#wait that was ru paul???

[itgetsbetterproject]

merry gay christmas yall

[princessheatherblossom]

She's waiting...

[bakedspoonie]

Why were the early seasons of drag race shot in heavens waiting room?

[mychemicalraymance]

Gerard: hi ru! I cant wait to see what the queens have in store today. I've been working on a dragsona personally, theyre a sock someone cummed in and then lost under his bed at 17, who became pregnant from that seed and birthed a sock-man hybrid that joined a gang of misfit renegades in soho in the 80s. Theyre from my new series "fuck suck chronicles", which is coming out with dark horse later this year

Roop Paul: wow!

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Elf, 2003

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 4.9k

Notes: Guys it’s 4:15 in the morning, I’m up gaming with my friend

Tony’s annual Christmas parties were always amazing, you watched as they worked on getting the absolutely enormous Christmas tree ready in the center of the room. It was going to be a fun night that was for sure…except for one little detail. 

“Are you kidding me?” you looked at the heavy envelope in your hands, not wanting to open it because you freaking knew what was in it. Every year a different person on the team was selected to play Mrs. Claus in Tony’s grand entrance… and there were absolutely no exceptions. Last year it was Peter, and he went all out with it, kitten heels and all, He begged Tony to bring in the best to help him get into drag.

Which incidentally was how you’d met Ru Paul. Which was possibly the greatest moment of your entire life, meeting true royalty. 

Bucky stands next to you by the railing, watching the tree going up.

“Hey, everyone has to take a turn” He shrugs and you glare at him 

“I’ve been around how long? I don’t see you taking a turn”

“You think for one second. I’m going to get my ass in a dress” 

You lean backward to check him out and he smacks your arm 

“Fuck off” 

You snicker and turn around, placing your elbows on the railing and letting your head hang back for a second.

“You should ask Steve to help by the way” He looks down, tapping his fingers together. 

“Why would I do that?” You blush a little, looking away and he rolls his eyes.

He was Steve’s wingman to the end of the line, which occasionally meant getting two lovesick idiots to realize how they felt about each other. 

“Because he’s had his hand in show business” 

“Wow seriously??” 

“Ask him how many times he’s punched Hitler” 

A half-hour later you’re in Steve’s room, it’s simple and clean, which you definitely expected of him. He told you to make yourself at home after you’d told him what Bucky said, and that he just had to go ask him a question real quick. 

You wander around a little bit, not being nosy but definitely poking around a little. It smells good in there, his scent clings to everything and you find yourself dragging your fingers along the clothes in his closet before selecting one of the large hoodies and taking it off the hanger. You wrap yourself up in it, walking over to the full-length mirror and checking yourself out. 

Steve is a monster of a man and his clothes reflect that. The hoodie hangs on your body and you stare at the mirror, imagining that being the only thing you’re wearing. How he’d unwrap you like a present as you laid beneath him. You sink to your knees and bat your eyelashes at your reflection, pretending to be looking up at his tall form… you wonder if he’d wrap your hair around his fist…using your face for his pleasure? 

Too bad he didn’t feel the same tension you did. 

Suddenly he comes back panting, breaking you from your thoughts as he races into his room and slams the door shut, you jump at the loud thud from the other side of the door.

“Steve??” 

Bucky was shouting something in a language you definitely didn’t understand and Steve looked over at you. 

“It’s cool, don’t worry about it, What are you doing on the floor?” 

You wait until you think Bucky stormed off and got up from the floor, walking over to the little kitchenette in Steve’s room. 

“I tripped?” You don’t sound convincing at all, but he goes along with it, and you’ve never been more glad he decided not to question things. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Uh-huh! So I thought we could have some tea?” You quickly change the subject, picking up the futuristic-looking tray and come over to the sitting area, setting it down on the coffee table 

“Sounds good to me” He sits next to you, taking the pot from your hands and pouring two cups, he drops a few sugar cubes into yours and pours a stupid amount of cream in, before handing you the cup and saucer. 

If it’s not tan it’s not right. 

“So what did you need help with?” He takes his own, plain, and sits back on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. He balances the cup and saucer on his leg so perfectly, that you’re almost envious of it. 

“So I don’t know if you know,” You take a sip before setting your cup down and grabbing the envelope from the couch, looking at it. “But it’s my year to be Mrs. Claus”

Steve takes a suspiciously long sip from his tea before setting it down and taking the envelope from you. Inside is everything you’re supposed to do, a little packet of your script, your schedule, and the place where you can pick up the dress Tony bought you. 

“That’s… elaborate” 

“I know!! I’m worried I’m gonna mess it up and scar some kid for life!!” You fall back on the couch, smacking a pillow over your face and Steve chuckles, rubbing your thigh soothingly. You’re glad your face is covered so he doesn’t have to see the intense blush he’s causing. 

“Well, you won’t be scarring any kids, this is an adult party, remember? So really you’ll just be traumatizing a bunch of adults!” 

You kick his leg and he laughs, his hand coming down heavy on your thigh. Seriously what was with him and your thighs?? Maybe he was a thigh man, he kinda seemed like it, when you thought about it, late at night, in the comfort of your own bed…

Anyway. 

“Can you please just help me learn my lines and get the stupid dress” You sit up, tossing the pillow at him and he catches it, setting it to the side. 

“Of course I’ll help you” 

If there’s one thing you’ll say about Steve… he’s extremely organized. As soon as you’re done pouting on his couch he pulls out an old-fashioned chalkboard. You blink slowly, your brain churning immediately with joke after joke and he launches a pillow at your head. 

“This board has helped save your ass more times than you know. Give it some respect!” 

You bow down to it a couple times before putting your hands in your lap

“Okay. Go” 

“Smartass” He mumbles under his breath and you giggle, grabbing your telepad to copy his board. 

“We should first list out all the things you need to do, and what days you should have them done by” 

You copy it down in a nice pink color, he told you it was best to color-code things. As he’s writing you find yourself staring at that poor, poor, shirt doing its best to keep him modest. His waist is so slutty, he probably doesn’t even understand it. You wet your lips, trailing your eyes down appreciably when he suddenly turns around. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“Huh??” You break out of the perverted prison that is your mind and look at his face 

“I said did you want me to come with you to get the dress?” 

“Isn’t it kinda odd Tony is making me pick the dress up? I’d have thought he’d have it sent here and fitted.

Steve goes through the packet, finding the dress information “I thought so too… but he says apparently the people there can tailor it for you on the spot… and that it’s a pretty nice place” 

“I mean I guess…” you shrug “We can go whatever time works for you, I’d love it if you came with” 

“Alright, I suppose we can do that tomorrow around two? We should do that the soonest just in case there’s a lot of alterations to be made” 

“Sounds good to me… what else?” 

Steve plans out your entire week for you, down to the last minute. He makes three contingency plans and even has an idea of where to get a backup dress in case something happens to yours. You get up from the couch and go over to him as he stands aside, you look over your notes and the board, making sure it’s all in order and showing him. 

“Looks like we’re gonna be glued together” You nudge him playfully and he blushes a little

“If that’s okay with you. I know I kind of, inserted myself into the plan a lot”

“Steve,” you roll your eyes, putting your hand on his chest. You can practically feel his heart beating “I asked for your help, of course, you’re going to be a huge part of things” 

Crime apparently knows to stop for Christmas because you haven’t been sent out once. Steve stayed with you all day helping you learn your lines and he had absolutely no problem with this. 

Truth is, he liked being around you. And Bucky constantly wanted to harass him for it because he wouldn’t just make a freaking move?

The lingering glances, and giggling at all of his jokes, Sam and Bucky even devised an incredibly stupid genius plan to make sure you were sitting by him on the couch constantly. Eventually, he loosens up, putting his arm around your shoulders when you sit together, putting you in his lap when “Oh no! There’s not enough room for you” 

He has really…really embarrassing friends. 

And he didn’t miss the way you were wearing one of his hoodies, the way you stayed all snuggled in it, a little part of him hoped you liked it, liked him. 

He was embarrassed to admit seeing you on your knees had done something to him. He dreamed about what you’d look like, on your knees, hair wrapped around his fist, stuffing his cock down your throat, tears streaming down your pretty face. 

He wondered if you felt the same way? If you felt the electricity in the air whenever you two looked at each other? 

“Dude. What are you thinking about?” Sam stops moving around, letting his gloved hands drop and Steve blinks 

“Huh??” He looks around and Sam is pulling off his gloves and taking off his helmet 

“You’re my friend man, I love you, but uh excuse me if I say you’re not exactly my type” He nods downward and Steve looks down with him. His cock is rock hard, straining against his sweatpants and he blushes darkly, putting his gloves in front of his pants. 

“Crap. Shit. Sorry,” He turns away, shucking off his gloves and walking away to put them up.

“It’s fine… it happens. You’re going out with Y/N after this right?” Sam puts his gloves back on the hooks and Steve rolls his eyes 

“Yeah…why?” 

“You sportin’ that for her?” He snickers and Steve shoves him before walking away 

“I’m gonna go shower”

“Yeah make sure you rinse it out real good when you’re done!” 

Steve leans against the wall as he waits for you in the garage, his shower had been less than relaxing and more of a way to try and get you out of his head long enough to be in a small space with you. 

His head turns at the sound of your footsteps coming down the hallway. You smile as soon as you see him, and he melts. You’re in his hoodie, he hadn’t even realized you didn’t give it back and a pair of black leggings. You’re wearing your uniform boots and you’ve got a cute mini backpack.

“Hey sorry I took so long” you smile at him, “I couldn’t find the hairclip I wanted” 

He looks down at you, giving you a once over “You look nice” he says, his voice a little deeper than normal and you blush.

“Oh thanks”

“Shall we?” He takes your hand, leading you over to the car that is waiting to take you to the tailors. He opens the door for you, helping you in and you scoot over, so he can get in with you. For one of Tony’s cars, you realize it’s not as spacious as you thought it would be? You find yourself incredibly close to Steve, his warm body keeping you nice and toasty and you’re not even leaning into him. He makes sure you have your seatbelt on before tapping the window for the driver. 

“I wish he’d have just let me drive,” Steve says “I’m not too into the idea of having a driver” 

You look at your telepad, moving closer to him so that he can see it too and he puts his arm over your shoulders, something he’d gotten used to doing and something you were hoping he would do. 

“Well we kind of have a lot to get done today, maybe he just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t tire ourselves out?”

“I suppose”

You stay cuddled into his side the entire ride, showing him things on your telepad, both of you editing a few things in the schedule. He dips his head low, mumbling in your ear things to erase, things to add. The way his breath ghosts over your ear sends a shiver down your spine. His fingers find their way to your side, tracing little shapes onto the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up.

“Hey my shoes are gonna be there..too…right?” Your voice trails off as you look up at him, his face is so close to yours, that you can feel his soft breaths fanning over your face as you look into each other’s eyes. His are such a pretty shade of blue, they remind you of the waters back on your home planet. 

“They should be… yeah,” He says quietly, your lavender eyes send chills down his spine every time he sees them, you rarely show them, and with your ability to hide the odd color you normally leave them brown. So he likes it when he has the chance to see the pretty shade of purple they normally are. 

“Hey, Y/N?” He asks quietly

“Yeah?” Your voice is just as quiet as he is. He reaches out, cupping your face gently and you lean into him, smiling softly. 

“Can I…can I ki-“

Suddenly the car comes to a stop, parking outside the giant building and you and Steve break apart as the door on your side is opened. You squeeze Steve’s hand before stepping out of the car and thanking the man who shuts the door behind you both before getting back in.

“You ready?” You ask and he takes your hand again, pulling you into the large building 

“Where do you think we should-“

Before you can even finish your sentence a man comes up to you, dressed absolutely flawlessly and suddenly you feel wildly underdressed. 

“Mr. And Mrs. Rogers right? Oh, you two do look adorable together! Tony said to bring you up right away” 

Your mouth gapes, opening and closing and you look up at Steve who’s just as bewildered. He gestures awkwardly and you both follow the man to the elevators.

“I’m Jerry, I’ll be your designer for today” he introduces himself and goes through the steps for the fitting and what will be expected.

“Tony gave us your measurements but I asked for you to come here to make sure it’s perfect, You know? This is the biggest event of the season”

“Uh, I guess so, I think so” You nod along. 

“Are you nervous? I know I would be, god could you imagine having to get up in front of all those people for one of Tony’s entrances? Hell, I practically am! That’s my work you’re gonna be wearing”

“How will you sleep tonight?” Steve chimes in and you turn around, glaring at him and he snickers. You all exit the elevator to a large room, there’s a pedestal in the middle where a beautiful dress sits off to the side and a pair of matching heels. 

“Oh my god” Your hands cover your mouth as he walks you up to it, you walk in a circle, inspecting the gorgeous dress, and sigh. 

“Oh…oh it’s beautiful” 

“That’s stunning” Steve breathes and Jerry looks between the two of you for a second before walking over to the dress and starting to take it off the mannequin. 

“Why don’t you help her into it, hubby? It’s very easy to slip on”

He hands it to Steve who looks like he’s going to die if he even breathes on it 

“Uh no no I’m- no I’m not her-“

“He-he’s not my hus-“

“Off you two go!” Jerry puts the heels in your hand and pushes you off to the dressing rooms 

“Why don’t you try the first part of the dress? There’s a clasp that makes it into the shorter dress you’ll be wearing for the evening, it attaches to your waist. We made it as easy as possible to figure out!” 

With that he shuts you and Steve in the changing room, you hear the sounds of the door locking and you look up at Steve. 

“Just let us know when you’re ready!” 

You wait until you hear Jerry’s retreating footsteps before putting the dress carefully on the provided hanger.

“So I guess Jerry thinks we’re married, that's fun�� You smirk as you set your bag down. It’s a good-sized dressing room, there's more than enough room for the both of you in here and then some. 

“I can step out, if you'd like” Steve is practically sweating bullets at this point and he’s praying you don't notice, he's too in his head to even realize you’re doing the same thing. 

“I think this dress was made to need two people to get into it” You smile sheepishly as you remove your hoodie and place it on the fancy chair. That's when it occurs to you just how this room is set up because there's another pedestal in the center and the chair is directly in front of it. You scoot the chair over a bit to make it less suggestive and Steve takes a deep breath. 

“I think we can handle a little awkwardness… We’re the Avengers! We’ve been through worse situations right?”

“Right!” You agree quickly. “We can handle this” 

“Alright. Let's figure out how to get you into this, why don’t you disrobe and I’ll get the dress ready?”

“Okay” 

He turns his back to you and you gulp quietly before removing your shirt, before you’d left Nat had come in with a little box and a wink and literally said nothing else. Was it weird? Oh yeah definitely. But as you take your clothes off you’re suddenly glad you agreed to wear the new lingerie set she’d given you. It’s dark blue, lacy, and sheer and you’re feeling pretty confident in it as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

“I’m ready” You look over your shoulder and Steve turns around 

“Alright, I think I’ve figured out how to disconnect the-“

He stops mid-sentence, his mouth falling open before he quickly shuts it, he clears his throat a couple times and continues, squaring his shoulders and looking straight into your eyes.

“I think I’ve figured out how to disconnect the long part of the dress” he pulls apart the snaps and puts the long part back on the mannequin then turns to you, holding it out. 

“Uh, here you can just- uh- here” He gets on one knee, holding the dress open for you and you walk over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders and stepping into the dress. He pulls it up and secures it around your waist then helps you into the sparkly red heels that match and looks up at you. 

“Does uh… does that feel okay?” He asks, his hands firmly on your hips and you nod. He stands up slowly, towering over you, and helps you into the spaghetti straps. His hands trail over your sides and he reaches for the zipper, closing you into the dress. 

“You ready to see yourself?” 

You nod again, unable to speak and he steps aside, taking your hand and leading you up to the pedestal. You step up and the lights automatically go down around you, leaving you in the spotlight. It suddenly moves you forward closer to the mirrors and you squeak. Steve holds your hand tighter, keeping you steady, and lets it go once the platform stops moving.

“Holy shit” You whisper, because this dress is truly a work of art. The white trim around the neckline and hem seems otherworldly soft. You do a little spin and it poofs up like a princess dress, making you giggle. The skirt is a deep red, it’s very full, making it fall down to about the middle of your thigh. The top is a sweetheart neckline with boning and white stitches outlining the entire thing. 

“How do I look?” You look at Steve in the mirror, his eyes are clouded and lusty as he looks into yours. He shifts a little discretely adjusting his jeans as best he can, trying to focus on you and not the growing bulge in his pants.

“I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful than you right now” his voice is low and seductive. 

You step off the pedestal and the lights come back up slowly, but not all the way, it’s weird but you ignore it in favor of staring at the gorgeous man in front of you who just called you beautiful. 

“You really think so?” You murmur and he nods, reaching his hand out to place on your waist. He pulls you flush against him and places his other hand on your waist, holding you close. 

“I really really think so. You’re, you’re really-“ He gets too flustered to speak and you reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I’m really…?” You encourage him and he blushes, right to the tip of his ears, the tension in the room is heated and lusty, you can feel it flowing over you in thick waves. 

“Uh… sexy. I think I think you look very sexy. And I think that’s what uh- Jerry was trying to achieve with this part of the dress and- and he did it. Very classy, very…very sexy” 

“You have such a way with words Mr. America” You giggle and he leans in, nuzzling his nose against yours. 

“That’s Captain America to you, civilian” 

“You know I was first prime on my planet right?” You whisper, toying with the front of his shirt 

“And?” His hands smooth over your sides, gripping you possessively, like he just has to be holding you, like he wants to feel you and it sends a thrill through your body 

“Oh, It means I outrank you…by a lot. Think of me as a General” 

“You? A General? The same girl I had to pull out of the quicksand because you wanted to see if you could swim in it???”

“I think you’re forgetting the part where I could swim in it” 

“Uh huh and you’re forgetting the part where I had to drag your ass out with a rope because you couldn’t get out” 

“Just keepin’ you on your toes” 

“Right, right let’s maybe not do that huh?” 

You snicker and he rolls his eyes playfully, before looking at you again 

“Permission to speak freely, General Sir?” 

“Permission granted, Captain” 

“Did you… did you wear the uh…um” He clears his throat and you tilt his chin down to look at you 

“Use your words, Captain”

Your words shoot straight down to his cock, he can feel it throbbing in his pants, already rock solid and he licks his lips unconsciously. You slide your hand down his chest, stopping at his belt and tugging on it a little and he groans.

“Did you wear that lingerie on purpose?” 

“I did yeah” You slowly start to unbuckle it, giving him time to stop you but he doesn’t and you smile up at him. 

“It really uh- really brings out the color of your eyes” His voice cracks and you giggle, holding his pants up around his waist and he looks down at you.

“Are we really about to do what I think we’re about to do?” 

“Only if you want to,” you tell him honestly and he takes your hands, putting them around his neck and letting his pants drop. His hands are at your sides, snapping the clips for your skirt and laying it on the chair as nicely as he can while you push down his boxers, and your mouth waters when his cock springs free.

“Oh I definitely want to” 

He hooks his fingers in your panties and tugs them down your legs, tossing them aside. Then he’s pulling you over to the mirrors, pressing you into them as he lines up with your entrance. You squirm, feeling his thick cock head nudging at your hole.

“Oh Stevie” you gasp softly and he groans at your eagerness, he thrusts shallowly, teasing you, stretching you slowly. He can feel your pretty pussy begging for his cock, begging to be used and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to slam into you immediately. 

He grips your hips, working you on his cock for a minute before sinking into you. Inch by mind-blowing inch, he just keeps coming as he presses into you. Once you’re sure you’re about to pop he finally stops, groaning as he keeps his hips still, savoring the tight flutters of your walls around his cock. You’re so warm and inviting, the feeling of being buried deep inside you making him dizzy with need. 

He finally pulls out teasingly slow, dragging the length of his cock almost all the way out before thrusting back in hard and you yelp, grinding your hips down on his cock

Steve sets a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against you as he drives into you again and again. Your eyes roll back in your head as you lean your head into his shoulder, your thighs shaking weakly. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth and tongue leaving marks on your skin as he loses himself in the pleasure. One hand slides up to palm your breast, kneading the soft flesh and pinching your nipple.

You like that, baby? He growls, and your toes curl at the vibrations sent through your body “You like feeling my cock stretching you open?”

His other hand moves between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud, you keen softly and his trails from your breast to your neck squeezing gently 

“Shhh pretty girl, you don’t want everyone hearing us right?” 

You shake your head as he thrusts into you wildly, his cock pounding into your g spot over and over, making you see stars, You feel that deep familiar pressure starting to simmer at the surface as he smacks your clit, you jump and he chokes the whimper from your throat, keeping you nice and quiet. 

“Fuck you feel better than I ever imagined” His voice cracks, and he lets out a whimper as his thrusts become erratic, he rubs your clit faster, bringing you hurdling to the edge with him, and you both cum. Your cunt squeezes tightly around his fat cock, milking him dry with each harsh thrust into you as he bites down on your shoulder, trying to keep himself quiet.

He fucks you through your orgasm, your legs dangling as he lifts you onto his cock, he just keeps cumming and cumming, it spills down your thighs as he stuffs you full, his orgasm crashing over him in intense waves. You kick off your shoes to save them watching the way his cum drips down your thighs, dripping from your toes onto the hardwood floors. 

Steve staggers over to the chair, collapsing down on it and holding you close to his chest, both of you panting into each other. You kiss him softly, trailing wet kisses down his jaw and he smiles, letting his head fall back.

“You think they heard us?” He asks quietly as you suck a pretty bruise onto his neck. His fingers trail over the bruises on your hips, trying to soothe them and you shrug. 

“I’m not sure…this room seems pretty secure” 

“We’ve also been in here for like…half an hour” 

You groan embarrassedly and bury your face in his neck “Maybe they don’t know?” 

“We’ll just tell Jerry we couldn’t figure out how to get it on” Steve offers and you relax into his arms, nodding along. 

“Yeah okay, that should work” 

“Actually it won’t.” 

You shriek as Jerry unlocks the door and a little tea cart is pushed in with a stick. There’s a new set of lingerie for you, that suspiciously matches the dress and a new set of boxers for Steve, that also suspiciously matches your dress. There’s a stack of warm towels, three packages of baby wipes, and a wastebasket. 

“Whenever you’re ready darlings!” 

He doesn’t lock the door this time and it all comes crashing down on you.

“They planned this didn’t they” You whisper in horror and Steve looks back at the cart, there’s more than enough supplies to…clean things up and he knows Bucky had a hand in this as well. 

“They did, yeah.” 

[whoisneo404]

Hello! First, I wanted to say that you are my favorite Nick writer! And I wanted to know if you could do a Nick x Baker!reader where the reader teaches Nick how to bake! 🤍🫶

Sweet tooth.

Summary: baker reader and Nick have a baking date.

Disclaimer: I don’t know hot to bake lmao, so I’m making thing up. Apologies to the people who do know how to bake): pls don’t murder me.

“Do we really need that much sugar?” Nick asks concerned looking at the bowl in front of us.

“Yes Nick. Have you never baked a cake?”

“I mean… not really, wow that’s a lot.” He says. “And salt… why salt?”

“Nick…”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop, I was just curious.” He says grabbing the rest of the already measured dry ingredients and putting them in the bowl.

“It’s okay, baking can be… interesting, might be a word to describe it.”

“I don’t care. As long as you keep doing those chocolate cookies. God, I’m hungry now.” He hugs me and kisses my cheek.

“Wait.” I laugh a bit. “I’m mixing the ingredients.”

“You can mix and pay attention to me at the same time.” Nick places another kiss on my cheek.

“We are working here. Go get the eggs and the milk.” I give him a little kiss on his lips and he smiles widely.

“Yes chef!” Nick does a silly army salute and goes search for the things I asked for. When he told me he would love to bake with me I knew it was going to be funny.

---

“Keep mixing it.” I say while checking the temperature of the oven.

“How did you know I wasn’t mixing?” He gasps.

“I couldn’t hear the spoon hitting the bowl.” I turn around and look at him pouting. “Are you tired?” I chuckle as he nods. “Give it too me.” I grab the bowl and the silicone spoon and star mixing it.

“I don’t get it. It’s hard, the batter gets all heavy and hard to stir.” I complain. “But it tastes nice.”

“Did you eat it?” my eyes open widely and he nods.

“I mean, not to brag but we made a great job.”

“Nick, we still have to cook it.” I say.

“I know, and?”

“You ate raw eggs…”

“Ah, don’t worry, it’s the same as cookie dough. I have eaten it so much that my tummy is immune to any disease.”

I laugh as he pats his tummy proudly. “That’s not how that works but okay.”

---

“How long did you say we have to wait?” The cake was sitting in the oven, Nick and I were sitting on the couch.

“About 35 or 40 minutes. Not to long.” I kiss his cheek; his arm is wrapped around me and a random episode of Ru Paul is playing on the TV.

“I can’t wait to decorate it. I bought so many things to make it all pretty and yummy.” He says and starts to list all the things he bought.

“We should make donuts someday.” I suggest.

“YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THAT?!... oh my god I’m gonna marry you.” He kisses my cheek once more.

“I will keep you by my side with all the sweets I make.”

“God, I have the biggest sweet tooth. You have me at your mercy chef.” I laugh and kiss his lips; he still tastes slightly like chocolate batter.

taglist: @freshloveforthefit @shywolfapricotfan @sturnphilia @matty-bear @thenickgirl @stvrniolvsp @paige05 @soursturniolo @miloisdone1 @teenagetrash00 @lovely-calypso @h3arts4harry @malirosee @m3laninangel

[foundtherightwords]

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

[anopenbookunderlockandkey]

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

[usertransducks]

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!”

[keroradio]

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

[ladyofwiltshire]

When Will I See You Again - Chapter 13 now posted!!!

Chapter 13: Love's a State of Mind

“-He needs to go deeper when he dives, Jamie.” Sirius said, Remus opened his eyes to find his roommates getting ready. Sirius was standing by James’s bed in nothing but his briefs, waving around a pair of socks, as the pair discussed their team’s position before the opening match.

“He���ll be fine Sir, it’s only the puff’s on Saturday.” James responded, he was mostly dressed, knotting the tie around his collar.

“We’ve not even started this season and already you’re promoting complacency? Merlin’s balls James!” Sirius huffed, he turned around to go back to his bed and Remus was now face on with Sirius’s scarred chest. Four ragged pink slashes over his left breast. They stood out, stark, against his porcelain skin. His beautiful, toned, marble like chest…ruined. Remus caught silver eyes watching him and quickly looked away. Jumping out of his bed he busied himself, organising his books for the day.

“I like your chances this year James” Peter popped his head out of the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “I reckon Harry will want to impress you all, once he’s actually against an opponent.”

The four lads trudged down to the great hall, James and Sirius taking the lead a few steps ahead. James had brought Sirius back to their dorm the night before last. It was uncomfortable, but no one was really sure why. Of course, Remus felt a slight unease about the incident that occurred last full moon, but it wasn’t that bad. No one died and Snape can’t tell anyone Remus’s secret; which Remus had since learnt from Draco, Snape was desperate to do. If anything it had at least resolved that problem. Unless the atmosphere had soured because Sirius was angry with Remus, I did rough him up a bit, I would be upset if I were him, I reckon. 

They sat in their usual spot on the Gryffindor table, joined by Fabian Prewett and Harry. 

“Blimey Paul, is this your first 3rd of November?” Fabian grinned, nudging Harry with his elbow. 

“What’s so special about today?” Asked Harry, who had been confused since his dad rushed him down for breakfast, muttering about being there before the owls flock.

Sirius looked across the table, with an air of indifference as he poured a coffee for himself. “I don’t know why you’re all making such a fuss this morning, it should be much more civilised. It’s not like anyone knows yet.” He raised an eyebrow at James.

Fortuna rushed down the empty hall, frantically waving a magazine in her hand.

“Rus, Rus! Have you seen this?” She shouted halting to a stop and shoving the paper into Sirius’s chest.

“What’s this?” Sirius asked, running his eyes over a copy of Witch Weekly.

“I get an early delivery, I signed onto the priority mailing list. It’s a load of nonsense if you ask me! I only get it a few hours before everyone else! Anyway, you want to take a look at page six.” Fortuna sat down next to Sirius, who flicked through the pages and stared wide eyed when he caught the offending article. Fabian leant over the table and grabbed it out of his hands.

“Black heir back on the market?” Fabian looked up from the page, a wide grin growing. He continued to read. “It may seem that Britain’s most eligible bachelor, Sirius Black, is once again up for grabs. We have heard on great authority that the Hogwarts heart throb has backed out of his engagement to his cousin, Narcissa Black, who has effortlessly moved from one well bred heir to another, Lucius Malfoy. We hear they will be planning to wed soon. Blah blah blah, the young heir is set to turn sixteen today, let’s hope the celebrations bring him a welcome distraction from his young broken heart.” 

“Merlin! That Rita is callous. Her gossip is unrivalled, but could she not have waited a few days at least?” Fortuna tutted, spooning a generous helping of jam onto a croissant.

Remus didn’t know where to look, is this what Sirius has been sulking over? It can’t be, he wanted Cissa and Lucius together. He looked up at Sirius, who was now grinding his jaw.

“Oh Rus, don’t be like that my dear.” Fortuna giggled, she leant up and kissed his cheek. “It’s your birthday, have a little fun.” She winked, pinching Sirius’s cheek. 

“Well….errr, happy birthday Sirius!” Harry piped up, mouth full of bacon. “But errr, she’s right. You might as well enjoy the attention."

[omegaremix]

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.

[eremosjournal]

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?

[roxy206]

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 ☹️

[vickiabelson]

Today on STSWV, we're back! Marilyn makes me think of Kennedy which makes me think of... tomorrow - let's hold each others' hands and breathe! New York! Food! Theatre! Friends! Birthday! So much ketching up to do. Can't wait. Missed ya! So did Ru! 

Shooting The Shit With Vicki

Monday, November 4, 2024

Streaming Live @5 PM PT on my FB

Daily by Toni Vincent & Peter and Paul

[foundtherightwords]

The Firebird - Chapter 14

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: 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

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