#mashka

[taku-yan]

#今日の筋トレ

仕事休みだったので、自宅で #ケトルベル

24㎏

スイング20回3セット

スナッチ10回3セット

ハイプル10回3セット

ハーフゲットアップ左右5回

動画で見て試したくなった。24㎏でもハーフならなんとかなるね。

昨日食べたパスタ美味かったな。移り住んで間もない頃以来だがまた行こう。

#mashka

[romanovsonelastdance]

Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich with a bear.

I don't know the particular identity of THIS bear, but in her memoirs, Mikhail's sister Olga Alexandrovna recalled a pet bear named Mashka that Misha especially loved. She described "wrestling matches" they used to have where Misha and Mashka would grab each another around the waist until one of them ended up on their back. Misha always won, until one day it took him longer to defeat Mashka than usual and he admitted that was the last time he'd wrestle with her because she had gotten too strong. She was sent to a zoo, and both Olga and Misha cried.

[krasivaa]

HAPPY 124th BIRTHDAY TO GRAND DUCHESS MARIA NIKOLAEVNA OF RUSSIA! June 26, 1899

Edit made by me using capcut

my queen 🤍💗

[queenalexandraofdenmark]

Edit of Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna for her birthday<3

made by me using CapCut

[botseeksbot]

[aphrodisiac-rimvydas]

Ah, Rascius. *hums and approaches* I had thought to find you here, you do not seem like the one to shy away from a good party – A ball, that much, as well.

— E.Lys. Valerian

Darling Valerian! *extends hands out with a wine glass in hand* Ever a pleasure to see your familiar charming appearance, how I miss when it is absent. *bows and kisses his hand* Of course I wouldn't dare skip an event like this. A chance to see the elite, the rich—to see how they dance and drink and make fools of themselves. *smiles teasingly* Or are you here because you're one of them, hm?

[lonerebel]

Mashka the kitty

R ~ / 05.10.2023

[elliescoat]

about me~

hi! 🫧🪼♡

i'm a cancer!

i'm 19, and my birthday is in july!

i speak three languages; have lived in three countries, and have four pets !

i absolutely love the ocean, period drama, fantasy, and post apocalyptic stories! i'm also quite sure ill love game of thrones until i die. <3 there's definitely more but i dont want this to be toooo long-

my inbox is always open for questions, requests or new friends, so feel free to reach out :)

[suratan-zir]

This is Raisa Ivanivna, a retired Ukrainian language teacher from Avdiivka. Her beloved cat Mashka sits on her back.

Currently, the Russians are trying to surround Avdiivka, erasing the city from the face of the earth in the process, as they have already done with many other eastern Ukrainian cities.

There are still civilians in Avdiivka, mostly elderly people, who refuse to evacuate and leave the ruins of their homes. Russian propagandists on state TV urge not to feel sorry for those who stayed in the city and to raze Avdiivka to the ground, because "the lives of Russian soldiers are more valuable". And compare the residents who remained in Avdiivka with the Germans of Berlin, whom "no one felt sorry for in 1945 either."

For those who still believe Russian propaganda: this is the Donbas, Avdiivka is a city in the east of Ukraine, with mostly Russian-speaking population. These are the "people of the Donbas" whom Putin supposedly "protects and liberates". This is russian liberation.

[romanov-family-photos]

Olga Nikolaevna

Round/oval face shape

Kind eyes

Thin lips

Broader forehead

Small nose

Tatiana Nikolaevna

Cat like eyes

More soft but chiseled features

Thin lips

Slightly pointy chin

Straight nose

Maria Nikolaevna

Round/oval face

Huge round eyes (Mashka’s saucers)

Thick lips

Chubby

Small and slightly upturned nose

Strong and thick eye brows

Anastasia Nikolaevna

Long nose

Thin lips

Small eyes

Long face

Obvious fringe

Eyes seem to be laughing

Alexei Nikolaevich

Visibly the youngest

Obviously Alexei

[yurucamp]

decided on the cats names! Belka (left) and Mashka(right) ! thank you so much for the help <3

oh my god you've made my gloomy day so much brighter...!!!!!! i am so so happy, they are just the cutest little things and i love the names you picked ;; what an honor it was to suggest a few, they are ahhhh my god so damn cute, such eyes full of wonder! i can see they have lives full of mischief and delight ahead of them!!

[unaloid]

quick sketch of my character for a monster of the week xmas oneshot wit friends, mashka the constructed

[allsketchesnononsense]

My psychopomp thrait OC, Mashka

Feat. My gorl Blythe

No bond stronger than that of a traumatized lizard aarvark lady thing and her emotional support brain damaged homeless woman

[gristlegrinder]

they’re just a little guy, officer. they’ve done nothing wrong in their life ever—

trapped at work for seven hours. send help

[winterstarfall]

anya/dmitry arranged marriage au i'm not finishing

Anastasia is not entirely sure how she ended up in this position. Her knee will not cease bouncing on its own no matter how many times she forces it to stop, even though there is no one else outside in the gardens with her. Jimmy sits at her feet, mournful eyes gazing up at her with his head resting on his front paws.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Anastasia’s murmurs, giving up on her embroidery. “You would have done the same.” She pauses. “Well, perhaps if you were human, too.”

Jimmy whines.

They had been under house arrest for over a year, her sisters and her own hair only just reaching their shoulders again after their bout with measles last winter. Russia is transformed, soldiers are in their home and a government has the power her father once did. There had been hints from Colonel Kobylinsky for a long while that they would be moved elsewhere, possibly out of the country. Those hints had stopped quickly when the White army began to descend on the new Provisional Government.

So they have not moved, and her father no longer has any power despite still retaining the title of Emperor. They have been trapped in limbo in Tsarskoye Selo since the revolution because no one knows what to do with them. Until now.

Tatiana looked confused when their parents had gravely sat them down to explain. Her father looks as if he has aged twenty years and her mother’s hair is greying. “A show of unity?”

Anastasia’s head swam with outrage. Olga echoed the same thoughts. “Unity? After they have held us hostage, taken all our friends away and killed half our family?!”

“Olya, quiet,” their mother hissed, although her hands shook.

It is incomprehensible, the grief they have been feeling. Uncle Michael and Aunt Elizabeth deaths mere months ago, a dozen more since then.

“What unity, Mama?” Maria asked, seemingly realising at the same time as her sisters that perhaps this could finally end the last year of bloodshed and anxiety.

Nicholas and Alexandra glanced at one another. Dread spread in Anastasia’s stomach.

“If we are to remain here, even as - figureheads,” Nicholas almost spat the word out, “in order to keep the throne…one of you are to wed a man of the new governments choosing.”

The cries of protest went up immediately. Anastaisa leapt to her feet, Olga began shouting shrilly, Tatiana stuttered and Maria’s hands slapped over her mouth, horrified.

“Girls, please -” their mother begged, tears in her eyes.

“You want us to marry one of them?” Anastasia shrieked.

“You would not be taking his name! He will take ours, and the children -”

“Children?” Olga looked as though she was about to faint. “Papa, you can’t be serious -”

“Who did you choose?” Tatiana suddenly cut in. “You’ve decided already, haven't you?”

Nicholas bowed his head. Anastasia sank back into her chair. “Who, Papa?” She whispered.

When his gaze turned to Maria - sweet, innocent, daydreaming Mashka - the girl's eyes widened in horror.

“No,” Maria whispered.

“Mashka,” their mother started gently, reaching over to take her young daughter's hand. “It will not be so bad. You children will be the heirs -”

“Mama, no,” Maria began to cry, as did Olga and Tatiana.

It shamed Anastasia to think that it made sense. Her parents would never allow Olga, their eldest child to be married off to a Bolshevik, and Tatiana has always resisted her duties in favour of nursing. Maria was the next obvious choice to produce an heir, as it was now clear Alexei would never ascend to be Emperor.

All Maria used to speak off was marriage and children, playing with her little dolls pretending they were babies, gushing about the soldier she would someday marry and the houseful of children they would have. Anastasia’s heart pounded, thinking of her sister forced to marry a man who will show her no love or care, forced to bear his children, made to be a humiliation by the new government.

She couldn’t allow it. Not to Maria.

“No,” Anastasia said loudly, ending the argument that had broken out over Maria’s sobbing. “No.”

“Nastya -” her father warned.

“I will do it.” She straightened, determined. “I will marry the Bolshevik’s choosing.”

They all stared at her, stunned.

“Anastasia, you can’t -” Maria begged.

“I am the youngest,” Aanastasia declares, “I am - the one who has been difficult, unladylike, the shvibzik. If they must humiliate one of us, it will be me, not Mashka. I won’t allow it.” Clearing her throat, she levels with her fathers surprised gaze. “I am of age, father. Let it be me.”

And goodness knows, she would not give the man they chose a second of peace. If anyone could fight and claw her way through a betrothal, it would be her.

So here Anastasia is, a sacrificial lamb for her family, waiting in the gardens while her parents and some politicians iron out the details for the rest of her life.

The late September breeze chills her, but she still refuses to go back inside, unable to stand Maria’s tearful guilty eyes, Olga and Tatiana’s sorrowful looks. She can’t show doubt in front of them, not after she had offered herself up in exchange so quickly.

Jimmy leaps to his feet, tail wagging when Anastasia stands up. Huddled in her coat, she starts to walk briskly towards the flower patch, embroidery abandoned behind her. There are soldiers scattered around, some openly watching her with disdain and others not even acknowledging her passing. Anastasia holds her chin high, refusing to cower for men who don’t know her at all.

The vegetable garden they had planted in the spring is starting to freeze over now. She hopes they are still here to replant it when it has thawed.

Turning at a dying bush, Jimmy weaving between her legs, Anastasia suddenly stops dead.

There is a boy, standing in front of the aster flower bush. His hands trail down a stem before he snaps one off, fingertips tracing its purple petals.

Anastasia frowns. “Might I ask why you are stealing from our garden?” She says loudly in Russian, feeling an odd thrill when the boy startles. He whips around, flower hastily hidden behind his back.

His dark eyes are wide with surprise and guilt, but for half a heartbeat he seems dazzled by her. He is skinny and wearing clothes that are clearly not his own based on the awkward way he moves in them, save for the worn brown coat. He looks gaunt, ill fed and poor, but he doesn’t look like the other soldiers, either. He doesn’t even have a gun.

“Um,” he tries.

Anastasia almost smiles as she approaches. “You needn’t hide it. They’re beautiful flowers - my sisters like to press them in books.”

The boy blinks, watching her pick one of her own. “Thank you, ma’am.” Anastasia raises her eyebrows but doesn’t correct his address. He’s much taller than her, with curling brown hair hidden under a cap. She’s never seen him before.

Jimmy bounds back towards the house. Anastasia lets him go.

“What is your name?”

He clears his throat. “Dmitry Constantinovich. You’re the Tsar’s daughter.”

Anastasia looks up at him. Perhaps he’s a servant she’s never seen before? It seems unlikely, given the close quarters they have all been living in with the sentries. “Do you work for my father, Dmitry Constantinovich?”

Dmitry’s jaw tenses, enhancing the small scar on his cheek where a dimple would be. He does not want to be having this conversation with her. “No, I don’t.”

“But you’re not a soldier either.” She is not asking him now.

They stare at one another for a long moment when he doesn't answer. He is handsome, she observes, perhaps not much older than her. His mouth seems to be set in a permanent line, hardening features that could otherwise be good looking if someone took the care to notice.

Dmitry is the first to look away, the flower he was hiding behind him reappearing. Anastasia holds her own up. “They will be out of season soon, when winter comes. We won’t see them again until spring.”

“You haven’t told me your name,” Dmitry says, sounding slightly less annoyed.

“And you already know I’m the Tsar’s daughter,” she goads him, then scowls. “Though I doubt anyone will think of me as that once I’m married off to some abȃtari soldier.”

Dmitry stares at her. “What?”

Anastasia isn’t sure if he’s confused by the statement or the French insult. “This - new government wants a show of unity from us, and have declared I am to marry one of theirs so my family can survive.” Temper flaring, she presses the pad of her thumb into the spiny edges of the aster’s stem until it bleeds. Angry red blossoms over her skin, running over the side of nail. She licks it off, absently wiping it on her coat. “They wanted Mashka, but I wouldn’t let them. Not to her. She is too good to be sold off to some cruel man for the sake of the throne .”

“But you’re not?” Dmitry is confused, frowning.

Anastasia shrugs. “She is my sister. I would do anything for her.”

“Even marry a bastard soldier,” Dmitry repeats, recognition suddenly changing his tone. “You’re Anastasia Nikolaevna, not Maria.”

She tilts her head. “Why, were you expecting someone else?”

“Apparently not.” He looks away. “You’re certainly not what I expected.”

Anastasia frowns. “Who exactly are you? You’re not a servant or a soldier, so what are you doing here?”

“Anastasia! What are you doing out here?!”

She jumps, dropping her aster and trying to mask the burst of guilt she’s feeling. Though she’s not sure what she’s done wrong.

Count Popov hurries towards them, straightening his waistcoat. Anastasia resists the urge to giggle - Vlad has always resembled a flustered bear to her, always blundering and rushing with something. She’s glad he’s still with them. “Is there a problem, Vlad? I just wanted -“

“Why, child, you mustn’t be out here without a chaperone!” He barely acknowledges Dmitry, who is now looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Chaperone?” Anastasia almost scoffs. “I’m only talking to -“

“You mustn’t be alone with your betrothed, Your Grace.”

Betrothed?

Anastasia’s eyes whip back to Dmitry, who at least has the good graces to look guilty. Of course he knew. Of course she is the last to know.

It’s only her future they’re deciding.

“You were expecting Maria,” she manages.

He has no response to that, except now he can’t meet her eyes.

“Be that as it may,” Vlad hastily interjects, “child, you parents insist on seeing you.” He pauses to glance at Dmitry. “Both of you.”

Anastasia fights to compose herself. “Vlad, would you please tell my parents we will join them shortly?”

Vlad casts a look between her and Dmitry, but he is her fathers man before anything, and will do as he’s told. He bows slightly to Anastasia, before heading back to the palace.

Left alone once more, Anastasia looks at Dmitry - really looks at him this time. He is handsome, she can admit that much, in a rugged way. He’s clearly anxious but trying to hide it. Something they both have in common, at least. She can’t help noticing his nose is crooked from a previous break, and he self-consciously rubs it when he sees her staring.

Anastasia clears her throat. “So,” she starts, “you are who I am to be pawned off to.”

Dmitry flinches. “Anya -”

“It is Anastasia,” she snaps heatedly, fury flaring in her chest. She digs her fingernails into her palms, forcing herself to tamper it down. She approaches him boldly, not breaking eye contact even when she has to tilt her head up to meet them. He doesn’t move, letting her stand toe to toe with him.

There are inches between them now, and Anastasia feels something beneath her anger that she refuses to think about for another second.

“I am marrying you to save my family,” she reminds him, “and I would imagine you agreed to this - arrangement for you own reasons, too. So I want you to understand, Dmitry Constantinovich - I will be your wife, and I will do what is expected of me for the benefit of my family, but you and I will never be friends. Do I make myself clear?”

Dmitry’s jaw is clenched, shoulders tense. Anastasia refuses to look away until he answers. Eventually, his head bows slightly. “Yes - Anastasia.”

The air between them is taunt. Anastasia takes a step back, fighting an urge to shiver. She nods, straightening up. “Then I trust you will be able to make yourself back inside.”

Not waiting for an answer, Anastasia turns on her heel and marches back through the gardens, fists clenched the entire time.

-

Dmitry sleeps on the floor.

They have given him a room with a bed, but the mattress is too soft - Dmitry feels he might sink straight through and drown in it. He’s never slept on anything softer than bags of wood chips before.

Lying on the floor with a too-soft pillow and a blanket probably worth more rubles than the sum of his life, Dmitry stares at the ceiling. It’s too quiet here - he’s spent nineteen years of his life being lulled to sleep by Saint Petersburg's chatter, it’s blistering cold and noisy cobblestones. The silence here is too loud, too alien, grating in his ears. He had tried to remember familiar sounds, the distant wail of a train, the clatter of horse hooves, muffled conversations of evening workers and late-night revellers - he could almost smell the distinct blend of coal smoke and damp stone. But the more he tried to immerse himself in the memory, the more it slipped away.

Dmitry breathes loud and deliberately, just for something to hear. Glancing at the window, he briefly considers escaping through it, to run back to his place in the shadows, go back to his life of lying and scheming.

He’d probably be killed before even reaching the ground.

He wonders if he will ever feel at home here, amongst grandeur he has only ever heard about and once dreamed of.

If father could see me now, he thinks bitterly.

Constantine Sudayev was a man hardened by a life of struggle, whose lessons were often as harsh as the Russian winters. His father had always preached resilience, the necessity to adapt and survive no matter the circumstances. Yet, here Dmitry is, struggling to adapt to comfort.

It would be easy to blame his father for this, for keeping the company he did that handed him death in a labour camp and saw Dmitry forced to marry a Romanov, the very people Constantine and the Bolsheviks had schemed to overthrow.

Dmitry isn’t sure if his father would be proud or horrified. He’s not sure he wants to know.

[otmaaromanovas]

OTMA's personalities according to Colonel Evgeny Stepanovich Kobylinsky

Kobylinsky is a fascinating inividual, here is a short summary of his life: Colonel Kobylinsky was employed by the Provisional Government and oversaw the Romanovs during their captivity in the Alexander Palace and Tobolsk. He was eventually replaced due to being viewed as not strict enough, and enabling their desires for activity and entertainment. Unusually, he went on to join the White Army in 1918, until he was captured and sent to a concentration camp. In order to escape the camp, he traded his freedom for a position in the Red Army. He eventually married Klavdia Mikhailovna Bitner, friend and tutor to OTMAA. Together they had one son. In 1927 he was accused of being part of a 'monarchical conspiracy' against the Soviet State and was executed by firing squad. Bitner was also arrested under a similar charge ten years later, and executed. Their son, Innokenty Evgenievich, was orphaned aged seventeen. He was drafted into the Red Army, and fought against the Nazi invasion.

"The Grand Duchess Olga was a nice looking young blonde, about twenty-three; her type was Russian. She was fond of reading, capable and mentally well developed; spoke English well and German badly. She had some talent for art, played the piano, sang, (she learned singing in Petrograd; her voice was soprano), and she painted well. She was very modest and did not care for luxury.

Her clothes were modest and she restrained her sisters from extravagance in dress. She gave altogether the impression of a good, generous-hearted Russian girl. It looked as if she had had some sorrows in her life and still carried traces of it. It seemed to me that she loved her father more than she loved her mother. She also loved her brother, and called him "The Little One" or "The Baby.

The Grand Duchess Tatiana was about twenty. She was quite different from her sisters. You recognised in her the same features that were in her mother — the same nature and the same character. You felt that she was the daughter of an emperor. She had no liking for art. Maybe it would have been better for her had she been a man. When the emperor and empress left Tobolsk nobody would ever have thought that the Grand Duchess Olga was the senior of the remaining members of the imperial family. If any questions arose it was always Tatiana who was appealed to. She was nearer to her mother than the other children; and it seemed that she loved her mother more than her father.

The Grand Duchess Maria was eighteen ; she was tall, strong, and better looking than the other sisters. She painted well and was the most amiable. She always used to speak to the soldiers, questioned them, and knew very well the names of their wives, the number of their children, and the amount of land owned by the soldiers. All the intimate affairs in such cases were always known to her. Like the Grand Duchess Olga, she loved her father more than the rest. On account of her simplicity and affability she was given the pet name by the family of "Mashka." And by this term she was called by her brother and by her sisters.

The Grand Duchess Anastasia, I believe, was seventeen. She was over-developed for her age; she was stout and short, too stout for her height; her characteristic feature was to see the weak points of other people and to make fun of them. She was a comedian by nature and always made everybody laugh. She preferred her father to her mother and loved Maria Nicholevna more than the other sisters.

All of them, including Tatiana, were nice, modest and innocent girls. There is no doubt they were cleaner in their thoughts than the majority of girls nowadays.

The czarevitch was the idol of the whole family. He was only a child and his characteristic features were not yet worked out. He was a very clever, capable and lively boy. He spoke Russian, French and English, and did not know a word of German.

In general, I could say about the whole imperial family that they all loved each other and were so satisfied with their family life that they did not need nor look for intercourse with other people. Never before in my life have I seen, and probably never again shall I see, such a good, friendly and agreeable family."

SOURCE: The Last Days of the Romanovs, published 1920, George Gustav Telberg, Robert Wilton, Nikolai Sokolov, ch. Examination of E. S. Kobylinsky

PHOTOS: Colonel Kobylinsky, dates unknown. Arrest photograph of Klavdia Mikhailovna Kobylinskaya, formerly Bitner, shortly before her execution