#Denis Sokolov

[dharr5]

In a truly shocking and appalling turn of events even though his ref was the first one I cleaned up and I did it ages ago I never posted Denis' clean ref????

For convenience's sake, I'm going to add Yasha, Nunataq, and Clover's refs below the cut too, but I can't believe I never posted this for like a whole year after I finished it...

These designs are subject to change in the future, but as of now these are the most up to date versions of my Magical Boys and their Mascot Animal/Mentor Creature :)

[viandede-porque]

Trying to bring my mental health back

[uneednotknow]

So I was thinking

Vaughn Morozov and Maya Sokolov being good friends? Close friends? Best friends even?

Maya find comfort in Vaughn, he is a younger brother to her.

A brother she never had, infact.

Her and Mia are best friends, sure. But so is Vaughn.

Maya and Vaughn got closer after playing and growing up with each other. He listened to her. Advised her. Taught her academic lessons though he is a year younger than her.

Sure, he and Niko are also close friends but his friendship with Maya runs deeper compared to the one with Niko and Mia.

To him, she is a sister he never had.

She started falling Ilya? Yeah, she told Vaughn first(after much contemplation). I mean, it was hard to hide anything from him, he is like a human scanner- easily scanning and eradicating lies and acts.

She needs a someone to accompany her, for her hobbies like cafe hopping, buying new clothes, skincare and makeups- Vaughn only answers with a sigh and grab his car keys.

One night, after she went to UK for college and he is still in the US completing his high school, he gets a call from Maya. Before he could greet her or say anything he hears her sniffles and simply says "Let it out. You have me." That call lasted for a good hour with half of the time crying (her recurring guilt eating her inside out because of the "sin" She committed when she was 8, he didn't know that yet he was still there.)

True to his words. She had him. She always will.

When he visited UK for the Initiation, he had a long "sparring session" with Ilya, they spend almost 3 hours inside the boxing ring- interrogating him and his ability, his honesty, his sincerity and his loyalty towards his sister/friend, Maya.

If they were going to date, Vaughn was gonna make sure Ilya knew what he is getting into, that his wrong move will only result in a decade hunt for his missing body.

He understood why she fell of him, with all her public airings about going to marry into a rich family, he got that it was faux attitude. Deep down, she simply craved for genuine love and care, a home she could call her own, be herself. She preferred the calm gray of a simple and level headed man like Ilya than the extravagant blacks and whites of the Bratvas.

Vaughn sees right through anyone, Maya was no exception. He couldn't tell exactly what was bothering her, eating her alive but he knew there was more to her than her diva personality.

He knows that though that is her, it is just a fraction of who Maya is.

He knows that besides the micro skirts and tops that she loves to wear, she equally loves the sweatpants, jeans, sweatshirts and hoodies that she wears only when she is in the comfort of her home.

He knows she likes makeups and skincare but equally likes the Marvel Comics that she has a secret collections of beneath all those fashion magazines, or perhaps she prefers the latter more. She just don't wanna be seen as a comic nerd.

He knows that she likes this one indie band, not much known by people. And that is why he suddenly called her one evening when she was back in US for holidays, to go to that band's concert.

Who is that girl with Vaughn, she wonders, walking side by side towards her, the girl rolled her eyes at something he said whilst he simply looked at her, with amusement, and something more, Maya couldnt point out what

. Soon, she finds out that girl with Vaughn is also a fan of that band and he had somehow convinced her to come to the concert with a promise that it won't be just him and her.

She made a new friend that night, though they never got to exchange numbers.

He knows that she wants to open a small comic story, maybe a pop-up store along with it, and he is ready to help her. Though he still makes fun of her about her reaction when he caught her buying the comics like it was illegal substance and the fright she had when he walked up to her in the bookstore, trying to deny and make up an excuse.

Trusting him, she bashfully told him about wanting to open her own store and having her own brand of comics, illustrating comics from small artists who deserved recognition.

But he sees right through her, doesn't he? He doesn't make a big deal out of it and keeps it hush from everyone else like she asks him to.

When the "big reveal" about the kidnapping came to light and she felt like she was done for and abandoned, she thought she lost it all. Her sister, her brother, her mom and dad, her friends, her boyfriend- ex-boyfriend at that time. He was there for her.

She expected to see the same look of disappointment and abhorrence in his eyes but there was none of that. Rather, he still looked at her the same way he does to everyone- hazel eyes with not a swirl of emotion behind it.

He still treated her the same way he did before.

He offered her to tell him the entire thing without any lie, just honesty. And she did.

Maya felt like a whole weight lifted off her shoulders, so she asked him to help her, tell her what to do to be free. To be liked by people around her again, but this time genuinely.

When no one understood her, he listened to her.

When her tangled thoughts got the best of her, he calmed her down.

It annoyed him to the core that the people around her have decided to be a bunch of idiotic hypocrites who can't put themselves in her shoes, not understanding why she had to keep quiet for so long, not understanding that she herself was tortured by the kidnappers emotionally, not understanding that she was scared to lose what she have- her family.

But Vaughn was determined to be a good friend, a good brother to her. He visited her, though she screamed at him to go away. He encouraged her to get psychiatric help for her trauma, though she felt like she deserved all the bad things happening to her.

He let her know that he is there for her.

When she said she wanted to move somewhere they couldn't find her, he helped her do so. With a promise that she would be honest with her updates to him. Oh and along with Ilya.

To Maya, the girl who never had anything of her own. The lonely girl who despite all her acts of being high and mighty, was a scared child who took everything that was available to fill up the cracks of guilt and agony.

The girl who, despite all her efforts to make people like her the way she was, had to put up an act that she is above all of them so that if they already hate her, it won't hurt her when one day, she is left all alone.

So he let her do what she wanted.

This would be until she is in a much stable condition in life.

Vaughn could see the better future for her. He saw that despite being ostracized by her own family she is finally free. Finally becoming the Maya Sokolov without hiding any parts of herself.

And Vaughn only felt proud about the person Maya is going to become.

[wrenhavenriver]

Top 5 dishonored NPC lines?

ohhhhhhh this one is so hard, the incredible amount of really damn good NPC dialogue is one of my favorite things about dishonored and probably THE number one thing i love gif'ing the most from it. i have to exclude Outsider lines from here to give anyone else literally any chance, but i spy an Outsider specific ask in my inbox rn so thankfully there's that sorted. instead of spending five hours agonizing over the literal dozens of lines i love here are some random ones that came to mind immediately from base game dh1, in no particular order:

Samuel: "Maybe it's not my place to say, but men of the faith shouldn't live like barons." there's just something so samuel about it, the coating of dignified humility around a center of utterly unimpeachable morality. it sums up so well his role as a quiet observer/arbiter of the actions of the people around him--and how he often goes unnoticed by those very people, in part because of that humility and the way the powerful look down on him as a working class man (see the bastard trio, especially havelock, wildly underestimating him--when he can remember his name at all). there's a reason it stings so hard when samuel finally calls a high chaos corvo out in mission 9, like, this man just sees straight through to the heart of matters (and people), and he is never wrong. but on the flip side, that makes it just as amazing in low chaos when he praises you instead.

plague survivor in the flooded district: "I don't blame them. I know why they did it. But I only wanted to die at home." this brutal line. unbearably poignant. a man who wasn't even asking to live, just to die at home, and how even that tiniest of mercies was denied to him.

on a lighter note - Miss White: "You're a scandal in that mask. I like a man with poor judgment!" makes me laugh every fucking time, 928340923 playthroughs later.

Sokolov: "Once you start ordering people killed to get your way, everything else becomes mere detail." stealing my own very ancient tags from the old blog to explain why i like this line so much: this is essentially dishonored's main cautionary message and it falls to anton sokolov to say it, goddamn. in short it's a snappy bit of writing and also just kind of funny who gets to be the mouthpiece for it--really says something about how dire things have become in dunwall.

Daud: "And you choose mercy. Extraordinary." just. gives me terrible shivers. the awe of it all. the recognition of the incredible, impossible choice corvo has made. indescribable.

[anjumzm]

Midsummer night

A Legacy of Gods Fanfic.

Chapter 1

Hello guys, this is an amateur attempt at JerCes Daughter x LanMia Son Fanfic, all characters belong to Rina Kent, please do let me know if I should continue this or not. Thanks.

Aanya Volkov

I feel euphoric. Like how Icarus must have felt when he got too close to the sun, even though it eventually devoured him. That's exactly how I feel as I drive out of the Kings Mansion, the sideways littered with lamppost and the stone sculptures, which I don't bother studying. The weight of the item in my bag feels heavy, and as the adrenaline settles down,  I cannot help but feel that this has been too easy, way too easy, as though someone orchestrated my entire plan, I cannot help but feel as if I'm being played. No Aanya, no. Only positive thoughts.

Yes that's right, now what are the chances of any one from the mansion suspecting me of stealing? Aunt Mia loves me, so do grandpa Levi and Grandma Astrid. Although I cannot say if Uncle Landon likes me or not, since I've been told by my father ample of times to maintain my distance from him, but Im sure Gina, his daughter and my best friend might have put in a good word about me. And yet I stole from them, how's that for maintaining a good impression? Good lord. I won't call it stealing coz I'm just taking back what's ours in the first place, and in doing so I'm also taking back Dad's and my brothers peace. I won't allow anyone to mess with my family, especially some vermin who thinks that the mere purpose of everyone around him is to entertain His Majesty, to put our honor on line for his daily dose of entertainment. I'm talking about none other than that psycho cosplaying as a perfect gentleman to live by societal standards. Theodore Sokolov King. One of the heirs to the King empire, the youngest influencal business man in UK. Even if we're archnemesis, there's no denying the fact that he's a genuis gifted with a face that's sculpted to perfection, as though God took his own sweet time making him,deep blue eyes, soft brown hair, sharp jawline and dimples to make him look like a hansome london boy with a face made for vogue magzines. He wears the camouflage of a perfect gentleman through and through, so much so that one cannot help but be drawn to his charisma, and till the time we realize that his beauty and charm is nothing but a mirage, it's too late.Although by God's grace we've never interacted before, his reputation precceeds him, not only is he a known name amongst the top business tycoons in the UK and US, but he's gradually been making his place known in the Bratva too, no thanks to his grandparents influence. It's come to the point that even the previous Pakhan, Kirill Morozov trusts him with tasks that he'd usually deem my brothers to be worthy of, and this has been eating them, even though they don't show it. My family has been influencal and a known and trusted name in the Bratva, all thanks to my Father and Grandfather who've made a strong organization within the Bratva, that rivals the CIA and Mossad. My father and brothers are the most trusted sources and advisors to the Pakhan or so was the case before "Your Majesty" thought better to make our live miserable. And now, we'll have to prove our loyalty and resourcefulness to the current Pakhan, Vaughn Morozova, all over again. If only he would keep to his turf and not mess with ours. I wonder why he's taken such a sudden intrest in bratva's business when he's never really paid attention before, I'm sure it's not to help his cousin Dominic Sokolov, Uncle Niko and uncle Brans Son, the one who'll be inherenting his father's position in the Bratva's inner circle along with my brothers. Dom is my elder brother Aaron Volkov's friend, but his relation with the vermin makes it difficult for him to take sides during meetings, my brothers understand this and do not except him to do the same, but the last meeting where Pakhan assigned the shipment duty given to my brother to someone else,put a strain on their friendship too. All because of that cockroach, gods how I hate his face, and I'm not at all a violent person. I prefer keeping to myself, reading books in my room, hanging out with my friends and cousins. I never partake in any activities related to the Mafia, which  is what's expected of me, but this time I couldn't stand it, the pain in my elder brother Aaron's eyes, the pure rage in Calebs, of how they feel as though they've let down my father and Grandpa, although that's not the case. My father and Grandpa are most proud of all our achievements both big and small, and would never shy from letting us know the same, but this was the first time that a task given to volkov's had been reassigned to someone else, namely His Majesty. I'll make sure he's humiliated just like he stepped on my family's pride. Even if I burn in the process.

[cephalon-sancti]

Hey Emily? You know Sokolov had people kidnapped off the streets to do experiments on with the Rat Plague, right? He wasn't just some funny weirdo uncle, the man deserved to be put in the cage at the Hounds Pits pub. Corvo literally walks in on him denying life-saving treatment to some poor woman he also had in a cage.

At least Piero Joplin was contrite when you caught him peeping on Callista taking a bath.

[wow-thisismylifeiguess]

Price and Nikolai meet and marry young. Their relationship is fast and like fire, burns hot and bright and quick. There’s no denying that they love each other, not a doubt in their minds, but there’s something that constantly has them at each other’s throats.

They’re undeniably good at their jobs when they work together, but Laswell has had to step in one too many times to prevent the bruises they come home with from coming for each other. They are hot and aggressive. The good times are perfect. The bad times are hell.

When Price hands over the divorce papers, Nikolai can’t find any sort of excuse to rip them to shreds and pretend they dont exist. The same way no one can deny they’re in love, he can’t deny that staying together will eat away at both of them until there’s absolutely nothing left. It’s bad. Very bad. So he signs his name, doesn’t let his eyes linger too long on the pages beyond where he has to write. Price doesn’t say a word. What’s done is done. Price leaves, and Nik stays.

They’re divorced, but work is work. Events continue to drag them together time and time again, and somehow, things are better than they ever were in the past. Nikolai asks how Price is doing. Checks in. Inquires about the task force he’s leading. Price returns the favor. Asks if Nikolai is keeping himself healthy. Jokes that he’s looking a little softer around the waist. Nikolai responds that he can still take Price any day. Price asks if that’s so. There’s a shine in his eyes. They’re clearly not talking about sparring.

Nothing happens, because both of them put that part of their relationship behind them years ago. It’s over and done with, but they can still be friends. Coworkers. Their teamwork is still unmatched, having each other’s backs like no other duo. Unstoppable when together.

Laswell is who talks to Price first. She’s far from blind, has been holding off on saying anything for…/months/, because she was unsure if it was her place. But as John’s best friend, she’s not going to stay quiet any longer.

The question shocks Price to his core. Is he still in love with Nikolai? That’s….that’s ridiculous. Those days are dead and gone, they’ve both moved on, but-

Ah, who is he kidding. John Price never stopped loving Nikolai Sokolov. He’s gone to sleep every night since the day those papers were signed wondering if they’d made a mistake, wondering if they could have made it work. But at the same time, he knew it was impossible. He remembers their last fight. Fingers around his neck, his own returning the same treatment. Kate screaming for them to /stop/.

Laswell takes his silence for what it is. A yes, plain and simple. But it’s not like he can do anything about it. That’s what he keeps telling himself, what he always tells himself. Laswell gives him an unreadable look. They don’t keep secrets. It makes him nervous, but the whole conversation slips his mind when soon enough, it’s time to return to work. Even a few months later, when given another opportunity to work with Nikolai again, Price doesn’t dare allow himself to think about it.

Not even when once the job is over, Nikolai invites him for drinks. Not even when Price shows up, dressed in his best clothes, and notices that Nikolai has done the same.

Not until Nikolai is sliding his palms over his cheeks, leaning in, a careful expression on his face.

“We’re old men, Johnathan. Been through a lot. But I have to ask, even after everything. Can you give me a second chance?”

There’s heat in his gut. Nothing explosive, just warmth, deep and calm. Familiar. Comforting.

Price says /yes/.

[mariacallous]

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/icc-issues-arrest-warrants-against-top-russian-commanders-kobylash-sokolov-2024-03-05/

THE HAGUE, March 5 (Reuters) - The International Criminal Court (ICC) has issued arrest warrants for top Russian commanders Sergei Ivanovich Kobylash and Viktor Nikolayevich Sokolov over alleged war crimes in Ukraine, it said in a statement on Tuesday.

The ICC, which is based in The Hague, said that "there are reasonable grounds to believe that the two suspects bear responsibility for missile strikes carried out by the forces under their command against the Ukrainian electric infrastructure from at least 10 October 2022 until at least 9 March 2023".

The Court added that the incidental civilian harm and damage from the attacks would have been clearly excessive to any expected military advantage.

Ukraine's prosecutors were already investigating possible war crimes after a winter campaign of air strikes on Ukrainian energy and utilities infrastructure. Russia denies deliberately targeting civilian infrastructure in Ukraine, saying its attacks are all intended to reduce Kyiv's ability to fight.

[bardspeak]

This is my piece for the zine celebrating 10 years of dishonored: Dunwall Days and Karnaca Nights! There are leftover sales going on here: (link) that have much much more than my little character study going on. (I recommend the notebook). @10yearsofdishonoredzine

Things Beyond Forgiveness | (ao3 link)

Billie was made by knife, and now there’s nothing she sees in her body anymore but the jagged shape carved. 

He was made by knife too, she thinks, watching the Outsider in their tiny, one-room apartment. A god once, held on high - now washing the dishes of all things. They had to buy metalware so when his shaking, unpracticed hands dropped them from the sink they wouldn’t shatter across the hardwood floor. Only irritate the neighbors. 

“I’m sure I’ve done this before,” The Outsider tells her, lips thin with displeasure at himself. He said the same thing about sweeping up porcelain shards with a broom or writing in the blocky hand of an illiterate dockworker. She can’t prove or deny these claims, so she takes them at face value, nods, and lets him continue in his failure. Sometimes she finds herself getting irritated, having to reteach an adult man how to do up his tie, but then she remembers Sokolov and his shaky, fading memory - a parallel that would have the Outsider steaming and ranting at her. 

The Outsider is neither physically old nor dependent, but something in the comparison softens her demeanor. There are people she’s taken care of before, and people she’s let take care of her. She reminds herself of this every time the Outsider goes to pick up the dishes after dinner with his quivering hands. She sits and watches this vestige of a life long past curse when his hand slips. Hum absently and splash water onto their floor. 

He struggles and doesn’t have the forbearance to hide it from her, but still, sometimes she uncharitably thinks he’s doing this much better than she is. That it’s unfair. There’s a capacity to hurt in her, one she faces every day when she sees the posters bearing her name, or looks carefully at the knife in her hand and in her heart. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop facing it. 

They’re in a dark, cold alley a few blocks away from the apartment when the Outsider speaks up, voice quiet but weighted: “You’re not what you think you are.” 

“How so?” Billie takes a sharp drag of the cigarette in her hand before offering it over, the Outsider considering it like he’s never seen one before. They’ve smoked together a few times before, hazy trails of smoke drifting through the afternoon light peeking in through the window in their apartment. Never like this though, in the early hours of the morning when Billie gets back from one of her odd jobs, knife and crossbow slung low on her belt. She’s been a killer for decades, even before Daud - there’s nothing that will ever change that. But she can’t help listening, can’t even pretend to ignore him like she would have in the beginning. 

“You can’t change what you’ve done in the past,” The Outsider says, never having lost the uncanny ability to seem like he’s reading her mind. He pauses to take a puff of the cigarette and gives a little cough with weak lungs. Before, he would have been sent into a full-on fit. “But you can’t say you would have been here, would have survived, if not for your skills. You did what you had to.” He pauses, perhaps correctly guessing that she doesn’t want to hear it. He forges on anyhow. “Maybe you can thank yourself and move on. Find a new use for your skills.” 

A bitter little laugh bursts its way out of her, unwilling. “There’s no other use for skills like mine.” 

He touches her hand, not a slip of the fingers when passing a cigarette back and forth - still holding it in his other hand - or to pull her away from watching eyes. She never realizes how little the Outsider reaches out to touch until he has. It startles her from her bitter reflection. “Skills like yours,” he starts, unsettling pale green eyes catching her own and holding them. “Are what freed me.” 

He doesn’t go on like she expects him to - like she’s used to. The lack of words to hide in leaves her flayed open. The cigarette is pressed into her hand like an afterthought as he pulls away, heels clicking against the stones of the street towards their apartment, not even sparing a glance behind to see if she’s following him. 

Eventually, she does. 

The Outsider has a pile of things laid out over their creaky wardrobe in the corner of the room. Bottles, stones, shells, pieces of bone, and books that are more scraps of paper than bound tomes are strewn over the place. So many things she can hardly categorize them all. Billie had thrown some of them out when he first started, not knowing it was a collection rather than garbage laying about. He never said anything, but the same bottle - labeled with colorful, crackling packaging - was back on top of the wardrobe when she came in the next morning. 

One day, a flask slips through his traitorous fingers and crashes to the floor, glass pieces skittering to the far corners of the room. She watches as he crouches down and picks up one of the thicker pieces, twisting it in the light in a slender hand. There’s a spot of blood beading up on his bare foot. He stands, drops the piece of glass onto the wardrobe with the rest of his collection, and steps carefully over the rest to get to their broom. 

He’s used to things slipping through his fingers, she realizes, going through her days watching him. This isn’t a collection of prized possessions, he barely gives any of them but the books a glance on any given day and never upsets if they break or tear. They’re proof of life. That if he holds something in his hands it won’t turn to dust and fall away. When she looks, there’s a shard of a porcelain plate he must have squirreled away weeks before she first saw the bottle on the wardrobe.

Never claiming to be good with words - especially not when faced with a man who spent the better part of four thousand years with nothing but - she doesn’t broach the subject. 

She does, however, hand him a small painted cameo she found one day on a job. Despite it being her reason for doing so, she still startles when she sees it placed at the forefront of his collection. He places a book - newer, the covers wearing through on the corners but little other damage - on the windowsill she likes to sit in to smoke tobacco, something the Outsider still wrinkles his nose at. She finds a piece of glass placed just so, refracting color on the wall over her bed. 

After weeks, months, a turn of the season, whatever’s holding them together in this place hardly big enough to fit them still hasn’t worn through. It’s the longest she’s spent in the same space as someone since Sokolov - since Daud - and it surprises her how few times she has to get out because she feels stifled. 

She watches him pore over a waterlogged book of his. The binding is frayed around missing chunks, and he’s read it enough times to make his own narrative out of the empty spaces. Time has loosened his muscles, barefoot feet tucked up under his legs, sitting at their meager table and muttering under his breath. She picks at a loose thread of the binding with thin, voidrite fingertips and he lets her. 

“What should I do then?” She says, continuing the conversation like it hasn’t been months of them settling into whatever this is. If he doesn’t understand, then maybe she won’t have to say it. These jagged pieces she doesn’t let anybody touch can stay sharp along with the fear. The Outsider can keep filling in the gaps to stories he’ll never have the whole picture of, despite holding pieces in his trembling hands. Despite spilling the water that smears the ink.

He raises his head to look at her, eyebrows still pinched from reading with a slight myopia, and he understands. “I believe felling a god may be the peak of your achievements,” he tells her, closing his book with more of a crunch than a snap. Only the glint in his eyes reveals his teasing. “Have you ever considered settling down?”

She huffs out a laugh, not even trying to find it in herself to be offended at the notion. That she could put the knife down and never pick it back up. Not flinching away from the edges that have already been worn down. “I’ve never considered living long enough.”

“Well,” he sniffs, taking up the mantle of the offended. He opens his book again. “Start considering it.” 

“I’m sure I’ve done this before,” he says for the millionth time later that afternoon. Billie thinks what he actually means is live. She’s sure she has too, once. She thinks she might be doing it again. 

[withclawandvine]

what we pretend to be chapter 3

Summary: Azriel was a veteran spy, well suited to the sneaking and solitude that comes with a life in the shadows. He was good at it. He wasn’t good at undercover missions, so he couldn’t hide his shock when new recruit and undercover specialist Elain Archeron was already seated at the conference table, looking beautiful as ever. And then it was dropped on them like a bomb: Azriel and Elain would be sent to the suburbs, posing as a married couple to gather intel on a suspicious man who, according to reports, was in communication with notorious arms dealer, Koschei Sokolov.

Author’s note: oh boy this has been a long time coming. i could blame it on my new job or a number of other Life Things but the truth is i’ve been suffering from bnha brainrot (which if you’ve spent any time on my blog, should not come as a surprise haha) but i really wanted to get this done so i could start working on stuff for elriel month this year! so please enjoy, and let the pining begin babeyy !!

Tags: SFW, undercover au, fake married

Word count: 2.1k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42105033

As soon as the deadbolt clicked into place, Azriel let himself sag against the door. “Fuck,” he sighed. “I thought they’d never leave.”

From the moment Brian and Lynn Forth had entered the house, a headache lurked at Azriel’s temples. Now, in merciful quiet and with nothing else to distract him, the pain pounced. Not for the first time, Azriel wondered if you could be annoyed into physical pain.

From her place on the couch, Elain looked at him with amusement dimpling her cheek. “They were only here for twenty minutes.”

Although he doubted Elain would lie about something so trivial, Azriel checked his watch. Sure enough, it was barely 8:00. That single conversation had felt like a small eternity, or like he’d died and gotten stuck in purgatory, atoning for his past sins on an overpriced couch, while his neighbors smiled through every sentence. It might not have felt so punishing had they learned anything significant, but as it was, the Forths were as vapid as they were irritating.

Lynn had prattled on about the widely-adored previous owners of the house and their eventual retirement to the coast. How eagerly everyone had anticipated and speculated about who would move in next, the disappointment when the previous buyers had backed out at the last minute. And finally, the surprised excitement when word got around that a young couple would be moving in. And young you are—about our son’s age, if I had to guess. There was a pause, Lynn clearly waiting for them to confirm or deny her suspicions, but Elain had merely grinned at Azriel while patting his knee, “Aww, she thinks you’re young.”

Azriel didn’t have to fabricate the fondness in the roll of his eyes.

“Thirty’s not that far off for you, you know,” he’d said, mostly sure it was true. He didn’t actually know how old Elain was. For all he knew, she was already thirty, but he knew that this was the time to be vague. It was better to deflect with a jest of his own than assign an exact age to her.  

“And she did mention the wife,” Elain added when Azriel rejoined her on the couch, this time sitting down across from her—the cushion still uncomfortably warm from Brian—instead of next to her. That was Alex’s spot.

Azriel would hardly consider information they already had on record much of a consolation, but Lynn's comment about the woman’s age was interesting. There wasn’t anything about that in the files. “If she really is about your age, it might be easier for you to form a connection.”

“Galkin will surely get in the way, though.”  

The poor girl seems lonely—hardly ever leaves the house, with or without Ivan. Lynn had said, shaking her head with a troubled frown. Elain and Azriel exchanged a glance, unsurprised by this revelation, but unsure how to probe further. Brian, perhaps observing the small exchange and misreading it as discomfort, had cut in with an apologetic grimace, Lynn, dearest, they’ve only been here a few hours. Let’s not drag them into neighborhood gossip just yet.  

Azriel drug his hands over his face tiredly before his fingers finally settled at his temples, pressing into the tender flesh.

“You okay?” Elain asked, taking care to keep her voice low.

“Just a headache,” he said, but it made Elain frown, as if he’d told her something deeply troubling.

And then she gave a bit of a jolt, “We haven’t eaten yet today!”

Lack of nourishment was one of several potential culprits; he still wasn’t going to rule out the neighbors.

Elain reached for the welcome basket Lynn just threw together! for them on their coffee table and pulled at the artfully curled ribbon holding the crisp cellophane wrapping in place. Azriel watched her set aside the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a scented candle, and a bag of locally roasted coffee before finding the list of her and Brian’s favorite delivery places and skimming it over.

“Indian or Thai?”

At the mere thought of fresh naan, Azriel’s stomach growled, “Indian sounds great.”

The dining table was still overrun with boxes, so they spread dinner out on the sofa table, promising they’d get to it tomorrow. It was unnervingly real—looking Elain’s messy hair and feeling the ache in his back and arms while they sat cross-legged on the couch, inhaling takeout too fast to talk. Here, inside the liminal space of a half-decorated room and low lamplight, Azriel really could just be somebody’s husband, procrastinating on unpacking.

But then he remembered that the boxes weren’t brimming with tchotchkes, and that getting the equipment inside ready, online, then securely stored could take all day. Whatever couldn’t be mistaken for a personal tablet or basic office equipage would have to be hidden away in filing cabinets or the closet. And that was just the beginning of tasks they had to accomplish to make sure the house was as unremarkable as possible.

Elain dunked a piece of roti in her aloo matar, “We need to meet the rest of our neighbors. Figure out who’s involved.”

“Or if they know anything,” Azriel added. “Even if they’re not working with Galkin.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “At the very least, Lynn seems invested in the neighborhood. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew something.”

Luckily she was also endlessly chatty; getting her to divulge something wouldn’t be a challenge. Anything was better than what they had now. In the grand scheme of things, Ivan Galkin’s connection to Sokolov wasn’t a very significant lead, and one they probably only had because of the risk that came with doing business with someone new. They didn’t know the nature of the collaboration or what either man wanted from the other. They didn’t know what Galkin had to offer that made Sokolov decide it was worth the risk.

With the headache ebbing and his hunger sated, Azriel was painfully aware of his exhaustion. The kind that made his eyelids feel sticky with each blink, the normally thoughtless action becoming deeply unpleasant. It would be easy to blame it on the long day of driving and hauling and arranging, but in all honesty, Azriel had spent the previous night restlessly pacing around his apartment. Half preparing and half wrangling with his anxiety about the mission—about having Elain as his partner. Azriel could count on one hand the missions for which he’d had a partner. It wasn’t just his line of work that made him wary of trusting another person. He’d been a solitary creature his whole life. Hadn’t shared a space since his time in Special Ops, before Rhysand had plucked him out of the military ranks a decade ago.

Despite the anxiety urging him to do so, there was no reason for Azriel to push his body any further tonight. Their equipment wasn’t going anywhere, and even if it was set up, they hadn’t even determined an initial target.

He started tossing decorative pillows from the couch to the floor, but stopped when he felt Elain watching him. He turned to face her where she lingered on the stairs, brows wrinkled curiously.

“Don’t want to scratch a cornea on the beaded ones,” he explained. The one in his hands now looked promising—larger than the average throw pillow, covered in a soft suede.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” she said plainly. Azriel blinked at her, wondering if maybe she was messing with him like she had in the car, calling him baby and asking if he was into roleplay.

“We have a lot to worry about already,” she continued. Perfectly serious. “We can’t waste any of our energy on making sure the couch never looks like a bed, just in case people drop by and see it.”

Azriel could argue that people fought or fell asleep watching Sports Center all the time. But Elain was the expert and his spine knew he wasn’t twenty-two anymore, so he helped her fix the pillows and followed her upstairs.

The owner’s suite, situated at the end of the hallway, was decorated in the same earthy palette as the living room. Mostly neutral with rich woods, offset with more vibrant rugs and pillows of terracotta and evergreen. This was the room closest to being completely unpacked, except for the mound of boxes in the walk-in. The amount of clothes was concerning, more than Azriel had in his own closet. How long did the brass think this was going to take? There were half a dozen boxes just for him—suits and ties, jeans, athleticwear, a coat for every season, and finally, pajamas. He pulled the matching set out of the box, eying the baby blue and white striped fabric with disdain. After another moment of deliberation, he changed into only the pants.

Azriel finished getting ready for bed long before Elain, giving him time to situate himself on the side of the bed closest to the window, as close to the edge as he could manage without looking insane. He sat against the headboard, ankles crossed, staring at the communications device in his lap. So far, he’d only typed one sentence of his report, making a note about their visitors, and the small insight into the dynamic between Galkin and his wife.

What more was there to say? The neighbors smile too much and we can’t decide if we should get a French press or regular coffee maker tomorrow.

The thought of Amren reading an update like that almost had Azriel smiling to himself. He tried to recall any other details about the Forth’s visit, but the most pervasive memory was that of Elain’s hand on his knee, her thumb idly smoothing over the material of his pants, the touch warm and grounding. Azriel couldn’t quite remember the last time somebody had reached for him so casually and he had actually let them—much less been even marginally comforted by the gesture.

It shouldn’t matter. Not flinching away from her affections had served the mission. There was no use in thinking about why it was different, or what it might be like next time. Azriel had encountered plenty of beautiful women, even sought them out on occasion, at galas and buildings he didn’t belong in. Dousing suspicion with indulgent smiles and pouring honeyed words in their ears so they might fill his with secrets. It was a tactic he only used in moments of desperation, when subtlety was just as paramount as information itself, and there was no way of accessing someone’s computer or filing cabinets undetected. He needed to find that level of clarity now—let his body go through the motions and his mind focus on the mission.

He was sending his report when Elain stepped out of the bathroom.

Like him, she was dressed in pale blue. He wasn’t sure if the matching was intentional, because the color was where the similarities ended. Instead of pinstripes, Elain wore a silky nightgown trimmed with delicate white lace. Her thick hair had been loosely swirled into a bun on the top of her head, drawing even more attention to her exposed shoulders and the graceful lines of her collarbones. If Azriel had been able to draw air into his lungs, he might have laughed out loud.

One of her hands came up to fiddle with a thin strap, but it was as if she’d snapped her fingers in front of his face. The small, anxious movement dragging Azriel back to himself. Fuck, how long had he been looking?

He watched the ceiling fan spin while Elain darted across the room and into bed, only turning his head when he heard the rustle of the covers as she pulled them over her legs. The warmth in her cheeks had spread, splotching her throat and chest, in stark contrast with the cool blue fabric it disappeared into. Azriel’s eyes found the fan again, every muscle in his body as taut as the silence between them. Until Elain finally said, “Do you think we have time to stop at Target tomorrow?”

Azriel wondered if despite the mountain of clothing stacked in the closet, this was all Elain could find for pajamas. Summer still clung to the air, damp and stifling, but it wouldn’t be long before the wind chased away the humidity and started to bite. Surely whoever was responsible for selecting Elain’s wardrobe should have thought of that. Or at least of him, right now.  

“Sure,” he agreed, praying with everything he had that Elain would dismiss the strain in his voice as exhaustion. “Whatever you need.”

[koukouture]

(ohhhh @entropypalefire come get ur religious trauma au pspspsppspsps)

The night of father Nikola Sokolov’s hanging is quiet. The small town simply gathers with their torches raised high to gaze upon their once beloved priest.

He is calm, quiet, and ever composed. As the wind blows and he steps up, he simply fixes his hair and allows the necklace of rope to be placed around his neck.

“Father Sokolov, you have been found guilty of conspiring with the Devil. For this, you shall be hanged” the prosecutor announces.

Nikola tilts his head, “Remind me again, what gives you the impression I have been conspiring with The Enemy?”

“You were caught helping a creature of the night, one of Satan’s most vile demons; a vampire!”

The priest sighs, “Hassen Von Fadel is no demon, he is a child of the Lord, as you all are,” Nikola declares loudly, tilting his chin up defiantly.

Several whispers suddenly fill the deep, silent night. Were they all mistaken? Are the rumours of Hassen being a vampire fake? All eyes turn to the prosecutor, Collins, who only laughs.

“Is he now?”

Nikola closes his eyes, “Yes. Under God’s great sky, you are all equal. He did not burn when I baptized him, he is surely one of you.”

Collins smirk grows wider, “You love him, don’t you?”

The assembly falls silent, but Nikola does not miss a beat.

“Of course,” Nikola holds his hands out, wincing at the ropes digging into his pale flesh. “I would never deny that. Yet you deny me the right to a trial and the right to love him.”

Collins laughs again, his booming laugh interrupting the quiet crackle of the torches. “But one can’t deny that Hassen was seen turning into a mist and fleeing from your church. You knew. You even gave him your blood, we found the marks on your neck!”

Nikola drops his hands, looking down on the spectators and Collins raises his arm to give the command.

“Any last words, father?” he sneers.

Only now, does Nikola’s breath tremble, “My children, God is all merciful. But I can assure you, He, is not.”

The square is silent again. All the torches have been put out, and the moon simply illuminates the man covered in blood and he walks up behind Nikola.

“So, you did come” Nikola muses, “You wouldn’t miss my execution after all.” The rope around his neck suddenly drops, cut to ribbons by seemingly nothing.

Hassen frowns, “Oh, now you’re funny.” He wraps his arms around Nikola’s waist, ignoring the blood he’s smearing onto Nikola’s black priest garb.

“Why did you wait, did you want me to pronounce my love for you?”

“I just needed everyone gathered in one place,” the ropes around Nikola’s wrists fall too. “Except for the children. They’re all sleeping.”

“How merciful of you.”

Nikola turns to face him, bringing his hand up to wipe some blood from Hassen’s chin. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, initially. But I didn’t want witnesses.”

The white haired man hums, “Will you turn me then?”

“I’d sooner walk into the sun than do that,” Hassen grabs his hands, bringing them up to his chest. There is no heart beating there, but Nikola doesn’t care, not anymore. “Just come with me. Away from here, away from these… animals.”

Nikola smiles, “Alright. Take me away.”

[juangusamungus]

The Spark from ZHEESHEE on Vimeo.

Produced by ZHEESHEE Written and directed: Artem Shcherbakov and Otar Berov Art Director: Maks Trofimov Executive producers: Artem Shcherbakov, Aleksei Novikov Lead Animator: Anton Chistiakov CG Supervisor: Mikhail Dmitriev Producer: Evgenia Arkhipova Directors of Photography: Nail Gaynullov, Maks Trofimov Concept artists: Maks Trofimov, Maxim Shagovikov, Pavel Vophira, Olga Kononenko, Natalia Chistiakova Visual development: Maks Trofimov, Olga Kononenko, Artem Kazakhunov, Denis Hebi Character artists: Alex Korshakov, Robert Kubus, Nikita Veprikov, Vadim Kosarev, Ilya Dyadyura, Assembly, Lighting and compositing artists: Artem Kazakhunov, Andrey Bibartsev, Nail Gaynullov, Danila Korniltsev, Petr Shkolny Props artist: Alex Lutai, Alex Korshakov, Ivan Demenkov, Katya Suleymanova, Ivan Podorozhkin Storyboard artist: Denis Hebi, Olga Kononenko Costume modeling & dynamics: Alena Kapustina, Sergey Karaulov, Mikhail Dmitriev Edit: Dmitrii Sebrov, Artem Shcherbakov Music and Sound-design: Ilia Shibanov Animation artists: Ekaterina Shvedova, Aleksey Romashov, Alexandra Limina, Vladimir Hakobyan, Liubov Tcimbaliuk, Mariya Kravtsova, Ian Aghavelian, Elena Marchenko, Oleg Zhukov, Jack Stollery Rigging artists: Oleg Nechaev, Alexander Gushin, Ravshan Gaziev, Alexander Smirnov Faccial Rigging Artist: Artem Dubina, Ravshan Gaziev 2dfx: Margarita Shalynina, Dasha Skripka, Olga Kononenko Motion-graphics: Vlad Bratkevich Previs artists: Nail Gaynullov, Andrey Bibartsev, Alexander Sokolov, Slava Dmitriev Logo Design and animation: Evgeniy Starov, Alexey Dubnichenko Titles: Eugene Seleznev

"A young boxer enters the ring. Pressure from the stands, the opponent and fear make him start doubting his abilities and strength"

All rights reserved. It is forbidden to broadcast, reproduce this video in whole or in part without the explicit permission of the authors. © ZHEESHEE 2022

[mokhosz-nafo]

☦️

[zorkaya-moved]

Fun backstory facts no one in Sumeru knows about Zarina (aka she's the person who seems so open but when people start to think about her, they understand they know NOTHING):

In Snezhnaya, she has been known as the best hunter with her brother since being a kid. Has been called a natural-born hunter and people from their village talked about how the Sokolov twins had been beasts on the battlefield since they were young and how they could hunt beasts that adults in teams couldn't. Now, people from Snezhnaya state that she "changed" and became a wonderful young lady but they will tell you how strong she and her twin brother are.

AFTER SCARA'S QUEST, Zarina and Victor had been offered positions before the Tsaritsa, but they both rejected it. There was a possibility of either of the twins becoming a Harbinger, but both of them denied that possibility and denied wanting to become one. Zarina denied it for the sake of her studies and building rapport with Sumeru and Victor rejected the position because he wanted to take care of his brother and Margarita.

Has been tortured when she was a kid by envious hunters who tried to ambush her and Victor with Aleksey, Zar would hide away her brothers and get the attention of those hunters on herself. When they caught her, she was holding out for several days. Yaroslav, Evgenia, and Victor were able to rescue her.

Zarina hunts and gets all the materials for her experiments herself when she travels outside Sumeru. People think she buys it all with her investments, but she hunts and gathers all materials. This is her training and her 'entertainment' when she's outside Sumeru's borders. She makes sure that no one is there to witness her as she wants to keep being the 'feeble scholar' in the eyes of the Akademiya.

Zarina has been missing for 12 days from the world of Teyvat within the Abyss during her travels outside of Sumeru. She thought she would die there but she didn't and even got to capture the Abyssal Serpent at its weakest thanks to the help of Skirk.

[anjumzm]

Midsummer Night

A Legacy of Gods Fanfic

JerCes Daughter x LanMia Son

Chapter 17

Theodore Sokolov King

I could feel it in the air, adrenaline and excitement forged together. Tonight, as per my plan, would be the night I'd pull the rug from that rat Abazi’s feet. And then I'd get back to much more important tasks, like planning my dinner date with the little bird. Since it was crucial for me to make my move today, I'd had to postpone my date. That rat would pay dearly for ruining my me time with Aanya.

Gods, why can't I stop thinking about the damn girl? It's not like she's the only girl in London or the entire world.

But she's definitely the only one you have eyes for.

True. Even I couldn't deny the fact that I've never been this invested in anyone before. I had no patience to deal with the emotions that came with people, and eventually, the disappointment on their faces when they realized that I'm as unmoving as a stone when it comes to things like anger, despair, grief, or anything. I just couldn't bring myself to... feel. But for the first time, I felt. That day in my office, I'd felt desire and desperation to own something, and I wished to feel it over and over again. Somehow the Volkov princess had managed to imprint herself on me, and the worst part was she didn't realize it yet. No one did. Except for my Dad, because he was like me, and there's no way one can hide something from him. He's the prototype, after all. I'm a mere copy.

Speak of the Devil. My phone rang with my Dad's name on the notification bar.

"Quite a day to cause mayhem, isn't it?" his voice, as always, calm yet imposing.

"You're right, and I plan to please," I replied, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"As expected, Son. I always knew my genes were superior. Time you proved it to everyone. But be careful, Abazi is not as daft as you think him to be, and neither is Jeremy's son. I hope you've planned this through."

"You know me, Dad. After all, you're the author of whatever I am."

"True, but do let me know if you need help."

"Sure thing."

"Be safe, Son."

I smiled, knowing very well how Dad didn't show emotions often. But his actions always spoke to us. He loved me and Gina in his own way, but Mom—his entire existence was tied to her, to the point that he'd burn the world to keep her safe.

I gathered my gun, a gift from Grandpa Kyle, and headed to the SUV. "Pasha, is everything in place?"

"All good, Boss. We're waiting for your orders," Pasha replied through the phone.

"Good. This cannot go wrong, Pasha. I hope you understand."

"Sure, Boss. You need not worry; we're well prepared."

"Forward our location to Aaron Volkov. We'll be meeting halfway. Hopefully, things go smoothly with dialogue and without guns and fists."

I cut the call. Time for some action.

We met halfway as per our plan. As usual, Aaron had a scowl on his face. My soon-to-be brother-in-law didn't like the fact that we were working together, that he had to take my help.

"Lovely day, isn't it, brother-in-law?" I greeted him with a smirk.

"Stop calling me that, you psycho. I won't shy away from turning your good day into a bad one," Aaron snapped.

"Always the pleasant one. Remind me to team up with Caleb for adventures next time; he's the more intelligent of you guys, after all."

"Keep my family out of your business, King. You won't like the consequences."

"Not possible. After all, your sister is my business and by extension, so is her family."

"You little shi—" Aaron lunged, throwing a punch.

I sidestepped, catching his hand midway. "Let's continue this sweet talk some other day. I'm sure we have pressing matters at hand, don't you think?"

Aaron glared at me, yanking his hand back. "Lead the way."

Inside the warehouse, the air was thick with tension. Abazi stood in the center, surrounded by his men, a smug grin on his face.

"Theodore King and Aaron Volkov, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Abazi drawled, appearing confused, yet offering us a polite smile. He knew he was outmatched.

I cut to the chase. "We’re here for the Black Book you stole from the Volkovs."

"Black Book? What black book? I have no idea what you're talking about."

Before I could respond, the doors behind us creaked open. Two of my men dragged in Alexei, bruised and beaten. Alexei, my planted spy, was about to play his part.

"Boss, this guy was trying to run," one of my men announced, shoving Alexei forward.

Alexei fell to his knees, looking up at us with feigned fear. "Please, don’t hurt me. I was only following orders."

Aaron stepped forward, his patience wearing thin. "What orders? Where’s the book?"

Alexei hesitated, his eyes darting to Abazi before settling back on Aaron. "Abazi had me keep the Black Book hidden. He didn't want anyone to know its location."

Abazi’s expression shifted from smug to shock. "What? That’s a lie! I don’t have your book, Aaron. Theodore King, you fucking bastard..." He moved forward to punch me, but Aaron caught him by his collar.

Abazi’s men stepped forward, raising their guns, but they were outnumbered. Our men slipped behind them, putting them all at gunpoint.

Aaron motioned one of his men forward. He came up and bound Abazi.

"Aaron, what the fuck? We're allies, remember? What's going on?"

"You dare cross us. You've become emboldened, haven't you? What did you think, hmm? That you would blackmail us and we'd bend to your whims as and when you please? You forgot that we're the Volkovs, and gods damn me if I let a rat like you challenge us."

"Aaron, you're—" Aaron backhanded him.

"Shhh....Don't talk. The more you keep quiet, the better." He called Alexei forward. His men punched him in the gut, making him drop to his knees. "Where's the book, and I warn you, do not lie. My patience has already run thin."

"It's in his basement. I kept it there myself on Boss’s orders."

"What?? What orders are you talking about, Alexei, you piece of shit! I'll kill you!" Abazi shouted, struggling against his bonds.

And while all this drama was going on, all I could think about was how good Aanya looks in black, how her eyes shine whenever she feels she's made her point in a conversation, or how her and Aaron's hair are the same shade. They have the same eye shape,but their similarities end there; he looks like a wild bull while my birdie looks ethereal.

Priorities.

Before Aaron killed Abazi and my spy Alexei, I stepped in. "Alexei, was that your name? Now, you said that the book's in the basement, and how you personally kept it there. My men here will search the entire place, and if what you say is wrong, I'll leave your fate in Mr. Volkov's hands here."

"Please don't kill me, I'm telling the truth."

What a performance. Remind me to pay him double the sum.

Just when I was about to order my men, Aaron stopped me and signaled his men to look around the basement. "I still don't trust you or your men, King."

"Ouch. I'm hurt," I mockingly put my hand on my heart.

As expected, soon enough, one of Aaron's men came out with the book in his hand.

"Boss. We found this."

"Abazi, you motherfucker!" Aaron all but choked the guy. Before he could kill him, I intervened.

"Now, now, he needs to be alive, if only to appear before the Bratva and give up the southern port's control to you."

"What makes you thi—" Before the rat could even complete his sentence, Aaron kicked him in the face.

"Listen here, you piece of shit, and listen carefully. You'll kiss our bloody feet if  I ask you to. You see, I literally hold your life in my hands. So during the next Bratva meet, you'll appear all calm and collected and give up the southern ports control to us. If not, trust me, I'd kill you, and when I'm done, not even your loved ones would be able to recognize you. Oh, and don't you dare try to outsmart me. I have eyes and ears everywhere. One wrong move and I'll shoot you between the eyes."

Abazi coughed and spat blood out. "Okay, okay. I'll do as you want. So leave me the fuck alone."

As Aaron and the Volkovs departed, I lingered behind. Abazi, now free of his bindings, approached me, his eyes burning with hatred.

"You think you’ve won, Theo? This isn’t over. I'll hit you where it hurts the most," Abazi spat.

I laughed coldly. "Weak men have weaknesses, Abazi. I don’t."

Abazi’s eyes gleamed with malice. "You don't have a weakness that I know of yet, but you will. And when you do, I'll be sure to exploit it just as you did today. I hope this little stunt was worth it."

I stepped closer, my voice a dangerous whisper. "Try it, and you'll regret it. Remember, this was me playing nice."

With that, I turned on my heel, leaving Abazi to stew in his defeat. As I walked away, my mind raced with thoughts of the future and the new threats that loomed on the horizon. But for now, I had secured my place and protected my interests, and that was a victory worth savoring. King style.

[dingleberrytimes]

Russians Explain Why They Support Putin’s Decision to Label LGBT Movement As ‘Terrorist Organization’

MOSCOW, RUSSIA - Russia has made rounds in the media yet again after its government, led by President Vladimir Putin, labeled the LGBT movement as a “terrorist organization”, claiming that LGBT activists were “practicing an extremist ideology.” This was obviously quite controversial within the international community and LGBT activists within Russia, but we wanted to know what everyday Russians thought of this definition. So the Dingleberry Times travelled to Moscow to see what the average Russian had to say about their government labeling the LGBT movement a “terrorist organization.”

Mark Kuznetsov (Retired)

“I feel like it makes things more fair if we’re all equally denied basic civil rights.”

Doris Morozov (Housewife)

“I’d support the LGBT community if it wasn’t for the fact that they were all homosexual.”

Simon Mhakadev (Accountant)

“Maybe this will inspire Lil Nas X to make good music for once.”

Dimitri Vassiliev (Sperm Bank Coordinator)

“I can totally understand President Putin’s frustrations about the gays. I run a sperm bank, and I almost always have to fire each gay that I end up hiring because they’re always drinking on the job.”

Leopold Smirnov (PE Teacher)

“I don’t have a problem with anybody being gay just as long as they’re treated as a pariah and are shunned away from the rest of society.”

Ivan Birichsov (College Student)

“I pray that the gays won’t stop making all those really hot erotic books because of this.”

Sara Andreev (Jeweler)

“I guess we won’t be seeing a Village People reunion tour in Russia anytime soon.”

Nimir Ashakev (Restaurant Manager)

“That’s a slap in the face to real terrorists who risk their lives to spread their hateful ideologies.”

Isaac Sokolov (Drug Dealer)

“I mean, I thought the movie ‘Bros’ was pretty unfunny too, but calling the LGBT community a bunch of terrorists because of it seems like overkill to me.”

Alexander Agapov (Engineer)

“How come the gays get to be labeled as terrorists but us straight people don’t get to be? Seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”