The discourse around fated mates has become so painfully contradictory that all I can do is laugh.
If you genuinely believe the trope is inherently immoral because it "takes away choice"... why the fuck are you choosing to read books built around that exact trope?
No one is forcing you to read fantasy romance. I don't read dark mafia romance because dub-con and non-con aren't for me. That's called curating your reading. I don't spend a decade demanding those books abandon the very tropes they were written to explore.
SJM has been writing fated mates for well over a decade. It's one of the foundational pillars of her worlds. This didn't suddenly materialize because you got attached to a ship, one that is so painfully obvious a red herring for Elucien.
The author chooses the trope first. Then she builds a narrative to explore it. That's literally how storytelling works.
Some of y'all have self-inserted so hard you've forgotten these are fictional people in a fictional world operating under fictional rules.
SJM has literally explained why she paired certain characters as mates: because she wanted to tell that story. Two people who begin with distance, discomfort, indifference, resentment, and impossible odds discovering whether they can grow into love anyway.
The obstacles aren't proof the mating bond is failing. The obstacles are the story. Complaining that a fated mates romance explores the complications of being fated mates is like complaining a murder mystery has a dead body, enemies-to-lovers starts with conflict, or Game of Thrones has dragons.The trope is the premise. The characters exist to explore it. What's so fucking fake and funny is watching people scream that fated mates are "problematic" while simultaneously insisting their own ship are the real mates. Bitch, pick a fucking lane.
... is the trope immoral, or do you just want it to apply to your favorite couple?
These are fictional characters in a fictional world built around a fictional magical bond. If that isn't your thing, there are thousands upon thousands of romance books built around different relationship dynamics. Go read those.
What I'm tired of is the fake moral outrage over a trope that has been central to SJM's writing for over ten years. Not every book is written for every reader, and authors are under absolutely no obligation to abandon the foundations of their own worlds because a corner of the fandom suddenly decided they don't like one of fantasy romance's most recognizable tropes and we know SJM will never give into fan service, she has continued to write mates as endgame and I can bet she will never change that.
Read it or don't.
But stop acting surprised when a fantasy author writes... fantasy.
Honestly, if I collected half the posts from people suddenly acting morally offended by fated mates and showed them to the fantasy authors I know, they'd laugh. Hell, I think SJM would laugh too. This genre has been playing with magical bonds, destiny, prophecies, soulmates, and fate for decades.
Yes, there are fantasy romances where mates reject or break the bond. And guess what? Nine times out of ten, that's just the setup for a second-chance romance, because the author is still exploring the mate bond as the central narrative device. Spoiler for ZA (Tori HATED Darius, she flat our rejected him, readers were mad and guess what, by the end of the series, they were endgame) Every author uses the trope differently, but they are always endgame because it is what the trope demands.
SJM has been remarkably consistent about how she uses it. She's a HEA writer. Her romances don't end in tragedy or permanent heartbreak, They end with her couples finding their MATE/EQUAL and choosing each other. Whether people like that or not doesn't really matter. It's her story.
Some of y'all aren't even arguing with the text anymore. You're arguing with the genre, the conventions of fantasy romance, and the very storytelling foundation SJM has built her worlds on for over a decade. Then you turn around and act morally superior because you don't like one of the genre's most established tropes. Well... go read another author.
The rest of us are going to keep reading the books the author actually wants to write, not the ones you've rewritten in your head.
that was my first commission ever!! it's when you take the first super cool reference from Pinterest and enter the saga of finding an artist who would do exactly what you imagine... and i was so lucky to found babiniarts, who answered all my -demanding and super boring 😭 requests and did everything so perfectly. And she's a super nice person to talk to!
and honestly, i think there's something so fitting about this commission that gets me every time i look at it. it's not really about the kisses or the teasing, but about how completely at ease they are with each other.
Gwyn reaching for him without hesitation, leaving little traces of herself all over him, and Azriel - who is usually so guarded and unreadable maoo - simply letting her (as he should 🫶🩷).
there's something so intimate about being allowed that close to someone. about not pulling away. about letting yourself be touched, seen, and wanted.. and letting others see that too. letting them see how loved you are, how wanted you are, and how completely comfortable you feel with someone.
that's one of the things i'm most excited to see in Gwynriel's development. that kind of ease, that kind of intimacy, where they don't have to hide how much they want each other anymore.
(and maybe a little possessive Gwyn too? 🫢)
thank you babiniarts for this amazing piece! you did it perfectly! <3333
do not feed Al, do not use for anti-content, do not repost without permission.
Before we get to the actual undoing of some ribbons, we wanted to start Ribbons Undone with the softer version first, Azriel nuzzled into Gwyn, while that legendary self-control of his is very clearly starting to slip. It's the way he's tucked himself into her neck, the hand wrapped around her jaw, the shadows curling across them both, and Gwyn just completely melting into him.
There's something about imagining Azriel, the male who is always so controlled, so guarded, so careful. finding someone he can be this comfortable and unrestrained with. And naturally, we love the idea of that someone being Gwyn.
He might still have his shirt on for this one, but between the parted lips, that grip and the way he's buried against her neck...
This art was such a special one by @artoffrostandflame, who of course will always rise to the challenge of drawing Azriel with a shirt on and somehow still making him one of the hottest Azriels ever. That buzz cut alone has me weak.
@artoffrostandflame, we adore you, dear. We truly can't put into words how special your art is or how much it means to us. It is always such an honor getting to work with you and something we'll forever be grateful for.
Thank you for this magical piece and for always pouring so much love into everything you create. Everything you touch is magic.
Please do not repost without permission, edit, alter, or use this artwork for Al purposes in any capacity.
Yo @highfaelucien this is what I was talking about… still not sure I’ll finish it though!
I’m also going to take this time to say that I will be tagging my drawings with “acowar spoilers” until June, then it’s on you guys! Also don’t tell me anything, I already know more than I should
I actually have another theory that builds directly off my last post too, Gwyn she may eventually become High Priestess.
And then there’s Azriel.
Azriel will save his people the way Enalius once did.
We already know Enalius died defending Ramiel, choosing to protect his people even at the cost of his own life. SJM already set this up, if given the choice, Azriel would not choose to save the Illyrians. His relationship with his people is complicated, and he carries a deep resentment toward the Illyrian culture that caused him so much suffering.But what if that changes?
Enalius died defending Ramiel. I can see SJM writing Azriel choosing to defend his people as. his ultimate character payoff could be choosing to save his people anyway.
So how does Gwyn fit into all of this?
I think her role will still be tied directly to her priestesshood, even as a Valkyrie.
Because if Oleanna was the High Priestess connected to Gwydion and played a role in helping protect their world from the Daglan, then I don't think it's a coincidence that SJM made Gwyn a priestess before making her a Valkyrie.I think we could see Gwyn's two identities eventually converge. And rather than choosing between those roles, she could embody both.
So what if we're watching history repeat itself, but differently? Oleanna helped save their world through her role as a priestess.
Gwyn could help save theirs through both her priestesshood AND her Valkyrie identity.
And that would make the Valkyries' return especially meaningful. They aren't simply a group of women training together. They could become the next generation of warriors who stand between Prythian and whatever ancient threat eventually comes for them - hence why Nesta and Azriel are involved in the crossover to begin with. .
And that could be such a powerful parallel between Enalius and Azriel, especially if Gwyn is simultaneously following the path of Oleanna, .
Oleanna : High Priestess/Gwydion
Enalius: Illyrian warrior/Truth-Teller
=
Gwyn = High Priestess/Valkyrie/Gwydion
Azriel = Illyrian warrior/Truth-Teller
SJM isn't repeating their exact stories, she's giving Gwyn and Azriel the opportunity to finish what the previous generation couldn't through Azriel and Gwyn.
Let’s connect a few dots , Lucien Vanserra is the biological child of Helion (The current High Lord of the Day Court) and the Lady of the Autumn Court.
The Lady of the Autumn Court is currently married to Beron Vanserra, who is the High Lord of the Autumn Court, which makes Beron, Lucien’s stepfather. They have six children together, and those children are Lucien’s half brothers because they share the same mother biologically.
Since Lucien’s mother is an Autumn Court female. That makes half of Lucien’s heritage from the Autumn Court. His affinity for fire is from his mother’s very extremely powerful line of fire wielders.
In ACOWAR, when Feyre and Lucien are in the Autumn Court woods. She claims that Lucien seems crafted from the nature that surrounds them. That the woods that surrounded them were Lucien’s by blood and by law.
Lucien was born on Autumn Court soil, if hypothetically Helion knew that Lucien was his child, Beron could still technically fight for custody over Lucien, seeing as how SJM told us on the books that if someone is married to a High Lord and they take their wife without first going through the proper channels than they could declare war. It wouldn’t surprise me if children were also apart of those laws. It was probably why Lucien was raised in the Autumn Court as Beron’s and The Lady of the Autumn Courts son. Helion himself stated that The Lady of the Autumn Court chose to stay. He even reminded Feyre that some situations weren’t as easy to remedy as hers. (Especially when children are involved like in this situation)
All this being said. Just because Lucien was exiled doesn’t mean he still isn’t an Autumn Court male even if he’s also a Day Court male as well. He just has heritage in both courts and it’s odd that a subsection of the fandom can’t accept that.
Watching people treat whatever merch exists right now as a complete map of books that haven’t even been marketed yet is hilarious. We are nowhere near the end of the rollout or end of the series.
Current merch tells you what they can market now. It does not give you a a future for books whose reveals they’re actively protecting. Think about how major franchises like Marvel handle merchandising around upcoming movies. They can keep selling Avengers, Spider-Man, or other products all year long, while merchandise tied to a new movie is carefully controlled because merch itself can be a spoiler. You don’t reveal every new character, relationship, costume, or major plot element through a Funko Pop six months before you want audiences to know about it.
ACOTAR is no different in principle. Why would Bloomsbury/SJM reveal the focus of future books through a random puzzle or calendar before the actual book marketing is ready to reveal it?
The merch available now reflects what is established to market now. It has no bearing on the future merch that will come with future books, their own campaigns, and the characters, relationships, and storylines that can only be marketed once those reveals are no longer being protected.
Also, SJM and IMG took over licensing, and exactly as many of us guessed last year, they’re clearly rolling out a much broader range of merch to establish SJM and ACOTAR as a franchise and brand and get her merch into large retailers. A lot of what we’re seeing right now feels like exactly that ACOTAR merch built around the trilogy and recognizable.
I confident we’ve haven’t even seen the actual merch cycle for ACOTAR 6 begin yet, let alone 7. I wouldn’t be surprised if book-specific licensing and merchandise doesn’t start entering the cycle until October or later, depending on their rollout schedule. We don’t even have titles, yet some people really hink she’s dropping hint in merch before the book is even out? Be serious.
For those who need this explained like we’re in kindergarten
It takes one night for Gwyneth's entire life to change.
After her home is invaded by the Court of Shadows, she is found by Azriel, the youngest prince of the kingdom. For almost a decade she works alongside him in secret, meticulously planning for the day they can overthrow his eldest brother from the throne and end the bloodshed.
However, as the fateful day comes closer and closer, Gwyn realizes that convincing Azriel, a man who believes he works better by himself, might just be her most difficult obstacle yet.
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff in the end.
a/n this is written for @gwynrielweeksofficial, specifically for the @gwynrielshappyendings Saints & Sinners collab. Make sure to check out the other authors and fics! also, shoutout to @thevalkyriesshadow for beta reading this for me!
Read on AO3 here!
It only takes a mere hour for a series of events to shatter your illusion of joy and change the course of your life. Or at least that was what the copper haired girl was coming to learn.
In that small frame of time, she had gone from watching the sea at the high peak in Sangravah, to running for her life through the place she called home.
Her legs pumped as she tore through the halls, familiar doors and walls a blur in the peripherals of her vision, not daring to focus too long, for fear that she might catch a glimpse of red staining the once pristine surface. The screams of her friends, priestesses, and acolytes echoed throughout the night, the cries almost as loud as the pounding in her ears. Her breath came laboured as she pushed herself farther into the building she saw as home, hoping, pleading, praying, that she wasn’t too late.
She wasn’t armed with much, just a simple kitchen knife she had found lying in the halls, probably used by one of the priestesses for dinner before the temple was flooded with unfamiliar soldiers. Yet she gripped it as though it were the fiercest weapon to behold, as she braced herself for what she may be encountering through these halls.
Further, just a little further. She told herself, repeating over and over as her now sore and blooded feet slammed against the once white tile.
As she rounded the corner, her eyes locked on a room with white ribbons and colourful threads around its frame. Her heart sank as she saw the door was broken off its hinges, soon accompanied by a rush of fear as her ears picked up on the sounds of a voice she knew far too well, screaming curses, mixed with the gruff tone of a stranger.
Within five strides she was by the entrance, her eyes widening at the sight which was before her.
The room which she had spent sixteen years in was in such a state of disarray she almost didn’t recognize it. The drawers were overturned, bed sheets ripped, shelves broken, and most startling, a man in silver armor, holding a sword to the neck of her sister.
“Catrin!” She cried. Her sister’s gaze snapped to hers and a mix of both fear and concern, flooded her features.
The girl had never seen her sister’s face twisted in such an expression. Not when they left their home to come to the temple, not when their mother had died a handful of years after, but now, in this moment, her gaze was wrought with terror.
She took a step forward, hand still clenched around the knife, but before she could make a move, the soldier slid the blade across her sister's throat. A broken sound left lips so similar to hers, and what little foundation remained of the girl’s world, came crashing down.
Their eyes locked and in that moment, one pair of teal faded away, while the other filled with tears.
Her sister’s body fell with a heap, limbs limp and a horrible gurgling sound sounding from her now slit throat. The soldier took a step towards her, sword still dripping in blood of the now forgotten girl as his gaze locked on the only other person still breathing in the room. Fear grew as she noticed the coat of arms he bore: A black snake, its fangs exposed - the crest of the eldest Zalel brother.
She had heard far too much about the brutality of the countries outside of Sangravah, however none were as cruel as the acts which were committed by the current king of the Court of Shadows. It had been merely a week since he had claimed the throne and he had already sought out to expand his territory.
However, it had never crossed anyone’s mind that Sangravah would be his next target.
His gaze trailed up and down her body in a way that made her skin crawl. “Eh, you’re pretty in the face aren’t you? You’ll be a good enough stand in, since you ruined my fun with the black haired bitch.”
Ruined my fun.
The words resounded in her head. Fun. That was all this was to him. Fun. Her eyes trailed to his blade, wondering how many of her friends’ blood stained that steel, Catrin’s now joining it.
Through her tears, the copper haired girl felt her body vibrate with rage and grief, a dangerous combination. Her empty hand was beginning to bleed from how her nails dug into her palm, while the other was whiteknuckled around her kitchen knife.
The soldier was still smiling to himself, casually standing in the growing pool of her sister’s blood, and before he could move another muscle, she lunged at him.
The force they collided with almost knocked the wind out of her, but she quickly regained her senses, using her free hand to grab at whatever part of him she could. The soldier, still in shock, was flailing around as they tumbled to the ground, his sword falling with a clang out of his hold.
Anger burned in her chest and she took advantage of the moment, one hand grabbing onto the hair which escaped his helmet to pull his head back, the other tightening its grip on the knife before slamming it down into the exposed skin of the soldier's neck.
He made a choking sound and he tried to throw her off, fingers grasping for the sword which laid just out of reach., His legs kicked out, arms shoved at her, but through it all her grip was iron strong.
Again and again she rammed that small knife into his neck. She ignored the blood that sprayed in her face, the cramping in her arms, the tears that rolled down her face, and most of all, she ignored the man's screams which grew quieter with each second. It was only when he had gone completely still beneath her, that she paused.
For a moment, the room was so eerily quiet, it was as if the entire world had stopped.
The copper haired girl looked down at the body below her, face and neck slashed and stabbed too many times to count. She looked at his features, the mouth that was curled into a sneer mere moments ago was now slack, a trickle of blood running from his lips to his chin, his eyes which almost gleamed with bloodlust were now dull and clouded.
A burst of clarity hit her and the girl’s head snapped towards the second body on the floor. The one which had not moved the entire time.
“Catrin?” she whispered, her voice scratchy and hoarse. She moved one leg off the soldier, then another, before she crawled on her hands and knees towards the black haired girl.
No, no, no.
Her breath caught as she slowly cast her eyes down, and even in the dim light she could see the red slowly creeping across every inch of the bedroom from the wound in her neck. Horror dawned on her as she took in the soulless and unmoving body of her sister, her twin sister, who had the same hair, but black hair instead of copper, the same eyes, but stormy instead of playful, the same blood, but now staining their bedroom instead of pumping through her veins.
The girl’s body caved in and she braced a hand on the floor, only to feel her palm slip on slick, and the feeling made bile curl into the back of her mouth.
She couldn’t scream. Even in her grief-filled haze she knew that if she did, more of those same soldiers in their silver armour, who had butchered her friends, who had killed her sister, would come barreling through the door, ready to kill another innocent which they had left behind.
The blood seeping into the hem of her clothes didn’t register, nor did the sight of her twin sister’s once glowing and pale skin turning grey. Carefully, as if she were handling the most precious object in the world, the girl curled her arms around her sister’s limp form, and slowly cradled it to her chest.
Gently, she rocked from side to side, silent tears streamed down her face as she gazed at the destruction of the place that was once their home. She could still hear the shrieks of others, from the window she could see the orange blaze of fire as temples were burned, and she could smell death in the air.
Just before dusk, they had finished up their last evening duties, ready to tuck away in their beds and rest until morning. Her sister had insisted they go back to their rooms, but she had wanted to take one last walk, just to the edge of the water, no further, she promised.
It had never occurred to her that one walk is all that would be the difference between life and death. That on her way back, she would see the fires burning even from the cliff. Catrin had warned her that the world could be a cruel place, but never had she imagined this sight, least of all in her home.
Sangravah was a city that was composed of women and children, they cared for the temple, a place of worship. War, conquering, devastation of this magnitude, was not supposed to reach these lands, harm was not supposed to come here, and most certainly not to Catrin.
A mangled sound escaped the girl’s lips. She hugged her sister's body closer, as if the warmth in her blood could somehow bring life back into a corpse.
“Please,” she pleaded, “You cannot leave me. You are all I have. You are my sister, you cannot leave me. You cannot.” She repeated the words like a mantra, yet no response ever came.
~
It was hard to tell how long she had laid there. Perhaps it had been a minute, or ten, or twenty, or hours. She did not know and frankly, she did not care.
Her ears perked at the sound of footsteps sounded from outside in the halls along with the commands and directions being thrown.
“I want a sweep of each room.”
“Bury the dead.”
“Round up any survivors."
The voices grew with each passing second, yet still she did not move. How could she? She would not leave her sister here alone, to be discovered by strangers, just to go and hide. She slowly grabbed the hilt of the sword the dead soldier had, held it close to their bodies, and waited.
It was only when the footsteps paused right by the door, casting a shadow onto her from the faint moonlight which still creeped in, did she lift her head.
Initially, she thought she was going to die. That some soldier from the Court of Shadows had come back to finish her off just as he had done her sister. Some part of her thought it may have been a mercy if he was.
But instead of seeing the face of a war hardened man, she saw the glimpse of a boy. He couldn’t have been much older than she was. He was tall and broad shouldered, yet still had the build of someone who was not yet done growing. His brown hair was choppy and laid over his forehead, cheeks still slightly plump from youth, but it was his eyes that showed his age more than anything else. Instead of silver armour, he wore leathers as black as night, a bloody dagger strapped to his hip.
She could feel more than see the way they scanned the current scene. The dead soldier on the ground whose face and neck were slashed to the bone, the grey limb body still wearing sleeping clothes which were stained from one slice to the neck, and then finally her, sitting on the floor amidst all the chaos.
When their eyes locked, it was as if her heart stopped. The boy peered at her with such utter devastation in his gaze, that she wondered if just like her, it was the first time he had witnessed a massacre like this. A handful of men gathered around the door frame to see what had stopped him in his tracks, and she curled her weapon closer to her. She would not go down without bringing another body with her.
“Leave us.” His voice commanded, seeing the way she had shifted into a defensive stance. It struck her that it was the same one she had heard from the hall.
What was a boy, barely older than her, doing giving such commands to soldiers? She thought.
But before she could ponder on it more, he crouched to her level on the floor. His eyes were hazel with the slightest flecks of green, she realized, as she watched them flicker down to the body in her arms, still cradled to her chest, before darting back up to meet hers.
“What is your name?” He asked, voice smooth and calming, like a lulling tide or a cool breeze. His face was smooth, the previous emotion wiped clean.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Gwyneth,” she replied.
He gave her a slight smile and her fingers somewhat relaxed at the sight. “That is a lovely name.” He inclined his head, “I’m Azriel.” A note of recognition ran through her, but she couldn’t place where she had heard his name before. Slowly he moved closer to her. She tried her best not to flinch away. “May I ask who this is, Gwyneth?”
“Catrin,” she replied, her voice breaking around those two syllables. “She’s my sister.” Before he could say another word she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you here to kill me?”
Azriel’s eyes softened with understanding. “No Gwyneth, I am not. And I’m sorry for the death which you have witnessed tonight. Sangravah should not have been subjected to such cruelty.” His eyes darted towards the man on the floor and anger flashed across his features. “And those who did, deserve it tenfold.”
“If you are not here to kill me, then what are you here for?” She dared to ask. The coat of arms on his armour was not one she recognized and Sangravah was not a city which was under a specific country, the lines of its territory blurred.
“I am here only to help in whatever way I can.” He simply replied. “Far too many innocents have lost their lives already, and I can only hope to aid those who are still with us.” And though she probably shouldn't have, Gwyneth believed Azriel.
Maybe it was how earnestly he spoke with a tone far beyond the years he surely had, the clear sadness in his eyes as he gazed upon the dead body of her sister, or the hatred in them as he looked at the dead soldier, but something in her told her she could trust him.
As if seeing the trust slowly building, Azriel removed one of his gloves, blood soaked as they were, and merely opened his palm to her.
Letting her decide what she wished to do next. She realized.
His hands were large, with long fingers and strong tendons, yet even in the dim light she could see brutal scars laying across them too. Yet, she didn’t find herself shying away from them nor did she question where they came from, if anything, the sight of those hands, those open, scarred, human hands, made a wave of relief and hope fall over her.
Gwyn slowly laid the hilt of the sword in his hands and he carefully placed it out of sight for both of them. He waited patiently for her to make her next choice. She hesitated for a moment, looking down at Catrin’s face. Even in death her sister somehow looked so sincere.
“My men are digging graves outside for those who have fallen.” Azriel noted, noticing her hesitance. “Some are by the temple, others in the forest, and a few overlooking the sea. You may choose which one you’d like Catrin to be placed in.”
She nodded her head. Logically, she knew that Catrin could not stay here in their bloodied room. Her sister deserved a proper burial and resting place. “Overlooking the sea,” Gwyn finally replied, voice hoarse. “We would spend hours watching the sun rise and fall above the water.”
He nodded. “I will see to it myself that she is buried at the highest peak.”
With the agreement between them, Gwyn finally unwound her arms from around Catrin’s body, the night dress sticking to her skin because of the blood. She pried her fingers loose from where they gripped her black hair, and lifted her sister’s corpse up. Azriel aided her, bringing his hands to clasp around Catrin’s back and knees to hoist her up.
Gwyneth watched as he gently placed Catrin in the arms of another soldier, who was likely around their same age, with hair that went down to his shoulders. She heard his swift orders on where to bury her and the edge in his voice as he spoke of what would happen if his instructions weren’t followed. Her eyes followed the sight of the soldier until she could no longer see the black of Catrin’s hair in the hallway.
Azriel entered the room again, this time bringing one of his men in. She tensed at the sight of another man in the room, but quickly relaxed once she saw him yank the dead soldier out of the room by his ankle, as if he were lugging rubbish.
“Do you have anywhere you can stay, Gwyneth?” Azriel asked. “Any family or friends who you can live with?”
“Everything and everyone I’ve ever known is here,” She whispered. “I’m not sure if there is anywhere else I can go.”
He paused for a moment, hesitance on his face, before taking a deep breath and turning fully towards her. “Come with me. I can offer you a house and a home, with food and water. You can continue as a priestess or acolyte or become something different. ”
Her head cocked in confusion. “Who exactly are you?”
He stared at her for a moment before he sighed, “Azriel Zalel, fourth prince of the Court of Shadows.”
She froze. Azriel Zalel. Azriel Zalel. Prince of the Court of Shadows. He was the brother of the man who had led the charge against Sangravah.
“But I do not come to harm anyone,” he added quickly, sincerity ringing through in his words and eyes. “I have no wish to lay more destruction, not to Sangravah,” he paused. “And certainly not to you.” A pained expression took over his features.“I did not know my brother would do this, and believe me if I did I would have done everything in my power to stop him.” He swallowed, and then extended his hand towards her. “Come with me Gwyneth, and I swear to you that Catrin’s death and the deaths of all the others will not be in vain. You will be safe and cared for.”
Gwyneth peered at Azriel and it stuck her so deeply at the look on his face. His brows were furrowed, cheeks slightly sprayed with red, lips parted from his words. Yet it was again the sight of his hand that truly took her aback. They trembled just the faintest bit, and yet his quivering, blood smeared, scarred hand, so open to her, was akin to looking at a lifeline in the middle of a thundering storm.
As if a dam had broken inside of her, she let out one broken gasp before the cries overtook her body. She shook with the force of them, one after the other and she couldn’t stop even if she tried.
Without hesitation, Azriel gently reached out and took her in his arms, tucking her head underneath his chin. She grasped his leathers with a whiteknuckled grip and her tears cascaded over her cheeks, lips, and jaw, a never ending steam of escaping.
“She shouldn’t have to be buried,” Gwyn sobbed, “she shouldn’t be dead. None of them should be dead.”
Instead of saying anything, he simply held her closer, his hand pressed against the back of her neck, the other between her shoulder blades.
She repeated those words over again until she lost count of how many times she had uttered them. The only thing that registered in her mind was his hands, still gently cradling her within his grasp.
As she slowly drifted into sleep, her body heavy from the events of the night, she heard his voice, smooth in her ears.
“We will get justice for lives lost today. For Catrin, for the innocents, for you. I swear it, Gwyneth.”
Azriel had whisked her away straight from the festivities, still dressed in her gorgeous gown, silky hair let down. He wanted to surprise her, but they had to be quick. After countless missions where he had crossed the sea, he had learned that the rays traveled in big schools on the same date each year. It was a breathtaking moment and he just knew Gwyn would love it. He couldn't wait to see her reaction.
Fun fact: a school of rays is called a fever, hence the name of the piece 🤭
I thought that a ray combines them both in one animal, it is a sea animal but it also has wings (kind of).
This is my piece for prompt 3 for #gwynrielweeks2026 - Where the sky kisses the sea
i love the way she pulls him by the hair for a kiss. for this art, i chose perse, which i didn't choose to illustrate one but three arts for gwynriel weeks, she became a friend and we even exchanged several theories about gwynriel, which made the process very fun and very cool to work on it! i thank you perse, for your time and dedication to illustrating so perfectly and being so nice.
I absolutely adore Gwynriel’s aesthetic, but I wanted to switch things up a bit and let Merman!Azriel x Nympth!Gwyn a moment to shine!
A massive thank you to @cyrastory for doing such an impeccable job on this artwork! I love the back and details, the colours just pop off of the screen, and you perfectly captured the magical vibe I wanted for this piece!
Azriel was the night sky, shadows always by his side. Gwyn was the sea, a song rising from its depths. And at the horizon, where the sky kisses the sea, his shadows found a song worth answering. 🌊✨
It was such a privilege to commission this by @dimalry. Every detail she brought to this piece feels like poetry, the night spilling into the water, Gwyn becoming part of the sea itself, Azriel and his shadows surrounding her like the endless sky, and that quiet place in the middle where they finally meet.
There’s something so beautiful about imagining them this way, the Shadowsinger and the priestess whose song his shadows could not help but answer. 🤍💙🩵
Please do repost without permission, edit or feed to AI.
Where The Sky Kisses The Sea 🌊 🌙 | @gwynrielweeksofficial
“Azriel could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer”
Today @gwynrieldefenseatty and I are so excited to finally share this beautiful artwork by @mysleepyblue !! We let Isa have full control on this piece and she out did herself! You can support the artwork here 🎨
Thank you, Isa, for always creating to most stunning pieces for us.
PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR FEED INTO AI ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO SARAH J MAAS
If I Could Cuddle My Dogs All Day I Would @amandapearls - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
