#DIVO Flowers

[botanikmeister]

Der Romantische Brautstrauß: Zeitlose Eleganz für den großen Tag

Der Brautstrauß ist eines der zentralen Elemente jeder Hochzeit und trägt maßgeblich zur Atmosphäre und Ästhetik des großen Tages bei. Unter den zahlreichen Stilrichtungen und Designs erfreut sich der romantische Brautstrauß einer besonderen Beliebtheit.

Er verkörpert zeitlose Eleganz und verleiht der Braut einen Hauch von Romantik, der perfekt zur feierlichen Stimmung passt.

Was macht einen Brautstrauß romantisch?

Ein romantischer Brautstrauß zeichnet sich durch seine zarten und femininen Details aus. Häufig werden dabei Blumen in Pastellfarben verwendet, wie zum Beispiel zarte Rosa-, Pfirsich- oder Cremetöne. Diese Farbpalette verleiht dem Strauß eine sanfte und romantische Ausstrahlung, die ideal zum Anlass passt. Außerdem werden gerne Blumen mit einer symbolischen Bedeutung eingearbeitet, wie beispielsweise Rosen für Liebe und Zuneigung oder Lilien für Reinheit und Schönheit.

Die perfekte Zusammenstellung

Bei der Auswahl der Blumen für einen romantischen Brautstrauß stehen verschiedene Optionen zur Verfügung. Klassische Blumen wie Rosen, Pfingstrosen, Freesien und Hortensien sind beliebte Wahlmöglichkeiten. Diese Blumenarten haben nicht nur eine romantische Ausstrahlung, sondern verleihen dem Strauß auch eine gewisse Fülle und Pracht. Ergänzt werden sie oft durch zarte Grün- und Füllblumen, die dem Strauß Leichtigkeit und Volumen verleihen.

Stilvolle Arrangements

Die Art der Anordnung spielt ebenfalls eine wichtige Rolle bei der Gestaltung eines romantischen Brautstraußes. Locker gebundene Sträuße mit einem natürlichen und ungezwungenen Look sind besonders beliebt. Auch asymmetrische Arrangements, bei denen die Blumen scheinbar mühelos ineinander fließen, verleihen dem Strauß eine romantische Note. Zarte Bänder oder Spitzen, die den Strauß umwickeln und elegant herunterhängen, können zusätzlich für eine romantische und verspielte Optik sorgen.

Die Bedeutung von Accessoires

Um den romantischen Look des Brautstraußes zu unterstreichen, können passende Accessoires hinzugefügt werden. Eine Schleife aus Spitze oder Seide am Stiel des Straußes kann zum Beispiel eine romantische Note verleihen. Auch kleine Perlen, Strasssteine oder Vintage-Schmuckstücke können subtil in den Strauß integriert werden, um ihm eine persönliche und romantische Note zu verleihen.

Häufig gestellte Fragen (FAQs):

Frage: Welche Blumen eignen sich besonders gut für einen romantischen Brautstrauß?

Antwort: Klassische Blumen wie Rosen, Pfingstrosen, Freesien und Hortensien sind beliebte Wahlmöglichkeiten für einen romantischen Brautstrauß.

Frage: Kann ich meinen romantischen Brautstrauß personalisieren?

Antwort: Ja, Sie können Ihren romantischen Brautstrauß mit persönlichen Accessoires wie Schleifen, Perlen oder Vintage-Schmuckstücken individuell gestalten.

Frage: Passt ein romantischer Brautstrauß zu jeder Art von Hochzeit?

Antwort: Ein romantischer Brautstrauß kann zu verschiedenen Hochzeitsstilen passen, von traditionell bis hin zu Vintage oder Gartenhochzeiten.

Ein romantischer Brautstrauß ist eine zeitlose Wahl für Bräute, die eine elegante und feminine Ästhetik bevorzugen. Mit einer sorgfältigen Auswahl von Blumen, Arrangements und Accessoires kann der Brautstrauß zu einem unvergesslichen Highlight des Hochzeitstags werden.

#flowers #blumen #flower #natur #nature #blume #rosen #blumenstrauß #divo flowers #romantischer Brautstrauß #Brautstrauß

[houseofashesif]

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 ❝ 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐈 ❞ 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐊𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐇

𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 ;; Erebrus, named after Greek god of primordial darkness

[ 20 || 6'2 || cis - male || androsexual lithromantic || ❤ ash & rin ]

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒

a big tattoo on his back spanning nearly the entirity of his upper back. one can even see the floral pattern by the side of his neck from a certain angle

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝑪𝑨𝑺𝑼𝑨𝑳 : everyday casual clothing , which is usually either all black or has some in it , but never without it

𝑩𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 :

𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑳 : he just likes a lot of burgundy and maroon red

𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑪𝑶𝑨𝑻 : being the classic guy he is, Nikita likes wearing long trench coats over his suits whenever he's off to a super important meeting or something

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊

this but with a lot more shadows around the edges leaving over the lower half of the face barely visible

𝐕𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄

bugatti divo

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀

pronouns ➜ he / him

build ➜ athletic

height ➜ 6'2"

guns ➜ sköll & hati

ice cream ➜ mint chocolate chip

breakfast ➜ belgian waffles with a drizzle of maple syrup

take - out ➜ a crispy chicken burger

sweets ➜ classic chocolate cake

drinks ➜ herbal tea & espresso macchiato

◾️ his MBTI type would be ISTP-A (Assertive Virtuoso). a Virtuoso (ISTP) is someone with the Introverted, Observant, Thinking, and Prospecting personality traits. they tend to have an individualistic mindset, pursuing goals without needing much external connection. they engage in life with inquisitiveness and personal skill, varying their approach as needed. which in a nutshell basically embodies his whole "do it my way or hit the highway" mindset

◾️ Nikita usually prefers to keep his gaze away from people unless he’s speaking, keeping his eyes down to the ground whenever he’s all alone by himself for reasons to be discussed later. but in the rare times when you finally meet his gaze then you’ll finally realise how deep yet bright of an emerald green his eyes are, almost resembling an uncut emerald. they are surrounded in thick black coloured lashes which make his eye colour pop out even more. they seem almost hypnotic in a sense, mesmerising and trapping people in those deep pools of green. however they are just as scary. whenever Nikita feels a very rare yet sudden burst of bloodlust or anger his eyes turn into a muddy, dirty green. they become more sharp and calculating, losing the lazy and carefree glint in them, even soulless as some describe. people have even pointed out how his darkened eyes resemble ones similar to a dead fish’s.

◾ suffers from myopia or nearsightedness and is therefore required to wear glasses. however he vehemently refuses to wear them, and instead goes for lens instead or none at all

◾️ *seductively takes off glasses* "wow, you are so fucking blurry."

◾️ other than his hellhounds, who he likes to call by various flower names (i.e. lily, rose, iris, buttercup and etc), Nikita also likes to create shadow ravens who serve as his messengers from the sky, thus his crow inspired mask.

◾️ apart from depression, Nikita also suffers from post - traumatic stress disorder or ptsd (courtesy of his fathers death), anorexia nervosa, bodily dysmorphic disorder and mild insomnia.

◾️ one of his main hobbies is collecting. as a kleptomaniac, Nikita usually gets quite … creative with his hobby of ‘collecting’ stuff, especially the shiny ones. he doesn't really collect much, but when he does its large in quantity and amazing in quality. his favourite things to buy + collect are music boxes.

◾️ although he's not yet ready to accept Yvette back in his life, Nikita for now, has chosen to simply avoid his confusing feelings about his mother but focusing on the mission in hand (but still he's saved her contact as "Deadbeat Mom" in his phone)

◾️ in terms of love, oh boy, Nikita is super dense, so he probably wouldn't even realize he's got a crush until somebody slaps him across the face figuratively by telling him straight - up clearly by stating facts even he can't deny or some miracle of an epiphany strikes him out of nowhere – when he's still oblivious he'd probably be more docile and kinder towards the crush, probably being slightly overprotective and flirting without knowing it. when he's not-so-oblivious anymore, cue the flusteredness and avoidance because he's embarrassed! let the drama ensue!

◾️ he chose "Elysium Cleanup Crew" as the group name, mainly because he wasn't ready to start another war in the group chat about the names, plus it seemed the most logical to him then, in his still sleep muddled brain

◾️ more info shall be added once available

IF :: @vendetta-if

#vendetta:if #interactive fiction #vendetta if #mafia #Vendetta CYOA #CYOA #Vendetta OC #Vendetta MC profile #OCs #superpowers #will be updated once the demo progresses #hope you enjoyed

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Welcome back! good to see you back here, I missed your content! for the aesthetic game, can you please do one for Dottie and one for Mathias? love them!

Hi there Nonnie! Thank you for your kind words, it's good to be back indeed! :D Allow me to present the Aesthetic for Dorothea and Mathias (also, keep an eye on my dash, because I have other requests for these two, so I have more aesthetic things coming for them :D)

🌹DOROTHEA MARIANNE STARRICK ✨

MOODBOARD:

PLAYLIST:

"Morning Star" - Blackmore's Night

"Winter's Bloom" - Adrian Von Ziegler

"Ghost of a Rose" - Blackmore's Night

STEAL HER LOOK:

QUOTES :

“Those freckles make you seem like a galaxy of stars, just waiting to be explored and loved.” - Nikita Gill

“All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems... But all these stars are silent. You-You alone will have stars as no one else has them.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

“...her who whose beauty is not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but like the morning star which is its emblem, bright and musical.”- James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

“In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream- Lingering in the golden gleam- Life, what is it but a dream?” ― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

HER AESTHETIC:

Starlit sky; Northern Lights setting the sky blazing; stargazing alone on a secluded beach with the waves as gentle company; frost-covered roses in a hidden garden; walking down a path in the forest at night holding a silver lantern as a sole guide with the snow gently falling silently all around; abandoned manors hidden away in the depths of an ancient forest; ghosts still dancing together in ballrooms accompanied only by the music of their memories; sitting by the fireplace on an ancient rocking chair and reading an ancient tome under a thick pelt; sipping on warm rose tea while looking at the snow falling outside; snuggling under the comfort of heavy blankets in a canopy bed;

🌙MATHIAS SÉBASTIEN DE BEAUMONT🎨

MOODBOARD:

PLAYLIST:

"Hijo De La Luna" - Mecano

"Outdoor" - Roberto Cacciapaglia

"Adagio" - Il Divo

STEAL HIS LOOK:

QUOTES:

“Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.”- Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent”- Victor Hugo

“Now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased.” - Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera

“He stared dully at the desolate, cold road and the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder or more dead than his heart. He had loved an angel and now he despised a woman.”-  Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera

HIS AESTHETIC:

A small nook to sit and reflect quietly; new quills and parchments; the perfume of freshly brewed coffee, the way the air smell when Autumn is about to arrive, the feeling when the fingers start tickling the ivories and a melody is born, completely encompassing one's soul; the sound of rain against the glass of the windows; riding a horse with the wind caressing one's hair, free from all fears and worries; songs sung together with friends; the perfume of orange flowers and neroli still lingering on the pillow; the sight of the full moon after a night storm; waves crashing against the sand in the distance;

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#Aesthetic Game #Assassin's Creed #OCs #Mathias De Beaumont #Dorothea Starrick #Moodboards #this was SO MUCH FUN #also sorry for the delay I was immensely busy in the past couple of days due to finally moving into our rightful apartment #now I am catching up with the asks #I will have them out in the next few days :)

[knockout1207]

Il Divo - Flowers Will Bloom

#Flowers Will Bloom #Youtube

[wheelsoflaughterblog]

Il Divo record Charity song for Japan

Thanks to http://www.ildivo.com/IL DIVO RECORDED A CHARITY SONG FOR THE GREAT EASTERN JAPAN EARTHQUAKE RELIEF In July, Il Divo recorded an NHK charity song for The Great Eastern Japan Earthquake Relief, titled “Flowers Will Bloom (original Japanese title: Hana wa Saku )” in English. The recording scenes from the studio and their latest exclusive interviews will be broadcast on NHK (terrestrial…

View On WordPress

#Carlos Marin #Charity #David Miller #Fundraiser #Il Divo #Japan #Sebastien Izambard #Urs Buhler

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Summary: Elain Archeron and Azriel - in love, in lust, in Italy

Modern AU *slight TOG crossover. If you read my stuff, you know it’s LONG

Warnings: bad language and THIS IS NSFW (not kidding, this is a story, not just sex, but there is a LOT of explicit material here. You can still read the story, but if you are sensitive or underage, skip the naughty bits)

Comments are always appreciated/wanted/needed. Anon or not, just do it! Obviously, reblogs are appreciated. 

Part I (Flowers)

 La Vie En Rose

De l'homme auquel j'appartiens (Of the man to whom I belong)  Quand il me prend dans ses bras Il me parle l'a tout bas (He speaks to me softly) Je vois la vie en rose (And I see life in pink) Il me dit des mots d'amour (He speaks words of love to me) Des mots de tous les jours (They are every day words) Et ça m' fait quelque chose (And they do something to me) Il est entré dans mon coeur (He has entered into my heart) Une part de bonheur (A bit of happiness) Dont je connais la cause (That I know the cause of) C'est lui pour moi (It's only him for me) Moi pour lui dans la vie (And me for him, for life)

Now

Riding in a Ferrari, being enveloped in its supple, buttery leather, gulping in the cypress and cedar-scented air of Tuscany was everything that Elain Archeron had ever wanted. She never knew that this is what she wanted, because riding in very fast, very expensive, sleek Italian cars wasn’t on her ‘fantasy radar’, but now that she was in one, she suddenly came to the realization that this was perhaps one of the best experiences of her life.

The whole thing, so far, has been the best experience of her life.

Well…maybe not the best-best.

Her happiness was deeply intertwined with and caused by the man in the driver seat of the said Ferrari—Azriel. Azriel Archeron, as he loved calling himself. Even if this wasn’t his last name, he preferred using it over his family name, for a variety of personal reasons. There was nothing better, more sublime, more beautiful and more loving than Azriel. The perfect male specimen, if she could say so herself. No one would argue with her assessment either.

Elain

 They were introduced by her sister’s then-boyfriend Cass, who was giving her a lift one afternoon, and then suggested that they stop by Azriel’s car atelier, because he needed to pick something up.

Elain’s heard of the mysterious Azriel from her sisters, both of whom had claimed that he was the most handsome man that either one of them had ever seen. Elain chuckled at the exuberant praise, doubting its truthfulness. There was no such thing as the ‘most handsome’ man. Beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.

She wasn’t sure what a car atelier was, and when Cassian pulled up to a modern-looking building, she said that she’d stay in the car and wait.

“Come on, petal, don’t be shy,” Cassian urged her, holding the car door open for her in a way that indicated that she’d have to get out and follow him.

They entered the foyer, a vast space with racing stripes painted on the polished cement floor, and a sea of model cars dropping from the ceiling. Behind a wall of glass, Elain spied a row of gorgeous cars, none of which were familiar to her. Some unique European models, fit for James Bond’s consumption. There were also neat antique cars, probably from the 50s. She immediately had visions of Grace Kelly and Cary Grant riding in one of these along the Riviera coast.

“What’s this place?” she inquired, looking around at the mid-century modern building that resembled a spaceship.

“This is Az’s baby,” Cass explained vaguely. “Conceived, conceptualized, restored, outfitted—all by the brilliant mind of one Azriel Bagarat.”

“Are you bragging?”

A deep, sensual voice, that could only be called ‘midnight’ sounded behind them, and Cassian’s handsome, tanned face broke in a mischievous smile. “Only about you, brother!”

When Elain turned around, her breath was knocked out from her lungs.

She didn’t know that it was possible, to be actually stunned by someone’s beauty, but there she stood, gaping, feeling the world slow and move in a different manner for a few moments.

Standing at a towering 6”4 or so, the man was at least as tall as Cassian, and Cassian was the tallest man Elain’d ever met. She was just as muscular, but not as bulky. Clad in all black, from expensive, well-tailored Diesel jeans, to a soft t-shirt that stretched over his sharply cut torso, emphasizing the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, and the narrow waist, true to her sisters’ word, this Azriel was simply exquisite.

Cassian draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward, just a bit, and said,

“Petal, say hello! This is my brother, Azriel. Az, this is my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, the one and only Elain Archeron.”

At the words ‘sister-in-law’ Elain whipped her head to Cassian, who grinned maniacally at her, nodding and answering her silent question.

“When? What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, Azriel momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean? You’ve only been seeing each other for like three months?!?”

“Baby girl, I don’t need three years to decide…Nes is Nes and she is the one for me.”

He shrugged with his usual ease, acting like they were discussing the weather or a good burger that he just ate.

“If Nes hears even a whiff of this, I will know it’s you, petal, and well, I am not sure what I will do,” he decided upon reflection, but then pleaded, “please, don’t tell her. This one,” he nodded towards Azriel, who was standing still, green eyes peeled to Elain, “I can trust. He hardly ever talks,”

“That’s because you talk for all of us,” noted Azriel with a smirk.

Elain chuckled, and turned back to face him.

He extended his hand to her, with an odd, tentative movement, and when she looked down, she saw old, mottled scars that covered his palm and part of his wrist and forearm. A vintage Patek Phillipe on his wrist.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, and he gave her a surprised look, unsure of what she was referring to.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet another Archeron sister,” he said with a soft smile, which made Elain lose her ability to speak for a good few moments, because she was finally able to take in that face that defied description. The sharp cheekbones and the mesmerizing amber and emerald eyes, almond-shaped and slanted hinted at a varied heritage, and unfairly, the man also possessed a perfect nose, and a full, sensuous mouth. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with skin of burnished bronze, which was so in contrast to his bright eyes and raven-black hair, cut in a fashionable undercut. The physique, as she already noted, quickly skimming over the body, matched the face.

“Yes, me too,” she said stupidly.

Graceful, like a courtier, he offered her his arm and said,

“Would you like me to show you around?”

She didn’t want to be impolite, though she suddenly felt sweaty and nervous, and completely out of her league. But she threaded her hand through his arm and lightly squeezed the firm, alarmingly thick bicep.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking him for, so she added, “yes, I’d love to see it.”

“Why haven’t we met?” he inquired, those green eyes watching her with such intensity that she felt almost undressed, bared under the gaze. It wasn’t unpleasant, because it wasn’t lascivious, and he didn’t strike her as someone who’d be disrespectful to women.

“I’ve been busy for the past half a year,” she explained.

“Doing what?”

They walked down the wide passage, past all the cars, which Azriel pointed out with a wave of his scarred hand, and dropped names like Pagani, BMW I8, Bugatti Divo, Bugatti Centodieci, Lamborghini Veneto, Koenigsegg CCXR Trevita and so forth. Elain might not have known a ton about cars, but she was not so unaware not to know that a Bugatti and a Lambo were expensive cars.

Cassian fell behind, gawking at the display.

“I was opening my own business,” Elain said, her head thrown back, looking at an entire toy racetrack mounted to the ceiling, with cars zooming by, and somehow, not falling on patrons’ heads.

“What sort of business?”

“Flowers,” she said absently, once they reached another space—a two story-restaurant, bar, and a patio outside as well.

“Flowers?”

“Oh, a flower shop,” she explained at last. Then muttered, awed, “this is really incredible!”

“A car enthusiast?” he smirked.

She didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, her hand migrated from the crook of his arm to his hand, and now, they walked along the walls lined with Ferrari posters, memorabilia and expensive everything. Walking and holding hands.

“I wouldn’t call myself one,” she admitted, “but I find cars aesthetically pleasing…Never got to ride in anything fancier than a Mercedes or a Lexus,”

“Well, we should remedy that at once!” he decided easily and then said, “pick you up on Friday at seven?”

That sobered her up a bit and she turned to face him. They stopped at the long, chrome-lined bar, and he said, “An espresso?”

“Um,”

But before she could respond, he was behind the counter, playing with a very fancy coffee machine that required a PhD to operate with all the levers and hooks and buttons, and in a few minutes, he poured her a tiny cup of coffee, thick with natural foam, and heady with its enticing scent.

He chugged his own in one go and she followed him, gulping her espresso in two sips. It was better than anything she’d ever drunk in her life.

“Like a date?” she finally asked, truly confused by the offer.

“Would you like it to be a date?” he leaned on the bar, biceps flexing, his arms covered in tattoo sleeves that reached all the way to his fingers. They were quite beautiful, the tattoos, the placement and the design, and Elain recognized the style, since Cassian and Rhysand wore the same kinds of tattoos, if not so extensive.

“Did you draw these?” she asked bluntly, touching her finger to a thick snaking black line, which was shaded with cobalt.

He looked down, at her hand and his arm and nodded, following her finger with his eyes.

“I did. For the three of us. When we made Navy Seals,”

“You are a Seal, too?” she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded, “Well, we all grew up in foster care—not all, Cass and I,”

“I heard,”

“Until Rhys’s parents adopted us. But we weren’t the…best of boys,” he chortled, “so to get our heads straight, we were sent to the Navy after school. We figured we’d only stay a bit, but we stayed for a while.”

“So, you are retired?”

“We are vets,”

“How old are you?” she blurted. Then blushed and said, “I am sorry. I am usually not so impolite,”

He laughed, “I figured. But that’s alright. I’ll tell you on Friday, though. If you don’t mind?”

“I mean, I don’t mind,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to her espresso cup, “but,”

“How about this—I take you on a drive in one of these fancy cars—and then you can brag to everyone that you’d driven in a,”

He paused and rubbed his chin,

“Any preference?”

“For what?”

“What car you’d like to go in?”

“I don’t know,”

“Throw something at me,” he urged, eyes glinting with feral delight.

Elain, blush deepening, finally said, “Do you have a Ferrari? I’ve always wanted to drive in a Ferrari.”

“Ahhh, a Ferrarista at heart!” he nodded with approval, folding his arms on his chest, “stick with the classic and the best. And yes, gorgeous, I do have a Ferrari or two.”

Gorgeous.

Azriel

The girl who’d arrived with Cassian, was not Nesta, but there was something vaguely familiar about her. The girl who’d arrived with Cassian was the most gorgeous creature that Azriel had ever seen. Gorgeous and completely unaware.

Women like her, if they were smart and cunning and ambitious, used their beauty for all things good and terrible. But this exquisite creature that Cassian was so blatantly hugging and teasing wasn’t one of those women. Azriel was all too familiar with the types—the maneaters, who hounded him like sharks. He was wealthy, and good-looking, and a decent person, if not exactly a saint. He hobnobbed with celebrities who came to order his cars, which he designed and outfitted based on their specifications and desires.

He was finnicky when it came to taste though. No matter how much rappers asked him to clad their Maybach in gold or some vapid Gucci print, no matter how many heiresses pouted and asked for a bubblegum or Barbie-pink Ferraris, he did not betray the essence and soul of the vehicle. Modify, define, sharpen, stylize—he did it all with precision and skill which was unparalleled. But Azriel Bagarat was known for rejecting even the juiciest of offers, if the request did not coincide with his aesthetic or the history of the car.

He was at his shop—that’s what he called it, though atelier sounded infinitely better and more expensive—that afternoon, knowing that Cassian was going to drop by and select a car for his grandiose proposal to Nesta. There was some concern that Cassian would not fit his 6”5 form into an Aston Martin or a Bentley, so they needed to make sure that the car was appropriate for the occasion and the occupant. Cass insisted on a British vehicle, feeling that Nesta would like something classic and timeless. So be it.

What Azriel did not expect to see that Tuesday afternoon was a girl--because he hesitated to call her a ‘woman’, since she looked so lovely and perfect and innocent--who took his breath away.

His breath had been taken away only once before, by Rhys’s cousin, who strolled like a ray of sunshine into their broken lives.

However, Morrigan chose Cassian. And then Cassian promptly impregnated her, causing a great discontent and strife between everyone. Morrigan, or rather Morgana d’Adda, though she anglicized her name, even if Morrigan d’Adda sounded funny, was just about disavowed by her family for tumbling, and being so stupid and blind as to get knocked up by a hulking nobody mulatto, as her father Keir called Cassian. Rather, sneered, at Cassian.

Even if Azriel didn’t impregnate anybody, he somehow got looped into the family bullshit and once he and Cassian turned 18, they were both shipped off to the navy. To the dismay of the entire Darling clan, Rhys followed them, tossing away his guaranteed admittance to Brown. An Ivy League school for rich stupid heirs. Only Rhys wasn’t stupid. Neither was Cassian a hulking nobody mulatto. And Azriel wasn’t just the ‘fucking weird kid, who might be a serial killer’. They served and they passed the insane Navy Seal training, and they proved themselves.

Nowadays, Cassian now ran security for the Darling conglomerate, while Rhys took over the reins when his father was killed in a car accident. Azriel found his own path, though the association with the Darling name certainly helped his exposure and in building relationships and meeting all the right people. And meeting all the women. The three brothers had gone through their share of wild times, but in the past 3 years, things began to calm down for them.

It began with Rhys meeting Feyre Archeron at an art gallery, where she was exhibiting some of her pieces. Azriel had tugged along with Rhys to see the exhibit, because Rhys was looking for some art for his new office, and he trusted Azriel’s taste and knowledge, and wanted a second pair of eyes.

Rhys followed Feyre like a dog throughout the evening—Azriel was there to witness the pathetic display—and then they ended up at a bar, doing shots and feeding Feyre virgin Cosmos, since she wasn’t even 21 yet. They went to some dance club, Azriel playing the third-wheel and ‘chaperone’, though by the end of the night, Rhys and Feyre disappeared together and weren’t heard from for the next three days.

… “What if he killed her?” proposed Cassian for 100th time, pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his long black hair. “Or what if she killed him?”

“I thought that I was the serial killer among the three of us,” drawled Azriel, sprawled on a sofa, watching a game. He wasn’t as concerned, having seen Rhys dripping with intense lust at the sight of the brown-haired teen. It was unusual, since at that time Rhys was almost 25, and Feyre only 19, and the three of them typically tried to avoid teenagers like the plague. But Rhysand Darling seemed genuinely enthralled.

“No, you are the guy with the sex dungeon,” corrected Cassian.

Azriel rolled his eyes, “serial killer with a sex dungeon, huh? Sounds like an interesting story. Alas, much as I’d like to, I don’t have a sex dungeon.”

“Aren’t you building one? In that new garage of yours?” Cassian shrugged.

“Only cars. No sex toys,” sighed Azriel, looking like that might have been an omission on his part.

“Gents, I think I am in love!” the door burst open and a wild-eyed Rhys appeared, his normally pristine hair in disarray, his cheeks flushed, wearing only a white t-shirt and jeans.

“Where the fuck were you for three days?” growled Cassian, showing considerable relief at the sight of his brother.

“Falling in love,” crooned Rhys, falling into a chair, a stupid, dazed look on his face.

“You look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Sabrina’,” noted Azriel.

“I feel like Audrey Hepburn!” exclaimed Rhys. “She is perfect. Feyre is perfect.”

What the fuck? Mouthed Cassian in confusion.

“Feyre Darling,” whispered Rhys with delight, eyes closed, tasting the sound of the name on his tongue. “Feyre Archeron Darling. Or Feyre Darling Archeron?”

“You alright there, buddy?” Cassian frowned. “A little early to be talking last names?”

“She’ll be my wife,” announced Rhysand with his usually unwavering confidence.

And that was that.

Now, the ‘society wedding of the year’ was coming up in three months. Rhysand Darling and Feyre Archeron, the toast of the town, the power couple, the young and beautiful billionaires.

 Now, Azriel stood in front of the most stunning female he’d ever seen and for once, he felt like Rhys. His brain turned into a soupy mess, and he found himself tongue-tied and concentrating was suddenly difficult. He wanted to be a gracious host and a confident, formidable man, who had a reputation to uphold—though he wasn’t sure if Elain was aware of his reputation—but inside, he was a mess. All his insecurities, doubts and self-hate rose to the surface at once, and he hesitated to extend his hand in greeting to her. His mangled, horrible, revolting hand, which was sullied beyond its extensive scars. A hand that killed, and touched way too women, some of whom he probably shouldn’t have been touching at all.

“Beautiful,” she murmured softly, that gorgeous blush spreading over her rose-petal cheeks.

He was so taken aback by the comment, he was nearly flabbergasted when she didn’t pull away, didn’t frown or grimace in disgust, didn’t display any of the usual signs of revulsion that most women did when they saw his hands. Perhaps it was the Patek Phillipe, he tried to convince himself, but deep down he knew—she called his scars ‘beautiful’.

And then she took his arm, her hand strong, surprisingly calloused, if light, and small.

And from that moment on, Azriel became obsessed with that touch.

His body heated and as he led her to the bar, and showed her around his pride and joy, watching for the subtle reactions, for the gleam of wonder and appreciation in her eyes, he couldn’t release…wouldn’t release her hand from his. She asked questions, took in all the memorabilia and gawked at the cars, and then the guest area, and finally, when he sat her down at the bar and made her a coffee, he stepped closer. Trying not to scare her, or seem obnoxious, he couldn’t help invading her personal space, and stood next to her, pretending to take interest in his drink, while hoping that her arm would brush against his own. Skin to skin.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t shy away.

He didn’t expect himself to ask her on what amounted to a date, because he wasn’t even sure how dates worked. His usual ammo consisted of a brief introduction, an even quicker seduction and then a hook up. That’s how he liked it. He preferred no-strings-attached approach to his involvement with women, and it’s been working rather well for him. He never had to sleep with anyone in the same bed, he never had to make anyone breakfast, there was no room for idle chitchat, and usually no second or third dates. It was so easy.

This fucking girl, with her caramel-brown eyes, her golden-amber curls, her soft lips and that damn blush on her cheeks—she was driving him veritably insane with her unique mix of immaculate beauty and a friendly, almost naïve, strangely innocent disposition. And he wanted to go on a date with her. Without an ulterior motive, because at it stood right now, he didn’t care to even get her in bed. That would come later. He was absolutely determined to have this happen later. But…later.

Cassian

“Alrighty, I think I am going with the Bentley,” Cassian sidled to the bar, and interrupted.

If Azriel was annoyed, he didn’t show it.

Cassian spied them at last, making his way through the cavernous entrails of the garage, with all its gleaming cars, the beautiful patrons who were discussing options with no-less beautiful sales people,  and even on-premises tattoo shop, which specialized in Azriel’s sketches and catered to those who didn’t have money to actually outfit their Bugatti to their heart’s desire, but could at least claim that they got a Bagarat tattoo inked on their skin.

Elain and Azriel were standing side by side, somehow melding together nicely, her pretty dress and high-heeled sandals and piles of loose hair in drastic contrast with Azriel’s all-black ensemble, his massive height and the span of his shoulders. But she did not balk from him. Cassian also noticed that she didn’t react to the scars, which Azriel was very self-conscious about, and seemed genuinely interested in the garage.

It was inevitable that the two would eventually meet, especially with the wedding coming up and all the wedding related brouhaha. However, Cassian wanted to have the dibs on gloating down the line, and reminding the two of them, forever, about how it was he who introduced them. Yes, Azriel fucked a lot of models and rich girls, for whom he, strangely, was a riff on a ‘bit of rough’, while being hardly ‘rough’ at all. Azriel was elegant and possessed excellent taste in everything, and he probably had the best manners out of the lot of them. But the tattoos, the cars, the aura of brooding mystery about him, and his generally quiet ways were like honey to the throngs of women who lusted after him.  

About Azriel, Cassian had no doubts.

Cassian knew Azriel probably better than anyone alive, and even that wasn’t saying much, but he was very aware of Azriel’s ‘secret type’ of woman. Basically, it was Elain. Everything about Elain Azriel would like—of that Cassian was certain. Elain was the elusive ‘ideal woman’ of whom Azriel dreamt, but never actually pursued. Slightly unconventional, soft, kind, generous—lovely, would be a good word—Elain was everything that Azriel never had with any other women.

Cassian could already see the hunger and flicker of completely besotted adoration in Azriel’s normally cold eyes.

He was less certain about Elain, having never seen her with a boyfriend. When he had asked Nesta about Elain’s situation, Nesta shrugged and said that Elain was beautiful, but naïve, dreamy and rarely dated.

“A Bentley it is then,” Azriel turned around, though his elbow still touched Elain’s arm. “You’ll fit, big boy?”

Elain giggled.

“I am not Rowan,” Cassian muttered. “I am human sized.”

“Only just.”

“You are the same height,” Cassian reminded him coolly.

“I am a little more human-shaped too.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and said, “Come on, petal. While I love to stand here and listen to his insults, we gotta go.”

Elain’s face dropped into a sad frown only for a second, but she recovered immediately. Cassian noticed it, nevertheless. His petal of a girl didn’t want to leave his brother’s side.

“Bye Azriel,” she said, taking his hand in hers again, of her own volition, and squeezing it lightly. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he said. His fingers wrapped over her palm, and he said, “I’ll walk you two out.”

So, his brooding brother didn’t want to release the newfound petal of a girl.

How interesting.

Once they were in Cassian’s Jeep, Elain looked out the window, a dreamy look on her face.

“Oh-oh,” Cassian chuckled, as he navigated the narrow NYC streets.

“What?”

“I know that look,” he winked.

“What look?” she frowned.

“The ‘oh gods, Azriel is so handsome!’ look. Oh, he is so gorgeous look. Oh, he is so sexy look.”

“He is handsome,” she agreed blandly, knowing that arguing would be silly.

“I hope that you gave him your number,” he said. “Because if you didn’t, I will.”

“It’s none of your business,” she crossed her arms on her chest, and Cass howled loudly.

“You are welcome, by the way,”

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Nesta tolerates you!”

“Oh, Nes tolerates me and then some,” and winked again.

Now

“My love, slow down a bit,” Elain requested, as the road zigzagged among rows of cypresses.

“I thought that you wanted to make it to Florence before traffic hit?” Azriel squeezed her fingers and brought her hand to his lips.

“Seeing that we are already running late, we might as well enjoy the drive,” she shrugged.

A honey-coloured strand of her hair fell out from under the gauzy wrap that she wore around her head a-la Grace Kelley.

“Good.”

“Good what?” she turned her face to him and knocked him out all over again. By the Mother she was superb in every way, and she was his. He couldn’t believe his absurd luck. Things like these didn’t happen to him. Elain was not meant to be his. Yet, here she was, his lovely gentle girl, who loved him with incomprehensible passion and devotion. His.

The hefty, borderline outlandish ring on her finger was proof of that.

He’d worked hard on that ring, designing it himself, wanting to incorporate everything that he loved about her and about the two of them into the design. The result was this stunner that glittered madly in the Italian sun, sitting on her manicured finger, the skin of her arm kissed by a golden tan.

His beautiful girl loved flowers, and she loved him, so her ring, in its platinum setting was a remarkable rose, reflecting Elain’s green thumb and life’s work. He selected the diamond himself, and the amethysts that comprised the petals, even the tiny onyx inserts, to signify him and the black ink of his tattoos. The ring was both extravagant—especially in carats—but intimate as well, a flower that spoke of his eternal love for this woman.

“I am going to take you somewhere, which I think you’d like,” he teased.

“Where?”

“How does lots of flowers sound?”

She smiled. 

Azriel

For gods’ sake, he was nervous. Azriel was not prone to nervousness or panic or discomfort, but this date, or whatever it was, filled him with dread.

He shouldn’t have asked her.

He was stupid and blinded by her beauty, by her deliciously voluptuous body, by the long, slender legs, by her shy, sweet smile. Those blushes. For the love of everything, those fine, adorable, sexy blushes.

She was part of the family network—both of his brothers were now in love with her sisters. It was cliché and unrealistic and unbelievable that she and he would end up in the same boat. Besides, he wasn’t so lucky as to have someone like her accept him. So, he was making a huge fucking mistake. If this was all going to go sour—which inevitably it would, of that he had no doubt—he’d mess up the delicate balance that existed between the Darling, Bagarat and Cavalhe brothers and the Archeron sisters. She’d reject him and then it would be awkward. Awkward for the upcoming wedding, in which he and Elain were supposed to couple up and be together in the wedding party. Rhys said, ‘fuck it’ and asked both him and Cassian to be best men, while Feyre had both of her sisters as maids-on-honour. There was no escaping it. Therefore, it would be awkward for the wedding, and then for Christmas and all the summer BBQs and pool parties and…well, he might just have to find excuses to never attend anything, ever.

But here he was, standing in front of an old-fashioned, cute corner storefront in the Village. Flower displays spilled on the sidewalk, and the windows, along with the marble edifice reminded him of Paris. This was exactly how he’d picture Elain’ store—slightly whimsical, elegant, classic, but modern. Au Nom de la Rose – The Name of the Rose—perfectly appropriate for Elain’s store name.

She wasn’t waiting for him outside, and he circled the block three times before, by some miracle, finding a parking space and leaving the silver Ferrari, and then made his way back to the store, arriving 4 minutes late, which was completely unacceptable. The store was technically closed at this hour, but he knocked and heard Elain’s voice telling him to come in. Some internal pressure inside of him released at the sound of her voice.

He entered and whistled,

“That’s a lot of flowers!”

Yep, definitely a glamourized 50’s Paris vibe.

“Azriel, I am so sorry, I am not ready,” Elain came from behind the counter, looking a bit frazzled.

“It’s alright I will wait,” he assured her, but she shook her head and said,

“No…I just received a huge order. An emergency order for an anniversary party. Azriel, it’s my biggest order ever!”

“That’s excellent!” he found himself feeling genuinely happy for her, if not for her concerned expression. “What’s up?”

“I…I,” she stumbled. “Feyre or Nesta would usually come and help out if I need them, but Feyre is in LA, and Nesta…” she swallowed, “Nesta is indisposed.”

Nes is on her period and is feeling like crap, read Cassian’s text from earlier today. I am going fishing. Care to join? Or are you busy romancing a certain Archeron sister?

Nesta was indisposed indeed, though Azriel didn’t feel like he needed to know the details.

“It’s a 25th Anniversary, and I have to make 25 bouquets and 15 centerpieces. The couple’s original florist fell through and they contacted me, in a panic, and I agreed,” she babbled, tugging on her long braid nervously. “And it’s for tomorrow,”

“Alright then,” he shrugged, “what’s the problem then? I am here.”

She looked up at him, her gaze both hopeful and confused.

“You? What are you going to do? I am sorry, Azriel, I am so sorry, we’d have to postpone,”

“We’d have to postpone our drive, but I am here. Use me.”

“Use you?”

“Use my body,” he chuckled, and she giggled an amused laugh.

“I appreciate the offer,” and when he thought that she’d continue rejecting his offer of help, she did the right thing and was a smart girl, nodding at last, and said, “will you truly help?”

“I am not a flower expert,”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she grinned.

He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and said, “Teach me, Archeron. I am an apt pupil.”

He was. Elain showed him model bouquets and thankfully, he wasn’t dumb or clumsy enough to screw them up, once he began copying the originals.

Night fell, and they ordered pizza and he went to get a bottle of wine from the store across the street.

Sitting on the floor of the store, surrounded by piles of flowers, vases, ribbons and twine, they ate pizza, laughing throughout the evening. She stretched her long, bare legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles, and he couldn’t get enough—the pretty toes, the pale golden skin and the sexy pink nail polish. He didn’t want to seem like a creep, but he snuck more than a few glances at her feet when she wasn’t looking.

It was well past midnight when they were finally done.

He stretched on the floor and tucked his arm behind his head.

She kneeled above him, at his side, and said, “Azriel, thank you. I can’t, honestly, thank you enough. You saved me. Maybe my business too!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he retorted gently, “but this was fun…and educational.”

“How can I repay you?” she asked.

“Well, well,” he drummed his fingers on the floor, pretending to think. “So many possibilities,”

At that, she flushed, and he licked his lips, loving the sight of that pink on her cheeks.

“Let’s make a bargain,” he proposed at last.

“A bargain?” her brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“For my exceptional assistance during your time of trouble and despair, you will agree to an outing with me, of my choosing. To do whatever I want.”

Elain stared at him, biting her plump lower lip.

“Are we going to do something bad?” she finally asked uncertainly.

He grinned and without thinking, cupped her cheek.

She didn’t recoil.

He drew his thumb over her soft skin and she leaned into his palm just a little bit. Gods it felt good. So good. So good to have her so near, so receptive, so unafraid. But he dropped his hand.

“You think I will take you to knock off a couple of 7-11s?”

“Well, if I am entering this death bargain with you, then who the hell knows?” she shrugged.

He laughed, “Death bargain? A little dramatic, are we?”

She was still sitting there, biting her lip, and all he wanted to do was drag his tongue over it. Kiss her large, brown eyes. Fist his hand around the thick mass of her hair, tilt her head and kiss her until she was breathless.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He never acted like this!

He never thought like this.

He was a rational, controlled, some said, cold man.

Not to say that he wasn’t able to find a woman immediately attractive, or want to fuck her, but this was different. This was unknown.

“Fine,” she shrugged.

“Fine?” he repeated, smiling.

“Don’t make me do anything bad,” she warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he promised. “I wouldn’t lead you astray. But,” he sat up, draping his forearms over his knees, “where do you live? Let me take you home,”

“I can take an Uber,”

He gave her an incredulous look and she nodded without further arguments.

“Where do you live?” he asked, once they were outside, somehow internally thrilled that perhaps, she’d invite him inside. He wouldn’t expect anything, obviously, but it would be nice see where she lived, what her private space looked like. So far, he couldn’t pinpoint her style with any accuracy, an interesting mixture of vintage and modern, of flowers and thorns.

“Just two blocks down,” she said, as she locked up the shop.

He gave her his arm, and it seemed like she almost expected it, because she immediately thrust her hand into the loop and he smiled softly.

The little white shorts and the flowery top did things to him, and he was glad to walk side by side, so to prevent himself from staring at her long legs and her neat, lush ass. He was already a mess over her legs, over her bending and squatting in front of him for the past four-five hours.

It was dark and quiet on the street, and they walked in a comfortable silence, each thinking of something of their own.

And then,

Elain sprawled face down on the pavement.

She cried out, landing on her knees on the asphalt, just barely having the time to brace herself on her hand, and ripping the skin of her palm.

Azriel was instantly on his knees in front of her.

Tears glistened in her eyes. Possibly from pain, because as she flipped on her butt, they saw that her knees were torn and bleeding, as was her palm, or maybe from shock, as well as embarrassment.

“Shhh,” he cooed gently to her, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. A lonely tear spilled from her eyes.

“Tissues?” he asked quickly, surveying the damage. Bruises were already blossoming on her scuffed kneecaps, all around the wounds.

She wordlessly handed him her bag, allowing him to rummage through it and he found a packet of old tissues, which he gingerly pressed to her bleeding knees.

“My ankle hurts,” she muttered, reaching down to inspect it.

“Let me,” he took her legs and looked over her ankle. She glared questioningly at him, still in some sort of stupor, not understanding what had occurred, and why she was now sitting on the ground, bleeding.

“You broke your heel,” he nodded to her foot and she glanced down, finally realizing that her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. The impact was so strong, it actually fully detached from the sole of the shoe.

“I am sorry,” she mumbled.

“You should be,” he chuckled, “you gave me quite a scare. I thought you were shot; you went down so quickly!”

She pushed at his arm, half laughing, and have crying.

“Stop making me laugh!” she ordered, sniffling and giggling. “Auuu, it hurts...”

He was lightly pressing on her ankle, and then said, “it’s just twisted. You’ll need ice, but it should be okay…”

“Ok, Doctor Azriel,” she even rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed, flicking her nose.

“I am trained on how to treat combat wounds and catastrophic field injuries, I’ll have you know,” he said and then gave her his hand. “On your feet, soldier! Let me see if you can stand.”

Moaning and groaning, she managed to stand up, but putting any weight on her foot caused a yelp to escape her lips.

“Alright, come on now,” he stepped and opened his arms, “jump in.”

“Jump in where?”

“Jump into my arms, of course.”

“What are you planning to do? Swing me around?”

“I could swing you around, but I was planning on carrying you home, and then making you an ice pack and disinfecting all your cuts.”

Without waiting for her to decide, he scooped her off the ground and she gasped, and he wasn’t sure what the little huff meant.

“But it’s like two blocks!” she protested feebly, and unconvincingly, “I am heavy.”

“Ooohhh,” he groaned dramatically, hefting her to his chest, as they started off. “Sooo, so heavy!”

“I am the fattest of my sisters,” she argued, and even in the darkness he saw that she was blushing realizing how silly her comment was.

“Well, considering that Nesta is like 90 lbs. and Feyre 110 lbs., that’s not saying much,” he assured her.

She was soft and warm in his arms, and when, without prompting, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, he felt utterly at peace. Because the pieces of them fit. She fit him.

Blood still dripping, and her arms thrown over his neck, Azriel walked steadily, cradling her to his chest, until they finally reached a pre-War building, and she said, “There is no elevator.”

“Don’t tell me you are on the 6th floor!” he laughed, looking up.

“The third.”

“Guess I will have to haul the fattest of the Archeron sisters to the 3rd floor!” he sighed, and she smacked his arm, protesting,

“You can’t say that!”

He was laughing and she began to laugh as well.

“You said it first,” he reminded her.

 Her apartment was small, but she’d arranged the furniture in such a way that everything seemed more spacious, and orderly, without unnecessary frills. Mostly grays, turquoise, cobalt and creamy-white. For some reason, he thought that there would be much more pink and general fluff. This though, this he liked.

He sat her down on the sofa and went to the bathroom to find bandages and plasters and other items. She called out from her spot, telling him where to find things and he finally emerged and began working on all her wounds.

“Haven’t lost a soldier yet,” he told her with a chuckle. He kneeled in front of her, and his touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle, as he thoroughly washed every scuff and tear, and then disinfected and decided what needed bandages and what didn’t.

Elain remained mostly silent throughout the procedure, watching him from under her lashes.

“You are nice,” she said suddenly.

He looked at her and smirked.

“Not with anyone.”

“Everyone just says how handsome you are,” she lay her head on the back cushion, watching him. He gave her a painkiller, and it was making her drowsy. It was also late. She rarely stayed up this late. “But you are also very nice,” she added.

Elain

She woke up that morning, and was struck by the unfamiliar environment. And pain.

Her knees ached and screamed and hurt, as did her palm.

Light poured through the windows; the curtains still open.

She found herself on her sofa, haphazardly covered by a throw, and with her legs resting on Azriel’s lap.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was here. With her.

He never left after last night’s debacle.

She was a clumsy cow, as always, but the incident was unusually embarrassing, even for her. She always spilled or dropped stuff on herself, tripped, stumbled, and fell on her ass at inopportune times, but last night…By the Mother!

The man was gosh darn saint. Not only did she screw up their evening plans, made him work and make bouquets with her, which, probably wasn’t the most exciting thing for him to spend the evening on, but she also almost ate the pavement, and then he carried her for half a mile! And cared for her when they came here. And spent, what must have been a horribly uncomfortable night in a half-seated position, with her, no doubt, pushing at him with her feet.

Yep, she was never going to see him again.

Good going, Elain. Fine job you did of this ‘relationship’. Now, for the rest of her life, she’d be forced to see him at family gatherings, probably with some stunning model of a wife, and he’d always remember her as the girl who tore her heel on the pavement.

She wanted to cry.

Not that she ever, even for a second, believed that this would go anywhere. Her and Azriel. That wasn’t possible. Things like these didn’t happen to her. She was strange and solitary and even if others claimed that she was pretty, going so far as to call her ‘beautiful’, she never felt like that. When Nesta got mad at her, she’d call her a ‘petty idiot’ and Elain felt like that more frequently than she cared to admit. And Azriel…he was cut from a different cloth. He was…

She looked at his face, still perfect, but ever so slightly relaxed and softened in sleep, his eyelids heavy and enviably long, thick lashes fanned over his golden-brown cheeks. He was funny, with a quick, dry sense of humour, intelligent and interesting, and when they talked last night, she couldn’t get enough! He told her fascinating stories from his time in the Navy, about his dream, which resulted in the creation of his beloved garage. It took him three years to open the place—conceptualize what he wanted, how to deliver it, the items to showcase. The result was not just the ‘garage’, but also the popular bar, and recently, a restaurant as well.

Scarred fingers touched her hand and he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered, squinting at her. “How are you? How’s the pain?”

“Azriel,” she murmured, not even knowing how to thank him, but she attempted, “I want to,”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

She glanced at him with incomprehension.

“May I make you, or us, pancakes?” he proposed. “I’ve been sort of thinking about this all night. How I’d like to make you pancakes,”

“I want to thank,”

He lifted his finger and shook his head,

“No, no. My Italian mother would tell you that you should never thank anyone for providing medical help,”

“Why?”

“According to my psychotically superstitious Italian side of the family, the remedy or healing won’t take, if you offer thanks. Imagine, I was forbidden from ever saying ‘thank you’ to a doctor,”

She chuckled.

“So, you are Italian?”

“Mom’s side is half Neapolitan and half from Lazio—near Rome.”

He sat up and rolled his neck.

“Can I at least say that I am sorry that you had to be so uncomfortable and sleep on the couch?” she asked.

“It’s alright. Not the best night I’ve ever had, but not the worst one either. The company was nice too,” and he patted her legs.

A tiny flare of hope lit in her belly.

But she didn’t allow herself to have it take root.

Maybe not until he gathered her legs together on his lap and drew his fingers up and down her calf.

“But really, how is the pain?” he asked at last, watching her with his intense, warm eyes. The eyes didn’t warm frequently, it seemed, but when they looked at her—

He was different somehow.

Kind. Approachable.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand, not wanting to burden him any longer with her dumb injuries.

Those long, scarred fingers glided over her skin, and a small smirk touched his lips, “May I kiss it better?”

She blinked at him.

“I hear that I am very good at making pain go away,” he added proudly, and then, his lips descended on her scuffed and bruised knees. She kissed each one, tenderly, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, and pressed his mouth to the inside of her palm. Her breath hitched and she stared at him, wide-eyed, as he watched her, unblinking, gaging every minute reaction. He kissed her hand, inside and then out, and then kissed the other, even though it wasn’t injured, and then returned to her knees and kissed them again.

At last, “Better?” he asked.

She only mooed incoherently.

…Azriel, by the stove, flipping pancakes was the sexiest thing Elain had ever seen in her life.

Clad in dark slacks, in his white shirt from last night, with sleeves rolled up and the tattoo sleeves on full display, he stood in her kitchen, barefoot and flipped pancakes like a pro.

“You cook too?” she asked incredulously.

He laughed.

“Too? In addition to what?”

“I don’t know,” she was still perched on the sofa, like an invalid, but after she washed her face and brushed her hair, he ordered her to sit and not make unnecessary moves. “Everything?”

“My repertoire is limited, when it comes to the kitchen, but what I know how to make, I make well. Cassian is a better cook.”

“Cass?” she smiled.

“Nesta is lucky to have him,” Azriel added, somewhat wistfully.

Elain looked at him and nodded. “I think so too.”

“He is a good man. Maybe the best man I’ve ever known. Where my own family failed, he stepped in, though he is a year younger than me. But he taught me…how to be. Accepted me. Unconditionally. Taught me how to swim, how to ride a bike, how to fight.”

“And you?”

“I? I helped him with his reading,” Azriel rubbed his chin, his stance a little tense.

She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he felt like sharing more.

“It was neglected,” he said at last. “His reading and writing. So, we sat together, late at night, at our foster parents’ house and read.”

He then asked, “coffee?”

The moment of reminiscing was over, and Elain did not press.

She nodded to one of the cupboards and he pulled out a tub of coffee and grimaced.

“This is what you drink?”

“Hey, it’s good coffee! I buy it at Trader Joe’s!” she laughed defensively.

“Baby, we are drinking Italian coffee in this house,” he decided, and there was no arguing with that logic.

 That’s how Elain became Azriel’s ‘baby’.

In their house, they always drank Italian coffee.

 Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

“Thanks Nu,” Azriel greeted a lanky, very thin, very tall girl, who handed him two packages and then winked at him and disappeared wordlessly.

“My assistant, Nuala,” he explained, showing Elain two packages of Lavazza coffee. “This will do for now.”

Elain hobbled to the small butcher block island that she’d restored from a console that she found at a flea market. “You text someone and they just appear?”

He grinned and shrugged innocently.

“I know a guy.”

“Of course you do. Are you in the mafia?”

“First of all, rude,” he placed a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of her and then poured her coffee, “second of all, I just know a guy.”

“Who knows where to buy Lavazza on a Saturday morning?” she wondered, tucking into the pancakes.

“I have a network of spies,” he winked at her.

She sipped on the coffee, perhaps not as good a cup as he’d made her at his garage, but glorious nevertheless. “Are you in the CIA?”

“Not in the mafia or the CIA. Just a lowly car guy.”

“Uh-uh.”

They toasted with their coffee cups and Azriel said, “not bad for a first date. Blood and flowers. Very romantic.”

It was that morning, that sunny Saturday morning, over a plate of pancakes and some Italian coffee that Elain Archeron fell in love.

She fell in love completely.

Utterly.

Irreversibly.

And forever.

Now

Azriel turned off to some side road and how he knew where to go, Elain had no idea, but she just enjoyed the scents and warmth of the day.

“You know,” she laughed. “We are literally under the Tuscan sun right now!”

“All your dreams are coming true,” he ran a loving hand over her bare arm and she tore her gaze from the scenery around her.

“My dreams came true when I met you,” she confessed. “That was the day.”

“So easily impressed!” he teased, but she saw that her words touched something in him. His face softened with happiness.

“Az, slow down,” she whispered, an almost painful pull to kiss him spreading over her. “I want to kiss you.”

He looked at her, eyes hidden behind his Aviator shades, but slowed down and she leaned towards him and planted her mouth on his cheek.

“Lips,” she murmured with audible desperation.

“Baby, I don’t want to bust up this nice Ferrari,” he laughed. “And you, who is riding in it.”

Pouting, she ordered, “Then pull over so I can kiss you!”

He laughed louder, throwing his head back, his gorgeous tanned neck annoyingly desirable.

She wanted to bite his vein, lick the salty skin of his neck, and then sink her teeth into his shoulder. Elain was a biter. And a scratcher. Good thing that Azriel was a benevolent lover, who didn’t care if she left his body marked with her love, and didn’t mind the pain. In fact, he encouraged it.

His heavy brown hand lay on her knee, under the hem of her summer dress and he said,

“Why don’t I do something nice for you… then you can kiss me…”

“But I want to kiss you now,” she frowned playfully.

His hand slid a little higher, up her bare thigh, and he pressed his scarred palm into her thin, tender skin, rubbing slowly, indulgently. This was just as much for her as it was for him.

She threw her head into the back of the seat, eyes closed.

Until she yelped softly, when his wicked hand slipped higher and higher, pushing her dress up as well.

“Azriel Bagarat,” she murmured, “what am I going to do with you? And your love for public nudity and lovemaking…”

He shrugged oh so innocently and said, “firstly, it’s Archeron to you, and,”

“Not just yet,” she wiggled her ring-clad hand in front of him, “not until we got the paper and all, to make us official,”

They rolled their eyes at the same time and then laughed.

“And secondly, who can blame me?” he leaned and kissed her shoulder. “You are very hot. And I sort of want to fuck you all the time.”

His long, very experienced fingers made their way even higher, until he drew them along the cotton of her underwear, lightly pressing into the cleft, teasing ever so lightly. She shifted against the fingertips, her thighs falling apart in silent encouragement.

Elain was a giving and a receptive lover, innately knowing what he wanted and accommodating both of their needs thoughtfully, and easily.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmured.

“To kiss you,�� she insisted stubbornly.

He huffed his amusement, and then pushed his finger deeper, firmer against the cotton, whispering,

“How about this?”

“This is nice, I suppose,”

“Only nice?” he withdrew his finger in warning and she grabbed his wrist, and thrust it back in place.

“Maybe a little better than ‘nice’, huh?” he teased.

“A little,” she agreed, gasping when he cupped her fully, swiping his heel of his palm against the length of her folds, feeling the dampness against his skin. Bold, as he always was, he moved the strip of cotton to the side, and hiked up her dress ever higher, exposing her to his exploration.

He snuck a glance at her perfectly peachy, pink pussy, bare and succulent, like a ripe fruit dripping with its sweet juices.

He groaned and then hissed, “I am stopping, right now. I want you coming on my tongue in the next four minutes,”

“So confident, ombre?”

She took to calling him ombre or ‘shadow’, when, early in their relationship, he kept materializing in front of her out of nowhere, stepping out of the shadows. He laughed, but didn’t mind the endearment. What’s more, it became a private thing between the two of them—he’d call her ‘rose’ and she’d call him ‘ombre’. It wasn’t nauseatingly sugary sweet and could be used in public without making people gag. Unlike, for example, the Darlings, who, for whatever reason called each other ‘my darkness’. Or Cassian, who sometimes went with ‘schmoopie’, braving Nesta’s wrath.

Azriel laughed, while incessantly dragging his finger back and forth over the wet slit, without doing much else, and making her gasp and squirm.

“That I can make you come on my tongue in 4 minutes? Fuck yeah! Want me to prove it?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she shook her head, “you don’t get to just do whatever the hell you want, when you want it. If I don’t get my kiss, you don’t get to,”

“What? Lick your pussy? I feel like the punishment is unreasonable,” he protested.

She gave him a sultry look, a look that only he was privy to, and then murmured, spreading her legs a little wider for him,

“Maybe I want to lick something of yours?” she proposed, her voice husky, pouring like honey over his ear.

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” he choked out, finally parting the soft cushions of her folds and dragging his knuckles over the wet spread of her. The intoxicating scent of her arousal, mixed with the Italian sunshine and the smell of grass, flowers and cypresses was so heady, he almost swerved, stopping only quick enough to grip the steering wheel tightly in his left hand.

Gods, if he was going to make it to their next destination, he would be impressed with himself. But it was close.

Azriel

Elain loved getting fingered. That was the first thing he learned about her sexually—kissing and fingering.

In the privacy of their world, he fingered her constantly.

It was almost an obligation on his part by now, to have her wake up, tucked into his side, while gently, but thoroughly pumping her soft, indescribably tight center. No matter how many times he’d been inside of her, she remained tight, as tight as the first time. That was a blessing, but a curse as well, for all he could typically think about throughout the day, was sinking into that glorious tightness.

When she was finally semi-awake, she rolled on her back and spread her legs in front of him, so he could finger her in earnest. Two fingers first, nice and deep inside of her, as he knelt in front of her and watched her come undone before him. And then, there was always a moment when her eyes flew open, and her back arched, and he slipped the third one in. The plush, warm walls of her sex stretched and pulled to accommodate him, but he went slow and deep, only grazing the sensitive spot in her, making her moan low and begging, the pressure of his hand steady and firm.

She cried and cried into the pillow, head thrown back in utter extasy, her hair a tangled halo about her. She wasn’t permitted to move her hips, his only order in that early-morning game of theirs, therefore she was wholly dependent on him for her pleasure. If she ever did begin a sensual undulation of her hips around his hand, he’d allow her to continue for a few moments, aware that she was lost in her own pleasure, before cruelly yanking his hand out of her.

“Was my girl allowed to do that?” he’d ask simply, and amidst her disappointed panting, her pleading for more, her sweet, innocent “sorry. I am sorry,” she’d beg him to fill her again.

Then she’d lay still, eyes wide and pleading, her little opening vibrating at the loss, before he placed her feet on his shoulders and thrust in her anew. This time, his scarred, rough, brown, inked fingers disappeared in her completely. She buckled and let out a wild moan that reverberated from the very depth of her, because all four fingers were inside, and his thumb finally, finally began a gorgeously slow torment around her clit. She just lay there, tense and unmoving, watching him, the slurping, obscene sounds of his hand inside of her filling the sleepy morning air around them.

Elain came quietly. She moaned and twisted and gasped as he rubbed her clit, but when the waves finally descended upon her, when he felt the tight, silky flesh grip and pump all four of his fingers, which were now pressing up into her perfect spot, the exhale was soft and intimate. Only for him.

Now

“Don’t wreck the car,” Elain muttered, eyes barely open.

“Will this be the second one?” Azriel asked, while Elain wrapped her hand around his wrist and forcefully jammed his hand inside of her.

Four.

Four orgasms daily. That was his promise.

He’d provide her with at least four daily orgasms. So far, he typically exceeded expectations. It wasn’t particularly difficult, because he often played with her at odd times—when they were watching TV, he’d slip a finger onto her clitty and rub her slowly and leisurely, until she melted from the stimulation. She enjoyed it when he bent her over counters or sinks, and sunk his fingers deep and hard into her perpetually ready hole.

Elain, to his complete delight and fascination, was always just a bit aroused. Always, always just a bit wet, just a little damp for him. He’d make an unscheduled stop at her shop and if it was empty, he’d step behind the counter with her, and soon, she’d be splayed over the counter, his hand between her legs. Yes, they’ve been almost caught plenty of times, but Azriel had the ability to disappear into shadows as soon as he sensed someone coming. Sometimes, when someone would walk in the store, Azriel even pretended that he was a customer, buying flowers, watching her patiently, while she got his bouquet ready for him. Never mind that his hand might have been soaked with her slick, or that he smirked, watching her press her thighs together, while she wrapped the flowers, as she avoided eye contact with him, and handed him the bouquet which he’d inevitably bring home for her.

When he was around her, she jokingly complained that she was of constant need for him, and it was his very enviable and pleasant task to soothe the ache inside of her.

 Azriel

Their friends, family, found their relationship perplexing. But Elain kept her sisters firmly at an arm’s length when it came to the discussion of their sex life. No matter how they tried to pry, she gently, but firmly rebuffed them. Nesta complained and said that they were too obsessed with each other. That Elain was too in love and that Azriel was too dependent on Elain’s love for this to be normal. Elain only shrugged and didn’t argue.

 “It’s not normal!” seethed Nesta, watching Elain and Azriel wrapped around each other on the dance floor, Elain’s body shimmying and swaying around her, arms raised in the air, her hips swooshing to the beat, bumping into his pelvis.

“You think they are gonna do it right on the dancefloor?” Cassian contemplated quietly, not sure if this was outside the realm of possibilities.

“He would!” she spat and gulped down her Aperol spritz aggressively. “I am surprised he is not bending her over…more surprised she isn’t agreeing!”

“They never argue,” Cassian nodded.

“They never—never—argue. It’s not normal!”

The way Cassian saw it, as long as the two were happy, he had no right to judge.

Nesta was a hot pepper. Feyre, an apple—solid, tasty, dependable. Elain—whipped cream—a delicious topping over anything, but especially Azriel.

 Nevertheless, the word got around.

One day, Azriel, Rowan and Cassian were sitting in Elain’s flower shop, toiling diligently over a huge order of flowers.

They wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not to each other, or their women, but they quite enjoyed hiding in that flower shop and arranging flowers. They claimed that they were doing it for Elain’s sake, to help her out, so she didn’t have to hire additional help just yet, but,

Well, they liked it.

At first, Elain wasn’t sure if Cassian was cut out for the task, because the very first try was a little rough.

“Cass, these are not your enemies that you are about to smite,” Elain instructed gently, prying his fingers from the stems of irises, which he was clutching like he was about to throw a lance.

“Pfff, you look like you are about to choke a chicken,” Nesta teased. And promptly realised her mistake, biting her lip.

Cassian cocked his brow and murmured seductively,

“What chicken am I choking, sweetheart? My own,”

“Oh no,” Elain stepped in between them, hands on her hips. “No. No. No. Absolutely not.”

“Lainey, don’t allow Cass to choke his chicken in front of us,” begged Azriel, working quickly and deftly, and soliciting an envious look from Cassian, whose flowers were in complete disarray, compared to Azriel’s neat piles and methodical assembly line.

“Yes, no one is choking chickens, penises or each other in here,” ordered Elain sternly, while Nesta and Azriel were laughing silently.

“Hehe,” smirked Cassian, “Elain said ‘penis’!”

“Take your dirty talk and deeds,”

Dirty deeds done dirt cheap, dirty deeds done dirt cheap

Cassian began rocking to his own singing, imitating the gravel of Brian Johnson’s voice rather successfully, headbanging over his babybreath, bluebells and irises.

Chicken choking forgotten for a moment.

 As Cassian fussed over a vase, working on each stem and arranging them just so, wearing a little white apron no less, he asked casually, “So, brother, four?”

Azriel was in his own headspace, and he didn’t even hear Cassian, as he was busy with his own flower arrangement.

There was, expectedly, a competition going on—who’d complete the most arrangements in an hour. Rowan, a veritable giant, and Cassian’s best friend, also wore an apron, but a long one, like a butcher, and was significantly ahead of the pack. That bothered Azriel more than he cared to admit. So, he was re-strategizing his strategy.

“Four what?” Rowan inquired, not taking his eyes off the flowers, working like a machine.

“Ask Az here,” Cassian suggested. He was catching up to Azriel with an alarming speed.

Azriel had never lost, so far. He wasn’t going to lose today.

“Stop speaking in riddles. What are you talking about?”

“Word on the street is that our Az here provides the flower girl with a minimum of four orgasms on the daily,”

Azriel started and finally tore his eyes from the flowers.

Both Rowan and Cassian were watching him, smirking.

“I guess it’s true then,”

“Fuck off.”

“If that’s true,” Rowan drawled, “good for you, man. Though you are putting us to shame with this ridiculous offer of yours. How do you keep up?”

“Easily,” Azriel shrugged. “But it’s freaking me out that you two are talking about my sex life so casually.”

“But fucking four? Daily?” repeated Cassian, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Elain, man,” Rowan rubbed the back of his head, mussing his silver hair, “who would’ve thought?”

Cassian nodded, “No offense, brother, but Elain doesn’t strike anyone as particularly adventurous in the bedroom,”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Azriel said simply.

“Very beautiful,” offered Rowan pacifically, “but…you know…Kind of like Elide, I guess. You wouldn’t know it, looking at her,”

Cassian was nodding. “Yeah, she looks like she eats macaroons and reads Jane Austen,”

“Macarons,” said Azriel.

“What?”

“It’s macaron. Not macaroon.”

“What the hell is the difference?”

“One is a French biscuit, made with almond flour and filled with a creamy filling. The other, is a coconut concoction that one usually eats at Passover.”

Rowan was chuckling. Cassian was shaking his head, grunting, “you would know. So, does she? Eat maca--,”

“No, she doesn’t even like macarons. And she doesn’t read Jane Austen. She reads espionage novels. She likes Daniel Silva. Any more stupid questions?”

Elide. Of course. He should’ve guessed.

Elain and Elide met through Rowan and it was friendship at first sight.

Azriel couldn’t argue—the two women were similar in many ways. Both were on a quiet side, polite, well-mannered. Elain—a ray of sunshine, tall, slender and curvaceous, smiling and affable, with piles of golden-brown locks and warm brown eyes. Elide—the opposite—small, pale, with perfectly straight, silky black hair and dark, midnight eyes. Both—crafty in the ways of the world, charming, when needed, capable of getting into everyone’s good graces, and therefore, getting what they wanted.

���No, no more stupid questions,” said Cassian. “Just don’t know how you two grumps attracted such lively girls,”

“Lorcan and I aren’t ‘grumps’. We just talk when we need to and don’t have the need for instant gratification or to be the center of attention. Something I can’t say about you,”

“It’s not about me,” Cassian protested, but Azriel stopped him, by raising his finger,

 “Now, if you are not going to shut the fuck up about my woman and me, I will spread a rumour amongst your women, that it’s not four, but six. Daily. Let’s see how you measure up then.”

Silence fell.

Azriel won.

His 36th win.

 Now

 “Yes, the second,” Elain nodded with a satisfied smile.

 Azriel

 Naturally, today, he woke her up properly, as he always did.

They stayed in an adorable little villa, near Montepulciano. It was everything a Tuscan villa was supposed to be…

including the dust that settled in its 800-year-old walls. And Elain coughed and coughed and coughed, surprisingly not coughing up a lung.

“We can’t stay here,” Azriel said, frowning.

“Where are going to go? We are in the middle of Tuscany and it’s 10 pm,” she reminded him.

Ever resourceful, he dragged the mattress off the antique bed and plopped it down on the floor of their small balcony.

“We sleep here. Under the night Tuscan sky.”

It was a lovely, if chilly night, and Elain would’ve enjoyed it if she didn’t fall asleep almost immediately and slept through the night.

She was still asleep, when the birds began their morning song and Azriel positioned her on her hands and knees, and carefully removed her nightgown, baring her to the dry, cool morning air.

“Someone will see us,” she murmured sleepily.

She tucked her hands under her cheek, and followed the direction of Azriel’s hand on her hip, rising her butt high up, and arching her back for him.

Azriel loved having sex out in the open. Especially if she was completely naked. He wasn’t overt about it, but the thrill of being found out, the titillating desire to be watched was always present. She knew it. She indulged his fantasies.

“I don’t think anyone would mind watching you,” he whispered hotly in her ear and lightly bit the apple of her cheek. “But it’s also like 4:15 in the morning. So maybe they are still sleeping.”

He settled behind her and she felt his hands on her back, smoothing over the sharp cut of her tight waist and then the soft curve of her hips.

“Spread your legs for me, my love, I want to play with you a little bit,” he guided her, and she followed his direction, squatting inelegantly on her knees, thighs wide apart for him. He cupped her fully in his palm and then pinched her clit, hard, twisting it and rubbing it between his two fingers, until she bit her forearm, trying to stifle her cries of instant pleasure.  He pinched again, then again, rubbing tightly, while he bit her buttock playfully, but hard enough to leave a pink mark.

“Mmmm,” she groaned, when he nibbled on her flesh again, tugging on the swollen clit with relentless dedication. She managed to twist enough to kiss his knee and whispered, eyes still closed, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” he leaned forward and kissed her wet, stretched opening, dragging his tongue around and around the rim, “and you are so nice and wet for me in the morning. My good girl, what do you want?”

“Only you,” she vowed. “Only you, my Az.”

“Let’s fill your pretty little hole then,” he licked on it again, and then slid one strong, long finger inside. As he began to pump her slowly, he proposed, “When I fill you with my cock later on,”

“Uh oh,” she moaned dreamily, smiling a loving smile, enjoying his finger to the fullest.

“I think I’d like to add a finger or two as well. What do you think?”

“I’d like that, I think,” she complied easily.

Elain was not a particularly imaginative lover, but Azriel was the opposite—he had too much imagination when it came to everything. Especially Elain, and what he liked to do with her sexually. What was absolutely fantastic, and he thanked all the gods for this phenomenon, was that Elain was willing to try anything. She was an absolutely willing and eager lover, who learned from him and learned of her body with readiness and joy. He dominated her completely, but that was the nature of their relationship, and they easily fell into their roles, from the very beginning. She was submissive, loved praise, and loved being guided and told what to do. More than anything else, she loved pleasing him. There was never any pull and push, no competition, no power struggles. Elain was made for him, created and carved from something that was innately his, whether it was his body or his mind, and they lived and loved harmoniously. He complimented her perfectly: her temperament, her needs, her wants. He treated her with admiration, gentleness, adoration and respect, and while his own expectations were high, she met them all with ease. She took control when she needed to. Received what she wanted from him, however she needed to. And he gave and gave.

Some, or many, called them soulmates.

Perhaps that’s what they were. Or maybe, they were even more than that.

Azriel stretched his legs on either side of her curved body and then added another finger inside of her sopping, slippery opening, reaching deep into her and pumping her firmly.

“Auuuu, babe, it’s good…” she squealed, “it’s so good.”

Unable to wait any longer, he pulled her buttocks apart with his available hand and swept his tongue over the tiny opening, causing her to seize with surprise and pleasure. Instinctively, she moved her hips against his tongue, pushing her backside into his lips. He licked the little hole in earnest, dragging his tongue back and forth between both of her openings, making her tremble and shudder every time his tongue reached one or the other.

As he sat to the task of licking and sucking her tight hole, he thrust a third finger into her dripping passage, feeling her shift against his face to accommodate the stretch. It was a lot, and she whimpered and moaned from the pressure, but he knew that she could take four, though he wasn’t in a hurry, and worked her diligently and steadily, his tongue laving the other hole just as eagerly.

She was shaking between his legs, her toes curling beneath her, rapid pants escaping into the morning mists, her hair draping the tiled floor in front of her, even spilling through the balcony rails.

Somewhere they heard sheep bleating and Elain laughed softly, before arching her back even further, not caring how splayed she looked. There wasn’t a part of her that he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched or licked or kissed, not an inch of her that wasn’t caressed by his rough hands, not an orifice that he hasn’t penetrated with his magnificent cock. He’d burrowed inside of her so deeply, so wholly, he possessed all of her and she knew what it’s like to truly be part of another person, to be loved with egregious passion.

He fed another finger inside of her and she cried out, trembling and grunting, as she grabbed and squeezed his foot with mighty strength.

He tore his lips away from her bottom and grinned,

“Love, when you are in labour with our baby, I am fully prepared for the fact that you will break my fingers, maybe even my hand.”

“I am sorry,” she laughed, and kissed his foot, dragging her tongue over his toes.

There wasn’t a part of him that she did not love, did not worship with everything she had. No part of his body remained un-kissed, un-touched, un-caressed. A lazy Sunday, especially if the weather was crap and they had no plans to go out, was her favourite time—she could spend the day loving her Azriel. On those days, she pleasured him. And if she spent hours with his cock buried in her throat, or his balls between her lips, or her tongue in his ass, she was only too happy.

The tips of his fingers crawled into that hidden spot inside of her, curling just so, so he could massage and rub her into a frenzy. He stilled for a moment, to allow her to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, as she bit his foot, trying to stifle her screams. She leaked slowly over his hand, as most of it was situated in her clutching, hungry tightness.

“Very good, my baby,” he praised, kissing her buttocks and then giving her anus a few approving licks, “taking all four inside of you,”

“Oh my god, oh,” she groaned, “it’s so tight…Az, my love, I am so full,”

“I know, love,” he coaxed evenly, his hand beginning a steady, firm barrage of deep, pounding thrusts, “but it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeess,” she only managed, voice thin, pleading. She could barely hold herself up, so he wrapped his arm around her hips, keeping her ass up. She grabbed the balcony wrought-iron spindles, squeezing them tightly, forehead pressed into the mattress, as he pumped her harshly, keeping her on the verge of constant climax, but pulling back just so, for her to moan and beg him in a never ending litany.

“Baby, you want to come?” he teased, still busy with her butthole, which softened under his furious sucking and if they had more time and privacy, Elain would be ready to take him anally soon enough.

“Yes,” she grunted, “yes,”

“Ask nicely, and maybe,”

“Ugh, you are such a horrible tease,” she complained, biting his foot in spite, and he laughed, before slapping her firm, soft buttock.

“Biting a person who is making you come so nicely?” he slapped her again, and she yelped with pleasure, wiggling her ass, silently asking for more.

The walls of her passage clenched desperately over his fingers, and she made a choking, frantic sound in her chest, now beyond pleading or even moaning. He sucked, and slapped, and bit, and thrust, pumping her open, the sounds of the wet and the skin inside of her completely obscene, and music to both of their ears.

Azriel noticed a man, either a delivery guy or a grounds keeper, watching them wide eyed and shocked from a distance. Probably not something he expected to see at 4:40 in the morning. Not that he made a move to leave.

Azriel opted not to alarm Elain, who was coming violently on his hand, her body trembling and jerking, her beautiful, quiet orgasm sweeping everything in its path. His girl deserved a proper wake up, deserved and needed her climaxes, and deserved to be watched, because she was so beautiful. Her teeth and tongue clamped tightly on his foot, his toes, as she bit and licked, completely undone, turned inside out by his expert hand.

He still worked her hand in her, his thrusts shallow and not as strong, when she collapsed on the mattress at last, eyes closed, panting.

He smiled and finally slipped on the mattress alongside her, though he kept a finger between her folds, rubbing soothingly. She’d bite his head off if he removed his hand from her this quickly.

“Good morning my love,” he whispered at last, kissing her cheek.

“Mmmm, good morning,” she sighed with satiated pleasure.

“Some guy caught an eyeful,” he whispered, but she only snuggled to his chest.

“I don’t care…As long as you were watching me, that’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t mind sliding into your little bum right now,” he confessed, stroking her hip and her curvy backside.

“Do you want to take me?” she offered sweetly, eyes fluttering open.

He kissed her head and smiled, “So tempting, but not here and not now. Let’s jump in the shower and then be on our way. We’ve got a decent amount of driving to do today.”

She nodded.

“Did I tell you that I love you?” she stroked his cheek, the sharp, angular cut of it, the dark bronze skin.

“You did, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Azriel.”

“I love you, Elain.”

 Elain

Their day was long.

They had their cappuccino and cornetti at some café on the road.

Their trip had a purpose—they were actually driving to Maranello, to the Ferrari headquarters where Azriel had 3 days of business meetings.

When Az told her that he was thinking of going to Italy, it was no brainer to say ‘yes’.

It was the first time she was going to leave her business, her shop, for an extended period of time, but Feyre promised to oversee the operations, while Cerridwen, whom Elain recently hired as a full-time employee and who was Nuala’s sister, was going to be responsible for the day-to-day.

The last time Elain’s been to Italy was when she was barely 10 years old. A few years before everything’s went to shit. Back then, her father completed a very lucrative business deal and there was a lot of disposable cash, so the family decided to take a grand trip to Italy.

Little Feyre who was only seven screeched and begged to go to Disneyland, while Nesta and their mother voted for Italy. No one asked Elain, assuming that she’d go wherever she was told.

The trip was extensive, almost four weeks, and they hit all the glamorous Southern parts—the Amalfi coast, with their headquarters in a rented villa near Positano. Then they went to Portofino, and their father rented a yacht for a few days, the trip culminating in Capri. It was a whirlwind on sun and the sea, of lemons, eating grilled squid, at which Feyre stared in horror, though she liked the taste, amazing fruit, endless pastries and gelato. Even their mother yanking a few pastries away from Elain, hissing that she ‘grow fat and not find a husband’ didn’t mar the experience. Elain, always the plumper of the sisters, was used to the warning by then.

 This time around, Elain could eat as much pastry as she wanted.

They landed in Rome, spent four days there, since she insisted on going to the Vatican Museum twice, hear Mass at St. Peter’s, and she didn’t know if she annoyed Azriel with her endless excitement and tales of art, artists, and biblical stories, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was an Art History major in NYU, receiving a full scholarship to attend. She loved it. Didn’t like college all that much as a whole, but loves studying. When everyone was partying, drinking, fucking and skipping classes, she went to the Met and to MOMA and learned and enjoyed herself. She loved history of religion, of other cultures and though not at all religious herself, none of them were, her knowledge on the subject was thorough.

Azriel, it seemed, liked her passion, her excitement, and listened attentively when she went on long explanation of what this or that Saint did and what grizzly death they’d suffered. And what was the significance of the painting or sculpture of the said Saint. Obviously, he was very artistically inclined as well, though his preference lay in design and industrial art, but he enjoyed listening and discussing. They spent hours and hours meandering the halls of the museum, and of the cathedral, and both spent a good half an hour in front of the Pieta, staring in silence and quiet contemplation at the sculpture, holding hands.

It was when they were sitting at a café, sipping some bitter Campari cocktails and watched the sprawling vistas of Rome that Azriel confided to her. Told her of his childhood. She knew some of the details, but he never talked about his childhood, and she opted not to pressure him. It was clear enough that it was horrific in many ways, and bringing up all those memories didn’t make sense to Elain.

Told her how his father, who was rich and vicious, won custody of him from his mother, not because he wanted his son, but out of spite, to torment the mother. And then it was years of solitude and loneliness and emotional and physical abuse. Azriel’s only reprieve was drawing, making designs, sometimes with chalk on the pavement, sometimes on scraps of paper. His stepmother threw everything out as soon as he made it. He languished in his father’s world for 8 years, until a catastrophic event took place—his stepbrothers doused him, his hands, in gasoline and lit him up. They didn’t call the paramedics either, and simply stood there, watching, as he burned. Finally, the neighbors heard his screams and police and ambulance came at last.

Because he was young, he recovered most of the sensations and feeling in his hands, but the skin was permanently scarred and his father refused skin grafts.

He’d met Cassian at the hospital, who came there having been beaten so badly by his foster father, that he had a concussion, broken ribs and a punctured eye socket.

Mrs. Darling, Rhys’s mother, who was one of the biggest benefactors of the children’s hospital where they were recovering, heard their stories and thankfully, her wealth opened every door. Her influence and wealth were no match for Azriel’s father. Hence when she decided that she wanted to adopt the two boys, little could be done to dissuade her. Azriel and Cassian still spent some time in foster care, while the documents were being processed and all the formalities legalized, but at the end, they ended up with the Darlings, as their adopted sons.

Elain wanted to cry for him, for his destroyed childhood, for his tormented youth, for his injuries, for the lack of love in his life. For his sake, though, she didn’t.

Sensing that he needed her support, she didn’t release his hand for the remainder of the day.

And she told him how much she loved him and how happy he made her.

 They left Montepulciano, and then drove for a few hours and stopped at Orvieto, and explored its unnecessary enormous Duomo, which was situated on the hill, amidst the Umbrian lushness. The tiny town did offer spectacular views and great wine, which they enjoyed with lunch.

 Now

Azriel worked his fingers into the supple warmth of her damp pussy and looked down, before ordering, “wider, Lainey”.

She spread her legs wider, her knit dress folded haphazardly over the belly.

“Wider,” he said and she placed one foot on the seat, exposing herself completely to him.

It was never wide enough for him, for he liked to see everything, liked to spread and open and pull her wide apart for his eyes, for his exploration.

He pressed his thumb to her plump pink clit and began to rub.

She whined impatiently and he smiled,

“We are almost there…”

“I need you,” she moaned, kissing his shoulder through his shirt.

“I need you too, my beauty,” he nodded, “but I think once we get there, you’ll forget all about me.”

She tsked and announced, “I don’t know if anything will impress me as much as your cock in my mouth,”

He started at the blunt words, her amused grin and then burst out laughing.

“Naughty.”

In a few minutes, he rounded a small green hill and Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, gods…Az…”

He was smiling.

He’d never been here before, but he’d done his research, finally finding the right spot.

A tiny hidden valley, nestled between a few rolling Tuscan hills, with a small turquoise lake sparkling in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, a mandatory Tuscan villa.

And poppies. Fields of poppies, stretching as far as the eye can see. A blanket of ruby-red poppies, gently swaying in the pine-scented air.

This place was a damn Walmart painting come true, and Azriel loved it for its kitsch, its predictability.

“It’s gorgeous!” she gasped. Then chuckled, adding, “Like one of those mass-produced paintings,”

At that, Azriel roared with laughter, killed the engine and they got out of the car.

“My thoughts exactly!” he nodded vigorously.

She ran into the poppies, brushing her palm over the petals, “But it’s worth it! No painting can ever do this justice! Az…it’s so beautiful!” she twirled in the field of red, her white dress a stark contrast to the vibrancy of the colours around her—the cobalt of the cloudless sky, the emerald green of the hills, the blood-red of the poppies.

He folded his arms and said, “I am glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!”

She inspected all the wildflowers that bloomed among the poppies, picking a few purple ones and a daisy and tucking them behind her ear. Another daisy she brought to him and tucked it into his hair.

“There is a blanket in the trunk,” he jerked his head towards the car, and unbuttoned his shirt almost to the navel, “if you want to picnic,”

“I want to picnic!” she squealed and ran to the car to get what she needed.

Soon there was a blanket on the grass and a few bottles of wine in a basket.

He slid down, stretching on the blanket, toeing off his shoes, rolling his shoulders. This was nice. He also relished her happiness, how her high ponytail bounced about as she ran through the field barefoot, and then began twirling, arms outstretched and singing loudly,

The hills are alive with the sound of

Griswold, he helped out.

“Are you coming here?” he called out, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“No,” she yelled, “I am picking flowers!”

“They’ll wilt,” he muttered reasonably, but she didn’t hear him.

Azriel dozed off, surprising himself. But the pleasant heat, the sunshine, the breeze, the birds—all lulled him into sleep. He stirred only when he sensed Elain near, and when he opened his eyes, he was treated by a lovely surprise. He propped himself on his elbows and watched his beautiful girl walk towards him completely naked, with a heap of flowers in the crook of her arm. What she did with her dress he didn’t know and didn’t care. But he drunk in the slim, curvy silhouette of her body, the long, slender legs and the toned thighs. Her smooth, pink sex glistened just a bit with her usual arousal, and full breasts bounced with every step. Her hair flowed behind her, unbound.

“I got hot,” she announced.

He grinned.

“I can see that. I like it when you get hot like this.”

She stood over him, her delicious slit taunting him and he made to touch it, but she dumped all the flowers on him instead and said, “get up”.

“Why?!” he frowned. “I am so comfortable.”

“I can make you a little more comfortable,” she promised, “but for that, you have to get up.”

With a groan, he got on his feet, only to have her slide on her knees in front of him. She looked up and murmured, “by the time you are done with me, I only want to have gelato to soothe my throat.”

He swallowed audibly, watching her unbutton his trousers and then his shirt. She removed the pants completely, but left the white shirt on, before placing a few soft, loving kisses on the thick slabs of muscles on his stomach. The well-defined outline of his Adonis Belt she traced with her tongue, inevitably making her way from his hip towards the final destination.

“And I want my knees bruised,” she added with a wicked smirk.

He flicked her nose and shook his head, “such filthy words coming from this pretty little mouth.”

She licked her lips with impatience, hungrily watching him fist his member and give it a few rough, preliminary strokes.

“Gods, your cock is gorgeous,” she gasped with admiration, watching him work himself with practiced determination.

“You like my cock?” he drew the thick, smooth head of it over her full lips and she whimpered with anticipation, nodding, kissing it affectionately, with slow, open mouth kisses, as he continued to pump it lazily.

She admitted, “more than anything. Az, Az,” she begged impatiently, as he smeared a trickle of liquid that dribbled from the tip over her lips, “please,”

“Please what?”

She rested her hands on his thighs, kneeling close enough so that her breasts brushed against them, “I want it in my mouth. Please.”

He lightly smacked the thick girth of his shaft over her half-opened mouth, making her shake with anticipation, smiling down at her. Her eyes burned with raw, overwhelming desire.

“But I like it when you ask me, baby. Tell me more,”

“That your cock is gorgeous and ridiculously huge?” she chuckled, relishing in his rubbing the tip insistently over her lips, as she licked the little slit.

“Keep going,” he encouraged.

“That I love you and can’t wait to suck it?”

“Alright, babe,” she nodded at last, “I guess you’ll just have to suck my huge dick,” and with that, he slid between her lips.

She smiled around him and pulled on it deeper, dragging her tongue over and under the thick shaft. It was always just a little too big for her, so she gasped, as he filled her mouth more and more, sliding in steadily. She eased her throat as much as she could, accepting the thrust and feeling the smooth head dip down, brushing the back of her throat. He was watching her intently, every bob and swallow of her throat, making sure that she was comfortable enough to hold him in. “Big?” he murmured. Her eyes teared up, but she managed a small nod. Her hands squeezed his thighs nervously, tightly, stroking the backs of them, while he began to pull out slowly, before sliding back in.

Nothing was more exciting than Elain’s ability to mould her throat around his shaft, while those big brown eyes blinked at him, seeking approval. He put his hand over her head, stroking it, then caressing her face, her hollowed cheeks, while giving her mouth a few exploratory thrusts.

She readied herself and pulled back, releasing the cock with an audible pop, and then licking the underside, from the balls to the tip.

“Just like that, my love,” he nodded, watching her tuck her face in the crease of his hip and slide her tongue up and down the sides of his cock. “Is that good?”

“It’s the best,” she vowed, “I love licking!” she added enthusiastically, proceeding to do just that.

He always remembered that she was very innocent and whatever she knew, no matter how sensual, erotic or even perverse, it all came from him. He taught her—gently, firmly and thoroughly the art of the bedroom and whatever they did, he was completely assured that she enjoyed and wanted every moment of it. Thankfully, she was so innocent that she didn’t know how to pretend or fake anything, especially when it came to sex, and didn’t know how to play games. She was eager and loving and excitable because what they did together, with each other, pleased her, and for no other reason. Azriel cherished this level of honesty more than anything.

Therefore, when she said that she loved licking, she showed him just how much she enjoyed it, licking up and down voraciously, over the sides, watching him unblinking. He cupped the pouch of his balls in one hand and carefully eased it into her mouth.

“You are so good to me,” he groaned, as she wrapped her lips around the ball and began to suck eagerly, not caring if she was loud, smacking her lips, tongue working non-stop, caressing the flesh. She hummed appreciatively around the balls, sending a pleasant shiver down his thighs, her mouth completely filled with him. “That’s good, my girl,” he stroked her head, “just like that. Keep going,” his head fell back with satisfaction, and she swallowed hard around his balls, almost moaning at the sight of his neck, the expression of pleasure written on his face.

“Can I tell you a story?” he muttered huskily, looking back down at her, his eyes dark and his face tense. Elain nodded. He gripped his cock and then slid it back in her mouth, almost to the hilt, making her choke and gag at once, watching her eyes widen.

She was drooling, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the pressure of her member in her throat, or from the visual display of his stunning body above her. The thick pectorals, adorned with black and blue ink twitched as he began to pump in and out of her mouth, hard and steady. He held the back of her head, but the clutch of his hand was light and casual, only keeping her in place, as his narrow hips flexed with each deep push. A delicious bead of sweat ran down the cobbled network of his abdominal muscles, slowly making its way to the deep V etched into his hips, towards the thick cock that he was currently ramming into her mouth.

She drooled. She licked and laved and lapped. She didn’t care how messy or ridiculous she looked, because her man loved her and loved her on her knees in front of him.

“I couldn’t stop watching you talk,” he grumbled, “the first time I saw you. Your plump lips…Oh fuck, baby, you feel so, so good,” he rode her smoothly, with deep, expert strokes, “you wore that rose-tinted lipstick…and all I could think of afterward was those lips wrapped around my dick.”

She smiled over his member, lightly shaking her head, as much as her current position would allow.

“I am sorry, honey,” he smiled at her, “this pervy mind couldn’t think of anything else but getting my dick down your throat.”

And demonstrating just that, and the resolution of his dream, he pushed further.

“Alright?” he asked, carefully holding her jaw. She blinked her approval. He was unable to take his eyes off her, her lush lips wrapped tightly around the dark mass of him, her beautiful eyes tearing from pressure. He wiped the tears with his thumbs and then gave a brief nod, “give me those flowers, baby.”

Obviously, she couldn’t glance down, so she blindly grabbed a handful of flowers and handed them to him, her expression amused, a little surprised.

“What’s more romantic,” he murmured, stroking her hollowed cheeks and then pulling out a little, before pushing back in, “than putting pretty flowers into my Lainey’s hair,” and he plucked a small poppy from the heap, and pushed in into her hair, “while she deepthroats me?”

He was heavy and thick in her mouth, salty, delicious and familiar, and as he began thrusting firmly, the thick head hitting the back of her throat, Elain settled in for a ride. She wasn’t kidding when she asked for her throat to be raw by the end of it—she liked being sore somewhere in her body from him, at all times. Between her legs, inside her rectum, in her throat—it didn’t matter, though it was nice if it was everywhere, but she loved being marked by him in some way.

The hum and rumble in Azriel’s throat, that of masculine satisfaction and some kind of primal dominance made her so wet, she leaked down her thighs. But he didn’t tell her to touch herself, so she didn’t. He just fucked her throat steadily, the audible sound of her choking and sputtering around his cock and the satisfied snarls emanating from him, the only sounds around them. His hips rocked hard, pumping deep, as he garbled endearments and praise to her, “is that so good, honey? You feel amazing…”

She squeezed his thighs in affirmation. As he worked on her, he kept putting flowers in her hair, admiring her sucking and his work, “so gorgeous, baby. My beautiful girl…Good cock?”

“Mmmm,” she only managed, saliva bathing her chin and chest, her eyes rolling back with pleasure and exhaustion.

“Can you handle a little more?” he begged, “I don’t want to come yet, my love,” another flower in her hair. “I love you on your knees with my cock in her mouth.”

He set a brutal rhythm, muttered, “choke, baby…” and she did, gagging and panting over his member, the lack of oxygen making her pliant and obliging, her mouth existing for his pleasure. When they played a little rougher, he could request to squeeze her throat a little with his hand, while he choked her with his cock, but today, he was feeling romantic, as was she.

Her hair dripped with flowers of all kinds, as he fashioned her into some kind of Summer Lady. Or maybe a Dusk Lady, since the sun began its descent and shadows spread over the pretty little valley.

“Fuck me, you are so beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at her. “My flower girl, with my cock in her mouth. Bob a little, love, show me how much you like it,” he encouraged and she immediately began to bob her head  up and down on him, drool sliding down his shaft, her eyes pleading for his approval, which he gave generously.

He gently, kindly stroked her face, her throat, feeling his cock deep inside it, moving in her, rubbing at the indentation with his thumb. Then, he cupped her face between his large hands and murmured, “open up”, thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, as tears slid down when he started to thrust intently, battering her throat. “My girl is sucking so well,” he was relentless now, pounding and pounding, an Elain thought that she might just pass out from the sensation, feeling lightheaded. Azriel had inhuman stamina when he was between her legs, but that also translated to when he was in her mouth, which meant he could ravage her completely. “I’ll feed you all the gelato myself, if you can suck a little more,” he promised with a smirk, pulling out completely. “Breathe,” he ordered, and she gulped in some air, before he thrust back inside, “are you tired?”

She shook her head ‘no’. She was never tired for him. She moaned, though his cock pushed down all sound with brutal, excited enthusiasm, as he cupped his balls tightly in his hand, readying to finally come. “Fuck, baby, you suck so well,” he squeezed her shoulder, stooping over her, the muscled of his abdomen twitching and tensing, his balls tight against her chin. Grabbing her shoulder with one hand, he cupped her under the jaw and kept her head still, as he exploded in her mouth. He poured down her throat with a pleased, blissful moan, throwing his head back, pumping harshly and erratically, filling her mouth over and over. She sucked and drank, swallowing quickly, gluttonously. Azriel always tasted heavenly, but perhaps it was something about being in Italy and all the fruit and wine that they’ve been consuming, but she couldn’t get enough of him now. He shot rope after rope down her throat and she lapped it all with pleasure. He dropped on his knees, exhausted, his cock still in her mouth, and she stroked and caressed his body soothingly, swallowing the last of him.

“Gods, Elain,” was all he managed, as he finally withdrew in an endlessly long pull from her lips.

She gasped, and licked her lips, before placing a loving, playful kiss on the pink, wet head of the shaft.

“Did you have fun, my love?” she cooed tenderly, as Azriel slumped on the blanket, head her on her lap.

“Baby, why do you spoil me like this?” he moaned, reaching for her bare plump breast and cupping lightly.

“Probably because I love you more than it’s prudent,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “More than anything. Love you like I didn’t know I could love anybody. Also,”

“Yes?”

His chest constricted from her simple admissions, from the pure earnestness of her words, from the love that was shining in her brown eyes. He was undeserving of this woman, of her overwhelming love for him, of everything that she gave him so selflessly. But he listened and listened, because everything she told him was like a balm on all the wounds of his soul, and music to his heart.

Her lips were gorgeously, obscenely swollen, and he dragged his thumb over their plumpness. She added, “you are very hot.”

“Ahhh,” he chuckled. “So you are using me for my body?”

“I’d be stupid not to use you for your body. You got one hell of a body, my mysterious, shadowy Azriel.”

“Well, flower girl, you go ahead and use my body as much as you want, for anything you desire. It’s yours.”

He kissed her hand. Then, reached up and kissed her pretty pink nipple.

“As is my heart,” he added softly. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

She lay next to him, both of them sprawled in the blanket of flowers. She picked a poppy and stuck it behind his ear.

“Pretty boy Azriel.”

He propped his cheek and turned to face her. She was still covered in flowers, from all his handiwork.

“We are good together, aren’t we?” she murmured, laying her hand on his neck.

“We are. We are very good together, Lainey.”

She bit her swollen lip and then said, voice quiet, a little uncertain,

“Maybe you want to marry me?” she proposed.

He stilled, waiting for more.

She squeezed the back of his neck a little tighter and continued, no stopping her now, “I know we were thinking later, maybe next y-,”

“Yes,” he nodded, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Elain, I want to marry you now.”

She gasped, tears of joy moistening her eyes, “In Florence?” she begged.

“Yes. In Florence,” he cupped her face in his. “Let’s go get married!”

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #elain archeron #azriel #elain archeron fanfction #acotar fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #la dolce vita #sjm fanfic #acotar #acosf #elriel modern au #nikethestatue #nikethestatuewriting #elain x azriel #azriel and elain #azriel acosf #elain archeron and azriel

[mellowheartthecat]

Absorbed Chapter 4

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa That has nothing to do with the fic it’s just how i feel rn

In the darkness that was darker than dark, the only light that could be seen was three glowing yellow eyes and one light blue eye. The three robots were tasked to go to the end of this chasm and retrieve a trinket by the man, and were sent here through a portal he summoned. 

The area they were sent to was pitch black, with the only colors being the occasional purple and grey. The path they had to walk on had cliffs into chasms that seemed to never end. They were glad that Cap’n and K_K’s eyes glowed bright enough to see. Sweet’s eye did not glow, so they stuck to K_K’s side so he wouldn’t fall. 

Some distance later the path widened to make room for a puzzle comprised of a diamond of 4 pressure plates with one in the center. Next to each pressure plate, with the exception of the one in the center, there was a dim purple light that flashed with seemingly no relation to the others. The trio seemed rather confused by that.

“So uh,” Cap’n was the first one to hesitantly speak up. “Are we sure we have to do this?”

K_K pointed to the large gap that separated the puzzle and the next section of the path. “I think so.”

Cap’n groaned. “How the hell are we even supposed to solve this??”

K_K turned to look at his friend but Sky interrupted that. 

‘Wait, please look back at the puzzle. I am still trying to figure it out.’ K_K looked back at the puzzle hesitantly.

‘Are you sure that it’s even possible?’ Sky agreed with confidence

‘I am already certain that the blinking lights must mean something. Wait… Can I take control for a moment?’  K_K mentally nodded and Sky took control. He tried stepping on one when the light was off. It stayed pressed when stepped off of and started displaying a more consistent message. Sweet seemed to be able to read that.

“Waitaminute. That’s morse code. It’s displaying in a weird way, though.”

“Can you translate,” Sky requests.

“C-O-N-T-A-N. C-O-N- oh wait, it’s just repeating itself.”

Sky activates the other three. “Can you translate the rest?”

“A-D-E-N-T, G-L-O-M, S-H-A-O-W-S.”

Sky thought for a moment. ‘All four are missing a letter. Contain the I, advent the V, gloom an O, and shadows the D. That is definitely significant. What could that mean though? Divo? Ivod? Wait. I see now.’

“I got it. Sweet, try spelling out void in morse code on the pressure plate.”

Sweet was clearly wary of this command but complied anyway. As soon as the last letter was finished the lights shut off and a metal bridge emerged from the ground to fill the gap.

Cap’n nodded in approval even though he didn’t contribute at all. “Thank god at least one of us is good at puzzles. Let’s keep going, I wanna get outta here.”

Sky let K_K take control again as the trio continued along the path

‘Hey Sky,’ K_K interrupts the silence after a while. ‘How… How old were you when you died?’ Sky replied sadly.

‘15.’ He could feel the robot’s overwhelming feeling of sympathy so he continued. ‘Please do not feel upset about it. It was just the way things were in the underground. I fell down there. I had to die.’

‘But why? I don’t understand...’ 

‘I suppose it does not matter anymore, since the dream never came to be. All the collected souls scattered after that flower stopped holding us. Not sure where others went, but I ended up in a void devoid of light and color. Could not see. Could only feel. And I felt a man standing over me.’

K_K was scared silent by the thought.

The trio come across another puzzle. This one was much simpler than the other ones, only containing three buttons spread out on a wall. The floor underneath the puzzle contained large tiles. Cap’n stepped up to the puzzle. “Folks, I bet I can solve this since it’s so easy.”

“Cap, I don’t think that sounds like a good idea.” Sweet stepped behind Cap’n and grabbed his hood. Cap’n quickly pressed the middle button before he could be pulled away, which caused the tile that he was standing on to fall into the abyss, along with him. Sweet was completely unprepared and fell with him. 

K_K frantically dove for the two and managed to grab Sweet’s shoe. The tall one was wedged halfway through the hole, using his other hand to keep himself from falling. Sweet still had gripped on tightly to Cap’n’s hood.

“Don’t worry! I got you!”

Sweet’s eye widened. “K_K, your grip! It’s-”

The inevitable happened. K_K’s grip slipped.

He watched in horror as his two bandmates plummeted down into the abyss.

-

It was so cold.

Cap’n was trudging through a snowstorm, struggling to get through sheerly because of how cold it was. His joints were already stiffening up, but if he waited out in the cold he wouldn’t be able to move on. He had to be Brave.

‘God, that concept feels foreign, it really shouldn’t anymore.’ He sighed and trudged on. In the limited visibility he had he could see a figure approaching. He couldn’t even tell who or what they were, he was just glad to see someone else.

“Hey! You! Can ya help a robot out? This cold is freezing my joints!” The figure wordlessly got closer. Cap’n realized they look like a dog in armor.

“Uh, hello? Can ya hear me?” The dog kept approaching. Cap’n noticed that they had a sword in one of their hands. Starting to think that they weren't here to help, he tried to move backward but he fell on his back, his legs frozen stiff. The dog towered over him, wearing an expression that was the opposite of merciful. 

Cap’n was terrified. “W-W-What d-do you want f-f-from me…” The dog monotonically responded.

“Your soul.” They raised the sword over their head, readying to stab it into the smooth one’s body. He was paralyzed with fear, he couldn’t take his eyes off the sword that was aiming to skewer his head. Just before it struck he heard a voice yell in his head.

‘HEY!! CAP’N, YOU DICK!!! GET THE FUCK UP!!!!’ 

The smooth one jolted awake. He took a moment to process what just happened. It was a dream. It was nothing more than a dream. He breathed a sigh of relief, or at least, he would if he had control. The human currently had the controls. She was standing up, tapping her foot.

‘Had a good nap???? You sure took your damn fucking time! Get your ass up, you gotta take control.’

He was about to ask why, but as soon as he processed what he was seeing he immediately saw why. Sweet was on the ground in the thin layer of sludge that covered it, unconscious and beat up. The human stepped aside on control as the robot snagged it from her and immediately suppressed all feelings about the dream that happened so he could turn his attention to his unconscious bandmate.

“Sweet? S-Sweet, get up!” The shortest takes off his headphones and listens to Sweet’s internals. 

‘Good, he’s not completely broken…’ He tried sitting the square one upright and shaking him awake, which to his relief slowly stirred him awake.

“Oh thank god you’re alright. Heh, was getting worried for a minute.” The smooth one played it cool as if he wasn’t on the verge of panicking before the square one woke. The human internally grumbled while Sweet rubbed his head.

“Jeez, that was one hell of a fall.” The square one noticed that his left arm was completely limp. “Looks like it took one of my arms out of commission.”

“I’m just glad you’re not out of commission!” Cap’n helped him up. The smooth one sighed.

“I’m sorry, man. This mess is all my fault. If I had just not listened we both wouldn’t be in this mess.” The square one seemed confused.

“Hadn’t listened? Cap, is your human talking smack to you?”

Cap’n quickly shook his head. “N-Naw! Of course not! Why the hell would we? We get along great!” Sweet narrowed his eye. ‘Have you not learned a single thing yet? Do I need to taunt you more?’ Cap’n looked down. 

“Okay fine, fine. Yeah, they have been messing around in my head. But it’s not really getting to me, I’m fine!” Sweet didn’t buy it even for a moment “Cap’n do you even know your human’s name?”

‘I’m not telling you. You’d make fun of it.’ Cap’n repeated that aloud. Sweet sighed

“Cap, that’s part of the problem. You two need to be able to trust each other.” The two inhabiting Cap’n’s body both did not like that idea. Sweet sighed. “Cap, you pretty much can’t even align if you two don’t get along. Aligning only happens when both you and your human’s motivations and desires, well, align. It’s the only way us darkeners can use a soul’s full power.” Cap’n’s tail twitched in response.

“When did you even learn that??”

“When you were out cold from that short circuit.” Sweet continued. “Maybe you should try giving your human half control?” Cap’n brushed it off

“Not an option. Can we get out of this damn sludge now??” Sweet nodded

“Yeah, let’s do that. Look, there’s a path above it over there.” He pointed to behind the shortest and the duo went to the path and started walking along the grey path. While the two were walking Cap’n started a dialog with his human. ‘So, uh.. What is your name anyway?’

‘Not telling you, coward.’ Cap’n groaned.

‘Fine then, I’ll get to the damn point. You’re stuck in me and I don’t wanna suffer no more. We gotta get along somehow.’ The soul chuckles internally

‘As if that’s even possible.’ Cap’n was frustrated at how uncooperative she was being

‘LOOK. If I, hypothetically, gave you some control, would you promise to not try any stupid shit like hurting my bandmates?’

‘Hmm, maybe, maybe not.’ Cap’n was no fool, though. He could tell that she had no intention of hurting them. He breathed a sigh of relief and decided to try giving some control. He immediately felt nauseous as a quarter of the control of himself was given to someone who wasn’t him. He instantly took it back, but suppressed the soul less than before in an attempt to keep her pleased.

‘...Good attempt.’

‘Shut up.’

“Hey, Cap’n, come look at this.” The square one interrupted Cap’n’s internal dialog. He was looking at a sign on the side of the path. The smooth one went over to look at it. The language written on the sign contained hands and other strange symbols. “Can you read this?” Cap’n shrugged.

“Why didja expect me to be able to?”

The square one responded. “Honestly, I didn’t, but it was worth a shot. I guess we just gotta keep moving.” Cap’n followed behind Sweet as they kept walking along the path. He couldn’t help but notice that he felt different than before. He looked up at the chasm that never ends. He didn’t know how long he would have to walk, but he was going to get back to the third. All the two robots had to do was keep following this path.

He was filled with Bravery.

Authors note:

Oh yeah i said i’d talk about the things i wanted to include but didn’t because of length/pacing

Was gonna include Cap’n and orange bitch aligning for a moment over their mutual hate for each other

Was gonna include orange bitch openly thinking of hurting the other two and Cap’n going off on her

Bet you can’t guess which duo is my favorite

#deltarune #deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune sweet #deltarune cap'n #deltarune k_k #deltarune sweet cap'n cakes #sweet cap'n cakes #deltaarune fanfiction #deltarune au #Deltarune Absorbed #deltarune au fanfiction

[headcanonseverywhere]

Best Friends Forever

Plot: Divos discovers friendship bracelets, and wants to have one too! (feat. Diamond)

Divos ran across the cafeteria and plopped himself next to Diamond, who was eating her lunch, minding her own business. He had almost bumped into her due to his velocity, nearly knocking over her lunch and her belongings.

“What the hell, Divos!” she cried with her mouth full of food.

“Sorry, sorry!!!” Divos said, quickly fixing up her stuff. “I just wanted to show you this cool thing I found the other day!”

And he reached into his backpack, struggling to pull out a crumpled up piece of paper, then showed it to her. Diamond looked at it, and realized that it was a Scholastic catalog selling various children’s books, as well as trinkets and toys.

“Where did you find this?” she asked.

“On the ground!” he answered, happily. “I picked it up last week while I was downtown, but look at this!!!”

He eagerly pointed to a specific item in the catalog. It was a pair of dainty friendship bracelets, decorated with colorful butterflies and flowers, and letters spelling out “Best Friends Forever”.

Diamond gasped. “Oh my god, they look so cute!!!”

“I know right?!” Divos smiled. “I was thinking about getting it, and giving one of the bracelets to you!”

Diamond covered her mouth with her hands, and stared at Divos with watery eyes. “Oh my god...Divos, that’s so sweet of you!!!”

Divos beamed, and proceeded to explain to her his plan on giving all of his friends a friendship bracelet.

#divos #my ocs #my fics #warren peace university

[botanikmeister]

Blumen liefern lassen in Köln: Frische Blumen direkt vor die Haustür

Blumen haben die einzigartige Fähigkeit, Emotionen auszudrücken und jedem Raum eine lebendige Atmosphäre zu verleihen. Egal, ob es sich um einen besonderen Anlass handelt oder einfach darum geht, einem geliebten Menschen eine Freude zu bereiten, Blumen sind immer eine gute Wahl.

Doch was, wenn man keine Zeit hat, persönlich in einen Blumenladen zu gehen? Oder wenn man sich nicht sicher ist, welche Blumen die Richtigen sind? Hier kommt die Lösung: Blumenlieferdienste in Köln.

Blumen liefern lassen Köln

Die Vorteile von Blumenlieferung in Köln

1. Bequemlichkeit

Mit einem Blumenlieferdienst müssen Sie nicht mehr selbst in einen Laden gehen. Egal, ob Sie zu Hause sind oder im Büro, die Blumen werden direkt zu Ihnen geliefert.

2. Zeitersparnis

In der heutigen schnelllebigen Welt ist Zeit ein kostbares Gut. Mit einem Blumenlieferdienst sparen Sie sich den Weg zum Blumenladen und können die Zeit stattdessen für wichtigere Dinge nutzen.

3. Frische Garantie

Die meisten Blumenlieferdienste garantieren frische Blumen, die direkt vom Züchter kommen. So können Sie sicher sein, dass Ihre Blumen lange halten und ihre Schönheit entfalten.

4. Große Auswahl

Von romantischen Rosen bis hin zu exotischen Orchideen - Blumenlieferdienste bieten eine breite Palette von Blumenarten und Arrangements für jeden Anlass.

Wie funktioniert es?

Das Bestellen von Blumen über einen Lieferdienst in Köln ist einfach und unkompliziert. Sie wählen einfach die gewünschten Blumen und das gewünschte Arrangement online aus, geben Ihre Lieferadresse und Zahlungsinformationen ein und schon werden die Blumen zu Ihnen nach Hause oder an den gewünschten Ort geliefert.

Häufig gestellte Fragen (FAQs)

1. Wie lange im Voraus muss ich meine Blumen bestellen?

Idealerweise sollten Sie Ihre Blumenbestellung mindestens einen Tag im Voraus aufgeben, um sicherzustellen, dass sie rechtzeitig geliefert werden können. In einigen Fällen bieten Blumenlieferdienste jedoch auch eine Expresslieferung am selben Tag an.

2. Gibt es einen Mindestbestellwert für die Lieferung?

Die meisten Blumenlieferdienste haben keinen Mindestbestellwert für die Lieferung innerhalb von Köln. Es kann jedoch sein, dass für bestimmte Außenbezirke oder spezielle Anforderungen ein Mindestbestellwert gilt.

3. Kann ich eine persönliche Nachricht mit den Blumen senden?

Ja, die meisten Blumenlieferdienste bieten die Möglichkeit, eine persönliche Nachricht mit den Blumen zu senden. Dies ist eine großartige Möglichkeit, um Ihren Gefühlen Ausdruck zu verleihen und dem Empfänger eine besondere Freude zu bereiten.

4. Was passiert, wenn der Empfänger zum Zeitpunkt der Lieferung nicht zu Hause ist?

In diesem Fall wird der Lieferdienst in der Regel versuchen, die Blumen bei einem Nachbarn abzugeben oder einen neuen Liefertermin zu vereinbaren. Einige Lieferdienste bieten auch die Möglichkeit an, die Blumen an einem sicheren Ort zu hinterlassen, wenn der Empfänger nicht erreichbar ist.

Blumenlieferdienste in Köln bieten eine bequeme und zeitsparende Möglichkeit, frische Blumen direkt an die Haustür zu liefern. Mit einer großen Auswahl an Blumenarten und Arrangements für jeden Anlass sowie der Möglichkeit, persönliche Nachrichten beizufügen, sind sie die perfekte Wahl, um Ihren Liebsten eine Freude zu bereiten oder besondere Momente zu feiern. Probieren Sie es aus und lassen Sie sich von der Schönheit frischer Blumen verzaubern!

#flowers #blumen #flower #natur #nature #blume #rosen #Blumenlieferdienste in Köln #Blumen liefern lassen Köln #divo flowers #Blumenlieferdienste #blumenstrauß

[perahn]

@bettydice said: 9, Khem&Shay

So I cheated a little on this one. A first attempt with the shuffle turned up Caulk Your Wagon, from ‘The Trail to Oregon’, which is a hilarious song in context, but I couldn’t think of anything to do with it except Shay butchering an ox while Khem complained about the smell, which gains nothing by being a story instead of a sentence.

A second go produced Il Divo’s cover of All by Myself, which seemed more promising.

There is so much she needs to do. There is the usual work with her spellbook, preparing for whatever problems the next day will bring (ridiculous things, situations that nobody would ever predict, and she never quite has what she needs); there is another Netherese tome, full of mysteries and challenges and lessons; there’s useless Gerald to contact and Celeste to teach; there’s other spells to master and recently acquired items she needs to investigate; there are conversations she is not yet ready to have, but could be working toward; and Khem is too restless for any of it.

She pushes back her chair roughly, stands up from her desk – duplicates, both, of those she sat at for twenty years. Too big at first, too small now, and she nearly hits her head on the bottom of the narrow bunk as she leaves the room without looking back.

She takes the stairs two at a time, climbing until her legs ache with no clear destination in mind, which means, by the magic she herself wove into the mansion spell, that she goes nowhere at all. She should stop, clear her mind, decide whether she wants to fly among the stars of her dreaming in the observatory, or walk so deep into the library that she finds whatever hisses and whispers in the shadows between the shelves, or let the simulacrum of Mistress Zhanti beat new bruises into her foolish hide… or she could fly on griffin-back with Katy, drink with Harper… probably not. They’ll be curled up together somewhere, after the day they’d had, and that’s no place for her.

She keeps climbing, faster and faster, breath coming quick and heavy, fingers curled tightly into fists and an emptiness driving her onward, an ache she doesn’t know how to assuage. There, she tells her house, her staircase. Take me where I can find an answer to that.

The steps make another full circle and suddenly terminate on a landing.

Oh, Khem thinks. She should have known.

This door and the place behind it have been here since the very first time she cast the spell. She’s never sought them out, never looked at her handiwork. They had simply existed, held secret by the fact that nobody knew to look, and there are only two people the door will open for anyway. The first stands in front of it, palm pressed against the varnished wood. Her eyes are fixed on the plaque that bears only the name of the second. The one the room was created for.

It says: Shay.

Khem takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and steps through the closed door.

Her eyes open onto a semi-tamed wilderness, a riotous profusion of flowers, trees and mushrooms. Every plant she has ever seen is represented here, awaiting Shay’s hand to turn them into an orderly and ornamental garden, or into dense thickets of floral defense. Whatever she wishes.

The earth smells of thick dew, evaporating in the slow warmth of a fine spring morning; the breeze teases wisps of cloud over the rising sun; somewhere in the distance birds are singing and the waterfalls laughs over rocks. Those details seems right, as far as she can see, but they’re the easy ones. Frowning, Khem lays aside her boots and presses her bare feet into the damp soil of the narrow path to the waterfall. She hasn’t done this much out in reality, not enough to be certain she’s replicated it correctly for Shay.

She walks, slowly now, concentrating on what her senses are telling her and perfecting the details of the extraplanar space. Now and again a carnivorous plant takes a swipe at her, but they must obey her will and thus always miss; Khem doesn’t even flinch. Near the waterfall, the spray soaks the path into dark mud, and the footing becomes less certain. The sensation isn’t really pleasant, for all its authenticity, and so Khem forbids the spray from drifting beyond the shallow pool at the waterfall’s base – at least, after it washes her muddy footprints from the line of flat, sunwarmed rocks.

The water laps around her ankles, no more than pleasantly cool, and the hem of her robe grows heavy with it as Khem walks on. Tiny fish flash silver against the sandy bottom; disturbed by her passing, they flee for the cluster of water lilies. Khem can’t remember Shay ever expressing an opinion on fish, so possibly they’re superfluous, but for now she lets them stay. The ripples are convincing, eddying out from Khem and from the waterfall.

Khem steps into it. Water pummels her bare head, her shoulders, saturates her robe instantly, and the uniform is cursed heavy when it’s wet, but Khem pushes that aside. Her hand makes a twisting motion. The force of the water increases until it stings on skin and threatens to drive her down – too much, too far, but it is a cleaner ache than the one that drove her here and a simpler one to endure. It distracts – but it doesn’t really change anything, Khem knows, and she adjusts it back to something strong enough to relieve muscular tension without hurting before she steps out of the curtain of water and into the cave behind it.

It should be dark, and in a way it is: Khem cheated with the lighting here as she did in Katy’s room.  The visible light sources don’t account for the clarity of vision available. There are a few brackets of fungi gleaming palely against the smooth rock walls and a small fire dancing in its centre, but the shadows are softer than they should be. The alchemical laboratory against one wall, for example, is perfectly visible in every detail, and so are the jars of reagents and monster relics labelled in small, neat handwriting. It should be Shay’s, perhaps, but such education as Shay was permitted was hardly focused on legibility; she’s better off with Khem’s labelling.

The cave is both drier and warmer than a hollow of rock behind a waterfall should be – perfectly comfortable, in fact, even though Khem is still soaked through. It’s no climate for the bed of soft, thick moss she sits down on, runs a hand over. Yes… this would probably do. Shay had avoided her bed in Skullport, preferring to sleep in front of the fire with Twitch; the moss seemed like an appropriate compromise, and it is as comfortable as any bed Khem’s ever slept in.

Khem lets out a long breath, hands flat on the moss. She has been busy – has barely even needed to find work to keep herself busy. Katy has needed her, and Harper has… well, Harper has been grateful for the little she’s been able to do, but dealing with the needs of a new-made vampire and securing a cure for her is much simpler than negotiating with a sekhme-at. Onora has left her little space to concern herself with much beyond necessities. But Onora is dead now, and Katy is alive again, and Cort is back in Arrabar. True, he’s left more damage behind him; true, Katy is embroiled in the will of Mielikki; true, corpsefucking Cyric seems to want Khem for something, which is scarcely less terrifying a prospect than his personal wrath. Khem is still busy, but tonight it has become impossible to deny or ignore how much she misses Shay.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Five years ago she was barely aware that any such person existed. Two years ago, she was a valued ally, but Khem was quite prepared to leave her behind. In the weeks before she left, they’d barely talked – well, they’d never really talked, Khem being too quick to simply reach into Shay’s mind and extract what she wanted to know. But she had trusted Shay, she had loved her, she had wanted Shay to have what would make her safe and happy, and she had let Shay walk away without a word to hold her.

Now Khem sits, dripping, among a triumph of spellcasting, and misses her.  She’s not used to this. A Red Wizard is a solitary creature. Fine, Khem is no longer quite that now, and she’s not alone: she still has Katy and Harper, and they mean more to her than she’d ever imagined others could, but it’s not enough. She wants Shay here, in this room Khem created to please her. Even if they don’t talk. Even if Shay opens her mind to Harper and spends her rare smiles on Katy alone.

Khem curls her fingers deep into the moss, tearing muddy holes into the lush green. A flick of her will grows the moss thick and tough, curling firmly around her wrists. Every wizard fears the capture of their hands, being unable to lift them into the fluid gestures of spellcasting: Khem herself can only endure it for a little over two minutes, on a good day.

This isn’t a good day, and she can feel the panic rising, quickening her breath, tight in her throat, beading on her brow. But if her hands were free at this moment, she would call to Shay, beg her to return, tell her Khem needed her…and she must not. Shay has to be free to choose.

Which means Khem has to go, has to get out of this place that speaks of Shay in every fireflicker and leafrustle. She wrenches clear of the moss, leaves it regrowing, and runs back towards the door. She’s hampered by her wet skirts, by the returning ache in her calves, and nearly stumbles over her shoes, but she doesn’t cast.

Nobody sees me, she tells the house, and begins again to climb stairs that lead nowhere.

#writing #alternative ethics #bettydice #Khemuret Xul

[mewi-or-lara]

I proudly present you my new AU - Tangled Russian Fairy Tale! 

In this AU I pictured characters from Tangled in original russian setting. It's not certain period of time in history, I'd say it's a collective image of russian culture! We're doing this not for history accuracy and for fun! :D

At first, let me introduce you Rapunzel, but in this AU her name is Radosveta (Rada- means “is happy” and -sveta is “light”). I tried to make her dress look more like a canon one, but instead of pink and purple I used red. It’s beacause these colors are similar and a russian word for red is krasniy and this word is related to another word krasivyi that means beautiful.

And for the Sundrop Flower I choose Elecampane, because its russian translation is Divosil (Divo- - “miracle”, -sil - “power, strength”) or Devyasil (Devya- (from devyat’) - “nine, 9″ or Deva- - “woman, female”). Russian people thought that this flower can heal nine diseases and give a long live to human (that’s why divosil). Basically, it was used for women (and it is where devyasil came from). And also this flower looks like the sun. 

In this design, I allowed myself some liberty to bring it closer to the original Sundrop Flower.

P.S. If you want to hear some Russian words pronounced, you can use google translator. But before clicking on the listen button, divide words into syllables like this - Rado sveta, Divo sil. This will be as close as possible to the pronunciation of these words c:

#i know it can be hard to understand russian words but i tried my best to make it super easy (and interesting) for you!! #tangled #Rapunzel #tangled the series #tangled rapunzel #rapunzel's tangled adventure #Tangled Russian Fairy Tale #mewi draw #digital art

[laughing-with-god]

BTS Reaction #4- Love At First Sight

HOSEOK-  “I’ll be out in a second!”  You called out to the front of the shop as you heard the bell ring that told you a new costumer just entered.  

  You eyed the pot in front of you and nodded to yourself.  It looked like enough soil, so you smiled and took off your gardening gloves.  You headed to the front counter, where a smaller yet older lady stood by, eyeing the place with a secretive grin on her face.  

  “How may I help you ma’am?”  You asked politely.  She smiled at you and gestured to all the flowers by the huge bay window.

  “Do you offer flower delivery?”  She asked.  

  “Of course.  Most of our flowers are delivered with a note though.  Do you have one with you?”  You told her.

  “Well, my son’s birthday is next week and I have the card.  I just don’t know what kind of flowers I should send with it.”  She hummed thoughtfully as she gazed around the shop.

  “Roses seem to be a costumer favorite, however poppies are in season and we have a few out back.”  You answered blandly.  Your boss was always telling you to push the roses and poppies, since they were the most expensive.  Personally, you thought they were over-rated.

  “Hmm...what do you think?”  

  “If you don’t mind me suggesting, I would think our white and yellow daisy bouquet would be nice.  White is for purity and innocent love, while the yellow stands for luck and good health.”  You advised her carefully while eyeing the flowers.  

  She seemed to think about this for a bit, before nodding and handing you a birthday card.  

“So how much will that be?”

.....

  It has been four days since the lady came in for the bouquet of flowers for her son.  Today was the day that the flowers would be delivered and you quietly made sure the arrangement was in order, cutting off any last minute thorns.  

 “Hey, (y/n)!”  You boss yelled out from his office.  You stalked forward ended up at his doorway.  

  “Yes Sir?”

  “The delivery man just broke his ankle.  I’m going to need you to due all the deliveries today.”  You let out a deep sigh as you noticed the weather outside get gloomier and gloomier.  

  “Okay sir.”

....

  You ended up in front of a factory like place.  The address you got lead you here and you wondered if this son worked as a factory worker.  You hurriedly skipped to the entrance as you felt rain began to trickle down from the sky.

  The factory was empty and instead filled with many people running around with lights, cameras, makeup and outfits.    Suddenly, a lady holding seven cups of coffee bumped into you.  

  “Um, excuse me, where can I find a Hoseok?”  You asked.

  “He should be done with his photo shoot right about now.”  She gestured over to a corner of the factory that held a table with food. Photo shoot?  You followed her direction and saw a tall man standing by it, stuffing a rice cake into his mouth.  You guesses this was Hoseok, as there was no one else there.

“Umm...Happy Birthday?”

He turned around and looked at you with wide and glossy eyes.  In shock of you, his jaw dropped as a rice cake fell from his mouth.  

  Years later, Hoseok would swear to god he thought an angel was delivering him flowers that day.

JIMIN- You huffed loudly, annoyed.  You weren’t sure why you signed up for this.  Sure you loved makeup and trained hard to get where you have gotten.  However, you were more into special effects or maybe even some avant-garde makeup for model art.  Never before would you have thought that you would be doing some arragont kpop idol’s makeup.  Plus the job wasn’t challenging at all, pop on some eyeliner, smokey eye, TONS of BB cream, highlighter and sometimes blush.  Nothing too crazy.  However bills needed to be paid and you were told a makeup artist working for a certain popular kpop group all of a sudden got really sick, so they put you to work immediately. You showed up to the backstage of some music show, where a stylist informed you of the concept and implied certain aspects that should be brought out on your idol’s face.  You were taken to your vanity and was left with the promise of a man named ‘Jimin’ arriving shortly.

You quietly sorted out your own makeup along with some of the supplies that was previously laid out for your use.  Silently, you prayed that this Jimin guy wasn’t rude or a high class diva.  Yet, as usual your logical side took over and you began to ponder.

This group is supposedly VERY popular, you’re at a very famous music show and from the looks of it; this backstage dressing room that this group got was very nice and filled with attentive staff members all rushing to do something. 

You sighed.  

This guy was probably one of the most well-known idols in Korea. And fame is very hard not to get to your head.  You mentally prepared yourself for a Diva...or divo, rather.

Suddenly, you felt movement beside you and you realised someone had sat in the seat.  You slapped a brave face on and took out the primer and a foundation brush, you were still looked down and you wanted a quick peek of who this guy was sat down and ready for your appliance, while reaching over for a blender your eyes gazed up so you can see this mans face through the mirror.

He was already looking at you through the mirror’s reflection.  Staring rather...

His puffy eyelids and under-eyes practically smothered his own eyeballs, however you could tell that he was -without a doubt- staring at you.  You realised he may not be informed of why you (someone he’s never seen before) are now doing his makeup so you smiled, bowed and introduced yourself before continuing. 

“Hello, I’m (y/n) and I’ll be doing your makeup until your artist gets back.  Please take care of me.”

His seemingly stunned face was now curled up in a cute, childish grin.  You watched very amazed as his shoulers shrugged up to look smaller, his eyes completely dissapear behind the aeygo bags and and a gummy smile took over, revealing some pearly whites that a colgate commercial would be glad to have.  You kinda wanted to squeal but got ahold of yourself since you had to be proffesional.

“So your my new makeup artist?”  Suprisingly a thick and raspy voice came out of his pouty lips that held a strong busan accent.  You shook your head and reminded him that you said you were just here until the other one got back.  To which his smile dropped to a cute pout and his whole face scrunched up in what you can only describe as determination.  While you began your first steps of his face, you would’ve sworn you heard him mumble; “We’ll see about that.” 

At the end of the day, a representative from Bighit called and offered you a permanent position as Jimin’s makeup artist.  You attempted to decline, but they seemed oddly persistent that you take the offer...

(gif is when you tell him you aren’t his new makeup artist)

TAEHYUNG-You were a huge fan of BTS.  And like most Army, you found yourself growing a soft spot for one particular member.  Yours’ was Taehyung. You just saw alot of yourself in him.  Both of you are really weird and quirky but funny and caring people notheless.  Sometimes misunderstood but more intillegent than what people gave you credit for.  You loved the alien boy because you were an alien yourself.

You were so over-flowing with love that you decided to make a fan-account/blog for him.  You gained hundreds of followers because they loved how funny and unique you are, you also were really friendly and decided to chat with other fans openly on there.  You excitedly annouced that you were going to a bts fanmeet in your city, to which your followers all liked and commented how jealous they were and how lucky you were.  Some demanded you take pictures and video, which obviously you were gonna.  

You got an ask notification the night before the event.  It read, ‘OMG (y/n) I’m so happy you get to see them in person.  I hope that taehyung recongizes you.  Lol, wouldn’t it be funny if he jumped up after you tell him that your followers also call you alien and yell “THERE YOU ARE, MY LONG-LOST ALIEN SOULMATE!  Which planet are you from?!”  Anyway good luck tommorow~’  

You laughed while reading this and typed back a sassy but odd reply before going to bed.  

The next day you arrived at the fan meeting and although you were extremely nervous, a weird sense of calm hit you when you were about to go up to the table. You said hello to the first members, letting them know how wonderful they are and how much their music meant to you when suddenly you were face to face with your bias.

“Hey Tae oppa. You’re my favorite member and idea type and I just want you to know that I understand your antics very well given I’m labeled as weird too by some people.”

He looked up from signing your abulm but stopped in his tracts when he made eye contact.

“What’s your name?” He said, oddly still and not at all like the goof ball persona he had on when meeting other fans. You got scared for a second. Had you offended him or something?

“Y/n” you had said. He nodded in thought for a moment before continuing his signature and asking you some weird questions. Like how many kids you wanted or would you rather stay in or go out for a date. Before long you were shooed onto the next member, not before receiving a long and thoughtful stare from your bias.

At the end of day you were still thinking about the strange encounter you had with the man. You wondered if there was something about you that caused him to act more reserved or if he was just having a bad day? You thought about posting your experience to your followers to gain some insight but then thought against it. After all, idols are human too and the last thing you would want is to stir him up into a controversy.

You received a private message from your blog and when you went to open it, you were left confused.

‘I’m from Saturn. How about you? Love the blog btw, you weren’t kidding when you said you were odd too’

What followed after that was a selfie of Taehyung that you knew for sure was not recycled from the internet. Meaning he had to have taken that as he was speaking to you. He was even wearing the same outfit he had on during the fan signing.

He found your blog and was set on making your ‘alien couple’ fantasy into a reality.

JUNGKOOK- Being a college student was really hard. Constant stress and lack of funds caused you to suffer some mild anxiety. Like right now for example. You were currently looking at the list of books you’d need for the upcoming semester when your heart stopped beating from sheer shock. How in the devil’s butthole were you gonna find a way to pay for this?

“You know, I know a local bookstore that has a lot of university books for like a third of the price if your interested. You won’t have to pay like hundreds of dollars.” Your friend told you, trying to calm you down from the sheer panic attack that was about to hit you. She wrote down the address and told you to find it. With that, you bounced to find yourself some cheap books that won’t cost as much as a couple months’ worth of rent.

You found the shop and found the things you were needing. All except one. You just had one more book to buy but unluckily for you, it was super hard to find. You skimmed the shelves of this cute little shop, humming to the music they were playing in the background.

And then there it was.

The book you were in desperate need for in order to understand your class and pass.

But....it was in the hands of another.

A very good looking guy whom wore a white shirt, beanie and some timbs. You recognized him, given that many students at your school were fans of him and his group. But in this moment did you care at all that he was famous???

No.

If anything it made you more vengeful.

You were barely able to pay for food, and an idol who has everything at his finger tips was gonna steal a deal from you? Yeah, you were gonna let that happen.

“Yah! I need that book! You see unlike you, I am a broke student who REALLy needs that discounted book for a class! As an idol, I’m sure you could afford to buy it at full price!” You screeched in his face.

He looked up and was about to retort when he went silent and his big doe eyes got a glossy look. You continued to rant, somewhat blowing off steam on this innocent guy but little did you know, he wasn’t hearing a word. Lost in space (more like your face), all he could hear was the distant sound of wedding bells and angels singing. It was hard to see who was more insane in this scenario, the person who freaked out at a stranger for grabbing the book you wanted due to panicked stress and possibly the beginnings of a mental breakdown. Or the guy who sat there, let himself get berated bc he was too focused on planning his future wedding with this seemingly crazy person.

(Later he did buy you the book, after you swore to go to dinner with him.)

(GIF of him just staring at how gorgeous you are)

#bts reactions #jungkook #taehyung #bts #hoseok #jimin #loveatfirstsight #bts fluff #kpop #bangtan boys #love #namjoon #yoongi #jin #suga #rapmonster

[exwinnipegger]

Rules: answer 20 questions and tag 20 people you want to know better.

Thanks @alwayshometomarvel

1. Nickname: Most people call me by my last name, or my dad still calls me Manda Panda

2. Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

3. Hogwarts House: Slytherin ✌🏼

4. Height: 5'8”

5. Last thing I googled: On my phone: sweet but psycho because we couldn’t remember who sang it. But on my work computer I had to look up local flower shops

6. Favorite musicians: This genuinely changes all the time, but here goes. Iron Maiden, Il Divo, Lady Gaga, and Fall Out Boy? I’m secretly still sixteen

7. Song stuck in my head: I had to look it up very recently so Sweet But Psycho by Ava Max

8. Followers: ??? 109?

9. Following: 176 apparently, I thought it was more

10. Do you get asks: no, but I should!!! Ask me things!!

11. Amount of sleep: ideally I would sleep for 12 hours all the time, but that’s just the depression talking. But I usually get about 7 which is great

12. Lucky number: 26

13. What are you wearing: sweatpants my sister got me from her university like five years ago

14. Dream job: Realistically, id like to keep advancing in my current work place. But in my secret life that I live in my head, I become a judge

15. Instruments: I played flute in junior high school and my mother tried and failed to teach me piano

16. Languages: English & French

17. Favorite song: I had enough trouble with the artists, you really think I can pick one song?

18. Random fact: i recently kicked an abusive man out of my house and life so I’m livin dat single life and loving it

19. Aesthetic: I don’t know what this means, my blog doesn’t really have an aesthetic. But mine personally would be something like “nerdy girl-next-door with her heart on her sleeve”

20. Dream trip: ALL OF THEM. WHY DOES TRAVELLING THE WORLD COST MONEY

I’ll go ahead and tag @morethanonepage bc I know she loves these. And @remindingpersephone @wellneversaygood-bye and whoever wants to do this I guess :)

#aw these are fun #would do again

[hammettallica-lover]

Tagging game

Answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to get to know better

I was tagged by @starman-inthesky, thank you baby 💕

nickname: Almendrita (little almond)

zodiac: Leo

height: 154 cm

last movie I saw: Mary Poppins returns

last thing I googled: a translation

favorite musician: David Bowie and Dave Mustaine. (Davids are awesome)

song stuck in my head: ballet music

other blogs: not anymore

do I get asks: yes, thank you guys ❤ don't skimp on doing it

blogs following: over 700

amount of sleep: 6 hours on average

lucky number: 8

what I’m wearing: my ballet uniform cause I just finished class c:

dream job: businesswoman and professional dancer

dream trip: Saudi Arabia and Italy

favorite food: chocolate 🍫 :P

play any instruments: used to play the flute and I plan on learning how to play others!

languages: Spanish, English and I'm learning Italian

favorite songs:

- Don't stop me now by Queen

- I have nothing by Whitney Houston

- Adagio by Il Divo

random fact: I'm Vegan

describe yourself as aesthetic things: flowers, glitter eyeshadow, soft hair, berry lips, pastel pink, necklaces, star earrings...

I tag: @dont-cry-izzy, @myrightsideofwrong, @tarantihoe, @brian-mays-hair-curlers, @rocket-rose, @665-the-neighbor-of-the-beast, @welcomethothejungle, @and-i-have-the-hiccup, @lifeloving-musicjunkie, @queen-of-a-highway, @anastasiasjournal, @another-nancyboy, @inlovewithammett, @bruceedickinson, @newwayout and anyone who wants to!

#tagged #tag games #personal

[heavyarethecrowns]

People that have married in the Royal Families since 1800

Sweden

Eugénie Bernardine Désirée Clary better known as  Désirée Clary (8 November 1777 – 17 December 1860) 

Clary was born in Marseille, France, the daughter of François Clary a wealthy silk manufacturer and merchant, by his second wife Françoise Rose Somis Eugénie was normally used as her name of address.

Clary had a sister and brother to whom she remained very close all her life. Her sister, Julie Clary, married Joseph Bonaparte, and later became Queen of Naples and Spain. Her brother, Nicholas Joseph Clary, was created 1st Count Clary

As a child, Clary received the convent schooling usually given to daughters of the upper classes in pre-revolutionary France. However, when she was barely eleven years old, the French Revolution of 1789 took place, and convents were closed. Clary returned to live with her parents, and was perforce home-schooled thereafter. Later, her education would be described as shallow.

In 1794, Clary's father died. Shortly after, it was discovered that in the years before the revolution, he had made an appeal to be ennobled, a request that had been denied. Because of this, Désirée Clary's brother Etienne, now the head of the family and her guardian, was arrested. 

Désirée Clary met Joseph Bonaparte and was introduced to her family. Bonaparte and Clary were engaged, and his brother Napoleon Bonaparte also met her family. Soon Joseph was engaged instead to her older sister Julie while Napoleon was engaged to Désirée Clary on 21 April 1795. In 1795–1797

Clary lived with her mother in Genoa in Italy, where her brother-in-law Joseph had a diplomatic mission; they were also joined by the Bonaparte family. In 1795, Napoleon became involved with Joséphine de Beauharnais and broke the engagement to Clary on 6 September. He married Joséphine in 1796. 

In 1797, Clary went to live in Rome with her sister Julie and her brother-in-law Joseph, who was French ambassador to the Papal States. Her relationship with Julie remained close. She was briefly engaged to Mathurin-Léonard Duphot, a French general. The engagement has been assumed to be Napoleon's idea to compensate her with a marriage, while Duphot was attracted to her dowry and position as sister-in-law of Napoleon. She agreed to the engagement though Duphot had a long-term relationship and a son with another woman. On 30 December 1797, on the eve of their marriage, Duphot was killed in an anti-French riot outside of their residence Palazzo Corsini in Rome.In later years, Clary vehemently denied that her engagement to Duphot had ever existed

After her return to France, Clary lived with Julie and Joseph in Paris. In Paris, she lived in the circle of the Bonaparte family, who sided with her against Josephine after Napoleon had broken off their engagement. She herself did not like Josephine either, as she has been quoted calling her an aged courtesan with a deservedly bad reputation, but she is not believed to have shown any hostility toward Josephine as did the members of the Bonaparte family. She received a proposal from General Junot, but turned it down because it was given through Marmont.Clary eventually met her future spouse, Jean Baptiste Jules Bernadotte, another French general and politician. They were married in a secular ceremony at Sceaux on 17 August 1798. In the marriage contract, Clary was given economic independence. On 4 July 1799, she gave birth to their only child, a son, Oscar.

In August 1810, Bernadotte's husband was elected heir to the throne of Sweden and she heiress, now in that position being given the official name of Desideria. She initially thought this was to be similar to the position of Prince of Pontecorvo, and did not expect to have to visit Sweden more than she had been forced to visit Pontecorvo: "I thought, that it was at it had been with Ponte Corvo, a place from where we would have a title."She was later to admit, that she had never cared about any other country than France and knew nothing of foreign countries nor did she care about them, and that she was in despair when she was told that this time, she would be expected to leave Paris. Desideria delayed her departure and did not leave with her spouse. She was delighted with the position she had received at the French court after her elevation to crown princess (she had been invited to court events every week), and she was frightened by the stories of her reluctant French servants, who tried to discourage her from leaving by saying that Sweden was a country close to the North Pole filled with Polar bears.Finally, she left Paris and traveled by Hamburg and Kronborg in Denmark over the Öresund to Helsingborg in Sweden.

On 22 December 1810, Desideria arrived with her son Oscar in Helsingborg in Sweden, and the 6 January 1811, she was introduced to the Swedish royal court at the Royal Palace in Stockholm. The Swedish climate was reportedly a shock for her: she arrived during the winter, and she hated the snow so much that she cried. Her spouse had converted upon his election as heir to the Swedish throne, and upon their arrival, her son was also to do so, as was required, and was taken from her to be brought up a Lutheran. There was, in accordance with the Tolerance Act, no demand that she should convert, and a Catholic chapel was arranged for her use. Desideria was not religious,but the Catholic masses served to remind her of France, and she celebrated the birth of the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, by a Te Deum in her chapel. 

Desideria was unable to adapt to the demands of formal court etiquette or participate in the representational duties which were required of her in her position of Crown Princess. Her French entourage, especially Elise la Flotte, made her unpopular during her stay in Sweden by encouraging her to complain about everything.She did not have a good relationship with Queen Hedwig Elizabeth Charlotte, though the Dowager Queen Sophia Magdalena was reportedly kind to her. In her famous diaries, Queen Charlotte described her as good hearted, generous and pleasant when she chose to be and not one to plot, but also an immature "spoiled child", who hated all demands and was unable to handle any form of representation, and as "a French woman in every inch" who disliked and complained about everything which was not French, and "consequently, she is not liked." Queen Charlotte, who wanted to remain the center of attention at her own court, was not pleased with Desideria and also influenced King Charles against her. 

Desideria left Sweden in the summer of 1811 under the name of Countess of Gotland, officially because of her health, and returned to Paris, leaving her husband and her son behind. She herself said that the Swedish nobility had treated her as if they were made of ice: "Do not talk with me of Stockholm, I get a cold as soon as I hear the word." In Sweden, her husband took a mistress, the noble Mariana Koskull. Under the same alias Desideria officially resided incognito in Paris, thereby avoiding politics. However, her house at rue d'Anjou was watched by the secret police, and her letters were read by them. She had no court, just her lady's companion Elise la Flotte to assist her as hostess at her receptions, and she mostly associated with a circle of close friends and family.

In 1818, her husband became King of Sweden, which made Desideria Queen. However, she remained in France, officially for health reasons. After she became Queen, the Swedish Queen Dowager wrote to her and suggested that she should have Swedish ladies-in-waiting, but she replied that it was unnecessary for her to have a court as she still resided incognito. She officially kept herself incognito and did not host any court, but she kept in contact with the Swedish embassy, regularly visited the court of Louis XVIII and often saw Swedes at her receptions, which she hosted on Thursdays and Sundays, unofficially in her role as queen, though she still used the title of countess. 

During this period, she fell in love with the French prime minister, the Duc de Richelieu, which attracted attention. According to one version, she fell in love with him after Louis XVIII had given him the task to deny her regular appeal for her sister Julie in the most charming way possible. True or not, she did fall in love with him, but the affection was not answered by Richelieu, who referred to her as his "crazy Queen". According to Laure Junot, she did not dare to speak to him or approach him, but she followed him wherever he went, tried to make contact with him, followed him on his trip to Spa and had flowers placed in his room. She followed him around until his death in 1822.

During the summer of 1822, her son Oscar made a trip in Europe to inspect prospective brides, and it was decided they should meet. As France was deemed unsuitable, they met in Aachen and a second time in Switzerland. In 1823, Desideria returned to Sweden together with her son's bride, Josephine of Leuchtenberg. It was intended to be a visit, but she was to remain in Sweden for the rest of her life. She and Josephine arrived in Stockholm 13 June 1823. Three days later, the royal court and the government was presented to her, and 19 June, she participated in the official welcoming of Josephine and witnessed the wedding

On 21 August 1829, she was crowned Queen of Sweden in Storkyrkan in Stockholm. Her coronation had been suggested upon her return, but her consort had postponed it because he feared there could be religious difficulties. There was actually a suggestion that she should convert to the Lutheran faith before her coronation, but in the end, the question was not considered important enough to press, and she was crowned all the same. She was crowned at her own request after having pressed Charles John with a wish that she should be crowned: "otherwise she would be no proper Queen". A reason for this is believed to have been that she regarded it as protection against divorce

The relationship between her and her husband King Charles XIV John was somewhat distant, but friendly. Charles John treated her with some irritability, while she behaved very freely and informally toward him. The court was astonished by her informal behavior. She could enter his bedroom and stay there until late at night even though he hinted to her that he wished to be alone with his favorite Count Magnus Brahe. Every morning, she visited her husband in her nightgown, which was seen as shocking, because her husband usually conferred with members of the council of state in his bed chamber at that time. Because of their difference in habits, they seldom saw each other even though they lived together. Because she was always late at dinner, for example, he stopped having his meals with her, and as he also preferred to have his meals alone, it was not uncommon for the nobles of the court to sit alone at the dinner table, without the royal couple present

The 1830s were a period when she did her best to be active as a queen, a role she had never wanted to play. The decade is described as a time of balls and parties, more than had been seen at the Swedish court since the days of King Gustav III, but Desideria soon grew tired of her royal status and wanted to return to France. However, her husband did not allow it. As queen she is mostly known for her eccentric habits. She is known to have kept reversed hours and, consequently, for often being late and keeping guests waiting, something which agitated her spouse. Normally, she retired at four in the morning, and awoke at two o'clock in the afternoon. Before she went to bed, she took a "walk by carriage": during these trips, she often paid unannounced visits, which were normally inconvenient because of the time. When the weather was bad, her carriage drove round the courtyard of the royal palace instead. It was normal for her to arrive for a visit to an opera when the show had ended.

Desideria was interested in fashion, devoted a lot of interest and pride in her hair and wore low cut dresses until an advanced age. She enjoyed dancing: her standard question at court presentations were if the debutantes liked to dance, and she herself danced well also during her old age. Her conversations were mainly about her old life in France. Her niece, Marcelle Tascher de la Pagerie, served as her Mistress of the Robes her first years as queen and also her main company, as she could speak to her of her main topic, her old life. After her niece had returned to France, she often socialized with the rich merchant Carl Abraham Arfwedson, who had once been a guest in her childhood home.She never became very popular at the royal court, where she was regarded with some snobbery because of her past as a merchant's daughter and a republican. She never learned to speak the Swedish language, and there are many anecdotes of her attempts to speak the language.

In 1844, Charles XIV John died and Desideria became Queen Dowager. Her son, the new King Oscar I, allowed her to keep her usual quarters in the Royal Palace as well as her entire court, so she would not have to change her habits. When her daughter-in-law Queen Josephine tried to convince her to reduce her court of her own free will, saying she no longer needed such a big court as a queen dowager, she answered: "It is true that I no longer need them all, but all of them still need me." She was a considerate and well-liked employer among her staff. One notable member of her court was Countess Clara Bonde, who was described as a personal friend and served the queen from her return to Sweden until her death. 

Desideria did engage in charity but it was discreet, and it has been said: "Her charity was considerable but took place in silence". One example was that she supported poor upper-class women by giving them sewing work. She also acted as official protector of charitable institutions, such as the Women's Society Girl School. The same year she became a widow, she was described by the French diplomat Bacourt: "Royalty has not altered her — unfortunately, for the reputation of the Crown. She has always been and will always remain an ordinary merchant woman, surprised over her position, and surprising to find upon a throne."He also added that she was a goodhearted woman.

After becoming a widow, she grew more and more eccentric. She went to bed in the morning, got up in the evening, ate breakfast at night and wandered around the corridors of the sleeping palace with a light. Desideria sometimes would take in children from the streets to the palace and give them sweets; she was not able to engage in any real conversation, but she would say "Kom, kom!" (Swedish for "Come come!") There are stories about people having been awakened by her carriage when she drove through the streets at night. The carriage sometimes stopped; she would sleep for a while, and then she would wake and the carriage would continue on its way. Her habit or circling the courtyard in her coach she called "Kring kring" (Swedish for "around and around"), one of the few Swedish words she learned.

On the last day of her life, Queen Desideria entered her box at the Royal Swedish Opera just after the performance had ended, and collapsed before reaching her apartment upon returning to Stockholm Palace on 17 December 1860.

#queen desiree #1800 #sweden