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devieuls · 1 year

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I’ve always been there for you. part.II

Childe (Tartaglia) x Fem Reader ¡smut!

Warning : Smut 18+ MDNI; Childe Dom! ; unprotected and rude sex; dirty talk; threats; slaps; spit; bites; hickeys; punishments; blood; voyeurism; power play; teasing; choking, jealousy and possessiveness; pseudo-toxic relationship; violent foreplay; BDSM.

Reader with Cryo vision.

Synopsis : You are the only daughter of the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya, heir to the throne and general of the nation. The diamond of that place characterized by the eternal winter, loved by the people and adored for the angelic but fierce facade that you show. The only person with whom this mask fell is your secret lover, the one who manages to make you forget your duties with a touch and takes you to heaven whenever you end up in bed together. Your relationship was reserved for the bedroom, although you liked to tease him in public, as the 11th Harbinger was also your personal guard.

Everything was great and perfect... until one day your game was pushed too far, breaking the thin thread that gave you so much stability. Appearances were deceiving, and everything you thought you had under control suddenly hit you, dropping that house of cards you built for fun.

Length : 4k

Notes: In the story there will be some slightly violent or excessively harsh parts from the reader or Childe himself, read the warnings to better understand what it is. It’s a mini series, I hope you like it.

OH, CLICK HERE TO SEE WHAT YOU'LL WEAR IN THE MEETING!

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 END

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Still furious you headed to the part of the castle reserved for each of the Harbingers, who had a wing each to be always available for the Tsarina.

Once you got to Childe’s part, you walked into his room without even knocking, locking it behind you.

< y/n, what’s goin-? > You stopped him before he could finish the sentence, rushing to his lips, looking for an effective and productive way to release anger.

The kiss from the beginning was eager and wet, your lips were sought with breathlessness and lust. Your hands slipped on his jacket, taking it off easily and then immediately climbing on his shirt, going to unbutton it with enthusiasm. You made the red-boy back up to the bed, making him sit on the edge and straddling on him, not sticking out of the kiss until he completely lost his breath. Childe bit his lip and threw his head back when you sank your teeth and lips on his neck, then hands on your body, releasing the cloak that was part of the uniform.

His hand climbed up your neck and then ended up in the middle of your hair, squeezing between your fingers and then in a vise a handful of your hair, giving a slight tug so as to tear you away from him. You growled at him because of the pull of your hair, getting a growl from him and a cold but lustful look.

Your hand swiftly wrapped around his neck, squeezing the grip, making a slight pressure; take him to the mattress, opening his shirt totally, accidentally blowing a few buttons. The red pushed you against him again thanks to the grip that he had managed to recover in your hair; he unhooked the hooks that held the shoes tightly, taking them off with ease. He again carried his lips on yours, finding the same hungry rhythm as before, going to suck and bite your lip.

Your hand tightened more against his neck, causing the boy to gasp in your mouth and a subsequent smug smile.

< Squeeze more, baby, I like it. > He said between your lips with a mischievous and irreverent tone, playing with you and with the fact that you would never go to tighten to such an extent to really suffocate him.

You smiled keeping away from the kiss, trying to get away slightly, if it wasn’t for the firm grip in your hair that forced you to stand still over the boy. Maybe a little anger had gone, but how could you be angry if you were in your lover’s bedroom.

You said leaning towards him, whispering his title on his lips, knowing how it lit up well when you said it, especially if in a context like this.

Her blue eyes became completely clouded by lust, pulling more of your hair, making you meow from the pleasant pain you were feeling. Your hand slid purposely into his pants, undoing his belt, then clutching his already hard package, he panted and then watching the way your hand groped his needy cock. < someone is already ready for me > you said mumbling.

He pulled your hand out of his pants and quickly changed your positions, slamming you under him and locking your hand over your head, also taking the one around his neck and joining it to the other. < oh, don’t play like that with me, baby. You might regret > he answered with a hoarse and deep voice.

He carried his face on your neck, sniffing it before leaving a painful bite from which a slight trickle of blood came out that he promptly sucked, making you moan obscenely.

You shook your hands in your fists as you felt Childe’s free hand slip into your pants, pleasantly feeling the absence of your underwear, which led to him squeezing your intimacy with three fingers, pinching it and making you tremble and groan.

< Well, well well... the fearsome princess of Snezhnaya moaning like a whore under her subordinate > he said taking you down, bringing two fingers down to the clitoris, where she began to pinch and massage.

Your hips moved left and right and then pushed closer to his gloved hands. There were very few things that could make you horny, but Ajax’s gloved hand while masturbating was something idyllic. Your body was arched on the mattress, trembling as it produced pornographic moans due to overstimulation.

The boy observed your reactions satisfied as his fingers got wet because of your moods, pressing on your hole with one finger, threatening to penetrate you, slowly following the line of the edges. You bit your lip as hard as you could, started drooling like any whore, pushing your pelvis against him, hoping that this would make him enter your teeth to please you.

< Not so fast, ma'am. You walked into my room without permission, you threw yourself at me without even giving me an explanation... what a naughty girl, should I reward you for your behavior? > His fingers pinched and pulled your pulsating clit, making you moan again and roll your eyes back. Even though you had the boy right the night before, you’d never get tired of feeling so rough with yourself

< Why not, sir? > You said defiantly, grinning as you held your head back. Hearing the sound of his smile against the already sensitive skin of the neck, feeling little chills climb on your body.

Archons, he liked as fuck to hear you so disrespectful to him, because then he would have had a valid reason to be more rude to you.

Childe left another bite on your skin, taking your breath away from the surprise. < mhmh, how about I take my hand out of here ? > He said by removing your hand from your intimacy and then lowering your pants completely, then detaching from you and releasing the grip on your wrists. < You’re gonna have to make it up to me, baby. > He said with a mischievous smile, then opened your legs in front of him, taking one of your hands and carrying it on your own intimacy.

He said seriously, backing up until he sat in the chair that was not far from the bed but in front of it.

He crouched with his legs open, leaning his elbow on an armrest and then a temple on his fist, waiting for you to start touching in front of him. This one was really new to you, you never masturbated in front of him, and it embarrassed you a little bit, and he knew that, so he made a request like that.

You have brought your fingers to your red and swollen clitoris, beginning to give it attention and massaging it slowly already experiencing chills and breathlessness in the chest, leaving some soft, almost meowing moans. You have gradually speeded up the movements of the fingers, bringing the free hand to attend to the obscene and strong moans that you were leaving because of the pleasures, panting on the name of the boy who looked at you with longing.

You sobbed his name a couple of times before he ordered you not to cover your mouth, making you carry a hand in the sheets you squeezed with hope of easing the sweet pain of pleasure.

The predatory look of the boy watched as the folds of your intimacy moved at your touch, dripping on your red silk sheets; he watched as your body agitated and bent as you called his exasperated and needy name, The showy skin on your legs and how they trembled once you swallowed two fingers inside of you. His pants became tighter and tighter as he listened to you sobbing his name, begging him to come and keep on coming.

You felt like a total slut touching you in front of him in that way, letting him watch and study every little movement, listening to how you whined about his name in need of contact with him and enjoying seeing you so fragile and naked in front of him. Maybe he would propose something similar in the future, he was loving that version of you, so shameless and desperate for his dick.

You stopped the movements of your hand when you felt the presence of the boy standing in front of the bed, after all, sneaking around was one of his skills but you would have preferred to hear him first. Childe grinned bitterly but at the same time mischievous, looking down upon your face.

< Did I say "stop" ? > he growled and laid a hand on your neck, squeezed it slightly. < Is't so hard to be a good whore for me? Do I have to be meaner with you? > He went on, and then slapped your vagina, making you moan deeply, shivering. < You must have pissed me off today, didn’t you? > His voice was low and deep as she slammed a second slap into your intimacy. < my bad, I should have educated better a rebellious kitten like you. But you could be such a good kitty, right? > He cocluse by rolling up the sleeves of the shirt on his arms, putting on gloves later.

< maybe I don’t want to be. I know you like it when I’m mean > you answered brazenly.

He took you from your hips after sitting on the edge of the bed, settling with his belly against his thighs, taking off the shirt you were wearing and then stroking your bare back, passing a finger along your spine, causing you little chills. You took a deep breath before sucking on his gloved fingers at his command, mumbling slightly as you felt it in your mouth. < such a good kitten, so good... Go on, baby. > He whispered. You kept sucking and licking his fingers until he took them out of your mouth to enter sharply inside you, making you scream and stick your nails into his thigh. < Aw, if only you could see how pretty your face is drooling over my fingers like a sweet bitch. >

His fingers pumped fast in and out, hitting some spots he knew were sensitive to you, causing you to pant and groan shamefully against his thigh, blushing for strong pleasure. Childe let out a laugh at your reactions, which made you blush more, beginning to drool once he began to alternate some slaps on your intimacy with the fingers pumping.

The pleasure was too much, you felt the blood crashing on your lower abdomen concentrating the pleasure right where the boy was cutting. He came out of your intimacy and struck a couple of times your buttocks, letting slip disparaging words and totally non-royal titles. You bent your back trying to get up from this position that was becoming uncomfortable and painful, receiving the boy’s hand on your back, pushing it down to lock yourself in that position < You'll not get up from here until I feel satisfied. I’m not done with you yet. > He said leaving a bite on your shoulder and then licking the mark with satisfaction.

You kept moaning at every gloved slap against you, meowing to try to recover some air in your lungs. Your drool soaked his pants as you felt his cock pounding against your stomach for the excitement of punishing you. He entered you again, pumping harder and faster than before, until you come up with a loud orgasm, calling his name. He took you by the hair, pulling you towards him, making your sore back arch. < Just because you cum don’t think I’m satisfied. > He said licking your neck smiling, then throwing you on his mattress, licking his fingers full of your moods, moaning with pleasure in feeling the sweetness of the liquid.

He took off the gloves with his teeth and then completely removed his shirt and pants, observing your exhausted and panting body on the bed, approaching you and pulling you to him by the legs. You bite your lip before leaning over you going to leave wet kisses and hickeys on your belly, and then end up on your breast, beginning it to suck and bite rough.

One of your hands crashed into your mouth, trying to take care of the sharp sound of your desperate moans, weeping quietly. The other hand ended up in the boy’s soft hair, pulling some strands when he sucked too hard or bit. After several minutes, Childe gave a respite to your over-stimulated nipples, recreating a wet river between your legs.

He came down between your legs, kissing your inner thigh until he got to your intimacy, blowing on it to give you more chills. < Do you want me, baby? > he said leaving a kiss right between the separation of the thigh and vagina, making you pant slightly. < Tell me. How much do you want me? > He kept teasing you. In other circumstances, you wouldn’t stoop to his little games so easily, but you needed it.

Your dangerous game in the meeting, the argument with Regrator, Childe in THAT uniform, and his being so rough in bed, only increased your libido. You needed Childe, every little part of you screamed his name, wanted it, needed it.

You said panting, hoping that this would be enough to convince him, but you would have lied to yourself in actually thinking it. He loved to destroy your power under him, totally nullifying your title and making you subject to his will, and that was what always brought you back to him.

< So pretty, you can do better. Beg me, baby. Let me hear how fucking you want me. > he licked the point that just before he was just kissing, and then massage the outer thigh with his hands, groping it with possession.

< Please, I crave you... I’m begging you, Sir. > Your words were meowing and gasping for the sensitive point he was playing with. Childe went completely on to hear that nickname, you knew it made him particularly hot and that’s why you used it to get what you wanted.

The boy moved away from your legs and stood up, taking off his pants with a speed never seen before, coming back above you and not hesitating a second to to enter you to the bottom. You opened your eyes wide, letting a scream followed by a groan come out of your mouth; your body arched again, while your hands clung to the sheets, clutching them between your fingers while some tear of pleasure came out of your eyes, closing them later. He didn’t even give you time to get used to it that he began to suck his sore dick inside you, took your face with one hand and tightened his grip on the jaw. < Look at me. You wanted me so much until now, what’s up? Princess, you can’t stand all this? > He said growling at you, then moaning because of your walls closing around him.

You opened your eyes to look at him, letting out of your mouth some curses for the pleasure he was giving you as he pulsed against your walls and pushed deeper and deeper. Your vision was a little blurry from the tears coming out of you, which made the boy inside you harder.

< Look at you, so pretty when you cry for my dick. > He said and then left a wet kiss on your lips, licking your tears later, narrowly increasing the intensity of the thrusts.

His hand wrapped around your neck, choking some of your moans and whimpers. Your eyes looked at him with irreverence and lust, you wished he would go stronger with you, you needed to feel him to the last, to focus your anger and libido on something. Between one push and the other his grip on your neck tightened making you moan and roll your eyes back, panting < more... > with a broken voice, continuing to cry on his sheets making him enjoy.

< You want more, baby? Okay. > He said smirking and then yanking your hair and leaving a slap on your face, not too painful, but you liked this. He had never gone so far with hair pulled, making you cry, choke and slap but you didn’t mind all this now.

You left a liberating moan when it totally entered you, hitting your most sensitive spot, leaving a slap on your breast and pulling your hair again, pushing harder and harder. Maybe it hurt a little, but you didn’t care, it was a pain that could be endured if he gave you the best cum shot of your life. The nails ended up scratching and clinging to his shoulders, cutting his back a little too, causing the boy to groan hoarsely.

He held you by the neck as he gave the last rough thrusts inside you, making you cum with a spray on his still hard dick but close to orgasm too. You missed your breath after the strong orgasm, gasping for air as the guy kept pumping in and out of you and then reaching orgasm too with a loud and deep moan, slightly growling. You carried your hands on his neck and shoved it against your lips, beginning yet another wet kiss, as the boy’s hands moved to hold himself.

< If I had known that coming to your room would have meant this, I would have walked into this room years ago > You said laughing on his lips, and then moved the boy to the side and dragged you over him, sitting astride on his belly. You left some sweet kisses on his chest and then on his neck. you whispered.

< And I thought I was exaggerating... > He laughed back. He counted, laying his hands on your hips.

< You stopped the presence of my mother, may I never see what we do. > You responded by laughing while leaving a bite on his neck. you received a small spanking after what you had said, remembering how devoted your lover was to your mother.

< You are without rules... You know what I risk in doing all this > He sighed heavily.

< But we like the risk, the thrill of being discovered. I don’t think you ever felt sorry for possessing me, at least not after all these years > You snorted and then dropped on the mattress.

he said approaching him, caressing your naked skin. < But you know that I have duties towards the Tsarina, don't be angry for this >

You turned to him, and then wrapped the bravvia around his neck. < Mh, I don’t like my mother’s power over you. The only one who should command you that way should be me. I’m jealous. > You grumbled with a soft pout.

< Mh.. but you have more power than her, I am totally yours. You know who should be really jealous ? Me. You sent me away with the others to stay with another Harbinger, I feel offended > He said moving some locks behind your ear.

You sighed, you hated to think back to that moment, knowing it was your big mistake. If you had talked to Childe about what happened, there would have been nothing in the world, not even the Tsarina herself, to stop him from killing his comrade. You knew your lover’s levels of jealousy, and that was enough to know when it was best to lie.

You said and then wring his cheeks < You’re so cute when you get jealous > You giggled and then you printed a kiss on his lips.

Childe snorted and kissed me back < Something I understand too... > He said grumbling.

< Ah, yes? You know about accounting and financial systems? > You asked mocking him, only to find his face in the hollow of your neck.

< A little, yes... I would learn more if it takes to stay more time with you > He whispered. < We don't train together for a long time... I am always traveling and I thought there was something with him > He said with a slight tone of concern in the voice.

You held your arms around her neck, laying your face over her head, looking sad and lost. You wanted to tell him, you didn’t like keeping secrets from him, but that was also to preserve his safety. < You’re the only one... I would never replace you with anyone. > Your voice was sweet and delicate as you were held in his arms.

< Don’t say it... one day you'll have to get married and you will not be mine anymore. You'll replace me and you forget me > He said bitterly. < That’s why I want to keep you to myself as much as possible. >

You swallowed and then sighed. < What if I married you? >

< The Tsarina cannot marry a Harbinger, is inconvenient and would not accumulate the force of the ruler. The Tsaritsa would never allow your marriage, especially if it is with me. > he responded by caressing your back.

< Pity, you would be sexy dressed as a King at my side... so sexy > You said laughing to break the tension in the air, trying to avoid the harsh reality.

< Sexy? I could make you scream for hours in the throne room and shout my name in the bedroom, without the fear of being discovered > He answered laughing too.

< Not that I’d mind... that would be nice, at least I’d have a good reason to kill all those sluts who hit on you. Even if I don’t say it, you belong to me. And I know you’re flirting with that traveler. Oh, Archons. if I find out you’re sleeping with her in my absence, I swear my mother’s torture would be your salvation. > You said playing with a lock of her hair, curling it around your finger.

< She’s not nearly as beautiful as you, because betraying you to a stranger. I’m totally yours. > He responded promptly.

< Swear. Swear to me that you are mine and that you belong to me.> Your voice was colder and more decisive.

Childe looked at you sincerely and then sighed.

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danielslaw · 2 years

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ok but can we talk about how in kk1 when bobby is apologizing to daniel after he breaks daniel's leg, daniel cries out "NO!!!" i can't help but interpret that cry of his as devastation because he thought his chances of winning the tournament were ruined and over 😭😭😭 i know it was likely meant to be him saying no to bobby as a "get away from me!" sorta thing, but it adds a whole new layer of emotion if you view it as him realizing he was too badly injured to properly finish what was started. my baby :(((

considering the scene after that is daniel telling miyagi that he has to win the tournament and how it isn't about winning a trophy but to prove to ck and everyone there that he is more than an object to be pushed around? I do love your mind anon, and I CRY WITH YOU. thank you for this, i think about that scene so much

#tsarina talks!

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queenalexandraofdenmark · 1 year

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Okay. WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT Princess Maud of Wales(Queen Maud of Norway) & Prince Carl of Denmark(King Haakon VII of Norway)'s RELATIONSHIP. Like yeah I get it, Tsar Nicholas II & Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna & some other royals had a really cute & tight relationship and all that, but Maud & Haakon were so so touchy, lovey-dovey, so in love with eachother, and I feel like they were probably always in desperate need of eachother😭. Like I literally could never ever image being Haakon and having to live 19 years without my wife, I DEADASS FEEL SO BAD FOR HIM😭💔.

They were true soulmates.❤

#maud of wales #queen maud of norway #king haakon vii of norway #norwegian royal family

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no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist · 6 months

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Underrated scenes from each ss book

These aren't all scenes and I think the flf section just turned into a highlight reel of things i love about flf but here.

TVD

The scene where Roma picks up tiny Alisa because she was climbing inside of his walls and she's like hey don't rip my shirt it's new :( when her shirt his very obviously extremely old.

Not a scene but just the fact that the White Flower's used to have a golden retriever named Tsarina.

Idk if it's underrated exactly but that scene where Rosalind waits for Juliette in her room for three hours to tell her about the monster attack hits me like a truck every time I remember it.

"What is a Montague? It sounds Italian."

The scene where Benedikt holds Tyler at gunpoint after he threatens Marshall because he knows Marshall wouldn't have had the impulse control to not shoot

Roma beating the shit out of Dimitri

Celia coming up with her fake backstory for a Communist meeting and saying, "My mother is dead. My father is dead to me."

Juliette calling Roma a "wet blanket"

Juliette taking responsibility for Celia when she accidentally knocked Amethyst out

OVE

Juliette Cai says healthcare for all

Alisa being mad at Roma because he hasn't taught her how to catch a knife

Marshall styling Juliette's hair

Juliette making fun of newsboy cap guy

The Marshall flashback to when he met Benedikt

Roma and Juliette getting tailed by the the French White Flower guy who ends up being one of the monsters and Roma saying idk maybe he thinks I'm hotter than you when Juliette asks him why the guy looks like he wants to kill Roma

Benedikt knocking Roma out before trying to kill Juliette because holy shit

When Alisa realizes that Roma agreed to a duel to get her back

When Rosalind had Roma at gunpoint

"I would rather the two of you not burn the world down each time you choose each other."

The paragraphs where Celia starts really being Celia are just so,,,

Somehow I forgot that Alisa was already officially a Communist spy in the OVE epilogue?

fhh spoilers

FLF

Celia forcing Rosalind out of bed to go to Lourens when she wanted to die

Orion calling Dao Feng "Old Man"

Rosalind immediately making tranquilizers right when Orion moves in because she doesn't want to put up with his shit

Silas writing and publishing a fucking op-ed at 14 immediately after getting home from London (iconic)

The implication that Silas has tried to confess to Phoebe before which I call bullshit on.

Not a scene but when Orion shows back up in the morning before their first day at Seagreen, I am convinced that the red stuff on his neck was blood not lipstick.

I NEED TO KNOW IF JIEMIN'S CROSS WAS A SIGN OF ALLEGIANCE TO PRIEST?????

"Who's stealing Silas from you? You're the notorious boyfriend stealer not me." because what exactly are we implying help-

Rosalind remembering hearing Silas's parents brag about him

Phoebe "spying" on Seagreen while she has Silas wait in the car

Lao Lao instantly adopting Orion

I think a lot of the olivercelia stuff in flf is a bit underrated because a lot of us were too busy being haters for a while but the necklace knife scene!

"My little ego can always stand being snapped at by you, sweetheart."

Oliver being really really freaked out in the warehouse hit different now that we have more context ughhhh

Orion thinking that his dad might have done something to his mom. What the fuck. And also being in that house with them alone for years jesus christ

Alisa covering her walls in drawings from Benedikt

Rosalind killing Zilin

Silas taking on Orion's assignments when his headaches were really bad

The fact that Lord and Lady Hong probably knew that Oliver was onto something when Orion told Lord Hong about Oliver breaking in

The cards that Zilin had in his pocket were a spade and a diamond (spade = aroace and diamond = demi)

Rosalind and Orion's argument after the Peach Lily Palace incident

Celia being like stfu Oliver (i like telling him what to do. teehee. aNYWAY)

Ik the nation over everything quote gets talked about a lot but I think people seem to forget how pissed Celia was after he said that. Because "You're so damn selfish. Have you ever stopped to consider that I value your life just as much? If you want to protect me, don't you think that I want to protect you, too?" And then the way that Oliver is absolutely baffled by this. Ack.

Rosalind flinching when Orion pretended to kiss her forehead towards the start of flf vs her casually noting it when he actually kissed her temple midway through flf

Alisa casually having Russian classic literature at her desk despite the fact that she probably stopped receiving formal school at about 13. Slay queen.

The domestic spat. I don't think we've talked about it in a bit I'm so disappointed in us.

Alisa seeing Rosalind and Dimitri together and never saying anything about it

Silas immediately hanging up when Lord Hong picked up when he was trying to call Phoebe

Also who were Gray and Archer??? I thought they were going to be important but oh well

"She doesn't bite." "Yes, I do." like geez ok Rosalind thank you for sharing

"Phoebe walked a small circle around the hospital corridor. Silas, his eyes tracking her absently, stood with his chin propped in one palm." Yeah ok.

Then the scene after Orion sees Rosalind's scars where they're both lying on her bed together and talk for a little bit. I don't know if it's underrated exactly, but I have a very clear image of it in my mind and it is very parallely and nice I like this scene

Alisa drinking orange juice out of a coffee mug. Why? Because.

Tiny detail but Orion telling Phoebe to stop answering the phone in English because he's afraid of gossip

Phoebe immediately going DO I GET TO SEDUCE PRETTY WOMAN???? when Orion tells her he needs her help and him being absolutely exhausted by her

"You warn me for control." "I don't need your warning." I want to kiss Rosalind on the mouth.

Ok sorry but I do not interpret the scene where Orion steals the Frenchwoman's necklace as him flirting with her I think he just put on a really exaggerated twink voice because it's funnier that way

Silas knocking out a guard by holding a cloth with sedatives to his face when he and Phoebe broke Alisa out of jail.

Also just Silas trying to signal to Alisa that he's totally definitely a double agent in the process of betraying everyone because Alisa knows that he's aligned with the Communists somehow while Phoebe is Priest is so insane.

Silas fixing Phoebe's hair then Phoebe noticing that he shifted maybe half and inch away from her going hmm no that's not allowed and shifting closer to him. Especially since there's not very much emotion in her internal monologue in flf since you're not really getting her pov you're just getting a front.

"Are you keeping any other secrets from me, Janie Mead?" "One. But I don't want to tell you yet."

Orion faking a nosebleed

"His proximity was supposed to be some sort of tactic to make her flustered, she guessed, but she was only concentrating on the fact that Orion had missed a sport right by his jaw." Rosalind you absolute genius (I am so obsessed with her)

Phoebe entering Silas's house then immediately going hihihihihihi pay attention to meeeeeeeeeee without telling him that she was planning on coming over

Probably not underrated but. "Phoebe's scowl was immediate, taken aback as to who was in his bedroom, but she realized seconds later that the voice was too grainy and distant to be a visitor." Just something about Phoebe not recognizing it as her own voice and being jealous of a part of herself that she doesn't really recognize as herself is just. so. ahhhh.

aDmIrAtIoN

Not underrated but. The scene where Rosalind is like. Orion put his head on my lap to annoy me. His hair looks dumb. I am going to yoink it. To bother him. Then just. Starts playing with his hair.

A random guy selling flowers seeing a boy and a girl in a car together and thinking ah yes. customers. then fearing for his life and running away after watching phoebe yoink Silas out of his car

Phoebe conning Silas into thinking she wanted him to drive her around so she could observe architecture. Damn he is easy to trick

"'Can't I convince you to partake in a different outing instead?' Silas pleaded. 'I'll buy you cake. Or pastries? You like pastries.' 'No! We have to do this.' Phoebe separated her clasped hands, clutching at her skirts instead. 'Do you want to watch me beg?' 'pHOEBE-' 'So help me, I'll get on my knees right in the middle of the street, and then you will have to answer for my virtue-' 'Fine, fine,' Silas hurried to say, unable to withstand her theatrics. There were two red blots deepening on his cheeks." .......................ok.

Alisa purposely freaking Silas out by telling him that he has to handle the explosives. Then they end up being firecrackers she bought from a middle schooler.

Phoebe making the 🥺🥺🥺 face and Silas covering her eyes

Alisa faking a middle aged man voice

Rosalind looking at Orion and being like hmm he's really pretty it kind of looks like he's wearing mascara. Anyway.

To be continued because I'm hitting the word limit oops

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foundtherightwords · 1 month

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The Firebird - Chapter 15

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 warnings: some smut (non-explicit), Paul being an idiot

Chapter word count: 5.5k

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

Chapter 15 - The Tsarina and the Fool

One of the horses—in the haze of pain and exhaustion, Paul didn't remember which—picked them up from the charred throne room and brought them back to Baba Yaga's hut. A happy surprise was waiting for them there—Ilya had survived, and with his injuries being tended to by Elena, he should make a swift recovery.

Elena tended to Zhara's wound as well, though her recovery was not as swift. Her wound was more grievous, and made by a magical weapon no less, so it was several days before it even stopped bleeding and the healing could begin. When Paul gave the others an account of what had transpired in the throne room, Baba Yaga shook her long, hooked nose and said, "The girl was lucky. Messing about with magic could have very serious consequences."

"Like what happened with Illarion?" Paul asked.

The witch nodded grimly. "My guess is that Koschei's magic was already killing him, but he didn't know it. And when he took on his sister's magic as well, it became too much. Some people aren't meant to take on such power. They can't handle it."

Paul wondered if the last sentence was a warning. He decided not to ask.

He spent most days in Zhara's room, holding her hand while she slept. Though he still wasn't quite used to the sight of her human form in full daylight yet, he couldn't get enough of watching her, marveling at how the sun brought out the gold in her hair, how it played on her freckles and sparkled in her eyes during the brief moments of wakefulness. His only worry was that although she was healing physically, her spirits remained low. Often, he would find her looking out at the sea and the dark shape of Buyan Island beyond, her lips trembling. She no longer smiled, and on the rare occasion she did, it was brief and tired, with none of her usual cheekiness. Paul could still hear Illarion's pitiful cries for help as the magic that he couldn't control coursed through him, taking away his life. He was thankful that Zhara hadn't heard those cries.

In those days, Paul learned something else that the stories never mentioned. They never told what came after the "happily ever after." They never talked about how the peasant boy failed to rule a kingdom, how the princess became bored with her husband, or how the knight longed for more adventures now that the dragon was slain. Or, in this case, how the evil wizard was still mourned after he died, because for all his evil, he was also terribly, terribly misguided, and had had to pay dearly for his mistakes.

Paul knew a part of Zhara would never stop mourning, not for what Illarion had become, but for Lariosha, for the little brother that had grown up with her and played with her and laughed with her. He also knew that nothing he could say or do would ever lift that pain from her heart. When he caught her in one of those moments, he could only offer her a kiss or an embrace, which seemed to soothe her, insufficient though they may be.

***

Once Zhara had recovered, they moved into the castle. Ilya went with them, as Zhara intended to make him the head of the Royal Guards. Elena stayed with Baba Yaga, who agreed to remain close in case they needed help, but she withdrew the hut deep into the forest to avoid being discovered. News of Illarion's defeat and Zhara's return had spread quickly, and the people of Arthania, those who had had their curses lifted or had not fled too far, were slowly making their way back home.

In the days and weeks that followed, Zhara had much to do. There was her kingdom in ruins, with most of its people killed or still scattered to all corners of the world. There was Smorodina in the south, which after Afron's death had divided into so many factions and descended into such a bloody civil war that it threatened the stability of the whole Lukomorye. There was Kostroma, who still blamed Zhara for taking Elena away and refused to lend a helping hand. There were all the boyars who had fled Arthania after Illarion's coup and were now returning, swearing up and down that they had every intention of standing behind Zhara, and she didn't quite know who to trust. Every day she worked late into the night, meeting with a few reliable boyars, or riding out to survey the damage and figuring out how to rebuild the kingdom.

Zhara was so busy that they had no chance to fulfill Paul's desire. When she came to Paul's bed-chamber at night, she was often exhausted and fell asleep in his arms right away, after mumbling, "Remember to wake me up so we can watch the dawn together, won't you?" But in the morning, either she had already left, called away by duties, or was still sleeping so soundly that he didn't have the heart to wake her.

He tried to help her when and where he could, though he became more aware than ever how woefully inadequate he was, how his mother and tutors had failed him when it came to ruling a country. To be fair, Zhara had tried to include him. The moment she presented him to her council, however, the boyars immediately raised a protest.

"Who is he?" they asked. "What does he know about our country? How can we trust his counsel?"

"I trust him," Zhara said. "That should be enough."

"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," one of the boyars said. "He may have helped you defeat your brother, but when it comes to running the country, it's best to leave it to us."

Throughout it all, Paul could only sit like a schoolboy being called up for an examination and failing. So this was how it was for Potemkin and his mother's other lovers. He was now being sneered at, just as he had once sneered at them. But at least Potemkin could prove his worth on the battlefield, and Vasilchikov had his charms and wits. Paul had nothing. It made his blood boil, though the anger was directed at those pompous boyars or himself, he wasn't sure. The only thing keeping him from storming out of the council room was the fear that it would make him look like a petulant child and earn him even more contempt.

"I'm sorry," Zhara said that night while they were in bed together. "I shouldn't have subjected you to such humiliation. We shall find a way to convince them—"

"It doesn't matter," Paul said, hugging her close.

In the end, Zhara gave him the job of translating and cataloging the notes of Illarion's magical experiments, trunkfuls of which had been discovered all over the castle, to find out if there was anything they missed, any hidden trap or danger they might have overlooked. When some of the boyars protested that someone who did not know magic should not be given such an important task, Zhara calmly told them that they could trust Paul not to make mischief precisely because he didn't know magic. That had silenced them at last. Further, the notes were all written in Latin, a language that Zhara told Paul had not been used in Lukomorye for hundreds of years. No doubt Illarion had been counting on that to keep his experiments a secret. For all his precautions, the boy hadn't anticipated that they would be read by a mere mortal from Rus', who had learned Latin growing up.

Paul took to the task with delight. He discovered he had a knack for interpreting and organizing documents, and grew to enjoy those long hours poring over the parchments, making notes of all the different spells and enchantments, becoming in turn fascinated or horrified. Having seen what magic could do, he never once felt curious, never wondering if he could try them for himself. Zhara had been right to trust him on that count. Occasionally, he would bring some of the notes into the forest to ask for Baba Yaga's help to interpret them, though the old witch didn't see much use in writing things down.

One day, Paul opened a trunk that had been discovered just the day before, and beneath the jumble of parchments, he found something else—a round, polished silver tray, and a crystal ball that fitted into the palm of his hand. Ever cautious, he took them to the house on chicken legs and asked Baba Yaga what they were.

"Scrying tools," she said, after a brief glance at them. "You roll the crystal around the tray and it will show you the person you wish to see."

Paul's eyebrows shot up. This must be how Illarion had been able to track them and send Alyosha and Afron after them. "Can anyone use it?" he asked. "Or does one have to be magic?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?" the old witch said and returned to the cauldron she was stirring over the fire.

Feeling a little foolish, Paul picked up the crystal and rolled it around the tray. Only when the crystal had almost finished its rotation that he realized he hadn't decided what he wanted to see yet. A thought flashed through his mind involuntarily.

The polished surface of the tray rippled, then stilled. It became clear like a mirror, except it didn't show Paul his own reflection. Instead, he saw a woman, and realized why Illarion hadn't used the tray more—it wasn't very useful for spying. It only showed the person being watched, with very little of the surroundings to discern where the person may be. Here, the woman was looking at someone outside the mirror, her face drawn and haggard. It took Paul a second to recognize her. His mother. He had never seen her so subdued.

"Do you expect us to believe this, Your Majesty?" a voice, a man's, said. Paul couldn't see his face, but he recognized the voice. It was Orlov. Not his mother's former lover, Grigory, who had fallen from favor, but his brother, Alexei, who had often tried to curry favor with Paul by apologizing for helping to overthrow Paul's father and promising to support Paul once he ascended the throne.

"The tsarevich was ill with typhoid," his mother said impassively. "I do not expect you to believe anything, only the truth."

"No one has seen him in months!" Orlov shouted.

The Empress didn't blink. "He was highly contagious. Now that the danger has passed, he needs quiet and rest, so I sent him to Gatchina."

An angry murmur went around, like the buzzing of a provoked beehive. Finally, Orlov spoke up. "The council demands that we are allowed to see Tsarevich Paul, alive and well. If he is indeed in Gatchina as you said, I shall go there myself, in three days' time, to speak with him. Or you shall have to answer to us."

"Are you giving me an ultimatum, gentlemen?" Some of the old authority was back in his mother's voice. "Are you threatening me?"

"It is no threat, Your Majesty," Orlov said icily. "But I think the people will have something to say when they learn that a former Emperor and a future Emperor, father and son, have both disappeared under your watch."

His mother's face went white. The tray wobbled, and the crystal ball fell onto the table with a clatter. The image of his mother faded away as the tray became silver once more.

***

Paul didn't remember how he returned to the castle. He walked like a somnambulist, gripping the tray so hard that its edge left a mark on his palm. Rain was falling, but he hardly noticed the drops falling hard and thick on his shoulders, splattering his curls to his head. Once back in his study, he rolled the crystal ball around the tray again and saw his mother, now alone, gazing aimlessly into the distance, the expression on her face strangely similar to his own, looking as lost as he had never seen her, as lost as he felt.

So that was what his mother had been doing since he disappeared into Lukomorye. Claimed that he was ill and tried to fend off the council's suspicion until... until what? What did she hope would happen? That he would miraculously turn up? That she could convince the council that he had died and that she had nothing to do with it?

With a jolt, Paul realized this was what he'd always fantasized about. He was the only one who could help his mother. He may not have to fight for her in a coup or a peasant revolt, but she needed him now.

He could return. Baba Yaga had said she could open a door for him. Since Illarion's defeat, Paul had given the matter no thought, so caught up as he was in Zhara's recovery and then in helping her put her kingdom back together. Now, when he did think about it, he couldn't imagine leaving her, not after everything they had been through.

But he couldn't leave his mother to the wolves either. The time apart had made him tender toward her. He couldn't quite forgive her neglect, but after all, it wasn't her fault that she hadn't been allowed to raise him. And, having seen how Zhara had to fight the boyars on every decision she wanted to make for Arthania, after she had given her own life to save them, he no longer begrudged his mother her tenacious hold on power. He knew now how difficult it was for a woman to rule, regardless of which world she lived in.

And he had his duty to his empire as well. If he didn't return and his mother was deposed, what then? Would Russia descend into civil war and chaos due to the lack of an heir, like Smorodina? Or would some tyrant rise up and lead the empire into ruins, as Illarion had done to Arthania? Could Paul live with that on his conscience?

He didn't know how long he sat like that, his mind churning like the sea outside the window, forever lapping at the shore without going anywhere. He was only roused from the tangled reverie he'd sunk into when the door opened and Zhara walked in, asking, "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Paul glanced at the window. He hadn't even noticed the sun going down. "Oh, I was thinking, that's all." For some reason, he covered up the silver tray and the crystal ball with a few sheets of parchment. He didn't want to tell Zhara about them yet.

Zhara touched her finger to a candle on the table, and it flared to life. "Thinking about what?" she asked, sitting down on the arm of his chair and playing with his curls, which were getting long.

"Lots of things. What about you?" He turned to her, wishing to change the subject. "You finished your meeting early today."

She snorted. "I ended the meeting early. Those boyars, what a clump of pompous fat crows! There is so much to do, and yet they decided the best way to occupy their time is to meddle in my personal affairs!"

"What happened?"

She looked at him, blushed, and turned away. "They want me to marry," she said quietly.

Paul felt as though he was doused in a bucket of ice water. This was something the tales never mentioned either.

"They say that, as tsarina, my most important duty is to produce an heir for Arthania," Zhara continued, sounding disgusted. "They present me with a list of suitors and tell me to choose. Now I understand perfectly well why you were so angry with your mother. Some even suggest I marry Ilya! Not once did they ask what I want!"

It was then that Paul realized his path was clear. This was where his story ended. The dragon was slain, and the knight would marry the princess. There was no place for him in this fairytale world.

"Then what do you want?" he asked dully.

"I want to marry you," Zhara said.

Paul stared at her, dumbfounded. "What?"

"Marry me," she repeated, lifting his hand to her lips for a kiss.

"The boyars will never stand for it." He wondered what would happen if his mother was to marry one of her lovers. There would be uproar in court, surely.

Zhara tossed her red braid. "Hang the boyars!"

"Zhara, you can't think like that," Paul said patiently. "Without the boyars, you won't have much of a kingdom to rule."

"I don't care. Marry me."

She leaned down to kiss him. He turned away, unable to look into her blazing eyes any longer, and her kiss glanced off his cheek instead. "I—I can't."

Her countenance changed. "Why not?"

"I don't belong here."

"Nonsense! You have held your own better than most of the native Lukomorians I know. You can convince the boyars to accept you, I'm sure of it." She squeezed both of his hands. "Think about it, Paul! We can rule together!"

"I don't want—"

Her smile disappeared, and the light in her eyes went out, like the sun that vanished behind storm clouds. "You don't want to share power with a woman, is that so?"

"No!" But even as he said it, a nagging voice, sounding horribly like his mother's, whispered in the back of his mind, It is true though. You don't want to share your power. And you shan't have to, if you return to your world.

"Then what is it?"

Paul took a deep breath. Then he cleared the parchments away from the silver tray and the crystal ball. "I found these among the papers today."

"A scrying disc?" Zhara said warily. "Did you use it?"

He nodded.

"What did you see?"

In reply, Paul rolled the crystal around the tray. As before, the silver rippled and cleared. It showed his mother again, leaning on someone—Paul could glimpse a square shoulder and an eye patch. Potemkin. She must have summoned him back. Before, the sight would have filled Paul with disgust, but now he knew it would be hypocritical of him to judge them, when he and Zhara were sitting in almost the exact same position.

"Is that—?" Zhara asked.

"My mother, yes."

"Who's the man?"

"Her—lover."

Zhara raised an eyebrow at that, but made no further comment. They fell silent and watched the scene unfold.

"Oh Grisha, what am I to do?" his mother was saying. "I should have raised the alarm when Paul first disappeared. But I didn't want to cause a panic, and I thought he would be found in time—"

"But some people knew, surely?" Potemkin said. "They could give witness that you had nothing to do with his disappearance."

"Only Panin and my most trusted servants. The council will think they are in league with me, their words mean nothing."

Potemkin was silent for a while. Then he said slowly, "Have you considered the Bobrinsky boy?"

Paul looked on, shocked, while his mother turned toward her lover. "A replacement?" she said. "Would the council be fooled?"

"He is your son as well, is he not?" Potemkin said with a shrug. "He was brought up and educated just as Paul was. You yourself have often remarked upon their resemblance. The council would have to believe it, if they know what's good for them."

To Paul's horror, his mother appeared to be actually considering it. "It's risky, to be sure, but I suppose I could—"

He'd seen enough. He lifted the crystal ball from the tray, ending the scene. Zhara looked at him, eyes full of questions and concern.

"I don't understand," she said.

"My mother has been keeping my disappearance a secret," Paul explained. "But the ministers are getting suspicious, so it seems she's—she's planning to replace me with a double."

"With this Bobrinsky? Who is he?"

"Alexei Grigorievitch Bobrinsky," said Paul. "I've only heard rumors, but I believe he's my half-brother. My mother's illegitimate son." And the rumors turned out to be true.

Zhara continued to look at him, the concern in her eyes slowly replaced by a heartbroken expression as she came to understand what he was going to do.

"You're going to return to your world, aren't you?" she said in a small voice, as though begging him to deny it.

That quiet voice and the beseeching look in her eyes pierced Paul's heart. He could only nod.

"But how?"

"Baba Yaga told me she could open a door."

Her lips trembled. He realized she had been hoping that it was impossible to find a door back into his world, that he would have no choice but to stay with her, and his reveal had shattered that hope. He took her hands and pressed them to his lips in a fervent kiss.

"I have to, Zhara."

"But why?" she whispered, tugging on his hands until they drew close together, their foreheads touching.

How could he explain? How could he tell her that he would not be able to live with himself otherwise, and that to be deserving of her, he would have to leave her?

"You know why," he said. "I have my duties, as do you."

Zhara sat up and pushed him away. "Duties? What duties would these be? To find a wife, to produce an heir?"

Her mocking words were like little red-hot irons scorching his insides. He dropped her hands.

"How are those any different than yours?" he snapped.

Zhara's eyes flashed, and Paul realized he had gone too far. He tried reaching for her hands again, but she kept her distance. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," he said. "But the council—they threaten to overthrow my mother—they only gave her three days—"

"Your mother never cares about you."

"She is my mother. I can't let her suffer—"

"She's replacing you!"

"I won't let her!" he shouted. "The throne is mine!"

In the ringing silence following those words, Paul caught a reflection of himself in the candle-lit window—nostrils flared, lips twisted in a grimace—and was horrified at its resemblance to Illarion's face. The boy had had that same look when he was taking Zhara's power from her. He couldn't be as bad as Illarion... could he?

Paul sought Zhara's eyes, hoping to apologize, to explain himself, but the look on her face made his apology evaporate in his throat. There was heartbreak there, and contempt as well, which he hadn't seen in so long.

"So that's it, isn't it?" she said, and the disappointment in her voice was so much worse than her anger. "That's what you really desire. All that talk about seeing the sunrise with me was just drivel. You want power. Like all men." Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to let them fall. "I should have known."

"Zhara, please—" Paul began, but he knew there was nothing he could say that would change this. He had to return, even if it broke her heart. Even if it broke his heart.

"I don't want to hear any more of your lies," Zhara said, and swept out of the room.

***

Paul walked through the rain to the hut on chicken legs and informed Baba Yaga of his intention. As impassive as ever, she simply told him to come back the next morning, as she needed to find a suitable portal. He nodded gratefully—if all went well, it meant he would return with one day to spare. He then took his leave of Elena and Ilya. He was touched by Ilya's shock and the knight's earnest attempt to convince Paul to change his mind, while Elena was saddened but understanding. "One day, I shall have to return to my mother and my duties in Bryansk as well," she said to Paul. "Zharissa may not understand that now, but she would come around."

Paul thanked her, though he wasn't sure if he wanted Zhara to come around. A part of him agonized over leaving things so unpleasant between them, but another part of him would rather have her hate him. It would make their parting less painful.

He returned to the castle and tidied up the study. There were still a lot of Illarion's notes left, but Paul had left extensive notes of his own, so perhaps someone diligent enough could pick it up and complete the task. This done, he went back to his bed-chamber, but he couldn't sleep. There was no packing—he had acquired nothing and would leave with the same clothes he'd worn when he first came here, minus his hat and wig. There was nothing else to do but to lie awake and wait for daybreak and try not to think of Zhara.

He had no chance of succeeding in this undertaking, for at the very moment he resolved not to think of her, the door creaked open and she walked in. Paul sat up, tried to put on an indifferent face, and failed miserably. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Ilya told me that you are leaving tomorrow," she said.

"So?"

Zhara hung on to the door handle behind her, twisting it in her palm. In the dimness of the room, he could see sparkling streaks down her face, the tears she hadn't allowed herself to shed earlier that evening now flowing freely. The sight of those tears wrung Paul's heart.

"So I've come to—apologize for what I've said." Her voice cracked. "And to say goodb—"

"No." Paul jumped off the bed, took her into his arms, and covered her mouth with his, cutting her off. "No," he repeated, once he was forced to release her to draw a breath. "No saying goodbye. Let us not make this harder than it already is."

"All right," she whispered. "Consider this your reward for your service to the crown then."

She dropped her sarafan and chemise. Underneath, she was all gold and fire. The freckles scattered across her skin were like gold flakes, flames danced in her amber eyes, and when she shook her head, her braid came loose, tumbling over her shoulders, covering her body in a fiery cape. As she pulled him toward the bed, her hair gleamed and waved like sunset on the water, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her legs, her hips, the coral tips of her breasts. There was fire on her lips as she kissed him.

"Are you trying to seduce me into staying?" he murmured.

"Is it working?" she asked, her lips grazing his mouth in the way he'd never been able to resist.

He didn't want to lie and say no, or break her heart by telling her that his mind was made up, no matter what she did. So, instead of answering, he put a hand on the slender nape of her neck, under that hair that looked like fire and felt like silk, pulled her close, and kissed her back, hard enough to leave them both breathless. Then he hooked her legs around his waist, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bed. She kept her legs wrapped around him even as she helped him out of his clothes, their roles now reversed—now she was the one afraid he would take wing and fly away if she let go.

He wiped away the tears glistening down her cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered. "I'm still here."

"Prove it," she commanded, eyes fixed on him.

Her tone sent a thrill through him. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He leaned down and kissed her again. He was as unhurried now as he'd been frantic on their first night together, taking his time with each kiss, savoring every bit of her. He kissed every single freckle on her skin, the ones he'd memorized around the corner of her mouth, across the bridge of her nose, along her shoulder, down her arms and back and chest. He kissed her fingertips and her toes. He kissed her so thoroughly that there could be no doubt in her mind of his presence. Then he settled himself between her legs once more, and slowly, slowly, they melted into each other, each measured, dreamy thrust from him was matched by a push from her, bringing them closer and closer until they were one.

"Is this proof enough for you?" he gasped, as she cried out in his arms.

She took a breath, then grinned. "Almost."

He grinned back, and they did it all over again, and again and again, until he'd memorized her taste and her scent and every inch of her, and she his.

When the sky outside turned the color of mother-of-pearl, Paul got up from the tangle of sheets and quilts, and brought Zhara to the window. He was half hoping, half afraid it was still raining and there would be no dawn to see, but the rain had stopped. "Look, Zhar-ptitsa," he said softly.

"No." She turned her face into his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her against him, skimming his mouth over her hair, as he watched the sun rise above the mountains, throwing brilliant shards of gold across the sky, sprinkling gold dust over the snow-capped peaks, the green meadow at their feet, the blue stream, and the dark, dark forest. All the while, Zhara kept turning away like a petulant child, clinging to him, pressing her face into her chest, resolutely refusing to look.

The sun finally cleared the mountains. The light was now reaching the furthest corners of the room, and there was no point in pretending anymore. Paul gently lifted Zhara's face to his. "I have achieved what I desire the most," he said. "I have seen the dawn with you. Now you must let me go."

"No, this doesn't count," she replied, stubbornly. "I haven't seen it."

"Let me go, Zhara. Please."

"I command you to stay!"

"You're not my tsarina."

She pressed her hands to his temples and gazed at him for a long, long time, her eyes fierce. Then she pulled him down for a kiss, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

"That's so you'll remember me," she said. She gathered up her clothes and went out, leaving a sting on his mouth and in his heart, as though he had been branded by her fire.

***

Paul went with Baba Yaga into the forest. The old witch plowed through the dense undergrowth, still wet with morning dew, carrying nothing but a little knife. Some part of Paul wondered whether it was wise to follow a witch to an unknown place, whether Baba Yaga was luring him somewhere to perform dark magic on him, but he knew that mistrust was baseless. What would she gain by tricking him? That sort of thing only happened to heroes in fairy tales, and he was no hero. He was not the main character, not the Chosen One. He didn't even get his happily ever after. He was just a boy, lost in a magical land, and it was now time for him to go home.

Baba Yaga stopped at a rock outcrop where the forest met the mountains, and came to stand by two rock pillars leaning against each other, forming a doorway of sorts. She pricked her fingers with the knife and smeared the blood on the rocks. She added a daub of it to Paul's cheek as well, making him recoil.

"You're waiting for an invitation, Russian boy?" she said irritably, when Paul remained where he stood.

"Is that it?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, that's it. Magic is not all thunder and lightning, Russian boy. Sometimes it's just as simple as this."

Paul took a few tentative steps forward. The trees and grass beyond the two rocks looked the same. "Will this work?" he asked.

"Why don't you try it and find out?"

Paul looked back. The white castle rose over the top of the pines behind him, but if someone was watching at one of the windows, she was too far away for him to see. So he took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

There was no strange sensation, no altering in the quality of the light or the air, only the briefest cessation of noise. The moment he went through, the birdsongs and the rustling of the leaves started up again. But the trees were different—in place of the dark pines and the thick, thorny bushes, he saw orderly rows of oaks and regimented privet hedges crisscrossing a green lawn. Behind him, the two rocks had vanished; instead, he appeared to have stepped out of a man-made grotto overlooking a pool. A pavilion stood across from it, and in the distance were familiar walls painted in cerulean and gold. Baba Yaga had put him on the grounds of the Summer Palace in Tsarskoye Selo. He was home.

Chapter 16

A/N: I kind of went the "Man with the Iron Mask" route here with Paul and Bobrinsky. In real life, Aleksey Grigorievich Bobrinsky was indeed Catherine II's illegitimate son with Grigory Orlov, but he was about 8 years younger than Paul. Catherine II openly acknowledged Bobrinsky as her son, and when he became tsar, Paul I made Bobrinsky a count.

The final chapter is coming next week! Stay tuned!

Taglist: @ali-r3n

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

8 notes · View notes

darklinaforever · 1 year

Text

Ideas for my fanfiction of Grisha / Shadow and Bone :

- Use an external point of view, rather than Alina's internal point of view.

- Keep Alina half Shu, and that this aspect is exploited. (Idea of discussions with Botkins, Tolya & Tamar in particular)

- That we have clear information on the countries of Shu Han and Fjerda.

- The characters are all in their twenties.

- Use good Russian language.

- Zlatan still exists for part 1. (Novokribirsk still covered by the Fold therefore)

- Assuming Baghra is a toxic teacher and mother. Draw a parallel between her and Ana Kuya for the Darkling and Alina characters and their relationship.

- Maybe keep Baghra's eyes gouged out ? (Give me your opinion)

- That the story with Mal and Alina is a secondary element. Assuming that she is toxic, and that subsequently Alina succeeds in detaching herself from it to take her independence and be herself without anything holding her back. They can still remain friends in the end.

- Highlight Mal's grief and trauma at the death of his friends near the borders of Fjerda. (No because in the book it goes over the top)

- Keep (and improve) the Genya and Alina friendship.

- Make Darkling and Alina the main relationship of the trilogy. Highlight their Yin and Yang dynamics. Particularly supporting the fact that Alina could possibly become like the Darkling, and that the Darkling was like Alina, was a time. Show their ideologies come into explicit conflict, that there is a real moral debate. Showing Alina actually trying to find more peaceful methods than the Darkling's far more radical way of trying to help the Grisha.

- Reflection on the blow of the war.

- Explain why and how the Darkling created the Fold. (Keep it like an accident, an act born out of desperation)

- Develop the psychic connection between the Darkling and Alina. Let them have talks instead of the Darkling just appearing to follow Alina around silently.

- That Alina discovers in part the childhood and the past of the Darkling, in particular through dreams, thanks to their connection.

- Show that Alina cares about the grisha, and to stop the wars.

- That the Darkling has a "redemption" arc.

- Darklina ending together, Tsar and Tsarina of Ravka at the end.

- Darklina happy with many children (girls) in the epilogue, and are powerful rulers, tough but fair.

- That the situation of the Grisha (in the world) and the people of Ravka has changed for the better in the end.

- That the study of the Grisha at the small palace (and purely the study aspect, and no longer the military apprenticeship aspect) is revealed to have become mandatory in the epilogue.

- Give it to Alina from the agency. That she seeks / wants the amplifiers herself.

- May Alina grow politically and personally. (She understands that for the greater good, sacrifices must be made. She gains self-confidence, becomes more active and independent)

- Give Alina a corruption arc. That she develops a dark side, and a kind of greed for power in Part 2.

- Support the fact that Alina's destiny is not to destroy the Fold, because this is before a propaganda idea.

- No love ambiguity between Nikolai and Alina, just a strong friendship.

- To show Alina actually / seriously considering Nikolai's marriage proposal, in order to contribute to helping/improving the country.

- Show the duality / resemblance between the Darkling and Nikolai.

– In the end, Nikolai agrees to abdicate /refuse the crown, in favor of Alina and the Darkling, agreeing to work for them and be part of the council.

- That other characters are aware of Ravka's other overriding issues, without blaming the Darkling, and sincerely wish to address them in the future.

- May Genya never get scars.

- Keep Ivan alive. (Seriously, it promised to be so interesting)

- That Ivan and Fedyor are, as in the series, gay and in a relationship. (Because they were cute)

- Developing the idea of creating Morozova amplifiers from Merzost. (Because it's not developed at all in the trilogy, and it's a point that makes me particularly curious)

- Support the fact that Morozova's amplifiers are intended for Alina, and that the Darkling offers them to her, because he perceives her as his soul mate, and that she is therefore an integral part of the Morozova family.

- Further develop secondary characters, such as : Genya, David, Ivan, Fedyor, Zoya, Tolya and Tamar.

- Develop a little more the couple Tamar and Nadia.

- David and Genya end up happy.

- Romance Zoyalaï suggested along part 2 and 3, then confirmed at the end. See what becomes of them in the epilogue.

- Let the pageantry be doomed at the end of part 3.

- Mal remains the firebird, but with better explanations.

- Scenes between Mal and the Darkling.

- That Ulla is named in the story / that her existence is recognized, without her being included in the story itself.

- The Fold is not destroyed (or at least not immediately ?), but used as a weapon to protect Ravka ? (I'm absolutely not sure about this point. If people have any suggestions, I'm all ears !)

- Mal snaps his farm at the end, or else opens an orphanage himself ? (Give me your opinion)

- Insinuation that Mal got close (romanticly) to Ruby in the end.

A quote idea :

« He did not give up his name. You took it from him. » - Alina Starkova, to Bagrah Morozova.

The (maybe) proglogue :

The girl was not afraid of the dark.

Darkness was a refuge. Especially when she was hiding to escape Ana Kuya's admonitions.

In those moments, she chose dark corners. Behind a curtain. In the attic. A closet.

She stayed hidden until Ana Kuya forgot about her and her anger.

When night fell, the girl could escape the meanness of the other children in the orphanage.

But his nights were short and restless.

So, when she woke up, she looked at the sky through a window. She observed the stars, and especially the moon. Sometimes there was just darkness, and she would watch it too, until she fell asleep again, or not.

The girl had always been weak. She was pale and thin.

Not pretty.

That was what Ana Kuya was saying.

Her Shu eyes betrayed her origins, and she was rejected for it.

The face of the enemy.

This is what the children kept saying. She had no friends.

Until the day the boy arrived.

He was nice to her. He was defending her. And over time, they got close.

Friends.

He was like the brother she never had. The only person in this world who seemed to really care about her.

A family.

But it was not enough. She didn't know why, nothing was enough.

The girl had always felt incomplete. As if she was missing a part of herself, there, in her heart.

She felt alone.

But the boy was helping her to make her feel less alone.

He was there for her, and she was there for him.

It was their promise.

So... The day when the woman and the man dressed in Kefta arrived at the orphanage to test the children, they hid in the meadow.

The girl didn't want to know if she was Grisha. It didn't matter to her. She didn't want to lose what she had with the boy.

But Ana Kuya ends up finding them.

When it was her turn to be tested, the girl felt something stir inside her. Something that begged to come out. But the boy called out his name. Again and again, from the other side of the door.

The girl hesitated. Her heart sank.

Unconsciously or consciously, she did not know, the girl held back. She prevented this thing that was pulsing against her skin from coming out. Refusing to answer the call.

The answer then fell. She was not Grisha.

Suddenly, the girl felt her heart lighten. But not so much for her as for the boy. The girl, in truth, wasn't sure how she felt.

The girl and the boy continued to grow up together, and she was happy about it.

Time passed, and she finally forgot the strange feeling that had assailed her at the time of the test. Years went by, and she still felt incomplete.

A tiny void in her, asking to be filled.

Sometimes, despite the boy's presence, the girl felt devoured by loneliness.

By the lack.

By this inexplicable void.

In those moments, to lighten her heart, she played with the rays of the sun with her fingertips.

As if she could grab them...

But it was not enough.

So, from time to time, despite the sun that lit the meadow...

The girl locked herself in the dark.

Extracts :

N°1 :

Her bony, charcoal-covered hands stopped maneuvering on the wind-crumpled paper, her eyes moving to a specific spot straight ahead.

Towards the Shadow Fold.

This immense black mass… This scourge which some were convinced would never be overcome. This black scar which had split the country in two and deprived the kingdom of Ravka of its only coasts, transforming it into an enclave. This non-sea that frightens so many… Filled with man-eating monsters.

A place that had stolen so much life. Rendered so many children, like her once, orphans…

Orphan.

This word sounded like a wound to her.

From an early age, he had been taught to fear the Fold. Easy with the Volcras inside. The little representation she had seen of it in the books of Keramzin's library was still enough to give her nightmares. Huge creatures, with sharp wings and fangs, capable of lacerating you with their claws with a simple movement.

The Fold ate your parents.

Ana Kuya's words echoed in her head as if it were yesterday… As she discovered the Fold for the first time through one of the many maps she was drawing herself today.

The Fold is an abomination, she had heard countless times. A mistake of nature. A scar on the map…

Literally.

But since she had joined the first army and seen with her own eyes what had haunted Ravka for centuries… Fear had given way to a completely different feeling.

Fascination.

When she approached the Fold, or even just looked at it, as now, the cartographer experienced this stinging sensation of being crushed by an unknown weight.

She seemed feel a multitude of emotions.

Anger.

Sadness.

Anguish.

And especially… Despair.

A despair that seemed to her deep, unshakable and endless.

Her heart sank every time these emotions raced through her. And she didn't know why. Sometimes tears welled up in her and she had to hold herself back to keep them from running down her cheeks, wiping them away with the back of her hand.

It made no sense… Yet it was there.

She must be crazy ! But maybe she felt this because the Fold had brought many misfortunes ? Upset so much life ?

The Fold was born out of madness and caused suffering. Not the opposite. Or maybe if… ? She shook her head. Maybe she was just too emotional ?

When she looked at the Fold, his heart hurting her. Terribly hurt.

And sometimes… Sometimes it was just like she was listening to someone's laments…

Those times were the worst.

N°2 :

« So cartographers, listen to me ! » Sergeant Yure Teplov shouted from the front of the boat. « Until we get there, stay at your posts. Under no circumstances leave the Skiff during the crossing ! »

Alina silently listened to the safety instructions, her gaze fixed straight ahead in the direction of the Fold. Black tendrils seemed to glide around him, constantly twisting and snaking as if trying to ensnare anything that approached…

Alina felt a searing, deep sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as the Skiff slowly accelerated towards her.

This may have been the last time she stood in the sunlight…

Her heart was beating nervously in her chest as she tried to stabilize her breathing, swallowing her saliva. But she couldn't bring herself to look away from the twisting shadows before her…

She was so focused that she didn't notice the gust of wind that grabbed her scarf and pulled it away from her neck. Frantically, she turned to try to catch it, but it slipped through his fingers, the blue and gold piece of cloth already flying away from her, past the landing pad.

That's where she saw her.

A silhouette in the distance… A dark silhouette.

A man, she guessed. A man entirely dressed in black, whose cape fluttered in the wind, and who watched the Skiff move away.

Alina could not accurately describe what she felt at that moment.

It was as if his heart stopped beating for a moment before starting again, more alive than ever, on a different rhythm, unreal. There was a tug on his chest, like some sort of tether that was screaming at him to come closer. But she couldn't, and something inside her was itching.

She felt caught up, captivated by the sketch of this character that she would have liked to immortalize with pencil strokes.

Time seemed to slow down, that single moment stretching into a thousand more.

It was strange, invigorating and exhilarating.

And then, as suddenly as that feeling had washed over her, it disappeared as the world was entirely engulfed in darkness…

N°3 :

They entered the Fold.

And everything was dark. Dark and silent. It was almost like sailing through a cloud of smoke, except there was no heat or smell of fire. It was cold, and the rest of the world seemed to have disappeared, every sound from outside simply muffled by the shadows.

It was like being plunged into a cold, dangerous and eternal night…

The bow of the Skiff could no longer be seen, or even most of the passengers. Everyone held their breath, trying to master their fear. The darkness was never more frightening than when monsters inhabited it… Silence reigned, everyone on the lookout for the slightest flapping of wings.

As for Alina, she stood minutely aside, still in her position, forcing herself to stand on her trembling legs. It was too much. Too strong. Too stuffy. All these emotions that invaded her threatened to make her collapse.

She was mad at herself for having the stupid impulse to burn the Ravka-West maps. Pained for having condemned his colleagues to follow her, and anguished for what this long, very long crossing will or will not reserve for them. But worst of all, she was desperate. Desperate to get out of it, and to act as if nothing had happened. Desperate to be back in Ravka-East already and to resume the course of his usual schedule:

Laugh and have fun with Mal. Draw maps with Alexis. Put up with scathing remarks from Raisa and many more.

But something was wrong. It was all too striking. Violent. As if those emotions weren't fully his own. As if entering the Fold triggered them.

Did the others feel that too ? Or was she the only one ?

Worst of all, a burning feeling of loneliness invaded her, and she couldn't define it.

Loneliness…

She had never felt it while looking at the Fold, as if this feeling was the most buried of all. Buried in the heart of the misty monster, below the surface.

N°4 :

His position gave him an excellent view of the Skiff's slow approach towards the looming mass of shadows that formed the edge of the Fold. He took a heavy breath. This Skiff had every interest in returning intact. Its fabricators had spent months there, an opportunity to finally somewhat satisfy the king's wishes.

The Skiff was more than halfway out of the no sea, when a flutter caught his attention, snapping him out of his thoughts. A blue and gold scarf had apparently been caught in the strong winds of his Squallers and was now drifting straight in his direction. Judging the distraction unimportant, he looked back at the Skiff. And while the latter was only a few dozen meters from the Fold…

The world seemed to slow down.

There was something on his chest, and that thing, so sudden, wrapped tightly around his heart, constricting it for a moment before pulling it forward. The pull he felt was so strong he almost tripped. He put his hand to his chest, flabbergasted. He couldn't accurately describe what he felt at that moment.

He straightened his spine, his thoughts struggling to try to make sense of what he was feeling. He considered, then dismissed the idea that it was the work of a Heartrender. During his long life, he had been victim to their power several times, and what he felt was nothing like the work of a corporalki.

No. It was as if his heart had stopped beating for a moment before starting up again, more alive than ever, on a different rhythm, unreal ; bringing him both a feeling of fullness and lack he had never experienced before.

The tightness in his chest, like some sort of tie wrapped around his heart, tightened again. Stronger than before, to the point that something inside him itched. And this time, he realized exactly which way she seemed to be pulling him.

Towards Skiff.

There was something important on that ship. Although he didn't know what it could be, his subconscious begged, screamed for the Skiff to come back. But it was useless. The Skiff had already reached the edge of the Fold, that single moment stretching into a thousand more, and within seconds it was swallowed up by darkness…

He remained frozen on the quay, his gaze still fixed on the place where the Skiff had disappeared. A moment passed, then another, and he took a shaky breath, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

The sensation had vanished along with the ship, and he now felt strangely empty…

He didn't know exactly how long it was before he noticed the curious gazes lingering on him, and he realized that he had stayed much longer than usual. Obviously, he had lost track of time.

Regaining control of his limbs, he forced himself to turn away, his path on the platform crossing that of an abandoned scarf.

He stopped himself.

It was the one that had flown in his direction when the Skiff left. He didn't know why, but he bent down to take the garment in his hands, examining it carefully.

The sewing work was clumsy, the embroidery and the fabric very simple. Probably it belonged to a young soldier.

He delicately ran his fingers along the golden patterns before folding the scarf and putting it in one of his pockets, naturally resuming his way to his tent to finally cut himself off from the prying eyes of the members of the first army.

Conclusion :

So... I don't know if anyone is going to read, or has read all of this, but if so thank you ! And your opinions are welcome !

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