#vyatskoye

[mostly-history]

Vyatskoye (Khabarovsk Krai, Russia).

This small fishing village is located on the east side of the Amur River.  Although formerly part of Outer Manchuria, it was ceded to Russia during the Convention of Peking in 1860.  The region was originally inhabited by various Tungusic peoples.

During WW2, the Soviet 88th Brigade (consisting of Korean and Chinese guerrillas) was stationed near the village.  Kim Il-sung, commanding a battalion as a Red Army Captain, was also stationed there, and (according to some sources) his family were there with him.  These sources claim that Kim Jong-il was born there on February 16th, 1941, although this is disputed by the North Korean government.  People who lived in Vyatskoye at the time also claim that Kim Man-il, Jong-il's older brother, fell into a well and died, and that he was buried there; this is also disputed by the North Korean government.

[sovetique]

Вятское — самая красивая деревня России. Резные наличники, храм, необычная архитектура и огуречный край — всё это Вятское Vyatskoye is the most beautiful village in Russia. Carved casings, orthodox church, unusual architecture and cucumber countryside — this is Vyatskoye #Вятское #деревня #архитектура #поРоссиинамашине#красиво #дом #небо #здесьрусскийдух #Vyatskoye #village #history #architecture #beautiful #country #Russia #RussiaByCar #house (at Вятское) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQWXw6ipqWS/?utm_medium=tumblr

[readro]

The Funnier Side of Despots and Dictators

You can make almost anything a laughing matter, so why not look at the funnier side of history’s despots and dictators for a good laugh? The team here at Readro dug into our collection of ebooks and audiobooks to bring you the following fun facts:

Delicious dairy. Fidel Castro held a tight grip over Cuba, ruling first as Prime Minister then as President, although many considered him to be little more than a dictator throughout. But Castro held more than just a tight grip over his people, he also held a deep love for all things dairy, especially ice cream. In fact, Castro had a breed of cow genetically engineered from two other breeds that would be resistant to Cuba’s heat and would produce plenty of milk.

A lover of the Opera. Kim Jong Il, North Korea’s enigmatic Supreme Leader from 1994-2011 was actually born Yuri Irsenovich Kim in 1941 in the Soviet village of Vyatskoye, near Khabarovsk. A strict dictator by most accounts, Kim Jong Il had a softer side too, one that included a great love of opera. In fact, Il actually wrote six operas himself while in office.

A second career. Known primarily as the fascist dictator of Italy, Benito Mussolini had a reputation for being harsh and occasionally cruel. But before his life in politics Il Duce had a brief career in journalism, and even wrote a romance novel. Yes, a romance novel. Entitled The Cardinal's Mistress, the historical romance novel can still be ordered online to this very day, although it is apparently quite awful.

Looking for a good laugh? Visit our online library at Readro for a wide variety of ebooks, audiobooks, music, and more. Accessible anytime, anywhere, from your favorite devices.

[ritasrussianroulette-blog]

Rita’s Survey Answers

Basic Information

Full Name: Margarita Masmekh Valerianovna

Nickname(s): Rita, Riri to Charlotte 

Age: 38

Date of Birth: February 1, 1886

Hometown: Vyatskoye, Yaroslavl Oblast, Russia

Current Location: Paris, France

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: Russian-French

Gender: Female

Pronouns:she/her

Orientation: Homosexual and homoromantic 

Religion: Raised Russian Orthodox, now unsure

Political Affiliation: Justice over mercy

Occupation: Mobster

Living Arrangements: Has a room at Anthony Holst’s place

Language(s) Spoken: Russian, most French, some English 

Accent: Russian (northern) 

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Gwendoline Christie

Hair Colour: blonde

Eye Colour: blue

Height: 6′3″ 

Weight: 185 pounds 

Build: Muscular 

Tattoos: 

It’s on the back of her neck. She couldn’t decide what to get, so she just picked roses at random. Really, she just wanted a tattoo to have a tattoo. 

Piercings: none

Clothing Style: Fur coats, suits, and fedoras all meant for men. 

Usual Expression: Icy scowl

Distinguishing Characteristics: Besides her height, none. 

Health

Physical Ailments: none

Neurological Conditions: Autism Spectrum Disorder (not diagnosed) 

Allergies: None

Sleeping Habits: Fairly normal, but often has to stay up late. 

Eating Habits: Rita likes her meat. 

Exercise Habits: Frequently works out, and in particular, boxes. 

Emotional Stability: 6- Rita has a temper, but she’s often able to keep a cool outside. 

Sociability: Rita is definitely an introvert- people annoy her. 

Body Temperature: Cold-natured

Addictions: None

Drug Use: Smokes cigarettes

Alcohol Use: Appreciates whiskey

Personality

Label: The Executor (well, for Anthony, anyway) 

Positive Traits: reliable, determined, brave

Negative Traits: aggressive, vengeful, ruthless

Goals/Desires: Though she won’t say it, she wants to make Anthony proud of her. 

Fears: Losing anyone else that she cares about (Anthony, Luci, etc.) 

Hobbies: Boxing

Habits: smoking cigarettes

Favourites

Weather: Snow reminds her of home.

Colour: Red

Music: Jazz is alright. 

Movies: She doesn’t get to see many movies. .

Sport: Boxing 

Beverage: Whiskey

Food: Steak, bloody

Animal: Wolves inspire her

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius 

MBTI: ISTJ

Enneagram: Type 6, The Loyal Skeptic (with a 5 wing) 

Temperament: Melancholic 

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor 

Moral Alignment: Lawful Evil

Primary Vice: Wrath

Primary Virtue: Diligence

Element: Earth 

[anneesfolleshq]

Bonjour et bienvenue! Paris welcomes you, our Right Hand, Rita Masmekh ! May we say, you’re the spitting image of Gwendoline Christie! Please make your presence known within 24 hours, and do have a look at our checklist before setting out into the city on your own.                                                                                           À bientôt!

MUSE

Chosen Skeleton: The Right Hand

Muse Name: Margarita “Rita” Masmekh Valerianovna (usually just called Rita Masmkeh)

Muse Age: 38

Chosen FC: Gwendoline Christie

Muse Occupation: gangster and murderess

Affiliation: Rita has no preference for either Montparnasse or Montmartre. The only places in Paris that she really likes are those that are kept in shadow, the parts of the city where she can hide away from the fakeness and ostentatiousness of the Jazz Age. But you can’t find those places in Monmartre or Montparnasse.

Le Petit Journal: That supremely tall, icy blonde woman in the men’s suit cuts quite a figure, does she not? Her name is Rita Masmekh, and if you can’t tell from her name or accent, she’s not from around here. Mlle. Masmekh is most often seen around one M. Anthony Holst. Could they be friends, lovers, or- knowing the two of them- up to something more devious than we could ever imagine?

BIO:

Tw death and violence

On February 1, 1886 in Vyatskoye, Russia, Margarita Masmekh Valerianovna was born into a winter as harsh and unforgiving as the life she would soon know.

The Masmekhs were a poor family in a poor village, but their patriarch, Valerian Masmkeh, was nothing if not ambitious. He dreamed of opening up his own bakery in Paris, where he would become famous for his pastries and he and his family would never want for anything ever again. He had saved up his whole life to accomplish this dream, and in 1898 he had finally saved enough. He packed up his wife and large brood of eight offspring to Paris. Margarita, now often called Rita, was twelve years old.

Once they arrived in Paris, Valerian’s new bakery got off to a rocky start- and never recovered. Not only was Paris already full of bakeries and in no need for a new one, but Parisians were prejudiced against Valerian’s strange Russian creations. Valerian, devastated by his failure, turned to drink, and only got worse throughout the years. His wife, Tereza, became a seamstress in order to make ends meet, taking care of the children and mending rich people’s clothes while Valerian drank and moped.

What’s worse, Rita showed up to her first day of school ever wearing boys’ clothes- for she was accustomed to wearing her older brothers’ hand-me-downs-  towering over every classmate, barely speaking French, and nearly illiterate in Russian, never mind this foreboding new language. She was teased and mocked ruthlessly, and this kicked off something inside her- a steam engine fueled by hate and frustration. Soon, she would get into fights at school, only to be cooled down by her closest sibling in age, Gaspar.

Gaspar was Rita’s closest friend and confidante her whole life. Then one night, in 1902, as Gaspar tracked Rita down after yet another scuffle, the two accidentally ended up in the wrong part of Paris, and a shootout between gangs led to a stray bullet ending Gaspar’s life. Rita, only sixteen at the time, was heartbroken beyond all repair.

Weeping over her brother’s body, Rita was discovered by one Anthony Holst.

Anthony took Rita in, feeling pity for the girl as well as seeing potential in her. She went with him, and let her family believe she was killed along with Gaspar- Paris was a big city where they could never find her, and besides, her work would now have her enshrouded in darkness.

Rita was trained to become Anthony’s secret weapon- there was no man nor woman in Paris, nor the world, whom she couldn’t get to do their bidding. If not, well, then maybe that person didn’t need their kneecaps.

Twenty-two years after the death of Gaspar, Rita is a hardened killer loyal only to Anthony- at least on the outside. But inside still burns that steam engine. She’s hurting, she’s hating, and it keeps her going.

Potential Plots/Connections:

Obviously, Rita’s biggest connection is to Anthony. I also noticed that her bio mentioned her once saving The Nymph, a.k.a Luci, so that would be fun to explore. I plan to write Rita as a closeted lesbian, one who struggles with her sexuality, and a crush on Luci could help her figure herself out.

[sumki-13-blog]

36/38/40 (at Vyatskoye) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bze_0n2CASd/?igshid=d4gyn5ilocnc

[grobexs]

#часы (at Vyatskoye) https://www.instagram.com/p/BsQCo4ShzHm/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=156y1hdoi2qoe

[minyavd]

“This is a five-hour-long plane ride, we’re sitting together and you’re deathly afraid of flying” AU for the meme you rb-ed!!! bc i think about this au for andreil often...

I made it a ten-hour-long plane ride because Germany ¯\_(ツ)_/¯Neil finally made up his mind to travel to Germany after his father’s men had found him holed up in an abandoned studio apartment in New York. The scrape from a .22 caliber round that nearly missed his kidneys had him calling his mother’s contacts in search for a new ID and passport that would get him far away from the inevitability of his father’s cleaver, and even farther away from Chris, Stefan, and Nathaniel.

He chose Germany because he already knew the language and his mother had a sizable stash of money close to Berlin. After returning to the old shack close to a lonesome fishing village, Neil planned to grab the stash, call another contact, and travel to the outskirts of Vyatskoye. He always wanted to learn Russian.

Neil was busy mentally mapping out his route, forging lies that would get him in the favor of a few truck drivers and lonely travellers on the highways of Germany, when he boarded the plane connecting Brooklyn to Berlin. He held his duffel bag close to his side, partly for the feeling of security and partly because it fended off the occasional bumps and brushes from passing strangers. His side was still healing from the bullet wound, expertly stitched and held together with dollar store bandages.

He sat in his seat, the closest seat to the aisle, and waited while the rest of the passengers boarded.

Neil’s thoughts were interrupted by an irritated voice. “Move.”

He looked up to find a short blonde man, roughly about his age, dressed head to toe in black. Neil eyed the stranger’s armbands, noting a few unnatural bumps and edges that were probably a pain in the ass to get through the TSA, before gracing the man with a smile that was as fake as his past seven fabricated personalities. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Move over.”

Neil could tell that the blonde’s patience was wearing thin judging by the strain in his voice, despite how emotionless he sounded. Neil looked at the seat next to him, a window seat, and shrugged. He scooted over, careful to not jostle his healing wound, and settled his duffel bag between his legs. He was located in economy, but the small amount of legroom definitely didn’t bother him. Neither did it bother his new neighbor, who slid into his seat with a huff of annoyance and proceeded to take out a simple Bic pen from the folds of his armbands.

The intricate twirls and twists of the pen as it weaved between his fingers, expertly dancing from knuckle to knuckle, distracted Neil as the plane lifted off the ground. Before he knew it they were in the air and the small blonde had the pen clutched in his fist. “Staring.”

Neil looked up and caught the man’s eyes, sharp hazel meeting dull brown as if they were challenging him to stare longer. Neil sat back in his seat and winced as his side twinged in protest. “Are you scared of flying?” He didn’t know why he asked. Something about the set of the stranger’s shoulders, his pursed lips, and his use of intricate pen flipping during the liftoff made him stupidly curious.

“You’re under the assumption that I’m going to talk to you.”

“You’re under the assumption that we can sit together in complete silence during a 10 hour flight.”

The blonde’s response was to flip him the bird, his expression as bored as always. Neil shrugged and rested his head against the window, watching as the lights of the city poked through the passing clouds, a painting of intricate buildings covered in neon obscured by the occasional mass of milky white. The last time he flew with his mom was on their way back to America from France, a messy process blurred by pain. He was riddled with a fever, his mother just barely convincing him to act normal as she hauled him onto the plane by the stretched sleeve of his sweater. He couldn’t really remember the rest of the flight back to the states.

“Yes.”

Neil startled from his resting position, turning his full attention back to his neighbor. It had been about 30 minutes since either of them had spoken, but the hesitant answer to Neil’s earlier question spoke volumes about how reluctant he was to admit his weakness. “If it makes you feel better, fewer than twenty planes crash every year and it’s not always due to the weather. Sometimes pilots are just unreliable. I’m sure it’s a quick death either way.”

Neil ignored the man’s glare in favor of studying his carry-on. His duffel bag was bigger than Neil’s, black with an obnoxious fox paw silhouetted across the front. The orange embroidering on the side pocket spelled out Andrew Minyard.

Goalkeeper, Palmetto State Foxes, Dangerous psychopath, and Kevin Day’s protective sidekick.

Neil looked away quickly, focusing back on the passing world outside the plane window. Rationally he knew that Andrew wouldn’t recognize him or even know who he was, but the close association to his childhood acquaintance made him reasonably agitated. Quite a few hours of their flight went by like that, with Neil resting up against the window and Andrew noticeably silent beside him. Whenever Neil would get uncomfortable in his current position, he would shift and wince at the sharp pain in his side. He had allowed himself a couple of Tylenol pills before he boarded, but even those couldn’t fight against a bullet wound.

“If you bleed on me you’ll spend the rest of the flight locked in the bathroom.” Andrew hissed.

“Good luck, it locks from the inside.” Neil retorted, shifting away from the blonde so that his back was up against the window. He subtly checked his side to make sure he wasn’t leaking blood anywhere. Nothing.

“This trip for business or for pleasure?” Andrew asked dispassionately.  

“Neither. You?”

“Ditto.”

“Well, good to know I’m in like company.”

Andrew hummed in response. “Barring the chance that I stole this duffel bag from my twin, you already know my name. It would only be fair to give your name now.”

Neil cursed the blonde’s observation skills, “I don’t believe in fairness.”

Andrew slanted him a glare, “I’ll take your name without a side order of bullshit.”

“Neil.” There was no escape from this conversation, but Neil still entertained the idea of spending the next five hours in the small airplane bathroom.

“Not true, but I’ll take it.” Andrew slumped backwards and crossed his arms, his feet coming up to rest on the back of the seat in front of him. “We’ll never see each other again after this plane lands anyways.”

Neil could only hope.

[haeronline]

Popular on 500px : Vyatskoye, Russia by IlyaBolshakov sky,sunset,blue,travel,architecture,beautiful,light,night,twilight,building,building exterior,Russia,Vyatskoye,Yaroslavl,historic,historical,architectural,europe,countryside,blue hour,skyline#haero #ttot #RTW #travel https://t.co/UvmcMHIUZC

Popular on 500px : Vyatskoye, Russia by IlyaBolshakov sky,sunset,blue,travel,architecture,beautiful,light,night,twilight,building,building exterior,Russia,Vyatskoye,Yaroslavl,historic,historical,architectural,europe,countryside,blue hour,skyline#haero #ttot #RTW #travel pic.twitter.com/UvmcMHIUZC

— AndOREAH Fabellini (@haerone) June 16, 2019

from Twitter https://twitter.com/haerone

[oleggor]

Домище (at Vyatskoye)

[edgartraveler]

Church of the Resurrection: Храм Воскресения Христова 🏰🇷🇺❤ #throwback #2016 #вятское #вятскоесело #vyatskoe_selo #Vyatskoe #yaroslavloblast #Yaroslavl #Russia #RussianTrip #RussianAdventure #RussianCulture #Nikon #NikonMexico #NikonRussia #mochilero #mochilazo #Bagpacker #Trip #Travel #Church #Sunny #Summer #Forest #Oblast #IloveRussia #MimochilaYyo #yoviajero #MexicanTraveler (en Vyatskoye)

[42soul]

Vyatskoye by alexandr_popov

[keralahoneymoontourpackage]

Vyatskoye

[aloulou-travel]

Vyatskoye by alexandr_popov

[my-russia]

Vyatskoye, Yaroslavl Oblast. The village (rural locality) was first mentioned in official record in 1502.

[grobexs]

в Vyatskoye https://www.instagram.com/p/BsQAG11BlTH/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1m8uj7d05btbh