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nikethestatue · 4 months

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A Match Baked In Heaven

Chapter XII

The Moan

“I want buns of steel. But also, buns of cinnamon,” Elain Archeron muttered, as she pulled out a pan of cinnamon buns from the oven. It was a strange choice, but this was Feyre’s favourite treat, and Elain felt that she owed it to her sister on her birthday.

Elain was running late. But there was a lot to do.

Feyre had changed her mind at the last minute, and they weren’t going to a Moroccan restaurant anymore. Instead, the restaurant was catering, the party was at Feyre’s loft, and Elain was tasked with making desserts. And there were thirty people invited, though with Feyre’s friends, it was quite possible that many more would drop by.

Now, Elain was running behind. She had to make a cake too, because Feyre requested her cake, and not one from a bakery. Elain was pretty proud of the cake, though she had no idea how she was going to transport it and carry it, but she wasn’t concerned about the logistics right now.

“Piglet, you are being very rude,” she told her pug. Predictably, she received no response.

As she mixed icing sugar, lemon juice and double cream for the icing, she continued, “That’s fine. It’s entirely up to you if you want to play introvert today. However, don’t expect treats then. You can’t be a glum introvert and still want treats.”

To that, Piglet expanded a mournful moan.

“No,” Elain said. “I don’t even know if you’ll get your Advent Calendar treat today. Unless daddy wants to give it to you, don’t count on me.”

Piglet looked sadly at his calendar, sniffling and barking weakly.

In about ten minutes, he raised his head, but didn’t get up. But Elain knew why–because in the next moment, the doorbell rang.

God she was running really, really late!

Wiping her hands with a towel, Elain fluffed up her hair–she wasn’t even sure why she was doing that–and went to the door.

When she opened it she was faced with not one, not two, but three men.

Three giant men. They looked wild, and dangerous, and beautiful. Not the men of this age or this time. They seemed ancient and powerful, like the warriors of old.

Not to say that they were dressed in armour or anything.

In fact, all three were wearing identical black suits, which probably cost as much as a downpayment for a house, and white shirts, open to various lengths on their brown, muscular chests.

Elain whooshed out a breath.

Her lady parts did a funny squeezie-squeeze, especially at the sight of Azriel Night, whose dark golden skin contrasted gorgeously with the white shirt and the black tattoos that snaked from under the collar of his shirt.

“Gentlemen,” she said at last. “Please, come in.”

“Ready for us, beautiful?” Azriel smiled and winked at her.

“Yeah, all three of you…”

Initially, Azriel self-invited himself to be Elain’s date to the birthday party. That was followed by him telling her that he’d be bringing Rhysand as well, since Rhysand needed to be introduced to Feyre. But, apparently, Cassian was also ready to party, since he was standing right here, smirking and looming over everything and everyone.

“Brothers, let me introduce you properly,” Azriel announced, once they were inside. “Lady Elain Archeron, my future wife and the future mother of my children.”

“Ohmygod,” was all Elain managed to breathe, her eyes wide and her cheeks red.

Cassian chuckled under his breath.

“Az is mental. Don’t mind him,” Cassian waved his hand, as he shouldered his way in.

He was strikingly handsome in a rough, lumberjack-chic kind of a way. Big. At least 6”6. He was probably a Viking or something like that in the past life. A Fae General. A chieftain, who’d smear himself in paint and fight the enemies with all sorts of terrifying weapons. He looked mighty fine in his bespoke suit, but it seems like all these modern trappings were little more than a nuisance to him, and he’d be just as comfortable in some fighting leathers.

“Hi Elain!” he boomed, looking around and whistling softly. “Nice digs, Lady. I’ve seen castles that aren’t as fancy as this. Is it too late for me to become a matchmaker?”

Elain smiled and he pulled her in for a quick hug.

“You are my future sis-in-law apparently!”

“Oh god, Cassian, not you too!” she moaned.

“Step aside, Lothario,” Azriel hissed at him and Cassian laughed.

“I’d be worried too. He knows I am irresistible to the ladies,” he announced proudly.

“I am positive that Lady Elain can resist you.”

With that, the third man, a lithe, tall, slender, muscular specimen, with an aristocratic bearing, a bit of a posh sneer, and an impressively beautiful face, pushed past Cassian and then gently took Elain’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“Lady Elain Archeron. Allow me to introduce myself. Rhysand Darling.”

“Just Elain,” she told him, but curtsied nevertheless, adding, “Lord Darling.”

He smiled. He reeked of elegance and good breeding.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting the woman who’s bewitched my surly brother.”

“I am not surly,” Azriel threw with a frown.

Elain reached for him and then took Azriel’s hand in hers.

“He is alright,” she approved, smiling at him. “He’s grown on me.”

“I believe you know my mother and my sister,” Rhysand commented, as he clasped his hands behind his back and circled the formal living room and the parlour, admiring the art on the walls.

“Kandinsky,” he muttered to himself.

“I do,” Elain confirmed. “Lady Selene and the Duchess are members of the Women’s Institute, as are my sisters and I.”

“Wait, what?” Cassian gaped at the two of them. “You know each other? You know Selene?”

“We circulate in the same places,” Elain said vaguely.

Scowling, Azriel growled, “Yeah, with the Queen, right?”

“Her Majesty was a member of the Institute as well. The Sandringham Chapter to be precise,”

“You met the Queen?” Cassian gawked at her like she suddenly started juggling fire balls.

“Elain is a Lady,” Azriel said with a sigh, looking somehow depressed about it.

Elain held his hand in hers and gently rubbed her thumb over his pulse. When Azriel looked at her, she was smiling at him and that smile managed to calm him down somehow. Like Elain didn’t care about the difference in their upbringing, and she liked him for…him.

So Azriel smiled back at her and then whispered, “you aren’t even ready yet.”

“I’ve been baking.”

Azriel smiled excitedly and said, “I can’t wait to eat it! You know, matchy….Ours, is a match baked in heaven.”

“You are so ridiculous, I love it!” Elain stared at him, but then couldn’t help but laugh.

“I am not ridiculous! I am right,” he argued.

“Where is the little beastie with the bows?” Cassian looked around, seeking out Piglet.

Azriel frowned and also twisted his head this way and that way.

“Where is little matey?”

Elain pursed her lips and then pointed to the sofa in the family room.

“There he is. Being dramatic.”

And after a pause, added, “and RUDE! We have guests, and you are being absolutely rude!”

Azriel rushed to the pug.

Piglet was still dressed in his onesie, laying on the sofa arm, unmoving.

Depressed Piglet

“Pinky, my lovie, what’s wrong?” Azriel cooed, stroking the pug’s back.

Piglet didn’t move and just lay there listlessly, his little short legs draped over the sofa arm. Azriel nosed into his back and whispered, “what’s wrong? Daddy is home. I’ll take care of my boy.” He then picked Piglet up and cradled him to his chest.

“He is depressed,” Elain threw, while Rhysand watched Azriel fuss over the dog with amusement.

“Depressed?!?!” Azriel gasped. “Why? What made him depressed?”

Elain crossed her arms on her chest, and said, her voice laced with disappointment.

“We went to the vet today: to get Piglet’s longevity shots. It was a substitute vet–not his usual one–so he gave him a check up too.”

“Is he okay?” Azriel exclaimed in fright. “Is he sick?!”

Rhysand snorted a laugh at Azriel’s reaction. Azriel didn’t even look at him, while flipping him the bird.

“Whoa, is the doggo okay?” Cassian also asked, worried.

“He is fine. But the vet said that he is,” she took a piece of paper off the counter, and read out loud, “mildly anxious, highly spirited, overweight, overall well-adjusted, but with an extreme case of separation anxiety.”

As she repeated the diagnosis, Piglet released a tragic howl, before burrowing into Azriel’s neck.

“And he’s been like this ever since we came back.”

Azriel rocked Piglet back and forth in his embrace, kissing the top of his head.

“Don’t listen to the stupid vet. You aren’t overweight. You are just plump. And that’s okay. You are built for feed, not speed.”

Rhys laughed again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the scene.

“And it’s okay to have separation anxiety. I am anxious every time I am separated from Ellie. And from you.”

“What exactly are longevity shots?” Rhys asked, cocking his head.

“They are illegal!” Elain announced proudly.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. They are stem cell shots. Not legal here. But I am not having my dog die–ever. So he gets his longevity shots every six months.”

“Must be a pricey enterprise?”

“It is. Three thousand a pop. And I don’t care. It’s worth it.”

“Worth it,” Azriel agreed, and then gently pulled Piglet away from his neck and looked into his big, sad eyes.

“Baby boy, do you want to go to a party?” he asked. “Do you want to be the star? You'll wear the nicest outfit and you’ll have so much fun there. Everyone will be loving on you. What do you say?”

Piglet sniffled, clearly needing more encouragement.

“There will be snacks,” Cassian added.

“Yes. And cake. And maybe chicken nuggies! They are your faves!”

“He likes chicken nuggets?” Rhys asked, chuckling.

“They are chicken meatballs, but we call them ‘chicken nuggies’,” Azriel explained.

And then, he started signing. And dancing. With Piglet dangling in his hands, Azriel sang to the tune of Jose Feliciano’s ‘Feliz Navidad’:

Please feed the dog

I am so hungry

I don’t wanna starve!

I want a bucket of chicken nuggies!

And a slice of meatloaf

Everyone stared at him, slack-jawed.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph,” Rhys whispered in horrified awe. “Do we need an intervention?”

“Don’t get in between a man and his dog,” Cassian warned.

The dog meanwhile, bobbed his head to the song, finally coming to, and returning to his normal self.

“Did he get snacks today?” Azriel asked Elain. “He looks a little thin.”

“Yeah, he lost 5 kilos because he didn’t have snacks today,” she threw tartly, still displeased with Piglet’s attitude and behaviour.

“Okay, can we at least do the Advent Calendar?” Azriel pleaded, while Piglet slipped from his hands and then trotted happily to the huntboard and got on his hind leg, waiting for his daily treat.

“Oh, really? Now he is ready?” Elain asked dryly, staring Piglet down, who turned away from her and towards a much safer Azriel. And he even sweetened the deal with a smile, grinning at his dad, and showing a full row of his tiny little crooked teeth.

“He is ready!” Azriel announced excitedly, and then there was a whole argument between him and Cassian over who is going to break the slat and take out the treat. Cassian won, because he declared that he ‘never gets to do it, but Azriel gets to do it all the time!’ With that, he broke the seal, took out a small chewable treat shaped like a bone and broke it in half, before Azriel could stop him.

“Oh no!”

“What?” Cassian asked, alarmed, while Piglet crunched on half the snack.

“You don’t understand…it’s dog maths,”

“What?”

With a deep sigh, Azriel explained, “If you break a treat into two, that actually means zero treats. Or, for example, when dinner is at 7 pm, but you serve dinner at 7:02 pm, that means that you are two hours late. Though if you serve dinner at 6 pm, you are also two hours late.

“Anything that is human food is also dog food, but dog food is only dog food. In addition, human food is not counted towards food or snacks, therefore, it could be consumed in unlimited amounts.”

Rhys was shaking with laughter, while Cassian was clearly doing some complex calculations in his head, as he listened to Azriel. He fed Piglet the second part of the treat, and then confirmed, “So this means he did not receive a treat at all?”

“Exactly. A broken treat does not count as a treat.”

“I am adopting dog maths for all my maths,” Rhys decided right then and there.

Elain was watching the brouhaha with a shake of her head, before she asked, “May I count on you three, gentlemen, to undress him, put this tie on him, and then put his coat on.”

She handed Azriel a brown chequered tie and a Burberry jacket for the dog, but he in turn handed it to Cassian and said, “I am going to go help my girl out.”

It’s not that Elain needed help exactly, but she didn’t mind it either. Cassian looked at the dog attire uncertainly, gnawing on his lip, and then told Rhys ‘you are helping’.

“He likes to escape,” Azriel offered helpfully, as he ran after Elain up the stairs.

The moment the other two men were out of sight, he lifted her in his arms and pressed his face into her neck, inhaling deeply.

“I’ve missed my girl,” he murmured, dragging his nose over her jawline, up her cheek, kissing her softly and slowly.

“Azriel,” she moaned into his hair, grabbing the back of his neck.

“Let’s fuck off and not go to the party, send Cass, Rhys and pug, and stay in and fuck?” he proposed, hope shining in his eyes.

She laughed softly and said, “I think my sister might be a bit affronted if I didn’t attend her 25th birthday so I could stay home and fuck, as you put it.”

“Who, Fey? Fey wouldn’t care!” he blew his cheeks, “she is our shipper!”

“What?”

“She ships us hard. Wants us to be together!”

“Is this your dark romance lingo?”

“You should join the dark romance revolution,” he suggested. “You can join our Book Club,”

“Wait, you have a book club?”

“Yes, we do. But shit, you can’t! No girls allowed,” he shrugged apologetically.

“You have an all-men Book Club where you read dark romances?” she asked incredulously.

“Yeah. We are not sexist or anything. We read romances and smut.”

“You just said that no girls are allowed in your Book Club. That’s the definition of ‘sexist’.”

He frowned, thinking, while he deposited her on the floor in their bedroom, and plopped down on the bed himself.

“Oh yeah. Oh, well, a little sexist. But not super sexist.”

“Oh, well, phew. As long as you aren’t super sexist!”

Rolling on his side, and propping his head, he gave her a heated, lascivious look and said,

“Come on, strip, baby. Show me what you are wearing!”

“Since when did our relationship include stripping?” she pondered, as she disappeared in the walk-in closet.

“Not yet, but it should include plenty of stripping,” he decided. “I am all stripping-ready and if you’d like me to, I can strip right now.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Elain didn’t seem surprised.

Downstairs, it seemed that the two humans lost control of the situation pretty quickly. There was banging, suspicious crashing, curses and little claws clacking frantically on the floor. Cries of ‘hold him!’ and ‘shit’ and ‘why is he so fast’ peppered the commotion.

Azriel was smiling, listening to the chaos. He did warn them.

“This? Or this?”

When he glanced at Elain, his jaw dropped. Everything was forgotten.

If the house was on fire, he wouldn't have cared.

Because his naughty Elain came out, holding two hangers in her hands, and wearing nothing but a tiny, lacy, baby blue lingerie set. It hugged her generous form very deliciously and was basically see-through, which made Azriel swallow audibly. He asked for stripping and well, here they were. He could clearly see her full breasts and the pink nipples beneath the gossamer-thin material. And the way her knickers wrapped around the round hips just so…the firm, but ample thighs…

“Nu!” she pressed.

“What?” he asked, looking dazed.

At that point though, Piglet tore through the bedroom. He looked a proper state. Half of his onesie was hanging off his body, and he zoomed wildly around the bedroom, diving under the bed, before emerging and repeating his frantic circle.

From downstairs, they heard Rhys’s disgruntled holler, “What is this dog on?! What’s in the longevity shots? Cocaine?! I bet it’s coke!”

Elain stood there, almost naked, laughing, while Azriel devoured her with his eyes.

Piglet stopped his zooming and gave the situation an assessing gaze, looking whether any serial killers needed sorting out. Having not found any, he gave everyone a victorious bark and then bounded out the bedroom and down the stairs.

“Hold him on the right!” Cassian shouted.

“He is too fast!” Rhys screamed back, “how’s he so fast when he only has three legs!”

“Bribe him with a strawberry or a piece of cheese!” Azriel yelled in turn, not taking his eyes off Elain.

She grumbled, “how many men over 6”5 does it take to dress a three-legged pug?”

Azriel sat up on the bed and whispered, “Come here, baby.”

“Why do I feel like if I do, then we might not be leaving here at all?”

“You might be correct, but maybe, just maybe, if I touch some of these fleshy soft bits,”

“WHAT? Fleshy soft bits??” she gasped incredulously, while Azriel’s very long arm wrapped around her hips and he pushed her closer.

“Such,” he kissed her, in fact, soft belly, “fine,” another kiss right below her breast, “fleshy,” and his lips landed on the side of her waist, where it curved sensually and where he licked a path down to her hip, “soft,” and he lightly bit the spot just above the lacy band of her underwear, “bits,” and he inhaled so hard with his face against the mound of her sex that a satisfied, raw groan of pleasure reverberated deep within his chest.

Elain almost fainted, when suddenly, he wrapped his mouth over the lips of her pussy, biting them gently through the material of the underwear.

“My god,” she gasped, not knowing whether to push him away, or to pull his face closer and into her slit.

He dragged his tongue against the seam of her folds, and muttered hoarsely, his voice rough and harsher than usual, “do you know how much I’ve dreamt about eating your pussy? How much I want to watch you coming on my tongue?”

“My god, Azriel,” Elain managed to growl out, while he filled his huge palms with the flesh of her round ass cheeks. His thumbs stroked her skin, while he kissed her thighs, around her belly button, before gladly sinking his teeth into her breast and biting her nipple.

“I will be your god, my beautiful Elain,” he promised. “Once I make you come, you’ll understand the definition of ‘my god’.”

“So confident.”

“Oh I am.”

He pulled back a bit, and told her, “Gotta confess. A nice bare pink pussy is my kryptonite.”

“I suppose I fit the bill then?”

“You do. You always do.”

She picked up the two dresses that she had dropped on the floor and showed them to him again.

One was a wintry, knit dress, which no doubt, would look mighty fine wrapped over her form. The other, was a much more formal dress, in some ways sculptural, made of some type of heavy satin. It was cream, tailored and spectacular.

“This is more practical,” Elain said, lifting the knit dress. “I can wear it with tall boots and I think it would look nice,”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No?”

“You aren’t going to look ‘nice’. You’ll look stunning. ‘Nice’ is not for Elain Archeron. It’s not for my girl.”

She bit her lip adorably, considering his words, while he was watching her like a hungry hound.

“I do have these shoes that I’ve been dying to wear, but they are open and it’s December.”

“Bring the shoes,” he ordered simply. “You’ll put them on there.”

“Okay,” she agreed, though it didn’t seem like she needed a lot of encouragement.

…Downstairs, Cassian had Piglet in some kind of MMA headlock, while Rhysand was attempting to put the jacket on the pug.

Small wins: they succeeded in taking the onesie off. And Piglet had a tie around his neck, even if it was all skewed.

The jacket was proving to be a challenge.

“You two seriously cannot be trusted with a dog,” Azriel lamented, watching the pathetic display.

“Fuck, Elain,” Cassian gasped. “You look…wow. You look really beautiful.”

Azriel immediately wrapped a possessive, proprietary arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

“Thank you, Cassian,” Elain smiled and then snapped her fingers.

With frightening ease, Piglet broke out of Cassian’s hold, showing that he was just indulging them and that they never stood a chance. He also grabbed the jacket out of Rhys’s hands and trotted to Elain, handing it to her.

“Are you going to be a good boy tonight?” she asked, as she dressed him in about 47 seconds. “It’s Aunt Fey’s birthday and you have to be nice to her. She’ll want to give you hugs,” at that Piglet sighed, “and you have to give her hugs.”

Piglet led the charge, and when he saw Dev and Dev asked to ‘shake’, he shook with him. Azriel was carrying the birthday cake, internally freaking out. That was a heavy responsibility. Rhysand was charged with carrying the cinnamon buns and the pastries. Somehow, Cassian ended up without a task, however, once they piled into the car, he was responsible for holding Piglet in his lap. Elain carried and touched nothing other than her purse.

“Camden then?” Dev confirmed with Elain.

“Yes,” Elain nodded, sandwiched between Azriel and Rhysand, and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone in the car. The most amorous sensations came from Azriel’s side, whose scent she wanted to drown in. The heat of body, the muscular arm that pressed into hers, the very sight of his gorgeous throat which she wanted to kiss and lick and bite had her squirming in her seat, pressing her thighs together. Azriel gave her a side glance and smirked.

“You feeling okay, baby?” he asked lightly.

“Oh, just splendid!” she assured him tartly.

“You sure? You seem a bit squirmy there,”

“Oh, quite positive. Just setting in,” she offered him a fake smile.

“Anything I can do to help you? Settle in, that is?”

“Doing okay on my own,”

“It would seem so. Perhaps you’ve been doing it on your own for a bit too long…and might require a helping hand after all?”

Cassian squinted at them, stroking Piglet’s head, looking absolutely and hysterically ridiculous holding a dressed up pug. Elain kept averting her eyes from the two of them, because she knew that she was about to burst into laughter.

“Is this some kind of sex talk?” Cassian asked suspiciously.

Rhys smiled a brief smile, and it occurred to Elain that nothing much escaped this man.

“Ellie doesn’t do sex talks,” Azriel told him.

“Hmmm…sounds like sex talk,” Cassian insisted. “Will there be girls at this party?”

“Quite a few,” Elain nodded.

“Okay, maybe I’ll hook up with someone.”

“You are not going there to hook up!” Rhys warned him.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not an American frat party where you are going to be shagging someone in an empty bedroom. We are going to a birthday party. And we weren’t even invited!”

“I was invited,” Azriel argued.

“Technically, you weren’t,” Rhys argued. “You are going as Elain’s date.”

“Oh.”

“Then what am I?” Cassian wondered.

“Piglet’s date,” Elain joked. “Listen, it’s fine. You were all technically invited. Feyre wanted to meet everyone. She is quite taken with Azriel already. I am sure you’ll impress her as well. Now, impressing my older sister Nesta might be a little more difficult.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassian instantly leaned forward, as if the challenge of impressing Nesta intrigued him.

“Nesta is…complicated,” was all Elain said.

“Is she as beautiful as you?” Cassian queried.

Elain got all adorably pink and flustered and Azriel gave his brother an unimpressed look.

“Nesta is very attractive,” Azriel growled, stroking the side of Elain’s neck with his thumb. “But no one is as beautiful as Elain.”

Elain lit up like a Christmas tree at his words, blushing and smiling and trying to hide, but he only kissed her temple and held her closer.

When Rhysand heard ‘Camden’ he did not expect this. He wasn’t exactly a Camden type of a person, so he wondered if he’d stick out like a sore thumb in the Camden crowd. He was an Old Etonian. But when they arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief and reminded himself that the Archerons weren’t exactly poor. They stopped next to a sprawling refurbished industrial building. It was old London brick–dark and dirtied with age, which gave it character. There were a couple of huge windows, now brightly lit up, and behind the house was a canal and a little dock. This was nice.

Cassian got out first, and Piglet confidently trotted to the door and barked, announcing his arrival. Azriel was last, holding on that cake like his life depended on it. Rhysand smiled. Azriel was such a good boyfriend. Who would’ve thought? But he turned out to be the exemplary boyfriend, who was utterly obsessed with Elain. To an unhealthy degree, in Rhys’s opinion. Azriel already marked his body permanently with all things Elain. If this didn’t go well and ended in a way that Azriel wasn’t expecting, well…it would get messy. Hearts would be broken. Dreams would be shattered. Tattoos would have to be removed or covered up…

The door opened and a tall, very slim woman stood in front of them. That she was Elain’s sister was obvious. But her face was sharper, the eyes a steely grey-blue, long golden brown hair tied into a no-nonsense chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore a simple pearl-grey dress, well-tailored, but without frills, and a huge diamond and emerald brooch, a la the late Queen.

For a moment, she just stood there, assessing them all with an unflinching gaze.

“Are you Nesta?” Cassian suddenly stepped forward, his attention wholly on the willowy, busty beauty in front of him.

“You are late,” she said instead, ignoring him.

“We aren’t!” Elain argued. “The party doesn’t start until six and we have plenty of time to prepare.”

Cassian wasn’t deterred and announced, “I am Cassian!”

“Congratulations,” Nesta said. Then, she asked Elain, “What is this? A reverse harem?”

Before the confused Elain could answer, Cassian asked excitedly,

“Oh, a fellow reverse harem lover?! Very nice. What’s your favourite book?”

Nesta gave him a puzzled, but intrigued look, while he continued, undeterred,

“Mine is “The Kings’ Wife’! What’s yours?”

“‘Forget-Me-Not Bombshell’,” she answered flatly, surprising everyone. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Behind Nesta, they heard an excited voice, and an exclamation, “Elain, this cake!!! Oh my goddess! It’s crazy beautiful!! Piggy! Come…Come! Give me hugs! Come to me, my good boy.”

Piglet muscled his way between the sea of legs, and hopped towards the birthday girl, being a good boy, just like he promised.

She sat on the floor and accepted him in her arms, taking off his coat.

“Welcome everyone!” she said loudly.

“Thank you for having us,” Rhys said ahead of everyone. He wasn’t sure why.

And then, her eyes landed on him.

Feyre. What a name.

A gently lovely girl, with blue eyes and brown hair, and a scattering of visible freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Not a beauty like Elain. Not as striking as Nesta. And yet…

“I’ve heard your voice,” she suddenly said, her luminous eyes firmly planted on Rhys’s face.

“Pardon?” he stuttered.

“It was like you called me,” she continued, “and I heard you. Your voice. Across the hills, calling me. I think it was in a dream,” she laughed nervously. “But your voice was very distinctive.”

“Well, then I am glad that I am the man of your dreams. Literally.”

At that, Feyre laughed, but it was nervous, as if there was a grain of truth in his voice.

Rhys continued,

“Happy birthday, Feyre darling.”

She got up from the floor, still holding the pug. Piglet looked between the two of them with a smug look on his squished face. Like he knew something they didn’t.

“Are you Rhysand?” she asked shyly.

“I am Rhysand,” he confirmed. “You’ve heard of me?”

“I have. Apparently, I’ve also heard you. Welcome.”

Like her sisters, Feyre also wore a plain dress, of deep dark blue velvet. It was simple, but form-fitting, exposing her elegant neck. She didn’t wear any jewellery and at that, Rhys smirked and reached into his jacket pocket. He stepped closer to the birthday girl, ignoring all the curious stares from his brothers and her sisters, and then took out a flat black box and handed it to her.

“For you.”

Feyre blushed prettily and looked up at him from under her long lashes.

“A gift? For me?” she repeated, taking the box from him.

“A pretty gift for a pretty girl,” he smiled, smoothly opening the lid and suddenly taking out a…crown. A diadem.

Nesta stared at the gift, and so did Cassian, and even Azriel, with complete astonishment.

It was a delicate band of white gold, shaped like a branch, studded in places with tiny diamonds and lapis lazuli.

“A crown for the lady.”

Rhys smiled at Feyre, whose eyes were as big as saucers and then gently placed the diadem upon her head, effectively crowning her.

“Well, now it’s perfect.”

“I…my…I can’t…” Feyre began to babble frantically, but Rhys only offered an indulgent smile and said, “of course you can. Now, did you know that Piglet loves me and allowed me to dress him?” he lied.

“Oh no way! Really?!” she exclaimed, totally falling for his bullshit. “He could be so standoffish. And if he wants to zoom…well, then you can’t even catch him!”

“No?! You don’t say?” Rhys pretended to be shocked, while offering her his arm.

She took it easily, still clutching Piglet to her, her eyes never leaving Rhys’s face.

“May I tell you something?” she requested.

“Well, of course! What is it?”

“I think that you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” she gushed. “And I thought that Azriel was handsome,”

“Well, he is another pretty face for sure. But not as pretty as mine,” Rhys winked at her, and they disappeared inside the huge loft, joking and laughing.

“Did he just give her a tiara?” Nesta questioned in disbelief.

“Yeah…who needs soup when you can just get a tiara,” Elain agreed.

Turning abruptly to Cassian, Nesta said, “Help me please.”

“With pleasure,” he grinned.

“I’ll let Elain take her coat off, but please bring the cake into the kitchen,” Nesta commanded, picking up the boxes with buns and pastries, while Cassian lifted the cake.

“Be careful with your bear paws,” she warned him sternly.

“Well, don’t stress me out!” he threw back, and they also disappeared inside the cavernous house, sniping and bickering playfully.

“Well, I don’t know what just happened there,” Azriel twirled his finger in the direction of his brothers, “but something did.”

Feyre’s place was wonderful, though very different from Elain’s. The floors were dark, old wide planks, the walls–exposed brick, shiplap, stucco, there were beams above, and soaring ceilings, impressive windows and all sorts of interesting industrial touches.

“I like our house better,” Azriel decided easily, after he looked around.

Elain smiled at his bluntness, finally taking off her coat. She sat on the arm of the sofa, and unzipped her boots. They were in a small sitting room, where Feyre usually watched TV. Just behind the wall, they heard laughter, clinking of glasses, and the arrival of more guests. Excited compliments of ‘Feyre, look at your tiara!’ ‘Fey are you wearing a crown?!’ ‘Feyre, you are a proper high noble lady’, ‘Should we call you Lady Feyre?’ and so on. They also heard Piglet squealing and galloping around, yelling wawabawa akwakwaka which was his usual call for snacks. Since he was ‘depressed’ earlier today, his snack consumption was quite low compared to his daily snack load.

It was only when Elain turned her head that she gasped and recoiled.

Because Azriel…

He was…

Well…

He was on one knee in front of her.

“Hi,” he smiled at her, seeing her shocked face.

“What…what are you…ohmygod…what are you doing?!”

She was literally hyperventilating.

Clutching the front of her dress, she was gasping like a fish, her face flushed.

“Elain, will you,” he began asking solemnly,

“YES!” she cried out, eyes wild. “Yes,”

“Give me your pretty foot,” he continued nonchalantly, smirking to himself.

“Wait, what?”

“Your foot, pretty girl,” he extended his hand out.

“You don’t want to…” her voice faded into a whisper.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“I am sure,” she hissed.

“So, you don’t want me to ask you to marry you?” he confirmed, while he took her foot and then pulled out her fancy high-heeled open toe pumps from the bag, and slid one on.

“No!” she shouted.

“No need to yell, beautiful,” he told her, working on the complex tie and clasp of the shoe.

On his knees

“I am not yelling,” she pouted.

“So you didn’t get excited when you saw me on one knee?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think that maybe, just maybe I’ll pull a ring out?”

“No!”

“Hmmm. You seem a bit upset, sweetheart.”

“I am not upset,” she folded her arms on her chest, as she bit her lip aggressively, trying to stifle the tears that threatened to fall.

“So you don’t want to marry me?” he pressed.

“No!” she repeated yet again.

“Hmmm,” he gave another annoying hum, and then took her left hand and squeezed her ring finger, before bringing it to his lips and kissing it. “And you don’t want a big diamond ring on this pretty little finger of yours?”

“No!”

“Okay, I am a little sad, as I was planning to stop by Cartier, but if you aren’t interested,”

“You are not going to do it!” she argued petulantly.

He shrugged, “who knows…But seeing as you aren’t interested anyway,”

Quickly she amended, “I am not not interested…”

“Oh no? Because I did think that you looked a bit devastated when you didn’t find me proposing.”

“I am not devastated. I was just surprised,” Elain insisted stubbornly.

He tied her second shoe and then bent to kiss her ankle.

“And if I did, propose that is, what would my Cinderella say to her Prince?”

He wrapped his big, warm hands over her bare legs, rubbing the backs of her knees slowly, as he waited for her answer.

“I don’t know! Can I say ‘yes’ after knowing you for 2 months?”

“You can say ‘yes’ after knowing me for two hours,”

“You called me a cow, and a prissy bird or something like that in the first two hours of our meeting,” she glowered at him.

“You implied that I couldn’t get it up,” he reminded her quickly.

“Ergh, I didn’t mean it,”

“Because I can certainly demonstrate–me getting it up pretty well,” he offered.

“So you keep saying.”

“And you keep denying me the opportunity,” he scolded, before kissing her hand again. “Look at me,” he ordered, and then lifted her chin, so their eyes met. “The truth is, at the end of the day, you are the one person I want to come home to. You are the only person who I want to tell about my day. You are the one who I want to share my happiness with, my sandnes, my frustrations. So, I’ll ask you, Elain Archeron. And you better say yes. Because there is no getting rid of me.”

Elain wiped her tears with her first. She didn’t even know why she was crying. Probably because she loved him. And the thought of him not asking her to be with him forever did in fact, devastate her.

“Why are you crying?” he asked gently.

“I dunno,” she admitted, wiping her tears again.

“You don’t have to cry. I am yours. I am.”

“You don’t have anyone else?”

“Nah…” then he stopped and looked at her guiltily, adding, “Well, I do…” he paused mysteriously and Elain gasped in silent horror.

“You do?!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah…”

“Who is she?”

“Oh, it’s a he,” he said immediately, grinning at her. “He is furry, likes snacks a lot, has three legs, snores and zooms,”

Through her tears, Elain smiled and then pushed him.

“Are you just going to traumatise me for the rest of the night?” she demanded, finally getting up.

“Do you like me on my knees in front of you, Miss Archeron?”

“That’s the least you can do for putting me through all this nonsense,” she looked down at her legs, her sexy shoes, and sighed.

“You are gorgeous. A girl of my dreams,”

“Apparently, that’s Rhys–he is in Feyre’s dreams,” Elain said dryly.

“Yeah, he is the girl of her dreams,” Azriel nodded and then rose up, while Elain laughed.

Cassian sat in an armchair, observing the revelry in front of him. He swirled his whiskey lazily around the tumbler, feeling mellow. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but he was under the influence for sure. It was a good feeling. The party-loving pug had arrived about fifteen minutes ago, definitely also under the influence of something, because he yawned widely and then raised his front paws, asking Cassian to pick him up. It looked like Piglet had decided that Cassian could join his secret and exclusive pug-pack and Cassian was only too happy to oblige. Now, Piglet was snoring blissfully, his head resting on Cassian’s thigh. Taking his pug-protector duties very seriously, Cassian scowled at anyone who attempted to disturb the sleeping pup, and considering his size and general appearance, no one dared to contradict him.

“Hey Nes,” he called out. “Come sit with me.”

Nesta, who was walking by, gave him her typical icy look and snapped, “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Nes?” he smiled playfully. “Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

He patted the seat next to him. It would be a snuggly fit for the two of them, since he took up so much space.

“What do you want?” she demanded, but he noticed that she didn’t exactly walk away.

“Come, sit with me. I’ll tell you a story.”

“I don’t want stories,”

“Sure you do, my prickly rose.”

“You are overly familiar, Mr. Night,” Nesta sipped her white wine, but Cassian reached out and held out his massive hand to her. And Nesta…Nesta…took it. He pulled her to him gently and she stepped closer, before he wrapped his arm around her waist and to her utter dismay, placed her next to him. Piglet moved onto his side, but didn’t wake up.

“The little beastie is tired,” Cassian murmured, his expression soft.

“What do you want, Mr. Night?” she tried again.

“You remind me of Elain,” he noted simply. “She is mad formal as well.”

“I don’t know you at all!”

“You can find out more. Whatever you want.”

“What do you do?” Nesta asked, squirming next to his massive, muscular body. God he was handsome. Azriel was handsome, hands down maybe the most handsome one out of the three–and that was saying something. Rhysand–not her type, but undeniably beautiful. But this one–objectively, he was probably the least classically handsome, yet to Nesta, he was simply stunning. Everything she didn’t know she liked he possessed. This size of his, the muscles, the strong features, the jet black silky hair tied into a haphazard bun.

“I am a sports agent,” he answered. “What about you?”

“A barrister.”

“I should’ve guessed. Here is what I think, Miss Archeron,”

“What?”

“You are a very successful, very beautiful, very lonely and very misunderstood woman,”

Nesta jolted in her place, her pale face colouring angrily, her brows knitting together at the audacity of his words. His expression remained calm, almost placid, though, unlike Azriel, this wasn’t a placid man. Undeterred he continued, “And I am guessing that you are knocking on 30 pretty soon, and you aren’t very happy with where you are in life. It should’ve been different, right?”

She attempted to get up, but he held her down, and tsked,

“Before you storm away, let me tell you something,”

“Leave me the hell alone!” she snarled. “You uncouth, rude bastard,”

He chuckled.

“Uncouth, huh? Cute. The Archeron girls are adorable. Now, look at them,” he jerked his head towards the crowd. Reluctantly, Nesta followed his gaze, and watched Elain and Azriel seated next to each other on top of the radiator cover, eating what looked like ice cream. Well, he was holding the bowl, but he was feeding Elain, who was licking the spoon, before he dunked it back into the ice cream, and took a swipe himself. She rested her head on his shoulder, both of her hands wrapped securely around his upper arm, holding onto him like she couldn’t let go.

It struck Nesta then–how relaxed Elain looked. Elain was always a little bit tense, unless she was with Piglet. She was especially tense around Eris, always worrying about his opinion, always desperate to please him, always seeking his approval, or a rare compliment. Elain worried about her figure, having been told by their mother that she was chubby and that she’d never get married, because men wanted a slender wife. Elain was insecure, old-fashioned, but bold and entrepreneurial, which made for a confusing combination. But never did Nesta observe Elain looking so…content. Happy. At ease. She held on to that big, tattooed, striking man and only had her eyes for him. It didn’t look like the rest of the world existed for her, because he was the centre of it.

“She is in love,” Nesta breathed, the realisation slamming into her like a hammer.

Azriel was in love, for a long time now, and of that she was sure. But Elain? Elain had fallen too.

Turning abruptly to Cassian, she found him with his hands clasped behind his head, looking mighty satisfied, with a proud smirk on his lips.

“What are you so happy about?” she demanded.

He tsked and said, “I set them up.”

“What are you on about?”

“Without me, they wouldn’t have met! I was the one who contacted her. I was the one who dragged him to meet with her. I was the matchmaker. And look how well I matched them. Now, obviously, this extends to Feyre and Rhys now. If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have met either,”

“Hold your horses with them! They just met tonight,”

“And yet he crowned her like she was his lady,” Cassian reminded her.

“Which was weird,”

“Rhys likes big gestures,”

“Alright, fine, what do you want? To quit your job as a sports agent and work with Elain as a Junior Matchmaker?”

At that, Cassian laughed, and woke up Piglet. The dog stretched, yawned and then rolled over and quickly located his ma and dad in the crowd. With a happy yip, he jumped off the chair and ran over to them.

Nesta turned away from Cassian, watching Azriel scoop some ice cream into a soup bowl and let Piglet slurp it all with messy gusto. Nesta knew how much Piglet loved a pup cup, and this was a pup cup on steroids. Elain and Azriel cooed and laughed over their dog, holding hands, watching him, commenting something to each other, and Nesta was struck by another revelation–they were a family. Somewhere along the road, somehow, the three of them formed a family of their own. And Elain was no longer just an Archeron. For almost thirty years, Nesta had her two sisters, and the three Archeron sisters were an unshakable, even somewhat notorious unit. They were regal and beautiful and available and wealthy. They were the Three Sisters. And now…She glanced at Elain again, who was back on the radiator cover, seated with her legs crossed and placed on Azriel’s lap, who held them tightly. Whatever he was saying, was making Elain laugh loudly, her head thrown back. The grouping of empty glasses near her probably played a role as well. But it stung Nesta somewhere deep in her chest. Her beloved sister was no longer hers. Her beloved sister was now beloved by someone else. Elain’s light and softness were well and truly melding with the untamed intensity of Azriel Night.

“The only one I want to matchmake for, is you,” Cassian said firmly. His tone was steady, but he said it in such a manner that Nesta turned to him, looking into his lovely luminous hazel eyes.

“And who are you setting me up with exactly?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Me.”

“You?”

“Me. You and I are going on a date.”

“Excuse me?” she almost choked on her wine.

“Why are you surprised, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, sweetheart. What do you say? Walk on the wild side? Me and you?” he winked at her.

“You are mad,” he concluded simply.

“Perhaps. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

She stood up from the chair, and he didn’t stop her this time. He just looked at her expectantly.

“Fine,” she said tersely.

Cassian smiled.

“I knew you were a smart girl.”

“I am already regretting it,” she warned.

“You won’t have any regrets. Once I am done with you, you’ll be asking for more and more dates.”

“Doubtful.”

“I’ll prove it.”

She threw him a withering glance, and added,

“The only reason I am saying yes to you is because,”

“My blinding handsomeness? All my bulging muscles? My mighty height? Wicked sense of humour? Winning personality?” he offered.

Nesta rolled her eyes and moaned, “Help me Lord. No, ridiculous man.”

“What then? What secret weapon do I possess that totally made you want to go out with me?”

“Piglet trusts you,” she shrugged, like it didn’t mean much.

“Oh…”

“And he doesn’t trust many people. I’ve been watching him. He trusts no one like he trusts Azriel. He even trusts Azriel with Elain! Which is unheard of. He is actually capable of leaving her with Azriel and not hovering like he is surgically attached to her. And when I saw today that he actually sought you out and slept next to,”

“That was the turning point?” Cassian chuckled. “The beastie trusting me?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s good to know. He is my wingman. Now, where the fuck is cake?! Are we cutting or what?”

“It’s a birthday, not a wedding,” Nesta reminded him. Cassian took her by the hand, soliciting a small girlish gasp of surprise from her.

“Yeah…not yet.”

Elain was standing, eating birthday cake, chatting with her old classmate Lucien, who was also one of Feyre’s closest friends. Lucien was also distantly related to Eris, which only confirmed yet again how incestuous their circle actually was. Azriel teased her about it, but he was actually correct in his observation.

Lucien’s been throwing confused glances in Azriel’s direction most of the night, as if trying to figure out who he was to Elain, and what the nature of their relationship was.

But he was too polite to ask, so instead, he joked, “So, when am I going to be set up with someone sexy, smart and successful? What am I, a wet herring?”

Elain laughed.

“All herrings are wet by default,” she told him, “I thought you weren’t interested in matchmaking?”

“I wasn’t. But seeing how well you are doing, I am eager to have you change my mind.”

“Are you ready then?” Elain asked seriously.

A year ago, Lucien was in a very serious car accident, where he lost his eyes in the aftermath. His longtime girlfriend left him shortly afterwards. He’s been devastated ever since, and wouldn’t venture out in any social situations, let alone dates. This was the first time that he decided to attend anything that had more than three guests, and only because he and Feyre went way back.

“I might be. I want to have someone looking at me the way you are looking at him,” and he nodded towards Azriel who was talking in a group of men.

Elain squirmed a bit and blushed at his insinuation.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Eris. Not my business,” he told her quickly.

“Thank you. But Eris hasn’t been in touch for weeks now. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“His loss. Maybe mine as well,” and he looked at her with a longing that made her almost uncomfortable. “But I don’t think it was ever meant to be–you and I.”

“I don’t think so,” she agreed. “We look good on paper. But maybe we don’t work so well as anything but friends.”

“The friendship is good,” Lucien decided, sipping some of his champagne. “Let’s do that. Let’s be friends.”

“And there might be someone of interest who could be a good potential,” Elain murmured thoughtfully, clearly thinking about something.

“Oh yeah?”

“But you’d have to be a client. Formally.”

“At least tell me her name!” he laughed. “What if she has a horrible name!”

“Nuala. How’s that? Can you live with that?”

“Oh. Nuala. I like it!”

“So, if you are serious, then ring me up after New Year’s and we’ll create your profile and will get to work.”

“And you think that this wouldn’t be an impediment?” he asked awkwardly, pointing to his face.

Elain looked at him and said seriously,

“For some, yes. For others, no. If they can’t see beyond the surface and not understand what you bring then it’s probably not a good match. Or a good person.”

Suddenly a familiar, very muscular, very big hand smacked Elain on the ass.

She whipped and hissed at the grinning Azriel. Piglet was at his feet, looking up, also grinning smugly.

Before she could unleash, Azriel quickly explained, “It’s my burden, beautiful. Every man’s burden–the need to smack his lady’s juicy rump whenever we are near it.”

“Oh, is that so!!” she exclaimed, while Lucien hid his smile in his champagne flute.

“Listen,” Azriel said somberly, like he was being serious. “It’s not easy. It’s not easy to have these…urges. You think I want to walk around, see your gorgeous arse, and be overcome by an intolerable need to slap it? And then I have to trudge and actually, you know, do it! Slap your yummy buns.”

“Yummy buns?!?!?”

“Oh goodness…” Lucien laughed. “I think I shall leave you two alone to discuss!”

“Not until you tell her that it’s an uncontrollable urge that all men suffer from?” Azriel insisted, wrapping his arm around Elain’s waist.

“Most of us do,” Lucien confirmed. “Not everyone acts on it though,”

“See, not everyone acts on it!” Elain elbowed Azriel and he bowed dramatically.

“I think it depends on the arse. Yours is too tempting not to smack.”

Once Lucien moved on to another group of guests, Azriel grabbed Elain by the hand and dragged her after him, with Piglet hot on their heels.

“You are not having messy sex with me in the closet!” she warned.

He didn’t answer, but threw her her coat and her boots, while lunging at Piglet and taking him by surprise before he could escape.

“Are we leaving?” Elain asked, looking around and at her coat in confusion.

“No. But put it on. We are gonna go out for a sec.”

She frowned at his abruptness, but took off her heels and pulled on her socks and then her boots, before tying her coat with a belt. Piglet was wearing his jacket too, though he looked unamused and put off by the fact that he wasn’t chased around. Azriel even pulled on Piglet’s knit hat, while he dressed himself, and then taking Elain’s hand, he had the three of them sneak out quietly.

The moment they were outside, Elain gasped softly and threw her head back.

The world had turned white.

Snow.

Thick, fluffy piles of snow had fallen in the past few hours and now covered everything in pristine brilliant whiteness. It swirled in the lemony light of street lights, falling silently all around them.

Piglet looked up, awed.

This was a new and beautiful thing that he didn’t remember from before. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he caught snowflakes on his nose, licking his lips loudly. Then, with a happy howl, Piglet burst forth and galloped through the snow, rolling in it and screeching joyfully.

Elain bounced on her heels, clapping her hands excitedly, laughing and also trying to catch some snowflakes on her tongue.

“This is better than sex in the closet!” she giggled, spreading her arms wide.

Azriel came behind her and wrapped his arm across her chest.

“Fuck sex,” he whispered into her ear, his lips warm and tender on her cold skin. She shivered at the proximity, because of how good he smelled, and because he enveloped her in his warmth and his bigness. He continued, his cheek scraping against her own.

“I am trying to be your home, you know. Your safe place. Your go-to person for happy and for sad. I am looking to be the reason you smile, and laugh and clap your hands.”

“Az,” she breathed and turned in his arms, looking up at him. Her chocolate-brown eyes were filled with tears. Tears of love. They rolled silently over her cheeks, while Azriel smiled down at her and whispered,

“We're still gonna have rough sex though.”

Before she could answer, he gently took her jaw in his fingers and tilted her face so it lined up with his.

“I want to kiss you, Elain,” he said seriously, his breath fanning over her lips.

“Kiss me then,” she permitted. Thick, white clumps of snow fell on Azriel’s black hair, his eyelashes, her hands that clutched at his shoulders. Her tears dried up and she breathed heavily, disoriented and aroused at once.

And then, Azriel kissed her.

His lips were heavenly.

Soft and light at first, tentative and gentle.

She tensed against him, the bulk of his body shielding her from the world. And in this world, in her world, there was only him.

His kiss was tender, but firm, luxuriant and dominant at once. He gripped her face in his massive hands, squeezing tightly and holding her in place, but his lips were soft and loving on her mouth. He didn’t hurry, but tasted her thoroughly, enjoyed the scent of her sugar- and wine-tinted mouth. She tasted delicious–like he always thought she would. Butter and honey and pastry and everything nice. Everything that was Elain. She was sweet and homey and familiar, and he felt like he’d kissed her a million times before.

His tongue parted her lips at last, and he continued his exploration, but it grew hungrier and more urgent as the kiss progressed. A groan of primal, animalistic pleasure escaped his throat, reverberating against her lips and Elain trembled in his arms, growing hot and needy, despite the falling snow and the sharp wind.

She felt consumed by him, and yet, worshipped at the same time. Just like always. He ignited feelings in her which she’d never experienced before–didn’t even think that she was capable of them. It was raw and hot, and left her feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed. Elain didn’t care about anything at that moment, nothing but Azriel Night, the man she came to love so desperately and completely.

She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding the back of his head, while he cupped her head and delved deeper into her mouth, licking and sucking on her tongue. His other hand fell away from her face and slipped down her back, before pressing into her hip and pushing her closer to him.

Elain was well aware of his general size and how he was big everywhere. But feeling him now, thick and hard against her belly, definitely aroused–finally made her feel like a woman. She felt desired. Needed. Wanted. Big, strong, powerful, towering Azriel, and she was his undoing right now. Little Elain, whom no one took seriously. Azriel Night was kissing her. Panting for her. Growling in his chest like a beast because of how she made him feel.

She didn’t know that she needed this kiss until his mouth took possession of hers. To say that she’d never been kissed like this before was an understatement of the century. Azriel licked and sucked on her mouth, nipping on her lips, biting them until they were swollen beneath his. It was then that she released a ragged, pitiful moan of pleasure, because he ground himself between her legs and her breasts rubbed into his solid chest, intensifying her pleasure, making her feel everything.

“This is the sound I want to hear when I am inside of you,” he murmured into her mouth, kissing her lightly, before clamping his teeth over her jaw.

Elain felt his heart pounding against her own, and she howled into the night when he bit her neck, sucking in on the delicate skin and marking her as his anew. He sucked and bit her and she staggered back, almost falling out of his arms. He didn’t let go of her, but only growled like a beast, panting into her skin, his lips and teeth working themselves deep into her flesh, while his arms banded around her. Elain gasped from the pain and the sublime pleasure, because hearing him grunt and growl like that might have been the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he whispered, returning to her lips and kissing her hard and sloppily. She loved this untamed, wild side of him, where he lost his control and revealed the true nature of him and his utter obsession with her. “To me. You belong to me,” he chanted. “Mine.”

“Yours,” she nodded, kissing his lips, kissing his eyes, then his tongue, then his lips again. She was the one to lose control of the situation just as well. If he wanted to fuck her against the wall of her sister’s house, she’d let him. She was achy everywhere, tense and wet between her legs, and when he boldly thrust his hand under her dress, and between her damp thighs, he smiled.

His thumb brushed against her slit, and between kisses he asked, “all for me?”

“All for you,” she nodded, biting his neck hard and leaving teeth marks on his skin.

“I guess you want me to be yours as well?” he joked, and then pulled his hand away from her pussy and licked his thumb. Before she could answer, he kissed her again, his tongue sliding against hers and allowing her to taste her own essence. It felt forbidden and scandalous and not something that Elain’s done before, but she liked it. She liked everything. And this kiss…it was unreal. It was unreal in its intensity and its pure eroticism. Who could even kiss like that? Apparently Azriel Night could. She was buzzing. Head to toe she was shivering, her fingers and toes were tingling, her tongue couldn’t get enough of him, of his taste, of how he felt against her own tongue.

Once they pulled apart to get some air into their lungs, Azriel smiled at her and rubbed his cold nose against hers.

“Can I kiss you now any time I want to?” he asked.

“Yes!!” she just about yelled. “And I will be kissing you!”

He clasped his hands on the small of her back and kissed her again, “well, that’s brilliant, because I really, really like kissing you.”

He then reached between their bodies and said, “Now, look what I have!”

“What?”

From his pocket, he took out a…carrot.

“Stole it from Fey,” he said conspiratorially, as if it explained something to the very perplexed Elain.

He grabbed her hand and said, “come on! We are building a snowman!”

“Now?”

“Well, of course now!” he said, looking at her like she was silly. “Next year we might be building one with our baby. This year, we gotta build it with our fur son.”

“What baby?!” she gasped, as he tugged her along, to the clearing where Piglet was burrowing through the snow, rolling in it and howling with excitement.

“You know–son, daughter. Baby.”

“We are having a baby now?”

“Starts with kissing, ends with a baby. That’s how it is.”

“I wasn’t planning on having any babies,” Elain argued feebly, but he only said, “plans change’.

The snow was thick and wet, but there wasn’t heaps of it, since it was London, after all.

“You do the head, I’ll do the base,” Azriel instructed, assessing the situation and figuring that they’d have enough snow for a small, modest snowman.

Turned out that Elain sucked at making a snowman. She wasn’t wearing gloves and her hands kept getting cold, so Azriel needed to continuously interrupt his own work, so he could blow into and kiss her freezing palms, which only descended into more kissing…mouth kissing. Meanwhile, their stupid pug kept destroying the round snow mounds that they managed to construct by jumping into them and rolling around happily. Elain’s boots were soaked through as well, so by the time Azriel finally managed to roll a decent base, he had to give his girl a piggyback ride, because she was freezing and shaking, while laughing uproariously. She was also filming his work on her phone, while Piglet hopped around them, trying to understand what was happening. Hanging precariously off Azriel’s back, Elain finally managed to roll a decent-enough ball, which they hefted together and carefully placed on top of the other ball.

“Pink, we need a stick,” Azriel instructed, and Piglet took off before Azriel even finished talking.

“Whoa,” he breathed, as Elain laughed, her arms wrapped around his neck, and her lips constantly making contact with his face. “I guess he really wanted that stick.”

Piglet returned with a stick, tossed it to Azriel, who fashioned one arm out of it, before sending the pug to fetch another. Soon their snowman had two arms, a couple of coins for eyes, and then, with great fanfare, Elain pushed the carrot into the head.

She barely managed to take a few photos and a short video for Piglet’s Insta account, before he began to circle the snowman curiously, barking and growling at it, and then attacking it viciously.

“Why are you so mean?!” Elain cried. “You are supposed to be gentle with it! Don’t eat it!”

Oh yeah, he was gonna eat it.

Piglet savagely munched on pieces of the snowman, licking and pulling clumps of snow, smacking his lips.

“Fucking animal,” Azriel laughed, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Elain. “Are you cold?”

“I am,” she nodded. “But I don’t want to go back inside. This is so much fun!”

“Yeah? What else is fun?” he teased.

She drew her knuckles over his cheek, his now-wet hair and then stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cold mouth. He didn’t have to be asked twice and quickly took over, capturing her sweet mouth with his and eagerly coaxing her plump, buttery-scented lips apart. She whimpered against him, especially when his hands boldly slid to cup the curve of her behind, slipping beneath the coat and making her shiver from the cold. She didn’t care. She sighed warmly and deliciously into his mouth and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, her cold, wet fingers tangling in his hair. Caressing his tongue with her own she opened up eagerly to the kiss, and Azriel responded in kind, deepening the caress of his tongue, kissing her filthy and hot, his lips both teasing, and dominating at once. It was dirty and open-mouthed, her kisses loud and maddeningly sticky, rendering his brain to almost naught–all he saw and felt was his gorgeous girl, finally, nearly all his.

Elain moaned against him and Azriel…pulled away abruptly and yelled, “Piglet! The fuck, you weirdo?!”

Elain turned around and gasped in shock, not knowing whether to scream, cry or laugh. So she did all three–laughing so hard, that tears sprung in her eyes.

Because Piglet burrowed into the snowman and successfully pulled out the carrot, which he was now crunching on, though it looked like he was making out with the snowman.

“Dr. Hannibal Piglet Lecter,” Azriel muttered. “Fucking savage pug.”

Azriel grabbed her phone and filmed the carnage.

From Piglet's Instagram: The carrot is no more

“This should pay for his upkeep for a month,” he said, knowing that the video will garner a million likes and comments.

Gripping the half-eaten carrot in his mouth Piglet rushed to them and demanded that Azriel pick him up.

“That’s it? You just give up?” Azriel laughed, as he grabbed the dog and pulled Elain closer to him.

When they returned to the house, the first thing they were greeted by was Nesta and Cassian, glaring at them and arms crossed on their chests.

“We saw you making out!” Cassian declared like he was Mother Superior at a convent.

“Guess the two of you failed as chaperones!” Azriel shrugged indifferently, while he helped Elain out of her coat.

“We didn’t fail!” Nesta bristled. “You two are out of control!”

Little did she know.

The next day

Dev arrived around 11:30 am. He hadn’t asked Azriel this yet, but he had wondered where Azriel planned to live once he and Elain got married. Elain’s house made much more sense for a family, not to mention that her office was here as well. But if Azriel was going to move here, Dev needed to consider where he was going to move as well. Russell Square, Holborn, Fitzrovia were really out of his budget. Azriel paid well, but these were some prime locations, and he’d have to rob a bank to afford something nice. Shame that he wasn’t a footballer who grew up with a billionaire duke, or a little heiress who inherited a damn mansion just because. Considering her sister’s place last night, Dev definitely thought that it was better to be born wealthy and healthy, than poor and ill.

The pug came out first, dressed in a full on morning suit, with a pale blue silk tie no less. He barked his greeting and headed for the car.

“Shake?” Dev asked, extending his hand. Piglet gave him his paw. Then Elain and Azriel came out of the house, holding hands like teenagers. No doubt about it, his old mate Azriel Night, the quiet, scarred boy whom Dev met in a group home when they were around eleven was in love. Azriel, who didn’t say much, leaving the talking to his rambunctious brother Cassian, but who possessed incredible speed, the ability to appear and disappear like a ghost, and a mean left hook that could fall even a grown man in a few seconds–that Azriel was now all grown up. And Dev was proud of him. Azriel deserved something good in his life. Something nice. Something pure and genuine. And this sweet little matchmaker of his, this fancy noble Lady and her posh pug somehow, amazingly, fit the bill.

Azriel opened the car door for Elain, and just as she climbed inside, he slapped her arse.

“I am a gentleman, baby,” he announced. “Always a man, not always gentle.”

“You can’t be like this in front of my father!” she warned.

“Oh, meeting the family?” Dev chuckled. “You ready for that, big man?”

“I’d have to meet him one day,” Azriel shrugged. “Guess today is the day.”

“So, where to? Kensington Palace? Buckingham?” Dev joked. Would he be terribly surprised of Elain said ‘yes’? not really.

“Mayfair,” she said. “Mount St.”

Of course. Dev wasn’t even surprised. An ultra posh street with Balenciaga, Rubinacci and exclusive jewellery stores, a caviar and champagne restaurant Scott’s, as well as the luxury Connaught hotel where basic rooms went for 1,000 quid a night.

“We usually go to Annabel’s for all of our birthdays,” Elain explained, and both Azriel and Dev shook their heads.

“Let me guess. Dad is a member?” Azriel chuckled. Annabel’s was an elegant private club with a dance floor for the famous, the dressed-up and the well-heeled.

Elain pursed her lips, indicating that he was.

“So why not today?”

“Feyre texted and said that we should go to dad’s,” Elain said. “Said to bring you,”

“Oh boy. I am getting somewhat nervous,” he joked, but Dev, who knew Azriel for a long, long time, noticed a note of worry in his friend’s voice. Azriel was all jokes and nonchalance and elegant swagger, but he was going to meet the father of the girl he loved. And that meant something. It was important.

It wasn’t a long drive and Dev soon parked next to a massive, three story Edwardian mansion. It was red brick with white trim and actual columns. Piglet barked excitedly, recognising the place.

“You’re going to go see grandpa?” Elain asked, stroking his head. Piglet barked again, raring to go.

“Whenever I have to leave him with my father–especially if I go on a holiday–I come back, and it’s basically ‘I shall require organic vegetables three times a day with freshly churned butter. A pup cup of the finest double cream delivered daily and milked from a prized cow in Oxfordshire. For dinner, I shall dine on a lightly seared steak, a bit of duck confit and a brioche toast. Oh, and a couple of mini cannoli straight from Naples’.”

“Somehow, I am not even a little bit surprised,” Azriel admitted and Dev nodded in agreement.

“The level of spoiling that he receives from my father is criminal.”

Azriel told himself that he was not nervous, when Elain took his arm, and they walked under the portico, the doors opening as if by magic.

There was a butler, who greeted them and called Elain ‘Lady Elain’. They walked through wide marble hallways and sitting rooms, Azriel feeling decidedly out of place even if he wouldn’t show it. Piglet tore through the house, howling happily, unconcerned about anything, and by the time they saw him next, it was in the dining room where a middle-aged gentleman was cooing and hugging the pug, rocking him like he was a baby.

To Azriel’s surprise, Nesta was here too, but also Cassian–which was unexpected, to say the least. Cassian raised his shoulders, indicating that he had no idea why he was here, though it didn’t look like he was greatly burdened by the company.

“Daddy!” Elain went to her father and he smiled at her.

“Good morning, pumpkin,”

Pumpkin? That made Azriel smile. But the nickname fit. She was his little pumpkin.

“Please meet Mr. Azriel Night,” Elain introduced them. “My father, Sir Charles Archeron.”

“Arsenal captain,” the older man nodded knowingly. “My girls are Tottenham fans. I am an Arsenal man myself. Though I do enjoy rugby a lot as well.”

“I am slowly pulling Elain and Piglet to my side,” Azriel teased.

“Oh, I saw all the photos on that Instagram that Elain has for the pup. He looked like a Gunner born and bred.”

Azriel laughed, “You follow him too?”

“How can I not,” he squeezed Piglet lovingly. “Barring my girls giving me actual grandchildren, this is so far, my only grand-pup,” he said dramatically.

Nesta rolled her eyes. Elain rolled her eyes.

And both groaned.

“This is what happens every time I mention grandchildren,” Mr. Archeron complained.

Just as he said the words, Rhys entered the room, holding a champagne flute, with Feyre on his arm.

“Oh, you’ve arrived!” Feyre exclaimed with a wide smile. “I was just showing Rhys around.”

“Why are we all here, by the way?” Nesta asked impatiently. “I was looking forward to Annabel’s.”

“Forgive the change of plans,” Rhysand said breezily. “We’ll be sure to go to Annabel’s soon.”

“Well then, what is it?” Nesta sipped her mimosa, while silent servants circulated around the room with trays of champagne. “We are all here now.”

“I am curious myself,” Mr. Archeron agreed, while he gave Piglet a piece of cheese. “And I am pleasantly surprised to see my three daughters with such fine gentlemen. All here together, today.”

Nesta was about to protest the implication that she was here with Cassian, but Cassian put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, effectively quieting her down.

Rhysand and Feyre exchanged a glance, and then he said,

“Feyre and I got married earlier today. She is now Marchioness Feyre Archeron-Darling, Lady Darling. My wife.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #A Match Baked In Heaven #elriel fanfic #Elriel Fanfiction #my writing #acotar fanfiction #Three Brothers and three sisters #THe Bat Boys and the Archeron sisters #my fanfic #new chapter

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entishramblings · 1 year

Text

The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 3 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: and I present part 3 to you!!!! Enjoy!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count:

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist

That night, they settled into a camp rather late, for Aragorn and Gandalf wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the bloodbath. So, exhausted and worn down, they huddled by the fire, doing the tasks they must attend to.

(Y/N), on the other hand, was still covered in orc blood. It was like a second skin at this point. A hardened, cracked shell of war. But it seemed she didn't want to wear such a thing, for she walked towards the river that ran by the edge of their camp. Immediately, she began to peel her clothing off, as well as the bandage upon her wing.

Instantly, all the men adverted their eyes and went about their tasks—building a fire, making food, treating minor scratches, taking a leak, etc.

The winged woman let her body drift into the water. It wasn't deep, not enough for a swim, for it hung around her waist calmly. Still, she crouched down and dipped her head under, letting it wash over her entire form. She stayed under the smooth liquid, allowing it to envelope her.

When she came up, she inhaled slowly. She felt much better, much cleaner. The water, as cold as it was—especially at the night—felt good on her skin. The movement of the river took away all the grim, dirt, and blood from not only her body but her wings. It rippled through each feather, cleaning off anything that lingered. Additionally, it felt relaxing and soothing on her injury. The water was almost healing in a sense.

(Y/N) spent much time in the river, letting it loosen her muscles, but as the chill began to settle, she decided to opt to spend time near the fire. Therefore, she rose from the water, gathered her dirty clothes in her arms, and approached the men once again.

She dropped the fabric in a pile on a log and stood before the flames.

Aragorn cleared his throat awkwardly. "(Y/N), where are your clothes?"

She, seemingly not having any qualms about being bare before them, gestured to the fabric. "They are bloody."

Legolas glanced up and instantly, his lips parted. Of course, from Aragon's words he had expected her to be naked—again—but he hadn't expected....this. She was absolutely ethereal. Legolas, of course, had seen her body considering the circumstances, but now...Valar. She stood before them with all the dirt, ash, and blood finally washed away. Her wet skin sparkled in the firelight, golden hues dancing upon the smooth flesh. Water dripped from every bend and twist of her body, running down in simple streams. But it was those wings of hers that held his attention. Originally, he had thought them to be a shimmery gray color. Now, however, he could see they weren't. They were clean of all harsh elements. Extending from her back, bright white with reflective colorful hues of pinks, blues, and yellows danced upon each feather. They practically glowed in the flame's lingering kiss. She was beautiful.

"You have to wear clothes," Aragorn's voice drawled on.

Legolas, blinking, averted his eyes again.

She crossed her arms. "Why?"

"Because that is what we do in this world." He gestured to all the men. "We are all wearing clothes."

Boromir cleared his throat. "She may use my extra tunic."

All eyes drifted to him with confusion as he stood.

He awkwardly brought the fabric to the woman. As he handed it to her, he spoke gently. "Thank you for fighting for us today. We would not have had such a good chance if you were not there."

(Y/N) tilted her head for a moment, those curious eyes, once again, staring into his soul, until she finally nodded in acceptance.

He turned to walk away, but she spoke again, holding the fabric close to her body. "What were they?"

Each person glanced around at the other, unsure what to say.

Boromir, however, answered. "They are orcs. Beasts bred for a vile purpose."

Legolas, thinking of his previous conversation with Gandalf, decided to add to Boromir's statement with the intent to pry into (Y/N)'s knowledge of good vs. evil. Even though he heard such horrid tales from the wizard, he still believed she could be good—that she could be kind and caring. "These orcs, they serve someone who is trying to harm us," he said.

"Why?"

Once again, eyes shifted nervously.

"We carry something that they want."

She frowned. "Why do you carry it?"

"To destroy it," he replied. "We are taking it to be destroyed so many will not be subject to harm."

"To help?" she questioned, looking for a simple answer. She seemed to like simple answers.

Legolas nodded. "Yes, to help. We want to help save the world and its people."

She bobbed her head up and down in understanding.

Surprisingly, it was Frodo who spoke. "(Y/N), do you want to help us do it?"

The air went absolutely silent at that question.

"Will it help you?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Then I will help."

A breath, that none realized they had been holding, seemed to slip back into the atmosphere.

(Y/N), however, did not pick up on such relief. Instead, she began pulling the tunic over her head, struggling to get it to lay correctly with her wings.

Legolas, seeing this, sighed in dismay. It was sad, really.

He stood upright. "Let me help." He approached her and began to pull the fabric over her body. It hung low and loosely in her front, but the back was simply not going to happen.

"Sam," he called out, "Could you pass me a blanket?"

The hobbit nodded and scrambled to get one to the elf. Legolas then wrapped it around (Y/N)'s waist, tying it taught, like a skirt.

"Aragorn, we will be needing to get her clothing that will fit her. Maybe the next town or market?"

He shook his head. "We can't risk getting too close."

"We cannot have her going on like this," he replied. "If she is to journey with us, she needs adequate clothing."

"How will we even get her into a town, Legolas? Those wings—"

(Y/N) interrupted. "Wings go away."

Both men twisted to look at her, unsure of what she meant.

"(Y/N)," Legolas began softly. "They are a part of you. We can't cut them off."

She shook her head. "No. They go inside when not broken."

Aragorn's lips parted, realizing what she was saying. "They retract," he blurted.

She nodded.

"That will make things easier, we wont have to get anything custom sewed. We can just purchase pre-made clothing in a size that will fit. It would be in and out rather quickly," Legolas said.

Pippin interjected into their conversation. "If we're gonna be going into a town, why don't we stay the night? Get a nice bed. Some fine ale and comforts!"

"And stock up on some more food, Strider!" Sam added.

Aragorn shook his head. "A night is too risky."

Gimli chimed in. "Nay, it's not. Not if it's only one night and we mind our own business."

"We are a strange group, Gimli, are we not? People would likely ask questions if we came bumbling in."

"So we split up," Boromir said. "We go in separate groups, a couple to a room. This far east the hobbits can pass as children."

Aragorn, inhaled deeply, seemingly thinking it through. After a moment, though, he nodded. "Fine. But it all depends on those wings. When will they be able to retract?"

Legolas frowned. "Let me look at the injury." He turned back to the woman. "(Y/N), may I?"

She nodded, bringing the wing down from its height. Legolas then began examining it, being sure to be careful...and cautious considering he now knew how much of a weapon they really were.

He frowned.

"What? What is it?" Aragorn said, worried.

He shook his head. "Nay, nothing is wrong. It's just—it is healing quickly. Much faster than such an injury should."

"She is Rámaite Mahtar," Gandalf stated simply. "Their bodies are designed for war. That includes healing. An injury that should take months or even years can be healed in a matter of weeks."

"The wing should be fully repaired within a couple of days, I believe," Legolas said. "It did receive a minor setback today with all the fighting, but it is nearly fixed. Let me put another poultice on it and wrap it for the night."

Aragorn dipped his head.

The fellowship drifted to their bed rolls with small smiles of excitement, for they much so desired one night of comforts.

"Is that alright?" Legolas asked. "If I treat the wound again?"

(Y/N) looked up at him and nodded, sitting down upon the grass. They had done it enough times now that it was now a regular occurrence, but Legolas always asked permission.

As Legolas worked, (Y/N)'s eyes drifted closed and her body relaxed. Legolas knew she was tired. The battle was probably exhausting—even more so if he considered the fact that she may have been in chains for eons...and most definitely tortured considering Morgoth was the one who watched her prison. His heart filled with sadness as he thought of that. It must have been so painful. So horrible.

Sam, the sweet hobbit, had come by them and collected (Y/N)'s dirty clothing. He began washing it in the river. Legolas sent him a grateful smile as he did so, for it was an act of complete kindness. He knew the little hobbit was doing it as a thank you for saving them. If she wasn't there, at least some of them would have been dead. Legolas knew that. He had fought in enough battles. Besides, considering they would need to keep moving tomorrow, clean clothing was a necessity. The makeshift fabric upon her form now would not hold in such terrain.

With curiosity tugging in the corners of his mind, Legolas decided to speak to (Y/N). Maybe he could get some answers from her, different from the biased ones Gandalf told him. "(Y/N), where were you before you came to us."

She opened her eyes and stared right into Legolas. Time seemed to stretch on as she examined his gaze, seemingly wondering if she should tell him or not.

"I was...I was in the dark," she replied softly.

He gently touched her wrist with the bruises that were now almost faded. "Is that where those came from?"

She looked down at his hand upon hers and nodded. "Yes."

"How long were you there for?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Long."

He began moving his thumb in soft circles of comfort as he spoke again in that same gentle tone. "Did they hurt you there?"

(Y/N) blinked, turning her head way. "Yes."

Sensing that that was all the information he was going to get tonight, he ceased his questions and went back to tending to her wing. He didn't want to push.

After a couple of moments, however, she turned back to face him.

At first, he thought maybe she was going to tell him more of her life. But she did not speak.

Instead, her gaze did not move from his expression. Damn those beautiful curious eyes. They bore into him fiercely. So much so, that he stopped his task and looked up. "Is there something wrong, (Y/N)?"

"Why," she began as she reached her hand forward, her palm cupping his cheek.

Slightly startled, he sucked in a shaky breath. She had never touched him like...like this. She had grabbed at his arm when wanting his attention. She had pulled on his limbs to stop herself from slipping on the rough terrain (he assumed she normally would fly because legs didn't seem to really be her thing). And she had smacked him in the face with her wing when she didn't care enough to avoid his form when he was 'in her way.'

Her finger extended to touch his ear. "Why are yours pointed?"

Legolas, squeezing his eyes shut, noticeably shivered at her touch. He was quick to grab her hand and pull it from his ear.

She frowned at him, clearly unhappy at his lack of consent.

"I, uh," he stuttered. "They are pointed because I am an elf. Aragorn and Boromir are human. Gimli is a dwarf. The hobbits, well, they are hobbits. Their ears are also pointed. Gandalf is a wizard. We are all different races, so we are all different.

(Y/N) looked to Aragorn and Boromir before looking back at Legolas. "What is the difference besides ears?"

He raised a brow as he started to wrap the wing in bandages once again. "Between elves and humans?"

She nodded.

"Well, elves have better senses—sight, touch, smell, hearing, and even taste. We are stronger and faster. We, uh, also live for many more years. We live until we are killed."

"I live until killed," she replied simply.

His blue eyes drifted upwards, surprised by her words. "Is that so?"

She nodded. "Yes." She then looked to the others before looking back at the Prince. "Will you be...be..." She frowned, clearly searching for a word. "When they are gone will you be like—like when there are no more sausages left."

Legolas chuckled lightly. "You mean sad?"

"Sad?" she questioned.

He bobbed his head. "Yes." He then tapped her heart lightly. "Sad is when it hurts in here."

She nodded. "Yes. Sad."

Legolas sighed. "I suppose, I will be sad. They are my friends and I do not wish to have them absent from my life. It will be very hard to see them eventually pass from this world if they do not die on this mission."

"I am your friend."

He smiled at her, tucking the last of the fabric into a taught spot. "Yes, you are."

Her next words seemed too abruptly blurt out. "I will also be sad."

"You will?"

(Y/N) nodded. "Yes. I like friends." She then reached forward, grabbing a lock if his hair in her hand. She began to twist it between her fingers. "We will still be friends, yes? Even when they are....gone."

Legolas gently reached up and untangled her fingers from his hair. "Yes, if that is what you want."

She nodded.

"Very well then." He stood from his kneeling position. "I have first watch tonight. You should get some rest." With that, he stood up and took post at the front of the camp, his bow held in his hand.

(Y/N) exhaled as she watched him standing as still as a hunter looking for prey. For some reason, she wanted to stand with him. Instead, however, she turned and moved towards the hobbits who were already attempting to sleep.

"Ow! Pip! You are steeling all the blankets!"

"Yeah! It's cold. Give me some!"

"Oi! You've taken them all!"

"I did not!!!"

(Y/N) frowned as she sat upon her blanket about five feet away.

"Give 'em back, Merry!"

"You are the one with all of them!"

(Y/N) flared out her wings from their dropping position with a rather loud snap, drawing everyone's attention—including the hobbits. She didn't pay mind to the stares though. Instead, she turned on her side, facing away from the hobbits, and let both her wings lower over them like that of a blanket.

"Oh," one whispered quietly.

"This–this is very nice."

"Very warm. Much better than a blanket!"

She did not speak. She let her eyelids close as she drifted to sleep. The hobbits soon followed.

A couple of hours later, Aragorn approached Legolas and stood beside him for a moment before speaking. "It is my turn for watch, mellon nin (my friend)."

"I don't know if I could sleep right now," the elf replied.

The man did not turn to look at him. "Because of (Y/N)?"

Legolas swallowed dryly.

"I saw the two of you earlier. When you were binding her wing. She touched your ear. A very intimate act for your people."

"She doesn't know any better."

Aragorn raised a brow. "You didn't correct her though."

"I removed her hand."

"That is not enough. Part of me thinks you didn't want to tell her."

Legolas shifted. "She just wouldn't understand if i tried too."

"She has learned a lot in the past three weeks. I bet she would understand if you explained it to her. You are the one teaching her the most." He cleared his throat, his tone changing into one of slight teasing. "Wonder why that is?"

The elf cleared his throat. "Gandalf says that the Rámaite Mahtar can't tell the difference between good and evil. That they can't feel things like we do. But I think he is wrong. I think they can."

"Do you hope that she may feel something for you?"

Legolas tried to hide the red hue that danced upon his cheeks. "That is not what I meant." He turned to face his friend. "She asked me about how I would feel when you all died and I was left living."

"What did you say?"

"She was the one who described sadness. She just didn't know the word for it."

"And?"

"And she said she would be sad too because she would also still be here."

Aragorn's eyes drifted toward her and the hobbits under her wing before focusing back on Legolas. "She is immortal then?"

The Prince nodded. "Unless slain."

"Like you."

He nodded. "Yes."

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Why don't you rest?"

Legolas sighed. He knew he should.

Therefore, with only a quick dip of the head, the elf departed from his friend. Aragorn's words burned into his mind. He knew what the man was trying to say. He knew what he had meant.

The Prince laid down upon his back on his mat, only a couple of feet away from (Y/N). He let his head turn to the side, watching her sleep, until he too drifted into the land of dreams. However, only a couple of hours passed before he was jolted awake by a heavy mass smacking into him.

With a loud gasp, he tried to sit upwards and reach for his bow. He did not get very far.

Pinned to the ground, he frantically looked around himself with wide eyes in an attempt to see the enemy that knocked the air from his lungs. But he saw no enemy. No, he only saw a white fluffy wing covering his form—the bandaged part only two feet to the left of his chin. Legolas, still breathing heavily, turned his head to look at (Y/N).

She had rolled onto her stomach in her sleep. Her other wing, the uninjured one, still laid peacefully over the hobbits.

Legolas glanced at the wing on his chest again. Then back to her. Then over to the chuckling from the edge of camp.

Aragorn, smirking, sent him a look.

Legolas rolled his eyes before letting his head fall back to the ground with a loud huff. He didn't make any motion to do anything about the wing upon his chest. He just let it rise and fall with his breath.

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satninroses · 11 months

Note

Hey is there a possibly way I could get a fix of reader standing up for Elvis against the corneal, and being a unmovable rock for him in his toughest times.

Because I love You

(A/N) 1 more off the list :) This one was cute! I hope you like it Nonnie! Also, look out for the drabble list later tonight!

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Word count: 1,344

Warnings: Passing Out, Mentions of Drugs, and Swearing

The last thing Elvis could see before passing out was the vauge outline of you. You were running towards him with… was it worry etched on your face? Before he could make a move to get closer to you, he had passed out cold backstage.

“Oh god, someone please call an ambulance or, or get a doctor! Please!” You yelled frantically to anyone that would listen. At the sound of your voice in such a worried state, Jerry bent down beside you and Elvis to comfort you. He rubbed your back as you tried to get Elvis to wake up. Jerry was also barking orders about water and ice to get him.

Scrambling feet and loud voices calling 911 filled your senses. “(Y/N). It’s going to be ok. We’re gonna get him to a hospital and have him look at, ok?” Came Jerry’s sweet voice. Tears welled in your eyes and you stared back. “What if this isn’t like last time? What if he can’t wake up? Please, god please let him live.” You sobbed out. Your grip on Elvis tightened and you leaned into his face. “Please wake up baby. Please wake up baby. Please wa-“

“My, what is going on here?” Came the Colonel. You whipped your head back at him and looked him in the eyes. “It’s Elvis! He isn’t feeling well! W-we have to get him to a doctor, please!” You spoke frantically.

You had quite the disdain for Tom Parker. In Elvis’ words, he was nothing more than a blood-sucking vampire. Night after night, Elvis would come home tired, hungry, exhausted, and everything in between. You kept yourself quiet as to not upset Elvis. You knew that Tom Parker was the reason Elvis was where he was today and you were forever grateful for that. However, it came with its fair share of problems as well. Elvis would be overworked to death most nights. He could barley make it up the stairs to your shared bedroom without collapsing half way up them and in need of your assistance.

You loved Elvis more than anything and it hurt to sit and watch him kill himself for the sake of the music industry. Colonel on the other hand, could care less about it. As long as Elvis was up and ready to preform and making him money, he didn’t care about the poor boy. This enraged you to no end. As much as you wanted to slap some sense into Parker, you also wanted to slap some sense into Elvis. He needed to see that he was being used for his talent and skill.

“Oh, do not worry girl. He will be up to perform. Jerry, get him some of this pills we were talking about earlier. That will wake him up!” You shot your head over to Jerry and gave him an unreadable expression. This look turned into tears, and heavy ones too. “You’re his best friend! You giving him drugs? Have you all known about this?!” You were in a full blown panic attack by time anyone could reach down and comfort you.

“Mrs. Presley, I understand your concern but our boy will be just fine with some of these painkillers. They have things in them that will make him feel better.” The colonel spoke stoically.

“DRUGS. That’s what they’re called! Don’t beat around the bush with me. You stood here and let him KILL HIMSELF just so you could make some money? You’re disgusting! You sit there and, and you think you’re his savior? God-sent warrior? You’re KILLING him you piece of shit!” You blew up on Parker. Your voice dropped in venom from pent-up hatred for him. His eyes widened as well as some of the backstage crew members standing around. “For too long I’ve sat here while you turned him into a brainless zombie. It ends NOW. Get me an ambulance or so help me God, I’ll carry him on my back to the hospital.” You spoke with a dangerous edge in your voice.

If looks could kill, Colonel would have been a dead man standing. He opened his mouth as if he were going to responded but promptly shut it. He turned away from you and began to walk away from the scene. “Call them an ambulance at once.” He spoke simply. The anger in your body was replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief that was under-toned with guilt. You really hadn’t meant to blow up. It just kind of.. happened? Whatever the reason for it was obsolete now. You needed to help your baby get well.

His breathing was shallow for a few moments before returning to a steady pace. You maneuvered his head so that it sat in your lap. You brushed your hands softly against his face and whispered sweet words into his ears.

“Come on baby. Please wake up for me? When we get home, we’ll have some of those sandwiches you like. Those peanut butter bacon banana sandwiches? Come one baby, wake up. I love you so much” You spoke very wobbly. Before you knew it, there were paramedics at the scene doing his vitals. You stepped out of the way and stood next to Jerry. He extended his arm out and wrapped it around your shoulder to bring you into a hug. “It’s gonna be ok (Y/N). He’s gonna be back and running in no time.” You sniffled against him and nodded.

Elvis’ eyes had fluttered open slowly and adjusted to the harsh lighting. He tried to sit up but someone had pressed their hand against his chest to keep him down. “Wh-… what’s goin’ on?” He spoke. “Mr. Presley, my name is Andrew. I’m with the Memphis Department of Health and Safety. We’re gonna take you to the hospital to get checked out, ok? Someone said that you took a pretty harsh fall and we just want to make sure you’re ok.” Elvis shook his head gently before letting the two young men besides him help him sit up.

Through your sniffles and sobs, you heard the paramedics talk to Elvis. This meant he was up. You let go of Jerry and scampered over to him. “Elvis?!” You spoke with a sob. The two young men who had helped Elvis stand up whipped their head towards you. Elvis turned slightly and saw you. A gave you a reassuring smile but it faltered once he had seen the stains of tears and puffy lips you sported. “Baby, c’mere. What’s wrong?”

You wanted to launch yourself at him but you knew that would do him any good. You hugged him lightly and sobbed into the jumpsuit he had on. “I-I was so afraid th-that you died! I don’t want anything like th-this to happen again!” You stuttered out. Elvis hugged back and kissed you on the crown of your head. For a moment, you both sat like that in the middle of the hallway, entranced with each others scent and being.

Jerry came over to Elvis and pat him on the shoulder. “Good to see you up again E.P.” He spoke with a smile. Elvis smiled back and held you tighter to him. “By the way, should have heard what (Y/N) said to Parker.” Your eyes widened and you gave Jerry a displeased look. Elvis raised his eyebrow and looks down at you. “Satnin. What did you say?”

Red and Sonny joined the conversation after overhearing Jerry. “Yeah! She called him a P.O.S. Kind of out of character for you though.” Elvis looked down at you, confused.

“What did you say baby?”

“Oh…uhh… I called him a..,” your tone got quieter and you mumbled the last part.

“Baby, speak up. What did you say?”

“I-I called him a piece of shit. I told him to treat you better too.” You finally confessed. You blushed a little and looked away. You were still pressed up against him when he squeezed your arm tightly. You thought he was mad so you looked up at him to apologize.

“God I love you.”

(My faves🤍: @mt12209 @myradiaz @presleyenterprise @ccab @18lkpeters @austinsmutler @elvisalltheway101 )

#satninroses #elvis presley #reader insert #x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis

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intheorangebedroom · 6 months

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Hey orange besties 🧡

Here's the one thing none of you asked for but I'm giving you anyway!! Listen, Halloween is my favourite holiday and I'd do just about anything rather than start working on my WIP because it terrifies me.

So here's the most indulgent headcanon EVER, please feel free to scroll past this nonsense of a post, but not before I could wish you all a very spooky Halloween 🧡

Yes, I have no shame.

Explicit HC below the cut 🔞

This Halloween, you've convinced Frankie to host a party at your place. He was really the first surprise, you're not exactly the party type, yet here you are.

You’ve been on Pinterest looking up aesthetics and recipes since August, basically, you've spent an inordinate amount of money on fancy decorations, stocked up enough candy to give all the kids in the tristate area a stomach ache of biblical proportions, and it's finally happening, today is the day, this is your version of the American dream.

But what will you and your friends dress up as???

Rosie

For years, the two of you have had an ongoing argument about what constitutes a proper Halloween costume. To you, it’s either crafty and creative, or spooky if not disgusting. To her… Let’s say she’s explored all the slutty options out there.

This year, the debate resumes as early as September. Only this time, you outsmart her, challenging her to look sexy despite a plain horror get up.

Never one to retreat, always one to excel, Rosie chooses to dress up as Candyman. With the fur and the hook and the scarf, down to the fake bees painted on the left side of her face. And yes, she still is smouldering hot as all hell.

Will

Will? Dressing up? Fucking hell, why are you doing this to him? He’s a grown ass man. He was a warrior, for fuck’s sake. He’s not gonna go around and spend money on a fucking costume!

But. He’ll be damned if he’s the only one who doesn’t play along. He can probably whip up something with whatever he’s got in his closet, anyway. Like…. Motorcycle gang leader, for example.

(at this point, orange besties, I’m cackling in French).

Yovanna

Yovanna. Understood. The assignment. Obviously because she’s hands up the smartest one of all the TF bunch.

She dresses up as the Corpse Bride. Your jaw drops to the floor when you open the door. She's stealing the show and it is fine. You’ve no idea how she can look this at ease with all that heavy makeup covering her skin, but she looks like she's having a hell of a good time, oh and also SHE'S FUCKING STUNNING.

Pope

Pope could have made an effort and go as Victor, right? He should have. Did he, though? No. No he didn't.

Pope dresses up as Miguel O'Hara from Across The Spider-Verse, so he can slither into this tight af costume and strut his butt like a Spidey slut.

Tom

Kidding. Tom's not invited. But if he were...

Benny

Sweet, sweet Benny, our sunshine boy, our precious blond gem of a baby man…

Benny considered not coming at all. Not that he's not over you yet, come on, let's be serious, it's been over two years. He's totally over you. He’s slept with at least a dozen different women since you broke up and his friendship with Frankie is on the mend, so yeah, over you and beyond, thank you very much. Ok, he'll go, then. Besides... he wants to see you. Just to make sure he’s really over you. What could possibly go wrong?

A horror classic connoisseur, his first idea is to dress up as something overly sublte. Say… Tom Conway in the 1942 Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People, for instance. Only because it would be obscure enough for people to ask him about it, which would give him a good opportunity to show off his impressive... cinematic knowledge. Not at all because you and the director share the same last name. Of course not. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’d probably be the only one in the room able to identify the costume. Argh fuck, he can’t go as Tom Conway in the 1942 Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People, can he?

Fine. He’ll play it safe. Mainstream. Mike Meyers. But Mike Meyers with a twist: the kid version.

What he does not anticipate, is how many times he gets asked if he’s that stupid Pennyclown from It. Doesn’t anyone have any fucking classic culture?? It’s winding him up real bad and he’s starting to think he’ll leave early, until you walk up to him with a shy smile and a tall glass of beer.

“You make a real good baby Meyers, Benjamin,” you whisper, and it's the first words you've spoken to him all night. Of course you knew, of course you’re the only one who guessed, and he wants to say something smart but he can’t, he’s riveted to the floor, melting under your soft gaze. You lift your arm, as if reaching for him and for a split second, he thinks you’re gonna run your fingers through his hair like you used to, and his heart does this lurching thing, like it simultaneously shrinks and explodes in his chest, and fuck him. He’s not over you yet.

(maybe I’m not over him either 👀)

Meanwhile… Meanwhile, Frankie's watching the whole scene from the kitchen. Ticking jaw, sucking on his teeth, vein popping in his neck.

But what did Frankie dress up as, you ask. If you're still reading this, that is.

Frankie

Well, Frankie’s not exactly big on Halloween. For one, he grew up in a household full of ghosts. The candy sure was a perk, as a kid, but he’s always enjoyed savoury food more than sweets. Later, Izzy would let him tag along to the parties she went to (not that her mother left her much choice, anyway), and those were fun, admitedly. There was always alcohol, but most importantly, ✨girls✨ Girls who would never fail to find Izzy’s baby brother oh so cute with his soft curls and his golden skin and his lovely dimples and he’d spend the entire evening passing from one set of arms to another set of hands, which suited him juuuuust fine.

However, the man now has an actual body count, so he’s not too keen on the notion of the dead coming back to haunt the living for one night…

But thewhole thing makes you so damn happy. In the end, it doesn’t matter if he has to fend off an entire army of undead.

Unlike Pope, whatever your choice of outfit may be, he’ll get behind you. You wanna be Lydia Deetz? He’ll be your Beetlejuice. He’ll be the Gomez to your Morticia, the John Bartlett to your Patricia Bradley.

This year, you announce most enthusiastically, you want to be Frankenstein’s Bride.

Alright, baby!

And let's just say this: he makes it very, very difficult for you to be a good host to your guests. How on god’s wretched earth can he be this incredibly sexy as Frankenstein's creature??

Not only is he good with the kids, patient and gentle and cracking dad jokes with each group of little monsters and Elsas and cowboys eagerly standing on your doorstep, but that jacket… That damn jacket he got himself, three sizes too small, fuck, that poor jacket is working hard ALL NIGHT trying to contain his breadth, the seams just as strained around his shoulders as your poor clenching cu–

Oh and you’ve no idea where he found that headband with the bolts on each side, but you don’t really care because he’s slicked black his hair and it's curling thick and luscious on his nape and you can’t wait for every one to get the hell out of your place.

You’re gonna go down on him the minute the last guest leaves your house, take him down your throat and show him just how grateful to him you are for playing along so well. Watch that handsome, pretty, pretty face, that the green makeup and fake scars can't even spoil, go slack when you suck on his balls and swallow his spend.

And you almost get to do it. If it wasn’t for that tiny little misstep. The sultry teasing words you pour into his neck, halfway through the party. When you tell him that what you truly wanted to dress up as was Margarita at the Midnight Ball. And Francisco’s eyes grow dangerously dark and wide and wild, pupils shot open with lust, because he knows what this means. And what this means is stark naked.

And sure enough, he has barely closed the door behind the last guest that Frankie turns around and orders you to "Take off those fucking clothes. Now."

His tone brooks exactly zero argument. You comply at the speed of light before he shoves you onto the couch and kneels on the floor between your spread thighs, and it's very obvious, very fast, that you are his Halloween candy.

He keeps your ass balanced on the edge of the sofa and your back pressed into the soft cushions, thick fingers digging into the dips of your hips to hold you still with a welcome, bruising hold.

His mouth feels like lava, liquid and hot as he licks into you like a starved man, broad sloppy stripes through your dripping folds, tongue dipping to feast on your slick like his sole purpose down there is to drink you dry.

And when he wants more, because it’s never enough, he fastens his plush lips around your pulsating clit and plays it with the curled up tip of his tongue, two fingers hooked inside your cunt and pulling on that fucking spot with the same deftness with which he used to pull the trigger, and you give him more, give him everything he wants, you leak straight into his mouth, you’ve lost track of time somewhere after your third orgasm.

There’s green makeup smeared all over your inner thighs, rivulets of black tears streaking your once ghostly pale cheeks. Sweat’s pooling in the small of your back and damp locks of hair are glued to your temples and forehead.

You're a writhing mess, nearly slipping out of consciousness when he grabs your waist and flips you around, rough and urgent.

With that easy strength that makes you light-headed, he pulls you downward, kneeling you down between his folded legs, your back flush to his chest, you’re moulded into him, and by the time you register the change in position, he’s already lining himself up.

It’s no longer than a split second before he all but impales you on his length. It’s too sudden and the stretch downright painful, and you cry a strangled cry of his name but it's soundless, there’s no more air in your lungs, he’s fucked all the oxygen out of there.

“How are you so fucking tight,” he says, his voice sounds strained, and he starts fucking up into you, absolute, merciless, the pace is punishing and you’ve gone blind with the stretch.

It’s too fast, too deep, too fucking thick. Your spine goes stiff as a metal rod as you try to get away from it but you can’t, one hand is clutching your throat and his other arm’s banded around your waist. You’re helpless, nails digging into his flesh, crushed against his sweaty torso and he keeps sliding your rigid body down onto his impossibly thick cock at this impossibly fast pace, hips hammering your ass, lewd and loud, slap slap slap.

And he knows, he feels you trying to recoil. The flat of his tongue licks up the column of your throat and it’s a sharp bite on your earlobe, and a low grunt in your ear, “I'm not gonna last long,” and you relent, you slump down into his hold and let him give you what he needs you to take.

“Good girl”, he pants, and what do you know? You feel another one coming.

Oh but this one’s deep and violent, it’s building tense and heavy into your core like a burning fist gripping your insides right behind your navel, and if it wasn’t for his own grunts, you’d hear the pathetic mewl you let out when it explodes in your breasts.

The frantic clench and clutch of your cunt around his length is more than enough to tip him over. He rams his pulsating cock into you one last time before he starts to grind, so forceful his hipbones are biting into your ass, pushing further inside you to bury his come as far up your body as possible, up to your fucking cervix, sinking his teeth into your shoulder to muffle his rumbling growl.

When he stills, finally, he doesn’t unwrap his arms. Doesn’t loosen his embrace. Instead, he draws your body with his when he slouches backward, his broad shoulders hitting the coffee table.

Limp, spent, blissfully used, you lay on top of him, his length sheathed inside your warmth, your chest heaving along with his chest.

“Thank you,” you breathe out.

He nuzzles the crown of your hair, gentle again.

“Happy Halloween, baby.”

****

HAPPY HALLOWEEN ORANGE BESTIES!!! HAVE FUN WITH THE DEAD AND STAY SAFE 🎃💀🧡

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summertimemusician · 1 year

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*walks on in, downs tea like a shot* So today because I am sleep deprived and have no self control, I'll be dropping some Zonai Headcanons that will be most likely debunked by Tears of the Kingdom when it comes out and make it y'alls problem:

(Long post down below and it has more likely been debunked by TOTK! I haven't combed through all the lore there yet so fair warning, this was written before release)

The Zonai were likely descended from the Interlopers aka the Twili, but not in the traditional way because the history enthusiast in me is screaming there's inconsistencies and I'm going to find a way to patch them so help me. The Interlopers were the Ancient Twili, a race of sorcerer's who mainly were around Hyrule during the in between period of Skyward Sword and Minish Cap according to Hyrule Encyclopedia, they were sealed away in the Twili Realm by presumably the Zelda of the time, the hero and the Light Spirits for attempting to steal the Triforce, but I don't think they came back after Twilight Princess, at least not right away.

Let me explain, if the Interlopers were a race with their own kingdom or region to live on like the Gerudo, and specially if they were sorcerers, would all of them be onboard with stealing the Triforce? No, because that's not how warfare works and not how people work, they are already sorcerers, they can do magic, break reality in ways never seen before, so why would they need the Triforce? Why would any man, woman or warrior with something to lose support a cause like that when there's more risk than gain? Why would any person risk their entire race facing retaliation if they failed and in turn their siblings, lovers, children being killed even if they could gain unlimited power, presuming the gods didn't punish them first for stealing a power not meant for them? No one with common sense would. We see evidence of this in a Link Between Worlds, the main reason Hilda didn't say anything about stealing the Triforce and why Ravio came to Hyrule, because she kept it in house her plan with Yuuga and Ravio only, why? Because of Ravio's reaction, it's anyone's reaction to a plan like this, it's pure insanity, no one with common sense (and no hubris) would support a plan like this, it would split the kingdom in two: the people who supported the plan (aka Hilda and Yuuga) and the people who didn't (aka Ravio had he actually said something before dipping to Hyrule which would have honestly been more effective/less convoluted if you ask me and the rest of the common Lorulian people, because yes it's a dying world but it's theirs and they wouldn't want to make the situation worse or risk war with another world entirely over the Triforce when having a Triforce already screwed them over due to everyone fighting over it, that's why Lorule's Triforce was destroyed, a hasty and bad decision, but the best one anyone had at the time not to mention the fact Hyrule's and Lorule's Triforce's likely have different virtues). I think that's what happened with the Interlopers, the Twili Ruler at the time wouldn't have wanted to risk their people's safety so they shut down that plan as soon as possible, but it already split the people in two, so what do they do when the traitors and greedy Interlopers go behind their back? Devise a plan of their own to counteract it. Preferably with the people targeted so that they could safeguard their people even after it was enacted.

You know how the Picori Blade was given to a hero before Four before the events of Minish Cap, where it was broken and then reforged into the Four Sword? It was made by the Minish and given away precisely so it could deal with the rampant darkness and monsters running round at the time, acting as a seal which is broken in Minish Cap because Vaati is a power hungry idiot who didn't bother to read the full myth before setting out on a quest for the Triforce (if he did he would also see that the monsters/darkness were sealed by the Picori Blade, NOT just the Triforce, I adore his presentation as a villain but good lord man, read the fine print. When you go on a hubris fueled quest ya gotta know all the lore and you clearly didn't given your surprise when you broke the Picori Blade, redeeming points for realizing the Triforce was on Zelda rather than the chest though, and presentation). It was probably a seal given by the Picori to be used by the Hero of Men because Fi as we know wasn't available, she was used to seal Demise and presumably Sky and Sun took the secret of where she was to their graves or ONLY available if an Incarnation of Demise turned up, hence why we only see it in Ocarina of time and beyond. If Fi isn't available then the Picori Blade is meant to be a substitute to do the job.

So what I speculate is that the greedy Interlopers started controlling what remained of Demise's monsters on the surface with their magic to attack Hyrule in an attempt to steal the Triforce by force with likely a few of their own sorcerers throw in the mix, they probably did it behind the previous Twili Ruler's back because their plan was shut down and, if they were anything like Midna, they would NOT have it (because let's be honest Midna was a strong gal and would do anything for her people if necessary, her love for the light people came later), so they approached the Hero of Men and presumably his Zelda once he got the Picori Blade from the Minish with a plan: the Hero would take care of sealing the monsters with the Picori Blade, while they and the Princess would create the Mirror of Twilight and, with the aid of the Light Spirits due to the traitors creating the Fused Shadows behind their back, would seal themselves with as many of their own fighters and supporters as they could gather inside the Sacred Realm with the traitors to finish them off, which would lead to the Twili we have today before Midna broke the Mirror for good. As a gesture of good will they could have lent some sorcerers and warriors to pledge themselves to the Royal family and more specifically the princess, which would lead to the Sheikah, and the Mirror, in case circumstances ever got drastic again and they'd need to use it to make sure those who didn't want to fight (aka civilians) would be safe and make it so that the Mirror could only be broken by someone with the blood of the Original Twilight Ruler and strong magic (hence why Zant couldn't do it, Midna has both the blood and power, while Zant doesn't) it's a master plan in theory.

Except there's one problem: the remains would likely suffer stigma from the Hylians, much like how Ganon's actions brought stigma to the Gerudo as being liars and thieves, it would explain why later generations would be suspicious of the Sheikah and cull them later on before Ocarina of Time, that's why the Hylian Civil War happened and why by Breath of the Wild Sheikah magic and tech was regarded with suspicion even if it did help 10.000 years ago, it's because of this one event, so the ruler of the Twili likely would have given two more orders after putting someone new in charge: go to the skies like how the Hylians did if needed be (giving rise to the Sky People we see in Minish Cap and their remains in Twilight Princess, plus the structures in the sky and why Zonai structures rise in to the sky), and if for whatever reason things look extremely dire (like say, a civil war and then the rise of a mother blinking Demon King/Warmongering King of Thieves, and then the Twili Crisis which they would most likely get blamed for, and the War of Ages if we want to make Hyrule Warriors the inflection point of the timeline), go to the sea and leave Hyrule entirely (remember, there's other kingdoms outside of Hyrule guys, we see most of them in the Downfall Timeline, the events of Link's Awakening only happen because Legend either attempts to leave or return to Hyrule via boat), return only if peace does.

Look at the placement of Lurelin Village and of most Zonai structures: by the sea, by the ocean, only later on does it fully expand into Faron, Lurelin is also a hidden village and extremely hard to find, what if Lurelin Village isn't only where the Zonai descendants reside, but also their initial settlement back in Hyrule after they thought all was safe and done 10.000 years ago, or heck maybe longer as we don't actually know the time gap between BOTW, the 10.000 years Calamity (I'll call it the Catalyst) and the rest of the Zelda timeline, where they started to use their original and script and name again: the proud Zonai people. Maybe they were like the Vikings, wayfarer people, sorcerer and warrior people by necessity who started out on the shores of Hyrule with a single settlement in case things got bad (because they'd likely be taught some measure of caution and want to stay hidden, or at least have somewhere they could fall on and leave if necessary), and then later on expanded to the rest of Faron and maybe Hyrule's underground, maybe they reclaimed some of their settlements on the skies that only they could access via the portals (which look an awful lot like access points of fast travel) or made it so that in times of crisis their structures would rise up, but then Catalyst and later on the Hylian Royalty finished the remnants off before they could be fully done, with the Sheikah doing the actual deed and painting them in a 'barbarian' and 'savage' light, leaving only those who could escape to Lurelin left and their magical ways to die out if most of the people sent there or who escaped couldn't do magic or weren't taught yet (or maybe they went specifically after the magic users). You can't tell me Ganon 10.000 years ago would leave such a blatant threat to his plans alone, specially if they wouldn't join him (NO ONE would want to pull a Zant, out of respect for Midna and The Hero if nothing else, as it's seen the Zonai worshiped the Hero and the Triforce of Courage even above the Triforce of Wisdom/Hylia/The Princess and The Triforce of Power/Demise/Ganon, they would support him whatever way they could, a first as usually the hero doesn't have much support, Zelda had the Sheikah and Ganon has the monsters and now the Yigah, but who did Link have? Who did the Hero have? They HAD to repay the favor he did to the descendant of their original leader and by the lord they'd do it specially if the Hero of Catalyst was one of them like how everyone is speculating even f it killed them, it's speculated that the luminous stones are the remains of their magic used to seal Calamity Ganon or that the energy with the glowing arm is that, maybe they all were sacrificed to Calamity Ganon by monsters to empower him one last time or sacrificed themselves to give the Hero one last boost so he could aid Zelda in doing it and we know this is a thing that can happen in game, see how the Sages we're almost sacrificed plus the hero in the Downfall Timeline, and how Dusk/Twilight Princess Zelda gave up her Triforce and Magic so Midna could live so it's very possible, maybe that's what happened and the stones are the remnants), and the Hylian Royalty has show themselves to be paranoid and very much capable of rewriting history. So between Calamity Ganon and likely their efforts, they were all but exterminated.

The Hylian Royalty made sure to write the Zonai out of history once Zelda was gone, and also made sure to keep the Hero and his origin as vague as possible but leave it implied that he was Hylian to plant themselves as better, I mean the historians before them also did it, no one ever mentions the Hero of Time being Kokiri, or the Hero of Twilight Ordonian, so why should they mention that the Hero of Catalyst was Zonai? And the Hyrule Royalty besides usually the Zelda's did as much bad stuff as good stuff and clearly disregarded the other races most of the time (y'all may forget how that one Hylian healer refused to treat Prince Ralis all because he was a Zora in Twilight Princess but I SURE DIDN'T. THAT IS A CHILD! THE ZORA PRINCE AT THAT! THEY WERE BASICALLY RISKING WAR WITH THE ZORA BY LETTING HIM DIE IF NOT FOR RENALDO, PEOPLE. I don't have much faith in them for regarding the Zonai with respect as a result, look at their description when we look at the armor related to them: barbarian, savage, those are words usually used when you want to diminish the word of a person, the Celts were called that, the Vikings, indigenous folks too, you get the idea). History is written by the victors and those left to tell the story, and if one side isn't left, what do you get? Details being rewritten or erased (again, looking at real world history: Irish Mythology, Slavic Mythology, the general Celtic cultures around the British Isles, the Aztecs, all of them written out or rewritten in some way that we don't even know what the original myth looks like, we can only speculate, Slavic mythos and culture specially got shafted), so to me that's what happened to the Zonai, the Lurelin people eventually forgot, with no one left to tell the story, only murals that are deep underground and far up in the sky that no one would remember or find until Link (Wild, Slate, Sage, whatever name y'all use or headcanon just BOTW Link in general) and his Zelda (Flora, or whichever name y'all use) eventually find them or if anyone in the Twilight Realm remember and care to tell the history somehow.

Also, since they expanded to Faron, it's very, very possible they met the Ordonian's and they intermarried with them because A: they were the closest people/tribe plus the most similar to them, and B: Geographically it would make sense, explain what happened to the Ordonians, plus also tie in nicely if anyone sees Twilight Princess Link as Breath of the Wild Link's ancestor, which I very much do by the way.

At least that's that from my perspective as someone who reads way too much history, mythology and who has been way too invested in Zelda Lore and the games ever since I was a kid, even if my sleep deprived ramblings likely look like this:

Anyway I'll stop here for today, regular posting content will likely happen later on. I kind of wrote this on mobile motivated only by sleep deprivation and spite and if I don't stop myself now I'll probably write an entire essay on this and I doubt many people would be interested in that.

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aurora-daily · 9 months

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Maybe this is a silly question to ask, and I know the people who run this blog are very busy, but I was wondering what your thoughts were!

Aurora has said each album she plans on making is going to be different from the things she's made before. It SEEMS like she's getting ready for her next evolution!! Different styles of clothes worn in shows. New merch drop with the weirdos and warriors! Do you have any thoughts on where we may be headed? Any theories or things you hope happen?

Thank you guys so much for all the hard work you do keeping us up to date here. Love you!!

Hello, lovely warrior!

It's actually a very good question and I appreciate the way you treated my time here and overall your consideration! <3

I have already answered a question on Step3 last February [link] but everything that went on since then and the newer interviews made me think of other speculiations.

It might still be Step 3 in a way how suddenly Step 1 and 2 are re-released + new redisign still has hints towards these eras + her current outfits hint more towards the past + new merch style might be a hint + the long ago pinned post with the dragon might be a hint as well. I can't understand for sure whether it was Step 3 that she referred to as an album for dealing with the grief with a song ‘A Different Kind of Human’ being a hint towards the direction (and I would personally need such album the most after what I have been going through) but either way the mood of the upcoming album will be opposite:

“It is crazy […] that our worth is defined by something we can measure in numbers. Like our fortune, our followers or our weight or our height. It’s just crazy how we let these numbers decide so much, when they are so meaningless. I’m heading towards this direction on my next album again. So my fifth album… or fourth… is this my third? (laughs) Well, my next album is going to be inspired by this. And this album now ("The Gods We Can Touch") is kind of a bridge over to that. It’s about reminding ourselves of the value we have within us, about the powers we have. Love, and also it’s all about the small, simple things. It has nothing to do with our phones, with success, even with God. It’s just you and me, right here, right now. We’re just floating on a rock in space, so it doesn’t matter if I have a pimple on my cheek today. Because – who cares? It’s about thinking really big and really small at the same time (laughs).”

- AURORA on her next album in the interview for FastForward Magazine by Gabi Rudolph (January 27th, 2022)

It will be a really fun album *smiles widely*.”

- AURORA on her next album in the interview for ba.no, translated by aurora.puppet (February 2nd 2022)

“A Little Place Called The Moon" is the perfect ending. You have to wait so long for the final release where I finally come in again. I like the patience of it, it offers you one last breath before it all ends and disappears into the sky. And it’s a really good bridge to my next album. No [I can’t tell a bit more about it]!

AURORA on a significance of “A Little Place Called The Moon” as the connection to the next album in the interview for Official Charts (January 26th 2022)

"People like, or aliens like, I don't know myself... Ok, creatures like yourself that sing together in harmony, it's very gorgeous isn't it? I have started my next album! It has a lot of people's voices."

- AURORA before performing "The Innocent" @ Paradiso, Amsterdam (September 3rd 2022)

And there's something very interesting about a possible on that album song:

"I have a song out there I think that has taken me 10 years, this is the longest. It will be on my next album, it has taken so many years. But finally I've gone through what I wrote about. For the first time, so I understand the song more, as from the inside it was easier. So one song for my next album."

- AURORA in an open interview session with Bergen Bibliotek filmed by abaddonna (November 3rd 2022)

It is certainly connected to the song she has already described in 2016:

"I have a song now that I've been working on since I was 16, but I haven't found the right words to finish it. I know it will be a good song when it's perfect, but I'm just looking for one line in the fourth verse to complete it. And in four years, I haven't found that line yet."

- AURORA in an interview for Vice (March 11th 2016)

Whatever AURORA has in store I'm impatiently looking forward to this, I believe and see her artistic growth and that excites me a lot!

- Nikol

#ask #anonymous

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sanfangirl-cynicalromantic · 3 months

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You'd Come Back to Me

We've made it to day 3 of @httydhiccstridweek! Today's prompt was 'to discover/explore' + 'braids'

Summary: Sometimes, when she watched the way he threw his head back in the wind, eyes closing and savoring the moment, she wondered if there would ever be a day he wouldn’t stop flying. Was he even a Viking, or a dragon in human form lent to them by the gods for a short time? Was she destined to fall for someone divinely unreachable? Was it selfish of her to even want to chain him down with chiefdom if only to ensure he could never escape to the heavens without her?

Or,

Astrid contemplates growing up and gives Hiccup his braids

Read on AO3:

Hiccup had missed a spot, and Astrid couldn’t take her eyes off of it. He had finally cut his hair once his bangs fell so far into his eyes it was a problem when flying. A couple days ago he had come into the academy and Astrid had had to do a double take at the entirely new silhouette of his head. It was choppy looking, but it suited him. Somehow, his bangs that used to fall into his eyes and hide the bright pigment of green from the world had decided to defy gravity and stick almost straight up. The shorter bits around his face also served to highlight the sharp cheekbones and jaw that were emerging as his baby fat dropped off of his face. Astrid hadn’t really known there was baby fat on his face. He had been skinny for so long; she’d figured he was as fatless as healthily possible. But now, with the piercing green eyes under bushy eyebrows, Hiccup’s now tall frame coupled with that new straight jawline, the concept of growing up seemed a lot more important.

She was the only one who came to the academy every day. The twins had decided the dragon academy was more schooling than adventure, and had devoted themselves to pranking the poor citizens of Berk while Hiccup was busy teaching another lesson. For a while, the lessons had been just tracking the twins and stopping them before they caused another disaster. Snotlout quickly got fed up with the routine and announced his departure from the academy. He was to spend his days testing weapons now with Gobber, but if he was looking for sorrow from his comrades at seeing him go, he was severely disappointed. He wasn’t nearly as important as he thought. When Hiccup still helped Gobber out once a week, all of the weapons he made or repaired were always perfectly balanced and tempered - there was no need to check them further. She no longer checked her axe after he sharpened it. In fact, she usually had Hiccup check it when she sharpened it, as he could tell if it had the slightest of nicks or imbalance she couldn’t sense.

Fishlegs hadn’t wanted to leave the academy, but Hiccup had grown restless with his lessons, and now wanted to explore the Archipelago for new species. Then Fishlegs had been offered a position to help teach the young children of Berk, too young to properly bond and care for a dragon of their own. The Gronckle rider had accepted and now spent every day taking the kids for a ride on Meatlug, recounting various histories of the island, pointing to warriors and speaking of their achievements.

“Bushlout Jorgenson won the Thawfest for eight years in a row,” he’d say, to his audience’s awe. “Not even Spitelout Jorgenson could beat him . . .”

Astrid was growing up, too. She was taller now and at an age where the clucking of old aunties about the length of her skirt drew a frown from her mother instead of defending her against them. She had recut her bangs shorter than before, swept to the side instead of falling straight into her face. Her hair was lighter from riding in the sun so often, and her braid fell farther down her back. She sparred with seasoned warriors when she trained instead of just normal Vikings.

“You could join the Guard,” one of them praised her, and she thanked him but brushed the suggestion aside. Her days were already spoken for. She was the Heir’s right hand, and she couldn’t leave her post.

They were still kids, she kept telling herself, desperate to keep the comradery between her and the Heir as long as she could. Once they started accepting they were growing up, she would go on to become a warrior, everyone knew that, but Hiccup would become the Heir, flying around town or sitting in on council meetings. She wouldn’t see him anymore. The chief rarely ate early, and the Berkian warriors took their meals before night patrol. Hiccup rarely saw his father before he went to bed, and he had a habit of going to bed at ungodly hours. Stoick didn’t have much time for his son, and Hiccup had accepted that, but Astrid selfishly didn’t want to have to live with the same acceptance when it came to Hiccup’s time. They wouldn’t stay friends. He had Toothless for a friend, and the rest he could do without. Astrid would become just another soldier who faithfully followed his orders and he might look upon their time together fondly, reminiscing about ‘when they were kids’ while Astrid would miss him fiercely. Toothless was his first friend, and while Astrid had Stormfly, Hiccup had been her first friend.

So now, even as the seas came up empty, the many spires of rock bare, and Hiccup’s face stoick but disappointed, she stuck to his side, praying he’d know she wasn’t leaving, begging him not to leave her.

“What?” Hiccup turned to look at her. “You keep staring at something and it’s distracting me. Is there a dragon behind me?” He twisted his neck, trying to spot the glimpse of a tail.

“I - no,” Astrid assured him. “It’s just, um, your hair.”

“Does it look bad?” he asked immediately, his eyes wide.

“No!” Astrid exclaimed. “No, it looks good. Nice, a nice change. You just, um - you missed a bit.”

“Where?” he asked, hands going to his ear.

“Not there,” she brushed his hand away. He set his hand in his lap and flexed his fingers. “Right here.” She lightly gripped a few locks under his ear. Their length stuck out quite a bit from the rest of his hair. She combed her fingers through them and - oh. When had his hair gotten so soft? She couldn’t remember the last time she had touched his head but surely she would have remembered the soft, silky slide of his reddish brown locks through her fingers. It felt so fine it was almost ticklish, and her fingers started moving automatically, parting it into sections.

“What are you doing?” Hiccup asked, trying to turn to see what she was doing, but she tugged harshly at the hair in her hands. “Ow!” he yelped.

“Hold still,” she ordered. “I’m doing something.” She was braiding his hair. She was braiding his hair. What was she thinking? How could she not, though?

“Are you braiding it?” Hiccup asked incredulously. She gave him a stern look.

“Hush, all Vikings have braids.” Then, softer, “Do you want me to stop?” Hiccup hesitated.

“No,” he admitted.

“Good,” Astrid said, focusing on the task at hand. She finished one small braid and tied it off. Hiccup reached up to touch it but she smacked his hand away again. “I’m not done,” she scolded. He grumbled but acquiesced.

“There,” she nodded, satisfied, after she finished the second one. Hiccup reached up to touch them, mulling over the feeling and probably debating over whether to take them out.

“Don’t take them out,” she said. It came out like an order, but she knew it was a plea. Don’t forget me. Let me leave you with something to remember me by. She kept waiting for him to do something to ensure their continued companionship even when their duties went separate ways, but he never said anything. The old Hofferson aunties would cluck their tongues disapprovingly when she’d come home late at night, still without a firm promise from the Haddock boy to court her or whatever. She used to hate it; she wasn’t ready for courtship, couldn’t they see that? That was the only reason Hiccup hadn’t made any moves toward her. But as she grew older, putting the extra effort to add a little side braid in her hair before she went to meet him, the slight womanly additions to her clothes, he still continued to treat her as he always had, and now Astrid would bow her head, red faced with shame when one of the old crones shook her head at Hiccup walking her chivalrously to her door, with never a secure promise to return. She wondered now if he didn’t want to court her anymore, now that he’d seen her up close for years, witnessed her hot temper and her struggles to prove herself, her constant need for validation and how she coveted people’s admiration for her strength and honor - even her looks. She knew she wasn’t the only pretty girl who had shown interest in him, and though she was sure no one could quite compare to what she was to him, was that what he wanted?

She wondered where she went wrong sometimes. Should she have let Hiccup court her while they were becoming friends? Would that have made everything better? Or would she have broken their relationship off from the pressure of being a girlfriend before she learned to treasure their friendship? Now, she was way too invested in whatever they had to leave. Even if it was just friendship and Astrid following him to the ends of Midgard just to see him turn in his saddle and grin at her with that excited smile that lit up his eyes, she would take it. He was avoiding his responsibilities, and sometimes when she watched the way he threw his head back in the wind, eyes closing and savoring the moment, she wondered if there would ever be a day he wouldn’t stop flying. Was he even a Viking, or a dragon in human form lent to them by the gods for a short time? Was she destined to fall for someone divinely unreachable? Was it selfish of her to even want to chain him down with chiefdom if only to ensure he could never escape to the heavens without her?

Hiccup didn’t say much about the braids, and they continued to fly and explore, glancing fruitlessly into coves, skimming the surface of the water, flying high into the mountainous forests. Nothing. Not even many wild dragons were found, and all were too docile to warrant any new discoveries. He was frustrated, that draconic part of him itching for satisfaction and unable to find it yet again. She wondered if that frustration was all Hiccup, or if some of it was Toothless, too. Their bond was unlike anything she had ever witnessed, it wouldn’t surprise her to find their thoughts and wanderlust were somehow connected.

As they flew back to Berk, she saw him fiddling with his braids again. She wanted to warn him away from them; what if he undid them? Then she’d have to be annoyed with the accidental difference in length of his hair. At least with the braids in it looked intentional. Or - if he undid them, she supposed she might redo them for him.

Hiccup was terrible at braiding. It was almost funny: he could sew and work leather and cook quite well, especially for someone who had grown up without a mother. But he couldn’t braid. He always passed off braiding leather cords or rope to Ruffnut or her back when they all attended the academy. He wouldn’t be able to redo his braids on his own. He’d have to come to Astrid to have her redo them now. That was - that was actually a good idea. He didn’t have any good friends to do his hair other than her. The chief would never find time to braid - his own beard wasn’t as kept as Astrid’s father’s was, with Mother’s help. He never let Ruffnut get close enough to him, and Gobber wouldn’t be able to braid such tiny ones with his hook.

It was like that promise those old aunties kept complaining about her not having. It was a mark. Not for other girls who’d come and try to take the spot of Chieftess, but for her. That they were still friends. They could still fulfill the things no one else could for each other. It wouldn’t last, and it was stupid, but to her the braids felt like a promise to return. They were like the bonfire they kept lit on the tower to guide the ships to not break on the rocks, used to sometimes send out flares or reassurance that the coast was safe. As long as he had those, Astrid would know he’d come back to her.

And she’d dread the day he lost those trusty braids.

#HiccstridWeek2024 #day 3 #to discover/explore #braids #Hiccstrid #Astrid Hofferson #Hiccup Haddock #Pre-RTTE #Pining!Astrid #HTTYD #How To Train Your Dragon #idiots to lovers #friends to lovers #they are literally both friendzoning themselves #my writing

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dailycharacteroption · 7 months

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Class Feature Friday: Tyrant Cause (Pathfinder Second Edition Champion Cause)

(art by johnsonting on DeviantArt)

One of the great things we’ve seen with 2nd edition is the reorganizing of the old paladin class into the champion, a warrior whose beliefs define them and are granted divine power to see them enacted into the world.

We’ve seen the three goodly options so far, but today we’re looking at the first of the three evil options! (No word on when if ever we’ll get neutral options, though it doesn’t look likely since they’re doing away with alignment in the upcoming Remaster, but never say never.)

In any case, the tyrant, epitomes of “might is right”, powerful divine warriors that believe that the world is ruled by the strong, and the weak must step in line with the will of their betters or be punished severely.

As you might expect from a lawful evil version of the champion class, tyrants are devoted to the ideals of power and hierarchies. The idea of authority being derived from the consent of the people is absurd to them. Authority is seized by those with the strength to do so, for the betterment of all, and by “all”, they mean themselves as their betterment is the reward of rule, and those beneath them should be grateful for what scraps they are given. After all, it’s their own fault for not proving their worth and rising through the ranks (but not so fast or high as to threaten the tyrant’s power, of course).

Of course, not all of these champions can truly be absolute rulers, and many serve powerful masters while seeking ways to grow their own authority, and possibly supplanting their masters.

The tyrant first appeared in 1st edition as an archetype for the antipaladin, as a way for fans of the evil class to be lawful evil servants of cruel order rather than divinely empowered vagabonds and vicious destroyers. Make no mistake though, neither that 1st edition version nor the modern champion tyrant are known for showing mercy unless is suits their plans to do so.

Indeed, as we will see, these warriors rule with an iron fist, and one way or another, they seek to bow all to their will.

Like all champions, tyrants have a divinely blessed reflex in combat. However, evil champions typically have one geared towards those that dare to strike them instead of bringing harm to others nearby, and this is true of tyrants. In their case, these profane warriors demand that the offending attacker prostrate themselves before the tyrant for daring to attack them, lest they be punished. The foe can refuse, but their dark power punishes them with pain and suffering for daring to disobey their better.

Their smite improves this punishing harm with continuous agony afterwards as well.

The exalted form also causes nearby foes to also be compelled to drop as well, but the punishment for refusing is not as severe as the primary target.

Naturally, there is a single feat tied to this cause: Iron Repercussions, which causes the damage of their punishment to become persistent.

Other feats that may be useful to them include Conceited Mindset, Lightslayer Oath, Aura of Despair, Cruelty, Sacral Lord, Corrupted Shield, Smite Good, Greater Cruelty, Sense Good, Litany of Self-Interest, Pale Horse, Divine Reflexes, Litany of Depravity, Sacral Monarch, Fiendish Form, Fiendish Mount, and Sacred Defender. Of course, your build may differ depending on exactly what you’re going for.

This is a fun cause to take if you’re wanting to play an evil character, especially with a reaction which lets you force foes to either take a not-insignificant amount of damage or put themselves in a compromised state, which is fun. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that as of the time of writing, there is only one feat tied directly to this cause, and it specifically and immediately makes one of the abilities you gain by level up obsolete as incredibly low level. What’s more, since their reaction does not buff the damage that their own strikes do, it leaves them unable to make use of several feats associated with the tenets of evil. With that in mind, I would focus on a build that seeks to hamper and strike down foes, applying constant pressure.

We’ve discussed this repeatedly on the blog, but an important thing to remember with evil characters is that they can absolutely work together with goodly characters as long as it suits their interest to do so. Tyrants in particular, with their interest in leading and control, will likely plan around having to work with their goodly “allies” until the time comes when they become to strong or well-connected to stop.

Resembling kites rather than ravens, the tengu of Alkaar Pass are said to be descendants of asuras, and like their ancestors, peddle false enlightenment that leads to power, but not wisdom. Fiercest among them is their leader, the faultspawn Sugoda, who rules with an iron talon.

Not every tyrant champion is a product of advanced civilization. Indeed, in the Eternal Lands, the leader of the Skullshatter tribe is every bit the avatar of tyranny and fiendish power as any other profane warrior, and his Warhammer shatters bones just as easily as the cranium of his pachycephalosaur mount.

Though he understands none of it, Svak the Breaker finds himself in control of a massive fortress full of ancient technology and magic from a forgotten era. However, he has done so at the behest of his master, whom he despises. Rebelling now would go against his beliefs, but soon, he plans to turn on his master and assume direct command of all of their forces, but first he needs someone who understands the wonders that surround him.

#pathfinder second edition #champion #cause #tyrant #tengu #tiefling #pachycephalosaurus #Advanced Player's Guide

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rengokuswif3 · 2 years

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Libraries

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: Strange! Fem! Reader x Danny Rand

A/N: based on the headcanons I posted awhile ago. also it has a shitty ending but you know how it be

Warnings: gets a little heated but nothing over pg-13, I swear. On god. Also Doctor Strange tries to give them “The Talk”

“Careful with that!” Danny yelped as you nearly hit him with the books. You had been working on perfecting a new list of spells Mordo had given you, and you were having a particular hard time with this telekinesis spell.

“Sorry.” You giggled as he walked farther back behind you. Some other sorcerers were working in the library, and would glance at the two of you every time you made any noise. So it was pretty often since both of you would laugh every time you messed up a spell.

“Y/N, focus.” Danny reminded over your shoulder.

“You know, telling me to focus just distracts me from focusing.” You mumbled as you tried to regain control over the heavy books you were levitating.

“Steady your hands.” He added.

“Danny!” You turned to snap at him for distracting you, instead making you completely loose focus.

You loose control of the books, and they fly across the room. You wince as the heavy books knock a whole shelf over, and it starts a domino effect. Danny watched with his jaw dropped as the shelves all tumble over, books scattering across the floor as they fell out. It stops with one last crash against the far wall.

Every single sorcerer and sorceress turned to glare at you, annoyance evident. You feel their stares but don’t look them in the eye, since they can all be really scary and intimidating when they needed to be.

“Sorry.” You smile nervously. That only seemed to make them glare harder, if that was even possible, at you.

“I think we should leave.” Danny whispered to you.

“I think so too.” You nod, and followed him out of the room. You two rushed outside, nearly knocking Wong clean over. Seriously, what was wrong with you today?

“What are you two up to now?” Wong asked, smoothing his robes out.

“Sorry, Wong.” You grin, grabbing Danny’s hand and sprinting away.

“You are in so much trouble!” Danny laughed as you both ran, scared to be caught by Wong once he figured out you had ruined half of his library.

“Don’t remind me!” You say as you two reach a temple, where your father was talking to Wiccan, a magic user your age who would visit once in awhile.

“Ms. Strange, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Wiccan greeted you. “Hello, Iron Fist.”

“Hey Wiccan.” You greet quickly.

“Y/N, what did you do?” Your father raised a suspicious eyebrow at you.

“What? Nothing.” You say, though it was obvious you had done something from your tone of voice.

“STRANGE!” You hear Wong scream from the library, which was only a few buildings down.

“Gotta go!” You shout, taking off down the street.

“Wait for me!” Danny scrambled after you.

You looked behind you and saw Wong racing after you, which was funny enough on its own, but you also saw your father shaking his head in disappointment, which was even funnier.

You and Danny ducked behind a building once you momentarily lost sight of Wong. You both stifled your laughs as he ran by, and he turned to say something.

He stopped when he realized how close he was to you, your bodies pressed against each other in the small alleyway. You stared into his emerald green eyes, admiring the sparkle of mischief that was so rare to see in the honorable warrior.

You both realize you’ve been staring at each other and look away, clearing your throat awkwardly. You poke your head out of the alleyway, not seeing Wong anywhere.

“Uh, coast is clear.” You tell Danny.

“Can’t you just use a sling ring and take us somewhere…where Wong isn’t after our heads?” He asks.

“Oh shit you’re right.” You dug into your pocket, sliding the ring onto your finger. You point and think of his room in K’un Lun. The portal opens, just as you hear a yell behind you.

“Run!” Danny yells, jumping through the portal as Wong charges at the both of you.

“Sorry Wong!” You shout again before following, and closing the portal just before Wong can get to you.

You pant, out of breath. You make eye contact with Danny, and you both burst into laughter. You fall onto his bed as he sits down like a normal person.

“You are in so much trouble when you get back.” He chuckles as you continue to die laughing.

“It’s not like I meant to knock over half of the library.” You giggle as you sit up. “Did you see my dads face? And Wong running? It was totally worth it.”

“Okay…I guess it was pretty hysterical.” He nods after awhile. “Still, he’s going to kill you.”

“Eh. He’ll probably just make me clean it up. I could just steal the Time Stone and fix it.” You shrug.

“Doesn’t your dad never let it out of his sight?”

“Please, he takes it off when he sleeps.” You scoff. “Besides, even then it’s not that hard of work.”

“If you say so.” He smiles.

You both catch yourself in a silence again, staring into each other’s eyes.

You’ve been best friends forever, ever since you and your father first visited K’un Lun back when some inter dimensional demon was threatening your existence again. He had been kind, polite, charming, and practically making you swoon over his stunning smile. The first time you hung out was at the K’un Lun library, and he taught you some meditation techniques to strengthen your focus while you were casting spells. Eventually one of you was hardly seen without the other. Whether it was studying, eating, drinking tea, working, or training, you would always do it together.

He’s been your best friend for almost 3 years now, was it a crime to develop feelings for him? You didn’t think so. And how could you not, he was an amazing person, and it didn’t help that he was really hot. Especially now, as you both couldn’t take your eyes off the other.

“Um…Y/N?” He says, just above a whisper. “May I, uh…may I kiss you?”

Your eyes widened, stunned that he asked you that. Sure, you’ve been flirting back and forth for the past couple weeks, but you didn’t think it was because he actually liked you.

“Sorry, sorry. Forget I said anything.” He looked away. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

You grab his face and crash your lips onto his. He’s stiff at first, but quickly melts into the kiss. You tangle your fingers in his sandy blonde hair as his arms wrap around your waist, your chests pressed against the others. You’re holding onto each other as if the other would disappear if you let go. Your kisses become more heated and passionate with each one, pent up feelings for each other over the years pouring out.

When you do finally pull apart to catch your breaths, you’re still holding each other and press your foreheads together. You breathe in the familiar scent of incense and green tea, trying to savor and soak in the moment.

“You know I’ve liked you ever since we met?” He whispers after a few seconds.

“You know I have too?” You smile as you pull away slightly, just enough to fully see his face, most likely chiseled by the gods themselves.

“I apologize if it is too soon to say this but…I love you, Y/N Strange.” He smiles sheepishly, a light blush spreading across his face.

“And I love you too, Daniel Rand.” You beam, overjoyed that he did indeed feel the same way you did. You just felt stupid that it took you two dorks 3 years to finally realize it.

He leans in and kisses you again, holding you close as he lays you down so he’s on top of you. You grab his hands and intertwine your fingers as you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, and you part your lips to deepen the kiss.

“Ha! I knew you-! Oh.” Someone shouts as the door slams open.

You recognize the voice and shove Danny off of you, both of you whipping around to see a very stunned Wong in the doorway.

“Hey there, Wong.” You scratch the back of your neck as Danny quickly climbs off of you and catapults himself to the other side of the room. Both of your faces and necks turn bright crimson red the longer Wong stares.

“Well, um…I guess I owe Mordo and Scarlet Witch $25.” He finally states.

“What?” You raise an eyebrow.

“We have a bet going.” He shrugs, before crossing his arms and his usual poker face returns. “So sorry to interrupt your little make out session, but I have 30 bookshelves knocked over and the books are all over the place.”

“Wong, I swear it was an accident.” You spit out. “I promise I’ll help clean it up.”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t ask you to help with something that time consuming.” He says, dripping with sarcasm. “You’re cleaning it up by yourself.��

“Yes sir.” You sigh.

“Now, I expect it to be properly organized by tomorrow afternoon. Let’s go.” He motions for you to follow him.

You groan as you get up, dreading the hours of arranging the shelves you’d have to do. You slip the sling ring into Danny’s hand as you pass and whisper, “My room tonight.”

•

“Wong, have you seen Y/N anywhere?” Doctor Strange walked into the now neat and tidy Kamar Taj library that you had spent hours working on about a week ago. He had been looking for you, wanting to help you practice perfecting the telekinesis spell, which obviously didn’t go well the first time.

“I believe her and Daniel are tending to the Garden of P’an-T’ao.” Wong waved off the question, deeply concentrated on trying to win a Twitter roast against this talking raccoon. And this talking raccoon was quite brutal, to Wong’s surprise.

“Is it just me or have they been hanging out way more often lately?” He asks his friend.

“They always hang out.” Wong mumbled.

“Well yes, but they’re basically joint at the hip now.” Doctor Strange paced. “There’s something going on between them, I can feel it.”

Wong stayed silent, trying to think of ways to divert the doctors attention elsewhere. He had another bet going with Mordo and Scarlet Witch, Wiccan and Magik had joined in on this one, so he wanted the grand prize of $80. Now they were betting on how long it would take the Sorcerer Supreme, one of the smartest men on earth, to figure out that his daughter was now dating the Iron Fist, and Wong had bet the longest amount of time.

“They’re just gardening.” He shrugs once more.

“I suppose. But every day?”

“They’re probably just enjoying the last few weeks of summer left.” Wong quickly adds. Thank god you had complained about having to do homework again soon, or he wouldn’t have thought of that.

“…you’re probably right.” Strange nods finally.

“Oh, curse you, rodent!” Wong throws his phone down after reading the latest, and particularly nasty Tweet the raccoon had just posted.

“What on earth are you doing?” Strange picked up the phone and his eyes widen. “Oh wow. That’s clever.”

“Load of help you are.” Wong scoffed, still offended by the insults.

“Ha! This ones even funnier!”

•

You were definitely not gardening. First, because gardening was one of the worst things ever. Second, because you would much rather be spending time with your boyfriend. You cringed at yourself when you felt giddy just saying that, but you were in fact now dating Danny Rand.

You weren’t necessarily hiding it, but it was quite amusing that your father hadn’t yet cracked the case. He was a smart guy, but was apparently clueless about your personal life. Human interactions weren’t always his strong suit, to be fair.

You and Danny were just peacefully reading in your room, since you still needed to do more research for Mordo’s “tutoring” (which was really just him watching you make mistakes over and over until you learned how to fix them yourself), and Danny was always reading. You two were just nerds that way. So when your father burst into the room, neither of you were thoroughly impressed. I mean, it’s only taken 2 weeks for him to figure it out.

“You two are dating?!” He screeches at the both of you.

“Really?” You say sarcastically as you turn to your boyfriend. “Danny, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve put my book down.”

“Now is not the time for your clever little jokes, young lady.” Your father snaps, offended when Danny snickers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Gee, maybe it was because you’d react irrationally. My mistake, I should’ve known you’d be totally cool with it.” You say dryly.

“Plus, we weren’t exactly hiding it.” Danny added.

“Shut it, blondie.”

“Dad, don’t be rude.” You cross your arms.

“Well, now that I know you’re dating, I think we need to have a little discussion.” He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Oh God…” You groan, already knowing what’s coming.

“You’re too young to have sex, but if you’re going to do it-“

“Do it safely, responsibly and consensually.” You and Danny recite, already hearing this a million times from Wong and Mordo when they found out you were dating.

“…right.” Your dad narrowed his eyes at you. “So don’t forget to-“

“Use protection.” You both say,

“…um, yes. And make sure-“

“We both consent with an enthusiastic yes.”

Your dad stares at the both of you, apparently you had already heard this speech. He was your dad, he hadn’t given it to you before. He would have to have a little chat with the other sorcerers. But he sensed that you two weren’t taking him seriously, despite how maturely you were taking it.

“I’m just saying, you know how many girls your age I’ve seen giving birth at the hospital?”

“Dad, you were a surgeon, not an obstetrician.” You blink at him. “Besides, I don’t want children, I’ve mentioned this. That’s more than enough reason for me to uh…not do it.”

“Well then. This was a lovely chat. Carry on with your…reading.” He slowly exits your room, leaving the door open. Not that it really mattered, he stepped through a portal to the Kamar Taj library, leaving you two alone in the Sanctum.

Doctor Strange turned to Wong, hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised. Wong stared at him, freezing mid-bite of his food.

“So when were you going to alert me that my daughter was dating Daniel?” He taps his foot in annoyance.

“What? You weren’t supposed to find out till November!” Wong threw down his food. “Curse Wanda.”

“What?”

“Anyways.” Strange shook his head as he joined his friend at the table. “I gave them a little chat. I think I really got through to them. We’re on a new found level of respect.”

•

“Now is not the time for your clever little jokes young lady.” Danny mocks your dad, and you double over in laughter.

“Can you believe him?” You wheeze. “Oh man, that made my year.”

“So are we ever going to tell him that we’re waiting till marriage?” He asks as he follows you through the Sanctum, on your guys’ way to the library.

“Nah.” You giggle as you intertwine your fingers. “I’ll let him stress.”

“You’re an evil daughter.” He chuckled.

“Hey, that’s what he gets for sitting and watching me put every single book away when I knocked them over.” You shrug, placing a kiss on his jaw.

“You’re the one who knocked them over with your clumsy ass.” He laughs as you open the door to the library.

“I am not clumsy!” You shout, slamming the door open. Turns out you slammed the door so hard, and your father rearranged the shelf placement, because the door knocked over a case of books. Then another, and another, and another…

“No you’re right, you’re graceful and elegant.”

“Run?” You wince as the last shelf makes a loud BOOM as it collides with the marble flooring.

“Run.” He simply nods.

#Danny Rand x Reader #Iron Fist x Reader #ultimate spider man #danny rand #iron fist

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