#c: vasily

[diioonysus]

art + hair pieces

[welldonekhushi]

Bell, also known as Vasili, says his favorite book is "Crime and Punishment" by Fyodor Dostoevsky. But what makes him "oddly" relate to the book?

If we compare Vasili to Raskolnikov, the protagonist of "Crime and Punishment," both characters experience deep regret for their actions, despite initially believing they were acting for the greater good.

Vasili's decision to join the Perseus Faction was driven by a belief that he was contributing to a noble cause, as Perseus promised that his involvement would help change the world. This was compounded by his forced retirement from the KGB under the General's orders. Similarly, Raskolnikov initially justifies his murder of a greedy pawnbroker and her stepsister, who acted as a witness as a means to benefit humanity. Both men took pride in their actions at first, only to later face dire consequences.

Vasili was betrayed by Perseus, likely due to Kadivar's jealousy, and subsequently brainwashed by the CIA after being captured. This led him to commit actions unconsciously under Adler's control. Eventually, he broke free, only to realize the full extent of his deeds and find himself hunted by those seeking retribution. In contrast, Raskolnikov constantly fled from his past, haunted by his crime and the fear of being discovered as the murderer. This was their punishment. For taking that one step that ruined their entire lives.

Both men were ultimately clueless about the true repercussions of their actions. Their initial confidence was replaced by guilt, regret, and paranoia. They both ended up suffering, recognizing that their actions brought only destruction and betrayal, primarily of themselves. They are condemned to live with their suffering, with no hope of redemption. Neither was perfect or innocent, but they were undeniably at fault.

And they'll have to live with that punishment, forever.

[chorusgirls]

an executioners hq, mid-morning ╱ @crestfallon

she's all knees and elbows on top of the desk, legs pulled up on the flat grain of the wood, an accumulation of joints like a mathematician's disassembled triangle. it's a position that speaks defiantly of relaxation, but if you were smart you'd start adding all those angles up, calculating what it comes out too ⸻ figuring out what that body, in all its sharpness, is capable of.

"privyet, comrade."

black boots on the wood, thick-soled, punctuate the sardonic drawl of a greeting. one toe pushes a coffee cup towards him before remora's head leans back again, eyes following vas.

"you look like shit. how did last night go?"

[cceruleans]

location: the woolworth building bar @retrorsum

His sister had once said that he possessed the lesser known but equally hilarious sibling of the resting bitch face, and that was the resting angst face. He always just looked troubled, and he could be doing something as mundane as opening a piece of mail. But sometimes it comes with advantages, especially when he'd rather be left alone. The resting angst face conceals a little frustration as he makes his way to the bar, because now he has a feeling that the meeting that had been called that evening is not as simple as it seemed. And worst of all, he can't get sloshed. He's a man on a mission as he makes his way towards the drinks, and he's sure the person behind the bar can tell too. "After you," he says as someone approaches at the same time he does, just a little ahead of him so all he can see is the back of their head.

[choices-and-voices]

Okay but guys

GUYS

[adams-r1b]

(detail from ‘The Incredulity of Saint Thomas’ c. 1600s by Guercino) (detail from ‘Jesus and Doubting Thomas’ c. late 1700s early 1800s by Franciszek Smuglewicz) (detail from ‘Bacchus and Ariadne’ c. 1720s by Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini) (detail from ‘Kriemhild’s Accusation (Kriemhild accuses Gunther and Hager of murdering her husband Siegfried)’ c. 1879 by Emil Laufer) (detail from ‘The Virgin of the Rocks Louvre version’ c. 1483-1486 by Leonardo da Vinci) (detail from ‘The Incredulity of Saint Thomas Secular Version’ c. 1602 by Caravaggio) (detail from ‘The Creation of Adam’ c. 1512 by Michelangelo) (detail from ’The Unequal Marriage’ c. 1862–1862 by Vasili Pukirev) (detail from ‘The Death of Seneca’ c. 1615 by Peter Paul Rubens) (detail from ‘Mary Stuart and William II’ c. 1641 by Anthony van Dyck) (detail from ’The Fortune Teller’ c. 1594 by Caravaggio) (detail from 'The Arnolfini Portrait' c. 1434 by Jan van Eyck) (detail from ‘Pieta’ c. 1876 by William Adolphe Bouguereau)

[evphorium]

His face didn't feel as bad as his ego, to be honest. Even showing up at her house was a blow to his ego, but Vasili had nowhere else to go that wouldn't ask questions. And could patch up his scratches without kicking up too much of a fuss. "I didn't run my mouth this time," he smirked though. She knew him so well. "I was hoping there's still some friendly feelings you may still have for me to exploit," he explained and then another smirk. "And turns out I was right." He winced when she dabbed at a particularly painful cut across his brow, but truthfully he cared more about the pain in his side. "Shit. I think I broke a rib."

open to: m

Chloe wasn’t sure if it was super late or very early when he showed up at her door covered in cuts and bruises. Seeing him through the peephole like that was such a scare that she opened the door right away, forgetting she was still in her normal sleep clothes: an oversized t-shirt and panties. It was a shock if she was being honest, it had been over a year since their relationship had ended. She had been completely heartbroken by the whole ordeal but now, here she was with him sitting in her bathroom and her cleaning his cuts.

Dabbing at a cut on his cheek she decided to break the heavy silence, “You gotta get better at keeping your mouth shut sometimes.” 

[1five1two]

'La Méduse'. Vasily (Wilhelm) Alexandrovich Kotarbinsky. c. 1903.

[city-of-ladies]

Söyembikä, regent of Kazan

"Söyembikä (c. 1516-after 1554), ruler of the khanate of Kazan, one of the successor states to the Turko-Mongol state of the Golden Horde, located in the middle Volga basin around the confluence of the Volga and Kama rivers.

From 1549 until 1551, Söyembikä ruled in the name of her minor son Utamesh-Garay, before Muscovite Russia took Kazan in 1552. In Tatar national history Söyembikä symbolizes her people’s helpless resistance to Russian invaders. She has been the subject of popular stories, tales, epics, and paintings.

Söyembikä was the daughter of Yusuf (d. 1554), the ruler of the Noghay horde, one of the kingdoms that arose from the breakup of the Golden Horde in modern-day southern Russia. Söyembikä lived in a period of great uncertainty: Noghay, Crimean, and Kazan princes competed to revive the Golden Horde, and Muscovite rulers sought to protect and expand their territory beyond the Volga to the southeast. The grand princes of Moscow paid tribute to the successors of their former suzerains, the Golden Horde, but they also involved themselves in their dynastic disputes. 

The Noghay princess Söyembikä became the wife of three successive khans in the middle Volga basin: Jan Ali (or Cangali, r. 1533-1535), Safa-Garay (r. 1536-1549), and Shah Ali (or Şahgali, r.1553). Her marriage to the pro-Muscovite Jan Ali was politically motivated and received the blessing of the Russian grand prince Vasili III (r. 1505-1533), who wished to secure his southern frontier from future Noghay incursions. The anti-Muscovite party in Kazan assassinated Jan Ali, and Söyembikä married the pro-Noghay Crimean Tatar Safa-Garay, a descendant of Genghis Khan. Her new husband ended up alienating non-Tatar indigenous peoples of the middle Volga. 

Following the death of Safa-Garay in 1549, Söyembikä became regent for their two-year-old son, Utamesh-Garay. Russian chroniclers described Soyembika as a “lioness” who was energetic, beautiful, and wise. As regent she sought military help from neighboring Muslim states to resist Russian encroachment. Despite all her efforts she was caught between pro-Muscovite and pro-Crimean parties inside her government and proved unable to stop Ivan the Terrible of Moscow (r. 1533-1584) from gaining the support of the non-Tatar peoples of the Volga basin and Tatars who resented the presence of Crimeans on their soil.

In August 1551 a new pro-Muscovite government arrested both mother and son and sent them to Moscow. A year later Ivan the Terrible took Kazan. Exiled in Kasimov, Söyembikä was forced to marry Shah Ali, the pro-Russian khan of Kasimov, and separate herself from her son, who was baptized under the name of Alexander. Her son died in 1566; Söyembikä’s date of death is still unknown, as is the site of her grave.

Numerous Tatar traditions kept her memory alive, praising her for her strong opposition to Moscow. Some stories affirm that she warned Safa-Garay of the imminent fall of the kingdom and brought poisoned food and a poisoned shirt to the pro-Muscovite Shah Ali. Others say that in 1550 she appeared in arms to defend the city of Kazan. Others claim that Ivan the Terrible had heard of Söyembikä’s beauty and wanted to marry her, but the proud queen refused and the tsar took Kazan, imprisoned her, and asked for her hand again. Söyembikä promised to marry him only if he built her a high tower in the kremlin in seven days. With the help of the finest artisans, Ivan fulfilled her demand, but when the tower was finished, Söyembikä climbed to the top and jumped to her death. The Tower of Söyembikä, a former watchtower or minaret, still stands in the Kazan kremlin, but it was probably built in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, long after the queen’s death. The monument may bear Söyembikä’s name because she prayed at her husband’s nearby tomb before she left the city. 

The Tatar historian Hadi Atlasi (1876-1938), who presented Söyembikä as a model of courage and piety for all girls, indicated that women liked to read the Qur an at this sacred place and make wishes. Finally, the well-known “Lament of Söyembikä,” written in the first person, has long symbolized the historical fate of the Tatars, who became the subjects of a non-Muslim state after the conquest of Kazan in 1552."

Kefeli Agnes, Smith Bonnie G. (eds.). The Oxford Encyclopedia of Women in World History

[whencyclopedia]

Ivan III of Russia

Ivan III of Russia (Ivan the Great) was the Grand Prince of Moscow and Russia from 1462 to 1505. Ivan III was born in 1440 to Grand Prince Vasily II of Moscow (r. 1425-1462) and his wife, Maria Borovsk (l. c. 1420-1485). He served as co-ruler for his blind father from 1450 until he became regent in 1462.

Continue reading...

[chorusgirls]

she leaned up against a wall when she spots him, talking with some poor customer who'd never had the wherewithal to listen to the old adage she doesn't like you, she's just a stripper.

the problem with that proverb, of course, is that sometimes the stripper does like you. you, of course, always being the person on the other side of the bar, not the one in front of you. over the course of the conversation genie's gaze slips backward, sidelong, over the man's shoulder and down the length of the room like a marble on a tilt. it bumps, once, twice, against vasily's. once more, this time long and suspended, and there's the sudden, mutual friction of knowing they're in on a miniature conspiracy: his watching from afar, her avoiding what's up close.

genie touches the edge of her hair, hiding momentarily the conspicuous turn of her lips under an errant wrist. she pivots back to the man at her side, but there's a feeling of thickness about mouth now — lips overripe from stretching to cover misplaced smiles; a tongue, heavy, that suddenly wants to say a different name. sorry sugar, say that again for me?

closed -> @chorusgirls {efigenia.}

setting -> the gravity club, late, nearing the 3am hour.

if the club were located nearer to his hole-in-the-wall apartment, then his regular visits to gravity could be explained away by vicinity. but, no; it was an extra stop half the time, a slack backpack over a shoulder holding a mask, whatever else happened through pockets && fists that evening. this night, he slid from the subway to the rain speckled sidewalk, drawing his hood up close as a shield from the city's perpetual state of damp, and approached the doors of the club; no wait, not this late. a bruise would be forming along one side of his jaw, only now the soreness beginning to set in, soon treated with a vodka or a rum 'n coke, whatever vas ended up with in hand, whatever poison of the night to stop the throb of temples, pulsing in his cracked knuckles, and the quickened heartrate that now only raced to match the drum of bass. she was impossible to miss; already, he'd spotted her, ice-blue eyes locking to her own mocha stare... but vas didn't approach. not yet, he never did when he first arrived; a drink, maybe two, before he would begin towards her way. but a half-smile did pass his face when she caught notice, a silent greeting - i've returned. he did, nearly every friday now, and usually always in some state of disarray, from whatever the events of the night had held. the later his arrival; the worse off he often was.

[cceruleans]

location: the woolworth building observation deck @fireinhislungs

The observation deck on the 55th floor of the Woolworth Building had been closed since the early 40s, but he'd read down in the foyer that it offered beautiful views of the city from an octagonal viewing deck. It was accessible via elevator but it did take a little knowledge of the stairways to find the right one, and instructions were sent for their meeting. It's not for another few hours, so he stations Freckle by the elevator in case he is disturbed. It's something he's picked up from his father; always scope out a place yourself. The little viewing desk seems devoid of people, but there's a feeling he's not alone, so he rounds the deck. His suspicions are proven correct when he sees a dark figure he can't quite recognise from his distance and he assumes it's a civilian because the meeting isn't to be for quite some time. Vas clears his throat and calls out, trying not to startle them, "hey, are you meant to be up here?"

[permament-witzelsucht]

Vasily Sadovnikov | View of Palace Square and the General Headquarters Building in St. Petersburg, c.1847 | The Field Marshal's Hall of the Winter Palace, 1852 | 

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC F/AotW - Apr 14 - 20, 2024

✒️ = Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨 = Fanart Ⓜ️ = Mature Content 18+ | 🔥 = Explicit/NSFW 18+ 🏳️‍🌈 = LGBTQIA

BLADES OF LIGHT & SHADOW

A Discovery ✒️| Mal Volari x F!elf!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

A Stagger in the Woods ✒️| Mal Volar x F!human!MC - @thosehallowedhalls for @storyofmychoices

Safe ✒️| Mal Volari x F!human!MC - @storyofmychoices

BLOODBOUND

Lily Spencer Fanart 🎨by @bayleedraws-sometimesx

CRIMES OF PASSION

Move In Day ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

My Brother's Keeper ✒️Ⓜ️| Vasili Thorne, Sebastyan Thorne - @gaiuskamilah

"One Word From You and I Would" | m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @inlocusmads

Second Languages Part 2 ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @inlocusmads

Spring's Eternal ✒️| m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @jerzwriter for @moominofthevalley

Trystan Thorne Fanart 🎨 by @/ohheyitsjulia (IG) C: @corynnellis)

Trystan Thorne x F!MC Fanart 🎨by @weetlebeetle (C: @peonierose for @jerzwriter)

THE CURSED HEART

Cursed Heart Fanart🎨| Thistle Bat by @bri1234

THE FRESHMAN SERIES

TFS MC 🎨 by @/ohheyitsjulia (OH) (C: @choiceswithmika)

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Gabe Adalhard & Cas Harlow Fanart 🎨 by @gaiuskamilah

Maybe Someday ✒️🏳️‍🌈 | Gabriela Adalhard x Cassie Harlow - @livelaughlovecassie

IT LIVES ANTHOLOGY

Harper x Tom Fanart 🎨🏳️‍🌈by @lilyoffandoms for @cadybear420

Noah Marshall Fanart 🎨by @payroo

Two Birds on a Wire ✒️| Lincoln McQuoid (Aquino) x MC - @saibug1022

The Way to Rome ✒️ by @noesapphic

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

Not My Birthday ✒️🏳️‍🌈| Various Characters - @aces-and-angels

NIGHTBOUND

Bound by Fate (Series) ✒️| Nik Ryder x F!MC - @ladylamrian Chapter 4: Lovers & Strangers

OPEN HEART

Complete Open Heart List - Week ending April 20, 2024

QUEEN B

Zoey Wade Fanart🎨by @artbyalz

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

Forevermore (Series) ✒️ | King Marquise (Liam) x F!MC - @khoicesbyk Chapter 5: Joy of Winter

CROSSOVERS

TFS / TRR

The Royal Romance Crew's Point of View Chapter 2 ✒️ by @choiceswithmika

TRR / Platinum / OH / CoP / TNA

Isle of Misfits (Round Robin)✒️ | Multiple Stories | Liam Rys, Leo Rys - @twinkleallnight Chapter 10: Dealing With the Paparazzi

TRR / ROE

Marabelle (Series) ✒️ | Liam Rys x F!OC - @tessa-liam Chapter 11: The Game of Kings 2

[never-enough-golden-kamuy]

Warmth of the cold-blooded sniper

I barely finished second WEEK of this semester and I'm already and still getting owned by my uni. I had to write these stories or I will burn out at best.

Over 1,6k words, Vasilyxf!reader, fluff per usual

Enjoy!

The climate on Karafuto was usually cold. However, when Vasily lowered the binoculars and his eyes fixated on a distant point, the temperature seemed to drop an extra few degrees. 

[Y/N] watched as the man knelt on one knee while resting his rifle on his shoulder. It was one, coherent and smooth movement. Years of practice led to perfection and left no room for any slack. Blue eyes followed the victim's movement above the barrel, devoid of any emotion. His entire body seemed to be detached from the surrounding reality, concentrating on the shot like a well-aimed arrow. 

The sound of gunfire pierced the air, causing a minute of chaos. The frightened birds jumped into the air with a terrifying screech. Smaller animals fell through the undergrowth, leaving only torn leaves behind. Even the small cloud of her own breath froze in the air. 

Meanwhile, Vasily didn't even bat an eye. Only with a learned movement, as natural as his heartbeat, did he reload his weapon, ready to finish off the animal. The clicking of the sliding mechanism sent shivers down her spine as the man continued to stare at his prey, as if even a second's distraction would make it suddenly vanish into thin air. The young deer fell into the undergrowth, thrown about with the last jerks of its life. There was no need for a second shot. Sniper precision was flawless as usual. 

Vasily let out a satisfied hum and signaled her that they could now descend the hill. [Y/N] scrambled out of her spot among the bulging roots and followed him. The woman stepped over irregularities in the ground and ducked under low branches, carefully imitating the man walking in front of her. Her thoughts were already too far away for her to pay attention to her surroundings. 

Sometimes she forgot how deadly dangerous Vasily was. The memories of his laughter and affectionate gestures contrasted sharply with the chilling sight from a moment ago. She also never dared to ask how much of the war was still in him. For her, the war was something distant, it never really affected her. She had no father or brother to take part in the draft. News from the front rarely reached the village, and even if it did, it was hushed in the company of a young woman. 

Is now a good time to ask? Is it even a question possible to answer? 

She almost bumped into the man as he tried unsuccessfully to get her attention. He frowned for a moment at her thoughtfulness and pointed upwards. [Y/N] looked up at the quickly darkening sky. 

They won't make it back home before dark. 

* 

[Y/N] stared blankly at the glowing coals, inhaling the musty smell of the woven bunk she was lying on. Little more than 4 walls and a hearth, long ago deprived of its rightful owner, but still standing intact. For years this old cottage has served as a shelter from the night and bad weather for travelers, a proof of the diligent work of the old days. Its usually quiet and dusty interior was now filled with the pleasant warmth of the fire and Vasili's calm breathing. 

How did he managed to fall asleep so quickly? He didn't seem to care about the hard boards and thin blanket. Are these some secret techniques of the Russian military? She looked at the figure sleeping on the floor. Tucked in his own cloak, he frowned even in his sleep. 

The old bunk creaked softly as she reached towards him, ready to see if the two vertical wrinkles on his forehead were permanent or if there was any hope for him after all. She froze, however, when the glow of the fireplace was reflected in the barrel of the rifle lying within his reach. 

The warning flashed before her eyes. The cold of death bit her fingers and ran up her arm, making her shiver. Vasily never talked about his experiences at the front, and she never had the courage to ask what effect it had had on him. What was the chance that, startled from sleep, he would take up arms? She never saw him sleeping so deeply, will it differ from waking up from a nap? 

As a matter of fact, it was the first time they were sleeping in one room. Grandmas from her village would be outraged if they knew. Two unmarried youngsters sleeping in one room? ALONE? 

Suddenly aware of the whole situation, she blushed and withdrew her hand as if it had been burned. She stole a glance, unsure whether Vasily had magically heard her thoughts. Fortunately, he didn't and continued to sleep, unaware of her dilemma. On the other hand, Vasily didn't seem to be a person who cared about what others thought of him. Fixated on his own goals, he could make decisions completely contrary to the views of the village babushkas. Such as deserting, leaving everything and traveling through foreign territory without a yen to his soul just to get revenge. 

Sometimes it seemed so stupid, but at the same time it was what she admired about him. The ability to make his own decisions and even sticking to them. 

Torn, she bit her lip nervously. The sight of the ice-cold sniper clashed with the memories of the same man, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he tried to capture the smallest details in his drawings. Fear froze her in place, but the flame of hope and curiosity burned brighter. 

She could now put aside her worries about the gossips the next day. People will say whatever they like about her anyway. However, there was still the question of Vasily. Will she startle him? Will he be mad? 

[Y/N] rolled onto her back, her head full of shouting voices. The cautious part of her absolutely forbade any antics that would result in being shot or rejected by Vasily. The rational part of her rightly reminded her that Vasily had never miss fired before, and therefore the likelihood of him shooting her blindly was low. Meanwhile, touch-deprived part of her was laying on the debate table drooling at the mere thought of holding hands. 

And how can you make any decisions in such team? Sometimes it may be better not to think at all. 

The woman took a deep breath, seeking agreement between all parties, and rolled out of bed before anyone could change her mind. She landed softly on her feet and glanced quickly at the rifle. Certain that it wasn't pointed at her yet, she gathered her blanket and spread it on the floor, squeezing herself between the man and the fireplace. She watched what he was doing with one eye and the absolute lack of reaction from him with the other. 

Since he decided to stay in the village for a little longer, the inhabitants took advantage of his youthful strength and efficiency in all possible works. Despite their generous payments in the form of money, food and hospitality, the constant tasks must have exhausted him. 

She lay down on her makeshift bed, wrapping herself in her own cloak. She tried to get as comfortable as possible on the hard floor and closed her eyes, still seeing through her eyelashes the hand lying at the level of her face. Without thinking, she covered it with a piece of cloak, protecting it from the cold of the night. 

And suddenly everything went quiet. As the tension drained from her body, the sound of the blood in her ears diminished, replaced by the rhythm of their breathing. The crackling of the dying fire soothed her frayed nerves, slowly pushing her towards sleep. 

At least until Vasily removed his hand. 

[Y/N] blinked in surprise and looked up, meeting piercing blue eyes. The entire world froze, went deaf, and plunged into darkness, shrinking to the size of just the two of them. She had stared at him blankly for decades after someone had dropped a hand grenade into her brain, depriving of all thought. She wasn't sure if she was breathing at all. 

“The bunk wasn't comfortable” she muttered without even the slightest involvement of the brain in formulating this statement. Vasily raised an eyebrow skeptically, but even in the darkness she could see the slightest lift at the corner of his lips. 

He touched his ear and nodded. >>I could hear<< 

The world went up in flames, burning down all her hopes for a decent life. She was fully ready to sink into the ground and never emerge. 

“Sorry to wake you up,” she mumbled, closing her eyes with a sigh, unable to look at the circus show she just performed. She didn't even flinch when Vasily moved. He could go ahead and take the bunk, or walk away from her life forever. It didn't matter to her as she was about to die right where she lay. 

She flinched when she felt a hand on her back, and then, completely effortlessly, she was moved the few dozen centimeters that separated them. Vasily shifted in his seat and held her against his chest, shielding her from the world. And suddenly the wooden floor of this old cottage was the coziest place on earth. She exhaled softly, the tension leaving her body again and the arm around her keeping them from separating. She swung her arm over his side, feeling it rise in rhythm with his breathing. She pressed her forehead against his shirt and the dull beating of his heart allowed her to finally fall asleep. 

He was warm. The cold-blooded sniper was very very warm. 

[pip0h]

vasily comm for @ironic-orange c: