#Ivan is there. under the milk.

[geospiral]

Original Post

[goldxnfemme]

“Remember that morning I tried telling you in my mom’s truck up on Grey Mountain that the big-city trans community might not be the welcoming, accepting, blissful soft landing that I would like it to be for you? You sipped your oat milk latte and nodded, but I could tell that in your head you were patting me on the shoulder and saying ok Uncle Ivan, ok old fella, I’m listening, but I know it will be different for me.

I so wish it had been different for you. I wish trans people could come together better, that our own pain and trauma didn’t get in the way so much. I wish we could trust one another more, forgive each other easier, welcome and hold and teach each other, without punishing those of us who are newer, or older, or younger, or who arrive on our doorsteps without the right words, or clothes, or politics. I wish we didn’t turn so much of the hate aimed at us inward, and flip and bite our brothers and sisters and siblings simply because of their proximity, because they are available, and because they are so much easier to sink our teeth into than our real enemies are. They call it lateral violence, which is a useful term to a point, but one that does not fully describe how we can also harm those above us, and especially under us, and who arrive after us, and who we were meant to follow as well, not just those directly next to, or around us. I wish we had the same patience and compassion for each other that we muster up on the regular and extend to our families, our co-workers, to some confused stranger in a public bathroom at the mall.

We are so used to being given nothing, that we do not yet know how to gracefully inherit anything, and some of us are terrified that if we share what we have fought for and earned, that we will be left without enough.

The lesson I take from this is to make room for each and every one of us to bring ourselves, imperfect and carrying our mistakes still on our backs, into the change room. It is the only way forward I can see myself walking towards.”

- Care Of: Letters, Connections, and Cures by Ivan Coyote

[crotchety-old-emu]

OLITDP chapter 24 references

as i mentioned in my author's notes of the chapter, there's a few references that i would like to share with those who are interested in them. you don't need to know about them to understand what's going on in the story, obviously, but perhaps it's nice to have some visual aids to go with some of the things that are happening.

if you haven't read the latest chapter yet, and you want to remain spoiler free, it's best to skip this post (or perhaps come back to it later). you can find chapter 24 of our love is these days' piano here!

so here's a short list of things that might be interesting - but definitely not necessary - to know about chapter 24:

penelope's dress at the trowbridge ball is a silvery sea green. the one i had in mind was kind of like this one, from the season three behind the scenes pics. nicola looks stunning in green, especially with the red hair. i found beatrice knight's regency color compendium, a stunning overview of all the fashionable colours of fabric in the regency era, with some fantastic descriptions of how they were made and when they were worn. the willow/sea green colour shown on this page is exactly the hue i was picturing while writing.

lady trowbridge's decorations: i spent days and days researching how lady trowbridge might showcase her wealth and peculiar tastes during this ball, but honestly, i didn't find much info about ballroom decorations and i didn't want to make up things that definitely could not have happened. so i settled on things that i was already fairly certain of were pretty decadent for the era: pineapples and ice cream. after reading up on ice cream in regency times through several sources, i came across the website of ivan day, who is a food historian and has worked on some bbc regency costume dramas. he had a very insightful youtube video on how ice cream was made in those days. in it, he makes one of the ice cream pineapples i mention in the story. ivan day's actual website is under construction, but i found a photo of moulded ice groups, as they were presented in regency times, on another page which was taken from his. it includes ice cream shaped like a swan (which may have been parmesan flavoured, which apparently was a popular ice cream flavour back then).

another food decoration that both eloise and penelope mention is a flummery solomon's temple. i found out about these through watching the bbc documentary pride and prejudice - having a ball, which talks about accurate representation of balls during regency times on television. the part of the doc i'm linking to is the part where ivan day reveals a solomon's temple and explains that this would be a staple on all upper-class tables in those days. the white bits, if i'm not mistaken, are milk-flavoured, the brown is chocolate and/or coffee, the pink is coloured with cochineal.

he also has a page on solomon's temples on his blog, which has a very amusing short clip of how exactly these jellies moved. if you watch it (highly recommend), i'm sure you'll understand why eloise would think it was a good thing to comment on. ivan day himself describes it as:

Because it is made of flummery, which is a kind of opaque milk jelly, the central obelisk wobbles and cavorts in a most entertaining manner, while the four little cones shake, rattle and roll in a very naughty way.

the dance: i must have watched at least fifty different dances that were popular at the time - shoutout to regencydances.org, which not only has a very extensive list of dances, but also a youtube channel and animations showing what the dances would have looked like. i based penelope and anthony's dance on the northdown waltz - which granted, only became a thing from 1820 onwards, so it's technically an anachronism for them to be dancing it. it simply was the only dance that best fit with how i wanted the scene to go. you can find an instruction video on the northdown waltz here. anthony, in this case, would be the red rectangle, penelope the green ellipsis. here's a clip of actual people performing the dance, so you can kind of imagine what it would have looked like. i always knew anthony's confession would happen during a dance, my main inspiration for that was this scene from becoming jane. if you've seen the film, you undoubtedly know exactly which scene i'm talking about without even clicking the link. i remember that when i first saw this part of the film, i stopped breathing for a minute, because it was just such an intense moment, which was exactly what i wanted for anthony's big moment.

there you go, some insight into the tiny things mentioned in the latest chapter that you might perhaps enjoy knowing more about. hope at least some of you found it interesting!

also, i want to mention: i am not a historian, i don't claim that my fic is historically accurate, not in the very least. i try to stick to period-appropriate things, which i do as much research for as i can. but some mistakes will have slipped in there, i am very much aware. so if this is a particular pet peeve for some of the history buffs among you, i apologise.

[rimbaudofficial]

shark izzy in bed for a rest, front and back. the thing next to the flowers on the dresser is a dish of crystals, which his bf frenchie bought him. the cats are named fang and ivan and collectively referred to as The Boys.

the book on the nightstand is dylan thomas' under milk wood.

[thegayhimbo]

Stranger Things Kamchatka Review (and my thoughts on the Russian arc as a whole)

Warning: The following review contains MAJOR SPOILERS from the comic, as well as season 4 of Stranger Things!

If you haven't yet, be sure to check out my other Stranger Things Reviews:

Stranger Things Six

Stranger Things Halloween Special

Stranger Things The Other Side

Stranger Things Zombie Boys

Stranger Things The Bully

Stranger Things Winter Special

Stranger Things Tomb of Ybwen

Stranger Things Into The Fire

Stranger Things Science Camp

Stranger Things "The Game Master" and "Erica's Quest"

Stranger Things and Dungeons and Dragons

Synopsis: In dark wintry Russia, Soviet scientists and military personnel oversee a new weapon they hope to use in their Cold War against the United States: A Demogorgon. To this end, they have enlisted the help of Dr. Boris Orlov to give them a device that will allow the monster to maintain its full strength. However, when Orlov refuses them and hides the device, he is taken prisoner to Kamchatka where the Demogorgon is being held. Now, with the help of an ex-KGB agent named Mr. Frost, it's up to Orlov's children, Anna and Lenoid, to save their father and prevent the device from falling into the Kremlin's hands......

Observations:

This is going to be a different review from what I usually do. The first part of this will discuss the comic itself and its merits/flaws, whereas the second will give more details about my thoughts concerning the Russian arc from seasons 3-4 and its placement on the show.

Part 1: The Comic

There are two ways I judge this comic: As an individual story, and how it ties into the Stranger Things universe.

In regards to the former, the comic works well as a thrilling Cold War spy narrative. It's fast-paced, the fight and chase scenes are intense, and it manages to capture the paranoia of living in the Soviet Union during a time when your words and actions were monitored and there was the constant threat of the KGB coming to arrest you for being a traitor to the motherland.

The artwork is impressive. From the white and grey hues depicting the bleak endless winters of Russia, to the ominous red and orange lighting of the prison, this comic does a great job with its dark colors and use of shadows to creepy effect:

On top of that, this is arguably one of the most violent comics in the series, which is saying something given the show it's based on. They do not shy away from depicting graphic scenes here:

The way the Demogorgon attacks its prey reminds me of the viciousness the Xenomorphs from the Alien series displayed towards their victims. Given how 80s movies like Aliens served as inspiration for Stranger Things and for the design of the Demogorgon in the first place, this was likely a subtle nod to that. The comic writers and artists know how to utilize the Demogorgon for all its scariness and brutality. Considering the same people for this comic have written another story (The Voyage) featuring the Demogorgon stalking and killing the crew of a freighter ship (which sounds similar to the plot of the first Alien movie), they're planning on milking the monster for all it's worth.

There are two main antagonists besides the Demogorgon: The first is Ivan Kolochev, who comes across like Darth Vader if he was a Russian KGB agent. He's the one who hunts the kids in order to get their father's device, and it's revealed he was the former protégé of Mr. Frost during the time they both served the Kremlin. Ivan later turned on Frost for becoming soft in his eyes, which forced Frost to go into hiding and abandon his wife and daughter for their own safety:

The second antagonist is Dr. Karine. She's the one overseeing the Demogorgon at Kamchatka, and was revealed to have worked under Alexei and General Stepanov when they first tried (and failed) to open the gate to the Upside Down on June 28th, 1984. She was one of the survivors from the blast, and later discovered a pollywog that she nursed into adulthood:

Best way I know how to describe her is she's similar to Dr. Irina Spalko from Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull in their ruthlessness, their desire to advance the Soviet Union's cause, and their fascination with abnormal branches of science. They even look physically similar in some respects:

In terms of the main characters, Mr. Frost was the interesting one. A man who ran from the KGB for 15 years and was skilled enough to survive and help two kids who were out of their depth. The story behind him abandoning his family for their safety was sad, and his reunion with daughter later on is heartwearming:

My only criticism of Frost is I wish they'd gone more in depth about his mindset. He tells the kids at the beginning of the comic he's disillusioned with what his country has become, and flashbacks show him becoming lenient in his interrogations, which gets him in trouble with the Kremlin. However, they never elaborated on how he got to that point. They never clarify if he began developing empathy for the Americans who were being tortured by the KGB, if he became tired from years of interrogating prisoners, if he began to fear he was turning Ivan into a monster by taking him in as a pupil, or if something else happened that made him re-evaluate his beliefs.

There's also his relationship/rivalry with Ivan. From the way Frost tells it, he raised Ivan like a son when he found him on the streets and took him in, only to later be betrayed by Ivan because he would "take the Americans side" whenever Ivan tortured prisoners. At the end of the comic though, Ivan accuses Frost of caring more about the rules and the state than about him, suggesting he felt Frost personally betrayed him.

Maybe it was intentionally written to be vague and let the audience decide who was more at fault for Ivan's descent into sadism, but considering we don't get many scenes showing what Ivan and Frost's relationship was like before they fell out with one another, it comes off like an aspect of the story (and Frost's character) that wasn't properly fleshed-out.

As for the kids and Dr. Orlov, they're pretty flat as characters. Anna and Lenoid have scenes showing they care for one another, but they don't really have personalities beyond them trying to find their father. Same for Dr. Orlov: Aside from one moment where he briefly delays Dr. Karine's plans by screwing over another scientist, he's basically a Damsel in Distress (or in this case, a Dude in Distress) waiting to be rescued. There isn't a lot to these characters that's engaging.

And this brings me to the crux of the problem I have with this comic: Setting it in the Stranger Things universe.

If this was just an individual Cold War thriller taking place in Russia, that would be one thing. In fact, I argue this comic works better if it isn't tied to Stranger Things. Just tweak a few plot details, change the Demogorgon to a different monster, and you have an original and unique story. By trying to shove it into the Stranger Things narrative, it creates a whole host of issues.

For one thing, it's highly unlikely Dr. Orlov or Anna and Lenoid are going to make a canonical appearance on the show. Because of that, it's hard to get invested in them or their story, and it doesn't help that the two characters who were interesting (Frost and Ivan) die at the end of the comic. There's maybe the possibility of Dr. Karine showing up in season 5, but since she made no appearance in season 4 during the Kamchatka arc, I seriously doubt that.

I've said this before, but I'm tired of them focusing on characters who either aren't important to the main plot, or aren't canonically part of the show. I'm not opposed to them doing a comic set in Russia, but it should help enhance the ongoing story and characters from the show instead of being a pointless side detour with Easter Eggs sprinkled in.

Take Hopper for instance: He spent 8 months imprisoned at Kamchatka prior to season 4. Why not write a story that focuses on his time there and how he learned to survive the harsh conditions of the prison and his torture by the Russians? Why not give more details about how he met Enzo/Dmitri, how they came to trust each other, and how they formed their initial plan for Hopper to escape?

For that matter, why not have a comic focused on Enzo/Dmitri? They could go more into detail about his life as a prison guard at Kamchatka, his relationship with his son, and so on.

Same with Yuri. I don't particularly like his character, but he at least was relevant to the show, and has a backstory as the "Peanut Butter Smuggler" that's ripe with potential.

They did this with Will and Bob in Tomb of Ybwen, and they did this with Dustin and Suzie in Science Camp, so I don't see why they couldn't have done that for either Hopper, Enzo, or Yuri.

Then there's the plot involving the McGuffin: A device created by Dr. Orlov that amplifies telekinetic abilities which Dr. Karine wants to keep the Demogorgon alive. Long story short: The Demogorgon is slowly dying because it can't live in our world and needs to be connected to its source (the hive mind) which the device allows it to do.

Now maybe I'm remember this wrong from the show (and feel free to correct me in the comment section if that's the case), but my understanding was that Demogorgons, Demodogs, and anything infected by the Mind Flayer (which was revealed to be controlled by Vecna) would cease living if the gate closed. There was a whole deal made in season 2 about getting the Mind Flayer particles out of Will before El shut the gate at Hawkins Lab because he would die otherwise.

However, when it comes to the Soviet's Demogorgon, I was under the impression it wasn't infected by the Mind Flayer, which is why it was still alive once the Russian Gate closed in season 3.

Same thing for the Demodog on the operating table that was being vivisected: My impression was it didn't have the Mind Flayer particles in it either, which is why it was active before Hopper shot it.

All of this makes the telekinetic device used to keep the Demogorgon alive look like a major plot-hole. The Soviet Demogorgon is never seen wearing the device once on the show, even though the comic puts a major emphasis on needing to wear it to survive.

It seems like an unnecessary element to the mythology given the show didn't bother to include it, and it's one I don't care for.

(Side Note: This is a question that's bothered me for a while now, but was the Hive Mind already a part of the Upside Down before Vecna arrived there, and he simply hijacked it when he used the black particles to create the Mind Flayer? Or did Vecna create the Hive Mind by forming the Mind Flayer and using that to infect almost every living being in the Upside Down and link their minds to his?)

Overall, my feelings about this comic are mixed. Some aspects like the artwork, the tone, and the Cold War setting work well, but the characters aren't memorable and the attempts to link the story to the Stranger Things Universe is handled in a clumsy way.

Part 2: The Russian Arc

When it comes to the Russian Arc in seasons 3-4. I know the general consensus has been fans questioning the point of it, with feelings ranging from indifference to outright negativity. In many ways, I get it. Out of all the directions they could have gone with the main story, this is not one I expected them to go either, and I'm still wondering whether there's a future payoff coming that will make it all worth it.

That being said, I don't hate this arc like some people do, and I even know a few people who like it. My dad for instance, who grew up in the 50s and 60s during the height of Cold War paranoia and the fear of Russians infiltrating the United States, thought the show did a good job recapturing those feelings and memories. He also liked how the show emphasized how the danger of the Upside Down wasn't just limited to Hawkins, and that it was important to show Vecna as a threat worldwide. I can see his perspective, and it has made me reevalute some aspects of the arc again, but my feelings still remain mixed at best.

I know when Season 3 came out in 2019, there was a podcast with the Duffer Brothers and producer Shawn Levy giving details about their reasoning for introducing the Russians:

Shawn Levy: “We’ve seen the Americans and now the Soviets trying to harness the power that seems to reside in the Upside Down through that gate. We’ve seen both sides of the Cold War now try to tap into it and control it in order to weaponize it so it felt like a really compelling way to take a real-world fear, an actual authentic historical paranoia, and to mix it with a very specific sci-fi genre plot that is unique to Stranger Things.”

Matt Duffer: “We always struggled a little bit with the U.S. government as the bad guys because there’s only so many times you can punch and/or kill U.S. government or military personal before you get locked away in America. So in a sense, they [The Russians] were an easier human villain because we could do a lot more with them.”

On paper, the writers wanting to explore themes relating to the Cold War and delve more into the paranoia surrounding the Red Scare wasn't a bad idea on its own. The way it was executed on the show, however, left a lot to be desired.

I'm not a fan of how the Russians were depicted in season 3. Not only did they come off as cartoonish buffoons and stereotypes, but they weren't threatening as antagonists. I never got the sense of menace or the intimidating presence I felt when Dr. Brenner or Colonel Sullivan's men showed up looking for El and anyone associated with her. And compared to villains like Dr. Brenner and Vecna, who evoked feelings of fear and revulsion, I felt no similar emotions for the Russians because I had a hard time taking them seriously. My suspension of disbelief breaks whenever I think too hard about how they were able to build their underground base at Starcourt Mall in less than a year. They were portrayed in such a bumbling manner that I didn't buy it.

Even Alexei is a character I'm not a fan of. There was always something irksome to me about the show portraying him in a childlike, naive manner in spite of the fact he knowingly opened a portal to a different dimension to capture monsters to use as weapons, which ended up getting a bunch of people killed in the process. The ONLY thing I liked about this arc was the formation of the Scoops Troop and the interactions between Steve, Dustin, Erica, and Robin.

Season 4 is different: Part of this may be due to a different perspective considering this season came out 3 months after the real life Russian Invasion of Ukraine, but the Russians were creepy compared to the previous season. There was a sadistic, cruel inhumanity to the way they acted that made them menacing. The vicious torture of Hopper. The pit where prisoners were fed to the Demogorgon and the whole thing being treated for sport by the guards. The lack of any basic human rights for the prisoners at Kamchatka. Even the vivisection of the still-alive demodog was horrifying. There was a brutality from the Russians that was chilling to watch, and it made them more insidious than before.

I liked the Russian arc in season 4 better than season 3. I enjoyed Enzo/Dmitri's character and loved the friendship that developed between him and Hopper. I liked seeing Hopper's character development where he became more level-headed and introspective compared to how impulsive and hot-headed he was in season 3. I enjoyed the break-in to the prison and how reminiscent it was of video games like the Resident Evil and Outlast series in tone, setting, and sense of danger. I also loved both fights between Hopper and the Demogorgon, despite how corny some people claim they were.

Just because something has flaws doesn't mean it can't have good elements to it as well. Compared to controversial arcs from other TV shows, this one had enjoyable moments, and it's not one I mind rewatching again.

I acknowledge that all of this is my personal opinion, and I don't speak for everyone in regards to how they feel about the Russian arc.

I also recognize there are still questions that need to be answered for season 5. Like how the Russians found out about the Upside Down in the first place: Was there a mole at Hawkins Lab that Dr. Brenner was unaware of, or did they discover it through other means? How did they get that piece of the Mind Flayer into the glass case without getting infected by it? Is Kamchatka the only facility that houses monsters from the Upside Down, or are there others? Do the Russians know about Vecna? What happened to Enzo and Yuri, and are they coming back? Will the Russians return to Hawkins to exact revenge for the destruction of their facility at Kamchatka, or to try and capture more monsters from the Upside Down?

In spite of these questions, I am willing to give the Duffer Brothers the benefit of the doubt in believing they will tie this together. As I've said before, I'm still looking forward to season 5! :)

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 37

Chapter 36

Masterlist

Just a heads up I'll be jumping ahead in time a bit for the first two sequences before we head back to the present point in time.

---------------Temerian dungeon a few weeks later-----------

"The Targaryen princess seemed to recognize you right away," Roche addresses an imprison Geralt, "the look in her eyes, it was almost as she'd seen a ghost the moment she turned to face you. But you on the other hand...what is your relationship to the princess, Geralt?" "That I don't remember," Geralt admits. "Well it appeared you were one of the people she was looking for in her solitary quest," Roche says, "something about you being connected to her mother, the Lady of Larks. I never would've guessed..."

"How do know her?" Geralt questions. "I had the very high honor of meeting her years ago," Roche explains in his usual sarcastic way, "my men saved her from these bandits. Then, I had the very displeasure of meeting her father as well as the dragons."

"Go on, then," Roche insists, "finish the rest of the story. If I remember correctly, after your little confrontation with the princess she disappeared to meet with the sorceress Tris."

"She did," Geralt confirms, "but then she rejoined us in the monastery. She had some questions she wanted to ask me..."

---------Meanwhile in King's Landing-----------------

In the small council chambers, a meeting was held. Present for the meeting, apart from the small council members was Queen Alicent and the Hand of the king. The king himself was not present,. In fact, Viserys hadn't been present for any of these meetings for the last few years or so, around the time when his health had taken a sharp decline, to the point where the king barely leaves his chambers for most of the day and had become dependent on Milk of the Poppy to keep the pain at bay.

The meeting was about to conclude, before a servant knocked and enter the chambers. "Beg pardon your Grace, my lords," the servant addresses, holding a scroll in his hand, "this message is addressed to his Grace the king...or at least we think it is." "You think it is?" Otto raised a eyebrow at that statement.

"The uh...the message, I'm afraid is written in a different language," the servant explains, "it came from the Continent, but no one here appears able to speak it."

"...maybe there might be one," Alicent suggests, "send of Ser Ivan. Maybe he may able to translate the message for us."

The servant bows and goes to do such. Otto had the rest of the council members dismissed in the event this was something that needed to be kept under wraps from the rest of the Keep.

"You sent for me, Your Grace?" Ivan speaks, lightly bowing. "I have," Alicent nods, handing Ivan the scroll, "this message came from the Continent. As a Continental yourself, I am hoping you have retained what languages you may have learned there so as to translate this message. For the Hand, for your queen...and for your king." Ivan looked to Alicent and to Otto and nodded as he unrolled the scroll, thankful that learning to read and write was also part of his knight training.

He recognize the language as it was one his mother had taught him before she died, and it was the language of his father's people. "Well? What does it say?" Otto questions, noticing the worrying looks on Ivan's face. "Oh, forgive me, Lord Hand," Ivan says before he translates the letter.

---------------Temeria: La Valette castle, present time-----------------

Aemma stood where she was, speechless and feeling all sorts of mixed emotions as she stared into the eyes of the man who was supposed to be the bane of hers and her father's existence. The man, she had been told had taken her mother away from her family.

The White Wolf...Geralt of Rivia...the Witcher....

Aemma clung to hilt of her sword, not sure what she should say or do. All those years in her childhood and adolescent she had dreamed of this day. She had dreamt all different kinds of scenarios of what she was going to do, what she would say, how she would've made the white hair witcher confess his crimes before she plunged her mother's silver dagger into his heart and before feeding his corpse to Cirillia. There had even been a scenario where Aemma would've burned his body herself before offering it to her dragon as she had believed then that he was not worth the trouble of being burned with dragon fire. 

But now, given everything she had been told to the contrary from sources that were not her father, Aemma had never imagined a scenario where she would've just talked to the man...and ultimately spare his life and absolve him of the crimes he may not have actually committed. Aemma's hand began to shake, and she struggled to keep it under control. 

"You...you're....you're him...Geralt of Rivia."

Foltest and the Blue Stripes stood there as the standoff continued, not sure what to do, and were curious as to how this was going to go down.

Aemma pulled out her dagger, somewhere in the middle of wanting to carry out her plan and fighting against it. Geralt stood there, feeling confused. This young woman knew him...but he didn't; even in his visions of the Wild Hunt, this individual was never present. Yet, she did look familiar, though Geralt couldn't figure out why.

"You...you know my mother," Aemma accuses, bringing the witcher's mind back to reality, "where is she? Where is my mother? What did you to the Lady of Larks?"

Once again, the present company exchanged looks at the mention of that name, some even whispering among them. "Princess Aemma?" Foltest speaks up, "did you say your mother was-" "The Lady of Larks!" Aemma ignores the Temerian king, keeping focus on the witcher, "what did you do to her?! Answer my question!"

"...I'm sorry," Geralt shakes his head, "I don't know what you are talking about." Aemma stood there, speechless, eyes wide, unable to understand it all. This man was a prominent figure in her mother's story...yet he did not seem to know this, "you...you don't remember her?" A single tear escaped the princess's eye, not able to comprehend that it was such a possibility.

In a fit of rage, Aemma charged at Geralt and pushed him down. The witcher, though surprised as anyone else, did not bother to defend himself, even when Aemma had the dagger at his throat. "What the fuck?" she hears Roche's voice.

"No! No! NO!" Aemma cries out, "you don't get to DO THIS! YOU DON'T GET TO FORGET MY MOTHER! NOT AFTER EVERYTHING SHE'S BEEN THROUGH! WHAT YOU'VE PUT HER THROUGH!!"

"I'm...I'm sorry," Geralt speaks in a regretful voice, "I don't-" Geralt suddenly had a vision of the past. It was back to the that time in Rivia, when he and (y/n) had supposedly died during the pogrom. They were taken to another place to some island, thanks to the help of...Ciri, yes, that's what happened. It had been paradise, though he could see (y/n)'s face, the sadness in her expressions; even during moments of happiness, she had this longing to return and reunite with...

The vision then turned to (y/n) being taken away from him...the Wild Hunt...they took her away from Geralt, and he needed to go and bring her back.

The moment of contemplation was cut short when Foltest's voice boomed, "Aemma, stop this madness!" the kings demands, "the witcher is with me! Whatever grievance you hold against him, you shall not harm him!"

"You can't forget her!" Aemma sobs out as more tears escape, "you just can't...I need to know where she is...I've waited so long for her to come back! I..." She dropped the long forgotten dagger as she pulled back and continued to sob. Geralt was at a loss about what do and the rest of the party had some awkward looks, not sure to console the poor woman. The witcher looked at Aemma, "your mother...(y/n), that was her, wasn't it?"

Aemma looked at the witcher again, nodding, "you remember?" "No...at least, not the parts you want me to remember," Geralt says standing up and helping Aemma to her feet, "It's a long story, and one I can't quite put together. But I do have some memories of (y/n)..."

A portal suddenly pops up and a woman with red hair comes out. "Geralt," she says, "you're alright and...who is this?" she turns to Aemma. "This, Merigold is princess Aemma from Westeros," Foltest announces, "I'm sure you know of that place." Tris' eyes widen the moment she heard that name, "Aem...Aemma?" She approaches the young woman, "Aemma, is...is it really you?" "Yes?" Aemma frowns at the woman in confusion. A smile on her face, Tris pulls Aemma in for an embrace, "Oh Aemma, it really is. My, you really have grown up, you look just like your mother." "You knew my mother? Wait who are you?" "Tris Merigold," Tris tells her, "I'm a mage, I serve the king." "Tris?!" Aemma's eyes widen, "I've...I've been looking for you," she says, "I have questions."

Tris nods and excuses herself and Aemma and escorts the young woman into a portal so the two can talk.

--------------meanwhile---------------

"The plan has been set into motion," the witcher of Gullet assures the Scoia'tel commander, "soon as the pieces will fall into place and Foltest will be out of the way."

"I know you have no wish for gold or anything else," Iorveth says, "but there is a change of plans." Letho raises an eyebrow at that. "Scouts have reported a new piece has been added to this game," the elf explains, "A Targaryen princess from Westeros. I don't know what you know of that place, but my people still hold grudge against the ruling family there for personal reasons. Do what you will to Foltest, and whoever will try to protect him, but I want you to bring me the girl. Alive. We need her as leverage. Whatever price you wish, we shall grant."

Letho was silent for a moment when he thinks on this, "keep what you have. The deal still remains. I will bring you the princess."

Unknown to the Woodland Fox, the presence of princess Aemma Targaryen had also become personal to the witcher.

--------------somewhere away from La Valette Castle---------

"How do you know me?" Aemma asks of the mage, "I...I don't remember us ever meeting before." "I wouldn't expect you to," Tris tells her, "you were just a baby. I met your mother when she first came to Kaer Morhen. I helped her through her labors when she fought to bring you to this world." "You...you helped deliver me as a newborn?" Aemma realizes, "but my mother...she came there on her own? Or was she forced to?" "What exactly were you told of your mother, Aemma?" Tris asks. Aemma looked away a bit before she answered, "my father...he used to tell me I was born on Dragonstone. My mother was later abducted by the witcher, by...by Geralt. He took her away from our family, and there was nothing father could do to bring her back."

Tris scoffed at that, something that didn't go unnoticed by Aemma. "Sorry," the mage says, "it's just...after seeing what your father was capable of, I have a hard time believing he couldn't have done anything to bring your mother back. Especially with the trouble and determination he had to take her away from Kaer Morhen the first time around." "He took me and my mother back to King's Landing from Kaer Morhen," Aemma says, "Vesemir told me, I uh, I found myself back at that place six years ago. I met the old man there, he's been training me with the sword and...he told me what happened when my father arrived on Caraxes. I...I want to know the truth, that's why I'm trying to find my mother, to rescue her from the Wild Hunt and hear the whole story from her."

"What do you know of the Wild Hunt?" Tris raises an eyebrow, wondering what a Westerosi would know of these beings that were considered Continental lore. "I...I've seen visions of them," Aemma explains, "I have this gift...it's similar to that one gift Ciri has." "Ciri?" "I've seen her in my visions," Aemma explains, "Ciri chasing after the Hunt. Vesemir also told me what happened to me, the spell, the one you used to subdue Ciri when she lost control of her powers."

Tris' eyes widen when she realized what happened, "Aemma, Ciri's gift...the spell, it must've transferred her powers to you." "I think so," Aemma confirms, "but it's not quite the same. I don't know why that is the case. That's why I wanted to find you. You were the sorceress who cast the spell, maybe you could tell me."

"I...it's been years, Aemma, but I shall do my best to find out what," Tris assures, "but with everything I have to do right now for King Foltest, it will have to wait. Until then, is there anything else you wish to know?" "The witcher," Aemma says, "he...why doesn't he remember my mother? How is that even possible?" "Geralt has amnesia," Tris explains, "he was abducted by the Wild Hunt along with your mother. He managed to escape, but it came at the cost of his memory. I've been working at trying to restore but...it's been difficult. He has dreams of the Wild Hunt every now and again, but nothing before that. I can't quite restore what isn't there, it's like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

Aemma sighed, "he's the only other person apart from my mother who could tell me the truth of my parent's relationship. I just want to know, I need to know for certain, without a doubt that everything my father told me was the truth...or all a lie." Tris placed a hand on Aemma's shoulder, "I don't exactly know what their relationship was," she admits, "but...I don't think it was a happy one, Aemma. When you find out, you may not like what you'll hear." Aemma looked to Tris, "you know something, do you?" "I...all I know is your mother was determined to get away from him," Tris says, sadness in her tone, "your father...it seemed he was dead set on keeping her close. A bird in a cage, you mother would say, that's how she felt when she was brought back to King's Landing or Dragonstone, or wherever in Westeros you father placed her."

Aemma felt her stomach turn, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to believe her father would treat her mother like that. But she knew her father could be quite possessive of what he felt belong to him. He didn't part with his possessions lightly, be it his dragon, his family, or anything that was part of the Valyrian ancestry.

"She did everything she could to come back to you," Tris tries to console, "she loved you very much. That's why she left in the first place." "Was...was she afraid my father would try and harm me?" "I don't know," Tris shakes her head, "I believe there may be more to this story then meets the eye, more then what your mother has chosen to disclose when she was still around."

Aemma stood up, "I need to talk to Geralt. When this conflict is over, you will help me?" "Yes," Tris nods, "I shall help you understand this gift you possess as well as help Geralt with his memory. We'll uncover the truth together." "One more thing," Aemma says, "My mother had a brother. I need to find him too, maybe he could provide insight to my parent's relationship." "Jaskier?" Tris realized, "Well last I checked, he was in some small fishing village in Aedirn. Once all this is over, I'll create a portal to take us there. You'll get to see your uncle again Aemma, I promise."

"Thank you, Tris." "It really was good to see you again, Aemma," the mage tells her, "I wish it was under different circumstances. You really do look so much like your mother. She would be proud to know what you have accomplished."

"I'll know for myself when I see her again," Aemma nods.

--------------------

Aemma walked out the portal Tris opened up for her, leading her to the monastery where Foltest had just received information on the whereabouts of his children. The king, Roche, and Geralt were about to head back to the castle when Aemma ran into them.

"You again," Foltest states. "I have no intention of attacking the witcher again, your Majesty," Aemma assures, "I only wish to speak with him." "You can do that once I have reunited with my children," Foltest assures, "until then, he stays with me." 

Before any protests could be made, the gold dragon that attacked them previously and had abducted Aemma had returned, swooping down, separating Roche from the rest of the group. Geralt helped Foltest to cross the bridge as the dragon chased them down. Aemma ran up and pulled her sword out to confront the dragon. The dragon surprisingly stopped in its tracks. "Lykiri, zaldritzes, lykiri!" Aemma speaks, not sure if she could even command this dragon, or if the dragon even understood her. The dragon stood its ground, merely staring at Aemma. Perhaps it did understand her. "Jikagon qrīdrughagon!" Aemma demands, feeling a little more confident, "Jikagon qrīdrughagon! Henujagon īlva mērī! (Go away! Leave us alone!)"

"Is she actually speaking to the dragon?" Foltest looked back, "Fuck me, Roche was right about her lot. Inbred dragon tamers, they are."

The dragon stared, then it growled, and charged once again. Aemma turned and ran, knowing it was not a good idea to reason with this dragon anymore. She ran to the end of the bridge and jumped through the door. The dragon tried to grab her again, but Geralt stepped in and stabbed the dragon, causing it to pull away, and the door closed. The dragon fled, roaring in agony as it did so.

"You saved my life," Foltest says, "both of you." "I was only vying for time, your Majesty," Aemma insists. "That language you were speaking to the dragon," the king says, "What was it?" "Valyrian," Aemma answers, "the language of my ancestors." Foltest nods and gestures for her and the witcher to follow.

Aemma kept her eyes on Geralt during this time. "How much do you remember of my mother?" she questions. "I...I see visions every now and again of (y/n)...her and the Wild Hunt." "Tris told me," Aemma nods, "she said she's trying to restore your memory. Can you promise me something then?" "What is it?" Once you remember...when you remember my mother. I want you to tell me everything. I need to know the truth. About you, about her...and about her relationship with my father. I don't want anything to be held back." "...I promise then...princess Aemma," Geralt nods.

Aemma still held on to some hope that her mother and father were happy together, but if what Tris told her was the truth, and if Geralt was the one who tried to help her mother get away...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of children playing and laughing, seemingly blissfully unaware of what had just occurred outside.

Twins, they were, Boussy and Anais. Foltest's children by the Baroness La Valette.

The children stopped playing the moment they see the king along with Geralt and Aemma. They run to hide behind another man that was present, a blind monk by the looks of it. Foltest has Geralt and Aemma stay behind so the man could greet his children without scaring them. Anais was first to approach, running to her father and embracing him. Boussy was a little more hesitant, but the monk insisted and the boy approached the king as well.

"What exactly is their relationship?" Aemma asks, feeling curious. "They're Foltest's children by the baron La Valette's wife," Geralt tells her, "the Baroness and Foltest had...some kind of disagreement between them, hence the reason for this civil war." "She was married to another man?" Aemma realized, "so they're...oh." "Foltest has already declared them legitimate," Geralt tells her, "he hopes his son will succeed as king someday."

Aemma felt glad that was the case; being bastard born herself, she could relate somewhat to the situation. Her own father was married when her mother and him coupled and conceived her in the process after all. She could only hope they won't be treated as pariahs, that the king will protect these two from slander as her uncle protected her cousin's sons.

It may have been Aemma's imagination, but when she saw the monk look up, she almost thought he was looking towards her specifically. She brushed it out of her mind when Foltest sent his children to the other room, insisting Boussy wash his face so the others outside won't see that the boy had been crying; he is to be a king after all, and kings don't cry.

Once the children were out of sight, the monk placed a hand on Foltest's shoulder, "Sire, let us pray." "They must look like the royal children that they are," Foltest insists as he walks past the monk. "Hmmm...they have your eyes sire," the monk whispers as he removes the wrappings around his eyes to reveal the gold irises that were similar to Geralt's.

Aemma walk to approach the king, hoping he would give the order to dismiss Geralt so she and him could talk properly over what he did remember. But little did she know, the monk snuck up on her from behind and covered her mouth and nose with a chloroform soaked cloth, causing her to pass out. "Apologies, princess," the monk, who was actually Letho in disguise says as he approaches the king, "this has become personal."

It all happened so quickly. The tall, bulky witcher pulled out his dagger and slit Foltest's throat, blood spilling out. Geralt ran over, having realized earlier that the monk was actually an assassin, but it was too late. The deed was done. Letho threw the king's body at Geralt before he pulled off his monk robes and grabbed an unconscious Aemma, slinging her over his shoulder.

Geralt ran after the man, but Letho jumped over a window and seemingly fall to his death. Geralt stood at the window, seeing no signs of Letho or Aemma down below, it was almost like they disappeared.

Geralt then ran to see to Foltest, who laid dead as the blood pooled around. The Temerian soldiers showed up, crossbows armed and pointed at Geralt, believing he was the one who committed this horrendous act. No way to escape, and no one to vouch for him, Geralt was left with no other option then to turn himself in.

-------------King's Landing: several weeks later-------------

Ivan read through the letter once more time before he translated for the Queen and the Hand:

To the King of the Seven Kingdoms across the Great Sea,

Your family's wrongdoings have gone on long enough these last twenty years. Twenty years of no peace, and no accountability. But that finally ends now. The Aen Seidhe call for justice for the dozens of brothers and sisters that were needlessly murder by dragon fire at the hands of Prince Daemon Targaryen.

We have one of your own in our custody, the princess Aemma Targaryen. She resides with the Scoia'tel in a secret encampment outside of Flotsam in Upper Aedirn. She remains unharmed and alive, and her maidenhead has not been defiled, and will remain this way for as long as we will it.

Produce us Prince Daemon, have him brought before us to confess his crimes and see to it that justice will finally be served and that our fallen brethren will at long last be put to rest. Only then shall we see fit to release the princess Aemma afterwards. You have two months to complete this task; should you delay, we shall have the princess brought back slowly in pieces. If you doubt our threats, you will find a lock of her hair attached to this letter, so you know we are telling the truth, for we know it is the dhione's nature to doubt the words of others.

Make haste, for some of my comrades wish to carry out justice already by silting Aemma's throat, and I cannot hold them back for much longer.

-Iorveth, Commander of the Scoia'tel

Chapter 38

[nikidavid]

1. ‘I choose violence’ and its not because ivans camry was laced in audial trap. Its not because I used in the passenger side and wonder if all he could see was my black eyes and brown body because unlike them, my body was born to forget. i literally remember nothing. my skin is covered in scars of tales I am waiting to hear myself. I trace his hands and feel where the fire pit seared his 5 year old skin to the bone, where he rubbed ice and salt to impress a bitch, where I dug my nails so deep when he made me laugh

2. when I was little I could feel my anger in my neck. I would grab the back of it and hold it till it passed. ama thought I was choking myself our but I really just wanted to breathe. Something bad happened to me last year and I couldn’t feel it in my neck now that I remember noting, the milk is always over boiled and the paysam is always too sweet.

3. 4 - U - city girl', nothing was worse than being 15 and outside. at 10pm we would kiss the mirror then proceed to stick on lashes that felt like insects and nails our mothers would break in the morning. it was the era of window breaking and gin stealing. my bestfriend was 16 and she looked nothing like me. she worked at the club on chapel and every night we would theorise our ideas of womanhood and act them out as best as we could. we were 15 and eating hsp at 4 am waiting for someones boyfriend to drive us home. i think bad things used to happen when i would rub my thighs together. i would do this in the back of every car while my body was slowly forgetting what it felt like to be missed by everyone i had loved.

4. i was everyones daughter and no ones child. i would smear crusty fair and lovely on my face till i was porcelin. this made me so happy becasue now i was finally the same colour as aunty. in my dreams i was made of feathers and jaggery. i was sweet and light and they would all love me. if i was like this i could forget my body and my body could forget me. i am so far away when my apa calls me by any name other than the one i was given.

5. ‘love no thotties’, i think i am in love with my body. henery kissinger was the only face my i saw when i was falling down the well. id look up under starlight and kiss my teeth. my body was for sale in the dark and i would mutter my best pitch under my breath. i knew the stove was still warm if i was hungry, i knew i could fall back into amas hands if i forget how to hold myself.

6. ama used to hold my hand to school then she swapped it for a mans. she also used to cook my food but now i find it disguting. raw, everything is now raw. i lived with my ammama when i was 5 so when i told her i missed her food, i thought i was going to die. last time i dared be this honest with a woman i knew it was becasue i was being cruel. when she made me a dosa i giggled while i chewed because i was only 5 and she wasnt. she’s all the heavy feelings that i want to feel but i try not to because if i do i am consumed and when i am consumed my body is nothing.

[thepikachusorcerer]

— Care Of, Ivan Coyote

[ Image ID: An excerpt from an e-book. The first paragraph is highlighted in yellow. The text reads, "Remember that morning I tried telling you in my mom’s truck up on Grey Mountain that the big-city trans community might not be the welcoming, accepting, blissful soft landing that I would like it to be for you? You sipped your oat milk latte and nodded, but I could tell that in your head you were patting me on the shoulder and saying ok Uncle Ivan, ok old fella, I’m listening, but I know it will be different for me.

I so wish it had been different for you. I wish trans people could come together better, that our own pain and trauma didn’t get in the way so much. I wish we could trust one another more, forgive each other easier, welcome and hold and teach each other, without punishing those of us who are newer, or older, or younger, or who arrive on our doorsteps without the right words, or clothes, or politics. I wish we didn’t turn so much of the hate aimed at us inward, and flip and bite our brothers and sisters and siblings simply because of their proximity, because they are available, and because they are so much easier to sink our teeth into than our real enemies are. They call it lateral violence, which is a useful term to a point, but one that does not fully describe how we can also harm those above us, and especially under us, and who arrive after us, and who we were meant to follow as well, not just those directly next to, or around us. I wish we had the same patience and compassion for each other that we muster up on the regular and extend to our families, our co-workers, to some confused stranger in a public bathroom at the mall." End ID ]

[autisticempathydaemon]

for the redacted audio matchup :D

My current song fixation is probably "Eat Your Young" by Hozier, but I'm also loving "She Wants Me (To Be Loved)" by The Happy Fits and I'm constantly in an Arctic Monkey brain rot.

My enneagram is type 4w6 and I'm an INFJ-t

I don't really watch many Youtube Video Essays because I'm busy with school, but I have enjoyed watching videos on the difference between psychopaths and people who are pretending to be psychopaths.

My imaginary friend as a kid was an elephant because I had a stuffed animal of Horton and it kinda just morphed into an imaginary friend tbh.

I fall asleep really late and usually listen to some sort of Sleep Aid.

If I had to change my name it'd probably be a naturey name like Aspen or Oakley. I chose the name I go by because of a username I used to go by LMAO.

My favorite of Redacted's audio is probably Anton's newest video where he calls his long-distance partner. (My toxic self wants to say Blake's Valentines Audio too though)

Asher is a character that has little appeal to me. He's like not bad, but I'm just not the biggest fan of him. (also I really do not Caelum but in a romantic sense my answer is Asher)

The Last Of Us has become one of my biggest interests rn, the amount of edits I consume of that show/game is unhealthy. It was very good and Joel is the LOML <3

I honestly don't know who I'm platonically attracted to, but I do prefer platonic friend Lasko rather than romantic Lasko.

I honestly just ramble about my interests, like my favorite books and shows. It kinda just depends on the vibe.

My go-to gas station and drink combo is 'Airhead Extremes' and Lemonade.

My Liked Song playlist (my main genres are Rock and Indie) on Spotify or my playlist with every Arctic Monkey song :)

My guilty pleasure media is StudyGram. I am way too into making pretty notes and watching Instagram Reels about studying.

Anything Else: I'm a science and psychology nerd and I also really like Greek Mythology.

Ooooh, this one was interesting; I could have gone a few directions with it, but what convinced me was StudyGram and how I think you and Ollie could really enjoy that together.

Like, I know he wasn’t always as on top as his game, but the man Ollie is now is conscientious, thoughtful, and smart. There was something incredibly charming about the way he studiously took notes in his first audio, so I think he’d be taken with your love of beautiful, well-structured notes. Ollie’s so sweet about it too, buying you notes and scented pens and cute pencil pouches shaped like a carton of strawberry milk (my personal favorite kind of stationary).

Also, I don’t think we have, like, any real canon information Ollie is a video game boy. He’s more of a board game, but he still appreciates a good playable narrative. I can see y’all having a lovely lazy day of him watching you play The Last of Us, bringing you snacks, asking you questions about the clickers… the opposite of a golden retriever gamer boyfriend in a way.

Song:

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner/ I wanna get stuck in your head/ I wanna watch a T.V. show together/ And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed

I love songs like this for Ollie and his partner. He is just the pinnacle of domestic sweetness and comfort, and this is just the song for that. It’s the soundtrack to shared bookshelves, trips to the grocery store together, Friday nights on the couch playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets to pick that night’s game~ Plus, it’s a confession-y type of song, and his confession is one of my favorite audios; it suits him 💌

Runner-Ups:

Something about Avior fits well with a Type Four. They’re characterized as the romantics of the Enneagram, emotional, creative, sensitive, and Avior is absolutely the kind of romantic to match that energy. Flyboi!Ivan, I like for you because he strikes me as an Arctic Monkeys guy.

Note: thank you for waiting! I had a couple of IRL writing assignments that fell by the wayside over the past month, and I had to catch up on those. I didn’t forget about any of these matchups, I promise 💖

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

[byneddiedingo]

Marfa Lapkina in The Old and the New (Sergei Eisenstein and Grigori Aleksandrov, 1929)

Cast: Marfa Lapkina, M. Ivanin, Konstantin Vasilyev, Vasili Buzenkov, Nejnikov, Chukamaryev, Ivan Yudin, E. Suhareva, G. Matvei. Screenplay: Grigori Aleksandrov, Sergei Eisenstein. Cinematography: Eduard Tisse. Art direction: Andrey Burov, Vasili Kovrigin, Vasiliy Rakhals. 

Sergei Eisenstein's last silent film almost deserves the old joke that you can always tell a Soviet film because the hero is a tractor. The Old and the New (sometimes called Old and New; the Russian language has no definite or indefinite articles) does conclude with a kind of ballet of tractors, but its hero is human: Marfa Lapkina, an actual Russian peasant who essentially plays herself in a story about the efforts to organize a kolkhoz, a collective farm. We first see Marfa struggling to survive as a farmer who doesn't even have a horse. Reduced to begging, she goes to the fat, greasy kulaks in her neighborhood, who reject her pleas for help. But a revolutionary organizer arrives in the village to set up a collective and introduce the locals to farm machinery. The rest of the film depicts Marfa's rise to leadership of the collective, battling the resistance of stick-in-the-muds, kulaks who poison the collective's bull, and bureaucrats who drag their feet on providing the collective with a tractor. The film was begun in 1927 under the title The General Line, but Eisenstein's work on it was interrupted so he could finish October (Ten Days That Shook the World), a celebration of the tenth anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution. Meanwhile, Leon Trotsky, whose ideas about collective agriculture were the original impetus for the film, fell from power -- a foreshadowing not only of the difficulties Eisenstein was to have dealing with Soviet ideology as Stalin consolidated his power, but also of the troubles ahead for Russian farmers in the 1930s. The film was taken out of Eisenstein's hands and re-edited, but the restored version we have today is visually fascinating: The opening scenes of suffering Russian peasants, strikingly filmed by Eduard Tisse, bring to mind the work of Walker Evans and Dorothea Lange in documenting American farmers in the South and the Dust Bowl during the Depression. There are several bravura montages, some of which are used for a comic effect we don't usually expect from Eisenstein, such as the "wedding scene" in which the bride turns out to be the collective's cow and the groom the bull, and the demonstration of a new milk separator that builds to an orgasmic release of cream from the machine's lovingly filmed spigots. But the propaganda is also thick and heavy in the depiction of kulaks and bureaucrats, and especially in the treatment of the Orthodox church in a scene in which an ecclesiastical procession goes out to pray for rain to end the drought. The images of the sweaty clergy and congregants carrying icons and prostrating themselves in supplication are intercut with images of bleating sheep. Eisenstein left the Soviet Union, accompanied by Tisse and his co-director Girgori Aleksandrov, in 1928; after a disastrous attempt to work in the United States and Mexico, he was persuaded to return to Russia in 1932 but didn't complete another film until Alexander Nevsky in 1938.

[oneirataxia-haechan]

The Kingdom as things my babies do

For context I'm a daycare teacher for 0-2 year olds and got this idea at work one day. Let me know any other groups you want to see for this kind of thing!

The Kingdom maknae line x reader (established relationship) ultimate masterlist & hyung line

Louis

Pouting to get my attention

This only really happens when he wants something. Almost always when he’s to the point of begging, which he doesn’t like to do (unless he’s doing it to be funny/annoying). You don’t get to see his genuine pout very often and it’s too cute not to milk when he does it. He's just too adorable.

Follow me out of the room/follow me around

Lost puppy #2. He doesn’t follow you around as much as Mujin but he will still do it sporadically. Dongsik will follow you more when he’s feeling under the weather, tired, or upset. He just doesn’t want to leave your side when he needs you most. That’s all.

Play with my earrings/hair

For some reason, he thinks he owns your hair. Always asks you to brush/comb it, loves to help you blow dry it, and 85% of the time he’s playing with it. Always brags about the smell and softness to anyone who will or won't listen. Gets mad when the other boys play with his your hair though.

Matching my dancing and laughing energy

When he’s not judging you he will be sure to join in with whatever you are up to.

Say my name just for fun

You’ve considered changing your name recently. Yes… That bad. It’s to the point where the only way you can get him to stop is either calling for Seungbo or kissing him. The frequency may be your fault now that you think of it.

Trace/play with my tattoos

He just really likes them and messing with them. He loves it when you ask him for advice on a new tattoo. His favorite ones are the ones that are typically hidden by clothing. This is because few know about them and he’s the only one to get to see them.

Bite me

Don’t mess with Dongsik. His teeth are always ready for revenge. In all seriousness though, I think he’d bite you almost as a way to communicate. Not full-on biting, just little fake love bites. Does it mostly when he’s feeling shy but doesn’t want to mention it with words. Little light marks on your hands/arms all the time.

Play fighting/bickering

This man knows how to bicker. He didn’t know you’d be so good at it when he started bickering with you though. It’s become one of his favorite forms of showing love between the two of you. Little petty arguments over things like the color of the sky, who left the bathroom light on, etc. He could always tell when something was bothering you because you wouldn't bicker back to him. He eventually did the same if something was bothering him as well.

Play with my face/hands

Just like your hair, Dongsik thinks he owns your hands or something. Your hands are often intertwined no matter where or when. He’ll speak using his hands, while still holding your hand. It’s pretty cute actually. He enjoys rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb for reassurance. Louis will mess with your face when you are trying to stay mad, or if he's dying for attention and being ignored. He reminds you of when a child pokes, presses, and kisses on their parent’s faces. The faces he makes while doing this are the only reason you let him continue doing so.

Ivan

Staring at me with love

You could just be sleeping and Ivan would stare at you with love in his eyes. Anything you do you’ll find him zoning out, with this same look. He just loves everything you do and how you do it.

Matching my dancing and laughing energy

Copy and paste truly. He just loves to mimic you but in a loving way, not a mean or annoying way. It makes his heart flutter when this makes you laugh and smile.

Say my name just for fun

“Y/n~ you know you are the prettiest right?”

“Y/n~ do you like snow or rain better?”

“Y/n~ d-“

“Yes Yuseong?” He’d giggle at your response and just move on.

Hwon

Staring at me with love

Watching you interact with his members and be comfortable with them makes him extra happy. He adores watching you laugh, smile, and be yourself. Hwon also enjoys taking walks with you and watching how you react to the world. It’s his favorite.

Running at me into a hug

Anytime. Any day. No matter what. Every hug. It’s your and Hwon's thing now.

Fall asleep to me singing

Of all the things he loves about you, he loves your voice. No matter how many times you say you aren’t good at singing or are shy about it, Hwon will be sure to reassure you. Your voice helps him fall asleep easily, talking is one thing but when you sing him to sleep he will melt into you.

Jahan

Come up and put head on chest and sigh in relief

After a long hard day, all he wants is you. He���ll come in the door and see you on the couch, immediately making his way to join you. Before you could realize what was happening it was like there was a magnet in your chest, his head being its magnetic match, making you giggle every time. He began asking about you about your day, loving the feeling of you talking and the comfort of your voice.

Staring at me with love

Does it when no one else notices, especially not you. He’s just so in love with all that you do, he can't help but stare.

Play with my earrings/hair

Hear me out. I feel like this would be the type of thing he’d do while cuddling. His fingers are almost always playing with your hair or fondling your jewelry. It comforts him and you’ve grown to expect it.

Fall asleep to me singing

We all know that Jahan can sing. That means nothing when it’s time for bed and he can’t seem to fall asleep. Sometimes the singer just wants to be sung to, that’s him. He had an early morning the next day and after going to bed an hour earlier, he had come sleepily walking to find you. Once he located you he’d sweetly and shyly ask if you could try singing him to sleep. It was a cute moment that led to you both singing each other to sleep.

hyung line's here

[crimson-kisses]

If you don't want to write this, I completely understand.

Can I request hetalia x reader where Russia sees his s/o have a seizure for the first time? Even though I'm really good with my medicine, I still get them now and again. I don't have seizures where I shake a lot, I just end up on the floor jerking very tensed up.

Встреча

Warnings: Usual YANDERE behaviour, reader having a seizure, poor babygirl fr.

Hope I did it well! This was such a pleasure to write, and I tried to make it fluffy but with creepy Ivan lol. really hope it was to your liking. I'm sorry if it wasn't so relatable for you ♡ So much going on in the world right now, remember to educate yourself and contribute in anyway you can. ♡

Other work recommended // another one recommended // check out this as well.

The snow crunched under your boots with satisfying sounds as you sped towards the supermarket, your handbag swinging wildly behind you along with the ends of your cape. Your breath formed clouds in the cold air, disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

The supermarket's fluorescent lights spilled out into the darkening evening, a beacon of warmth against the biting cold. Pushing through the glass doors, you welcomed the sudden rush of heated air, your cheeks tingling with the shift in temperature. The store was surprisingly empty, save for the soft hum of refrigerators and the occasional distant clatter of a shopping cart.

Moving through the aisles, you took a moment to appreciate the solitude that the near-empty supermarket offered. The shelves were neatly stocked, the bright packaging of products creating a kaleidoscope of colors that caught your eye

You sighed with relief, the tension from the cold beginning to melt away. Opening your bag, you searched for the grocery list you had prepared earlier. Your fingers found the crumpled paper tucked away in a side pocket, the handwriting slightly smudged but still legible.

It was a simple list, but it grounded you, a plan to follow amidst the vast array of choices the supermarket offered. You wouldn't have to debate with yourself in your head on what groceries to pick. The one time you got caught mumbling to yourself was embrassing enough.

First, to the produce section, where the fresh scent of fruits and vegetables filled the air. You selected a few ripe apples, their skin smooth and glossy under the store’s fluorescent lights. Several oranges, all juicy. Then you also picked up a sweet melon.

Next, you navigated to the bakery, where the warm, comforting aroma of freshly baked bread was almost overwhelming. You chose a loaf of crusty bread, imagining the crackle of its crust as you would later break it apart at home.

As you turned towards the dairy aisle, your handbag bumped lightly against the shelves, the sound echoing softly in the quiet store. You were lost in the simple pleasure of shopping, the act of choosing and deliberating bringing a sense of peace. Different from your usual hectic schedule, juggling several university classes and a job was hard on you recently.

It was in the midst of this calm, with your basket slowly filling, that the first warning signs appeared.

A subtle shift in your perception, a light-headedness that seemed out of place. You paused, trying to steady yourself against the sudden wave of dizziness. The colors around you started to blur, the sounds of the supermarket fading into a distant hum.

Your focus narrowed as you tried to push through the disorienting sensations, determined not to let them overshadow the tranquillity of your shopping. But as you reached for a carton of milk, your muscles tensed, an involuntary response that heralded the onset of a seizure.

Panic fluttered in your chest, not for the seizure itself, but for the vulnerability of experiencing it here, in this public yet intimate setting. You were quite experienced in handling yourself, but nonetheless, the uncomfortability was present whenever it occurred in a public setting.

Before you could brace yourself or seek help, your legs gave out, and you found yourself collapsing onto the cold floor. The world around you dimmed, slipping away as the seizure took hold.

The cold, hard floor felt unforgiving as you twitched and jerked involuntarily, a wave of anxiety tightening in your chest. Your heart raced as you tried to regain control, each gasp for breath labored. In the distance, the sound of a cart and hurried footsteps grew louder. Someone was calling out with worried tones, her urgency cutting through the disorienting haze.

────────────

Ivan, despite his big stature, had always been surprisingly adept at the subtle art of observation. He had a natural talent for noticing the small details that others might overlook, and he used this ability to keep a watchful eye on those he cared about obviously, duh.

Since he was truly just observing you, it wasn't stalking or spying, per se; he was merely taking moments out of his day to look after you, albeit from a distance and with utmost discretion. He was only making sure that you were safe and happy as a worthy man ought to do.

Although a part of him didn't particularly care if you or anyone else noticed him, confident that his imposing aura and towering figure would be enough to deter any suspicion. Ivan continued his watchful vigil, his presence commanding enough to keep most at bay without him needing to actively assert his dominance.

If someone made too much of a fuss, he would simply take care of them in the way he knew best, ensuring they never got in the way again.

He had traced your footsteps left behind in the snow, marveling at the stark size difference between the imprints you left and his own. Slowly catching the door just before it closed behind you, he entered cautiously. His eyes scanned the mostly vacant store, the fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow on the empty aisles, until they finally landed on your retreating figure.

The usual empty smile crawled to Ivan's lips, slowly slipping away to a firm line as he silently followed you through the aisles. He moved with careful steps, his large hands skimming over items on the shelves—selecting a few apples there, picking up a loaf of bread here—to maintain the facade of a casual shopper. His keen eyes never left you, watching your every move while trying not to attract your attention.

Dressed in a fitted black sweater that accentuated his massive frame, military-style jeans, and a cap pulled low over his brow, Ivan attempted to blend in as best as he could- scarf left at home because of his own moment of stupidity he supposed. The attire was practical, meant for comfort and functionality, yet it gave him a somewhat intimidating presence especially with the visible bandages on his neck. Despite his size and the somber look on his face, he hoped you wouldn't find him suspicious.

As you moved towards the dairy aisle, Ivan adjusted his pace, ensuring he was always a few steps behind. His mind raced with thoughts of protection, a sense of responsibility that drove him to keep an eye on you from a distance. He couldn't help it, you were just such an adorable, vulnerable and a kind-hearted lady, you had to be taken care of.

Every now and then, he pretended to examine a product on the shelf, all the while maintaining his surveillance of your movements. Ivan planned to find a way to casually bump into you before you left, ensuring he could gauge your well-being as well as finally initiating a conversation.

His steps were quiet on the polished floor, his gaze unwavering as he continued to shadow you through the store —

Until you collapsed.

Ivan felt as if he had been drench with cold water, buried under heaps of snow, as he watched you suddenly stiffen, shaking slightly until you fell down. At first, he didn't understand what was happening. He froze in place, his eyes widening as they took in your tensed form on the cold supermarket floor.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing to comprehend the situation. It was as if time had slowed down around him, the world falling away as he focused solely on you. Ivan's hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out and help, but he held back, something in his mind racing-

“Someone! I- I don’t understand what’s going on! Oh dear—”

Ivan snapped out of his anxiety-induced trance at the new predence and the sound of a pleading lady kneeling beside you. Her presence and your state prompted him to move swiftly. His mind quickly deciphered the situation as the lady moved away, allowing him to gently hold you in his lap. Familiar with what was going on with you.

You were having a seizure.

And he had just frozen as you fell to the ground. His heart plummeted at the realization, guilt gnawing at him for not reacting sooner. He hadn't known you for long, and although he could have easily obtained all of your details with a tilt of his head, he had chosen to get to know you traditionally. He wanted to build a genuine connection with his future wife! But now, as he watched you in distress, he regretted not being more proactive.

If he had at least tried to learn your basic details, he would have known about your medical condition and been better prepared to help you in this moment of distress. To protect your feeble self from this cruel world.

Kneeling beside you, Ivan’s hands trembled slightly as he carefully positioned you, ensuring you were safe. He spoke softly, trying to offer comfort despite the turmoil within him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.” His stoic demeanor was replaced with genuine concern, his eyes never leaving your pretty face as he monitored your condition.

Ivan held you securely, ensuring you didn’t hurt yourself during the seizure. He kept you in a safe position, making sure your airway was clear and that you wouldn’t injure your head or limbs on the hard floor. His strong hands gently cradled your head, providing a cushion against the unforgiving surface.

As the seizure gradually subsided, your body began to relax, the violent jerking easing into a stillness that left you exhausted. Ivan stayed vigilant, watching for any signs of lingering distress or complications. He was quite experienced during such situations, though he was also so scared that you could be hurt.

Once the seizure had fully stopped, Ivan carefully turned you onto your side, adopting the recovery position to ensure you could breathe easily. He continued to speak to you in soft, soothing tones, reassuring you even though you might not fully comprehend his words in your disoriented state.

After ensuring you were stable, Ivan reached into his pocket for his phone, quickly dialing his personal medical team. He knew it was essential to get you medical attention, even if you seemed to be recovering. He was not taking any chances whatsoever. While waiting for "help" to arrive, Ivan kept you close, your state driving him to stay by your side and almost engulf you with his body.

He monitored your breathing, making sure you were as comfortable as possible. His eyes never left you, his concern for your well-being overriding everything else.

As he continued to keep an eye on you, a deep frown crept onto Ivan's face. His brows scrunched in a thoughtful expression, he took in the scene around him. The lady from before was still there, watching with confused and scared eyes, her hands nervously wringing the hem of her coat. She seemed unsure of what to do, glancing between you and Ivan as if seeking guidance.

Ivan was acutely aware of her presence and the urgency of the situation. He knew he had to take matters into his own hands. Immediately. He couldn't afford to wait any longer, not when anyone could have possibly taken advantage of you. His precious snowflake.

Taking a deep breath, Ivan sighed and made a quick decision. Cautiously, he placed one of his thick arms under your waist and the other under your legs, lifting you into a bridal carry with no effort or grunt. You felt as weightless as a maiden made of wool in his strong arms.

The lady nearby gasped and moved backward in awe at his flexed and large stature, her hand covering her mouth. Ivan didn’t pay much attention to her reaction. His focus was solely on you, ensuring his arms were securely around your frame.

As he held you, a wave of realization washed over him—he was really, truly holding you in the flesh, in his arms. The intimacy of the moment almost made him falter, but he steadied himself. Ivan tilted his head towards the lady, who met his gaze with a flushed face.

"I will take care of her," he said firmly, his accent thick, before turning and walking away with you in his arms. The lady watched Ivan walk away, her eyes filled with relief and cheeks pink. Ivan's steps were purposeful, his heart heavy with concern and giddiness as you curled closer to his chest.

────────────

Warmth enveloped you. First, it was the cool hand of the well-being lady, who fretted over you, making you feel rather embarrassed at causing someone else so much worry. Her concern was evident in every touch, every word spoken with urgency.

Then he stepped in— a man you had admittedly eyed eagerly when you caught a glimpse of him near the aisles. You felt even more embarrassed at that, your eyes closed tightly as you tried to breathe quickly to regain control. You remembered stealing glances at him, noticing his imposing stature.

When he started to take care of you, his voice was laced with tender concern. He aided you with patient expertise and goodness, his movements practiced and sure. When he picked you up, it was as if you were made of nothing but a bundle of feathers. He was strong, his arms easily wrapping around you with a firm hold.

You could feel his warmth radiating through you, contrasting sharply with the cold floor you had been lying on moments before. As he carried you away from the supermarket aisle, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions—gratitude for his help, embarrassment at your vulnerability, a flutter in your chest.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on your breathing, feeling the steady rhythm of his steps beneath you. Ivan's deep voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, his words soothing and steady.

"Everything will be alright. You're safe now”

You felt the warmth of Ivan's chest against your cheek as you rested your head against him, his presence a solid anchor in the midst of your dizziness.

The supermarket air faded into the background as Ivan carried you towards the entrance, sure of what he was about to do. You opened your eyes to see his charming face above you, specifically the bandages wrapped around his neck. His eyes filled with concern yet also a peculiar glint of something you couldn't quite place.

You managed a small, grateful smile, overwhelmed by everything and especially by his care. Though you were also blushing furiously, despite the man simply being a helpful, decent individual.

Agh, what was wrong with you? You were too old for silly crushes like this, get a grip!

"Thank you," you managed to whisper, your voice shaky from before but sincere.

Ivan's expression softened, a faint smile touching his lips. "You're welcome," he replied, his voice gentle.

He continued on with a carefree smile.

“Don't worry, you are coming home with me, da?"

"....... wha..",

Wait, what —

You rapidly started blinking in confusion, unsure if you had heard him correctly. A sense of dread soon crawled all over you, stinging realization swarming your thoughts. It felt as if pure ice coated your skin, squeezing every organ and rendering you paralysed forever.

You had your doubts, suspicions that had been growing for some time, feeling of being watched, thudded footsteps, muffled whispers. He did look quite familiar when you turned around and caught a glimpse of him, as if you had seen him before. Somewhere, sometimes at night or morning, the library near your apartment or even your university.

He had been following you all along.

"I will take great care of you."

[davidjhopcroft]

Maslenitsa

Maslenitsa

Irina go out and collect fresh eggs Ivan fetch the longest straw

An excitement building within the home for celebration

Tatyana churn the milk for fresh butter I need more

Customs revived and observed for a new generation

Vitaliia have you clothes to dress the doll in finery

Bright colours to stand out when we raise the pole

Children bubbling over with anticipation and anxiety

Parents struggling to keep them under control

The straw is ready and the lady has been dressed

She stands aloft upon the pole in the village square

A week of carnival and festival has been blessed

Sounds of spring have awoken the sleeping bear

Eggs have been beaten and the butter is in the pan

Add the batter and be sure to make the special toss

Sweet crepes for Mayssa savoury dumplings for a man

Gather around and await the music by the Market Cross

Seek out those dancing shoes for nimble steps in dance

Lads and lassies this is the time to seek out mates

Last night’s dream can come alive so take a chance

Feliks open your eyes and see that Vitaliia awaits

Time to skate the ice and take the Troika ride

Children shrieking in delight at the snowball fight

See how the skaters on the ice smoothly glide

Fireworks exploding in the sky light up the night

The week is almost over and the torch lights the fire

Our lady brought down from high now must burn

Dance with me around the flames as she loses her attire

Sprinkle the ashes on the fields and let life return

Seek your neighbour and friends for their forgiveness ask  

The time for grievances to be forgotten has come

Drink to their health and share the spirit in your flask

The week must end in happiness let nought be left undone

Copyright: David Hopcroft February 2023

[kingfakey]

THE PINK SERIES - PROLOGUE

Trigger warnings for: blood, gore, emetophobia, violence and implications of murder. Reader discretion advised. Wordcount: 1200.

Another dawn breaks over San Francisco, as peculiar and spectacular as each one to come before it. These sunrises come in shades of lavender, rose, and peachy gold, even on the most crisp of autumn morning.

This particular morning, the fog has rolled in with a fury and a hunger incomparable to most. It’s consumed the bridge and all the boats in the bay. Its victim, Alcatraz, lays flightless in its wake.

Across the water looms that smoky-sweet sugar processing factory. It leaks plumes of chemicals into the air. Inevitably, those chemicals break apart and add to the condensation of fog. 

They’re the same chemicals that tinge the air rosy on mornings like this. Buses full of school children had declared it the cloud factory.

Between the fog and the chemicals flooding the city, it creates a strange atmosphere. Pink light casts across the streets and buildings, setting skyscrapers aglow and twinkling.

Dawn’s hardly broken and already fishermen are at the docks feeding their rods into the water. Brave surfers are already running into frozen waves without a care, while the city streets slowly fill with people.

It’s a strange morning filled with half-light and a breeze just as lazy. It’s only a nip of cold, but lures you into taking your jacket off, before the breeze can pick up again and chill you to the bone.

If you wind your way through the streets you’ll find that the same fog clings to the ground wherever it can. On the streets, there’s not much hope for it; cars run through it and disturb the comfortable way in which it’s settled. The sidewalks and alleys that wind through the city make the perfect territory for the fog. It spreads and grows the same as any fungus or mold, as thick and wispy as cotton candy hanging in the air. It almost leaves you wondering if you’ve inhaled some kind of spore– is this fog alive?

It’s settled heavy in an alley, swirling around the phone booth at the mouth of the street. 

The fog is too heavy to make much of anything out this morning. Not with his head pounding like it is and his stomach feeling like it’s ready to fall out of his ass. That, or crawl up his throat and toss itself up.

Ivan stays put where he is on the ground, hands coming up to cradle his skull. “Fuck,” he hisses, covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. The fog filters the light, but even that rose-tint is too harsh and too bright for his eyes. 

His body trembles as he makes an attempt at sitting up.

His hand comes into contact with something wet, causing him to slip. It sends Ivan dropping back into the asphalt with a thump. For a good long moment, he lays there on his back. 

Even the light filtering through his eyelids is too bright.

He’s more careful this time, keeping his head bowed and his eyes peeled to see as best he can in the pink milk. Still, Ivan stays doubled over. He’s been through nights like this, when he woke up the morning after with little recollection of where he was. Wherever this was though, it takes the cake. He can’t even remember having drank that much.

His brother was right. Maybe his drinking is a problem, but that’s the sort of thing Ivan’ll wrestle with later. For now, he feels around half-blind and squints in the harsh light.

Ivan feels over the gravel, nose wrinkling at that thick wetness under his finger. But for the most part, he’s undeterred. It’s only when they find something more solid that any real worry starts to mount. It’s slippery, rubbery almost, and like it’s only half solid, waxy to the touch. Quickly, Ivan recoils his hand and brings it closer to his face to see through the cracks in his eyelashes.

Black. They’re stained black.

No, not black, but the darkest, most menacing crimson he’s ever seen.

Shit, shit, shit– he startles himself to sit up completely, leaning away from what his hands had found. Is this blood? Screw it, it definitely is. 

Ivan isn’t unfamiliar with blood, but only when it’s spouting fresh from a nose or a lip, or a cut to the knee. But this, pooled around him and hours old, left for his unknowing hands to find? It’s foreign.

He swallows thick at the lump in his throat, his chin tipped skyward before he snaps his eyes open. Trying to calm himself is useless.

Getting the nerve to look is the hard part, but as it turns out, looking away is even harder. Ivan lets his eyes adjust before he looks to the pavement, wide and willing for whatever there was to behold.

It’s what his hands had already found that he takes into account first. There were ropes of organ pulled loose, unwound and spread out over the alley floor. They were perfect pink, and still slimy with blood. They’d been ripped from the body, wrenched from it and settled down as far down as the feet.

That’s what Ivan notices second: the feet.

Or, to be more specific, the boots.

Those are his boots.

His mouth feels dry. Ivan finally takes a moment to look past the horror of intestines spilled across the ground and blood pooling under the body. It’s hard to look, but harder still to look away. It’s like Ivan’s crossed his eyes and gone out of focus, but it’s still there and he can still see it. He knows what it is.

The stomach had been cut clean open, from side to side. Gravity did most of the work when it came to dragging out the length of fleshy piping. 

Eyes travel further up, and next he’s got to face the second mouth in his throat. A smile formed where blade cut through jugular, vocal chords and carotid arteries. It’s anything but a clean cut. Ivan lingers on it, stares down, takes in every detail because God forbid he finish the job and look all the way up.

Finally Ivan looks at the face of the corpse, body going rigid as he meets his own eyes through a foot and a half of fog. It’s him, there’s no doubt about it. There’s no color in his cheeks and no life in his eyes to speak of, only a deadened stare, but it’s him. Right down to that barely-there half-freckle, half-mole on his right cheek.  There's no mistaking himself.

Even the do not resuscitate tattoo was crawling out of his sleeve in black ink. (Fat lot of good that had done him.)

There’s a corpse lying on the pavement staring at him. It has his face, boots, hair, his jacket, his everything else, but in what world is it possible?

A feral, strangled cry catches in his throat as he throws an arm over his mouth. Ivan falls backwards into the gravel and scrambles from the body to press his back flat against the wall. Bloodied hands grip at his arms as panicked sobs get muffled into leather. Eyes squeeze shut and his brain reels, trying to process, or forget, wake up, do whatever it is he needs to do to end this.

This can’t be real. He won’t let it be.

But there’s no denying it: that’s his body, and there’s no way that’s alive. So what does that make of him?

He feels too solid to be a ghost, but isn’t that sort of thing a ghost would think?

There’s no time to think about it, not yet. Ivan retches abruptly, turning away from the body and doubling forward. Edgar’s birthday dinner comes spilling out onto the pavement. The chunks of chinese food, birthday cake, and red wine remind Ivan of a Christmas fruit cake.

This is something he can handle most times, but not under these circumstances. There’s no stopping the sobs that come with it this time. Ivan places a hand against the wall to support himself as retching tapers off into dry heaves. He spits bile onto the pavement.

Ivan wipes his chin, falling back to lean heavy against the wall, legs sprawled out across the alley floor. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

[nevermindrussia]

Slavic mythical creatures - Domovoy

Today I'm going on with my series of mythical and mythological creatures of Russians and other Slavic nations.The special guest of the day will be домовой [domovoy] - "a home-master", from дом [dom] - "a house"; "a home".

Домовой may be today's the most known character among his fellows — home and nature spirits, that were worshipped by old Slavic people. He's been represented as a good-humoured, nice and neat little person, who helps a home owner and his family with everyday business.

Just look, for example, at the soviet cartoon named "Приключения домовёнка Кузи" [priklyucheniya domovyonka kuzi] - "Adventures of Kuzya the little home-master", which is translated for some reason as "Adventures of a Little Brownie", though brownies are definetly other type of characters, cannot be just paralleled with домовой. Though it's main character is a naughty, sometimes freakish and even sociopatic one, he still is a loyal friend for a little girl, protecting her of any problem.

Watch the cartoon with English subtitles: https://youtu.be/uHQ820mRocs

Also, in every Russian town at tourist area you can see a lot of fantasy souvenires, representing домовой, like these:

They are supposed to bring wealth to an owner's family. Sometimes it looks kinda cringy, especially when they manage to combine an old slavic folk character with dollars and euros as a symbol of wealth, as seen at picture 1.

Anyway. Let's see, what a real Slavic домовой looks like.

Here's Ivan Bilibin again, and his marvellous art of a traditional домовой, representing most of this characer's features.

Домовой lives under a Russian stove or around it, also in a so-named красный угол [krasnyi ugol] - "a red corner", that's how was called the most distant from the entrance corner of the house, where usually icons and relics are placed. He can appear in an animal form (usually a weasel, a cat, a rooster, a rat) or in an approximately human form. What separates him from real humans - is fur (домовой usually is completely or almost completely covered with fur, sometimes the same colour as the home owner's hair) and ears (he can have a kind of animal upstanding ears or just one of them). The more fur he had, the more wealth was promised to a family; poor people had a naked home spirit. Домовой in a human form may have a portrait likeness to some of the home owner's ancestors. Somewhere people believed that домовой was a reincarnation of some of the former inhabitants of the house, for ex., the first family member who entered a brand-new built house, should become it's домовой after he dies.

Домовой was supposed to help his people in some household, like: making supplies, grooming animals (especially horses, cleaning them with a brush and braiding their manes). Also he warns a home owner of some trouble: fires, crop failures, or cattle deaths, and so on. Of course, only in case people are behaving good as set in traditional values. Otherwise - if you're lazy, or scruffy, or quarrelsome - домовой can punish you by sending nightmares (sometimes sitting on your chest and choking you), stealing or hiding your property, tormenting your cattle, so cows stop giving milk and horses are not able to work.

To make a домовой kind you should (as in case of kikimora) leave offerings for him: bread and salt, milk, coins etc.; also you shouldn't occupy his favourite place; and of course, if you're moving, you should take care of inviting your домовой to move with you to a new house. Домовой is bound both to persons and a place (remember Russian изба [izba] is a house supposed for many generations to live in), that's why any moving is a great stress for him. Sometimes after moving to a new place you may face an old owner's домовой. In that case you should gently persuade him to move after his house owners, and then invite your own домовой to take his place.

[youre-a-total--poser]

Let Me Go Part 2

Warnings: None that I can think of. If there is let me know

Age: 19

Word Count: 553

Requests: Closed.

Part 1   Part 3

--------------------------⧗-------------------------- The Next Day

It had just turned 6 am. You could have slept for longer but you didn't want the extra sleep to mess up your schedule as you were already nervous about the events that were happening today.

You started your day like normal: a quick jog to clear your mind, a training session with your Mom, shower, get ready for the day then breakfast.

Your routine was the same apart from breakfast you went to make yourself some coffee but there was no milk and of course, someone put the empty milk carton back in the fridge instead of throwing it away.  You went to go make some toast but there was no bread and you could have sworn that you bought a new loaf the other day.

You had forgotten what it was like living with so many people living under one roof. As much as you missed your family you didn't miss the sharing.

The afternoon was spent going over everything one last time and by 3 pm hit we were ready.

Everyone went their separate ways to get suited up and collected everything that was needed then afterwards, everyone met up at the platform.

It was now time to travel back in time. Steve even said a speech and it made you wonder just how long he was rehearsing it for.

"Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we're gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck" Steve said confidently.

No matter what Steve always believed in everyone which gave you confidence in yourself and that everything was going to be alright and run smoothly.

"See you in a minute," Nat said smiling at Steve. Little did they know...

Everyone entered the Quantum Realm and all went your separate ways to different time zone.

--------------------------⧗--------------------------

You were travelling through space in a spaceship that was shrunken down so it could be brought with you through the Quantum Realm.

You and Nat were dropping Rhodey and Nebula off at a planet called Morag first before the both of you headed to Vormir.

You and Nat got back in the spaceship and made your way to Vormir.

You spent this time just chatting with your Mom. She loves listening to your stories.

After Nat landed the ship and you both left got off it you looked up and saw that there was a massive mountain that you both had to climb. You were definitely not prepared for that.

"I bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain," You said out of breath. At this moment in time, you very much regretted not sleeping in a few extra hours you definitely need it.

"Technically he's not a raccoon, you know," Nat said as she stopped waiting on you to catch up with her before putting her hand on your back to give you an extra push.

"Whatever, he eats garbage," You said as you focused on the path being extremely careful that you don't slip.

Natasha didn't say anything else she just let out a light laugh.

"Welcome," A voice said that startled us causing us to quickly pull out our guns pointing them at whatever it was that just welcomed us.

"Natasha, daughter of Ivan.  Y/N, Daughter of Natasha." The voice said to us in an oddly calming way.