”

“Perspective,” Rhys retorts. “And whatever awful things you think you can’t be forgiven for, I’ve been beside you while you’ve done them or have given the order. If it’s hell you’re afraid of, then be at peace. Your brother is the king of it.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“So are you, brother.”

They watch the stars in the sort of companionable silence that comes with being family until Azriel says, “I think...I think Gwyn is my mate.”

The truth of it is soft sand. It is the sea under a night sky. It is serendipitous and it is half a duet, waiting for its partner.

“I know,” Rhys says softly.

“How do I tell her?”

“What makes you think she does not already suspect?”

Azriel whirls up into a sitting position, wide eyed.

“She sees Nesta with Cassian. She knows what a mating bond is. She’s intelligent.” Rhys sits up. “And mates know when they are bonded.”

Azriel is breathless as he asks, “Has she said anything?”

“Not that I know of,” and then Rhys raises a brow. “But neither have you. All I know is she’s asking questions and you should be the one to answer them with her.”

Azriel is about to run to her but the panic sets in. What if she doesn’t want me?

Rhys claps a hand on his shoulder. You owe to both of you to try.

He waits until nightfall the next day to find her because it is always safest to fail in darkness, as she once told him.

He watches her severe a white ribbon with ease. He wants to clap.

“You can come out now.”

He’s not surprised she knows he’s been there the whole time, finding his courage.

He doesn’t know where to start. The space between them has never felt so cavernous. He settles for, “Do you want to see the house?”

Gwyn tilts her head. She studies him for a moment. “You want to talk about the house you’re building?”

“No, I want to show you it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Semantics.”

He quirks a challenging brow. “Perspective.”

He holds out a scarred hand and she does not hesitate to take it.

He winnows them to the house on the shore and he’s not sure who leans into whom, but they’re embracing and neither immediately notice when they arrive. They only know the other’s arms around them, the shared breath, and the mutual feeling of arriving home after a long, long time away.

Gwyn nods toward the house behind them, her nose brushes his. “Show me what you’ve ditched me for.”

He laughs. From the stomach. And it feels really fucking good.

It’s easy taking her hand, it’s easy falling in step with her. It’s easy showing her the beach he picked and telling her why. It’s easy telling her he’s always wanted a home he created for himself. It’s easy sharing his hopes and dreams and deepest fears. It’s easy because she does it, too. It’s easy because she is his friend in the dark.

The next step is not easy. He sees everyone who has ever turned away from him.

But Gwyn is not them.

She beats him to it. “Tell me about mating bonds.”

He falters. He literally crumbles. His hands shake as he runs them through his hair and Gwyn is kneeling beside him, patient.

He tells her about the history of the bond, of Rhys and Feyre, and Nesta and Cassian. But more importantly he tells her about them. About how the bond between them feels like a shore. About the music between them. About the way his shadows and soul sing of and for her. How she had snuck up on him and somehow become his dearest friend.

He tells her of all the little moments that were arrows pointing him to her, to the truth of their bond. He tells her of the vanilla bean macaroon and she cackles.

She tells him that was when she suspected, too. She tells him of that shore between them, how she’s seen it, too.

She tells him of the friend she found in him. Of the strength in her voice and soul when she thought of him. She tells him that they can take their time.

She tells him that she chooses this—him.

“So,” she looks around them. “You panicked at the realization of having a mate and responded by building said mate a house.”

Azriel laughs and leans his head against hers. “Got any vanilla bean macaroons on you?”

And that’s my Gwynriel! Hope you liked it, hope you have a friend in the dark and if you don’t then here’s my hand 👋🏽

Pt. 2

[aujxx]

🦇 Azriel Headcannons 🦇

He changed his last name to Rhys’s when he reached his majority.

Which is Darling change my mind

But Azriel doesn’t actively use any last name. He’s just Azriel but the Darling is there on paper.

Contrary to popular belief, his favorite color isn’t red or cobalt blue—it’s teal. He remembers his mother telling him that was her favorite color.

Teal low key a surprise tool for later innit 👀

He sings so rarely the inner circle jokes it happens once a century. When he does sing, Cassian—a la Stepbrothers—says “you are the song bird of your generation.”

Stupidly good at everything. He can watch a group of people playing a card game he’s never heard of, learn it in one round, then promptly beat their asses at the game.

A sore loser. Will angrily sulk.

He was scared of the dark as a child 😭

He became a Shadowsinger as a defense mechanism. The shadows sang to him for comfort and so he listened to their language and never forgot his only friends once he left that dark cell of his childhood.

He will never get over the smell of oil.

When he was left at Windhaven and Rhys’s mother took him in (whose name I headcannon as Haizea which means wind), Azriel didn’t speak for two months.

The first time he spoke was when Cassian asked what had happened to Az’s hands, to which he responded, “what happened to your bigass forehead?”

Because Cassian has a deep scar from the top of his head down his left eyebrow.

Rhys was delighted and laughed for hours.

To this day, when Azriel flies he still hears Cassian and Rhys’s voices in his head teaching him how to bank or fly through a rough patch of wind 🥺

Right before Rhys was imprisoned UtM, the bay boi’s got into a stupid fight. During the 49 years without their other brother, Azriel and Cassian spent almost every day together they felt so guilty.

Azriel is left handed.

He is a hella INTJ on the Myers Brigg.

Would never admit it, but has the biggest sweet-tooth. 

Is not enthused by flowers.

His personal love language is physical touch.

Would 10000000% join Nesta’s bookclub and become a romance bro.

I have soooo many Gwynriel headcannons that they will have to be their own post.

BUT. They are mates and they are lovely and they deserve each other 😩

Loves the beach. Has a dream of building a house that overlooks the coast of the Sidra.

^ To be continued in the Gwynriel post 👀

When Chris Evans said he’s an ass man, Azriel felt that.

Shadowplayshadowplayshadowplay

^ he puts Shadow Hands Dorian to shame.

Whiskey > Wine

🎂 need I say more?

Is the Funny Friend

NOT the Responsible Friend

IS the Chaos Friend.

Need to bury a body? He’s your call. In a bar fight? He’s right behind you. In a jail cell? Sitting beside you.

Savage but we been knew.

His eyes are more brown then hazel, but sometimes you can catch the most gorgeous green.

The story of how Azriel got Truth-Teller is really fucking bloody and 😦 and like something out of game of thrones, but long story short Truth-Teller is a Shadowsinger blade and Azriel’s birth father was in possession of it through nefarious means. So, Azriel took it. (This happens during the punishment of Az’s half-brothers that Rhys alludes to)

^if anyone wants my full story on this I’d be happy to make another bloody, Shakespearean post about it.

Is actually a lightweight but has a great poker face so you’d never know he’s drunk until he’s DRUNK drunk.

He’s a chatty drunk and the biggest fucking gossip. Love that for him.

His favorite shows would be the Real Housewives franchise and Game of Thrones. There is no in between.

Obviously a Slytherin, also obviously I think he’s a type 6w5 on the enneagram.

If he could turn into an animal like the ToG fae, his other form (outside of the bat wings) would be a Great Grey Owl

Chaotic Neutral alignment

Sleeps like once a week.

He buys coffee beans from the Summer Court whenever he’s there because I headcannon that Summer farms beans. Is now addicted.

When teaching Feyre how to fly, he discovered that she indeed did have the biggest wingspan. He has yet to tell anyone.

(Here’s the Truth-Teller headcannon!)

(Here are the Gwynriel headcannons!)

[aujxx]

Gwyn never calls Azriel by his name, it’s always shadowsinger, spymaster or something straight up ridiculous that never fails to make Azriel laugh. He thinks she’s just bad at coming up with names, but in reality she’s doing it on purpose—to hear his deep, rich laugh. Her favorite thing in the world.

So when one day his name falls out of her lips as he’s standing right beside her during one of their private lessons—a scarred hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip—he just froze. He stops mid-sentence, and Gwyn can feel his body go rigid behind hers. Worry wash over her face as she quickly twirls around, almost dropping the bow she has in her hands as she does so.

But he’s just standing there, dangerously close to her, a tenderness she’s never seen on his face as he softly breathe. “Say it again.”

Gwyn’s expression must give away her confusion because he quickly adds, “My name. Say it again.”

So she does, still not really understanding. She tentatively says it again, and again, and then a small smile starts curving her lips as realization hits her. As one of the corner of his mouth tilts up, quickly expanding in a broad, beautiful smile. As dimples appear, and she realizes that after all, his laugh is not her only favorite thing in the world.

[aujxx]

Don’t think about the fact that after 500 years of feeling like a worthless bastard and killing his own rapist father, Cassian is now actually brothers with a member of his found family through their mates and is planning a family of his own.

Don’t think about the fact the this must make Azriel, who also had a horrible father and has endured endless abuse, feel so left out that he thinks Elain is the only answer even though she’s mated to someone else and that his show of emotions came not out of possessiveness but a profound frustration and feeling of standing on the outside looking in at his own brothers.

Don’t think about the fact that Gwyn doesn’t even know who her father is and has lost every person she’s ever loved prior to meeting Nesta and Emerie.

Don’t think about the fact that if Azriel and Gwyn are mates not only would the Gwynriel/Nessian double dates shatter the universe, but they could have a child that ends up being Cassian and Nesta’s child’s mate thus showing that even when Azriel was questioning why he isn’t connected with his brothers the universe was pulling him to a different path for their family to come together.

Don’t think about the fact that Lucien’s entire life has been him bouncing around from tyrant to tyrant with no real sense of place or belonging and he doesn’t know that the man who murdered his lover is not truly his father.

Don’t think about the fact that Elain is sunshine and light personified and that as much as Feyre and Nesta love her she will never truly be free to explore and grow on her own if she stays sheltered in the Night Court. Don’t think about the fact that she could bloom like a tulip under the light of the Day Court and ride across the very sun.

Don’t think about the fact that Night and Day have always been the closest allies and that Lucien and Elain as High Lord and Lady of Day might be the only way that all of the courts can be united to work together (Dawn, Day, Winter, Summer, and Night are already allies but this would pull in Tamlin because despite everything he wouldn’t hurt Lucien. Eris loves his brother and has protected him once before but he’s also smart and wouldn’t even think about going against such an alliance).

Don’t think about the fact that it’s also possible Gwyn is Tamlin’s daughter and if he dies the magic might pass to her and she and Azriel become High Lady and Lord of Spring (because SJM breaks her own rules all the time lol)

Don’t think about the fact that Nesta is mother blessed and in control of the deadliest weapons in Prythian and also mated to the most feared general in history and this fucking POWER COUPLE could raise and lead a Prythian-allied army the likes of which no one could ever defeat and become the god of war and goddess of death reborn.

Just don’t think about any of that.

[aujxx]

I am so fucking JEALOUS of people who are going to find ACOTAR in like 5-10 years (maybe 20 at this pace lol...) when it’s all complete and they can finish a book with raging questions and emotions and fears and doubts only to have all of those answered by... the next book. Which will be immediately available to them.

Like we really spent 3 years waiting for Nessian and now we gonna wait 3 more to find out about the whole love pentagram situation (Az, Elain, Lucien, Gwyn, and Vassa) and there will probably also be soft, established Nessian in that book as well which we are all STARVED for and we gonna have to wait and see if Rhysand is gonna make Night Court Imperialism a thing and then years after that to find out what went down with Mor and Eris and if Emerie and Mor is gonna be a thing and if Beron is ever gonna die and just like 1000 other unanswered questions about these characters. Imagine finding this series when it’s complete... it hurts.

[aujxx]

Late night thought but the fact that Azriel's shadows don't tell him Gwyn is training just makes me think they set him up to meet her that night. And I love them for it.