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fuckyestherest · 9 months ago

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Such an unexpectedly wonderful pairing!

Morrill (Mor/Merrill) | T, mentions of war/death/trauma from sexual assault | First Meeting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

ao3

*please mind triggers for SA trauma references

~*~*~

“You’re late.”

Mor hasn’t fully entered the office before the words land like the crack of a whip.

This is going to be a treat, she thinks in annoyance.

Before nearly stumbling over her own feet in the first case of gracelessness in … her entire life?

Sitting behind a desk piled high with documents and books propped open to pages for easy comparison, the singular most stunning female Mor has ever seen presides. And she’s leveling the iciest look at Mor from those twilight eyes. Frigid enough to freeze an Illyrian legion mid-march.

And all the more breathtaking for it.

Mor recovers her footing against a burst of tempest.

“Do the members of our ruling court believe themselves above appointment times? Has the Night Court strayed so far from basic etiquette?”

Hair as white as dazzling Winter snow rustles in her own conjured wind. Strands catch on the priestess’s thin lips. The crackle of magic and the scent of ozone tickles Mor’s nose, dares her to poke her tongue out to lick her lips against the familiar tingle of awareness.

But she can’t remove her eyes from the female and she’d likely see the sight of her tongue as an instigation.

“My sincerest apologies.” Mor smiles easily, practiced, as she sits, crosses one knee over the other in her flowy high-waisted trousers. “Would you prefer I reschedule?”

Merrill, Clotho’s second and the leading researcher for the Night Court who rivals even Helion’s scholars — through abrasive call-out articles in response to their studies in the scholarly circulars, nonetheless. A maelstrom of a female descended from one of the most formidable welders of wind, Lord Rabath. Mor has heard of her, tucked away in the Library, but has somehow never run into her.

Until today.

Today she’s here to strike an impossible bargain.

And she’s completely botched the start.

“So your lack of attention to detail can interrupt my calendar once more? I think not. But I may exercise a hard stop at our original end time, whether we’ve gotten to your portion of the meeting or not.”

“That would be amenable. Fair, for my tardiness and all.”

Merrill scrutinizes the lack of tension in Mor’s posture with the suspicion worthy of a shrew. A creature too used to being underground.

Mor has to suppress the familiar righteous fury that fills her when considering the circumstances that have chased these females into this mountain sanctuary.

This place isn’t about her, isn’t about vengeance - it’s about healing, and her anger won’t help that. Not now, at least.

“I briefly described the purpose of my inquiry —” Mor highly doubts this female has an ounce of brevity in her body if she describes the lengthy scroll Mor received as ‘brief’ “ — so I assume you’re prepared for this undertaking. I will warn you now, thoroughness will not be compromised.”

“Unless you decide to impose the hard-stop of our appointment time?”

Merrill’s lips pucker. Only centuries of surviving her Illyrians’ practical jokes keeps Mor’s expression carefully trained beyond a flicker of amusement.

“As I already said, yes.” Twilight depths don’t warm an inch, but a challenge not wholly hostile twinkle in them. “If you insist on asking repetitive questions, we certainly will not have time to discuss your matter.”

Mor ducks her chin. “Understood. Please, Merrill, I’m ready when you are. I’m fully confident in my ability to follow your precise instructions as well as my stamina to withstand whatever you throw my way.”

Merrill scoffs, sizing up the Morrigan like she isn’t a renowned figure across continents. “We’ll see about that.”

They launch into a lengthy analysis of the firsthand accounts Merrill has collected on the Valkyrie. Asking Mor for confirmation from her own experiences with the warrior females. They’re interrupted briefly by one of Merrill’s assistants, a young Fae barely wet behind the ears, and the pure indignation that seeps from the priestess fills Mor like a kettle of familiarity.

The flippant tone the young female thinks is buried beneath her respectful words raises Mor’s hackles in the same way Nesta’s haughty attitude does.

When she asks if it’s just her or have all the Fae gotten younger and more precocious, she swears a hint of a smile threatens to break Merrill’s steely demeanor.

After that, a careful truce is drawn.

A recognition that they’ve both been around far too long for the mouthy, exhibitionist style of the youths these days — surely they never would have been so churlish, dared to speak out against their tutors, their masters in learning.

It’s impossible to tell if minutes or hours pass as they hunt out details in Merrill’s book. It’s more exhilarating than Mor had imagined a review of a comprehensive history could be. It stirs old feelings of wild, reckless times, poor decisions and moments of unbelievable courage; they feel like tales of someone else — not her own stories. But there’s also the somber, smothering reminder of Fae come and gone.

A lengthy silence follows the passage pertaining to the Gollian Mountains.

Mor presses her hands between her thighs and squeezes them.

Flesh, blood, above ground.

Or. Not quite so above ground.

She studies the office, not so far in the depths of the mountain on the second level of the library, but there’s still a hint of cavernous moisture to the air, the faintest trickle of water moving through stone behind the walls. Seeks out the details to chase away the thrum of emotion welling in her throat.

This isn’t one of the rooms with a window towards Velaris. As if Merrill has intentionally barricaded herself against the heart of the mountain.

They’re both living, but life feels so cut off this far from the surface.

“Don’t you miss it?” The words come out like a great exhale.

Merrill freezes in her diligent note taking.

Focused, feeding her a steady supply of information, Mor has managed to nearly smooth things over from her social faux pas - but now those sharp eyes are narrowed on her with a promise of violence brimming beneath.

“The wind,” Mor continues. Truth sings in her blood, surges her forward. “It must be stifling to be down here, only catching drafts. Don’t you miss the wind?”

Mor expects a howling rage. A tantrum of papers and curses whipping around her in a tunnel of biting air.

But perhaps it's her earnest expression, or the vulnerability laid out between them in discussing her fallen comrades. Merrill forcefully sets her pen in her ink well, but the current around her is only a trickling stir. She crosses her arms over her chest, nearly tugging the fabric taut enough to reveal a shape of a body underneath.

Mor doesn’t look.

Like a shuttering pull of blinds Merrill bites back her rage and honesty flickers through.

“Yes,” she grits out. “I miss it with every damned breath under this mountain. The wind cries to me like a forlorn lover, begging me to return.”

They barely know each other, but for some reason Mor’s chest is rising and falling rapidly with the confession. It feels sacred. Like a treasure to hold this female’s candle of truth close, needing to cup it gently with both hands, protect it, so it doesn’t wink out.

“So why don’t you answer Her?”

“Simple. I am a coward, Morrigan. I hide behind my books and research and anger. I punish myself for a crime I didn’t commit because I am so gods-awful afraid to face …”

“What?”

Merrill’s rigid jaw tightens. A storm brews in her twilight depths, the flash of lightning in fractals of shining silver.

“You know what.”

“What if you had help?” Mor breathes, possessed by an overwhelming need to reach across the distance between them —

She squeezes her hands tighter to suppress the urge.

The silver gives way to that icy rage. “You cannot expect to come down here and flaunt your lifestyle of adventure and peril to coax a centuries old hermit from her shell. I am a coward and that can’t be changed with, with — ” she throws a hand towards Mor, as if her entire presence is an affront “ — this pageantry. This beautiful life with the wind and sunlight and … The scent is all over you and it’s tempting like a freshly baked pie cooling on the sill, but … It’s not for me.”

Mor feels a knot forming in her throat. It feels like the number of Fae her age are dwindling. The first war and then the most recent conflicts. There’s been such abysmal loss. The tug of this kindred spirit, this cage of stone …

“I need your help,” she says, and there’s far too much emotion choking her words. Mor should be polished, should be the Queen of the Hewn City - but she’s utterly overwhelmed by the force of her power. Of the Truth that needs to be voiced. “In Valhallen, they dance circles while I try to pin them down. I need your help. No one else is as knowledgeable —”

“That’s why you came here?”

Papers begin to shake. A distant power calls in kind as magic seeps from Merrill.

“The High Lord would allow such a request when he knows what this retreat is meant for —”

“No, please, it was my idea and Rhys would have my title if he knew I would even try. Clotho, too, would likely string me up as bait for whatever still lurks in the bowels of this Library.” There’s a wobbling to her tone and Mor has no idea why until Merrill’s eyes flash with the release of her power — and the echoing howl answers mournfully. “Mother above, I shouldn’t … I shouldn’t … But the Wind misses you so dearly. I can hear Her now.”

A tear slips unbidden from her, rolls down her cheek. Merrill watches the track in stunned awe.

The papers settle.

“Don’t you miss the wind? The sky? Sunlight?” Mor says shakily and she fumbles her hands onto the desk as close to the priestess as she dares. “I can help. I will help, to face, to face …”

Merrill inhales sharply.

She looks away.

Her hands tremble as they slide across her desk of papers. The tips curl into Mor’s. Something shining and bright hums to life, but neither voices it.

Instead, Mor relishes in the delicate touch. The heavy weight of unwarranted trust — trust she’ll never squander, she’ll use her life to defend.

“Is the situation so dire?” Merrill whispers to the floor littered with thick tomes.

“I wouldn’t beg this of you otherwise.”

To hell with the cream color of her sweater, Mor uses her shoulder to wipe another tear away and swipes a line of black eye makeup with it.

“I - I can’t … Make any commitments yet.”

“It’s an immense ask, I wouldn’t expect a quick answer.”

They remain in gentle silence and Mor tries not to consider the gift it is to touch the magnificent whisperer of the West Winds. To see the truth of her formidable strength she thinks is lost and crumbled. With time, she thinks, with time.

And with some help.

A priestess makes a clatter in the hall just outside of Merrill’s office. As if snapping out of a trance, Merrill withdraws into herself and pulls her spine straight imperiously.

“Send a formal request, Mor. It will need to go through Clotho considering the obligations I fulfill under her direction. I will write to you once we … I’ve made a decision.”

The lingering warmth of the female’s skin remains like a blush on Mor’s fingers.

“And … if I were to visit before your letter?”

Merrill meets her vulnerable, open gaze. Guarded, cold, but not icy enough to stop warriors dead in their tracks.

Mor’s heart leaps in her throat.

“Wait for my letter.”

She nods in understanding. “Time. Right.”

Mor collects herself from the chair her backside has molded to during their appointment that has bled well past the original hard-stop time. Her thoughts feel heavy, doused in the surge of her power and the thrill of emotion she hasn’t felt in … in her life. A kindred spirit, an answer to a question …

“Mor?”

The excuse to look back as her hand lands on the doorknob is a relief Mor didn’t know she needs. The jewel hanging at the center of her forehead pulses with energy as Merrill considers her next words.

“Seek out the employment of an Order trained scribe. Don't make me a laughingstock presenting your chicken scratch to Clotho."

Mor can’t stop the peel of laughter the same way she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

The wind that answers isn’t angry, but a soft whisper of a caress along her flushed cheeks.

#mor x merrill #morrill #mor #merrill #acotar #acotar fanfic #strong stubborn women for life

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year ago

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gwyn x balthazar | 4k words | warnings: none | masterlist

Clotho sits behind her old, worn desk. And Gwyn has been looking at her for over five minutes, not yet stepping forward from where she is partly hidden behind a bookshelf.

Clotho's is lost in the embrace of an old book, her eyes fully focused on the text in front of her. She hasn't noticed Gwyn yet. Although Gwyn somehow hopes she will. It would make it easier for her.

Clotho would wave her over and she would start talking.

But she can't stay hidden any longer. Mor is probably already waiting for her. They are supposed to leave in a few minutes, so Gwyn can't waste any more time.

She treads carefully as she steps out of her hiding place, her fingers fisting her robes. She inhales deeply, calming her speeding heart.

It is just one question. Not even a majorly dramatic one. But what if it is? What if Clotho says no? What if she is disappointed in Gwyn for even asking for something like this?

I am overthinking this way too much, Gwyn tells herself and lets go off her robes.

With a deep, steadying breath, she musters the courage to approach Clotho, her footsteps barely making a sound against wooden floor. The moment she stops in front of her desk, the High Priestess lifts her head.

A paper appears on the desk. So, you finally made up your mind?

Gwyn has to smile, a little giggle slipping through her lips — Clotho just knows everyone too well.

"I did," she says, nodding. Then Gwyn clears her throat softly, her heart racing as she continues, "I, ahm, I've wanted to ask you something…"

Clotho nods, her look telling Gwyn to continue.

Swallowing her unease, the young priestess chooses her words carefully, as if tip-toeing around something fragile. "So, there is this…this…this male…" Gwyn pulls her lower lip between her teeth and something sparkles in Clotho's eyes.

"I've met him…I mean, I somehow did…And, well, he seems to be a very, very good male. He's not a brute, no he is good in his heart and mind. And the others…" Her voice trails off momentarily.

Clotho observes Gwyn intently, as if wanting to look right inside her heart and soul, wanting to see if Gwyn truly means it, if this male truly means it. Yet, she does not react.

Drawing in another breath, Gwyn continues, her voice gaining some confidence. "The others…Nesta, Emerie, Cassian, Azriel... they all know him too. They trust him, and I do too."

Her fingers fidget her robes once again and Gwyn hesitates to go on. She feels how cold sweat coats the back of her neck, her skin growing hot, her breathing a little heavier.

"I... I'm…I was…no, I am wondering if it would be alright... if I can invite him to, you know, to a service. He is kind, and has a good heart, and I would like to invite him. Only if that is alright, of course. That is why I am asking."

The High Priestess' gaze softens, her eyes shining brightly. She remains silent, of course, but her words are getting written on the paper in front of Gwyn.

He truly is kind and a good male?

Gwyn nods.

You like him? Like him a lot?

Gwyn nods again, a faint blush gracing her pale cheeks. She feels how her body relaxes, and the skin of her face grows warm.

And he likes you? Means only good things?

"He does, or at least I think he likes me. But he only means good things, I know this." A smile parts her lips and she tips her chin. Clotho smiles as well, slowly bowing her head.

You have my blessing, Gwyneth. But you will have to ask the others as well, this is not only my decision.

Gwyn has technically already done so. She sent the letter to Balthazar, that she would love to visit Windhaven and see his woodcrafting space, two days ago, announcing her visit for this day.

Right after she sent the letter, she started asking her fellow priestesses for allowance to invite him. To her utter surprise, even Merrill had agreed. And now she also has Clotho's blessing.

This is a good day, Gwyn thinks. She grins, when she takes a step back from the desk. "Thank you! Thank you so much. This means the world to me!"

Clotho smiles a little brighter, her eyes twinkling like the stars in the night sky.

Now nothing can stop her. She will invite him here, show him her space as well. This is a major step. One that is both exciting and absolutely terrifying. He will be the first male to ever see this space — her very personal space. But it feels right. She wants Balthazar to see this. She wants to see how he reacts when she tells him everything about her life, when she lets him in. She has to see it, has to let him know, in order to go further with whatever it is between them.

But telling him, after he let her in on his worries, in his life, feels right. And it feels good — the thought of telling him makes her feel comforted. She knows whatever she has to say then will be safe with him.

Because everything he told her, is safe with her.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gwyn's eyes widen with surprise as she ascends the staircase to the House of Wind, where Mor is waiting after changing into more Windhaven-appropriate clothing. Mor always looks stunning, but today she appears to have gone the extra mile. Gwyn can't quite put her finger on it why, but Mor looks absolutely beautiful in a tight plum-colored dress that perfectly accentuates her curves, her hair tied in a high ponytail.

Gwyn can't help but wonder why Mor has gone to such lengths, especially since it is just for a trip to Illyria. A small smirk graces Gwyn's lips, and her thoughts immediately drift to a certain Illyrian female, the one she calls her best friend — Emerie. Those stolen glances, the quiet giggles, and the way both of them blush when around each other — could that be the reason why? Most certainly!

"Good to go?" Mor asks, her voice joyful.

"I am, thank you for taking me." Gwyn smiles as she walks up to Mor who already reaches out her hand for her. "Oh, don't worry, I have…business to deal with up there anyway. You know, those males sometimes just need a female to talk business." Mor grins, her eyes sparkling brightly.

They walk outside, to the balcony, the sun already high up in the sky, its warm strays falling upon their skins. "I will stay until you want to go home, if you want to leave immediately after arriving it is also fine. You tell me, alright?"

Gwyn's heart warms at the kindness, at the thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she says and it is then that mist wraps around them, they become weightless, their feet leaving the ground and just a moment later touching it again. Winnowing — still something that Gwyn finds herself marvelling at.

The air is crisp up here, it always is. It always is cooler up here, Gwyn thinks and for a moment her mind drifts back to the Blood Rite, to how they were thrown into it with only their nightgowns on their bodies. It is still a miracle that they made it out alive. That they won. Emerie and her made it to the top, became Carynthian. Nesta won as well, she also made it out alive! And so did Balthazar, no matter what his father would have said — he made it out alive and that is a big win.

"Will he come pick you up?"

Gwyn turns to Mor. "Yes. I asked him if he could meet me at the training pitch, as it is the only place I know around here."

Mor nods in understanding and the two females set out to walk over to the training pitch. It is midday, so hardly anyone is around, most Illyrian males are probably eating right now or taking a nap after lunch. The females are probably working in the kitchens, but all of this will change soon. Soon Balthazar will be officially announced as camp lord, and everything will change for the better.

They arrive at the pitch, already a bit later than arranged but Balthazar is no where in sight. Gwyn does not grow nervous, but a tiny kernel of unease blooms inside of her. Where might he be? Did he forget her?

"You don't have to wait with me, Mor," Gwyn tells the blond female next to her. Mor is observing her surroundings, her eyes squinted, her hand placed against her forehead as she looks around, observes. "Of course, I do. I am not leaving you here alone." "Balthazar will be here soon." "Yes, and until then I'll wait with you." There is no room for protest, the decision is final.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"When did this happen?" Balthazar slings his arm under his mother's shoulder, trying to help her up. "And why? What were you doing?"

"I was up in the attic, Baz. Trying to look for some things."

"There are no things up in the attic that are important." "Your f—" "Don't!" His voice is filled with both concern and warning. He does not want to hear it. He does not want to hear that his mother nearly broke her neck by trying to retrieve old things that belonged to his father.

"I am sorry, Baz," she says in a voice tinged with hurt, and a tears trail down her cheeks.

Worry floods his being, eliminating any other thought or feeling. What if that happens and he is not around to help her?

His hands, strong and steady, support her fragile figure, offering both physical and emotional help. Balthazara assesses her for any signs of injury, his eyes scanning over her body, but she seems fine. And yet, his mother's vulnerability, her pain, grips his heart with icy claws, and sinks its fangs into his whole chest. With tenderness and care, he reassures her that everything will be alright, his voice laced with both love and worry. And Fiara clings to him, as if never wanting to let go.

He helps her mover over to the couch, his gaze flicking to the old grandfather clock on the wall. It tells him he is already late. Again!

Balthazar ensures his mother is seated safely. He kneels beside her, wings draped on the ground and takes her hand in his. "Mother," he breathes and a tear slides out of Fiara's eyes.

"I am sorry, Baz." Her voice trembles, her chin quivering.

With gentle words and his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, he tries to ease her discomfort and get rid of any pain she may be feeling. Fiara's eyes are closed, her chest lifting and falling with deep inhales. She seems to fall asleep.

So, Balthazar carefully lets go off her hand and straightens up. "Mother, I have to go and…deal with something. I will be back later, but please, promise me to not go up there again. If there is something you want, Thena or I can retrieve it for you, but please don't do it yourself."

His mother nods weakly, her gaze meeting Balthazar's through heavy-lidded eyes. "I promise," she whispers and leans back against the cushions, eyes closing once again.

Balthazar quickly bends down to place a kiss on the top of her head and pulls a wool blanket over her fragile figure. "I'll be back for dinner. I am cooking, you don't have to worry about that."

He is not sure his mother still hears this, maybe she is already fast asleep.

The moment the young Illyrian is outside the door, he is running. He is running again, like usual. Somehow, he is always running. But when it comes to Gwyn, he would run everywhere. At any time. And as fast as he can.

He runs past the huts, hurdles through the small pathways between the tents, turns around the corner of yet another hut and takes one last sprint towards the training pitch. A thin film of sweat coats his entire being, but Gwyn has already seen him bloody and dirty, so she will be able to deal with that as well.

"Gwyneth," he breaths when he comes to halt, voice breathless, but not from running, rather from how stunned he is once again by her beauty. He forgets to breathe, to think, to exist — she is stunning, almost like a queen or goddess.

His eyes are solely trained on her, on the smile, this bright and beautiful smile, that parts her lips.

"Balthazar." Her teal eyes sparkle, as they trail over his features and Gwyn takes a step forward. Only then does Balthazar's gaze move to the female next to her and he bows a little at the waist.

"Lady Morrigan." "Lord Balthazar of Windhaven!" The blonde female smiles at him, and reaches out a hand which Balthazar quickly shakes.

Gwyn, even if it makes absolutely no sense, and especially since she has only a short time ago pondered about Mor and Emerie, feels a pang of jealousy inside of her when their hands touch. It is so odd and irrational that Gwyn has to shake her head. But she knows this feeling, knows it is jealousy, even though it makes absolutely no sense.

"Lord Balthazar, you know where Lady Emerie's shop is?"

He thinks for a moment, but then nods. "Of course, I do." "If Gwyn wants to go home, you will immediately get me. You will find me there. Or you will bring her to me, do you understand?"

"I do," he says, voice stern and sincere. Of course, he would do this. Immediately.

"Good, otherwise, me and my favourite dagger will do very lovely things to you, to very important body parts of you." Warning flashes brightly in Mor's eyes when she steps past him.

For a split second, something like shock passes over the young Illyrian's face, but he quickly finds himself nodding once again. And so Mor leaves, flashing Gwyn an encouraging and happy smile which the young priestess returns.

Balthazar seems a little nervous when the young priestess searches his gaze. His brows are furrowed and he is nibbling on his lower lip. He inhales a deep breath, solid chest rising with it, and wipes the palms of his hands down his thighs. "Alright, my woodcrafting space. Shall we?" He asks and nervousness takes root in his chest.

Gwyn is the first person, outside of his family and Corrian, to ever see this place. He has never shown it to anyone, no one has ever been in there — this feels like a major step in his life. Like he lays his soul even more bare than he had already done when he had told Gwyn about his father and his nightmares.

"But first, how are you feeling today?"

His voice, so low, with the slight rasp, and so comforting dances over her skin and Gwyn finds herself smiling. "Thank you for asking, I am feeling very good today." Her smile turns into a grin that Balthazar mirrors with his lips.

"And you? What about you?"

"Never felt better," he says, but the smile on his lips does not reach his eyes and Gwyn immediately knows something is up. She herself is surprised about how well she can read him already.

Her own smile falters, brows furrowing. "You are not being honest, are you? Did something happen?"

A little huff accompanies Balthazar's sad smile and he says, "My mother fell earlier and I am a little worried about her. But it is all alright, she is sleeping now."

"You can go to her!" Gwyn blurts out. "Stay with her. You don't have to spend time with me when—" "I want to spend time with you. As I said, she is sleeping, it is perfectly alright. I want to be with you this afternoon, spend time with you. It is the best thing that can happen to me today, the nicest distraction from all the chaos right now." His smile is now more sincere, honest and does reach his eyes. He means it, he really does.

"Alright, shall we?"

Gwyn nods excitedly, but when she looks around to where a few Illyrians start to return to their chores outside, and also to the smaller training pitches, a kernel of nervousness blooms inside of her. Her heart quickens when her gaze ping-pongs between the males. Then she looks up at Balthazar with a hint of panic in her eyes.

He must sense her unease, taking a step towards her.

Summoning her courage, and pushing past the restraint that held her back the last time, she looks up at him, her voice soft and hesitant, "Would it be alright if... if you—could, please, hold my hand while we walk over to your hut?"

Gwyn lowers her gaze, her fingers curled around the lower edge of her sweater. She feels vulnerable in this moment, not strong.

But she knows how easy it is to lose control in moments like this, to fall back into all patterns of angst and panic whenever a male gets too close. She does no longer want to be afraid. And she knows that Balthazar holding her hand will help her keep control. He will give her the necessary comfort, the necessary strength she needs in this moment.

She waits for his response, her eyes briefly meeting his before flickering away. It is such a simple request, but a tremendous step for Gwyn. She hasn't touched a male like this in ages, and most definitely not after…Sangravah. But Balthazar does not scare her, his closeness does not worry her, and his touch, it won't hurt her.

Something like pain passes over Balthazar's face, almost like he can sense that there is some deeper pain hidden inside of Gwyn. Some secret that makes her so cautious, so wary, so…scared.

"You never have to ask for something like this, Gwyneth," the young Illyrian whispers.

He reaches out his hand, not grabbing hers yet. He gives her time, lets her take his hand when she is ready for it.

Gwyn's fingers tremble slightly as she slowly reaches out, her hand hovering near his for a moment before finally making contact. The touch is delicate, her fingers sliding into his in a tentative grip. The skin of Balthazar's palm is a little callused, probably from all the fighting with swords and the woodcrafting he does.

Balthazar has never felt something like what he feels when Gwyn's palm brushes his. Her slim hand perfectly fits into his broad hand, like they were made for one another.

He holds her hand, not tightly, so she can pull it back whenever she wants to. But the spark, the sensation that explodes on their skins the moment their palms really meld, does not go unnoticed by either of them.

Gwyn's eyes briefly meet Balthazar's, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability evident in her gaze. With a shy smile, she draws in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, and begins to walk alongside him, her grip tightening ever so slightly when they head towards the huts of the Illyrian war camp.

"Thank you," she says, her tone barely above a whisper. Balthazar does not answer, but he gives her hand a gently, assuring squeeze and it is all Gwyn needs in this moment.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Gwyn's eyes are wide as she takes in the interior of the hut. She stands in the middle of it, turning and spinning on her heels so she can look at every little corner, every nook, of the room, so she won't miss a single thing. She can still feel his touch against her palm, how good it felt, and how right it was. It was perfect, and it was a big step she is now happy and proud she took.

"You made all of this?" she breathlessly expresses.

"Yes." Balthazar looks happy, bouncing on his toes, wings and hands folded behind his back. Instead of looking at the room, he looks at Gwyn, watching her as she swirls and looks around. So stunning… his lips part in silent admiration.

"Is this the chair you mentioned last time?"

Balthazar explains to her that it is, and also tells her what it still misses but that it will be finished soon. He also shows her the other objects, certain small stools, a box, a shelf that he has only started recently, little figures and many more things. They wander through the whole hut, it is small, but there is just so much too see and Gwyn is so interested. She wants to see everything, wants to run her fingers over every smooth surface. And she also wants to hold his hand again.

The dedication he pours into every project is very visible and Gwyn is happy to learn a little more about him whenever they meet. He is an interesting, intriguing male, with a heart of gold and a mind as sharp as a blade. She loves that about him. Somehow she has always dreamed to meet a male just like him.

"How do you now feel about the camp lord business?" Gwyn suddenly asks, glancing over her shoulder at Balthazar.

The smile on his face vanishes for a split second and he says, "Better. And alongside my sister and my best friend, I definitely have you to thank for this. I am starting to believe that I can do this. That I am ready for this."

She turns, so her front faces his and reaches out to hold his hand once again. "You don't have to thank me for showing you the obvious. You are perfect for this position, you were just too blind to see it."

Balthazar smirks, his hand tingling where it touches Gwyn's. "Did you just call me blind?"

A grin parts her delicate lips and for a moment Balthazar's falls drops to her mouth.

"Well, you are blind. You clearly don't see your potential, your skills, your power." She traces her thumb over the siphon on the back of his hand to make her point clear. Balthazar nearly shudders at the feeling, his breath getting caught in his throat.

"Gwyneth," he hums.

The priestess' cheeks warm a little, her breathing turning heavier. It is the way he says her name — her full name. It does something to her, makes her body feel something she hasn't felt before. But hearing her name on her lips, it is…no words can describe the emotion she is feeling.

Somehow it feels like in all those romance book, when the love interest whispers dirty somethings into the female's ear. Yes, yes, this is somehow comparable to what him saying her name feels like. And Gods, will he ever say her name like this to her when they— She can't think about this right now. This would be scandalous!

"Would you like to come see a service some time?"

Balthazar seems to not understand immediately. His forehead lies in furrows, his hand loosening its hold on Gwyn's. She giggles softly, loving his confused expression. He is still so very handsome, but Cauldron, does he look adorable like this.

"I am a priestess and we have services and I was wondering if you would like to attend one. I asked, if it is alright for everyone, and it is. You may come, if you want to."

She looks hopeful and finally Balthazar nods. "I would love to. Will you sing again?"

"I will."

"Then there's nothing I'd rather do. When can I come?"

Gwyn's heart does many happy skips at his excitement and the grin blooming on his handsome face.

"Sunday. The next one is on Sunday."

~~~~~~~~~ tag list: @a-frog-with-a-laptop @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel @callmeblaire @headcanonheadcase @waternymphia @autumndreaming7 @devilsfoodcake22 @readercacau @sv0430 @bubybubsters @cyntia-ktn

#gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #gwyn x balthazar #balthazar #balthazar acotar #acotar #acosf #acofah #acourtoffateandhealing

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imsointobooks · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 3,195 times in 2022

15 posts created (0%)

3,180 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mercurianbisous

@yazthebookish

@shadowsingerspriestess

@broodybatboy

@daevastanner

I tagged 75 of my posts in 2022

#gwynriel - 14 posts

#gwyneth berdara - 11 posts

#acotar - 9 posts

#azriel - 9 posts

#gwyn x azriel - 8 posts

#azriel berdara - 8 posts

#acosf - 6 posts

#nesta archeron - 2 posts

#feyre archeron - 2 posts

#gwynweek2022 - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#imagine the chaos of gwyn adding ingredients to a bowl and hoping for the best while elain desperately tries to make her follow a recipe

My Top Posts in 2022:

Theories I love (Part 1):

Gwyn:

Being shadow mommy. Coming into her role of priestess and co-leading the valkyries. Late night training sessions with Az and flirting with him and making him blush. Kissing him first. Being besties/ siblings with Rhys. Being close friends with Cass, Lucien and Feyre and of course her girl gang/ soul sisters Nesta and Emerie. Getting to know more about her Autumn Court heritage. Going out into Velaris to explore on her own. Visiting her sister's grave for closure and meeting some of the kids she saved that day. Helping with her immense knowledge and research in finding the 4th Dead Trove and being Az's spy buddy. Getting to explore her nymph heritage. I think Merril is sus but even if she isn't standing up to her. Honestly a maternal, fond relationship with her and Clotho. Nerding it out with Rhys. Getting to know about the mating bond first. Nyx loving her. Awesome kinky bookish idea sex scenes with Az and shadow play and bondage with ribbons. Casual cuddles between her and Az.

Azriel

Finding his self - worth and self - love. Bat bois bond and fun. Kinky bedroom scenes. Getting touched when he realises others love for him and acceptance of him (because it is there). Getting exasperated with his shadows for being obsessed with Gwyn. Closure with Mor. Babysitting Nyx moments. Him singing. Him crying once in front of people and letting out his emotions. Being the sweetiest and hottest in bed with Gwyn. Late night sparring sessions. Jealousy from Balthazar over Gwyn. Being a protective ass and getting his ass handed to him for trying to be a white knight. Accepting his illyrian heritage and doing his best to make it better. Spy missions for the dead trove. Late night research sessions and stargazing with Gwyn. Beinga mused by her and in awe of how she slays in her Court of Nightmares look. Honestly some funny thoughts about Amren in his head. Being more open with the IC. Craving touch from bis favourite Valkyrie. Shirtless scene. Truthteller scene. Dad style trying to scold his shadows for sneaking of to Gwyn and then Gwyn scolds him for being rude to the adorable minions. A strategy point where he comes up with a really smart solution to a problem. A separate moment with all of the IC members. Becoming friends with Lucien and apologising to him.

Rhysand

Being besties and nerding it out with Gwyn. Azzie and Rhysie moments. Proud and loving dad moments. Competing with Feyre for their child's first word. Providing the chafing with a smirk when Gwynriel's bond clicks. Amren and Rhys friendship. Nesta and Rhys friendship and random gift giving. Teasing Az about Gwyn.

Feyre

Tough but loving mom moments. Girls night out with her, Gwyn and Nesta. Observing how good Az and Gwyn are together. Her and Nesta being sisters. Her and Mor friendship and helping her out with Emerie. Lucien and her being besties again pleaseeee.

Elain

Going to the day court and becoming a courtier. Observing how people behave and using her natural charm to be a diplomat and come into her own. Going to the spring court and seeing it bloom. Possibly becoming its consort with Lucien (because i don't find her much of a High Lady material) and helping others out in it and gardening. Maintaing her friendship and having a closer bond with Nuala and Cerridwen (idk if i spelled that right). Being distant but amicable with her sisters because honestly she's a self-centered sister and idk want their to be some rlly close bond with her and Nesta and Feyre as a resolution. As a person Elain can be cool but family wise she's a Taryn. Not being coddled by the NC and going out to explore likes she wanted to with Lucien. Being friends with the BoE but initially they don't like her she has to earn their friendship and protection. Donning Day Court fashion. Rejecting the mating bond but being with Lucien. Getting jealous of Lucien with someone else. Being a goddamn courtier and helping out and being seen as something more than a pretty face and using her charm and observance. Helping defeat Koschei.

Lucien

Becoming High Lord of the Spring Court (hell no is Helion dying idc). Getting an apology/ redemption arc from Tamlin for his abuse. Becoming besties with Feyre again. BoE friendship and sass and die for each other style moments. Being a courtier and ambassador. BEING HAPPY AND LOVED. Realising he will not be used by others abd will fight for himself and put himself first. I love his approach towards Elain in every aspect nothing change. I don't want a head over heels love thing more the finding her worthy that is there rn. Closure regarding Jesminda. Dad Helion and baby Lucien moments. Mommy LA and Eris bro moments too. Figuring out his day court powers. Gagging over his dad and mom being lovey-dovey. Being the sassy sarcastic awesome we know he is. Reviving the Spring Court. Helping defeat Koschei. Hanging out with his brother in laws.

66 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

❤️❤️🥳🥳

I have never cared about having followers before, because I never actually found a platform which made me want to be active on it. But it feels really special to see that I have 500 followers. Its a flex in my family😁.

For all its flaws and ship wars, I am so thankful to tumblr for finally giving me an online presence and mutuals I love. This site is so interactive, relatable, genius, talented and soothing and I have all you guys to thank for it!

A special shoutout to some blogs that have been a ray of light in my life the past 2 years.

@bookofmirth Its my biggest flex to tell everyone that an actual literary professor follows me and acknowledges me. I love your opinions, especially in regards with Mor.

@yazthebookish commissions and fact check for all gwynriels

@daevastanner do I even need to say anything? The fanfiction queen and its like talking to Emerie online.

@hellogoodbye14 your fluff is just what I need for a pick me up always

@aelingalathyniusrailme sass and smarts? Writes the hottest Gwyn.

@hlizr50 and @gwynrielsupremacy to fulfilling prompts to perfection and blessing us with writing

@mercurianbisous for giving me all the fanfics and dom Az I never knew I wanted but so needed

@tealnymph24 for being my first close mutual on here

@thebluenickel the one i have bonded with most and for gifting us the canon gwynriel book

@houseofhurricane for making me think and writing intriguing, hot plots

@lucielart , @salteas and @carol-pisarro (someone please tell me their handles😅) the most gorgeous, emotive and stunning art we never deserved but still got thanks to your talent 😍

@broodybatboy , @shadowsingerspriestess and @lady-riel for the cute ficlets and incorrect quotes.

@cascadingmoon and @booknerd87 for the commissions and events and stories, we were kept constantly fed thanks to your efforts.

This is no where close to everyone and I'll keep editing it as people come to my mind but I am so grateful for all of you and my mutuals and the talented writers and artists in this fandom

Love You💋💋

72 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

I actually think that SJM will show part of the book with Azriel pining after Elain but in the way where he believes he likes Elain and wants to be with her, but his actions completely contradict that. Like he is trying to be in love with her because the 3 sister 3 brother logic dictates that and he wants to be in love with someone (desire for mate). But he actually has no idea what loving someone is like so he realises in his character arc that that he's looking for the wrong things.

Basically doing beautiful bestie and love couple type things with Gwyn but not realising that that's the kind of love he's been looking for. And that him wanting Elain is just words and no thoughts or actions. I want to see his notion of love challenged in his character arc. And I honestly don't want Gwyn to be waiting on the sidelines with the knowledge that she's his mate, I honestly want both of them to figure that out only when they are together already.

I think Azriel forms a biased judgement of something in his head and sticks with it despite evidence otherwise.

His family abused him? All Illyrians deserve to die, despite the fact that he knows good ones like Rhys, Cass and Emerie too.

He thinks he's in love with Mor? Doesn't get over her or take the hint even after 500 years that she isn't.

He is a torturer? He's a monster who doesn't deserve anything good, despite having a family who loves him so much.

His brothers found happiness with a mate? He wants a mate despite knowing that his brother's didn't find happiness when they got to know they had a mate but when their mate and they fell in love and chose to be with the other.

His brothers have an Archeron mate? He wnats one too despite the 3rd Archeron already having mate.

He wants to be in love with Elain? He'll try to be with her despite not feeling any love for her and being in love with a teal-eyed Valkyrie instead till she makes it impossible for him to stick to his stupid judgement.

73 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

Gwynriel headcannon:

As Gwyn and Azriel's prank war goes on:

Azriel opens his wardrobe one morning to find that all his boxers have been replaced with pale pink thongs with unicorn ears on them, courtesy of Gwyn and the House.

And when he comes up to the dining room for breakfast, Gwyn teasingly calls out, "Won't you show us the ears Az?"

So he promptly takes his shirt off to throw at her and strides over to her and brackets her in the chair with his arms.

And whispers in her ear, " Don't see any do you Gwyneth? I thought going commando might be a better visual for you. Was I right?"

And walks off smugly leaving Gwyn all hot and flustered.

121 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I present to you, Gwyn Berdara's hair!

✔️ copper

✔️ brown

✔️ glow like molten metal

✔️ redhead

✔️ (future) can take ruby gleam at night with Azriel in their private training sessions 👀👀👀

129 notes - Posted June 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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tealnymph-writes · 4 years ago

Text

A Song of Shadows: Chapter 8

Title: Library Chats and Naps

Gwyn and Azriel spend an afternoon in the library, complete with flirting, napping and an accidental interruption.

Read on AO3

Azriel X Gwyn

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but a little bit of steam

Word Count: 3,638

Single POV

Masterlist

Gwyn scratched out another sentence of her work in frustration. She had made so many errors writing down various bits of research that the paper was covered with scribbles. Merrill would never accept it.

She sighed, annoyed with herself. She was too distracted to get any more work done. At least it was late in the afternoon; she could almost call it quits for the day. At her sigh, Azriel poked his head up from his book, concern in his hazel eyes.

They were sitting deep within the library, her at a work desk and him on a sofa adjacent to her. She had sprawled out in the cozy nook to work on her research because it was secluded and located near the section she needed.

Azriel had found her a few hours ago, research for Rhys a thin excuse for his visit. He was now sprawled on the sofa reading “Theories of the Universe and Stars.” So much for his research. She didn’t mind though. She enjoyed when he came and spent time with her in the library.

“That’s about the 10th time you’ve sighed in less than an hour,” Azriel remarked. “Care to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” she insisted, knowing he would see right through her lie. She was beyond anxious, her thoughts a jumbled mess of indecision.

It had been three weeks since the training session that now held a special place in her heart. That day had turned out to be the happiest of accidents; but she had also made a bet that day. And while she may have won, she had promised she would consider Azriel’s side of the bet.

Now she was a week away from Mor’s birthday party and more nervous about it than ever. She wanted to go, but it scared her for more reasons than one. She had never been to a party like that before, let alone one with Azriel’s family. What if she panicked? What if everyone thought it was strange that she was with Azriel? She knew Nesta wouldn’t care, but she wasn’t so sure about everyone else.

“Gwyneth, are you ignoring me now?” Azriel asked, tearing her away from her worries.

“I am not ignoring you,” she protested, annoyed at how relaxed he looked. He had no reason to worry about this ridiculous party. He was free to peacefully lounge on his sofa looking far more handsome than should be allowed. It was infuriating.

“You’re in quite the mood today, Berdara,” he said, closing his book, eyes dancing. The shadows that had settled near her playfully twirled around her, echoing their master’s mood. Despite her annoyance, she smiled slightly.

“I am not in a mood,” she shot back, giving into his efforts to get her talking. “I am merely contemplating my future decisions and you interrupted.”

“Do these future decisions involve me?” He questioned, standing up and stretching luxuriously before walking over to her desk. He sat on the edge, waiting for an answer. She contemplated ignoring him but decided playing nice would earn her better rewards.

“Yes, the plans do involve you,” she told him with a sweet smile. His eyes dropped to her lips, as she knew they would. “But since you’re forcing me to confess my secrets, shouldn’t I get something in return.”

“Of course, my lady,” he flirted back, catching onto her game. “What would you like?”

She closed her eyes in response, tilting her head up toward him. To her pleasure, he understood almost immediately. His hands cupped her face, drawing her closer. Then his lips were on hers, leisurely exploring her mouth and instantly making her forget all her worries.

She could do this all day. In the two weeks since he had first kissed her, they had spent as much time as possible together. Training in the mornings, lunches when they both had time, spy training at night and stolen kisses anytime they could fit them in. Lots and lots of kisses.

She could lose herself in Azriel’s kiss. He was thorough and gentle in a way that made her toes curl. She constantly wanted more, much like right now. But to her dismay, he pulled away just as the kiss was about to turn more heated.

“Was that the reward you were looking for, Berdara,” he asked, breathing heavily. “Or was there something else you wanted?”

Oh yes, there was definitely something else she wanted, but she knew he wouldn’t give it to her yet. His kisses were perfect, but he was always so careful. Never putting his hands anywhere that was not respectful and never drawing out the kiss long enough to lose control. It was driving her mad. She knew he was only trying to be conscious of her boundaries, but a part of her wanted him to lose a small amount of his unbreakable self-control. Cauldron knows she did with him.

“No, you delivered perfectly,” she assured him, blushing slightly at her own thoughts.

“Good,” he responded with a self-satisfied smirk. It should have annoyed her, but it only made her want to kiss him more. “So, will you tell me what’s bothering you now?”

She should tell him. He would listen to her no matter how silly he thought she was being. She met his stare and huffed a sigh before speaking.

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t laugh at me.”

“I promise I will not laugh,” he swore, crossing his heart in mock seriousness. “I will remain entirely silent until you’re finished.”

“Fine,” she conceded, feeling anxious again. “Do you remember our bet from a few weeks ago, the one we made the day you took me to dinner?”

He nodded, keeping his promise of silence.

“Well, I know I won the bet, so I don’t have to go to Mor’s birthday, but I want to. Except, I’m scared. I’ve been thinking about it for days and I still can’t decide if I should go or not.”

He raised his eyebrows as she paused, silently asking her for more information. She hesitated. Now that she was saying everything, it all seemed so ridiculous. But it was too late now, so she trudged forward.

“I’m scared to go to the party because I’m worried I’ll panic and ruin it. But I’m also scared because your whole family will be there. What if they don’t like me? We haven’t told anyone we’re together. What if they don’t approve?”

By the time she was finished, her voice had become impossibly small. Azriel had gotten progressively more still as she spoke, barely even breathing it seemed. She looked down at the desk in embarrassment.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” he quietly asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She nodded but didn’t look up.

“Okay, you said a lot of different things, so bear with me as I address them,” he gently said, taking her hand in his. “First, I know you’re scared. I’ve taken you to Velaris before. This would be no different. If you want to come home, I will take you home. Okay?”

“Yes, but –”

“But nothing,” he cut her off, lifting her chin with a finger. “Second, everyone already loves you. That won’t change just because we’re together now. And third, I don’t care if anyone approves of you or not. Their opinion has no impact on my feelings for you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he stopped her again, anticipating her rebuttal.

“Gwyn, I’m serious, you have nothing to worry about in regard to my family,” he insisted, steadily holding her gaze. “This relationship is between us, not anyone else. Besides, they already adore you almost as much as I do. It will be fine. Okay?”

She reluctantly nodded, pouting slightly. Everything he had said made perfect sense, which made her feel even sillier. Here she was worrying herself sick over Mor’s party and he had no concerns at all about it. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re probably right, but I don’t understand how you’re so calm about this,” she finally said, irrationally annoyed with his steady demeanor. “How are you not worried at all?”

He chuckled at her obvious irritation, but didn’t comment on it, instead continuing his efforts to soothe her.

“For starters, I have been to all of Mor’s birthdays for five centuries, they don’t worry me,” he patiently explained, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Second, I’ve been to Rita’s gods know how many times. And third, because I’m not worried about anyone seeing me with you. I know they’ll love you because they already do.”

“But what if they think it’s odd that I’m with you?” She pushed, refusing to accept his very logical answers. “What if they find it strange that we’re together, as more than friends?”

“Gwyn, I promise you they won’t,” he responded, slight exasperation showing. “They might be shocked, but that’s all.”

She huffed and abruptly stood, grabbing a stack of books from the desk in the process. She stormed off, returning her books as she went. Azriel was right, she knew he was, but that didn’t stop her from being irritated. It wasn’t that she was actually mad at him for being right, she just wanted to be annoyed for a moment.

She heard him catch up with her just as she tried returning her last book to its home, except the shelf was slightly too high. She was about to get a ladder, when Azriel came up behind her, grabbing the book from her hands. He easily returned it to its spot on the shelf. She couldn’t help but laugh; he was so tall.

“That’s annoying you know,” she told him teasingly, all aggravation fading.

“What? It’s not my fault you’re short,” he joked back, so close she could feel his warmth on her back. Her heart started beating faster.

“I am not short,” she insisted, enjoying their banter. He could always make her smile, even when she didn’t want to.

“You may be taller than most females but compared to me – you’re short.”

She turned her head enough to stick her tongue out at him. “That’s only because you’re an overgrown bat.”

He jokingly put a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Hey, that’s mean!”

“You started it!”

“Fine, you’re not short.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You are not short,” he pressed, hesitantly wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into him, welcoming his touch. She felt him relax behind her.

“Then what am I?” she replied, his warmth soothing her.

He rested his chin on her head as he said, “The perfect size for me to do this.”

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” she allowed, pressing herself tighter against him. Gods it felt good being so close. “But I would like further proof that I’m not short.”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. It gave her goosebumps.

“Perhaps.”

She could feel him suppressing laughter as he leaned his face into the crook of her neck. Her head was swimming. If they stood like this any longer, she might faint.

“If you were short then I wouldn’t stare at your legs so much,” he mumbled into her, sending another round of goosebumps across her skin.

“And how much do you stare at them?” she asked, trying to sound unfazed, but her shaking voice betrayed her. Did he have any idea what he was doing to her?

“Constantly,” he drawled in her ear, his deep voice resonating in her bones. “I can’t stop thinking about having your long, gorgeous legs wrapped around me.”

She couldn’t think straight. That was his plan, she was sure of it. And it was working. Warmth was pooling below her stomach, and a flush had crept up her neck. Thoughts of him that she had never thought she would be capable of were swirling through her head. Only with him did she ever react like this. He was the only male she felt safe enough to allow this kind of reaction.

"You’re just trying to distract me now,” she breathlessly replied, knowing it was impossible to hide her body’s reaction. He was too close to her; he would sense everything.

“Is it working?”

“Yes, and I’m very angry with you for it,” she said, attempting to put some force behind her words. She didn’t want to look too weak, even if she was enjoying this.

She felt him smile against her skin. “Your scent is saying something wildly different than your mouth, Berdara.”

Annoyance flooded her, overriding her previous thoughts. He was perfectly calm and controlled again while she could barely form coherent thoughts. It wasn’t fair. She was going to figure out how to get under his skin if it killed her. Maybe she would ask Nesta for advice, or Mor.

She pulled out of his arms and glared at him. “I can smell your scent too, so bite me.”

“Gladly, if my lady requests it,” he roguishly replied, laughing.

She stalked back to her desk, refusing to grace him with a response. He obediently followed, plopping down on his sofa when they reached their nook.

“You’re infuriating,” she scolded him, furiously stacking papers on the desk.

“Maybe,” he conceded, a small smile on his lips. “But my plan worked.”

“I’m still mad at you,” she replied, although her annoyance was already fading, a smile tugging at her mouth. She could never stay mad at him for long.

“As long as you’re still smiling, then I’ll take it,” he said, going back to his book.

She let herself fully smile as she returned to her work, carefully organizing her research into neat piles. But eventually thoughts of Mor’s party returned, distracting her once again.

“Azriel?”

“Yes?”

“I really am nervous,” she admitted. “I’ve never gone to a party like this.”

“I know,” he closed his book, studying her face before opening his arms for her. “Come here.”

She obediently walked over to him and let him pull her onto the sofa next to him. He tucked her into his side, wrapping his arms comfortingly around her.

“I know you’re scared,” he assured her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “But I promise I will not leave your side. If you want to come home at any point, I will take you.”

“Okay,” she quietly conceded against his chest, nuzzling deeper into his strong body. “But this means I need to go shopping for Mor’s birthday present.”

“I haven’t gone shopping either,” he confessed, lightly running a hand through her hair. “How about we go tomorrow evening. We can make it a date?”

“I’d like that,” she replied, unable to stop her eyes from beginning to flutter. She was so tired, and he was so warm.

“Do you mind if I read?” He softly asked, grazing her cheek with his knuckles. She gently took his hand, holding it close to her. She nodded against him, too far gone to form words.

He began reading his book out loud, his low voice washing over her. She idly started tracing the scars on his hand, letting her eyes close. Before she completely drifted off, she felt the book fall gently against her hip as Azriel’s voice faded.

His heart rate slowed against her, telling her he had fallen asleep. His wings softly wrapped around them, cocooning them in a warm embrace. She placed a whisper of a kiss to his knuckles before allowing herself to be swept away by the soothing caress of his shadows and steady sound of his breathing.

********************************************************

NESTA

“They have to be somewhere down here,” Nesta assured Cassian, Mor and Rhys as she led them down into the library. They were looking for Azriel and Gwyn because they were both late for their evening plans; Azriel for poker with the boys, and Gwyn for a girls’ night in.

“Are you sure they’ll even be in the same place?” Rhys questioned.

“Yes, because they’re just friends,” Cassian answered, making air quotes as he spoke. Nesta allowed herself a small smile. Gwyn and Azriel hadn’t said anything to either of them, but Cassian and she were positive something was going on.

They had started taking bets a few weeks ago about when Az and Gwyn would admit to it. Now almost everyone except Azriel and Gwyn were involved. Even Lucien had joined the betting pool and he hadn’t even seen them together.

Nesta wanted to win, so she was selfishly hoping Az and Gwyn would tell them in the next few days. If anything happened now, she would win. Everyone else had either already lost or was betting it would take much longer.

But whether she won or lost, Nesta just hoped Gwyn was happy, and Az too. They were perfect for each other; she hoped they wouldn’t throw it away. Gwyn challenged Azriel and saw through his cold exterior; something Nesta had never seen anyone else do. And Azriel never treated Gwyn with pity, only admiration and soft humor, something Nesta knew helped Gwyn become more confident in herself. Azriel would be a fool if he let Gwyn get away.

“I have wine, chocolate and Emerie waiting for me upstairs,” Mor remarked as they descended another level, breaking Nesta from her musings. “They better be down here, or I’ll riot.”

“They’ll be down here, I promise,” Nesta consoled her, a slight smile at the mention of Emerie.

Nesta had already known about Mor and Emerie, but Mor had unexpectedly confessed to everyone two weeks ago. Nesta knew Mor had been terrified, so she was proud she had found the courage to be open with everyone. Mor had become her friend just as much as Emerie was. She wanted them both to be happy.

“As long as we find them soon, I don’t care where they are,” Cassian grumbled. “I just want dinner.”

Nesta threw a long-suffering look at her mate as they rounded another corner, close to where she thought the couple in question might be. Rhys and Mor just laughed, used to Cassian’s antics.

They walked around one more row of bookshelves before the reading nook Nesta had been leading them to finally appeared. All four of them froze, a stunned silence falling over them. Even Nesta had not expected the sight that greeted her.

Directly in front of them, sprawled on a sofa sleeping, were Gwyn and Azriel. Gwyn was practically lying on top of Azriel, a book abandoned on her hip just below where one of Azriel’s hands rested on her waist. His wings were cocooning the two of them, with his shadows wrapping protectively around them. Azriel’s free hand was tucked close to Gwyn’s lips, almost like she had fallen asleep just after kissing his hand. And they both looked utterly peaceful, gently breathing in tandem.

“Well, well, well,” Cassian drawled, the first to recover himself enough to speak. “So, this is what it looks like to be just friends with someone.”

His words brought Nesta out of her shock, a slow smile working its way onto her features. She had been right. There was no denying that something was going on with Gwyn and Azriel now. A flood of happiness and pride washed over her.

“I never thought I would ever see Azriel so…soft,” Rhys slowly said, appearing to struggle with words. Nesta couldn’t blame him. She was thrilled, but it was somewhat unexpected. Gwyn and Azriel had been friends for months without admitting to anything. She had begun to worry they never would, but clearly, they had.

“Oh. My. Goodness,” Mor squealed, her face twisting into a look of pure delight. The sound startled Azriel and Gwyn enough to rouse them, both slowly opening their eyes and taking in their surroundings. They abruptly sat up straight, eyes wide, as they realized they weren’t alone.

“Soooo, just friends, huh?” Cassian teased them, a wicked grin on his face. Nesta and Rhys burst into laughter as Gwyn and Az instantly went a deep shade of crimson. “When did this happen?”

“A while ago,” Azriel sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Gwyn nodded shyly in agreement, looking everywhere but at anyone’s face. Nesta couldn’t help but feel a burst of joy. Her friends were happy, just as she’d hoped.

“Well, now you have to come to my birthday party,” Mor said ecstatically, bouncing on her heels. “You owe me for keeping this a secret.”

Azriel huffed a laugh, clearly lost for words. Gwyn just blushed deeper as Mor bounded over to them, placing a pat on Azriel’s head and pulling Gwyn up from the sofa. Gwyn looked to Az for help, but he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “there’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re coming with me,” Mor announced, dragging Gwyn behind her. “You’re late for girls’ night and I need details.”

Nesta watched Mor pull Gwyn with her as she began ascending up the library, then she turned back to the males in front of her. Cassian and Rhys were looking at Azriel with nothing short of utter mischief on their faces. Az was going to be interrogated just as thoroughly as Gwyn was tonight. Nesta couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought.

“Have fun boys,” Nesta told them, turning to leave. “But don’t spend all your money tonight. You all owe me.”

All three of the males turned to her in indignation, looks of horror replacing their mirth. She smiled coyly at them, confident in their defeat.

“We had a bet,” she reminded them. “And I just won.”

She left them standing in shock, too amused to wait for their response. She slowly followed Mor and Gwyn up to the main house, excited to spend an evening with her best friends.

#gwynriel #gwynriel fic #azriel x gwyn #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #azriel #gwyn #gwynriel fanfic #acosf #acotar #acotar fic #sjm fic #acotar fanfic #my fic #mine

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offtorivendell · 4 years ago

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A Hint at Emerie x Mor?

Please don't screenshot this post without credit.

Disclaimer: As always, this could be nothing at all. Emerie and Mor haven't even met, of which we're aware, but this could be an example of the sort of hint that SJM likes to drop into her writing. Who knows.

Two of the three uses of some variation on the word "fizz" to describe a character's reaction to a situation in all of the ACOTAR series involve Mor and Emerie, the third being Cassian when the Inner Circle learnt that Amren was discovering the results of eating solid foods, in ACOFAS. Perhaps coincidentally, the uses for Mor and Emerie are closely associated with the word "blush."

ACOMAF, chapter 43

ACOSF, chapter 38

Then, when Nesta returned to the library following one of her dancing lessons with Mor before winter solstice, Emerie was still with Gwyn hours after their training had finished. How long did it take Gwyn to show her Merrill’s office? This time, after commenting on Mor's beauty, Emery herself blushed.

ACOSF, chapter 56

Again, this could of course be a coincidence, but perhaps this rewording of "blush" is meant to link the two earlier "fizz" scenes in an understated way, perhaps as a metaphor for the way in which Mor (and I assume Emerie, too) would have to carry out a romance - out of sight from their conservative families/cultures?

Emerie and Mor might not be endgame - we don't even know if they've met - but perhaps this foreshadows future interest, or a potential fling, at the very least? Given the way that SJM uses words with intention, could they end up "married and mates," or will they fight with bows and swords, side by side? Neither, or both? Mor did say she wanted to train with the Valkyries, so I assume she will eventually meet Emerie, if they haven't met already.

Either way, it's a subtle but interesting parallel, even if I have completely misinterpreted it, and I'm excited to read more about both Mor and Emerie in the next books.

#acotar #acosf #acotar theory #morrigan acotar #emerie acotar #emerie #emorie #moremerie #what is their ship name #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #emerie x mor #mor x emerie

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icedflames · 4 years ago

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Hi there! I'm new on Tumblr and your blog is one that need check everyday because I just love it!

But I still can't believe people actually think it will be:

Feyre Archeron

Nesta Archeron

Nesta's friend who was presented in the last book

Elain Archeron

I mean... what??????? I'm not trying to reduce Gwyn's character, but she's a side character who only connection to the plot is through Nesta, so...

Hi, omg this is such a huge compliment! Thank you 🖤

I agree... Gwyn is a side character in a novel that focused on a prior side character. It’s not an insult, it just is. Gwyn adds nothing to the main overarching plot of the trilogy. She has no connection to Koschei (apart from the theory that Koschei and Merrill are working together and manipulating Gwyn), no connection to the autumn court, no connection to the queens, no connection to the inner circle (apart from Nesta), and no connection to the trove.

But yeah... I’ve also seen a counter to the argument that the book would focus on Azriel and Gwyn would be the secondary POV... But I got a wonderful anon who debunked that here, haha. SJM usually has a female as the main lead and that won’t change for the next book.

Personally, I think the series will be:

ACOTAR-ACOWAR - Feyre

ACOSF - Nesta

ACOTAR5 - Elain

ACOTAR6 - Multi POV (maybe with a Vassa x Lucien focus)

I think the multi-POV book would work really well for the final novel. We’d get to revisit Feysand, Nessian, Elriel, and all of our other favorite characters (hi adult Feysand smut). We may even get a romantic Vassa/Lucien arc, and maybe even a romantic Mor/Emerie arc. SJM used the multi-POV structure for the final TOG book and it worked wonderfully because the book was able to progress the plot and jump around the map during a major war. In this trilogy, it appears that we’re gearing up for a major war... Hopefully I’ll make a post about that soon! Koschei has something big planned.

#asks

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seattlecraigslistfraudblog · 7 years ago

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witch-and-her-witcher · 7 months ago

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happy pride month to my favorite wlw crackship. i want them to be murder wives, but mostly i want them to be so soft and vulnerable only for each other.

let harsh, bad ass women fuck and love and vibe.

#merrill #morrill #mor #mor x merrill #acotar #i have bi and mlm works already this month so i will work on more sapphic rep 👭

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damedechance · 1 year ago

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AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!