#vasili mass

[prettyprince00]

The Spider (1992, dir. Vasili Mass)

[wetgeliscasualinterval]

Zirneklis (The Spider) - 1991 - dir. Vasili Mass.

[quotesfrommyreading]

In the terrible winter of 1932–33, brigades of Communist Party activists went house to house in the Ukrainian countryside, looking for food. The brigades were from Moscow, Kyiv, and Kharkiv, as well as villages down the road. They dug up gardens, broke open walls, and used long rods to poke up chimneys, searching for hidden grain. They watched for smoke coming from chimneys, because that might mean a family had hidden flour and was baking bread. They led away farm animals and confiscated tomato seedlings. After they left, Ukrainian peasants, deprived of food, ate rats, frogs, and boiled grass. They gnawed on tree bark and leather. Many resorted to cannibalism to stay alive. Some 4 million died of starvation.

At the time, the activists felt no guilt. Soviet propaganda had repeatedly told them that supposedly wealthy peasants, whom they called kulaks, were saboteurs and enemies—rich, stubborn landowners who were preventing the Soviet proletariat from achieving the utopia that its leaders had promised. The kulaks should be swept away, crushed like parasites or flies. Their food should be given to the workers in the cities, who deserved it more than they did. Years later, the Ukrainian-born Soviet defector Viktor Kravchenko wrote about what it was like to be part of one of those brigades. “To spare yourself mental agony you veil unpleasant truths from view by half-closing your eyes—and your mind,” he explained. “You make panicky excuses and shrug off knowledge with words like exaggeration and hysteria.”

He also described how political jargon and euphemisms helped camouflage the reality of what they were doing. His team spoke of the “peasant front” and the “kulak menace,” “village socialism” and “class resistance,” to avoid giving humanity to the people whose food they were stealing. Lev Kopelev, another Soviet writer who as a young man had served in an activist brigade in the countryside (later he spent years in the Gulag), had very similar reflections. He too had found that clichés and ideological language helped him hide what he was doing, even from himself:

I persuaded myself, explained to myself. I mustn’t give in to debilitating pity. We were realizing historical necessity. We were performing our revolutionary duty. We were obtaining grain for the socialist fatherland. For the five-year plan.

There was no need to feel sympathy for the peasants. They did not deserve to exist. Their rural riches would soon be the property of all.

But the kulaks were not rich; they were starving. The countryside was not wealthy; it was a wasteland. This is how Kravchenko described it in his memoirs, written many years later:

Large quantities of implements and machinery, which had once been cared for like so many jewels by their private owners, now lay scattered under the open skies, dirty, rusting and out of repair. Emaciated cows and horses, crusted with manure, wandered through the yard. Chickens, geese and ducks were digging in flocks in the unthreshed grain.

That reality, a reality he had seen with his own eyes, was strong enough to remain in his memory. But at the time he experienced it, he was able to convince himself of the opposite. Vasily Grossman, another Soviet writer, gives these words to a character in his novel Everything Flows:

I’m no longer under a spell, I can see now that the kulaks were human beings. But why was my heart so frozen at the time? When such terrible things were being done, when such suffering was going on all around me? And the truth is that I truly didn’t think of them as human beings. “They’re not human beings, they’re kulak trash”—that’s what I heard again and again, that’s what everyone kept repeating.

  —  Ukraine and the Words That Lead to Mass Murder

[vincekris]

Zirneklis (Spider) - Vasili Mass - 1992

[undiscovered-horizon]

In Emerald Hearts, Emerald Minds - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of unwanted advances + suggested groping + suggestive/sexual (consensual) themes]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

SUMMARY: When Vasily asks you to forget his half-brother and marry him instead, you escape the Little Palace along Alina. Nikolai realizes something strange is going on when Kaz mentions seeing a similar emerald ring on the woman that came with the Sun Summoner. With how much you and Nikolai have been running in circles to find each other, the reunion aboard Volkvolny feels almost fated.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.6k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

It feels like the Winter Fete has been going on forever. The champagne keeps on being poured, the guests keep on dancing and the circus acts just keep on performing as though tomorrow is a mere mirage, a concept of a certain time period that never actually comes. Inside those walls of gold and marble, the misery devouring all of Ravka seems like nothing beyond a mad nightmare - something so removed from reality, it’s hilarious in its ridiculousness. Everyone is so carefree and happy you almost take their joy as your own.

Almost.

The orchestra begins playing Waltz of the Flowers and you feel your throat tighten. Despite doing your best not to, your mind relives that fateful night when everything changed. For the longest time, you’d been claiming that the change was for the better but now, standing alone for another year in a row and watching the dashing aristocrats spin to the music, you’re not so sure anymore.

“You really need to stop doing this,” Nikolai says firmly. Although his tone is decisive and clearly unwilling to accept defiance, a pronounced hint of amusement lives between his words - a thread of light-heartedness, one might say.

Your eyebrows gently furrow. “Doing what?”

“Smiling at me like that. Any longer and I might ask you to marry me.”

It feels like you’re about to burst at the seams. Trying to contain your emotions, and failing at it quite horribly, you bite your lower lip. “I might say yes.”

“Where have you gone, Kolya?” you whisper under your breath. The gloss of vacancy covering your eyes blurs the dancing bodies into one mass of faceless strangers. But it also makes you not notice someone approaching you.

“I find it quite admirable.”

Vasily’s voice startles you. To your now-gone relief, you didn’t have the displeasure of running into him all evening - until now. If you were to list all of the things about the older Lantsov son that makes your skin crawl, you’d be done by the time another Winter Fete is organized. The top of the list, however, deserves to be mentioned as it’s an inseparable part of your every interaction with the prince: he’s quite adamant and crude in his desire to be more than just a future brother-in-law to you.

“Excuse me?” you stutter out.

That patronizing look on his face is now accompanied by a cocky half-grin as he realizes he caught you off-guard. “Your devotion to my brother. For all we know, he might be already dead, Saints’ protect him.”

“Don’t even say that!” you hiss at him. Right after, you look around to check whether one of the guests has noticed your unpleasant exchange.

Despite what you’ve just said, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can be sure that your Kolya is either dead or alive. Perhaps this is the detail further ripping your heart apart - you don’t know anything about his fate; you’re mourning, although you’re yet to see the coffin. You haven’t for a few years now and each passing month of silence only made court gossip more cruel and bold.

“All I’m saying, dearest,” Vasily begins quietly as his hand drags along your arm, “is that the moment the news of Nikolai’s death reaches the Grand Palace, you’ll be thrown out. On the other hand, I can make you the Queen of Ravka. And unlike my brother, I won’t disappear off the face of the Earth and forget about his beloved lady.”

The word of endearment is dripping with sarcasm as it leaves his chapped lips. His breath reeks of alcohol and you unknowingly turn your head away. Vasily seems to think you’re about to leave his side, so his hand tightly grips your arm. The hold is almost bruising. He yanks you even closer towards himself.

“Kolya hasn’t forgotten about me,” you say in a shaky voice. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he appears and Vasily is genuinely trying to break you down.

The prince studies your face for a moment, definitely noticing how shaken you are. His eyes have the strangest glint to them - something between desire and contempt. “Is that so?” he barely stifles a grim laugh. “He would have written you a letter if that were true, no?”

Tears sting your eyes. Vasily is certainly smarter, or at least more cruel, than he lets on. He knows exactly what to say to get into your head. It’s a startling difference between him and Nikolai - only one of them does what he can to keep a smile on your face. Well, did.

His dirty, rough hand grabs your chin. Vasily forces you to look at him, his smile wavers upon noticing your desperation. “Consider your options, зайка,” he purrs out. The prince’s other hand trails your face. “The choice is yours.”

A tear falls down your cheek. You feel it rolling across your skin and you silently hope the guests surrounding you are watching this scene. Then, you lean in even closer to Vasily’s face. The whisper leaves your lips like a viper’s venomous hiss: "I will marry you the day you lay his dead body at my feet."

To your surprise, Vasily drops his hands and takes a step back. Despite the self-assured smile on his face, you can see the fury inside his eyes. “As you wish.” He bows curtly, turns on his heel and marches away, undoubtedly looking for another glass of alcohol and a lady naive enough to warm his bed.

The palace suddenly feels stuffy and overcrowded; the music is too loud, the plethora of smells make your head spin.

Outside. You need to get outside.

Bumping into several guests and mumbling half-coherent apologies, you run through the halls of the Little Palace. When the cold, night air hits your flushed cheeks, only then do you stop. Taking in a deep breath, you can actually feel your thoughts becoming clearer. 

With each gust of freezing wind, all the anger and sadness is leaving your shaking body. Vasily just wanted to get a rise out of you and, as much as you don’t want to admit it, he succeeded. Unlike he claims, Nikolai surely is alive. Maybe bruised or sick or not sleeping well but as long as there’s no news about him being dead, he is as alive as one can be. The same starry sky hangs above your and his heads. Perhaps, in this small moment of longing, he’s thinking about you too. Wherever he is.

A tired sigh leaves your lips. You’re about to turn around and go back inside when a silhouette moving in the night catches your attention. The shape is swift although careful like a lizard approaching a fly. You see them looking around before running for another few meters only to hide behind a bush or piece of architecture.

Curious and a little scared, you follow the stranger towards one of the carriages. Quietly, you get close enough to grab their wrist. The shape lets out a gasp and turns around to look at you.

“Alina?!” you whisper. What in Saints’ mercy is she doing? You look at her warm, casual clothes and the bag on her back. “Are you running away?”

“I need to leave,” she answers equally quietly. Her voice as well as her stare is filled with certainty - she’s convinced beyond reasonable doubt this is the right thing to do. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

You let go of her hand. “Stop you?” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m coming with you.”

“What?” she deadpans. Alina is staring at you with a vacant stare and her mouth slightly agape. Apparently exchanging royal comforts for hay and stolen apples is unthinkable.

“If I have to spend one more day around Vasily, I will murder someone.”

Alina slowly nods her head - she can definitely understand the sentiment. A dimwitted Fjerdan would have more charm than the older prince. But then she squints her eyes, looking at you with a sense of scepticism.

“Out there, there won’t be warm beds and three-course dinners, you know?”

“I know,” you answer with a careless shrug. Loitering and wandering isn’t for ladies of your sort, it’s like throwing a finless fish into a tank with sharks. Despite that, you’re quite convinced the means justify the end, at least in this scenario. “But out there is my Kolya. And I’m done politely waiting for him.”

A shadow of sadness covers her face. If there’s anyone who can understand your plight, it’s her. In fact, she is luckier than you - she saw her lover maybe an hour ago. Pleasant or unpleasant, the meeting confirmed to her that Mal is at least alive. It’s not a privilege you could afford.

“Then let’s go,” she says to you before opening the chest in the back of the carriage. Forgetting all of your etiquette and social standing, you climb into the compartment with her. Towards adventure or death, you’re going somewhere.

“The ring gave you away,” Kaz announces. “It’s too expensive for a bodyguard.”

Jesper knits his eyebrows together, suddenly remembering something. He leans towards Kaz but speaks a little too loudly for the question to be inconspicuous: “Didn’t that girl wear the same-”

When Kaz’s cold glare meets Jesper’s squinted eyes, the dark-skinned man immediately closes his mouth halfway through the question. Both of them sit back as they were but the cat is already out of the bag. Well, not entirely - half of it is peeking out of the metaphorical sack.

Nikolai looks between them with unmissable suspicion. Although he’s heard enough to be aware of the possibility that the Sun Summoner isn’t travelling by herself, this is the first time either of the Crows admits it.

His heart begins to beat slightly quicker: Alina run away from the Little Palace along with another woman and that lady was wearing a royal jewel at the time. As long as Vasily didn’t lose his signet on one of his distasteful escapades, the course of events points to only one person - you. Shoving his restless excitement into the deepest chasms of his heart, Nikolai manages to remain his composure:

“Who was wearing that ring?” The prince-turned-privateer unknowingly fiddles with the heavy jewellery on his finger. Noticing the Crows’ reluctance, he makes them an offer: “If you tell me who you saw wearing an emerald ring, I might, say, give you ten minutes to escape.” Nikolai vaguely gestures to the closed window on his right-hand side.

Kaz knows there’s no point in lying any longer. The man in front of him is not only well-informed but also smarter than he looks, making the Crow wonder whether he also knows the answer to this question but prefers to play some kind of a game. In any event, he’s done his part of the deal and his ex-accomplices are left to their own devices. Additionally, he could really use those ten minutes. “A young woman that accompanied Alina Starkov. High-born, confident, decisive. Not a Grisha as far as I know.”

“Not a Lantsov, obviously,” Jesper chips in.

Brekker’s keen eyes catch the barely noticeable change in Sturmhond’s expression - the corner of his mouth merely stuttered up and down but it is enough to tell Kaz as much as he needs:

“You know her.”

Know her? If Nikolai had a weaker grip on his emotions at the moment, he’d laugh until his stomach and diaphragm hurt and then he’ll burst with laughter once more, unspeakably joyous that he might get to see her sooner than he thought. Yes, he does know her but in the way heart knows blood and lungs know air. She’s the ligament that keeps his bones together, the fibres that construct his muscles, the very blood that runs in his veins. Does the Moon simply know the stars? Do trees know their roots and branches?

But for now, he needs to stay focused. 

“Not really,” Sturmhond answers while scrunching his nose. “Many aristocrats wear a ring like that. While I may know of a lot of them, I hardly know anything about them.”

Kaz fights back a mocking half-grin begging to twist his thin lips. “I’d argue that an emerald in Ravka is a rather rare gem.”

“Hers is probably genuine. Mine’s stolen.”

Silence falls between the three men. Nikolai and Kaz are staring each other down, battling in some kind of war of wits and nerves, waiting for the other to give in. Jesper is stealing glances at both of them, feeling the cold tension rise in the air.

Against his deep-seated desire, Kaz doesn’t inquire further about the emeralds or the strange coincidence that the two enigmatic characters wearing them might know each other. He sits back in the chair, his shoulders visibly drop. As much as he’d love to dig deeper, he’d much rather get out of here and reclaim his freedom that is now endangered.

“Well, gentlemen,” Nikolai begins in an upbeat tone, “your ten minutes start now.”

Without saying anything else, he leaves the room. Only then, when the dark, wooden door close behind him, does he let suppressed emotions wash over him. A quiet chuckle brushes past his lips and for a moment even tears sting his eyes. Delight, worry, relief - conflicting sensations merge into one, completely overpowering flame burning inside his chest.

Maybe he doesn’t have the Sun Summoner and he still needs to come up with a plan to catch her but Nikolai hasn’t been this happy for a while now: his солиышко is alright, still making the world brighter and warmer. If he can get to Alina Starkov, he might see her again, although he begins to wonder whether she wishes to see him after all those years of silence and ignorance. But if he can see her, just witness the marvel of her entire being even for one last second, he’ll be cured of the longing and loneliness that has been gnawing at him ever since he left Os Alta.

You’re following the Shu man to what you assume is his captain’s cuddy. The ship creeks and groans under the weight of the crew as well as the power of the waves. The bussing crewmen spare the three of you a glance, only to show disinterest and go back to their duties. It’s a nice change compared to the kerchen ship you travelled on to Novyi Zem, where the captain asked Alina and you to stay under the deck because of the sailors’ superstition. After getting off the ship, it took you a good week to wash out the reek of cured cod from your clothes and hair. Sometimes you still felt like you can smell it in the air, even in the dusty wind sweeping through Novyi Zem.

Your ‘guide’ pushes the door and they swing open with a creak, the list of the ship aiding the motion. Except for the squeaky hinges, probably rusting faster than anyone can manage, Volkvolny is in good shape. In fact, it looks brand new - no mould or woodworms.

“Captain, request for charter,” the stocky stranger announces with a hint of amusement or excitement in his voice. Despite his imposing visage, the Shu man has made a good impression on you but the long sword on his back kept you vigilant against getting too comfortable in his company.

Only when he moves to the side, presenting the three of you to his captain, do you see the face of the infamous Sturmhond.

You want to laugh. In fact, you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from bursting out with laughter. This situation feels like the strangest coincidence that you can think of, which in turn makes you suspect that it’s not a coincidence at all. Because what are the odds?

Nikolai’s face momentarily brightens up when he recognizes you, a new glint lights up his eyes. He looks different than you remember but in all the right ways: his shoulders look broader and his hair is longer, curling in a way that makes him appear more infantile. You remembered him as a handsome man but the Nikolai in front of you is beautiful enough to be considered unreal.

He's staring into you like a deer caught in headlights until Tolya hands him Alina’s unusual means of payment. As Nikolai is turning the piece of jewellery in his fingers, you notice another change: his hands look rougher, definitely scarred from all the adventures you hope you’re yet to hear about.

The blond prince turns his attention back to Alina, Mal and you. “A gold hairpin can get you anywhere. But an emerald ring?” He gestures to you. “It can get you everywhere.”

“It’s not for sale,” you answer, although you know he’s not trying to buy it. After all, he’s the one that gave it to you.

“I don’t want it.” Nikolai shakes his head. Then, a flirty smile appears on his face. “Looks better on you anyway, doll.”

You’re about to respond to his remark when his attention is once again placed on Alina. “Now, Tolya says you’re looking for a charter. Where are we sailing?”

Alina begins the story with ‘the creation of the world’ as your mother used to say: the Little Palace, Darkling, Morozova’s amplifiers and the Fold. Nikolai nods along, never giving away that he’s privy to most of the story. He doesn’t believe in the Sea Whip at first but that’s hardly his fault - not too long ago people wouldn’t believe in the existence of the Sun Summoner and now she’s standing beside you, nervously rubbing her hand. As you have expected from the moment you saw that Nikolai is Sturmhond, he agrees to the insanity of taking up the quest to catch the amplifier.

“Tolya will show you around.” He sends you off. You’re about to follow your friends out of the cuddy when he adds: “You, emerald lady, I’d like to talk to in private.”

Alina gives you a concerned look (‘blink twice if you need help’)  but you only smile and nod at her in response. With Mal tugging at her arm, she reluctantly leaves you and Sturmhond alone.

The moment the door closes behind Tolya and your friends, Nikolai runs around his desk towards you, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. His hand threads through your hair, pushing your head further into the crook of his neck. Even if you tried, there’s no way you can pull away or even move. Taking a deep breath, you smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne but now it’s mixed with the scent of resin, saltwater and seaweed.

Then he pulls away, looking you up and down with burning worry. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”

You swear he could be bleeding out on the floor and still he’d be apologizing for staining your clothes. It’s heartwarming that despite the years and evident change in his appearance, Kolya is still Kolya.

A wide smile enters your face. “Looking for a frisky sailor to take me on a voyage filled with indecency, obviously.”

“Well, here he is.” Nikolai points to himself and winks at you. “And he’d really like to know why you’re in Novyi Zem with the Sun Summoner and whats-his-face and not in the Grand Palace in Os Alta.”

You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head gently. “I grew tired, Kolya.” His eyebrows slant upon hearing the exhaustion in your voice. Despite the sheer happiness he feels when you say his name, the concern gnawing at his heart seems to be more powerful. “Years have gone by without you giving me even the tiniest sign that you’re alive and well. And your brother, Saint’s have mercy on him because I won’t, has been adamant about marrying me ever since you left. I told him I will accept his proposal the day he lays your dead body before me.” You make pause, noticing a strange shadow hanging over Nikolai’s face. But he’s not saying anything for a moment, so you finish what you wanted to say: “I had to get away from it all. There’s only so much uncertainty and intruding fingers a lady can take.”

“By the Saints,” he breathes out, “did Vasily lay a hand on you?”

You feel his grip around you tighten but it’s not painful, rather securing. “If you’re asking whether he hit me or forced himself on me, then no, he did not. He did, however, make it abundantly clear what he wants from me. On multiple occasions.”

Nikolai’s face twists in a scowl. The glint that lit up his eyes when he saw you is now gone, exchanged for something dark and unstable. “I’m so sorry, if I knew-”

“I know, love,” you interrupt him. He doesn’t need to announce the ends he’d go to in order to ensure you’re safe and comfortable. Nikolai has never said or done so but you’re fairly convinced he wouldn’t shy away from fistfighting Vasily if he said something less-than-savoury to you. “But neither of us could have known.”

“I promised you’d be safe in Os Alta.”

“And I promised to stay put.” You can’t keep laughter in any longer. You’re not quite sure whether your chuckle is born out of happiness or disbelief. “Now look at us.”

Suddenly, he knits his eyebrows close. At first, you think he’s confused but then the slight rise of his cheeks suggests something closer to contempt or disgust. "Would you actually marry Vasily if he gave you my dead body?"

You can only give him an indifferent shrug. "Maybe?” you ponder aloud. “If you were dead, I would lose all care about what happens to me or with me. In a way, I’d be dead too."

Nikolai takes one of your hands and kisses its fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips against your skin. “I could never rest in peace knowing how he’s treating you.”

“Having you haunt me would be incomparably better than you just being gone. Everything is better than silence.”

His shoulders slouch. Nikolai looks away from you for a moment, admiring the floor in his cuddy but even this can’t hide his guilt and shame. “I couldn’t have just popped in for a visit. Not anywhere in Ravka.”

"You couldn't even have written me a letter?"

"Someone at the palace would recognize my handwriting. I couldn't risk it."

"Then you could have dictated the letter to one of your crew."

That self-assured, flirty smirk appears again on his face. "And scandalize my crewmen with the things I want to tell you?”

As much as you’ve dearly missed his insufferable humour, at the moment it’s making your skin crawl. “This is a serious conversation, Nikolai,” you state firmly.

“I am serious, солиышко.” The pet name rolls off his tongue with both weight and lightness as though it belongs exclusively to you and no one else can ever claim it as their own. He kisses your hand again but keeps it against his lips for a while longer. Then, he places your fingers on his chest and you can feel the soft thrumming of his heart. “Do you think I never thought about writing to you? That I didn’t stay up at night thinking about what I will tell you when we meet again? Countless letters I have begun only to tear them apart and throw them into the sea or burn them. If some people found out we know each other, you’d be in much greater danger than Darkling following your steps. I’d rather deal with the heartbreak of staying away from you than know I put you in danger because I can’t live without you.”

It brings you a grim sense of comfort that he’s been equally torn as you were over the lack of contact. You never thought about it before but Nikolai must have been worried sick, not knowing whether you’re alright and happy. Has he imagined your plight and misery as often as you did his?

“What did you write in those letters?” you ask in a shaky voice.

“I wrote about how much I miss you, how it physically hurts to consider that you might think I have abandoned you. When I was hungry, cold, tired or sick, only the memories of you made me push on. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare at the sky above me and wonder whether you’re looking at the same stars. I wrote that wherever I go, I see your face. You are in every sunrise and sunset, every flower I see and every fire that warms me.” Nikolai lets go of your fingers, placing both of his hands on either side of your face. The softness in his eyes makes you swoon. “I only wrote the truth,” he says slowly, making sure you understand the weight of his words.

Swallowing back tears, you lean into his warm touch. “My beloved, my heart yearns for you?” you jest in a dramatic voice.

A playful smile creeps back unto his lips. “If only my heart.”

“Gross.”

“You wanted a frisky sailor.”

"You’re a pirate, not a sailor.”

"I’m a privateer,” he drones out the word as though it makes a world of a difference.

"Pirate sounds sexier."

Nikolai gives you a fake frown. “Oh, I definitely am a pirate."

Without thinking twice, he’s kissing you. The sensation is just as comforting as you remember. His soft lips are doting on you, growing needier with each peck as though this is some feverish attempt at making up the lost time. 

He pulls away to catch his breath and although you’re panting yourself, you unknowingly chase after him, unwilling to dismiss this carnal desire just yet. Nikolai seems to notice your eagerness - he flashes you a cocky grin and shortly pecks your lips again.

“You crossed Ravka, the Fold and the sea just to find me?” he whispers. His eyes are stuck to your wet, swollen mouth.

“And I’d do it a hundred more times if I had to.”

You exchange a few more hungry kisses, pecking and nipping at each other’s lips, before Nikolai continues the conversation:

“I want to say that I’m flattered but I’d rather not encourage you to do something this stupid and dangerous ever again.”

“Hate to break it to you but you took all the stupid with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours; hot, laboured breaths brush against your flushed cheeks. “I’d like to clarify that I’m not stupid, I just can’t seem to think about anything other than you.”

Nikolai wraps his arms around your waist. In a swift motion, he turns you around and pushes you against the edge of his desk. His strength surprises you when Nikolai effortlessly lifts you and places you atop the table, pushing off maps and navigation essentials. Firm, warm hands are restlessly wandering across your body, unsure where to lay or what to grab.

You gasp quietly when his fingers sneak underneath your shirt. “Is this the indecent part of the voyage, my frisky sailor?”

“By the Saints, I hope so,” he whispers against your lips. Then, he furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that offensive to say around a living Saint?”

“I don’t think Alina heard you.”

His nimble fingers are quickly undoing the buttons on your clothes. “Well, she will hear you in a moment.”

“Gross,” you say with laughter in your voice but the word gets muffled as Nikolai gets back to kissing you again.

Even if the crew did hear you that day, no one dared say a word.

зайка [zay-ka] - bunny (feminine; term of endearment)

солиышко [sol-nee-shko] - little sun (unisex; term of endearment)

[everythinggrishaversebxm1012]

(Not) Just A Healer Part II

Summary - Nikolai Lantsov has all the more to lose when he returns to Ravka having fallen in love with a certain Healer while on the True Sea

Part I II Part II

Things did change a lot, as you suspected. For one the openness you could have about your relationship with Nikolai dropped a lot. Someone might just commit regicide on a mass level if they learned their prince was dating a Grisha. On second thought that’s perhaps what Ravka needed. A Grisha beside their prince. An effort to represent a reunited front. It was one evening while you were laying in bed with Nikolai when you suggested an engagement to Alina Starkov.    

“Hear me out Nikolai. What better way to ally our forces than through a marriage? With the Sun Summoner married to you, that may rally the forces necessary. The people respect you Nikolai. And such a marriage might be the necessary push to unify the First Army and the Second Army against Kirigan.”      

You tried to ignore the look on his face when you suggested such a thing, though part of him knew you were right. “She will never be a love match for me, you understand that, don’t you, moi magpie?”  

“Simply a political alliance,” you said into his neck. While you knew the suggestion came from your mouth it still hurt to see how easy it seemed for him to go through with it and suggest it to Alina. Alina was no fool and she saw what you and Nikolai shared, and it was only under your persuasion that she agreed.      

And so it was, two days later at dinner. You sat next to Mal, watching Nikolai sitting between his brother and Alina, as Nikolai said something to make Alina laugh. You and Mal shared quick glances before you saw Nikolai mouthing, moi magpie in your direction. Yes he agreed to your suggestion, but that didn’t mean he had any attraction to Alina Starkov. You saw Vasily say something to his mother and then look over to Nikolai say something, then glancing at Alina. It was the look in Nikolai’s eyes that suggested Vasily had said something to really get to him.    

You chugged down the alcohol in your glass as he announced his engagement to Alina, trying to look the part of any other Grisha sitting and eating amongst others. A feat that proved difficult. Nikolai wasted no time in finding you that evening, ensuring you knew how he felt about you. Everything changed even more at the engagement party for Nikolai and Alina where Vasily was killed by one of Kirigan’s Nichevo’ya. More than anything it meant Nikolai was in line for the throne, and quite frankly you weren’t upset though you felt sorry for your boyfriend on some level.     

You were busy healing people when it appeared Kirigan’s Show Monster’s seemed to be reappearing. Nikolai immediately looked at you and Alina pulling out his pistol. “Gather all the wounded and get out of here. Go to the fort called Zvedya,” he then turned to look directly at you. “The one south of Kribirsk. Find–”   

You watched Baghra walk into the space below ground with a woman behind her. You recognized her from your time training, Genya. Baghra glanced over at Nikolai upon his comment that she was the Grisha tea. She looked like she wanted to scoff, “Ah, the prince. The Puppy Prince. But I do not care truthfully. What I care about is if you fix it. Right the wrongs.” You watched Genya standing there, timidly as Alina embraced her. “Oh Saints, Genya. Look what he did to you.”    

You took note of the scars across her face. You cringed. You knew what Kirigan was like, and you were glad Nikolai had pulled you along with him.   

You watched Nikolai approach Genya, looking almost angry. “Genya Safin? You’re the Grisha who poisoned the king! When I am crowned king you will stand trial for treason against your country.”     

“No she won’t. She did what she had to do, to survive ,” Alina pressed, growing more defensive of Genya every moment.     

You slowly nodded from behind Nikolai. “She won’t, Nikolai.” You watched him turn to face you as you shook your head. There was a beat of silence before Nikolai nodded at your silent conversation with him. Something the two of you had grown to be good at during your time at sea.   

“Did the king force you?”      

“I never asked for his attention,” Genya responded not daring to look anyone in the eye.    

Nikolai looked back to you silently asking if you think she can be trusted and you only nod, continuously noting her scarred face. He nods in return before turning to look at Genya. “As the future king, you have my word that you are safe here.” He felt you reach for his hand and he took it, holding onto, finding support in it. Nobody made a point of asking, nobody cared after what had just transpired. “If you can tell me where he is based I shall throw everything I have at him.” He then turned to face you, looking somewhat exhausted. He kissed your hand gently before walking away.        

About an hour later Nikolai found himself among the pews of the former monastery, staring somewhere into space, contemplating anything and everything, on the verge of tears, when he heard someone’s feet. He looked up to see you slowly approaching him and tried to subtly wipe away a tear that spilled over.     

He slid over to give you space, turning to face you in the pew. He let out a long sigh as you reached for his hand. He turned to face the candles once again, feeling some comfort, even if small from your touch. “I know that look, Nikolai. What’s on your mind?”     

He looked at you again, a pained expression on his face. Other than the fact that Kirigan found where we are located? Other than the fact that I am to become King? Other than finally facing He knew you were only asking out of courtesy. You knew how he was doing.            

“Everything,” he responded, half-heartedly, not letting go of your hand.       

You nodded, letting the silence linger, something that you certainly weren’t getting much of these days. It was interrupted when Alina entered and you stood, leaving a lingering kiss on Nikolai’s cheek so they could speak in private which made your heart ping with jealousy for just a moment.        

Soon after that you learned that Alina had given the Lantsov Emerald back to Nikolai formally ending the engagement to search for the Firebird. While you still thought the engagement was good for alliance you quietly were thankful. It was decided that the next best thing would be to truly try and unite the First and Second Army of Ravka. You traveled with Nikolai, David, and Genya to Zvedya. You found yourself growing closer to Genya and David on the way. At the fort you reunited with a number of the soldiers you had known when you agreed to become a healer for Nikolai’s regiment. You also reunited with Dominik who was your partner in teasing Nikolai.         

Brief introductions were made. David proved himself rather useful, helping improve the weaponry and Genya used her unrivaled tailor skills to help fix a woman’s arm and hand. It was after that when Nikolai pulled you to the side to speak with you briefly.          

You had assumed that he simply wanted to talk strategy with you first. You had healed so many of the First Army and Nikolai would often discuss strategy with you as he was healed at your hands. You had a clear knack for it, and that was only proven further out on the seas when in battles with any enemies you met out there. He reached for your hand and pulled you into one of the side rooms inside the large fort before shutting the door behind him. A number of maps and other papers were sprawled over a table in front of you. The only lighting came from the windows, which cast a dim light. Nikolai gently kissed the top of your hand before circling around the table.         

You slowly approached the maps, looking over them, recognizing the detailed works of certain parts of Ravka. You were too busy thinking through possible ideas to notice Nikolai pulling the Lantsov Emerald from somewhere inside his uniform slowly lifting it. It was when he placed it over the maps directly in your eyesight did you pay him any attention. You looked up at him and met his gaze, already deciding to protest what you knew was coming. Of course you wanted to marry him, but that didn’t mean you thought right now would be a better time than any to be engaged to Alina Starkov. You didn’t care if she had broken it off prior, surely she understood how much more alliance that could bring between the First and Second Army.          

“Save me the speech,” Nikolai said, knowing exactly what you were going to say. He leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of the ring which gave you your opportunity to share your two kruge on the matter.           

“Alina Starkov is not just a Grisha, she is the Grisha. I am just a healer, Nikolai.” That’s how simple it was to you. Maybe you were Grisha, but Alina was a Sun Summoner. The person who could tear down the Fold. Reunite Ravka once more.         

Nikolai looked both agitated and pained to hear you talk about yourself like that. “You are not just a Grisha. You are not just a healer, moi magpie ,” he insisted. “You are the healer who ran across yards of an active battleground to save a First Army soldier. You are the healer I would choose as my friend, my confidante, my spouse, my queen, Ravka’s queen. The people already respect you. ”      

His voice held this mix of passion, bordering on authorativeness. But you knew he didn’t want to cross that threshold afraid it might turn into something like a to-be king making a demand. Logically you wouldn’t think that, but considering he was proposing plus the circumstances logic was left at the door.       

“Nikolai…” was all you could muster.       

“I am asking you to be my friend, my confidante, my partner, and Ravka’s queen from now until the day I die,” Nikolai said. The passion was still there, though now it bends towards what most people would call begging. “Marry me. If we survive this, marry me. Be my healer.” The last part he whispered.     

You stood for a few moments, in silence, taking in his words, before nodding. “Yeah.” A slow smile spread across your face. “I’ll marry you, Nikolai Lantosv.”

[storyofmychoices]

Just thinking about this... the metaphor with a scene and cards... I feel like that has to be relevant to the person.

It's not Trystan or Sebastyan. It doesn't feel like Astrid. She just goes from person to person it seems. Kaspar and Emika don't ever separate. Mags and Patryk would be minors. So Vasili or Lydea?

I originally thought Vasili was dating Juli and he and/or Eveline killed Juli. It seemed so obvious at the beginning, but the only actual evidence toward Vasili is he has no evidence pointing to him. Even Lydea has had suspicion throughout. Literally everyone has been suspected accept Vasili (excluding minors at the time of Juli's death—Mags and Patryk)

Is he that good that there is no evidence? A lack of evidences does not evidence make.

I'm having a lot of thoughts and feels. I'm not sure what they are, but I'm having them. I just feel disappointed in MC and Trystan in their rush to judgement and their lack of interest in the case when they just keep going off to fool around. Like I get it, I love you both, but there is an actual mass murder and you're not even paying attention,.

[tikitania]

Nutcracker Season!

Nutcracker season can elicit an array of feelings. Some love it, some hate it. I was falling into the indifferent category. I don't live in a major city, so the month long onslaught of ballet school-civic rep level productions has me a bit bummed out…and ready to tune it all out. AND THEN…I stumbled upon this very interesting panel discussion lead by ballet critic, Alastair McCauley, comparing the original Lev Ivanov Sugarplum PDD to the Balanchine version, getting into the nitty gritty of the score and the choreographic language that can be found in both versions, pointing out the various ways in which Balanchine quoted Ivanov. This is so interesting and only available online until Dec. 17, so hurry and watch it while you can. Who knew about the original version of the Sugar Plum sliding across the stage on point on a hidden stage tracking device?! If you do anything, watch this first video with the panel talk and demonstrations. The videos I included after that are just if you want to get obsessive like I did to dig deeper. Panelists: Suki Schorer, Wendy Whelan, Sara Mearns, Jonathan Stafford. (Watching Suki coach is worth watching!) NYCB Dancers: Chun Wai Chan, Ashley Hod (Balanchine version) & Anthony Huxley, Emma Von Enck (Ivanov Version)

MacCauley mentions the Fonteyn version a few times during this talk, so I found it for you. The tempo is certainly much faster, and it really makes you appreciate Fonteyn's speed! But I actually prefer the slower tempo, which allows the music to really soar. But I also wondered if it was the audio quality of this historic recording is simply too compressed and tinny to do it justice.

The Mariinsky dances the Vasily Vaionen version of the Nutcracker, and I wanted to see how it compared to the Ivanov version. I really love the Mariinsky version. It's a departure from Ivanov, but still very classical and regal. PPD below with Baby Shakirova.

BONUS: If you want to watch the full Mariinsky Nutcracker, here's a 1994 recording with Larissa Lezhnina and Victor Baranov. And for some real fun going down the rabbit hole, this is an amazing Soviet black and white recording of the PDD with the late Svetlana Efremova (SHE IS AMAZING!) and Sergei Vikulov. Notice that the extra four cavaliers are not in this one, so the choreography is adjusted. I have a thing for soviet era black-and-white ballet films. Not to be overlooked, the Grigorivich version at the Bolshoi is worth mentioning. There are a few things that stood out to me. Its religiosity, for one. The PDD essentially starts with Masha and her prince praying together as if at a mass. And then, towards the end, are the huge lifts that end with an upside down ballerina (not my favorite pose…)

Interestingly, ABT's version by Ratmansky also incorporates the same big lift, but transitions into a spin. You can see it here, and it's a much smoother transition. Ignore the weird speed manipulation in this video. It can give you motion sickness.

AND….I found this POB version. The Nureyev choreography is horrible and Tsikaridze knows it. He can barely hold back his own laughter as how bad this performance is. When I watched this, my first thought is that Nureyev must have been a misogynist because the Sugar Plum/Clara choreography is so god awful that it seems like he's trying to humiliate ballerinas. Poor Myriam Ould-Braham, she does her best to dignify the choreography with her impeccable technique, but there is no saving this. Another thing that bothers me is that the couple are hardly dancing together, it's like a bad ballet class where they dance side to side. I hope this version soon disappears forever. Watch at your own risk. It made my blood boil.

Okay, that's it for a while. I may go see the Houston Ballet's Nutcracker if I have time. But I will mostly be focused on taking time off with the family, puttering in the garden, and catching up on my ever-expanding to-do list. Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season!

[stromuprisahat]

If you had to rewrite the grisha trilogy, what would you do ? What would be your major changes ? Would you kill characters ? Would you bring elements of the series into this rewrite ?

First of all, I'd get an editor, who would be more than willing to point out any inconsistencies or loose ends.

Then I'd offer fuller picture- not just a biased girl, treated like a word of God by next POVs. If we have TGT from limited Alina's view, let her see more from the other side, or at least offer their story in the next books. Shatter the illusion of the Right and Wrong. Show the lives she destroyed and how.

I also like the original idea of killing off Nikolai and framing Alina for it. He might have been a likeable character, but he overstayed his usefulness and anyone could be Zoya's uncritical admirer and hand her the Crown. Hell, it might even work better if she were "elected" by masses and crowned by their representative. Nikolai was kept from possible character development (Vasily's death and volcralization, when he could've become Grisha) by the narrative anyway, so why not get rid of him to offer more intrigue and believable politics?

Or when we're at it- making him the pretty golden villain.

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Child Of The Storm~

Nikolai Lantsov x OC

Image by - @brokendreamtale2

Warnings- none😁

A/N- Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

Taglist- @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @sirisuorionblack @nadeleine123n @marauders-wife

Ch-33 ~Half-witted sibling~

Alina and Anaya spoke with Fedyor late into the night, though they were never left alone. Mal or Tolya or Tamar were always there, keeping watch. 

Fedyor had been serving near Sikursk on the southeastern border. When word of the destruction of Novokribirsk reached the outpost, the King’s soldiers had turned on the Grisha, pulling them from their beds in the middle of the night and mounting sham trials to determine their loyalty. Fedyor had helped to lead an escape.

“We could have killed them all,” he spoke. “Instead, we took our wounded and fled. A few weeks ago, the stories started circulating that you’d returned to Ravka. You can expect more Grisha to seek you out.” he said to Alina.

“How many?” Alina asked

“There’s no way of knowing.”

Like Nikolai, Fedyor believed some Grisha had gone into hiding, waiting for order to be restored. But he suspected that most of them had sought out the Darkling.

“He’s strength,” said Fedyor. “He’s safety. That’s what they understand.”

"The starving will take whatever's offered to them" Anaya spoke

"Hope, he's offering more of it than we could" Alina added

When Fedyor finished his tale, Alina asked that he be brought dinner and advised him that he should be ready to travel to Os Alta at dawn.

“I don’t know what kind of reception we can expect,” she warned him.

“We’ll be ready, moi soverenyi,” he said, and bowed.

“Fedyor...” a thought struck Alina's mind as they walked him to the door.  “I realize you’ve been traveling, but tidy up a bit before tomorrow. It’s important that we make a good impression.”

He just bowed again and replied, “Da, soverenyi,” before disappearing into the night.

                                                                ....................................................................

The next morning, Alina had dressed in some elaborate kefta and descended the dacha’s steps with Mal and the twins. The gold sunbursts glittered from their chests, but they still wore peasant roughspun. Anaya and Rabeah soon joined them.

Though they'd been warned that Os Alta was teeming with refugees and pilgrims, Nikolai didn’t insist Alina on riding in the coach. He wanted her to be seen entering the city. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to put on a show. Alina's guards and her were all seated on beautiful white horses, and men from Nikolai's regiment flanked them on both sides, with Anaya and Rabeah to the sides

It was a warm morning, and the banners of the processional hung limp in the still air as they wended their way slowly along the Vy toward the capital. Ordinarily, the royal family would have spent the hot months at their summer palace in the lake district. But Os Alta was more easily defended, and they’d chosen to hunker down behind its famous double walls.

In the distance, Anaya could make out Os Alta, the Dream City, its spires white and jagged against the cloudless sky. But between them and the capital, arrayed in perfect military formation, stood row after row of armed men. Hundreds of soldiers of the First Army, infantry, cavalry, officers, and grunts. Sunlight glittered off the hilts of their swords, and their backs bristled with rifles.

A man rode out before them. He wore an officer’s coat covered with medals and sat atop one of the biggest horses. It didn't take Anaya long to recognize the boy with the weak chin,Vasily Lantsov.

Nikolai watched the rider galloping back and forth across the lines and sighed. “Ah, it seems my brother has come to greet us.” he spoke

They rode slowly down the slope, until we came to a halt before the masses of assembled men.  Nikolai nudged his horse forward, and his brother cantered up to meet him. Next to him, Nikolai looked impossibly young.

There were no tears, no shouted greetings. The two princes simply dismounted and clasped each other in a brief embrace. Vasily surveyed their retinue, pausing meaningfully on the Sun Summoner.

“So this is the girl you claim is the Sun Summoner?” he raised an eyebrow, glancing at the girl with suspicion

Nikolai raised his brows. His brother couldn’t have given him a better opening. “It’s a claim easy enough to prove.”

He nodded to Alina and she raised her hands and summoned a blazing wave of light that crashed over the assembled soldiers in a cascade of billowing heat. They threw up their hands, and several stepped back as the horses shied and whinnied. She then let the light fade. Vasily sniffed.

“You’ve been busy, little brother.”

“You have no idea, Vasya,” replied Nikolai pleasantly.

Vasily’s mouth puckered at Nikolai’s use of the diminutive.

He looked almost prim. “I’m surprised to find you in Os Alta,” Nikolai continued. “I thought you’d be in Caryeva for the races.”

“I was,” said Vasily. “My blue roan had an excellent showing. But when I heard you were returning home, I wanted to be here to greet you.”

“Kind of you to go to all this trouble.”

“The return of a royal prince is no small thing,” Vasily said. “Even a younger son.”

“We younger sons learn to appreciate what we can get" Nikolai smiled and then called to a soldier standing at attention down the line.

“Sergeant Pechkin, I remember you from the Halmhend campaign. Leg must have healed well if you’re able to stand there like a slab of stone.”

The sergeant’s face registered surprise. “Da, moi tsarevich,” he said respectfully.

“‘Sir’ will do, sergeant. I’m an officer when I wear this uniform, not a prince.” Vasily’s lips twitched again. Like many noble sons, he had taken an honorary commission and done his military service in the comfort of the officers’ tents, well away from enemy lines. But Nikolai had served in the infantry. He’d earned his medals and rank.

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. “Only bothers me when it rains.”

“Then I imagine the Fjerdans pray daily for storms. You put quite a few of them out of their misery, if I recall.”

“I seem to remember you doing the same, sir,” said the soldier with a grin.

“Brother,” Nikolai said to Vasily. “Let’s get to the palace so we can dispense with our greetings. I have a case of Kerch whiskey that needs drinking, and I’d like to get your advice on a foal I spotted in Ketterdam. They tell me Dagrenner is his sire, but I have my doubts.”

Vasily tried to disguise his interest, but it was as if he couldn’t resist. “Dagrenner? Did they have papers?”

“Come have a look.”

[timothywinters]

'They say that children are our own future, but how can one say that of these children? They aren't going to become musicians, cobblers or tailors. Last night I saw very clearly how this whole noisy world of anxious, bearded fathers and querulous grandmothers who bake honey-cakes and goose-necks- this whole world of marriage customs, proverbial sayings and Sabbaths will disappear for ever under the earth. After the war life will begin to stir once again, but we won't be here, we will have vanished- just as the Aztecs once vanished. The peasant who brought us the news about the mass graves said that his wife had been crying at night. She'd been lamenting: 'They sew, and they make shoes, and they curry leather, and they mend watches, and they sell medicines in the chemist's. What will we do when they've all been killed?'

Vasily Grossman, Life and Fate (Robert Chandler translation)

[wetgeliscasualinterval]

Zirneklis (The Spider) - 1991 - dir. Vasili Mass.

[ricardian-werewolf]

Prelude: Over There

"So prepare, say a prayer Send the word, send the word to beware We'll be over, we're coming over And we won't come back till it's over Over there," - Over There, 1917. ***** Summary: Ravka, 1916, Kiribirsk. War has torn apart Ravka for two years. No one is quite sure who killed the old Tsar, Alexander III, but what is certain is that Fjerda and Shu Han are intent on bringing Ravka to unconditional surrender. For Olga Krylov, war is freedom. A chance to prove her worth while going up against First Army's inherently sexist and classist internal social circles. But it's who she meets one cold night in a mess tent that changes her life for something quite different - a fox in a Major's uniform. ***** CW/TWs: mentions of child marriage, violence, and overt discussions of smoking, famine and child-death.

******* Spring, 1916, Kiribirsk, last stop before the Fold.

Olga Krylov stared down at her dish of slop, and scowled into the watery depths. Clad as she was in the tunic and skirt of First Army issue, she adjusted the hooks and eyes of her collar, and popped them open. Here, behind the lines and next to the looming mass that was the Fold, no one would care if the good Sankta of First Army loosened her collar. She lifted her spoon, was about to dig around in the slop for a hopeful wayward pirogi, when she noted eyes on her.

Hazel ones, belonging to a Major of the regiment she’d so recently been attached to as part of her sniper squadron. His uniform was immaculate, though blood splattered the shoulder. It’d dried, stuck fast to the embroidered fronds of the front of it. She almost pitied him as his eyes widened. Like bullets digging into flesh, his pupils expanded.

He knew her. Hell, so did all of the First Army. She was their beloved Sankta Olga, the woman responsible for taking the lives of a whole battalion of Fjerdans with little more than her issued rifle and a few stick-grenades. All while she was crouched in a shell-hole filled with rat-water and surrounded by dead comrades. 

She returned to eating slop. Ensuring that she was somewhat neat in her way of eating, Olga’s eyes returned to staring at this silent major. Their staring contest broke when a man with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard and black hair sat down next to the major.

The man’s face was scarred, flesh cut with jagged lines from embedded shrapnel. There was a medal on his front denoting him a survivor of the first two years of this desperate war - an old boy.

“Dominik!” The major’s voice crowed, carrying with it a fragility that made Olga scowl. Majors were not supposed to be like this - though humanity was appreciated when with the Non-coms and “umpty-umps.” The old breed, the divides between the new and the old guard, all of it angered her. She was a woman, raised to sainthood for her actions, and was as unwelcome as gangrene. Except for a few press exposure pieces, she shot, killed, and slaughtered Fjerdans on her own time.

As for how she and this country had gotten to this point was a matter of rife and intense debate. Some had said that the Kerch merchant council had gone to the Fjerdans with a deal for trade - kill the Tsar - Alexander III, and invade Ravka. With the lecherous, traitorous Prince Vasily on the throne, Ravka would collapse and be wholly open to Kerch interests. There was another camp who argued it’d been Shu Han who’d sent spies to kill Alexander and cripple Ravka from the inside in order to regain its southern holdings. Either way, Ravka was engaged in fighting off a double-front invasion. A masterful pincer movement had taken either eagle’s head and was intent on tearing the throne, her people, and the state to pieces. 

Olga had been a mere child, a bride days away from her marriage, when Alexander had been killed. The famine in Northern Ravka had been an ongoing state crisis for the impoverished country, and the schools had been closed for months. Children dropped dead in the fields next to their starving parents, and mothers drowned their babies in order to save them from a slow death of malnutrition.

It was into this world that Olga had been brought to adulthood with the weight of a wedding band, a gold dress and the crushing pressure of the Kokochinik headpiece upon her raggedy hair. But the wedding had brought her something else as well - freedom. Her husband was a sickly man, older than her by a good 4 decades, and she’d taken her freedom however she could.

Her first kill was emblazoned on the walls of his country Dacha. Right under a Kerch Dekappell of the northern mountains blocking Fjerda, she’d poisoned him with his morning cup of tea, and slipped out. She’d turned over all of his Ravkan coins for soldiers' fatigues, and was in the notorious 34th regiment by the morning after. 

She raised her head. Dominik and the major were still talking.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Olga purred. Somehow, she’d gotten to her feet and was now standing by their mess-table. Her own medals glittered in the oil lamp by her face. It made her glow like the fated Sun Summoner, turned her mousy hair into spun gold, and cut her chin in the manner of a marble bust.

“Sankta Olga,” Dominik coughed. The Major blinked, his hazel eyes wild-cat green. She smirked, leaned down towards them. “I’m afraid I don’t have the honor of knowing your friend’s name, Major Vertov,”. Doing this was grounds enough for her own punishment. She shuddered. Field Punishment number 1 was notoriously horrific - lashed to a howitzer wheel and held there in full kit for hours. Or maybe she’d get Field Punishment No 4. That was almost infinitely worse. Marching back and forth in full pack, with rifle, again, for hours. All while her commanding officer shouted at her and how much of a failure she was to the Ravkan state. 

“This is Major Nikolai Lantsov,” Dominik sputtered, and indicated the major. Olga saluted, knowing he was her superior. 

“Lieutenant Krylov. A surprise, to grace us with your presence.” Nikolai’s eyes were devoid of their spark now. His seriousness was like a mask. No longer did he crack jokes or bump Dominik’s shoulder. The shift in behavior and mood was startling to a civilian, but Olga merely let it wash over her. She returned the favor, relaxing in his company. 

“I hope I wasn’t disturbing your meal, sir,” she responded with a sharpness that she regretted instantly. Clearing her throat, she dug around in her pocket for a pack of Jurda cigarettes. She found one, and lit it with a match. “Want one, sir?”

“I don’t smoke,” Nikolai replied, sniffing. “Gaspers like that are for the boys. Not me,”

“Weren’t you one of us, once?” Olga’s tone was skating on extremely thin ice. Even the slightest amount of pressure and she’d be in irons before she can even hope to list off all of Nikolai’s titles in correctly descending order. 

He cracked a grin, at last. “You have a sharp way to you, Sankta,” he admonished as he took a cigarette from her crumpled carton. Yet, he didn’t light it. He began to peel the cheap and pulpy paper, and spread the crushed leaves out on the table with his pinky nail. Then, he brought out a razor and divided the leaf down further and further into smaller segments.

“Sir?” Olga asked, partially surprised at his words, and his actions. What kind of major do you have to be to take a cigarette and parcel the Jurda out? 

She turned back to watching the smoke pour from her nostrils in a steady, scented stream. The gas the Fjerdans had deployed in the field was wreaking havoc on Grisha powers and Otkazt’sya lungs in equal pain and misery. They’d deployed Jurda Parem to wreck The Ravkan Second Army forces, who were being pulled back on The Darkling’s orders and once more, First Army was throwing itself into the brunt of the chaos. The Fold crackled ominously. 

“Have you seen the new guns the Fjerdans are using?” Nikolai asked as he leaned forward. He brushed the Jurda away with a wave of his hand, and the smell of it filled the air like a miasma. “Their impact makes your ears hurt for hours afterwards. Some of the men are saying they’re firing them from behind the border.” 

“That’s over 50 miles!” Olga gasped, wheezing. She’d inhaled smoke into her lungs, which made for a coughing fit as the old sores on her lungs reacted. She coughed, hacked, and sighed. The attack passed, but the spinning and black spots danced in her vision for a few more minutes. “Here, tea,” a new voice called out. A voice she recognized with the close familiarity found in a sniper’s shadow. The voice belonged to a man with short cropped brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a hard face. Around his neck was a blue, hand-knitted scarf. His fingers were covered in finger-less gloves, and on his hand was the helmet he called a “brodie,”. He grinned, and sidled in next to her, throwing a snappy salute to both Majors. 

“And you are?” Nikolai asked, his charm once more sweet and flowing like a summer strawberry wine. The man grinned, showing chipped teeth. He offered his hand to shake, and the Ravkan that spilled from his lips was as fluent as any nobleman’s. 

“Will Bird. Sniper shadow to Olga Kylov, and Corporal in His Majesty’s Black Watch of Canada, 42nd Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Force,” Will chirped. He took a cigarette from his own pack and let Olga light it. His grin never faltered. 

“And why are you here? This is the First Army. Most Sniper shadows are Grisha,” Nikolai replied calmly. There was an edge to his voice that reflected up and down the chain of command in the First Army. Underfunded, despised, and ultimately borne to bear the brunt of the fight, Otkazt’sya hated Grisha, so the Second hated the First and vice versa. It was a never-ending see-saw of guns versus Small Science and the power was never balanced fairly. Will continued to smile, though it became a grimace as Olga watched him turn over the question Major Lantsov asked, in his mind. Finally, he spoke, the smile becoming little more than at the corners of his lips. “I’m here because I want to be here. You all may hate me because I’m not Ravkan or whatever hell place you want to say I’m from, but I’ve fought as long and as hard as your men have.” 

“Have you?” Nikolai began, softly in a way that made Olga’s skin go cold with goose-pricks. The fox-prince with the gap-teeth that Olga remembered as her childhood imaginary friend was becoming quite the predator. She wanted to grip Will’s arm in her fingers and keep him from ending up being court-martialed. He settled down, and merely raised an eyebrow.

“No offense meant, Sir,” Will replied calmly. “None taken,”

Will smiled, and stretched his legs out under the table. All around them, the mess tent had filtered out. Men were too preoccupied with spending their last night before they crossed the Fold being distracted. Kvas, cards, brothel-women, anything. A skirt here, a bet lost there. Their voices rose all around them like some sort of prayer to the sins of a last throw of the dice; a spin of Fortuna’s wheel. All before the Fold swallowed them on the sunrise. Olga’s fingers twitched, reached for her wrist where four deep scars were carved into her skin - 4 trips. Two through to West Ravka, two returning.

Tomorrow would upset that perfect number. The Saints were testing her. By bringing the boy of her childhood to her mess hall, by putting her dearest friend across from him. Both men were going to tear each other to pieces for an imagined slight. Olga almost expected a duel to be issued, but scoffed. The idea of two soldiers dueling one another to the death felt… strangely out of place. 

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight Major Lantsov, Major Vertov, Corporal Bird. Rest well,” Olga stood, saluted smartly, and marched out. She didn’t see Will watch her go, his blue eyes fiery in the light of the lamps overhead. All that remained of her seat was the bowl of cold slop and a few, sad pirogi swimming in the greasy film.

The Fold seemed to grow darker, the shadows longer, and the night a little deeper as Olga headed back to her bedroll. She didn’t bother to look back once, and slid almost too easily into a deep, dreamless sleep. End of Prologue.

[itsloriel]

The Spider/ 1991 / Vasili Mass

from Beowulf Bertrand

[desiderium-eden]

The Volodymyrr

(Or at least the ones I'm bothering with)

Crown Prince Mikhail Svaris of Volodymyrr

Crown Prince of Navka. Keeper of the Hearth. Mikhail is the son of the current king, Vasily, and his first wife who'd died in childbirth. He has a reputation among the people as a competent, near perfect, and powerful heir, especially with his gift over fire (which has given him the reputation of receiving the will of Irae). And it certainly helped that people feared his cousin Dmitri so much. Relieved to not have the former king's direct descendant on the throne. He's not too popular with the nobles though. His strict nature making him .... a bit of a buzzkill for some.

Prince Dmitri Zemiy of Volodymyrr

Master of the Grand Hunt. Dmitri is the eldest son of the devil king, Alexandre, and one of his wives, Marinette. And unfortunately, the one to inherit his father's face. It's only gotten him scorn from people unable to see that his looks and physical capabilities were the only things he'd gotten from his father. The softhearted prince was only happy to step away from the spotlight though. Instead joining the teams in charge of hunting monsters. Though he is still recognized as part of the royal family, Dmitri is not allowed to use the Volodymyrr name due to his father's status as a "disgraced" king. His own resemblance to the Kroi Dyyavol probably only encourages it.

Princess Lazuli Zorya of Volodymyrr

Voice of the Gods. Goddess of Song. A prominent performer of the Temple, Lazuli is a well-loved figure among the people in Navka and even beyond its borders. A healing presence to her fans, despite her parentage. That love, even with the few problems it brings, is useful when it comes to manipulating the masses maintaining public morale. Like Dmitri, Lazuli is not allowed to use the Volodymyrr name due to their disgraced father. She is the daughter of former king Alexandre and his widow (and Navka's current queen) Melua.

Prince Noah Troiyan of Volodymyrr

Son of the current king and queen of Navka. Two. Super cute. A very good boy.

[pmamtraveller]

APOTHEOSIS OF WAR (1871) by VASILY VERESHCHAGIN

VERESHCHAGIN’s APOTHEOSIS OF WAR reveals our humanity’s weakness. In many of his paintings, VERESHCHAGIN shows war atrocities, and always shows the true face of war, despite the growing trend of covering up failures and emphasizing successes.

The image portrays a pyramid composed of human skulls, surrounded by the debris of a destroyed city and the burnt-out remains of trees on a scorching red desert plain. In the background, a flock of scavenging birds of prey hovered above the pyramid, consuming its contents.

The images of death and destruction are depicted with meticulous attention to detail through the use of skulls. The trees that have been cut down represent a society devoid of humanity, while the leaves of kindness and sympathy have been removed. The ravens represent irrationality.

In the background of the painting, we can observe the ruins of a fort, symbolizing the sorrow and destruction that the war has inflicted on the victims' families. VASILY employed a combination of yellow and light brown tones to represent the barrenness of the landscape and the background, representing the juxtaposition of the terrors of war.

The dark sky and bright sun only make the picture more scary and show us a world we don't want to be a part of. Not only does it show how much of a mass death it is, but it also shows how one person lost their life.

The pyramid of skulls shows a fragile social and political strucure built on the foundation of mistrust, self interest and hate.