#it's a mysterious russian soul by the way

[ltash]

Soap introduces you to Ghost at the Mess Hall and Ghost did something unexpected.

As we settled into our seats, I couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was more than just chance.

"At your service, ma'am. What do you want to eat?" he said with a playful grin, rising from his seat.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Stop it, Soap," I said, using the nickname we had given him during our brief conversation.

Ignoring my protest, he gestured for me to follow him to the buffet. We made our way through the bustling mess hall, finally reaching the array of dishes laid out before us.

I filled my plate with Russian salad, chicken corn soup, and garlic bread, opting for a simple meal. As I reached for a disposable glass of water, I noticed Soap peering into my plate with interest.

"What did you take?" he asked, his curiosity evident.

I glanced at my selection before meeting his gaze. "Just some basics," I replied, feeling a bit self-conscious.

He nodded approvingly. "Nice choice," he remarked, his smile genuine.

As we returned to our table, I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Soap, despite our brief encounter. Little did I know, this meal would mark the beginning of an unexpected friendship in the midst of chaos.

"Hey LT! We're here." Soap shouted at someone.

I paused mid-bite, my fork hovering in the air as Soap's words registered in my mind. Slowly, I turned to follow his gaze, my heart pounding in my chest.

And there he was, standing across from me with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Ghost, as he was known, was a figure shrouded in mystery, his presence always unsettling yet strangely captivating.

Ghost was dressed in a dark grey hoodie, the fabric clinging to his frame in a way that accentuated his mascular build. His attire exuded an air of mystery, a stark contrast to the casual uniforms of the soldiers around us.

But it was his accessories that truly set him apart. A pair of skeleton gloves adorned his hands, their intricate design adding an eerie touch to his ensemble. And then there was the skull balaclava, concealing most of his face except for his piercing brown eyes that seemed to bore into my soul.

Despite the anonymity granted by his attire, there was an undeniable presence about Ghost that commanded attention. As he sat across from me, silent yet imposing, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease mingled with a strange fascination.

I felt a knot form in my stomach as his gaze locked with mine, his brown eyes seeming to see right through me. For a moment, time stood still as we held each other's gaze, the air thick with tension.

"Hey LT, I found myself a new friend," Soap's voice broke through the silence, his grin widening as he spoke.

I forced myself to tear my gaze away from Ghost, focusing instead on Soap with a weak smile. But deep down, I couldn't shake the feeling that my encounter with Ghost was anything but coincidence.

As the atmosphere in the mess hall shifted, I knew that my life was about to take an unexpected turn.

"Hi!". I could only utter this before I look down and started eating again avoiding any communication with him.

As a minute slowly ticked by, Ghost settled into the chair opposite me. His intense stare bore into me, leaving me feeling increasingly uneasy.

Meanwhile, Soap continued devouring his meal, seemingly oblivious to the tension building between Ghost and me. Ghost's gaze flickered back and forth between Soap and me, his expression unreadable.

"Lt! You want anything?" Soap's voice broke the silence, attempting to diffuse the palpable tension.

"Bring me tea," Ghost responded, his voice monotone, almost husky.

Soap chuckled, his Scottish accent thickening the air with a sense of camaraderie. "Fucking Brits!"

But Ghost's reaction was far from amused. His death stare silenced Soap instantly, the room suddenly thick with tension.

I struggled to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"On your command Lt." Soap chuckled.

Soap rose from his seat, he made his way to the other side of the cafeteria, leaving me alone at the table with Ghost.

Despite the bustling crowd of soldiers surrounding us, I couldn't shake the feeling of isolation under Ghost's penetrating stare.

"You aren't eating," I remarked, attempting to break the suffocating silence and alleviate some of the tension between us.

"You have something on your lips," he replied in his thick, monotone voice.

I instinctively reached for my lips, but before I could do anything, Ghost leaned in closer, his gloved fingers delicately brushing away the crumbs of bread clinging to my lower lip.

His touch sent a jolt through me, leaving me momentarily speechless. The audacity of his actions left me in awe, the way he dared to touch me so intimately.

It was like time had stood still at the moment.

My breath got hitched in my throat.

"Here you go," he said, reclining back in his chair as if nothing had happened.

My breath hitched, almost becoming shaky at his unexpected touch. I couldn't quite believe he had dared to brush my lips like that, even though he was wearing gloves.

Ghost sat there, seemingly amused by my reaction, his eyes fixed on me with a hint of satisfaction lingering in their depths. The air between us crackled with an unspoken tension, leaving me both exhilarated and unsettled.

"Here's your tea, Lt.," Soap announced, setting a disposable cup of tea before Ghost.

"Thanks, Soap," Ghost acknowledged, his gaze still fixed on me as if unwilling to let me out of his sight.

[dezertvideogames]

The Subnautica of other fears

Subnautica is a game infamous for it's almost all ocean planet, underwater worldbuilding, and deep sea gameplay. It's also the bane of all thalassaphobia peeps.

So here's the subnautica of other phobias

Claustrophobia Fear of Tight/Cramped Spaces - The Forest Series : After a plane crash leaves you stranded in a strange forests, something increasingly becomes... wrong. The caves around don't help.

Scopophobia Fear of being watched or the center of attention - Brighter Day : A weirdcore horror game where something is definitely watching you and definitely following you.

Entomophobia/Arachnophobia - Grounded : You play a group of kids who are stuck in a "honey I shrunk the kids" incident. They are forced to venture across their yard, and survive the various common insects around.

Megalophobia Fear of very very very big things - The Utility Room : An experience. More of an experience then a game and fever dreamish, worth it, and mysterious all the way. It's almost as if the universe accidentally left one strange dev room behind.

Nyctophobia Fear of darkness - Amnesia: The Bunker (from the Amnesia series) : It's a first-person survival horror. You play a French man trapped in a bunker during WW1, while being hunted by something inside its darkness.

Autophobia Fear of being/feeling alone - Firewatch : You work in a national park in order to watch out for fires. Traveling across the Wyoming wilderness takes a complicated turn.

Hemophobia Fear of blood or bleeding - Iron Lung : What awaits you in the deep of a strange moon. Trapped in a submarine you have no choice but to find out.

Amaxophobia Fear of car accidents or being run over - Decimate Drive : After freeing yourself from a kidnapping, the world you wake up to is full of hostile cars.

Final Boss Games:

Lethal Company

Fun with friends :D

Genre: Indie Comedy Horror

Takes place on alien planets in outerspace

It's multiplayer, and very fun, but as soon as it hits the fan the sound design works hard to immerse you in the sudden loneliness. The games sound design is one the major players of Lethal Company's fear. As soon as a friend walks away the proximity chat teaches you just how separated you now are.

Before you know it you have had something unfriendly following behind you, and finally finding the silhouette of a friend in the dark you are betrayed by the creatures of the Lethal Company universe.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Being Watched

Fear of Outerspace

The Metro Series

Genre: Survival Horror Shooter

You play the beautiful and amazing Artyom Chynornyj in the post-apocalyptic world of Metro. Developed by Ukrainians and based off the Russian book series + Polish fanon writing community.

The world of Metro is unfair and unforgiving, full of mutated creatures, and the leftover souls that the destruction of humanity left in it's wake. Crawl across the underground of Russian cities, or panic across the even more dangerous world of the destroyed above.

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Wild Animals

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Ghost/The Supernatural

Fear of Insects/Spider

Fear of Heights

Fear of Dead Bodies

Fear of the Cold

No Man's Sky

The scariest game I've ever played. I don't know why, but this game freaks me out. I know the picture I chose was harmless, but I did that on purpose.

This game is beautiful, but don't let that fool ya. This world will leave you no hesitation lost in the unpredictable randomly generated horrors of space. From planet that are all water, to colossus creatures you see for only a split second, to the infinite colorless expanse of space.

Megalphobes and astrophobes, this is your subnautica

Fear of Outerspace

Fear of Darkness

Fear of Cramped Spaces

Fear of the Unknown

Fear of Very Very Very Big Things

Fear of Deep Water

Fear of Loneliness

Fear of Caves

Fear of the Supernatural

[muiitoloko]

The Princess

Summary: He becomes obsessed with you, forgotten princess.

Pairing: Rasputin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, violence, Black magic and obsession.

Author's Notes: Buckle up, folks, we're diving into another adventure! And can I let you in on a little secret? I might have gone off the rails a bit with Rasputin's character—oopsie! So, if I've strayed too far from the path of Rasputin-ness, let me know! Your feedback is like the GPS for my writing journey, guiding me back on track! 🚀🗺️

Request made by @eccentricchick here

In the kingdom of Czarist Russia, nestled in the heart of the vast Russian Empire, the halls of the royal palace echoed with whispers of intrigue and betrayal. It was a kingdom steeped in tradition and hierarchy, where bloodlines determined destiny and the pursuit of power knew no bounds.

And within the walls of the palace, hidden away from the prying eyes of the courtiers and nobles, lived the second princess—a forgotten soul cast aside by her family, deemed unworthy of the throne due to a cruel twist of fate.

Unlike your younger sister Anna, the heir to the throne, you, the second princess was unable to conceive children. In a kingdom where lineage was everything, your inability to produce an heir was seen as a fatal flaw, a stain upon your honor and your worth.

Dismissed from your rightful role as heir apparent, you was relegated to the shadows, overshadowed by your sister's brilliance and beauty. You was a mere footnote in the annals of history, a forgotten relic of a bygone era, your existence deemed inconsequential by those who held the reins of power.

Resigned to a life of solitude and obscurity, you had long accepted your fate as the forgotten princess, destined to languish in the shadows while your sister basked in the glory of her position as heir to the throne. With no prospects for marriage and no hope of ever bearing children, you had resigned yourself to a life of loneliness and isolation, your existence deemed worthless by those who held the reins of power.

But fate had other plans in store for you, as one day, the king made a fateful decision that would change the course of your life forever. Hearing tales of a mystic healer named Rasputin, renowned for his purported ability to commune with the divine, the king saw an opportunity to bring spiritual guidance to the palace and hired him to serve as the royal spiritual advisor.

Initially intended to provide guidance and counsel to your sister Anna, the king surprised everyone by decreeing that both princesses would receive instruction from Rasputin. And so, the enigmatic mystic was summoned to the palace, his arrival heralding a new chapter in your life.

As Rasputin entered the hallowed halls of the palace, his presence seemed to command the attention of all who beheld him. With his piercing gaze, unkempt mane of hair, and rugged beard, he exuded an aura of mystery and power, his baritone voice resonating with authority as he greeted the royal family.

Despite your initial skepticism, you couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity and intrigue as Rasputin began his teachings. His words were like poetry, weaving tales of spirituality and redemption that captivated your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.

As the days turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings delved deeper into the spiritual realm, captivating both you and Anna in different ways. While Anna seemed more enchanted by his charismatic presence, you remained reserved yet attentive, your curiosity growing with each passing lesson.

And despite Anna's uninhibited attempts to seduce Rasputin, he remained unfazed, enjoying the attention but never succumbing to her advances. Instead, his focus seemed to gravitate towards you, the forgotten princess, whose sweetness and sadness intrigued him more than Anna's boldness ever could.

Your family's disregard for your feelings and opinions did not go unnoticed by Rasputin. He observed how you were often left behind, ignored, and forgotten, yet you continued to display kindness and grace in the face of such neglect. This purity of heart only served to deepen Rasputin's fascination with you, contrasting sharply with the sinful women he was accustomed to.

In his eyes, you were a beacon of purity in a world tainted by ambition and deceit. He was drawn to the idea of making you his own, of protecting you from the cruelties of the world and showering you with the love and attention you so desperately deserved.

But Rasputin's intentions were not entirely altruistic. His desires were driven by a complex mix of genuine affection and a hunger for power, a hunger that could only be satiated by possessing something as pure and untainted as your soul.

And as Rasputin's teachings continued to enthrall both you and Anna, his attention towards you became increasingly intense, bordering on obsession. While Anna basked in his charismatic presence, you became the subject of Rasputin's fascination, his thoughts consumed by visions of you.

In the dead of night, as he lay in the embrace of nameless women, their bodies intertwined in a dance of desire, it was not their faces he saw, but yours. With each whispered breath and sinful caress, he imagined it was you beneath him, your purity tarnished by his touch, your innocence corrupted by his desires.

"Such sweet innocence," he murmured, his baritone voice laced with hunger as he traced imaginary lines upon your skin, his fingers tingling with anticipation. "I shall be the one to pluck the forbidden fruit, to taste the nectar of your purity and revel in the ecstasy of your corruption."

His dreams were filled with visions of you, your image haunting him even in the depths of his slumber. In his mind's eye, he saw himself as the serpent, tempting you with promises of enlightenment and ecstasy, leading you down the path of sin and salvation.

But his desires were not merely confined to the realm of dreams. In the quiet moments of solitude, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin found himself consumed by thoughts of you, his mind ablaze with fantasies of conquest and domination.

"I shall be your savior and your downfall," he whispered to the shadows, his voice a seductive lure that beckoned you into his embrace. "For in your innocence lies the key to my salvation, and in your corruption, the promise of eternal damnation."

And so, fueled by his insatiable hunger and boundless ambition, Rasputin set out to claim you as his own, using every ounce of charm and influence at his disposal to bend you to his will. For in the forgotten princess, he saw not just a vessel for his desires, but a pawn in his game of power and manipulation, a pawn he was all too willing to sacrifice on the altar of his own ambition.

That day, following another session of Rasputin imparting God's precepts, your sister, Anna, departed, leaving you alone with the man. Summoning all your courage, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a muffled murmur. "Rasputin, may I have a moment of your time?"

Surprised by the request, Rasputin turned his piercing gaze towards you, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Of course, my dear princess. What is it that troubles you?"

You hesitated, the weight of your words heavy upon your tongue, but with a deep breath, you found the resolve to speak. "I... I wish to learn about economics and life outside the castle."

Rasputin arched an eyebrow, a hint of intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Economics, you say? A curious choice for a princess."

You glanced down at the floor, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you spoke. "My sister is learning about it from my father, and... and I fear for my future. If I am to be cast aside, I wish to be prepared."

Rasputin's expression softened, a glimmer of empathy shining through his enigmatic facade. "I see. You wish to carve your own path, regardless of the obstacles in your way."

You nodded, a sense of relief washing over you as Rasputin seemed to understand your plight. "Yes, precisely. Will you... will you teach me?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Rasputin's lips, his eyes alight with newfound admiration. "It would be my honor, Princess. I shall impart upon you the knowledge you seek, and together, we shall navigate the intricacies of the world beyond these walls."

With a sense of gratitude swelling within your heart, you stepped forward, surprising Rasputin with a brief embrace before bowing in gratitude. "Thank you, Rasputin. You have given me hope where there was none."

Rasputin returned the gesture, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he inhaled the sweet scent of your perfume, committing it to memory. "It is my pleasure, Princess. Fear not, for I shall be your guide in this journey of discovery."

And as you departed, a newfound sense of purpose burning within your soul, Rasputin watched you with a mixture of fascination and desire, knowing that this encounter had sealed your fates together in ways neither of you could have anticipated.

He closed his eyes, your scent still lingering in the air, a sweet temptation that beckoned to him. It was as if you had left a part of yourself behind, a tantalizing reminder of the warmth and sweetness you brought into his life. With a soft sigh, Rasputin relished in the memory, savoring the fleeting sensation of your presence before it dissipated into the ether.

Woman was made for man, Rasputin mused, his thoughts drifting towards the biblical tale of Adam and Eve. Just as Eve was fair for Adam, you were made for him, his sweet temptation, a forbidden fruit that he longed to taste again and again.

But there was no time for lingering indulgence. With a sense of purpose burning within him, Rasputin quickly left the chamber, his steps echoing against the marble floors as he made his way to his quarters. The warmth of your touch still lingered upon his skin, igniting a fire within him that refused to be extinguished.

As he entered his private chambers, Rasputin wasted no time in undressing, his movements swift and purposeful as he discarded his clothes with practiced ease. His pants fell around his ankles, pooling at his feet, while he bit the hem of his shirt, pulling it high to reveal his semi-hard penis.

With a hunger that bordered on desperation, Rasputin took himself in hand, his touch firm and demanding as he stroked himself to full hardness. His mind was consumed by thoughts of you, kneeling before him, your eyes filled with devotion as you eagerly awaited his instruction.

Imagining your scent, your touch, Rasputin lost himself in a whirlwind of desire, his fantasies taking on a life of their own as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating pleasure of his own touch. With each stroke, he imagined your lips trailing kisses along his length, your hands exploring every inch of his body with a hunger that mirrored his own.

"Oh, my sweet princess," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he imagined you kneeling before him, your eyes filled with adoration as you worshipped at his feet. "You are my greatest temptation, my deepest desire. I shall make you mine, body and soul, and together, we shall conquer the world."

Driven by a primal need for release, Rasputin quickened his pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he approached the brink of ecstasy. With a final, desperate cry, he succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his climax washing over him in a tidal wave of ecstasy as he spilled himself onto the floor below.

As he lay there, spent and sated, Rasputin's mind was filled with visions of you, your image burning brightly in the darkness of his thoughts. For in that moment, he knew that you were not just a princess to be conquered, but a queen to be crowned, a partner in his quest for power and domination.

And as he drifted off to sleep, Rasputin whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods, grateful for the sweet temptation that had entered his life and forever altered the course of his destiny.

The next day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace grounds, Rasputin made his way to the Palace library, where you awaited his arrival with a sense of eager anticipation. Dressed in his usual attire of flowing robes and unkempt hair, Rasputin exuded an air of mystery and authority as he entered the room, his presence commanding attention as he took his seat across from you.

With a soft smile, you greeted him, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you presented him with the gift—a delicate necklace adorned with a small cross. Rasputin's gaze lingered on the necklace for a moment, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns before meeting your eyes with a look of genuine gratitude.

"Thank you, my princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a warm embrace. "This is a most thoughtful gift, and I shall cherish it always."

As you stepped forward to place the necklace around his neck, Rasputin allowed you to do so, relishing in the warmth of your touch as you arranged it in his robes. His heart swelled with affection as he looked down at you, his eyes softening with genuine fondness as he beheld your innocence and purity.

With a gentle smile, Rasputin blessed you, making the sign of the cross and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before the start of your lesson. Despite the temptation to indulge in more intimate gestures, Rasputin restrained himself, contenting himself with the simple pleasure of your company as you embarked on your journey of learning together.

As the lessons progressed, you found yourself drawn to Rasputin's enigmatic presence, your curiosity piqued by the tales of his past and the rumors that surrounded him. With a shy yet earnest expression, you broached the subject, your voice barely above a whisper as you dared to ask about his life outside the palace walls.

Rasputin's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes as he considered your question. "Ah, my dear princess, the rumors you have heard are but fragments of the truth, distorted by the whispers of those who seek to tarnish my reputation."

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Yes, it is true that I have wandered far and wide, seeking enlightenment and guidance from the divine. But depraved? No, my dear, I am merely a humble servant of God, seeking to fulfill my purpose in this world."

You listened intently, hanging on his every word as he shared glimpses of his past and the trials he had faced along the way. Despite the shadows that lingered in his past, you couldn't help but feel a sense of compassion and understanding towards him, drawn to the complexity of his character and the depth of his soul.

As the evening drew to a close, Rasputin bid you farewell with a kind smile, his eyes alight with warmth and affection as he promised to continue your lessons in the days to come. And as you watched him depart, a sense of gratitude welled within you, grateful for the opportunity to learn from a man whose wisdom and guidance would shape your destiny in ways you could never have imagined.

In the days that followed, Rasputin reveled in your presence, relishing the opportunity to share his knowledge with you under the veil of secrecy. Late into the night, when the palace slept and the world outside faded into darkness, Rasputin would summon you to the library, where he would teach you about life beyond the castle walls.

With each lesson, you drank in his words like a parched traveler in the desert, eager to quench your thirst for knowledge and understanding. Rasputin proved to be an engaging teacher, his baritone voice weaving tales of far-off lands and exotic cultures that captured your imagination and stirred something deep within your soul.

As the nights turned into weeks, Rasputin's teachings became increasingly intimate, his lessons delving into the mysteries of the flesh and the pleasures of the senses. With each whispered confession and lingering touch, he awakened something primal within you, a hunger that burned with a fierce intensity.

And then, one fateful night, as the candles flickered and cast long shadows across the library shelves, Rasputin could resist you no longer. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he pinned you against the nearest shelf, his body pressed against yours as he accused you of consuming his thoughts, of tempting him away from God.

"I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked up at him with wide, bewildered eyes. "Why would you say such things?"

Rasputin's expression softened, a mixture of frustration and longing flickering in his eyes as he gazed down at you. "Because it's true, my dear princess. You consume my thoughts, cloud my prayers, tempt me away from the path of righteousness with your sweet innocence."

You shook your head, a sense of disbelief washing over you as you struggled to comprehend his words. "But... but I never meant to..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Rasputin's hands found their way to your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive as he held you in place. "You may deny it, my dear, but I see the truth in your eyes. You long for my touch, crave my kiss, even as you try to push me away."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words bearing down upon you like a heavy burden. "But these are things I should only do with my husband," you protested weakly, your hands instinctively moving to push him away.

Rasputin stood firm, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he refused to let you go. "And what husband would want you?" he countered, his voice low and husky with desire. "An infertile, useless woman like yourself?"

You stammered, your mind racing as you struggled to find a response. "But... but there are women in the Bible who were infertile and still got married because their husbands wanted them," you argued, desperate to find some semblance of reason in the chaos of your thoughts.

Rasputin nodded, his eyes alight with a fierce intensity as he gazed down at you. "Yes, my dear, and I want you," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I desire you, I love you. Only I can give you what you desire, what you deserve."

You recoiled in surprise, the shock of his words reverberating through your very being. "But... but I'm sterile," you protested weakly, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "How could you possibly..."

Rasputin cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his expression unwavering in its determination. "It matters not," he declared, his voice filled with conviction. "With my seed, I can give you a child, fulfill your deepest desires. You need only let me."

You stared up at him in disbelief, the weight of his words sinking in like a heavy anchor dragging you down into the depths of despair. Could it be true? Could Rasputin truly possess such power?

But as you looked into his eyes, burning with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, you knew that you had no choice but to believe. For in that moment, Rasputin was not just a man, but a force of nature, a tempest of desire and passion that threatened to consume you whole.

And as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, you made a decision. With a trembling breath, you closed the distance between you, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating allure of Rasputin's embrace. For in his arms, you found not just desire, but salvation, a glimmer of hope in the darkness that surrounded you.

Rasputin moaned against your mouth, his lips hungrily seeking yours as he savored the taste of your kiss. To him, your embrace was like water in the desert, a sweet temptation that he had longed to taste. With a fierce determination, he pressed you harder against the shelf, his hands roaming over your body with an urgency that mirrored his own desires.

As the books fell around you, you grasped onto the shelf for support, one hand holding it above you while the other clutched onto Rasputin's shoulder. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume your very soul.

Feeling your response, Rasputin picked you up effortlessly, his strong arms holding your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs. With a sense of surrender, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you moaned his name against his lips.

"Rasputin," you whispered, the name slipping from your tongue like a prayer. "I don't know what's happening, but I want you."

Rasputin's eyes gleamed with a mix of desire and determination as he reassured you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I will guide you, my dear princess," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "Trust in me, and I will show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams."

With a sense of anticipation coursing through your veins, you surrendered yourself to Rasputin's embrace, allowing him to lead you into a world of forbidden desire and ecstasy. Together, you embarked on a journey of passion and exploration, each touch and caress igniting a fire within you that refused to be extinguished.

As Rasputin laid you against the table, sweeping aside the books with a careless gesture, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mingled with trepidation. Was this how you would lose your virginity? At a table in the library, with Rasputin's hungry gaze upon you?

Your thoughts were interrupted as Rasputin pulled the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. A blush rose to your cheeks at the sudden exposure, but Rasputin paid no mind, his lips descending upon your skin with a fervent hunger.

With a low moan, you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely as he took a breast into his mouth, his tongue flicking against your sensitive flesh in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

"Rasputin," you gasped, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the ecstasy of his touch. "Please, I need you."

Rasputin grunted against your breast, his lips trailing kisses along your skin with a fervent hunger, you felt a sense of overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. His touch was like fire against your skin, igniting a passion within you that threatened to consume your very soul.

"Call me Grigori," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "That's my name."

You nodded, your mind clouded with desire as you struggled to comprehend the intensity of your feelings. "I... I don't know what to do," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you confessed your lack of knowledge to him.

Rasputin's eyes gleamed with amusement, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths as he reassured you with a gentle smile. "That's quite all right, my dear," he replied, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "I shall teach you."

With his guidance, you helped him remove his clothes, your fingers trembling with anticipation as you undid the buttons of his tunic. As the fabric fell away, leaving him clad only in his pants and the necklace you had given him, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you.

But when Rasputin undid his pants, exposing his enormous penis wrapped in dark, coarse curls like his beard, you couldn't help but gasp in surprise and fear at its size. "Is... is it supposed to be like that?" you questioned, your eyes wide with uncertainty as you looked up at him.

Rasputin chuckled, a deep rumble of amusement that reverberated through your very core. "No, my dear princess, not all men are gifted like me," he explained, his voice a seductive purr as he took your hand and led it to his throbbing member.

With his guidance, you began to caress him, your fingers exploring every inch of his length with a curiosity that bordered on fascination. Rasputin's breath hitched with pleasure as you spread the pre-cum to lubricate it, his hips rocking against your touch in a rhythm that mirrored your own desires.

Encouraged by his response, you pressed your thumb against the small hole of his red penis, marveling at its size and texture. "It's so large," you whispered, your voice filled with wonder as you continued to explore him with a newfound sense of curiosity.

Rasputin groaned in response, his eyes dark with desire as he urged you on with a husky whisper. "Yes, my princess, it is," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he guided your hand with a firm yet gentle touch. "But fear not, for I shall show you how to please me. Press a little harder, yes... just like that."

Emboldened by his encouragement, you pressed a little harder, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Rasputin's breath hitched in his chest. With each stroke, you became more curious, more eager to explore the depths of his desire and pleasure.

"Such a good girl," Rasputin praised, his voice a low growl that sent shivers of excitement coursing through your body

As Rasputin's penis leaked more pre-cum, you couldn't help but notice the glistening liquid coating your hand. Curiosity getting the better of you, you asked, "What is this liquid, Grigori? It's... slippery."

Rasputin took a moment to process your question, his eyes glazed with pleasure as he focused on the sensation of your hand on him. With a low chuckle, he finally responded, his voice husky with desire, "Ah, my dear princess, that is pre-cum. It's a natural lubricant that the body produces to prepare for intercourse."

Your eyes widened with surprise at his explanation, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the realization of what his body was preparing for. "I see," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you continued to stroke him, feeling the slickness of the pre-cum between your fingers.

But then, a curious glint entered your eyes as a thought occurred to you. "Do... do women produce this type of liquid too?" you questioned, a hint of innocence lacing your words.

Rasputin's eyebrows shot up in surprise at your question, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he realized where your thoughts were leading. "Oh, my princess, women have their own special way of preparing for intercourse," he replied, his voice dripping with suggestive intent. "But perhaps I should show you rather than explain."

With a sly grin, Rasputin guided your hand to the juncture between your thighs, his fingers tracing light circles against your sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, a shiver running down your spine as he teased you with feather-light touches.

"Feel that, my dear?" Rasputin murmured, his voice a seductive purr as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "That's your body's way of preparing for pleasure, of inviting me inside you."

You moaned softly at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as desire surged through your veins. "I... I want you, Grigori," you whispered, your voice thick with need as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch.

Rasputin chuckled darkly, a hunger burning in his eyes as he pressed himself against you, his hardness pressing against your core. "Then let me show you, my dear princess," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let me show you how good it can feel to be mine."

He helped you remove your panties and lie down on the table. He maintained his reassuring demeanor, acknowledging the fear and uncertainty clouding your mind. With gentle yet firm hands, he positioned himself between your legs, his gaze locking with yours as he spoke with honesty and candor.

"Princess, I won't lie to you. This may hurt at first," Rasputin admitted, his voice a soothing murmur that washed over you like a warm embrace. "But as you get used to it, you may find that you enjoy it. Trust me, my dear."

With a trembling nod, you clung to his shoulders, your heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. As Rasputin leaned down to kiss your collarbone and suck your breasts once more, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins, mingled with the primal fear of the unknown.

But then, with a slow and deliberate motion, Rasputin guided himself inside you, his entry careful yet determined. As he predicted, you felt a sharp pain rippling through your body, causing tears to well up in your eyes as you cried out in discomfort.

"Please, Rasputin, it hurts," you whimpered, your voice trembling with anguish as you clung to him for support. "Make it stop."

Rasputin's heart ached at the sight of your tears, but he knew that he had to be strong for both of you. With a hoarse voice filled with reassurance, he whispered words of comfort as he continued to sink deeper into you, his movements slow and deliberate.

"It will get better, my dear. I promise," Rasputin murmured, his breath hot against your skin as he brushed away your tears with gentle kisses. "Just hold on to me, and trust in the pleasure that awaits you."

Despite the pain, you found solace in Rasputin's words, clinging to him with a fierce determination as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating pleasure of his touch. With each thrust, the pain began to subside, replaced by a faint glimmer of pleasure that stirred something deep within your soul.

And then, as if by magic, you felt a shift in sensation, a spark of pleasure igniting within you as Rasputin's penis brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside your core. With a gasp of surprise, you realized that the pain was fading, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure that threatened to consume your very being.

"Grigori," you moaned, your voice thick with desire as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer with each thrust. "Don't stop, please."

Rasputin groaned in response, his movements becoming more urgent as he surrendered himself to the primal hunger that burned within him. With each thrust, he felt himself drawn deeper into you, his desire mingling with yours in a frenzy of passion and ecstasy.

"Gods, you feel so good, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside you. "So tight, so hot. I never want to leave this place."

You moaned in response, the scrape of his penis against your pussy sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced, a heady mix of pleasure and desire that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As Rasputin increased his thrusts, making the cross of his necklace bang against your chin with each movement, he seemed to go wild, his baritone voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Oh, my sweet temptation," he groaned, his words punctuated by ragged gasps of pleasure. "I'll fill you with my babies, hmm? You'll carry my seed, my mark, deep inside you."

His messy hair and beard framed his face as he leaned in closer, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he whispered in your ear. "Your pussy, my dear princess, it's the best I've ever had. So sweet, so tight. You're mine now, mine alone."

With each thrust, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment becoming more explicit with each passing moment. "I'll give you everything you want, everything you desire," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I'll put the world at your feet, my dear. Just let me fill you, claim you as mine."

Rasputin slowed his movements, allowing you to savor the sensation of his cock dragging inside you. He gazed into your eyes with a mixture of desire and curiosity. His baritone voice was thick with anticipation as he posed the question that hung heavy in the air between you.

"Do you want my baby, my princess?" Rasputin whispered, his breath hot against your skin as he waited for your response. "Only I can give you that. Only I can fill you with my seed."

Your heart raced at his words, a mixture of desire and fear swirling within you as you struggled to find the words to respond. But before you could form a coherent thought, a whimper escaped your lips, a desperate plea for the fulfillment that only Rasputin could provide.

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming pleasure of the moment. "Yes, Rasputin, please. I don't want to be barren. I don't want to be a useless woman."

But Rasputin silenced your fears with a trail of kisses down your chin to your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he declared his intentions with a fervent determination.

"You are not useless to me, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice laced with sincerity as he held you close, his arms enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "I will put a baby inside you. I will give you as many children as you want, whatever you desire. For now, you are mine, my sweet temptation."

With each word, Rasputin's desires grew more fervent, his promises of pleasure and fulfillment echoing in the air around you. And as he closed his lips around your nipple, sucking greedily at your sweet breasts, you couldn't help but moan in ecstasy, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his touch.

"Such sweet breasts," Rasputin murmured between sucks, his voice thick with desire as he reveled in the pleasure of your virgin flesh. "So untouched, so pure. You are mine now, my dear. Mine to mold, mine to possess."

But then, in the midst of his ecstasy, Rasputin's pleasure was interrupted by a sudden scream of pain as his hair was yanked back and he was thrown onto the floor. With a startled cry, he looked up to see the king, your father, standing over him with a look of rage in his eyes.

"Father, no!" you screamed in shame, covering your breasts with your arms as you rushed to his side, only to be met with a sharp slap that sent you sprawling to the ground with a cry of pain.

"Silence, you wretched girl!" the king thundered, his voice filled with contempt as he glared down at you. "You are no daughter of mine, no princess of this kingdom. You are nothing but a disgrace, a stain upon our noble bloodline."

As your father's foot connected with your side, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath, Rasputin roared in fury, his voice reverberating off the walls of the library. "How dare you touch my sweet temptation!" he thundered, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity.

With a primal growl, Rasputin launched himself at the king, his hands curled into fists as he sought to strike back against the man who dared to harm you. But the guards were quick to react, their grip tightening around Rasputin's arms as they delivered swift kicks to his legs, forcing him to his knees before the king.

"What do you think you're doing, Rasputin?" the king demanded, his voice laced with contempt as he glared down at the fallen man. "How dare you lay a hand on my daughter? I've heard rumors of your depravity, but I never expected such audacity from you."

Rasputin's nostrils flared with anger as he struggled against the guards, his eyes never leaving the king's face. "She is mine," he declared, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "And I will not let anyone stand in the way of what is rightfully mine."

As the king's fist collided with Rasputin's jaw, the sound of bone meeting bone echoed through the library, followed by a low grunt of pain from Rasputin. You screamed from the ground, begging your father to stop, tears streaming down your face as you pleaded for mercy, but the king ignored you, his gaze fixed on Rasputin with a mixture of contempt and rage.

Ignoring your cries, the king grabbed a handful of Rasputin's hair, yanking his head back with a cruel force that made blood trickle down from Rasputin's nose. With a sneer of disgust, the king leaned in close, his voice dripping with disdain as he delivered his ultimatum.

"Leave this kingdom, Rasputin," the king spat, his breath hot against Rasputin's face. "Or I'll have you killed like the vermin you are."

Rasputin's eyes blazed with defiance, his voice a low growl of anger. "I'll go nowhere without her," he declared, his baritone voice resonating with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "She belongs to me, and I will not leave her behind."

The king's lips curled into a sneer of contempt as he pushed Rasputin away, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "She is of no use to me," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. "But she is certainly not yours to claim."

Rasputin's gaze darkened with a hint of menace, his voice low and dangerous. "I will have her, one way or another," he threatened, his eyes flashing with an otherworldly intensity. "And if you stand in my way, I will unleash a curse upon this kingdom that will make your blood run cold."

Suddenly, the air in the library grew thick with a palpable tension, the lights dimming as if a shadow had fallen over the room. Books tumbled from their shelves, glass shattered on the floor, and a bone-chilling cold swept through the air, causing the king and his guards to recoil in fear.

With a triumphant smirk, Rasputin raised his hand, his voice echoing with a dark power as he summoned forth the spirits of the unseen world. "Feel the wrath of the unseen," he intoned, his voice a haunting melody that sent shivers down your spine. "And know that I am not to be trifled with."

As the king and his guards stumbled back in fear, the guards holding Rasputin suddenly began to choke, their faces turning purple as if they were being deprived of air.

"You see, Your Majesty," Rasputin murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "You cannot control me. I am beyond your reach, beyond your power. And now, I demand that you give her to me. She belongs to me, body and soul."

The king's face contorted with rage as he stared at Rasputin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Never," he spat, his voice filled with fury. "She is my daughter, and I will not let her fall into the clutches of a madman like you."

Rasputin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intensity as he gazed down at the king, who was now struggling to breathe. "You should have listened to reason, Your Majesty," Rasputin sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "But now, you shall pay the price for your arrogance."

With a swift motion, Rasputin closed his fist, his fingers curling into a tight grip as he exerted his will upon the king. The air grew thick with a suffocating pressure, and the king fell to his knees, his hands clawing at his neck as he gasped for air.

You, still recovering from the shock of the confrontation, scrambled to your feet, your dress now hastily arranged as you rushed to your father's side. "Father, please!" you cried, tears streaming down your face as you tried to help him. "Stop this, Grigori!"

But Rasputin paid you no heed, his eyes fixed on the king as he continued to exert his dark power. "You dare to defy me, Your Majesty?" Rasputin growled, his voice low and menacing. "You are but a puppet in my hands, a pawn in my game."

As the king's struggles grew weaker, you found yourself torn between loyalty to your father and fear of Rasputin's wrath. Desperate to save your father, you crawled on your knees to Rasputin, your heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination.

"Please, Rasputin," you begged, your voice trembling with emotion as you clutched his hand, pleading for mercy. "He's my father. I can't bear to see him suffer. Please, spare him."

For a moment, Rasputin hesitated, his intense gaze softening as he looked at you, his sweet temptation, pleading for mercy. The memory of his promise to give you anything you desired flashed through his mind, and with a sigh, he relented, his grip on your hand loosening.

"It's okay," he murmured, his baritone voice a soothing balm against the chaos surrounding you. "I won't kill your father."

You breathed a sigh of relief, tears still streaming down your face as you clung to Rasputin, grateful for his mercy. Behind you, your father coughed and struggled to catch his breath, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as Rasputin picked up his pants from the floor, hastily putting them on.

As Rasputin grabbed your hand, determination burning in his eyes, he gestured for you to follow him. "Come, my dear," he urged, his voice urgent yet reassuring. "We must leave before your father calls for the guards."

Your father, still catching his breath, shouted breathlessly for the guards as Rasputin pulled you along, running through the halls towards the stables. With each step, your heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement, knowing that your fate was now intertwined with Rasputin's.

As you reached the stables, Rasputin quickly assessed the situation, his eyes scanning the rows of horses for the fastest steed. Spotting a sleek black stallion in the corner, he wasted no time in approaching it, his movements confident and purposeful.

"This one," Rasputin declared, his voice authoritative as he reached out to stroke the horse's mane. "He will do."

With practiced ease, Rasputin saddled the horse, his movements swift and efficient as he prepared to make his escape. As he helped you onto the horse's back, he climbed up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a protective embrace.

"Hold on tight, my dear," Rasputin murmured, his voice low and reassuring as he urged the horse into a gallop. "We have a long journey ahead of us, but together, we will overcome whatever challenges lie in our path."

And as the horse galloped away from the castle, Rasputin's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you close to him as you clung to him for dear life. With each beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, you felt yourself leaving behind the chaos and danger of the castle, riding towards an uncertain future with Rasputin by your side.

[yoificfinder]

Hello! Thank you for all the work you put in this wonderful page. I was wondering if you had any recs related to langue/Yuuri and Victor learning each other's languages.

These are the ones I remember off the top of my head:

Bear Your Soul on the Ice by @diedraechin [E,488K] *WIP

At age fourteen, Katsuki Yuuri had been determined to be Japan's next great figure skating hope, but with no coach that would never happen, so his ballet instructor packs him up off to Russia to train with Yakov Feltsman. The Yakov Feltsman, otherwise known as the coach to rising figure skating star -- and Yuuri's idol -- Viktor Nikiforov.

From the rinks of Yubileyny Sports Palace in St Petersburg to the bustling city of Osaka and quieter Michigan suburbs, Yuuri chases his dream of skating against his idol and improbable best friend, getting tripped up along the way because growing up is never easy and it's even harder as an elite athlete with the eyes of a nation watching. But it'll all be fine as long as Yuuri doesn't do something stupid like fall in love with Viktor. Right? Right.

The Boyfriend Paradox by @japansace [T, 3K]

For some inexplicable reason, Yuuri speaks Russian.

Now, as everyone knows, there are only two viable reasons why anyone ever learns a foreign language:

1. For school.

2. To impress a foreign love interest.

And Victor can’t quite bring himself to believe that Yuuri would be at all studious enough to hunt down Russian classes in Detroit of all places.

(Or: Victor gets jealous of a boyfriend that doesn’t exist.)

Call Everything on the Ice... by @shysweetthing [E, 50K]

Victor learns Japanese while in Hasetsu. He doesn't tell Yuuri, and things get dicey when he overhears Yuuri and Mari talking about him in Japanese. Repeatedly.

(The subtitle of this fic should be: Victor Nikiforov really needs a hug. Luckily, he gets one. Eventually.)

~~~

“No,” Victor says, skating up to Yuuri on the ice, “you have to push all the way from here, or you’ll never get the height you need for that axel.” He sets his hand on Yuuri’s ass, tracing the muscle group he’s referring to. “Not here.” He taps Yuuri’s thigh. He doesn’t know the words for the muscles in English, only knows how to show him.

Yes, technically he’s grabbing Yuuri’s ass, but how else is he to communicate?

Heels Over Head by @amarokster [E, 34K]

Victor attempts to find his feet in Japan but finds himself becoming obsessed with Yuuri’s instead as he fails to decipher the mysterious puzzle of Yuuri's constantly exposed ankles.

AKA “I went to Hasetsu and all I got was this lousy foot fetish.”

in the spaces between by sixpences / @thetwoguineabook [T, 7K]

Yuuri's life in St Petersburg is spread between four languages.

Repeat After Me by queenieofaces / @liesonthefloordramatically [T, 6K]

Victor learns language through mimicry, hears phrases and repeats them back until the inflection becomes second nature. Yuuri seems to communicate best through euphemism, through metaphor, through talking around the subject rather than approaching it head on, and so Victor tries his best to mimic him, to take his words and echo them back.

(Vignettes in language learning and communication, spanning the whole series.)

Russian for Dummies by @cutthroatpixie [G, 2K]

"Are you a beginner?"

Viktor was not a beginner. Viktor was the TA supposedly in charge of this study session. Viktor spoke Russian. Viktor was Russian.

"Sure!"

[thestalwartheart]

,…Well now I just gotta request a fic with Q and his cats on the day before he joins MI6 (or becomes Quartermaster)!

You have your answer, Anon! ❤️ Apologies for taking so long to get around to filling this.

You can read it below or on AO3.

Enjoy!

anticipation.

“Well,” sighed Q to his cats. They were curled up together on the other end of his sofa. “Not long now. Twelve hours, give or take.”

He finished the last spoonful of his ice cream—mint choc chip. The coolness soothed his tongue from the scorching it had received during dinner. It had taken him four hours to make a slow-cooked ragu and about four seconds to ruin his tastebuds by being too impatient to eat it.

That’s what his nerves got him, he supposed.

“Quartermaster,” he said frankly to the cats. “I’m twenty-seven, for fuck’s sake.”

His father had always told him he was twenty going on fifty, but it didn’t stop Q from being bewildered by M’s job offer. How well did it bode for the Service, really, that no one more experienced was clever enough for the job? He was in an agency of dinosaurs, and he’d be responsible for dragging them into the modern day. How horrifying.

How thrilling.

“You’ll have trouble with the agents,” M had told him while she was marching somewhere or other, him following at her heels. “Don’t let them under your skin. Remember, you’re cleverer than most of them.”

“Most?”

She smiled secretly. “Yes. Most.”

It was the most that sent him digging. He never could abide a mystery. Agents, he knew, were more brawn than brains. And he’d read M’s files. In fact, he’d hacked them without a trace using the Major’s details — the old man, bless his soul, was terribly clever with weaponry but absolutely rubbish when it came to software — and so he knew M had sent plenty of agents out into the field with the heavy possibility that they’d never make it back.

But after reading the official reports, he was no clearer on who she favoured. There were several agents she’d recruited herself—all orphans, all screaming with boredom in the Special Forces—and of them, Commander James Bond was the longest serving. Q thought he was getting close when he brought Bond’s file up, but his record for insubordination put that thought to rest.

Insubordinate or not, though, he was certainly good-looking. Q was rather looking forward to meeting him.

Q’s eldest cat made a sound, then stretched and flopped over. With the hand that wasn’t cold from holding a mug full of ice cream, he scratched her velvety underbelly. She rolled this way and that, her paws hanging akimbo.

“Right,” said Q, rubbing his index finger under her chin one last time. When he took it away, he noticed his leg was tapping up and down. Anxiety, perhaps. Sugar, much more likely. “One last thing before bed.”

He got up and poured himself a shot of whisky—the one at the top of his kitchen cupboard rather than his drinks trolley. It was hellishly expensive, and he rarely drank from it. It was for special occasions only. Good or bad.

“To the Major, God rest his soul,” he said, raising his glass to two bewildered cats. He smiled at them, and with a sharp pain, remembered the Major visiting once and meeting them as kittens. Upon seeing their little claws stretched out, he’d regaled Q with a story of some Russian woman who had a poisonous dagger in her stiletto heel. “The Russians probably designed it after the claws of these little beasts.”

Q finished his drink in a neat gulp, then poured himself another. He was less precise with the measurement this time. The high from a full stomach and the smooth burn of good whisky was getting to him.

Q cleared his throat.

”To being Q,” he said. His cats had abandoned the couch; they never left him for long. As if telling him to move away from the whisky, they curled around his ankles. “Here’s hoping I do it all half as well as he did.”

He knocked back his drink, then, with a long groan, he walked promptly to the upstairs bathroom and threw it all up. The vomit hit the toilet basin to the off-beat rhythm of competing meows.

It was, Q thought, rather comforting. If his career in espionage went tits up after all this…well.

At least there were the cats.

[amoransia]

Leviathan: "Oooooooooh"

Beelzebub and Asmodeus: (This could've been an email.)

!!!Chapter 65 spoilers below!!!

Good fucking food and good chapter as per usual. Thank you for showing me my snake wife (Satan) again. Loved every page, and I hope Fukayama-sensei is taking his time recuperating from his surgery and doesn't push himself too much.

I say this because those pages were out of this world. I love the spookiness factor they're finally adding. A lot of exorcist manga just focus on the action and completely forget they're dealing with demons (and other creatures of similar nature) so I'm glad Aruma added that in. Belphegor's pathetic poltergeists(?) are really funny, too lol.

Babacat confirmed!! Troperrific called it! I had my money on Cattan instead, lol. Regardless, this basically means she's been spying on Priest since the very beginning, so there's a high chance she'll try to talk-no-jutsu him into corruption(?) using what she knows about him. What Vergilius couldn't convince him to do, she'll probably (almost) succeed? If that's her goal, anyway...

Surprise! Chicken legs, as per her folklore of having a chicken leg-powered house. Nice to see that Aruma-sensei has some basic knowledge on her. As usual, they do look into things. Which makes me happy. I thought the chicken was kinda cute until her disemboweled headless corpse waddled in. Jesus.

Apparently, disembowelment and beheading are the punishments given to schismatics in the Ninth Bolgia in Dante's Inferno. Yeowch. Perhaps this is her punishment because she wanted to help wrongly convicted souls while not inherently being a non-believer and merely disagreeing? I don't know.

I'd also like to mention that Mikhail is probably going to gain a more prominent role when it comes to Baba Yaga. He was the first to recognize it was Baba Yaga, and I think this is because he's more familiar with Slavic folklore than the rest of the cast. After all, Mikhail is a name of Russian origin, so he's probably from around there. He probably got told stories of her as a child.

(I used to affectionately dub Mikhail "Florida man" because of his crazy antics, but he also does fit those crazy Slav dudes that post videos of themselves randomly bringing down abandoned buildings with only bricks. Anyway.)

Really hilarious that Priest can somehow tolerate the horror fuckery that happened this chapter but can't handle horror MOVIES or Japanese spirits. My MC is truly built different and I love him dearly. Someone get him a good therapist and multiple trips to a bunny café.

Just look at him go!!

Imuri's face didn't show up even once in this chapter, by the way! Probably means nothing, but it'd be curious if her reactions were obscured because she was familiar with Granny somehow. Imuri's lived quite a long while, too, after all. Wouldn't be weird if she knew some people here and there.

(Might I add that we've yet to see the mysterious Cass friend she texts... He said he hesitantly submitted a request to see her to the Church, but it's been a while since that...)

This line alone is either a red flag or a green flag, but I'm hopeful it's actually a green flag, since it goes against Satan's wishes. Maybe Baba Yaga will actually sympathize with Priest, since she's been watching over him... dunno!

Additionally, this is also something I mentioned on my Twitter, but to me, it appears that she's being set up as another parallel character to Priest:

Both are the strongest of their team

Got called "it" and "thing" by their respective benefactors

Both want(ed) to help people

Witnessed or witnessing wrongful accusations against the innocent

Priest even sympathized /explicitly/ with people who were wrongly tried for supposed witchcraft in chapter 64. Surely she must've heard him say that? I previously thought Vergilius would take on the role of the parallel, but I think Granny is a more deliberate one!

Welcome back Tachibana my beloved boss girl, in the most literal sense. She even has a big ass coat on. Is she single? We should ask Aruma-sensei. Please do a Q&A, I pinky promise to be civil.

Anyway, I'm convinced Mammon is coming back too, then, since she is extremely capable. Mammon's (first) arc was definitely rushed due to the looming danger of the axe, so I'm excited to see him being pathetic again. He's grown on me, for the wrong reasons. I think he's a big fan favorite amongst the JP sphere as well. He's the only Demon Lord that I feel truly values his human connections, so that's no surprise.

All in all, it was a perfect chapter, and I have nothing to say about the Japanese and/or translation of the chapter; I have but one single complaint:

Chapter 65

Chapter 36

THEY CLIPPED HIS FUCKING NAILS!!! NOOO!!!!!!!!!!! HIS EVIL SLY BITCH SWAG... it's GONE!!!!!!!!!! It has been STOLEN!!!!! Someone has to die for this FUUUUUUUCK

[olliexwrites]

WRITEBLR INTRODUCTION

Hello, everyone!! I meant to do this sooner, but I'm finally making my writeblr sideblog!

Ollie | 21 | they/he/she | genderfluid transmasc

Favorite genres are dark fantasy, romance, fantasy in general, mystery, etc.

I tend to make most if not all of my characters LGBTQ+ in some way just because I am. Same with giving them disabilities lol.

current wips under cut...

CURRENT WIPS:

a grove of silver leaves ->

genres: fantasy, adventure

themes: the struggle for independence, learning to live without someone, overcoming and/or living with disability, etc.

cws: death, possession, suicide, general violence, ableism, cults, abuse, etc.

wip description:

lindenbaum has always been different from her fellow witch; always falling ill, constantly being taken care of, and feeling weaker than the rest. however, when tragedy strikes her home and her body can no longer support her as it once had, she discovers a dark secret that her entire clan had kept out of sight, and learns that everything she was taught as a child isn't as black and white as she thinks it is.

main characters:

lindenbaum -- protagonist. she/her. aroace + bi. disabled from the waist down for most of the story. has a temper and is tired of being lied to.

lector -- deuteragonist. he/him. exiled doctor who's willing to help lindenbaum on her journey. scary when angered. rumored to be evil, but is actually sweet.

stella -- she/her. russian. sought out lector alongside her partner wistaria for an unknown reason. reluctantly travels alongside the others. dubiously the main antagonist.

wistaria -- agender. they/them. blind in one eye and eventually gains a prosthetic arm. slowly losing sight in the other eye. stella's partner (both romantically and in crime). very pessimistic but a softie on the inside.

xin lan -- trans. he/him. chinese. a blind medic who has a security / guide cat (a calico). leaves his home behind so he can be free from its bindings and joins the main group partway through their journey.

seraphina brooke -- cis. she/her. one of lector's former patients who doesn't quite realize that she has dissociative identity disorder. has three other alters who occasionally switch with her.

taglist:

@bluberimufim

...

vividium ->

genres: fantasy, adventure

themes: tba

cws: tba

wip description:

vampire albain discovers that the seven realms need his help when he's accidentally sucked through a mirror portal. more tba.

main characters:

albain miriam -- protagonist. vampire. 23. gay. selfish and easily angered. learns to be nicer later.

sycamore -- eventual romantic partner of albain. human. 25. bisexual. nice and friendly. got sucked through a mirror portal on accident like albain did.

life / cynthia -- ageless. she/her. other self of death / dahlia. blind and mute. in exchange, can hear and smell just fine.

death / dahlia -- ageless. she/her. other self of life / cynthia. deaf and can't smell. in exchange, can see and speak just fine.

black / kuro -- he/him. 16. other self / brother of white / shiro.

white / shiro -- he/him. 16. other self / brother of black / kuro.

...

the angels ->

genres: fantasy, adventure, romance

themes: death, romance

cws: death, the unknown, religious references

wip description:

the angels are a group of chosen warriors destined for greatness, helping wayward souls return to where they belong. but you can't save everyone. some things just aren't meant to be.

fifteen-year-old amelia wakes up for school one morning with a strange mark on her shoulder, and on the same day, a mysterious and cheerful girl named mari transfers into her class. she learns from her new classmate that she has been chosen to be one of the angels. but soon enough, amelia also learns that mari's views when it comes to their assigned mission are drastically different to her own.

can the two angels set aside their differences for the sake of the world? or will one of the angels fall from grace and become the very monster they're trying to fight against?

main characters:

amelia stone -- she/her. 15. lesbian. protagonist. the newest recruit of the angels. has a jaded view on who should be saved and who shouldn't. obeys the order without question. dating mari by the end.

mari ferne -- she/her. 15. bisexual. deuteragonist. a veteran angel. peppy, cheerful, optimist. has hope in her heart that they can save everyone, which leads her to get into trouble a lot. she's almost been kicked out due to her frequent disobedience. dating amelia by the end.

more to be added!!

[marauderivy]

I grew up in China, and there, America and Russia are perceived and portrayed vastly different, but they both got fair share of coverage in daily life, at least that was what I experienced as a child.

At that time, America seemed like a mysterious paradise that has the most advanced technology, military and economy. We grew up watching American movies and cartoons. We admire America like we do to a successful businessman, or a Hollywood star. But I'd say although we hear a lot of it in news, America seemed very distant and far away (which is indeed if we look at the map).

Russia is less mysterious to Chinese than it to westerners, probably because we share a border, of our past ties during Soviet time, and I was born in a northern city in China which has heavy Russian influence (it has Orthodox churches, a street resembling Arbat Street and literally a park named after Stalin). We learned Pushkin and Sholokhov's works in middle school and, considerably, the role that Russia played during WW2. We feel Russia more, emotionally, spiritually, although our cultures are completely different in terms of origins and traditions.

And - actually at this point I already forgot why I start writing this post - it's probably just ramblings, but I see fascinating things in both countries. Different, but equally fascinating. I appreciate America's optimism, their can-do attitude, their naiveté and their pursuit of freedom. I also respect Russia, hugely, for the unthinkable sacrifice they made in WW2, them sticking around and living their lives despite everything that has happened, their soulfulness, their rich history, art and literature that peered into human nature like no one else.

I know where my roots lie, but I feel fortunate to be able to absorb and bask in other cultures in my adolescent years, to experience the unique narratives and mentalities that have tangible impact on the way I perceive this world.

World is a shitty place, but there is something universal that exists in us all that should not, and would not be robbed of by any conflicts or grudges. It's funny that in other parts of internet people point fingers at me whenever I expressed something similar. But, just want to say, I still believe in humanity and if there's anyone who don't get it, it's your loss then.

[emmalovesfitzloved]

Tell me a few things you love about Wessa!

Ahhh another ask from my fav Shadowhunter blogger! Wohoo! These are the first two things that comes to my head. But there are MORE ;)

Their dark academia aesthetic

The Dark academia aesthetic of their relationship. Now while this may come across as superficial, its more then just "loving books". It's the chaise and adventure they find in books that they then live by in their real lives. How they challenge each other in a conversation and insider jokes they share tethered in the novels they consume. Let the other rant about their favourite things and celebrate novels that invite the reader into more journeys beyond just their own. And the way they talk about characters, morals and plots as experiences and people they know almost intimately. How their choice of words matters, and they are economical about their feelings. Dark over light academia bc London is a dank dark city ahaha. And they feel well deep rather than feather light.

Their timeless love

Somewhat still related to novels, but I feel like what Cassandra Clare did with Wessa was the melting pot of all our favourite literary tropes/heroines in classical literature. Which gives it a sense of timelessness and makes them feel like they are 'endgame'.

I wrote previously that Tessa is the perfect blend between Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet. She retains Jane Eyre’s contemplativeness, slight shyness, physical features, dry sarcasm and strong sense of self-actualisation. But also Elizabeth’s wildness, snappiness, boldness, passionate love and will for happiness, all without the arrogance that came with Austen’s heroine.

Meanwhile Will's darker side reminds me of Mr. Darcy in how he pushes those he loves away. John Thornton from North and South who is set in his ways slightly stalkerish (i'm a sucker for the stalker trope sorry not sorry) Will retains the mystery of Edward Rochester, where there is more depth to him that meets the eye and heck even Tessa says at one point that his mood swings remind him of the treacherous Heathcliff. Most of all he reminds me of Alexander from The Bronze Horseman (which only came out in the 90's but technically it came out before TID and is already considered a classic). Alexander and Will overlap in how they sacrifice their love and longing for a greater peace (War and to not upset a family) all for the love of their other one. They are deeply flawed and challenge the reader on their tolerance for forgiveness .

“I love you. I’m blind for you, wild for you. Sick with you. I told you that our first night together when I asked you to marry me, I am telling you now. Everything that’s happened to us, everything, is because I crossed the street for you. I worship you. You know that through and through…” (The Bronze Horseman)

“Alexander, you broke my heart. But for carrying me on your back, for pulling my dying sled, for giving me your last bread, for the body you destroyed for me, for the son you have given me, for the twenty-nine days we lived like Red Birds of Paradise, for all our Naples sands and Napa wines, for all the days you have been my first and last breath, for Orbeli- I will forgive you. ” (The Summer Garden).

And you find you can, because their love and longing for their partner is almost holy and like a religion to them. Those we love the most, hurt us the most, but in turn, they are also those who deserve the most grace and Mercy. If not for them, then for who?

"You are not the last dream of my soul. You are the first dream, the only dream I ever was unable to stop myself from dreaming. You are the first dream of my soul, and from that dream I hope will come all other dreams, a lifetime’s worth." (Clockwork Prince).

This, coupled with the stakes of their relationship then as a unite (and also separately) echos a timber that reminds me of the setting we find in 19th century Russian literature (but with an HEA tysm CC my heart can't take it). This tragic longing we see in Anna Karenina where any choice Tessa makes she looses something in the same breath. The high apocalyptic war torn feel of War and Peace alongside the feeling of doom you get right at Chapter 1 in Clockwork Angel like we did in Crime and Punishment, when Raskolnikov kills a man, and it's all downhill from there.

Conclusion

CC wrote these two with the aim that they remain true to the history of their time, but blended it in with fresh modern air for us to be able to relate to and TRULY succeed. Who knew a historical romance about two book lovers could escalate so highly in the ranks? Now while they are so high up in the ranks of GOAT-ed couples in literature, they aren't without their flaws. Mainly not bc of the narrative or the character's choices but more to do with CC's discontinuation of their story linearly past TID. But that's a different ask for another time and tbh, that's where I seek out lovely fanfictions like the ones you create in order to fill in the blind spots CC didn't fill.

Thank you for this ask! I hope this was worth the read ILY @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone♡

Artistic Credit: Cassandra Jean

[grandhotelabyss]

In an old interview with Tyler Cowen, Knausgaard called Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius the greatest story ever written—a sentiment with which Cowen agreed. (Cowen seems to read everything, but there's something about an economist—an orthodox heterodox economist, no less!—making pronouncements on literature that makes me suspicious of the claim. Then again, he once wrote, "Shakespeare is very likely the deepest thinker the human race has produced." No argument there.)

Personally, I might bestow the honour on The Dead, but it's really more of a novella, and I'm admittedly quite the Deadhead. (To be clear, in the high arts a "Deadhead" is the moniker we attribute to readers obsessed with the poetic intensities of swift cessations: Death in Venice, The Death of Ivan Ilyich, the deaths of Sula, Septimus, Billy Budd, and Pierce Inverarity, etc. Indeed, poetic intensities and swift cessations may simply be the novella tout court. On the subject of jam bands—and cheese—I remain mysteriously silent.)

Might Joyce have authored the greatest story, the greatest novel, and the greatest love letters? (Forgive me, sweet Jane, for such futile superlatives against your soul-stirring pen. I am half agony, half cope.) I suppose Borges is more Beethovenian in his revolutionizing of the form, whereas Joyce aimed for a Bach-like perfection as it existed at the time.

Of course, one mustn't forget the dozen or so contenders from Poe, Kafka, and Chekhov, not to mention The Lottery and A Good Man is Hard to Find. What do you think? As always, thank you for your splendid insights! And to the anonymous hundreds reading this, or, at this point in my unsolicited soliloquy, the anonymous dozen skimming, please subscribe to John's serialized novel!

Thank you, David! Yes, I find Cowen dispiritingly, exhaustingly, demoralizingly well-read. Someone I admire on Substack recently gave a list of 10 pieces of advice for undergraduates, and I liked nine of them, but I didn't like the first: everything, he said, is interesting. But everything is not interesting. The undergraduate, the veritable ephebe, is right to be bored by some things. If I found everything interesting, who would I be? I almost cultivate my non-interests. With so many books I do want to read in the world, it's a relief to know there are also many books (books about economics, for example) that I do not want to read. Really, only obsessions matter. The personality, to be a personality, must have its limits, as must the work of art, even if as a novelist, I do aspire in my own way to the "everything and nothing" Borges imputed to Shakespeare, or to the Homeric as against the Virgilian in Mark Van Doren's line that Virgil is a style, Homer a world. Only Borges could be Homeric in a short story, though; for the rest of us—yes, even for Joyce—it takes a novel. A fellow Deadhead, I agree with you that that is a novella in the death-obsessed ranks of the great novellas. I add Heart of Darkness, The Metamorphosis, and Nella Larsen's Quicksand to your fine catalogue.

(Incidentally, when I was in college, a friend dragged me to see a jam band called The String Cheese Incident. They played a theater on the ground floor of Soldiers and Sailors Hall on the University of Pittsburgh campus, upstairs of which the great Gothic scene of Lecter's escape in Silence of the Lambs had been filmed a little less than a decade before. Jam bands don't do it for me; I was heavy bored at that concert, I have to tell you; Chesterton's neglected cheese be damned, poets have their right to silence on some subjects—because, again, everything is not interesting.)

Now to your question. When I think of great short stories, I do not, like George Saunders, think of 19th-century Russians. (19th-century Russians are better at length, when they go on and on and on—even, if you ask me, Chekhov, as I said earlier this year in praise of his novella, The Duel, a great novella not quite belonging to your catalogue inasmuch as it defeats death, more or less.) No, I think of 19th-century Americans. I think of "Ligeia" and "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "The Man of the Crowd," and I think of "Bartleby, the Scrivener" and "The Paradise of Bachelors and the Tartarus of Maids" and "Benito Cereno," and I think of "The Author of Beltraffio" and "The Middle Years" and "The Figure in the Carpet." Above all, I think of Hawthorne, of "Young Goodman Brown" and "The Minister's Black Veil" and "Ethan Brand" and "Wakefield" and "The May-Pole of Merry Mount" and "The Artist of the Beautiful" and "The Birth-Mark" and (my favorite) "Rappaccini's Daughter." A great deal of Borges is already in those stories, these tales or parables or half-allegories—I do agree with both Knausgaard and Cowen that Borges's "Tlön," or maybe "The Aleph," must be the paradigm of the modern story—and a great deal of Kafka, Jackson, and O'Connor, too.

Honorable mention: I am not an expert on the 19th-century French, but "The Unknown Masterpiece" by Balzac is a new favorite, which I read for the first time just this year. A good tale in its own right, but to have anticipated, almost to the point of clairvoyance, the whole future course of art in one short story from the 1830s—!

Caveat: "Rappaccini's Daughter" has 3000 fewer words than The Dead; and "Benito Cereno" is double the length of "Rappaccini's Daughter." Why type some titles in italics and some in quotation marks? The distinction between novella and story must be qualitative rather than quantitative, with the distinction not quite only about death, since all three narratives at least include if they do not dwell upon swift cessations. "Rappaccini's Daughter" and "Benito Cereno" seem to me to be stories because they are about one thing, as opposed to The Dead, which, like The Scarlet Letter, is about several things—and as opposed, of course, to Moby-Dick and to Ulysses, which are, Aleph-wise, about absolutely everything ("[A]ny man unaccustomed to such sights, to have looked over her side that night, would have almost thought the whole round sea was one huge cheese, and those sharks the maggots in it"; "Cheese digests all but itself. Mity cheese"), and make everything as interesting as ever everything can be.

[nebulousfishgills]

I could just be a dumbass who came to this conclusion after everyone else did and I just don't realize it, but I was mindlessly drafting a one shot and the thought occured to me.

There's a lot of mystery around the Massacre of Hawkins Lab and Henry's past that I think we're all trying to piece together. Weird inconsistencies, time gaps, missing information, and the like. I don't really have a coherent way of saying this cleanly, so I'll just dump it out.

I'm pretty sure that there's a lot of us in the "The Mind Flayer Was Behind It All" camp, but we all end up looking like Pepe Silvia in "It's Always Sunny" because of those missing pieces we're trying to drag together. I'll probably sound the same way, but here we go.

What I think is part of what's going on is that the Creel House is just a location in Hawkins where the barrier between both worlds is extremely weak, like how some haunted locations are more prone to paranormal activity than others. One might argue that Hawkins Lab is another one of these weak spots, but I wanna focus on the Creel House.

The Mind Flayer had always existed as a shadow-y soup of chaos for god knows how many years and as we can see, it's what connects the Hivemind together. It's like Bluetooth, really.

It's an entity on its own and I think it's goal is to control all things, in the Upside-Down and in the Overworld. What I think happened was that it was looking for a vessel to get into the Overworld it's been locked out of. Henry comes along, already disillusioned and dissatisfied with society for probably several reasons that we can't yet confirm nor deny, yet are implied (is he gay, is he neurodivergent, both, who knows).

These things will probably reveal themselves in The First Shadow, one of many reasons it's going to be a very important piece of lore...

The First Shadow... Shadow... Shadow Monster... Mind Flayer.

The Shadow Monster started to invade Henry's mind, stoke his worries and hatred to eventually link itself with him. That's how Henry's powers developed. It's a tired parallel at this point, but it's easy. The Flayer is Emperor Palpatine, Henry is Anakin Skywalker (and El is Luke). "Join me and together we can rule the galaxy/world, here are cool powerups to boot."

Once Henry's taken to Hawkins Lab, he's separated from the weak barrier that his house was, but the Mind Flayer has still infected his mind.

"The particles went inside them" is what Murray said about the Demo-creatures in the Russian prison, and I think somehow the Mind Flayer got particles/its influence/Bluetooth into Henry. He's constantly simmering, just waiting for the day he can escape and take his revenge. Which is where the Massacre comes in.

I can't explain every weird detail or inconsistency, but I can explain two things:

-I don't remember who said it, but I completely agree with it: Henry's monologue makes so much more sense if we look at it like someone possessed by an ancient evil eldrich being.

-Henry *absorbs* his victims. Remember how in Season 3 the Meat Flayer *absorbed* residents in Hawkins to grow stronger? I think the Massacre started as Henry clearing a path so he and Eleven could escape, but eventually the Shadow overtook him, telling him to keep going, keep killing, get him/it stronger by absorbing everyone, all those kids with powers like his.

I think the same thing happened at dinner in 1959.

I don't know what Henry's beef with Alice was or why he killed her, and I don't think he knew either. I think the Shadow Monster clouded his mind and judgement so he would kill everyone unimpeeded. His mother went first, the sticking point. The Flayer promised Henry it would help him deal with her, but once he did that, it was essentially Doctor Faustus signing his soul to Mephistopheles (if you'll excuse the too-appropriate reference). Too much power comes at a price, and that price is Henry's autonomy.

Oh, the Mind Flayer lets Henry shape it into the spider-like creature he'd visualized oh so long ago to let him believe he's the one in control, but he's not. The Shadow keeps poisoning him, his mind. How else do you think Henry decayed so throroughly?

I expect if you were to banish the Mind Flayer from Henry like they did Will in season 2, everything would go back to normal. He'd be human again. Powerless, sure, but he's no longer a pawn with his distaste for humans exacerbated to the point of serial murder. It would take effort, but I think it's possible.

Show Henry that he was loved as a child. Victor loved him, Alice loved him, Virginia... tbd. Eleven showed him kindness in Hawkins Lab, that kindness she showed and those past memories might be the key to ending this...

Oh wait!

Boom.

[snovyda]

Important thread, to understand that "mysterious russian soul" and that "great russian culture". Spoiler: russian culture is and always has been murder, rape, torture and marauding. Everything else exists to either justify it or as an attempt to hide it, allowing more of this to happen.

Please note the dates - they were doing this way before putin came to power. And they are still doing all of these same things - because the rest of the world was tolerating and pretty much endorsing this for years and years. It's not a new thing in any way.

Warning: the thread contains some photos of dead bodies.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Since Cooking Companions and now Dread Weight pull from Slavic Mythology.

With their inclusion of the Baba Yaga.

I wondered if any of our new characters in Dread Weight carried any similarities.

Their is definitely something up with Kurt.

Why would the Baba Yaga want him specifically dead.

If it was just another mass murder like she's done before I wouldn't question it.

But it's made clear over and over that everyone else in the mansion would be spared if Kurt was handed over to her.

There's also the the spirits, Maximillion the Duck who says he'd love to leave but because Kurt won't allow him too.

I saw a comment on Superhorrorbro's playthrough of the demo that wondered if Kurt could be Koschei the deathless.

So I chose that as my starting point.

The first thing that pops out to me is the involvement of not only the Baba Yaga in this tale but a Prince called Ivan.

Ivan being the name of the person Potato mentions at the beginning of the game.

"We need to repay him for Ivan."

The him being presumably Kurt.

There's also the note which reads:

Dearest (the name is smudged out)

I know your still upset about Ivan.

I'm asking the impossible, but please forgive me and let's end this madness.

We're different. To lose track of time.

To let feuds rot inside of us, undying, while the rest of the world moves on.

This isn't healthy. It took me ages to unlearn this.

I am asking you, PLEASE let this one die.

- Sincerely,

-(the name is illegible)"

So there's a mysterious person called Ivan, something happened to him that we want repayment for.

We're upset about what happened and someone is telling us to forgive them.

And we know this person is Kurt.

Because it's his mansion the Baba Yaga ends up attacking.

The story of Koschei the Deathless comes from a Russian fairytale in which Koshei, an immortal man who had a habit of kidnapping young girls.

He's known as the Deathless because he stores his soul inside of a needle which in turn is stored into an egg.

Which fair, some people store their soul in an animatronic suite and than upload their digital consciousness into it's circuit boards.

And divide that into several tapes several tapes.

You do you.

Though the egg is stored inside of a duck.

And wouldn't you know it, Kurt keeps a duck around in the mansion.

And being the container of his immortal soul sounds like one hell of a reason as to why Maximillion isn't allowed to leave the place.

Though in the story it's a lot more complicated with duck being hidden inside of a hare, who's in turn inside a chest which is buried under a tree etc.

But it could be why a duck and a rabbit are specifically the animals in the mansion.

Much like how Baba Yaga in Slavic Mythology has a cabin on chicken legs.

And under the floor boards of the cabin you can find chicken bones.

It's said if the egg was destroyed the duck would fly free, which is what Maximillion wants.

The story of Koschei the deathless tells the tale of a Prince called Ivan who stumbles upon a fuck ton of bodies, from Koschei's army in the woods.

Finding out Koschei himself had been captured by the warrior queen Maria Moreenva.

Who Ivan later meets, falls in love with and marries. Though when it came for the warrior queen to go to war she showed Ivan a door to a locked closet and warned him not to open it.

Im sure we can all guess what comes next.

Inside the closet is an old man, chained and begging for water.

Feeling pity for the old man, Ivan gives him water and to no ones suprise the man turns out to be Koschei.

Now having regained his strength from the water, he breaks his chains and kidnaps Ivan.

👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 Way to go smart guy.

His wife finds out and after probably giving the worlds biggest face-palm goes to recur her husband.

However, Koschei was prepared for this and ambushed her, cutting her into pieces.

But it's all good!

Apparently she had 3 shape-shifting brothers who came to her aid as a falcon, a Raven and an eagle. Sprinkling some good ol life water on her, Queen Maria was back.

Knowing Koschei was too fast to catch up too, she went to person who had the fastest horse.

The Baba Yaga.

Who gave her a sickly looking horse but the more Maria rode it it became stronger. And she eventually caught up to Koschei.

Maria nabbed her hubby back and took off with Koschei following her.

Until Koschei's horse hit a rock, Koschei fell off and Maria used the opportunity to impale and set him on fire.

Queen Maria, do not fuck with her.

And they live happily ever after.

Moral of the story, listen to your wife.

Although with all myths their are different iterations.

And this is no exception.

One that caught my eye was one in which instead of kidnapping Ivan, Koschei decides to get revenge on his captor Queen Maria.

With Ivan the one who goes on a mission to rescue her.

He escapes with her twice but is overcome by Koschei on his much faster horse.

Ivan tries to fight against him but the other is far too powerful, resulting in Ivan being cut down, put in a barrel and set out to sea.

However, Ivan is able to cheat death with the aid of his sisters who had all married powerful sorcerers.

They located him, Ivan managed to get Baba Yaga's horse. And defeated him.

Some with him impalong him, others have him dying by the horse kicking him in the head.

Before he's properly burned.

.

And so I wonder if in Dread Weight, we have a case where Ivan wasn't or couldn't be revived.

It definitely seems like he is dead in the game.

And Kurt, if he is Koschei and the one to kill him than much like what happens to the Baba Yaga, he begins to grow soft.

He starts to feel remorse for his actions.

He writes a note and asks for forgiveness, that they are both immortal and cannot spend their lives like this.

Kurt being Koschei explains why despite being immortal and having his whole soul in a needle, egg, duck etc why he is afraid of the Baba Yaga.

Because if there's one thing Koschei despises it is the idea of his own death and he knows if anyone can kill him it's the Baba Yaga.

Even without her having his soul.

... Though that is definitely something to worry about.

Though there's definitely not enough evidence for this I think it's a cool idea.

Because Koschei or not there's definitely something up with Kurt.

.

.

The info for this for anyone curious came from the video the Death of Koschei the Deathless on The Folktale Project's YouTube channel,

And the video Koschei the Deathless | Russia's evil sorcerer from the YouTube channel Mythology Unleashed.

@blindinlatin

[welikeclownsinthishouse]

Entry number 16 for @ailesswhumptober

Day 16: amputation/lab rat

He got brought back out earlier than he hoped he would but he knew he would be fine in the end. He could deal with another weird injection, could deal with another mystery illness.

When he got wheeled into the familiar room however he realized with dread that there were no needles this time. The only things lying on the small table he got placed next to were a scalpel and a small saw.

Ben's eyes widened in fear when he realized what they were planning to do and he tried to open his mouth, to yell or even plead but the muzzle wouldn't let him.

He could do nothing but watch as one of the Russians switched on a light that had never been on before and the sudden harsh, fluorescent lights overhead cast an eerie glow on the not so sterile surroundings. He could feel the cold, unforgiving metal of the table beneath him and a shiver ran over him.

The room was filled with the low chatter of the people doing this to him and Ben wished he could understand them. His gaze was fixed on the Russian holding the saw though, his face was obscured by a mask like it usually was.

He clenched his teeth as the surgeon's scalpel made its first incision on his upper arm, right where they usually stuck the needles. The pain was excruciating, an intense burning sensation that seemed to sear through his very soul. His muscles tensed and he struggled to suppress a scream, his nails digging into the edges of the metal table he was lying on.

With each deliberate cut, he felt another wave of pain needling through his whole being, a pain he had never felt before. The room seemed to start spinning, and his vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to blink them away but another deliberate cut made that impossible so he just tried to think about something else, anything that might help.

For a few minutes, he was able to distract himself with thoughts of his old team until he heard metal on metal at least. He glanced in the direction of the noise and felt another bout of dread when he saw that the guy had put away the scalpel only to grab the saw Ben had seen earlier.

Only seconds later he felt the bone saw's harsh grinding, heard the way his bone got split in two. The sickening thud as his arm finally fell into a metal tray would be etched into his memory forever.

He didn't really notice the scientists getting rid of the saw, didn't see what they did to his arm but he did notice that they didn't wheel him out. They just sat on chairs, surrounding him and keeping their eyes on him.

The dull pain in his arm and his face stayed with him as he cast a glance around the room, trying very hard not to look at the place his arm should be in.

He noticed his eyes grow heavy not long after and fought hard with himself not to fall asleep, he didn't want to miss anything they might do. The exhaustion of the day won out however and he fell into a restless sleep.

As he woke up, presumably only hours later considering each of the scientists that were with him previously were still there, still talking amongst each other, he could feel a deep throbbing pain in his shoulder.

As his eyes focused the pain intensified, and he grit his teeth, trying to stop himself from trying to scream; his mouth was already sore and bloody from trying to before and the muzzle was still there. It felt as if a thousand needles were being driven into his shoulder, and he couldn't even do anything to escape the agony.

As the minutes passed, he noticed something strange, a tingling sensation in the remnants of his arm, and he watched in a weird mix of horror and awe as tiny buds began to form. It was like watching a gruesome, yet fascinating, miracle unfold before his eyes, but the pain didn't let up; it only got worse as the new tissue grew and stretched.

He clenched his fist and sweat started pouring down his face as he stared at the new limb growing out of his shoulder. The regeneration process is incredible, but all he can think about is how excruciatingly painful it is. He longed for the sweet relief of anesthesia, or death he wasn't picky, but he knew neither would be granted to him.

When his arm was finally fully grown, the skin still looking pink and disgustingly raw, he finally looked back at the Russians still in the room. His stomach dropped at the sheer and open excitement on their faces, all of them talking over each other in a language Ben couldn't understand.

When one of them stood up he hoped they would bring him back to his chamber finally but said hope was squashed when the guy picked up the scalpel, pointing it at his leg.

Ben really hoped he wouldn't wake up the next time he fell asleep but he knew deep down that he wasn't that lucky. He had never been lucky.

[caffeinated-wandrer]

Winter nights, I usually steer clear of bars, but last night was different. Loneliness was biting at me, and my four walls were no refuge. So, I dragged my solitude out for a drink.

The barmaid was all smiles – a splash of cheer in the dreary evening. I ordered a beer and some snacks; she suggested chips with a bunch of sauces. Didn't really want the damn potatoes, but her smile was too bright to say no to.

Then this woman walks in, straight up orders vodka. 'Russian,' I tell myself, 'gotta be.' These days, who else knocks back vodka like water? She's looking around, our eyes meet, and she shoots me a grin.

I take the bait, sidle over for a chat. What's the worst that could happen, right? Well, as the night wore on, I found out. I found out all too well.

So there I am, trading words with this vodka-sipping mystery. She’s got this accent, thick and rich, like something out of a Cold War flick. We’re talking, laughing, the whole bar scene just fades away. It’s like we’re in our own little snow globe, except with booze and bar lights.

She tells me about her life – sounds like a damn novel. Moscow, Saint Petersburg, tales of icy streets and hearts. I’m just nodding and sipping, caught up in the ride. Then she asks about me, and I spill it – the loneliness, the dreary apartment, the whole sad song.

Closing time sneaks up on us. We’re the last souls clinging to the bar. She suggests another place, but hell, I’ve already danced too close to the fire. I’m thinking about my bed, my hangover waiting to pounce.

We part ways outside. Snow’s falling, soft and quiet, like it’s trying to cover up our little misadventure. I trudge home, the night’s chill sinking deep. That’s when I realize – I never even got her name. Just another night, another story, in the great, grimy book of life.

[romanovsonelastdance]

Fun question. Say if all five survived. Who would YOU see married to the Romanov kids? (Including Saint Alexei, if he survived past the disease he have.)

Hmm, well, Olga wanted to "remain Russian," but being the eldest daughter I think there would still be pressure on her for an equal marriage. Dmitri Pavlovich would be off the table after the Rasputin stuff, obviously. So she might have ended up with perhaps Prince Konstantin Konstantinovich, who apparently fancied her.  Another option might be Roman Petrovich. These two are 'only' princes, but they are Romanovs, and she could stay Russian. She'd basically be doing what Xenia did with Sandro, or Olga Alexandrovna's first marriage to Peter of Oldenburg. Also . . . Olga and Vladimir Paley is an interesting idea. He's morganatic so that might be a problem, but he was a thinker and a poet, like her. They could be an interesting match! 

Another option was Prince Christopher of Greece; according to Agnes de Stoeckl, who was a lady-in-waiting of Christopher’s sister Maria Georgievna, he once expressed interest in marrying Olga and went so far as to ask Nicholas about it, who gently turned him down saying Olga was too young. But he was about as “Russian” as a foreign prince could be, having been born at Pavlovsk, speaking the language fluently, and his mother Olga Konstantinovna thought he had inherited a ‘Russian soul’ from her.  I'm torn with Tatiana, because on the one hand she's the most devoted to Alix, so she might want to marry someone in Russia so she could remain with Alix, sort of like Helena and Beatrice did with Queen Victoria. But on the other hand . . . she was clearly the most natural born queen among the girls, and her talents might be wasted if she weren't on a throne somewhere. The most lofty would be David, that is the future Edward VIII/Duke of Windsor. Allegedly he preferred her after their meeting at Cowes. But that would require her changing her religion and perhaps even her name (and I don't think he'd make a good husband), so Alexander of Serbia/Yugoslavia or George II of the Hellenes (Greece) might be a better option. I feel like Maria is the most likely to follow in Olga Alexandrovna's footsteps and marry an officer rather than a prince. I also feel like there would be generally less pressure on the younger daughters to make 'good' matches. I don't think running away with some random soldier she met at the hospital would ever, ever fly, but the officers of the fancy Petersburg regiments were generally well educated and from good, noble and/or military families, and it was pretty clear that Maria had little interest in some grand marriage to a foreign prince. Carol, of course, was a serious contender as her preferred her to Olga, but he was an absolutely terrible husband so I think she'd be much happier with an OA/Kulikovsky type scenario. But I could also see her, like with Olga, marrying a minor relative--after all, most of the Romanov men had military careers, so she could get her ‘soldier’ that way, too!  Anastasia is the biggest mystery to me! I could see her never marrying and remaining the fun, quirky aunt, or surprising everyone by becoming a queen despite being the youngest. The Danish crown prince was about her age, and according to gossip Queen Alexandrine (who had a Romanov mother herself) was hoping for one of the Little Pair for her son. She might fit right in with the fun-loving Danes, and I'm sure Maria Feodorovna would be delighted to see one of her granddaughters marrying back into the Danish family. With Alexei, I tend to think one of the daughters of Elena Vladimirovna would just make a TON of sense. Ileana is an option too, but she's several years younger than him so he would have to wait for her to grow up. She also didn't really have any experience with Russia at all; in contrast, Olga (1903), Elizabeth (1904) and Marina (1906) spent time in Russia every year up until 1914 visiting their Russian relatives so they would be much more familiar with the culture and customs and know more people than Ileana would. It would also be an almost 'Romeo and Juliet' scenario in that the girls were from the Vladimirovichi branch of the family; Alexei marrying one of them would unite the two rival branches, and maybe the Vladimirs would chill out seeing one of their own married to the Heir.