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luv4fandoms · 2 years ago

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The Rut (Dwayne x Fem!Reader)

It is finally here! I was actually planning on writing Dwayne's chapter last but so many people wanted his chapter that I couldn't see putting it off lol, As I said before every boy will be getting his own part. (Also since I've been asked, this isn't really a poly relationship series, this is a "only (insert boy) likes reader" kinda thing).

So this series was inspired by @auntvamp 's headcannons about the boys in rut, and when I say that I couldn't help but write this after reading those lol. I'd highly suggest reading that first. I'd also like to thank her from the bottom of my heart for the help, I really wasn't sure how to write Dwayne, like all everyone says is that he is the strong silent type, but I was unsure of how he would be with a mate and she took time out of her day to message me and give me ideas for this chapter 😭 Thank you again for that!❤️

Lastly I'd like to thank @santacarlatourism for their headcanons of each boy's scent on my post

Paul, Marko, David

Word count: 4,097

Pairing: Dwayne x Female Reader

Warnings: THIS STORY IS PURE SMUT!! THAT IS ALL IT IS!! MINORS DNI!!

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Ko-Fi

"Just don't invite him in"

That's what David had told you when he informed you to stay away from the cave for the next couple of days. You were confused when David had met you at the entrance the night before, you were fully prepared to spend the night at the boardwalk with the boys and your favorite vampire, but David had quickly shot down those plans.

"Wait…A rut? Like how animals have ru-"

"Yes just like that" he told you as he walked you back to your car.

"You see when we go into these we are very dangerous to you, if you were a vampire you would be ok but since you're a human you're far more…"

"Fragile" you finished, the boys had all told you that before, taking it upon themselves to protect you all the time because you were "like a China doll" in Dwayne's words.

"So you understand why it's best if you just stay away for a couple of days" he explained, to which you could only simply nod as you climbed in your car. Your thoughts suddenly taking a turn as you thought of him…they were all extremely attractive…him especially…and you were sure him taking a partner for a quick time was something he had done before…would that happen again? After all, if he was gonna kill them anyways why not? It didn't matter if they were fragile right? But why did that thought make you wanna cry even more in this situation?

"It's not like that" David's voice broke you out of your thoughts and you were unsure if he had read your thoughts or could just read your emotions.

"Go home y/n, don't overthink, you can come back soon" he told you as he shut your car door, watching as you started the car and rolled down the window when he knocked

"And one more thing" he told you while leaning in.

"Just don't invite him in"

So here you were, sitting in your room, listening to music and drawing, wishing you could just go hang out with the boys, you hadn't really realized just how much of a staple in your life they had become until now. Night's seemed boring without them…without him. Sighing you sat your sketchbook down on your nightstand after you realized that in your zoned out state you had successfully sketched what was probably the twentieth picture of him that resided in the book. Stretching, you got up and changed the music, putting on your newest Jimi Hendrix album, you hadn't really listened to him much until Dwayne got you into him, he would always take you aside and let you just relax in his room when the boys got too rowdy, putting a record on and just letting you both drift off into the music. You felt your body sway as All along the watchtower came on, a favorite for both of you, but your body came to a halt when you heard knocking on your window, slowly turning, your breath and heart picking up as David's words rang in your head again.

"Just don't invite him in"

You knew it would be stupid to pretend to not be here, the music was loud enough to alert anyone, and he could, no doubt, smell you.

"You gonna open up Princess?" He asked, his voice calm but you could hear the darker tone and slight gravel, telling you that he was currently vamped out.

"Um…I'm not exactly supposed to" you told him after a moment, listening as a low growl filled the silence.

"I'm guessing David talked to you?"

"Yeah…He said he would be best if I just-"

"Nevermind what he said" he interrupted you, something you weren't used to from him.

"I can explain it all but you gotta let me in Princess" he spoke again after a moment. You knew you shouldn't, you knew you should listen to David and just tell him to leave, but you also knew that out of all of them you always felt the safest with Dwayne, and you believed that even in this state, he wouldn't put you in danger. You slowly made your way over to the window, pulling back the black out curtains and peering out onto the little balcony that was attached. Golden eyes met (e/c) and you quickly took note of him being completely bare on top, usually his jacket gave him some modesty, but tonight it was gone, something that was very unusual.

"Princess" he spoke in a sort of low sigh, like he was beyond relieved just to see you. You opened the window, leaning out to talk to him.

"Dwayne are you sure this is-" but you were quickly cut off by the feeling of his soft lips on yours, the kiss wasn't rough, but firm, like he couldn't release you even if he wanted to and honestly, you didn't want him to. His hands cupped your face, tongue slowly gliding along your lips before he parted them, fangs grazing the soft skin as he consumed your every sense. Your hands gripped his arms, trying to ground yourself but only losing yourself more, you knew Dwayne was fit but you had never gotten a good look, or feel, because of his jacket, but now his warmer than normal flesh under your palms had your mind reeling..As did the smells that seemed to make your head fuzzy, the scent of leather and motor oil that always clung to him, as well as the smell of the ocean air, and the natural musk that you could only describe as him, but now they seemed to be cranked up to a hundred, clouding your thoughts and filling them with him and only him. As if sensing that air was getting limited, you felt him pull away, your own lips chasing his, before you felt him rest his forehead against yours.

"Let me in Princess" he told you, voice deeper but still soft, though you noted the restraint in his tone.

"Dwayne I-"

"I'll explain everything" he told you and you took a moment to get your brain in order, though you found it incredibly difficult.

"Ok"

"I can come inside?" He asked, and you could feel the smile against your lips.

"You can come inside" you repeated, unknowing just how your words affected him.

"I'll remember that" he whispered against your lips, before you were suddenly in your room again, your feet no longer touching the ground as he carried you to your bed, laying you down on the mattress before quickly climbing over you. Your lips reconnected instantly and your hands began exploring his newly exposed skin. You felt his hand leave your face, running down your sides before coming up under your shirt, his other hand quickly joining it as he began lifting the material, only breaking the kiss to quickly remove the offending article before reconnecting his lips to yours. His hands quickly cupped your breasts, claws dragging over your soft skin while he listened to your heart rate pick up, the smell of your arousal becoming stronger and this time it was his head that was becoming fuzzy. His lips left yours, trailing down your neck to mark it, he would make sure that everyone on the boardwalk knew you were his, his human, his girl…His mate. The thought had him slowly grinding down, hips digging into yours as you felt him rubbing against where you needed him. The friction caused a gasp and moan to leave your lips, which you guessed turned him on more because he began to press down harder. You whimpered as his mouth latched onto your nipple, a sound that had him growling. Your hand tangling in his dark locks before gripping slightly, pulling gently, and causing him to reattach his lips to yours, his hands shooting down to quickly take off your bottoms.

"Dwayne" you whimpered, feeling him take off his own pants, full skin on skin contact making you both sigh. You felt his hand slide down your side, fingers ghosting along your thigh before moving up to press against you, you couldn't stop the moan even if you tried, the sudden contact on your heat had you squirming under him, a fact that had him smiling in the kiss. He gently ran his finger along your core, gathering the wetness before rubbing tight slow circles on your clit, making sure to be careful of his claws.

"Fuck" you panted, hips moving up to seek out more pleasure, and you heard him chuckle against your mouth.

"You like that?" He asked, other hand brushing your hair away from your face so he could look down at you, your flushed cheeks, your blown pupils, your chest rising and falling with your quickened breath and rapid heartbeat, you were like a goddess laid out before him, and the only thought that kept running through his head was simply.

'mine'

"Tell me what you want" he breathed against your neck before he returned to marking you, his hand never stopping its movement as you became wetter against his fingers.

"Shit…Dwayne" you whimpered, hands gripping his arms, nails slightly digging in as you rocked your hips in time with his fingers.

"You like this? Like me taking my time with you? Like me making sure you're soaking?" He asked, and honestly you swore you could have cum right there. You had never even thought of him being into dirty talk with as little as he spoke, but having that deep voice whisper such things right against your skin, you couldn't stop the moan even if you tried.

"Fuck…more…please" you begged, watching as he sat back on his knees, smiling down at you, all the while his hand never stopped.

"More? What do you want baby?" He asked, his other hand running along your stomach before coming up to cup your breast, lightly playing with your nipple, just enough to give you slight twinges of pleasure.

"You" you begged, hand grabbing his as you brought it up to your face, gently bringing his thumb into your mouth.

"You gonna take me?" He asked, his hand picking up speed and pressure, watching as your eyes rolled back, your whimper muffled by his finger.

"Gonna take everything I give you?" He added, his own mind starting to picture everything, and he could feel himself starting to lose control again.

"You're gonna know you're mine by the end of the night" he smiled, and watched as your legs locked up, trembling before a louder muffled moan tumbled from you, his hand becoming even wetter as he watched the pure ecstasy wash over you. He worked you through it, only stopping once you removed his finger from your mouth to whimper a please.

"Think you can give me another one Princess?" He asked, body hovering over yours as he kissed your chest, listening to your heart slow down a bit.

"Yes" you panted, hands coming up to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss, you felt his hands grab your thighs as he parted your lips with his, dominating the kiss while he slotted himself between your legs, wrapping them around his waist and slowly grinding into your heat, a feeling that had the both of you moaning.

"You want it?" He asked, looking down at you, golden gaze almost glowing as he watched you.

"Yes" you begged, hips lifting to meet his.

"Tell me" he moaned.

"Fuck I want all of you, please"

"All of me?"

"Yes"

"You'll take everything I give you?"

"Fuck yes!"

"You'll take every drop?" He asked, eyes never leaving yours, but you noted the yearning look in his gaze as he watched you, waiting for your answer.

"Every drop" you panted, listening as a low growl left him, and watching as he slowly dragged his length through your folds, coating himself. You hadn't given much thought to size, but now, looking down and watching him, you were starting to wonder if he would even fit. And as if reading your mind you heard him chuckle.

"I'll go slow" he told you, leaning back over you to capture your lips once more before warning you.

"I'm not sure if I'll be able to stop once I start though" you could only nod, the thought of Dwayne, cool, calm, and collected Dwayne completely losing control during sex made you wetter than you'd care to admit…Though he seemed to have known.

"You like that idea?" He chuckled, taking a deep breath before another low growl rumbled against your chest.

"You smell so fucking good when you get horny" he spoke against your skin.

"W-wait you can-"

"Everytime, everytime you came into the cave after reading one of your little private books," he started, and you felt the smile against your skin.

"Or when I pulled you away from Paul and sat you on my lap" he added, and you knew exactly what he was talking about. You and Paul had been jamming out, dancing like idiots to whatever rock song Paul had put on, you had started feeling a bit tired, and were just about to go sit down when suddenly Dwayne had pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you back against him. You had been so flustered and turned on by his strength and had hoped the guys would just read your flushed cheeks and rapid heartbeat as just from dancing…it seems you had been wrong.

"Last chance" he spoke again, pulling you out of your memory, your eyes meeting once more.

"Say no now and I'll leave" but that was the last thing you wanted, you wanted him, all of him, and whatever he would give you. So instead you tangled your hands in his hair and pulled him to you, lips crashing against his and that was the only sign he needed. His hand quickly lined himself up and without a second thought he was slowly sinking into you, groaning as your heat swallowed him. The pace he set was slow but firm, shallow thrusts, like he didn't want to leave your body for too long, and also to make sure he didn't hurt you, he knew he was a lot to handle, he would have to build up to that. Each thrust pulled a moan from you though, a sound he found himself drowning in.

"You like this?" He asked with a smirk as he watched you, your head thrown back and eyes closed, legs tight around his waist.

"Come on Princess, I know you can be louder than that" he groaned, watching as you reached down to grip his arm, your other hand going against the headboard to stop yourself from moving up the bed. He could feel himself getting lost in everything, the sound of your pounding heartbeat, a sound that had his inner beast clawing to get out, the feeling of your skin against his, your breasts pressed against his chest as he put more of his weight against you. The feeling of your heat pulling him in, surrounding him as you only continued to become wetter, which created a whole new sound that had him moaning against your neck. Your bed squeaking with every firm thrust and your moans now a constant, along with whimpers of his name. Your smell was making his head even fuzzier at this point, your natural scent cranked up as sweat began to coat your body from the heat.

"Gonna...Fuck...Gonna fill you up" you heard him groan, feeling him begin to push deeper with every thrust, your body welcoming him, especially when he started hitting that spot inside you.

"Gonna give you…Shit...every last drop" he panted against your skin, growling at the moan you released at the idea, he could smell it, how your body was waiting for what only he could give it.

"You want it?" He asked, listening as your moans pitched in tone, your heartbeat picking up even more, he knew you were getting close.

"Please" you begged, you knew you must have looked and sounded almost pathetic, but at that moment you didn't care, you didn't even know what he was asking, you just wanted anything and everything that he was willing to give you.

"Say you want it…Fuck…Say you'll take it" he groaned, fangs grazing your neck as he thrust forward, completely bottoming out, pulling another moan from the both of you.

"Shit…Say you'll be a good mate and take my child" he growled, and the realization of what he had been asking for hit you, a thought that probably should have made you take a moment, but instead had you locking your legs tighter around him, Fuck you really wanted to give him a child if you could, you had seen him with Laddie, you knew he would be a really good fucking dad. He lifted up, just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze still a blazing gold but you could see the almost pleading behind the pure primal instinct. Without a second thought you buried your hand in his hair, pulling it as you brought his lips to yours for the third time that night, in a passionate kiss, only stopping to breathe against his lips.

"Put a baby in me"

You feared for a moment that it sounded too funny, your wording, or that he had changed his mind as you felt him slow down, the two of you just staring at one another.

"Say it again" he spoke slowly, sitting back on his knees to look down at you with a look you hadn't seen before, a look of a predator getting its prey exactly where it wanted it.

"Put a..baby in me?" You asked, your tone more a question as you watched a smile slowly spread across his face.

"Yeah?" He asked

"Yeah" you smiled, too distracted with his gaze to realize he was beginning to move again until he thrust forward, dragging another moan from your throat as your head tilted up, eyes rolling back. He didn't let your body move far though, hands holding your hips in a bruising grip, claws slightly breaking the skin and sending tiny shocks of pleasure through your system. His thrusts became quick but firm once more, though in the beginning they were shallow, not wanting to hurt you by having you take too much, now they were deep, his length never leaving your heat for too long as he worked you both towards your highs. The sound of skin on skin echoed in the room, your wetness and moans only adding to the lewd noises that were sending him towards his end. But it was the thought, the promise that had his own eyes rolling back, you were his mate and you were gonna give him something he had wanted for so long. Leaning forward again he kept himself up on one arm, his other still holding your hips.

"Fuck I'm close" he panted, feeling your legs bend higher against his hips, caressing his sides as you opened yourself more for him, drawing him in deeper, allowing him in closer to where he needed to be.

"Me too" you whimpered, nails dragging down his back as you held on.

"Cum for me Princess" he spoke, groaning when you pulled his hair, he could feel the coil in his stomach tightening with every thrust. You felt him bury his face against your neck, tongue dragging along the soft flesh as his hot breaths fanned it, lips caressing it, and fangs lightly dragging along it. You knew what he wanted, and honestly, you did too. Tilting your head to the side you pulled him closer by the hand that was still buried in his dark locks, pressing his face further against your neck and giving him the ok, a sign he only needed to be given once as you felt his fangs pierce the skin. The feeling wasn't uncomfortable, in fact it was the last push you needed to send you over the edge, your legs locking around his waist, one hand digging into his back while the other gripped his hair tighter, eyes closed as a loud moan of his name left you. For him it was much the same, as soon as your blood touched his tongue he was gone, hips speeding up before stuttering as he felt you lock your legs around him, his grip on your hip and sheets tightening while his mouth left your neck, head thrown back as a moan left him, blood covering his lips and chin while he continued to move, continued to to do as he promised and give you every last drop. You felt his hips begin to slow just as your eyes came back into focus, your mind becoming clearer as you came back down from your high. You looked up at him, watching as his eyes were still closed, mouth slightly ajar as quick pants left him, his hips gave small gentle thrusts as he refused to let even a drop leave your body. You watched as he blinked once, twice, before his head lowered, gaze meeting yours and you noted that his golden eyes had lost the red haze they seemed to have had before. You watched as a slow smile graced his face, hand coming down to cup your cheek before bringing your lips to his, the taste of blood on your tongue was a bit odd, but something you could get used to if it meant more kisses from him.

"Thank you" he breathed against your mouth, earning a giggle from you.

"You don't have to thank me Dwayne, I'm your mate after all right?" You smiled, watching as his gaze softened even more before he pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

"My mate"

"I honestly didn't expect you to come here" you spoke after a while, hand running through his hair as he now laid his head on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat, but your words caused him to tilt his head up towards you, an unspoken question in his eyes.

"David said you all were going through a rut, and to stay away from you all because it was dangerous…even you have stated before how fragile I am" you told him, watching as he leaned up a bit, and whimpering as he shifted inside you, having never pulled out.

"You are," he teased.

"But I wouldn't go anywhere else" he added, making you give him a confused look.

"It's not all of us going through a rut, just me"

"What? Do you all do it at different times or?"

"No. We've only been told about this, but none of us have ever gone through it. We don't go through it unless we find our mate"

"...Wait…Your mate…so that wasn't just…sexy vampire talk?" You asked, a question that caused him to start laughing.

"You find me calling you my mate sexy?" He asked, grinning as he leaned down to kiss the bite mark he left, his hips moving to give a shallow thrust and you realized that he was hard once again.

"Maybe" you giggled.

"Our mates are like the vampire's version of soulmates" he explained, a warm feeling spreading through your body at the information.

"So…I'm your soulmate?" You couldn't help but ask, a dopey grin on your face as he unburied his and met your gaze.

"Yeah, you're my soulmate Princess" he smiled back.

"And with any luck," he spoke with a smirk after a moment, hips gently thrusting, creating a slow steady rhythm.

"We could definitely make sure that takes," you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he leaned up on his arms, hovering over you to reach a better angle, one that had him once again hitting that spot inside you.

"Thank you" he told you again with a smile, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss.

"You're gonna be an amazing dad" you told him once he pulled away, watching the pure joy spread across his face.

"You're gonna be an amazing mom Princess" he told you, kissing you again before leaning back to pick up his pace a bit.

"I think we can fit in a few more rounds before the rut is over" he chuckled, golden eyes seemingly glowing again as he looked down at you, and you realized you were in for a long night.

So there it is ladies! I hope you enjoyed this one, like I said before Dwayne has been hard for me to write since I got into The Lost Boys lol

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for the David chapter just let me know.

Taglist

@its-monster-mash , @arenpath , @xxx-wounded-angel-xxx , @katpursley94-blog , @theamericanjewitch , @shewhomustnotbenamedsworld , @thelostone91 , @blazeflays , @ilikechocolatemilkh , @babyloutattoo89 , @bigcreatorwombatdreamer , @non-binary-disastrous-mess , @2525sc , @kitteebree , @besas-stuff , @justaspeachy , @faefairi3 , @its-freaking-bats , @santa-carla-boardwalk-1987 , @urmothersmistress , @misslavenderlady @heavenwoodcoco

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foundtherightwords · 9 months ago

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The Firebird - Chapter 6

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: none

Chapter word count: 3.4k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - The Tsar's Quest

At close quarters, Tsar Afron's castle was as sumptuous as it was from afar. Though it was constructed of wood like the rest of the town, the carvings were a lot more intricate, draping like lace along the roofs, running down columns and banisters, surrounding windows and doors like decorations on a marzipan cake, and painted so they stood out against the rich brown log walls and shone even in the twilight. Every roof peak was topped with a gilded weathervane or an ornament in the shape of a horse. The inside was even more resplendent, with walls and ceilings painted in the brightest shades or covered in the richest tapestries, all illuminated by the light from hundreds of gold chandeliers. And everywhere was the image of horses, in every configuration and pose, carved into the wood or painted in gold. Paul, used as he was to the splendor of the palaces of Saint Petersburg, had to remember to close his mouth lest he drooled at all this opulence and looked even more like a fool than he already did.

Not that he had much of a chance to take it in. After Zhara's demonstration on the pasture, the soldiers wasted no time bringing them to Tsar Afron, and now he had to scurry to keep up with their long strides down the many corridors of the castle. To make things worse, the soldiers had been too frightened to rebind Zhara's hands, but had neglected to untie him, so he was forced to march with his hands behind his back like a common criminal. He didn't dare complain. He could feel Zhara's anger coming off her like a heat wave, and he was afraid that wave would burn him to a crisp on the spot if he so much as opened his mouth.

He had been a fool, he knew. Yes, he could try to blame Zhara for not trying harder to warn him, or even blame the horse for moving toward him first, but at the end of the day, he was the one that had decided to steal the horse. He was the one that had gotten them into this mess. Somehow, in this strange land with its strange, bewildering rules, Paul was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore his own fault.

The commander stopped in front of a door covered in so much carving and gilding that it hurt Paul's eyes, and instructed them to wait. Zhara seemed to have simmered down a little, so Paul cleared his throat and turned to her, hoping to get back into her good graces with something he'd never uttered—an apology. "Listen, I'm—"

"No, you listen," she interrupted, a finger pressed into his chest, hot enough to burn through his shirt. "Once we are in front of the tsar, do not speak. Do not make a sound. I don't want to hear so much as a peep from you. I shall handle the talking, and if you still wish to see your precious Rus' again, you shall follow my lead. Do you understand?"

Paul was quite certain his shirt was starting to smoke and scorch. There was nothing else he could do but nod. At that moment, the door opened, and they were ushered into the throne room. It was more magnificent than the rest of the castle combined, all crimson walls painted with gold vines, gilded window frames, and, on a raised platform, framed by a red velvet tapestry, stood a pure gold throne flanked by two gold horses, where Tsar Afron was seated.

For all the equine imagery around the castle, Paul had expected the tsar to be something of a Tartar, but the man he saw was rather weedy and colorless, with pale skin, thin hair of an indeterminate shade, a downturned mouth that gave him the look of a sulky child, and eyes that were watery blue under one light and gray under another. Those eyes squinted inquisitively as Paul and Zhara were led into the room. Zhara dropped a curtsey. Paul, following her lead, sketched an awkward bow.

"Lady Zhara," Afron said in a wheezing voice. "Forgive me this rather unfortunate welcome, but I was told that you were a fugitive..."

"No, my lord, it is I that must beg forgiveness," Zhara said. "What you heard is not true"—and here she gave a brief summary of the story she'd told Paul and of their goal to find Baba Yaga. "We were on our way to ask for your help," she continued, "but my—companion here was worried that the horse would not take to us and decided to introduce himself." That was a rather clever way of explaining their presence in the pasture without admitting that they had been trying to steal the horse. "It was an honest mistake. We never meant to disrespect you."

Afron let out a deep sigh. "I, too, have heard disturbing reports from Arthania that match your story," he said. "Had you come to me first, I would have done my utmost to help you put an end to your brother's reign of terror." Paul could feel Zhara's glare boring a hole into the side of his head, and he hung his head in shame.

"But," the tsar continued, "the truth of the matter is, you did disrespect me, by entering my land and putting your hand on my most valuable property without permission. These trespasses ought to be severely punished."

Paul wanted to shout, The horse touched me first!, but he remembered Zhara's warning and kept his mouth shut.

"However, out of respect for your late honorable father, I shall excuse you, if you perform a certain service for me." The tsar said this in an oily voice that reminded Paul of the way the soldiers had leered at Zhara, causing him to bristle. Well, if Afron insisted on behaving the same way as his men, then Paul would have to speak up, regardless of Zhara's wrath. He would allow no one to talk to a lady that way.

Zhara asked warily, "And what service would that be, my lord?"

"Bring me back Tsarevna Elena the Fair."

Afron's request didn't come as a complete surprise to Paul. It was how it happened in the tale. The question was, did it happen this way because it was in the tale, or because he, knowing the tale, had inadvertently caused it to happen...? It hurt his head to think about it, so Paul stopped thinking about it.

Zhara frowned. "Tsarevna Elena of Bryansk, you mean?"

"Do you know of any other tsarevna of the same name?" Afron replied, his eyes turning dreamy as he looked at a spot somewhere in the distance. "For so long I have loved her with my whole body and soul, but her mother, Tsarina Kostroma, is proud and rejects my suit. The Horse with the Golden Mane will be yours, if you can bring me Elena's hand in marriage."

The lustful look on the tsar's face made Paul feel quite sick, and he saw Zhara's lips curl in barely concealed distaste. Then she set her mouth in a resigned line. "As you wish, my lord," she said, inclining her head. "If you would be so kind as to provide us with some supplies, we shall be on our way presently."

"Presently?" Afron said, surprised. Paul glanced at Zhara in dismay. It had been several long days, and he was rather hoping for some rest and proper food. Well, he supposed he should have thought of that before deciding to steal the horse.

"Time is of the essence, my lord," Zhara said. "We cannot delay."

"Very well," Afron said. "I shall have my servants prepare for your trip."

He clapped, and a string of servants appeared to replace the soldiers in leading Paul and Zhara out. Once they were safely away, Paul held Zhara back, out of the servants' earshot.

"What's the rush?" he asked. "I would've liked to sleep in a bed for one night at least."

"You don't deserve to sleep in a bed," she hissed, not looking at him. "You deserve to rot in Afron's dungeon!"

"Fine, leave me here then! I'm done trailing after you!"

"Perhaps I should."

She sounded rather serious, which made Paul stop short in his track. He hadn't considered the possibility that she might really leave him, and it filled him with trepidation. She was the only one who knew he was a stranger in this world; what would happen if he angered a leshy or a rusalka or one of the many strange creatures that roamed this land and she wasn't there to warn or shield him?

"You're not going to, are you?" he said plaintively. "I know I should have listened to you..."

She turned and examined his sheepish face for a moment or two, her eyes softening.

"Well, I guess someone ought to keep an eye on you," she said. Paul gave her an uncertain smile, which, strangely enough, seemed to fluster her. "Just so you wouldn't wander around trying to be a hero!" she snapped, before turning and following the servants down the corridor.

Despite Zhara's refusal to stay the night, Afron still insisted on treating them as honored guests. Paul soon found himself luxuriating in a hot bath in the tsar's personal bathhouse. It was heavenly, except for a startling moment when he again caught a glimpse of another green-skinned creature covered in birch leaves, but it quickly disappeared. He then had his shoulder wound redressed with some sort of herbal poultice and was given a new suit of clothes in the old style, before Peter the Great introduced European fashion to Russia, made of the finest fabric and beautifully embroidered. His own clothes were cleaned, and even his wig was carefully brushed and set aside for him. Paul hesitated to put it back on—it did not go with the old-fashioned clothes, making him look like the Fool of his mother's court—but he felt naked without it, so he wore it anyway.

"Wow" was all Zhara uttered when he rejoined her outside the dining room. The bath seemed to have lifted her mood. She had changed into nicer clothes as well—a snow-white chemise, a red sarafan embroidered in gold, a gold headdress studded with pearls and rubies, and a string of coral beads around her slender neck. But for all the regal air they gave her, her sarcastic, impish grin remained the same.

"Stop it," Paul said sullenly, tugging at the upstanding collar of his shirt. "I look like an imbecile."

"No, you look like you would fit right in with the Lukomorians," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Even with that ridiculous wig." Her teasing only made Paul scowl and ram the wig more tightly onto his head, out of contrariness.

They entered the dining room and sat down to a scrumptious supper. It was nothing like the feasts that Paul was used to in his mother's court—the food was simpler and heartier—but the taste was incomparable. He was so busy stuffing his face that it took him a while to notice Afron was asking him something. He looked up, bewildered.

"I say, are you a knight at the court of the late Tsar Artyom?" the tsar said.

Paul gave Zhara a panicked look, not knowing how to answer.

"No," she smoothly interjected. "He's—a court jester."

"A court jester!" Afron exclaimed, looking rather offended at having to share his table with a fool. Paul, too, stared daggers at Zhara and opened his mouth to protest. She gave his leg a swift kick under the table.

"Yes, my father's favorite," she said. "And he has been most loyal and attentive to me since my flight from Arthania, so I thank you, my lord, for rewarding him with your kindness and generosity."

Afron's thunderous expression dissipated, and once more, Paul had to reluctantly admit that Zhara's quick wit had saved them.

"That explains his outlandish dress and manners then," Afron said. "But, my lady, will you be safe traveling with a jester as your only companion? I am quite worried for your safety."

Though clearly not worried enough to offer your soldiers as protection, Paul noted.

"Oh no, I trust him with my life," Zhara was quick to say. Paul glanced at her to see if she was speaking in earnest or not, but her face was turned toward the tsar, and her side profile gave nothing away. He looked down again, feeling rather hollow. It was likely that she said that simply to avoid raising Afron's suspicion.

After supper, Zhara insisted on departing right away. Afron saw them to the castle's front door, where their mounts and supplies were waiting. Upon seeing the animals, Paul almost shouted out in indignation and had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. Zhara, who seemed to see nothing wrong with them, curtseyed to Afron, thanked him, and promised to return soon with Elena the Fair's hand in marriage. They then mounted the animals and rode out of the fortress, under the light of a full moon.

It was only when they had gone far enough that Paul made his displeasure known.

"Donkeys!" he exclaimed. "I bet he has a stable full of horses, and he gave us two donkeys! What a miserly little—"

"Donkeys are perfectly good animals," Zhara said calmly. "Besides, horses are no good for us where we're going."

That sounded ominous. "Why? Where are we going?"

"There." She nodded toward the mountain range in the distance. "Perun's Crown." Paul had only given it a passing glance that afternoon, and now, his stomach dropped to see how far it spread out, a veritable wall of silver and crystal under the moonlight, stretching as far as the eyes could see, with peaks so high they were lost in the clouds, and so steep they were like knives cutting through the night sky.

"Elena the Fair lives up those mountains?" Paul asked, his voice coming out squeakier than he'd intended.

"No, don't be silly. Her kingdom is behind those mountains. But the quickest way is to go through them. And these donkeys are experts in crossing mountains. So stop your complaining and keep up."

***

It took them three days to reach the mountains. By the second day, Paul realized that Zhara had been right about the donkeys. The ground was becoming rougher, with almost no discernible path, yet the donkeys picked their way through the rocks as surefooted as walking through a level field.

Though Zhara still took care to hide under Paul's cloak during the day, they met very few people on their way. During the first two days, they traveled with some convoys of merchants, but one by one, these convoys all turned right as they neared the mountains and followed the river instead, and they were on their own.

"It may be easier traveling along the river, but for us, it is safer this way," Zhara said when they stopped on the second night by a rock outcrop, the mountains looming above them like some giant, ancient god. "We don't want to draw more attention to ourselves than we already have." She had changed out of her finery and was back into a coarse linen chemise and dark blue sarafan.

"Do you think your brother is tracking you?" Paul asked.

"I don't know. He may use the victims he has transformed into animals, like poor Alyosha, but that takes a lot of strength from him, so he is going to focus on protecting his death. He knows he only has to bide his time; I shall have to confront him sooner or later." She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them close to her body, her eyes fixed on their fire. "Besides, I wasn't just talking about me." She nodded at Paul meaningfully. "I didn't wish to stay at Tsar Afron's castle for longer than necessary because I didn't want him to start asking about you."

That reminded Paul of a question that had been bothering him for some time. "About that—how come you know I'm from Rus, but others don't?"

"Those of us with magic in our blood can always tell," she replied. "I don't know how to explain it—we simply know. Be thankful that the rest of Lukomorye do not have such ability."

"Is that... bad?"

"Anything from Rus' is a great curiosity here. If they knew who you are, they would descend on you like a pack of wolves. How would you like to be paraded around like some exotic creature, to be ogled at?" She smiled at Paul's horrified look. "I suppose it would be the same if I ended up in your world."

"It might be worse," he said. "You might be burned as a witch, even though that practice had been outlawed for a century now." Now it was his turn to grin at her.

Zhara laid her head on her knees and regarded him with interest. "What is it like, your world?" she asked.

Paul thought about it for a while. "It's—like here, but different," he said lamely. He did not know how to put into words the otherworldly feeling that constantly coursed through him ever since he set foot in this land. "The trees, the mountains, the river, even the people... they're all similar, but back in my world, they're more—dull, solid, while here, there is this air about them... I can't describe it. It's the same with how you can tell me from a Lukomorian, I suppose. It's—"

"—magic?" Zhara prompted.

It wasn't quite what he had in mind, but it would have to do. "Yes, magic," he agreed. A strange little smile flitted across Zhara's face. She said nothing more and went back to watching the flames.

They arrived at the foot of the mountains on the third day. There was a stone-built shelter there, and Paul and Zhara found themselves in the company of an old man, who said his name was Simeon, and that he was placed there to aid travelers in their crossing. He gave the donkeys some hay and stoked the fire to make tea, while Zhara opened the supplies Afron had given them and shared their food with him.

"It's been months, nay, close to a year, since I had anyone passing through," Simeon said, biting into a hunk of cheese with relish. "They all follow the river these days. Even large groups avoid the mountains. It's odd that you two would take this route..."

"My mother lives in Bryansk," Zhara said. "She is very sick, and I must go to her as soon as possible." This was the story she and Paul had agreed on, should they meet another traveler.

"Well, you're traveling light, so I suppose you don't have much to worry about—except for those two donkeys—" The old man considered their packs and clothes with the eye of an expert.

"Worry about what?" Paul asked.

"Who, my lad, worry about who," Simeon corrected him. "Nightingale the Robber. You have heard of him, yes?"

Paul wracked his brain for the old stories. "The one with the deadly whistle?" he asked.

"The very one. He has staked out these mountains as his own. His nest is on Perun's Peak, and he perches there, whistling down mountain passes, blowing men and animals against the rock. Many merchants have had their entire stock of goods and their animals taken, so now they just avoid these mountains altogether. And even then, those that stray a little too close to them may still be in danger."

Paul looked at Zhara and met her worried returning glance.

"Perhaps we should—" he began, but she shook her head.

"No," she said firmly. "It's going to take months to go around, and who knows what my—what might have happened to my mother by then." She glared at Paul briefly, giving him a silent warning to say no more.

Later, after Zhara had settled down on the narrow bed in a corner of the hut, Simeon clapped Paul on the shoulder. "Listen to your missus, my lad," the old man said. Paul's cheeks flamed. Though he and Zhara had agreed to pose as husband and wife, the idea still made him feel oddly shy. "I know you're worried about Nightingale, but trust me, having a wife and a mother-in-law angry with you is worse," Simeon continued in a friendly tone. "Why do you think I stay out here in this stone hut even when there's no traveler?" Chuckling, the old man climbed on the stove to sleep, leaving Paul to make himself comfortable by the fire.

Chapter 7

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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anopenbookunderlockandkey · 10 months ago

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The 118 Gaycation Chat

Buck: Eddie won’t go on vacation with me

Eddie: I didn’t say that

Bobby: if you two want to go on vacation I’ll find a way to make it work with the schedule

Buck: Bobby! Tell him he has to go with me!

Hen: why won’t you go on vacation with Buck, Eddie?

Eddie: I didn’t say I wouldn’t go on vacation with Buck

Buck: he absolutely said that, we were watching Ru Paul and they won a trip through gay getaway and it looked fun so I said we should do that and Eddie doesn’t want to

Hen: I mean does Eddie just not want to go?

Chim: didn’t you just get back from one of those Hen? Do all gay people love vacations? maybe we should quit firefighting and start a gay getaway company

Ravi: who doesn’t love a vacation?

Hen: plenty of queer people don’t like traveling ��

Bobby: Athena and I did come across a lot of gay cruises when looking for one, they seemed fun

Ravi: it’s also safer for queer people to travel in packs

Buck: yes yes all of that but Eddie said he won’t come with me

Eddie: I just don’t think it’ll be fair for two of the best looking firefighters in LA to steal their thunder

Chim: hey! I’m Mr April

Hen: we know Chim

Buck: I think it would be perfectly fair and you might just enjoy the attention Eds

Eddie: I’m too old for that type of attention

Buck: so you’re not denying you’d like the attention???

Eddie: who doesn’t like attention?

Buck: from men?

Eddie: sure, I’ll give them something to look at

Buck: 👀

Hen: you know what, that tracks

Chim: what tracks?????

Hen: Eddie and Buck being bi, have you seen the way they sit?

Eddie: how do I sit?

Chim: Buck did make out with Albert that one time

Buck: you’re bringing that up again?! It wasn’t a make out

Chim: hard disagree as the one who saw my brother and brother in law kissing with no warning 😵‍💫

Eddie: wait, you made out with Albert??? 🫨

Buck: you jealous?

Eddie: 🙄

Eddie: Hen, how do I sit??????

Hen: I mean sitting wrong and sexual behavior don’t a queer person make… but I was just saying it makes sense

Buck: wait! Did y’all not know that I’m bi? I thought it was obvious

Hen: it is obvious… but thanks for confirming, love you Buckaroo

Bobby: thank you for telling us and trusting us, kid

Chim: does Maddie know?! You know I can’t keep a secret

Chim: also congrats bro

Buck: yes, Maddie knows… it wasn’t a secret 🤪

Eddie: 🩷💜💙

Buck: you know the bi flag colors Eds?

Eddie: yep

Buck: 🧐

Hen: pretty sure no one in this chat is 100% straight 🏳️‍🌈 can’t forget the day Eddie joined the 118

Eddie: wait what happened the day I joined?

Chim: don’t worry about it

Eddie: 😬

Ravi: does this mean y’all are going on the gaycation afterall????

Buck: please please please

Eddie: fine, Buck, I’ll go with you

Buck: 🥹🥰🤩

Bobby: there will be vacation request forms waiting for you next shift

…..inspired by an actual conversation between me and my parents about an ad for a cruise 🤣

@professionalprocrastinator22 and @gravelyhalversobbing may you be blessed with my comedy

#things i decided i could make about 911 #i think im funny #that’s because i am #incorrect 911 quotes #text fic #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 abc #911 fox #buddie #Buck is bi #change my mind #Bobby ships BUDDIE

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digital-dulci · 1 year ago

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Wait until Wyll realises his father is actually Ru Paul

#This is what happens when you show bg3 to friends who don't know what bg3 is #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #bg3 #duke ravengard #baldurs gate 3

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usertransducks · 6 months ago

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I’m not waiting til Pride month to post this; Glomgold starts selling Pride merch to “one-up” Scrooge but he makes the Ru Paul Trains Flag mistake and also the bi flag is upside down

“Look, Scroogey, I support your niece more than you! Look at all this Glomgold Industries Pride merchandise I have!”

#he’s not homophobic he just wants that rainbow capitalism money and that’s the only reason #i have duckverse pride month posts queued already #flintheart glomgold #dt17 #ducktales #disney ducks

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keroradio · 5 months ago

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You've probably guessed that it's Kururu in the Kururuko suit, I'm actually not sure if Kururuko had actually been in the anime yet when this CD released, which is wild to think about

A fun little note to add, I've shorthanded Kururuko as 9665 to match to the pattern used for the canon shorthand versions: 9 is ku or kyu, 6 is roku (mu with some counters) and is also used for ru because they're similar, and 5 is go, but because go is ko with more vocal emphasis on the consonant, it works for ko as well

9665: Koyuki-chan, you seem listless. Could it be you have romantic worries too?

KYK: It could be, I might

723: What? Is it so!?

9665: Will you let us hear about it?

KYK: At first I admired them as a friend (1), but as I spent more time with that person, they became more fuzzy feelings

9665: That's love, isn't it!? (2)

723: That's right! Fuzzy feelings mean you're absolutely in love!

MMK: I also get fuzzy feelings...And warm feelings...And steamy feelings...

9665: Who's the person you're fretting over?

KYK: I can't bring myself to say it

9665: Well, try assigning a colour to that person

KYK: Uh...the red of passion! Perhaps

723: Giroro!?

KYK: You're mistaken!

9665: Then the right one is?

KYK: Strong willed, stubborn, but actually really kind

723: So it's Giroro after all!?

KYK: I said it wasn't him! The person I like is good at sports, and smart, and has the name of a season in their name

MMK: The person I like also has a season in his name! Ah! I can't say anymore! I won't give away even one more kanji character or anything like that!

723: Shares part of their name with a season...Fuyuki!?

MMK: The word part is right, but Fuyuki-kun hates sports- I almost gave it away! But that part's also "Kyun~♥"

KYK: Um. They're a member of his family

723: Fuyuki's family (gasp) The stupid frog!? Even though he's not a relative

KYK: Natsumi-san! Why won't you understand my feelings!?

723: About their name? Sorry, for some reason I'm just not getting it

Moa: Please listen! The person I like is the person I call "Uncle" you could say "A shocking confession"?

KYK: "Uncle"? Who is that? (3)

723: The person Mois-chan calls "Uncle" ...It can't be the stupid frog, so who is it?

Moa: Uh, well...

KYK: I know! It's 556-san!

Moa: It's not, it's

MMK: Could it be Paul?

P: Did you call me?

723: It's Paul's voice again!

N: It's your imagination, carry on talking

Moa: That person's a Keronian, and-

723: Giroro

Moa: There are other ones, aren't there!? That cool Mr Keronian is-

723: Dororo?

Moa: What~?

KYK: Congratulations! I hope you'll bring Dororo joy!

Moa: It's somebody else!

723: Then who is it?

KYK: Tamama-san? Ah, but he doesn't really feel like an "uncle"

723: That leaves...Kururu!?

Moa: That person is kind, and smart, and gallant, and a really wonderful person

9665: You're making me blush

723: Hey, what about the person Kururuko-chan likes?

Moa: My speech- you could say "sudden conclusion"?

723: Since everyone else has spoken, you tell us too, Kururuko-chan

966: Hmm-hmm, I don't really have interest in romance

723: That's no good, if you don't confess, nothing will change

KYK: That's right! When it's just us girls, we can confess things we normally keep to ourselves!

Moa: You could say "our lips are sealed"?

MMK: Did you already confess to that someone?

9665: I understand, she we've gotten this far I'll confess. The person I like is a Keronian! He has a sharp mind, is level headed, and on top of that, his inventing skills are unmatched. His favourite saying is "Traps and accidents, ku ku ku"

723: That sounds like, the unlikable one in an anime

Moa: The one whose goods don't sell, you could say "Inventory clearance sale?"

MKK: Wait, Kururuko-chan. What is that you're hiding in the valley of your chest"

KYK: What is it?

9665: T-this isn't anything

Moa: You could say "Getting a bad feeling"?

KYK: Ninja arts "chest valley target"!

(Ninja arts sounds)

KYK: What is this? It's a hidden camera!

723: What was that!? Then everything until now, us getting changed, and talking about love, you were secretly recording all of it!?

9665: D-don't make that scary face

All: We won't forgive it! Take that!

9665: Ah~ Stop it!

723: You can't run away!

MMK: Are you hiding anything else?

Moa: You could say "inescapable disaster"?

KYK: Restrain her!

9665: Oh no! That device is-!

723: K-Kururu!

966: Creeps

All: Who is!?

(Scene change~)

K66: Sgt Major Kururu, is this where you were? I've been looking everywhere for you

966: Leader?

K66: Gero! What happened to you, yes sir? You're covered in spiral shaped bruises

966: I made a small mistake, and all my efforts were ruined

K66: Ruined? (4)

966: Ah, that was a slip of the tongue

N: Right, the girls' names are Natsumi, Momoka, Mois, Koyuki, and Kururuko, these ordinary girls, went to an ordinary pool, and made flowers bloom with their ordinary conversation. But one was different, Kururuko-chan was really a boy

966: Ku ku ku~ Ah, that hurt

---------

1-The way Japanese is structured third person pronouns are used very rarely, in fact most of the instances you see any pronouns in these translations they were implied rather than being in the audio, which is why it's not clicking that Koyuki's talking about Natsumi

2-Here's something interesting, Japanese linguistically distinguishes romantic love, or infatuation, I don't think English really has a counterpart, but it's that phase where you can't stop thinking about the other person and feel melty when you do, that's "koi" and the term used here

Ai is for companient love like you feel towards your family, friends, and the person you're married to; there's even a saying that koi is self focused, while ai is focused on the other. And then a more generalised term for love is renai

3-Uncle and Aunt are also used to address people who are noticeably older than yourself, but not elderly, around the age range of your parents or so, it's typically associated with middle aged adults. So the other girls are guessing people who are categorically somebody you would address as uncle

4-This joke is a bit difficult to translate, but basically he's using the more feminine speech Kururuko used, instead of his normal speech pattern

#keroro gunso #sergeant keroro #sgt frog #sgt keroro #keroro gunsou #audio drama

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omegaremix · 5 months ago

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Cold Cave / Black Marble / Choir Boy @ Warsaw, N.Y.C.; June 14, 2018.

Hello, Warsaw. We meet again. It’s been seven months since I first visited the Polish powerhouse on Driggs Avenue in Greenpoint, one of my all-time favorite places to visit. That was when I attended Hospital Productions 20th Anniversary showcase and it became an unforgettable experience. This time, it’s a shorter affair featuring only three acts: Choir Boy, Black Marble, and headliner Cold Cave. The ritual is the same as last time and every time. Wait on the platform, take the train, hop on the subway line, and arrive in the neighborhood none more blacker where you stand against the venue’s wall. It was all clear out. Thursday’s warm air and blue skies was not symbolic of the night’s wicked-black climax. I called my sis- to tell her how euphoric I was feeling, experiencing these days and moments I normally don’t but should more often. For every time I waited entry at Warsaw, there was always someone from Stony Brook who I would randomly spot. Last time it was WUSB’s Cornflower zipping past on his bike. Now it’s Marcel, my queer friend from The Stony Brook Press whom I took a quick two seconds to be sure it was him. I was right. We hugged each other and then my anxiety shot up because I haven’t seen him since The Press’ 35th and the venue was ready to open its’ doors. He had to leave anyway for Ru Paul’s Drag Race, the diet of queer champions, but promised him we’d resume catching up down the road.

The line now entered Warsaw. Unlike Hospital’s instant get-go, we waited almost an hour for the opening act to go. Salt Lake City’s Choir Boy was first up, self-proclaimed Mormons (kidding or not) currently signed to Dais Records. They’re a spot-on bullseye of Eighties-aesthetic synthpop, new wave, and light goth-rock that was pleasing and lush. Never abrasive but gentle, breezy, and aurally sentimental. Adam Klopp’s vocals make the outfit’s namesake (he has sung in church choirs), hitting high notes just floating above the collective’s perfect dream world. Their synths, guitars, beats, and riffs and basslines fall right into my current Eighties kick, keeping the vibe alive. And note Kyle Hooper’s dangling earring when he’s right behind synths…

Black Marble was one of two reasons why I chose to be there. WUSB’s Nightmare Aquarium is responsible for making me a fan of theirs during a summer’s transition to Lindenhurst. Their output has been nothing but good to me. To this day, their sound is one I have yet to figure out and that’s a great thing. Chris Stewart / Black Marble got a great standing ovation revisiting his Brooklyn hometown as a new Los Angeles resident. It didn’t change the total mood or quality of his music if ever the slightest. Still a two-man two-guitar outfit without Ty Kube and a drum machine, Black Marble got right to it filling the vastness with said guitars and drum machines upfront as Stewart’s vocals receded far away and above into the open space. Even if there’s a cold, distant, low-fidelity quality in Black Marble, things somehow sound upbeat for its rays of sunshine. A clean perfect set all the way through.

Cold Cave finally take the stage. It can be said (and said again many times here) that they were one of the essential summer sparks igniting my personal revitalization of sorts during the post-economic crash. From then on, their songs continuously watermarked some of the better key moments in my life without fail, so it’s why I paid a visit to see them live as a thank-you. Wes Eisold made his entrance along with wife Amy Lee (guitars, synths), Ryan McMahon (drums), and Nils Blue (guitars) to open the set with songs from You & Me & Infinity. The New Order-inspired “Glory” really got the crowd going. Soon, New York City got a special treat only for themselves: an appearance by Genesis P-Orridge to perform “Comprehension”, her 2015 collaboration with Cold Cave and Black Rain. It’s her residency, so why not have Cold Cave make the most of their visit? Then the blinding “Heaven Was Full” and later on their marquee hit “Confetti”, which to me was the entire night.

Then, flashing solid colors went wild as Cold Cave went into “Rainbow Girls” mode, the only time the show went color. What did we win? A visit by author Max G. Morton of Eisold’s Heartworm Press, who came on-stage to deliver “Heavenly Metals” before Cold Cave’s ultimate closeout. Morton was decked in all black just like their set, standing tall and no doubt couldn’t be fucked with as he spewed his brand of cold despotic mean testimony. A few more songs and the night was history. Cold Cave delivered one of the most powerful performances I ever felt. McMahon’s drums hit hard, loud and clear through Eisold, Lee, and Blue’s blasting synths and guitars. Most of their setlist and songs I hoped they’d play was more I could ever ask for. “Confetti” was the start of a new era for me when all was almost lost. “Comprehension” has become one of my all-time favorite songs of this decade, if not, ever. “Glory” followed suit to become a new memorable winter favorite of mine. The string of favorables still keeps coming from them. With a new American Nightmare record out, it’s Eisold’s winning year. No bullshit, no moshing, no shoving; save for the guy standing next to me (and it had to be him) who was furiously stomping the venue floor to the point of near-collapse, and almost tearing the venue’s front rail off. Someone was a little into himself at the show, no?

My second visit to Warsaw in as many months was just like the first. Randomly encounters with friends from Stony Brook, amazing line-ups in an amazing venue, and another day in Greenpoint where the fever pitch comes from being in a great place in a great time and having the right ties with specific people. It’s not every day I experience it, but when I do, I feel like with all the motherfuckers and fishnet-wearing witches around me in Boy Harsher, Joy Division, Cat Power, and D.S.-13 shirts, I hit the jackpot.

#Cold Cave #Wes Eisold #Amy Lee #Genesis P. Orridge #Max G. Morton #synthwave #goth #Black Marble #BK #Brooklyn #NYC #New York City #personal #omega #music #playlists #mixtapes

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eremosjournal · 1 year ago

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My Queen and Savior: Ru Paul Charles

by Teresa Arredondo

I have been waiting a long time for this day. The day that I can share my testimony about my Queen & Savior: RuPaul Charles.

In the initial days of the pandemic I, like the rest of the planet, was in shock. The world felt out of control and I felt so incredibly isolated. Simultaneously, I had begun deconstructing my Catholic faith and questioning many portions of my faith, which at the time was the bedrock of my life. Once I was laid off from full time ministry it felt like I had hit rock bottom. I was looking around at the rubble of the life I had created around a church who I felt had bamboozled me.

I was talking about all of this with my best friend who told me she thought it was time. It was finally time for me to hear the gospel of RuPaul’s Drag Race. She created a road map for my viewing pleasure (which you’re damn right I will include here) that led me through the many seasons of Drag Race, All Stars (the competition of fan favorites from past seasons) and Untucked (the quasi “behind the scenes” conversation of the queens post judging). I started this journey to the divine on a Friday night with my favorite blanket, and a glass of wine that was well over the legal limit.

I was immediately entranced. I watched as contestant after contestant dazzled me with their transformation! From their clothes, to their padding, their makeup, and their lipsyncing. I loved every second of the show. The challenges that tested their creativity and ability to think on their toes inspired me. I was brought to tears as the queens shared their stories of coming out to their families and about their first time in drag. The show quickly became all I talked about, all I watched, and all I thought about. Drag Race became the thing I evangelized about, sharing with friends and family how I felt so much more alive, joyful, and fulfilled with it in my life. I started passing around the viewing guide with anyone who remotely showed interest. I was inches away from going door to door to share the good news with my neighbors! But you know, it was still a pandemic so I didn’t want to get crazy.

The gospel of RuPaul and the final words of every episode across all 11 countries who now have their own Drag Race shows is, “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

The invitation of Drag Race is one of acceptance, questioning stereotypes, pushing boundaries, creating family out of community, and simply loving this one life we have.

Honest to RuPaul, watching the show has changed my life. It is the place I turn when I am feeling down on myself or lost. It has helped me see my own charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent. But above all else it has helped me to see the queen within myself. And that is worth shouting from the rooftops hunty!

Can I get an Amen?

#deconstruction #exvangelical #deconvert #ex catholic #excatholic #exchristian #post christian #ex christian #catholic #post catholic #profane #profanity

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irlbobbyhill · 2 years ago

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cant wait to see what psychological damage ru paul will inflict on the twins cast on season 15

#rpdr

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roxy206 · 2 years ago

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Proper Posterior Grooming Techniques — 04/18/2023

watch here | listen here

I love the ad for the live pod 🥺

I dig the all black vibes

Can I talk to you about something

That scared the shit out of me — imagine having the condo next to Trixie’s. I really hope those walls aren’t thin

Katya is basically living in a jump scare filming this episode omg

Katya 🤝 Trixie

Get that mung Forever mung

Poor Trixie thinking wait was this a read. Girl, take that compliment!

Ru Paul came in about six feet taller than her

I love that when you came to film Trixie Motel I had COVID & you didn’t get it

I was sure I had it. Because I was in bed with you. Tongue kissing you — Why are they like this 😭😭😭

But you can’t get it from fucking yourself with my foot

I was too lazy to find the I hate it here gif which is how I feel but this one surely fits for these idiots in this moment

I gotta shave my ass Oh my god I just did that last night

The physicality of Katya laughing

I want to be a short hair domestic cat

Where did you try to do it? Well let me tell you where I tried to do it — the level of concern as if we don’t all know where this is going

Do you think I own 50% of anything, Mama? True

Katya shaving for herself — good for her

Owning a home is a gateway to becoming yourself

Hold on a moment, there is a whole ass story that we’re missing here

I had it in there while I was working out — okay I’m very glad that Katya is using something that is intended for the purpose & there’s a flared base but this is still screaming embarrassing emergency room visit waiting to happen

Trixie not comprehending Katya’s solo endeavors here though

You gonna pull it out of my ass with a fucking Acme magnet like in Looney Tunes? Yeah, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about Alright. You think you — I — okay — so you think you can control me? You’re gonna control me? Someone has to apparently — … when Katya joking about them making out in bed last year is the tame part of the episode

We played the Wang Center — the way Katya literally already said that 😂

Lmfao Katya talking about how much she loved watching the progression of Trixie forgetting the tour script

☹️ I hate that Katya’s in pain

So we have to fake your birth certificate or what? — Trixie being like bitch you’re getting this surgery

It’s not cringe to be grateful

Katya crying on the phone ☹️

#kimmy watches #the bald and the beautiful #dostoyevsky in the sheets #oh honeyyyyy #trixya #trixie & katya #katya #katya zamo #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel

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foundtherightwords · 7 months ago

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The Firebird - Chapter 14

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Chapter warning: violence, fire, gore

Chapter word count: 3.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

Chapter 14 - Deathless

After everything he'd heard of Zhara's brother, after witnessing every act of cruelty Illarion was capable of, Paul was expecting a villain, someone who exuded power and wickedness. What he saw instead was a boy, looking no older than sixteen, of the same tall, slender build as Zhara, with the same red hair, though it was a shade darker, almost auburn, and the same freckles. There was even something of Zhara's impishness in the turn of his mouth as well. Only the eyes were different. When Paul looked into those eyes, his heart sank, and all his doubt about the boy's true nature vanished. They were the same glittering green as the medallions, hard and cold. Zhara's eyes were always human even when she was transformed into a bird. This boy's eyes didn't even seem alive; the only hint of life in them was a glare of hate.

But Paul didn't spend too long contemplating those lifeless eyes. His attention was riveted on a large mesh cage at the window. Zhara was fluttering in it, while the setting sun cast its light on her plumage, turning her into a fireball, just like the first time Paul had seen her in the forest of Tsarskoye Selo.

Underneath the cage, laid out on the table, were an array of strange items and instruments—a gold chest, a hare, a duck, and an egg. The animals each had an angry red slash on its chest. It seemed Illarion had everything he needed for the Deathless ritual, except for the most important one—the needle containing his death. This the boy was twirling between his thin fingers while he leaned casually against the throne, watching Paul with a curious, almost fascinated expression. Under the disconcerting gaze of those flat green eyes, Paul became too aware that he was no knight in shining armor, with his torn and bloody shirt and mismatched weapons. He could only hope that appearances may be misleading.

"For a mere mortal from Rus', he did quite well, did he not, Zharissa?" Illarion said conversationally. "Much better than those bumbling bogatyrs of yours. I wonder what other surprise he may have in store."

To Paul's shock, Zhara spoke. "Paul," she said. "You shouldn't be here. Go! Save yourself!" He stared at the bird. It was Zhara's voice, desperate and full of tears, coming out of her beak. What trick was this?

"Oh, now she talks," Illarion said, sounding annoyed. "I gave you the power of speech so we could have a chat and make the waiting a little less tedious, and you refused to talk to me, but the moment he showed up, you started chattering away?"

"If you don't want to wait until I'm human again to perform the ritual," Zhara said, "why not undo the curse and just kill me now?"

"I would if I could!" Illarion shouted. "Do you think I want to wait? But they are very imprecise, curses. I never meant to curse you, you know. This avian form greatly diminishes your power. If you would only agree to wear that medallion—"

Why, he doesn't know how to undo the curse, Paul realized. He's nothing but a boy, in over his head. He wondered if Zhara had realized this as well and was stalling for time.

"You didn't have to control me," Zhara said to Illarion, spreading her wings in an imploring gesture. "I would've gladly let you rule—"

"What, so you could go behind my back and gather the support of the boyars?" Illarion hissed, baring his teeth in anger. "So you could play the victim and undermine my rule? I know you too well, sister."

They sounded like siblings bickering over a game rather than discussing matters of life and death. Paul took a tentative step forward, reaching for the skull in his knapsack, the only weapon that might stand a chance against Illarion's magic. "Let her go," he said. At least his voice was steady.

"Or what?" Illarion snickered. "Are you going to throw that skull at me?"

In reply, Paul raised the skull. Fire shot out of its eye socket. He meant to aim it at Illarion, but the flame hit a corner of the velvet curtain instead, setting it ablaze. Illarion shrugged, looking almost bored. "I never like those curtains anyway," he said. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"How's this for better?" Paul aimed the skull at Illarion's robe. There was a flash, and the robe caught fire. Illarion didn't even flinch. He beat out the fire with his bare hand, as casually as blowing out a candle. Refusing to be intimidated, Paul advanced upon the boy, the skull held in front of him like a musket. He shot another bolt of fire; Illarion dodged it, and the flame hit the corner of the throne in a shower of sparks.

"Enough of this," Illarion growled. He pinned the needle to the shoulder of his robe before slipping something out of his belt and throwing it at Paul.

Belatedly, Paul saw that it was a medallion.

He threw up his arms, but the medallion hit his chest, burned through his shirt like a cattle brand, and adhered itself to his skin.

The pain was unbearable. He'd thought being pinned under an iron-and-copper dragon was bad, but it was nothing compared to this, this red-hot agony, this hellfire that seared his very bone, that reached all the way to his heart, that spread through his blood. Was this how it had been for Afron when he foolishly cast in his lot with Illarion? Was this how it had been for poor Alyosha Popovich?

Paul collapsed, clutching at his chest. The last thing he heard was Zhara's panicked voice, calling out his name, as the white-and-gold room around him faded to black.

***

When the darkness cleared from his eyes, Paul found himself on a bed, a large bed, with the silk cover of a pillow under his cheek. There were blue velvet drapes with gold fringes around the bed. The room around him was blue and gold as well, and strangely familiar. It took him a moment to realize this was his bed. His room, the one at the Winter Palace in Saint Petersburg. An untrimmed candle still flickered on the bedside table, but the morning sun was pouring in through the curtains being swept back by a servant. The door opened, and his mother walked in.

"What, still abed at this hour?" she said, though she didn't sound quite as harsh as usual. "And on such a big day?"

Paul sat up, blinking stupidly. His hand flew up to his chest. The pain was gone. Had there been a pain there at all, or had he dreamed it?

"A big day?" he repeated.

"Your coronation, of course!" his mother said, laughing and clapping her hands together.

Paul stared at her, too stunned to speak. His mother seemed almost giddy, quite unlike herself. "Are you—are you abdicating?" finally he asked.

"That was always the plan, wasn't it?" She briskly walked over to an array of frock coats and robes being laid out by the servants, pointing to several. "That one, that one... no, that one. Yes." Turning back to Paul, she said, "It was agreed that I would only rule until you reached your majority. Now that you have, it is time for me to step down."

Something was not right, but Paul couldn't quite put his finger on it. He felt dazed, half-asleep, as though he'd just come out of a nightmare and was not quite awake. Yet he vaguely remembered that it was true, the council had finally convinced his mother to pass the throne to him. He let himself be dragged out of bed, washed and dressed in full ceremonial regalia, and before he knew it, he was standing in the cathedral in front of a crowd, while priests chanted over him and the crown, the crown he'd seen on his mother's head hundreds of times and coveted each time he saw it, glittered on a velvet cushion before him.

Could it be? Could it be that he had finally achieved what he desired the most?

He looked at the crowd, at their adoring faces all turned toward him. Yes, this was what he wanted, to be seen and respected and appreciated. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else he wanted, something missing. He noticed a young lady standing by his mother, doll-like with her porcelain face and tiny rosebud mouth, eyes cast down demurely. Paul didn't remember having seen her before.

"Panin," he said to his old governor, who was standing by his side, "who is that young woman?"

"Why, that is your betrothed, Your Excellency."

Startled, Paul wracked his brain. Again, he had some vague recollection of having chosen one of the princesses from all the miniatures given to him, but try as he might, he couldn't remember her name. Why couldn't he remember her name? It would be terribly embarrassing to ask Panin her name, wouldn't it?

The young lady lifted her eyes to look at him, and Paul suddenly found himself expecting her eyes to be a warm, golden color, honey held up to sunlight. How strange. Her eyes were blue, perfectly pretty, but for some reason, he kept thinking of those amber eyes. Where had he seen such eyes?

And then, to his shock, the young lady's face began to change. Her eyes turned golden just as he'd imagined; her powdered wigs became a long, red braid, and freckles splattered across her skin. If he looked closely, he could see seven freckles curve around the corner of her mouth... he remembered kissing them... he remembered running his hand over that hair, having those eyes look into his in the moonlight...

"Your Excellency," Panin said in his ears, but it wasn't Panin's voice, it was a strange voice, oily and cold, a voice he'd heard once before in a dark forest. "This is what you want, isn't it?" the voice continued. "You can have all that, and more. As long as you obey me."

Paul turned to his old governor in horror. Panin was looking at him with eyes the color of malachite.

"If you want her," Panin said, still in that spine-chilling voice, "well, I cannot give you the real thing, you understand, but I can give you something very similar." And he nodded at the young lady who looked like someone Paul both did and didn't know.

There was a weight on his chest. He couldn't breathe.

The young lady opened her mouth. She was standing not five feet from him, yet her voice seemed to be coming to him from far, far away. "Fight it, Paul!" she was screaming. He knew that voice. He knew her.

The crowd around him faded, leaving only her eyes and her voice. Holding on to them as an anchor, he clasped a hand to the base of his throat. His fingers closed around a hard disc, something like a pendant or a medallion that was stuck to his skin. It burned. He pulled it out, screaming as it took some of his skin and flesh along with it, and flung it as far away as he could.

The cathedral vanished. Paul found himself on the floor of the throne room, the marble cool under his cheek. The burning sensation on his chest had gone, but the pain lingered, weakening his limbs. Lifting his head with difficulty, he saw that Illarion stood over him, nostrils flared in fury, while the cage stood empty, with a gaping hole in its side—fragments of the medallion scattered nearby told Paul that he must have hit the cage with the medallion by accident and broken it open. Where was Zhara?

The thought of Zhara finally cleared the cloud in his head. She had saved him. She had pulled him out of that—that vision or hallucination or whatever it was that Illarion had used to tempt him, and brought him back to reality.

This, this was real. Not his mother's palace, not his coronation, not his nameless betrothed. This was real. Zhara was real. And he must save her.

And there she was, a spot of red circling close to the ceiling, out of Illarion's reach. Illarion was flinging his hand at her with his fingers outstretched, launching all sorts of things at her—lightning bolts, stones, even sharp icicles—anything he could conjure out of thin air, it seemed. Strike after magical strike hit the ceiling and the walls, and bits of marble rained down. Zhara flew on agile wings, narrowly avoiding the missiles and the debris that flew off the ceiling and the walls. But she could not hold out for long, not when the sun was getting lower and lower by the minute. Why wasn't she fighting back? Her power may be weaker, but she could still throw a few fireballs, surely? Or did she hesitate because she still thought of this crazed boy as her little brother? Well, if she refused to fight him, then Paul would.

As Illarion twisted and turned like he was battling a particularly pesky fly, Paul struggled to his feet and pulled out his broken sword, holding it ready. At one point, Illarion turned fully toward Paul, arms wide open as he tried to hit Zhara with a whirlwind. This was Paul's chance. He ran at the boy at full tilt and stabbed the sword through Illarion's chest.

Staggering back, Illarion stared at the sword's handle sticking out of his chest in astonishment.

Then he started to laugh.

"You fool!" he said, still laughing. He pulled the sword out and threw it to the floor. There wasn't even any blood on it. If it wasn't for the torn patch on his robe, nobody would know he'd been stabbed.

He truly was Deathless.

With a flick of his hand, Illarion threw an invisible force at Paul, sending him sprawling.

Paul's eyes caught a glint on Illarion's robe. It was the needle, reflecting the red rays of the sun.

The needle! Of course! To defeat Koschei, one had to destroy the needle. Paul picked himself up on trembling limbs and aimed the skull at it. If he could at least damage it somehow, that would distract Illarion long enough to give them a chance...

Illarion spun around. Another unseen hand slammed into Paul. This time the force knocked the air out of his lungs and hurled him across the room. The back of his head hit the wall. Stars burst in front of his eyes. Golden ropes sprung out of the floor like tree roots, binding his wrists and ankles. He strained against them, but they only tightened, threatening to slice off his hands and foot. The skull clattered away, rolling to the foot of the throne. Illarion's boot came down, smashing it into bits.

Paul was still staring at the smashed skull, his last hope, when Illarion came to stand in front of him.

"Stupid mortal!" he spat at Paul. "How dare you defy me! Now you shall pay!"

He pointed his hand at Paul and curled his fingers into a fist. Paul gasped. It felt as though there was a claw inside him, squeezing his heart, cutting off the flow of blood in his veins. Incredible, indescribable pain radiated from his heart to his ribs, his neck, his arms and shoulders, and the rest of his body, choking him, paralyzing him. He could feel his life force draining away, but he was helpless to stop it.

From the ceiling, Zhara came barreling down like a golden arrow. She dashed past Illarion, who made a grab for her but missed her by just a hair's breadth. The pressure around Paul's heart loosened, and he collapsed to the floor, coughing. Zhara shot back to the ceiling, and Illarion clasped a hand to his shoulder, the first hint of fear creeping to his face—the needle was gone.

"Please, Lariosha, stop this," Zhara said, the needle tightly grasped between her talons.

"Do not call me that!"

"The magic is killing you! If you go through with the ritual, you'll be dead! Baba Yaga told me—the same thing happened to Koschei—"

So Baba Yaga had told Zhara the truth after all. Was that why she wasn't fighting Illarion? Was she still trying to save him?

"See, that's where you're wrong, sister," Illarion said, though he indeed did not look well. The boy's face was pale, as pale as the marble walls around them, his hands shook, and he was breathing hard, spittle spraying from his lips. Only his green eyes burned feverishly. "Koschei was an old fool. He put his death into an ordinary needle. But I am cleverer than that. This needle will be indestructible once I temper it in your fire. Don't try anything stupid. Whatever you do to it will only make it stronger."

"I'm sorry," Zhara said. "I can't let you go through with this." Turning to Paul, she said, "Hold on to Baba Yaga's handkerchief. It will protect you."

"Protect me—from what?" Paul gasped. He still hadn't quite regained his breath after Illarion's attack.

"From me."

With that, she pointed the needle at herself and plunged it into her chest.

"No!" Paul and Illarion both screamed.

Blood spurted from Zhara's breast, dying her red feathers a darker shade. Blood dripped to the floor below her, and wherever the blood fell, fire sprang up and spread around the room as though the floor was made of the oldest, driest wood and not cold, hard marble. Flames surrounded Zhara, turning her whole body into a fireball, burning the needle white-hot. Flames swallowed up the table with its instruments of magic. Flames licked around Paul, but he strained his bound hand to find Baba Yaga's handkerchief in his knapsack, and the fire never touched him, though he felt its heat on his skin.

"You think you can stop me by killing yourself?!" Illarion hissed. "No, no, dear sister, you will live—at least long enough to serve me!"

He raised his hand. Zhara was pulled toward him on an invisible string, her wings flailing uselessly against his force.

"I have taken Koschei's powers," Illarion said, "and now I'm going to take yours!"

Just as he had done to Paul, Illarion curled his fingers into a fist. Paul knew now that the gesture meant Illarion was draining his victim's life force. And there was Zhara's life force—flames rolled along the string of air between them, flowing from sister into brother, until they were connected by a rope of fire. Paul could only watch, powerless, while Zhara's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she made a strangled sound. Her plumage started losing its color and luster. The paler she got, the stronger Illarion seemed to be—his face was no longer deathly white, his hair became redder than the fire itself, and his eyes burned more brightly.

The fire was almost gone from around Zhara's body now, her feathers a dim, dark shade of purplish brown, like old blood. She was limp, only held up in midair by the force of Illarion's magic. The needle was lifted from her chest by that same force and flew into Illarion's hand. He caught it, laughing, paying no heed to the incandescent metal.

"Yes, yes!" he shouted. "Why didn't I think to do this sooner? This is so much better! Now I can temper the needle with my own fire! I shall be truly invinci—"

He didn't finish the sentence. The smug smile vanished from his face. The fire continued to blaze around his body as it blazed around the room, sucking out all the air, turning the whole place into an inferno. Despite the protection of Baba Yaga's handkerchief, Paul could still feel the heat blasting him in the face and scorching his lungs.

"No, this is enough—" Illarion was saying. "The tempering is done—I want it to stop—Zhara! How do I get the fire to stop? Help! Help me, please! "

Zhara, who was suspended lifeless in the air with her head lolling back and her wings drooping, gave no answer.

"It burns—oh gods, it burns!" Illarion moaned. He tried to throw the needle away, but it had melted into a puddle of liquid metal in his palm. Still the fire raged on. "You witch!" Illarion screamed at Zhara, his face twisted with rage. "You've tricked me! But you won't get away with it! If I die, you shall die too!"

He clenched his fist again, and some of the fire flowed back to Zhara, searing her feathers. She remained unconscious. Soon, the fire would consume both brother and sister...

Paul took his hand out of the knapsack and dropped the handkerchief to the floor. The moment it left his fingers, flames roared up around him. He angled his body toward it, letting the fire burn the ropes around his wrists and ankles to ashes, biting back a scream as it scorched his skin. As soon as he was free of the ropes, he got to his feet.

Illarion saw the handkerchief, and his eyes went wide. They both dove for it. Paul—perhaps by sheer luck—was a fraction of a second quicker. He scooped the handkerchief up, jumped at Zhara, and snatched her out of the air, wrapping her in the square of fabric.

"No!!!" Illarion, now nothing more than a pillar of fire with a vaguely human shape in its middle, charged at Paul. Paul leaped aside, and Illarion crashed through the window, plummeting down the sheer cliff, burning like a falling star.

A long while later, a blast from the sea below told Paul that the boy had met his end.

The flames rose all the way to the ceiling in one last furious eruption, and then, with a rushing sound of air being sucked inward, they vanished, leaving behind only a few scorched patches and an acrid smell.

Paul looked down, not quite believing what he was seeing. Zhara was lying there, in his arms—Zhara, as he'd seen her that first night in the woods of Lukomorye, freckles standing out on her skin, her hair covering her body like a cape, her eyes closed, the wound on her chest still bleeding. Outside the broken window, the sun was taking its plunge into the sea, turning the water into molten gold for a moment before winking out, and darkness descended on everything.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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