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naprawxmnie · 8 months

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a daughter’s perdition || viktoria petrova

“Your mother is dead, Viktoria.”

Ten years had passed. Ten years and not a day went by when the girl did not think of the warmth of her mother’s embrace. The comfort of her voice. Both the love and the pain in her eyes. All the precious memories gathered in the bare eight years they shared together; memories she did her best to guard and preserve, despite the dust of years blurring them sometimes to the point of being unable to tell if they were real or a dream born out of desperate longing.

The darkness of the graveyard was almost impenetrable, if not for the faint light of a lit cigarette resting in Viktoria’s mouth as she sat on the ground in front of her mother’s grave. In the first months after her mother’s death she thought the gravestone was useless, as no one ever got the chance of retrieving the body. However, when that most important person is brutally ripped from your life, you learn to be grateful even for a piece of cold stone with their name.

Tatiana Petrova beloved

Three words. For some reason, the existence that spanned over a millennium could be summed up in just those three words.

And they were enough. There was nothing to add.

For how could you fit such a rich existence on an ordinary gravestone? How could you fit the centuries of torment, the endless acts of both kindness and cruelty? How do you sum up lifetimes that had been equally bloody as they were compassionate? Viktoria sometimes came to the conclusion that even if given enough space, she would be unable to find the words to describe it.

As the cold winter wind blew through the cemetery, Viktoria shook off the remnants of those thoughts. What use were they now? Letting her mind wander off in such directions was like asking for her rage to take over her once more.

The rage was constant. Even right after Tatia’s death, her daughter learned to cope by allowing the passion and anger to engulf her in flames, burning off any of the other unwanted emotions that followed her mother’s passing. The sorrow, the hopelessness, the solitude. If she cultivated her fury, adding more fuel to its flame, all those other emotions would eventually burn away, right?

Right?

“Who is that?” the six-year-old girl ran to her mother with a wide grin on her childish face. At that time it didn’t matter to her that two of her front teeth were missing, her hair was a tangled mess, and the skin of her bruised knees was still sore. Viktoria didn’t pay it any attention even as she kneeled right on those bruises beside her mother.

Tatia turned her head ever so slightly from the boxes she had been packing to check was sparked her daughter’s interest. Upon seeing the old photograph Viktoria held, Tatia couldn’t help but smile softly, taking it into her own hands. Age may have not been kind to the photo, taking away its sharpness and biting at the edges, but she’d recognize it anywhere.

“And where exactly did you find that?” was her first question as her gaze moved to rest questioningly at her daughter. Such photos were kept away in a place Viktoria shouldn’t even be able to reach.

“Who is that?” despite the blush slowly blooming on her cheeks, Viktoria was relentless. However, in that moment it was more important to her that her mother focused on something other than the old box at the high shelf in the closet. A box that had been ‘accidentally’ knocked over by Viktoria and her trusty broom when she’d been playing there.

Tatia could already guess the vague outline of events that led Viktoria to her discovery, but she decided against pursuing the matter. Instead, she took the child in her arms, making her sit at her lap so they could both have a good view of the old photograph.

“This is Uncle Mike. I’ve told you some stories about him when you were younger. You probably don’t even remember them by now.”

“Is he the one who lost a bet and had to perform as a lady in an opera?”

A rich laugh erupted from Tatia’s lips.

“You do remember him!”

What Tatia chose not to tell her daughter was that he only did it because Tatia tricked him into a drinking contest, knowing well that she’d lose it; but not before Mike was drunk enough to actually keep his word and compel the theatre director to let him onto the stage in a makeshift female costume.

“Is Uncle Mike dead?” a logical question to ask, surprisingly. Most people from her mother’s stories were dead, with only stories and an occasional photograph to leave behind.

“Oh no, Uncle Mike is still very much alive. I should take you to meet him someday,” the only reason why Tatia hadn’t done that yet, was because she vowed not to let her daughter near any vampires until she was old enough. Even though she had trusted Mike with her life, she did not trust the world that surrounded him. “I’m sure he would love to meet you.”

In the six years that Viktoria was alive Tatia and Mike crossed paths a couple of times already. He knew about Tatia being a vampire, about Viktoria. But those meetings were usually rare and prematurely cut short due to whatever external supernatural circumstances hung over them at a given time. Yet another reason why Tatia thought it best to wait before introducing her daughter to her best friend.

“You know, before Uncle Adam took me in, it was Uncle Mike that helped me when I was pregnant with you. He was the first person I told and the one I trusted most with that knowledge.”

Although Tatia kept most of her stories to herself for obvious reasons, she tried to be as open as possible about he struggles of her life with Viktoria. She may have been young, but Tatia believed that children were much smarter and durable than people often gave them credit for. And so Viktoria knew, even at the young age of six that her mother’s trust was not an easy thing to gain.

If Uncle Mike was truly such a trusted friend of Tatia… Viktoria understood just how important he had to be.

Small particles of dust danced in the air against the light of the sun setting outside.

Same boxes that Viktoria remembered helping her mother pack those few times they were forced to move places, for whatever reason; either someone trying to track Tatia down, a suspicious hunter/supernatural activity, or simply people getting suspicious of the young woman who seemed not to age a single day.

It’d already been years since Viktoria dared to go near them. A collection of photos, journals, and other objects her mother gathered in her fruitful life. As a kid, Viktoria didn’t even bother to question how could someone condense a millennium of experiences and memories into a few old boxes. But going through the journals, it was clear that Tatia never liked to keep things for the sake of keeping them. Only things she cared for deeply would be deemed worthy of keeping.

The journals were what Viktoria was most thankful for. They allowed her a glimpse into the true life of her mother. The one she had been too young to be told when Tatia had still been alive. And things so intimate, Viktoria sometimes felt guilty for having read them. But it was only thanks to them that she came to understand who her mother had really been. Not just the motherly figure who told her impossible stories full of wonders, but a warrior of a woman who fought every day of her life not to let the darkness inside her spill to the world and people she cared for so deeply.

That’s why it hurt so much more that among the things Tatia decided to keep and take with her wherever she moved held some connection to that one man. The one who ruined everything.

“You look so much like her… Has anyone ever told you that?”

Viktoria heard that a lot, actually. The uncanny resemblance to her late mother was clearly both a source of amazement and horror to most people who had known her. Viktoria didn’t find it surprising in the slightest; experience taught her that only an elite group of closest friends had known Tatia as she had really been.

Everyone else? They had only known the legend of the bloodthirsty demon feasting on blood of humans and supernaturals alike.

“Has anyone ever told you how flattery will get you nowhere?” Viktoria’s tone had been cold as she walked through the witch’s house, assessing thoroughly. She was grateful for the witch’s apparent affinity for hanging mirrors on seemingly every bare surface of the walls. It was details like these that helped her make up for her lack of supernatural senses. After all, most humans would ignore that fact and fail to notice the witch reaching for a knife laying on the worktable.

Most humans wouldn’t even need that kind of skill.

“I’d leave that alone if I were you,” Viktoria muttered in a low tone, not sparing a single look at the witch as she made her way to the chair in the living area of the house. It was only as Viktoria sat that her gaze returned to the bewildered woman.

“How did you…?”

“You’re not the one who’s going to ask questions today,” Viktoria’s eyes narrowed as she examined the witch, trying to assess whether another attack was coming or not. Luckily, the witch had been well aware of Viktoria’s reputation, if the crippling fear in her eyes was any indication.

Good. Fighting would mean less time for answers.

“My sources tell me that years ago you belonged to a coven. One that aimed towards restoring ‘the natural balance’ of the world,” the venom was dripping from her voice as she said it. Of all the supernatural beings in the world, witches might have been her least favorite. Always on their high horse, failing to notice their own wrongdoings. “My question is,” Viktoria schooled her voice to a calm lethality, carefully keeping her temper on a leash. “What do you know of what happened on the night of 22nd February ten years ago?”

The witch visibly gulped, having correctly guessed the purpose of the visit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Despite trying her best to keep her composure calm and collected, even Viktoria’s human eyes could see the sweat slowly gathering on the witch’s forehead.

Only the years of training kept Viktoria from releasing an animalistic growl. “I assume you do not fully realise the severity of your position. Allow me to shed some light then,” Viktoria got up from the seat. “Your house is now surrounded by, I’m guessing… over two dozen vampires? All of them ready to be invited in and rip you to shreds if you continue playing ignorant. So I’m going to ask this one…” a step forward “more” another one “time.”

Three steps. That was all it took for her to close distance between her and the witch. Standing mere inches away from her, Viktoria realised how pathetic this woman was. She had to be nearing forty, which meant that she had plenty of time to develop her magical and non-magical skills, but just knowing whom she had in front of her was enough to make her freeze in her place without even trying to harm Viktoria. What must have been decades of experience rendered useless by an appearance of a teenager.

“What do you know?”

Underneath the thick layer of fear, Viktoria noticed something else brewing in the witch’s eyes; anger. Anger at her utter helplessness.

“My coven may have had a hand in your mother’s death. But she did not die by the hands of a witch. The hand that drove the stake through her heart was the hand of a friend.”

Viktoria should have shown some type of shock. Unfortunately, the witch’s words were just a confirmation of what she had already suspected. For the past two years Viktoria sought answers to the specific circumstances of her mother’s death, as none of her mother’s friends could ever give her a straight answer. Although the involvement of witches’ was undeniable, the actual culprit responsible for dealing the fatal blow remained at large.

“Who?” was Viktoria’s only question.

The witch hesitated at first, but the ice in Viktoria’s eyes seemed to convince her that it was better to help Viktoria than to suffer at her wrath.

“Mike Reed.”

Keeping a cool expression seemed impossible at that moment. Although Viktoria never actually got the chance to meet her mother’s best friend, she spent so much time going through Tatia’s journals and old photographs. She believed she’d had a decent understanding of their relationship. But knowing this, that her mother had been murdered by him… How could that be?

Momentarily Viktoria was inclined to call the witch out on her lie. The Mike Viktoria knew from her mother’s stories, both told in person and kept in the form of journal entries, would sooner end himself than willingly hurt his mother. But at the same time… all those loose ends Viktoria tried to tie into a coherent version of events suddenly snapped to place by themselves, in the light of this shocking revelation.

Mike had been the one to kill her mother.

Viktoria did not say another word to the witch. All she did was move past her, towards the door.

As she opened them, a group of vampires stood at the entrance, ready to follow her command, whatever it may be.

Still standing on the inside of the house, Viktoria regarded them for a moment. Some of them had been her mother’s friends. Others were her training companions, some vampires that she helped rescue. Either way, all of them willingly joined her in her path to revenge, letting her take the lead.

“Come in,” she said; and before her foot touched the ground of the other side of the house, the vampires were already inside, circling the witch like hungry vultures.

“You said you wouldn’t invite them in!” she could hear the witch’s voice from behind her back. This time there were no mirrors to help her assess what was happening where her gaze couldn’t reach, but Viktoria didn’t feel any need to turn around to investigate.

“All I said was that if you continued to play dumb, I would invite them in.” a smile sprouted on her face as she looked towards the sky. “But who said that telling me the truth would spare you that fate?”

The ground beneath her was cold, but Viktoria refused to leave her mother’s gravestone. Winter had barely started, but snow has already begun falling scarcely from the sky. If she wanted to be in her best shape for what was to come, she should get up. How pathetic would that be if her revenge was postponed due to something as plain as a cold?

Still, she hesitated.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

It was only when another figure came to the gravestone that Viktoria moved. There was no need to turn her gaze to the man; she would recognize his voice anywhere. Mark had been one of her earliest training companions and the closest thing she had to a friend.

Which didn’t mean he always approved of how she approached the subject of revenge.

“Who cares if it’s good or not?” she asked him in return, taking out an old album from her bag. “It’s necessary.”

Given how many old photographs Tatia used to keep, one might think she had a lot of photo albums to keep them organised. But the truth was, most of the photos were stacked together tied by a string. The albums were mostly reserved for Viktoria’s childhood photos… or for him.

That one old album was the only thing Viktoria took from their old house. Most of the time she treated her mother’s belongings like relics of a Saint. To be analysed, admired, but ultimately left alone. As if she might one day come back to reclaim them.

Even though Tatia would never be coming back.

Not with her soul scattered to the wind.

The thought usually brought tears to Viktoria’s eyes. The thought that even if at some point she would encounter a witch powerful enough to bring someone back from the dead… her mother’s soul had been lost. Despite many attempts, no one could locate her. No matter the spell, no matter the sacrifice, her soul had been lost. Even if the barriers separating the living from the dead had been destroyed, Tatia would not be back. A devastating thought.

Most of the time it was devastating. But at that moment it gave Viktoria courage to throw the album in front of the grave and take out a bottle of gasoline and a lighter. Her mother would not come back to gaze at the album again.

And the man in the pictures did not deserve it anyway.

As soon as the fire came in contact with gasoline, the album erupted into flames. Pages began darkening, curling into themselves before disintegrating and flying towards the sky, carried by the winter wind.

“So what now?” Mark asked, not taking his gaze away from the flames.

“Now,” Viktoria’s breath was a cloud of mist in the winter wind. “I’m going to hunt him down.”

#xmikereedx #[ drabble; ]#[ au: death; ]

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kiss-my-freckle · 1 year

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Masha Rostova

I keep going through the same debate - that of Liz’s born identity. Dialogues can be found for each character, but I’m trying to keep this as short as possible.

Alan Fitch

Knew Katarina had a daughter named Masha. He and Peter weren't on good terms, and he clearly didn't know Liz was Masha. If he did, he'd know why Red turned himself in. Every bit why I disregard Fitch as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Anton Velov

Didn't know the name of Katarina's daughter, only that she had a daughter. Every bit why I disregard Velov as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Ivan Stepanov

Ivan didn't know Liz was Masha until he actually saw her. Every bit why I disregard Stepanov as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Constantin Rostov aka Alexander Kirk

Because he believed Liz was his daughter, she was necessary for his survival. Every bit why I disregard Rostov as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Ilya Koslov

Being Katarina’s childhood friend, knowing the danger Liz’s identity would put her in, and him promising to protect Masha is every bit the reason why I disregard Koslov as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Kathryn Nemec aka Mr. Kaplan

Working for Raymond, being Masha’s nanny, knowing the danger Liz’s identity would put her in, and her promise to protect Masha is every bit the reason why I disregard Kaplan as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Dominic Wilkinson

Created an imposter Katarina for the sake of protecting his grandchild. Absurd if anyone believes he was the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Tatiana Petrova

Knew Liz was Masha, but appeared to be well and good in hiding. I have no reason to believe she exposed Liz’s born identity. Certainly not when Raymond was the very person keeping her safe in hiding.

Jennifer Reddington

Jennifer didn't even know she had a sister. They were separated when they were young. Every bit the reason why I disregard her as the person who exposed Liz’s born identity.

Dembe Zuma

Worked for Raymond, actually considers him a brother, and knew the danger Liz’s identity would put her in. Every bit the reason why I disregard Dembe as the person who exposed her born identity.

Sam Milhoan

Sam was the very man that raised her as his own daughter. Knowing the danger it would put her in, he’d never expose Liz, so he’s easy to disregard as the person who exposed her born identity.

Carla Reddington

She knew Liz was Masha. Possible for her to expose Liz's born identity, but not very likely. She told Red she didn’t say anything about him or Elizabeth, and I believe her.

Middle Man

Because these are the only characters who knew Liz was born Masha, and I can’t imagine any of them exposing her to the Cabal, there has to be a middle man. A friend, an employ, someone they’d trust enough to inform. To inform a middle man that Liz was born Masha, they had to know Katarina’s daughter by name and have reason to give it to said middle man. This dwindles the list to four names.

Alan Fitch

Fitch didn’t always have an agreement with Raymond. In fact, he set him up with Berlin, allowing him to believe that Raymond killed his daughter. It’s quite possible Fitch gave Berlin the name of Raymond’s daughter for the sake of getting to Raymond. What makes this unlikely, is the fact that Berlin gave no indication that he knew Raymond had two daughters. When he assumed his own daughter was Raymond’s daughter, I think it quite likely he assumed Zoe was Jennifer rather than assumed Zoe was Liz.

Carla Reddington

Carla could’ve informed the Cabal after Raymond put her in hiding, but again, I highly doubt she did. For the Cabal to get that intel from Carla, they’d first have to find her. When Raymond makes someone disappear, they literally disappear, and I highly doubt she’d put herself at risk of being killed by him for putting his daughter at risk.

Tatiana Petrova

Tatiana could’ve been aiming for her freedom earlier than they’ve shown on screen, but I think it more likely she’d go directly after Red. Because she believed Red to be the real Red, I highly doubt she’d put herself at risk of being killed by him for putting his daughter at risk.

Constantin Rostov aka Alexander Kirk

Constantin is my bet. He believed Masha was his biological daughter, so he’d most certainly go looking for his child. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent the entire 30 years searching for her.

Constantin wasn’t able to enter the states because he’s just as much a criminal. Why take that risk when he can hire someone to find and deliver. The point of him hiring Scottie and Solomon to abduct her from her own wedding.

I’m suggesting Constantin hired someone prior to hiring Scottie. Someone who’d know Liz’s born identity because Constantin didn’t know Masha’s new identity. Had he known her new identity, he would’ve come for her a lot sooner. Whoever he hired to find Masha, that person could’ve leaked Liz’s born identity to the Cabal.

Expect Constantin Rostov to have a middle man, and that man be revealed to have leaked Liz’s born identity to the Cabal because Peter most certainly didn’t pull her name out of his ass.

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thechaosmuses · 3 months

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Below the cut is a list of all my original characters, from every fandom, organized by such. I figured I would go ahead and put this up, as well as a canon muse one, for my oc and canon starters so that way it's easier for y'all to see who is included without going to every separate muse list.

The Vampire Diaries

Elizabeth Haven Mikaelson Roman Ryker Mikaelson Erik Flynn Mikaelson Kareena Dawn Mikaelson Thyra Selene Mikaelson Karsyn Devyn Mikaelson Mateo Maxwell Mikaelson Serenity Faye Mikaelson Sawyer Finch Mikaelson Aurelia Nova Mikaelson Felix Ares Mikaelson Willow Luna Mikaelson Tobias Floyd Mikaelson Zephyr Raven Parker Zariyah Dove Parker Kennedy Taylor Parker Myles Zane Parker Mariana Joy Parker Paisley Juniper Parker Braeden Talia Salvatore Holden Atlas Salvatore Ezra Grant Salvatore Liberty Faye Salvatore Jensen Graham Gilbert Easton Reed Gilbert Jesse Jonathan Gilbert Elias Rhodes Gilbert Jazmyn Sophia Gilbert Atlas Rowan Petrova Titus Izaiah Petrova Kamen Maverick Pierce Natalie Adrianna Pierce Eleanor Marie Bennett Salem Elijah Bennett Gabriel Graham Gustin Belladonna Sharie Bennett Seraphina Rose Ward Theodore Joseph Brickenden Kaia Asherah Halloran Carter William Forbes Cameron Myles Lawrence Jameson Tyler Rosza Tatum Jaxson Lockwood Tatiana Jade Lockwood Taylor Jacob Lockwood Axel Madden Hughes Ashton Malik Hughes Sebastian Sawyer Sharpe Niall Nash Novak Montgomery Felix Langston Ophelia Esme Lovell Sapphire Lee McGuire Rami Calder McGuire Warren Jaxon Kingsley Jeremiah Michael Kenner Cecilia Jaklyn Labonair Rosemary Belle Whitlock Hadley Kamryn Fuller Kamryn Avery Marshall Lorella Diane St. John Andrew Kolton Rogers Blair Lilith Walsh Zachariah Cole Norwood Matthias Lucien Delacour Matias Camilo Garcia Cyrus Boyd Mikaelson (spn to tvdu) Harmony Iris Johnson (tw to tvdu) Chandler Matthew Rawlins (tw to tvdu)

Containment

Jubilee Fawn Ellison Carson Elijah Mayes Maddox Rhett Lancaster Malia Rayne Lancaster Makai Reid Lancaster Delilah Anne Malone Austin Blake Coleman Damian James Taylor

Teen Wolf

Aspen Bella Stilinski Adrian Archer Argent Addison Athena Argent Lyla Sage Martin Amaia Tala Alexander Malik Elias Hale Madelaine Emery Hale Isaiah Parker Lahey Amadora Constance Sharpe Callum Tate Raeken Dawson Cole Reynolds Jared Taylor Parrish Stephen Ezekiel Hemming

Supernatural

Amelia Mae Allen Melody Athena Hayes Lucilla Marie Nightstar Eden Faith Cruz Elijah Luke Cruz Valentina Rosalie Hart Adaliah Ember Darhk Alexandria Skye Earp Lillian Dahlia Campbell Adriel Xavier Grant Talon Colt Ashford Silas Kai Parker Josephina Jazmyn Walker Elyza Alice Pierson (tvdu to spn)

DC Comics

Kiera Jaylin Davis

Marvel

Kailee Elizabeth Holtz (hero and villain verse) Kaiden Edward Holtz (villain and hero verse) Camelia Waverly Maximoff Kaleb Jonas Barnes Maxine Josephine Rogers Melody Elizabeth Young Anastasia Sloane Lenkov Wren Nika Volkov Wynter Nadia Volkov Cordelia Ara Odinsdottir Amora Delphine Brantley Celeste Juliet Livingston Nikolai Nathaniel Novak (tvdu to mcu) Charmeine Ayla Hanlon (spn to mcu)

Stranger Things

Stella Blake Russell Scarlet Ember Ward Valerie Mae Henderson Mitchell Elliot Mayfield Meredith Eleanor Mayfield

Misc

Ambrosia Nyx Tartarus Acacius Nile Tartarus Duncan David Dalveron Damien Dawson Dalveron Brantley Cole Kline Rosalie Grace Anderson Rowena Greyson Andrews Ryker Grant Andrews Aviana Summer Archer Dylan Bryce Thatcher Sterling Atlas Ward

9-1-1

Evelyn June Buckley Ethan Jace Buckley Hazel Jayne Walker Hayes Jesse Walker Izaiah Edison Hendrix Waverly Chloe Hendrix Matilda Iris Monroe Fallon Pierce Richards

Book Babes

Cyra Lux Vespara Wilder Blaze Hawthorne Dion Ignis Vanserra Pyralis Jax Vanserra Warren Forrest Hayward Solana Aruna Meridian Anatole Cyrus Solari Althea Zaria Cadlawon Tynan Kerrell Visita Kirsi Gwyneira Nieves Lyall Colden Whittaker Caspian Calder Conway Maribelle Aelia Sommer

Zodiacs

Wyatt Keegan aka Aries Kianni Phoenix aka Sagittarius Leon Cyrus aka Leo River Mira aka Cancer Dylan Lucas aka Pisces Josephine Nova aka Scorpio Conrad Atlas aka Taurus Kailynn Amelia aka Capricorn Taron Sage aka Virgo Alice Skye aka Libra Aaron Micah aka Aquarius Adelaide June aka Gemini Arianna Rose aka Gemini

#[the chaos muses;]#[original character muses]#[oc muses]#[oc muse list]

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crookedstrangerwasteland · 10 months

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THE THIRD PERSON AS AN ALTERNATIVE THEORY

Raymond Reddington is born in 1960. Around 1977 he enters the Naval Academy and graduates in 1981-82. He joined the Naval Counter Intelligence and operated against the KGB. He is married in 1983 to Carla, also serving in the Navy, and in 1984 they have a daughter, Jennifer.Sometime in 1984 he is captured by a Russian agent code named Sea Duke, interrogated under torture and after 10 days he is rescued by a Pentagon-FBI joint operation.In 1956 an air force pilot Eugene Taylor Phillips, gives birth to a son, Julian Ralston Phillips (names don’t really matter). His mother, Elizaveta, is a White Russian, possibly of noble descent that escaped Russia after the fall of the Romanovs, and anti-communist.He grows up to be a rebellious and difficult child, changing homes often due to his father’s work. His father plans to send him to a military school after the family tradition but he does not want, gets into all kinds of trouble and he is arrested for petty theft. His father excommunicates him and finally he runs away when he is 17 years of age. In this scenario, Ilya and Ivan were not his childhood friends. They were Katarina’s friends.In 1984, Reddington was based in Naples, Italy, working in the NATO base. He was KGB’s most fearful enemy, so Sea Duke (Ivan Stepanov) decided to find another way to approach him since he failed the first time when he used force, so he sends a beautiful woman to seduce him. Her name is Katarina Rostova, married to a wealthy Russian Constantine Rostov, who lives in Canada. She is an American of Russian descent, who grew up in the States and she met Constantine in the White Russian circles. Reddington falls in love with her, and they have an affair. Katarina gets pregnant by Reddington, and in 1985 gives birth to a daughter, Masha. She tells Constantine that Masha is his child. Raymond does not know about Masha, but Katarina at some point tells him about their daughter.Reddington did not know that Katarina was the daughter of a Soviet Illegal spy (Russian name unknown) who have moved in the US in the 70s, living as a law abiding American, under the identity of Dominic Wilkinson. Eventually Dominic was transferred back to Moscow, and he became responsible for Illegals in the Western hemisphere. Katarina Wilkinson grew up in the States as an illegal that worked for KGB, used her marriage to Constantine as a cover, she was a travel agent, and that gave her the excuse to travel around the globe. She did not like communism she started working for Fitch and the Cabal, to bring down the Soviet Union. Tatiana Petrova in this scenario could have been Katarina’s Cyranoid, since they looked similar.Reddington abducts Masha from their home in Canada and takes her back to the States. Katarina soon follows along with Kate the nanny, leaving Constantine behind.Back in 1973, a young Julian lives in the streets with a gang of street kids who are thieves, organizing robberies to survive. Τhey try to rob the house of a wealthy American who happens to be Allan Fitch. The other kids escape but Allan captures Julian. Impressed by the boy’s talents and character offers him a deal. He will not hand him to the police, as long as he works for him. He also gives him a new identity (David Kennedy), reportedly he was abandoned as a baby in an orphanage, parents unknown. Fitch pays for his education and David joins the FBI. Fitch wants him to be his eyes and ears there, with a long term project to crack down criminal organizations that work against the US and later we find out the Cabal interests. He succeeds and in 1978 works as a junior agent. He meets Melissa, a kindergarten teacher, and they marry the same year. In 1979 they have a daughter named Elizabeth. In 1987 he works briefly with Sebastian Royce in one case. David is undercover and he helps bust an organization smuggling diamonds and as a result the organization is exposed, they lose millions of dollars. In March 22, 1987 David watches his daughter Liz dancing ballet for the last time. David asks the FBI to protect his family until all the organization’s criminals are put behind bars, but a few weeks later the organization murders his wife and daughter. In this scenario the Takhoma park house is his residence, not Reddington’s. H vows to avenge them. He quits the FBI and he contemplates suicide. Fitch asks him to work directly for him and the cabal. His mission is to create criminal organizations outside the law enforcement radar to advance the cabal’s interests. He is also authorized to eliminate criminals that oppose the cabal and threaten its interests worldwide. Fitch helps find the killers and David takes his revenge. This is the first time he tastes blood.During this period he meets and cooperates with Katarina Rostova, who is working for the cabal as a double agent. He becomes fond of Masha because she reminds him of his daughter and they become quite close. David also brings in Sam, one of the children he met when run away, who had become a successful con man. This line of work is perfect for him since when he was young he dreamed the life of outlaws.After the infamous fire Reddington dies and the fulcrum is lost. David was there with Katarina, and got his face burned while trying to find the fulcrum. David, who knew Reddington and his family through Katarina, stages Reddington’s disappearance until to decide what to do. In 1991 Katarina is hiding trying to figure out what to do but she is desperate, and David devices a plan to create a fake death. The 90s is the age that DNA identification slowly is used by the FBI. He has come across a criminal scientist who can transform someone’s DNA like that of a dead person and when examined to falsely show that is another person, similar to the alchemist’s MO. Those after Katarina bite the bait for a while and think she is dead. Unfortunately for Katarina, her enemies were able to discover the fake DNA and increase their efforts to locate her. They know that it was David who organized the ruse and he becomes a target as well. He has facial surgery since his face was badly burned and decides to take Reddington’s face since had a similar appearance, to get Reddington’s millions from the banks, and he does the same to Katarina to alter her face. People would believe he is Reddington, because after the fire he was badly burned and allegedly he had a plastic surgery to fix his face.Then he reinvents himself as Reddington, uses the fulcrum as a leverage against them and creates his criminal organization to keep him and Elizabeth safe from the cabal and Hydra until he can destroy them, his 30 year old project that gives purpose to his life. There is one thing to do to make sure nobody will find out his true identity. He and Katarina decide to bury Reddington’s body in Tansi farm so the world never learns that he died.There is one problem, if they ever discover the new Katarina she might be forced to reveal where Masha is. It’s a Hobson choice, to save Masha or Katarina. David takes Katarina and against her will erases her memory and gives her a new identity, that of Kassandra Bianchi. She is oblivious of her former self, and she will not recognize her daughter if they ever meet. This is what Dembe meant when he said that Elizabeth would never be ready to learn what you did to Katarina. They also alter Masha’s memory to forget her past and shooting her father. He now feels responsible for Masha who he sees as a replacement of his daughter, gives her to Sam. She now knows her name is Elizabeth, with no memory that once she was called Masha. He is obsessed with her and he sees her as a second opportunity to save her when he failed to save his own daughter. Although Reddington is dead he does not want his family to suffer the same fate as his and arranges to hide Carla and Jennifer in WITSEC.That is why when Kirk asked him if Masha was his daughter he refused to answer, but he replied that Elizabeth was his daughter.Only Fitch knew his real identity to the rest of the cabal and the world he was Reddington. That’s why Diana Fowler asked Red if he wanted to know what happened to his family, she meant to find out about Carla and Jennifer.Of course, this story is not perfect and maybe some readers would fins plot holes and mistakes, but it tries to follow the mythology as much as possible, with a more complex story than that of Redarina. His love to Liz is dark not parental exactly, and he has a purpose a 30 year old project, instead of doing all these just to save a child’s life but in the process drives her insane and kills her just because she was ashamed to tell her the truth. Where was the meaning of these after all?Όλες οι αντιδράσεις:11115 σχόλιαΜου αρέσει!ΣχόλιοΑποστολή

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inspirationinbadthings · 2 years

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We Will Become Better from Andzej Gavriss on Vimeo.

Love is everyone’s right.

We will become better Film by Andzej Gavriss

CREDITS

Production Daddy’s film @daddys.film, Spot @spot.film, Halal @halal.amsterdam

Directed by Andzej Gavriss @andzejgavriss

Story by Evgeny Primachenko @evgeny_primachenko

Written by Evgeny Primachenko, Andzej Gavriss

DP Andrey Nikolaev @kefirux

Production Designer Julija Fricsone-Gavriss @julijafricsone

Creative Director Evgeny Primachenko

Agency Voskhod @voskhodagency

Line producer Alexandra Galius @alexandragalius

Executive producer Egor Solomatin @intelligence_service, Marizov Mikhail @marizov, Evgeny Primachenko

Associate Producer Gijs Determeijer @gijsdetermeijer, Ulia Petrova @blacklistmgmt

Editor David Gesslbauer @davidgesslbauer

Music Sansara @sansaraband feat Felix Bondarev @felixbondarev

Choreographer Konstantin Koval @konstantin_koval_

Color Company 3 LA @company_3

Color grade Matt Osborne @matt_osborne_color

Color producer Blake Rice @blakerice

Sound design Raga Sehgal, Markus Ffitch, Grand Central Recording Studios @grandcentralrecordingstudios

1st AD Maksim Kulish @ maxcoolish

Cast Nikita Orlov @orlov, Maksim Avdeev @maksimavdeev

Production manager Mikhail Goglov @gogadze, Dmitry Dimchevsky @ddimch

Location manager Aleksandr Kalkaev Gaffer Nikolay Vakhrameev

Set decorator Maria Shymchuk @mariashymchuk, Slava Chulikov

Property master Maria Shymcuk

Property assistant Daniil Sviridov, Ilya Novik

Focus puller Viktor Saratov, Igor Gusev

Keygrip Sergey Irgizcev

Steadicam Danil Voytov @danil_voytov, Sergey Avdonin

Light crew Evgeny Gavrilov Aleksey Egiazaryan Sergey Skokov Vadim Kodzhebash David Dzhayani Roman Ivanovsky

Pult operator Vladimir Ovchinikov

On set editor Dmitry Buleyko

Camera rental Yourental @yourrental

Stylist Oksana Markina @markina.style

Stylist assistant Ekaterina Pavlova

PA Mark Privalov, Sergey Poyarkov

Makeup Tatiana Polyakova

Stunt Oleg Chemadurov

Rig Rodion Klochkov, Aleksandr Kraevskiy

CG Artist Sergei Divid

3D animation Kirill Makukha @makukha_k, Maxim Makukha

Script supervisor Tim Eight @bytim8

BTS DoP Oleg Kolsky @olegkolsky, BTS Edit Daniil Galius @danyaa_g

Clean up Dmitry Talin @mpartiza

Title designer Andrey Olshevsky

Special thanks Roman Kovyazin Alexandra Bakhmetyeva Anton Kuznetsov Yana Gannick Vladimir Kravchenko Dmitry Kolezev Natalja Lea

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katarinas-redemption · 3 months

Text

#fakerina #laila robbins #tatiana petrova #james spader #raymond reddington #katarina rostova conclusion #episode 8.02 #8.02

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anonymooseforever007 · 2 years

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Peaky Blinders as funny quotes from Schitts Creek:

Tatiana: The idea of my life coaching another human being should scare you… a lot.

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Tommy: I’m trying very hard to not connect with people right now.

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What Ollie want to say to Alfie: What you did was impulsive, capricious, and melodramatic. But it was also wrong.

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Ada after getting close to Finn when he’s come back late at night:

You smell flammable right now.

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John asking Arthur how he can run out Linda’s raging so well: Well she sort of fades into the background after a while like a smoke alarm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy to John and Esme in that one episode:

Shame on you for attempting that position at 8:00 in the morning.

#incorrect peaky blinders quotes #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #Ada Thorne #Tatiana Petrova #John Shelby #Esme Shelby #Finn Shelby #Arthur Shelby #ollie #Alfie Solomon #i may make a few of these #Schitts creek

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basilone · 5 months

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I am summoning another fic from the groupchat vault today while I work on the prompts left in my inbox. 😊It's a little look at what the war has been like for Soviet captain Tatiana Petrova, only told through the lens of my god-chosen AU instead of the main fic this time. My fellow Speirs fans might enjoy the very clear nods to him here. 😉 As always, the AU is written in such a way that you do not need to know more beyond "certain gods choose certain soldiers, Speirs is chosen by War" — I strive to make my fics as accessible as possible! Warnings: mentions of graphic violence and death. (We're in Stalingrad for this one, after all.)

She’s losing the city.

It’s a knowledge that has sat in her chest for at least two barely-dark nights now. She’s felt the rush of it pound through her skull with every thunderclap of a bomb strike. There’s not a lot left in this rubble – skeletons of houses that harbor the decaying and the newly dead alike, gaping maws of craters where roads should never have ended – save for that feeling that it’s still a city, sprawled out from where she stands, stone and dirt as far as the eye can see.

And it isn’t hers to lose. Cities don’t do that. They don’t belong to anyone. It doesn’t matter that she knows every street of this section she’s been allotted. Doesn’t matter that she knows exactly how many steps she needs to take every time to move past the tallest skeleton house where death tends to loom in windowseats. (It’s forty-three steps, just like the year she thinks they’re in now, and every time she tries she knows that she’s only safe on step twenty-five when she can duck behind the remains of a bench.)

This city isn’t hers, but it might as well be. Who else remains here but she, allowing the rats to swarm her feet without screeching about it the way she might’ve done in some other life? (Where the sun was not a traitor and Sasha’s smile was not a photograph.) Who else draws breath in this city between one shelling and the next, between one shot and the other, between the tank that cannot move its turret and the carcasses of good intentions? (She’s not alone. There are others here. Sometimes, the streets ring out with song before the silence comes and chokes the air from her lungs.)

It doesn’t feel like it’s hers to keep. They fight for every room in every house. They fight for every street corner. For every alleyway. For every access point below the city, for every vantage point above it, for every route to the water that does not end with blood. They’re losing, they must be, because she’s in new rooms every time she blinks and she’s forgotten the taste of crystal clear water by now. (And they’re not losing, they’re not, because Katya’s exhale is sharp in the morning air and not a single bullet goes to waste. They’re not losing, they can’t, because Sergey moves rock and root to clear their path and then obstructs the way for those who’re following them. They are not losing this city, not while they are here, not while they share whatever food they find and rig the remains to be a trap for the hungry that come after they’ve gone.)

Lately, she’s been functioning on a breath and a prayer.

She’s tried to curb the latter. Tried to stomp it out, to quench its finicky flame, because there’s not a whole lot that gets done with prayer at all. Whatever she’s doing to it – protect us, she snarls, let us live – probably would be classified as demand instead of prayer. She bares her teeth the way wolves do, snap and lock around the panic of inhale-exhale, and offers her throat to the unseen and unheard. May you take me if you think me coward, she seethes, opening her enemy from sternum to throat just like the rabbits Kolya used to skin, but you owe me this fucking city and its fucking peace at this point.

She does not believe in bargaining chips. Does not buy into a truce, or a standoff, or any of the other things they call when they’re all too exhausted and night comes with too swift a foot. She doesn’t think she can cut a deal with a god at all, but there’s only so many breaths she’s got before the panic hits. (She knows it’s that. Can feel the fear of it tremble in her fingertips as she wrenches her knife free. Can feel the huff and puff of it in her lungs, too quick, too constricting. She doesn’t look at the glazed-over eyes of the dead and dying. Can’t meet them, not with the wellspring in the back of her mind that dares her to look and see come and see hear the squalling babe’s cry thunk boom splash –)

She’s alone now, or as alone as someone can be when they know exactly where their allies are and the crudely-drawn map before her tells her more of the story than she’d cared to know. There’s just her in this room, in this fucking cavern the enemy created for itself from the rubble of her houses in her city, and her throat’s parched with a scream that renders her belly full to bursting. (There have been rats here, too, and they’ve eaten and eaten and feasted long before her boots crushed the bones underfoot.)

She’s alone and her breath won’t leave her lungs.

Her hand bleeds around the rock she used to break through the glass casings. (Who puts glass casings in a war? Who makes the glass survive the shatter-bang of bullets?) There’s red drip-dropping onto the parchment, onto the paper and vellum and all the other things they used to tell stories on. Some of her strength is bleeding out of her as she stares at lines she does not understand, as a language she only knows to speak in garbled wartongue glares up at her from note after note.

There’s her tongue here, too, older than their scraps of paper. And thus it came to pass, she squints in the dim light, that the ancients revealed themselves from sea and mountain, hungering in the passageways…

“Fuck that,” she rasps out, recognizing the myth for what it is. Tucks the offending parchment in the same pouch where she keeps her gunpowder. If it survives, it will pass to Kolya who alone knows the chaos that resides within such matter. “Ghost stories. Fairytales. Sad lies to tell our children.”

There’s anger in her belly, coarse and seething, which twists in her lap like a viper’s pit and gleams darkly whenever she allows it to meet a semblance of light. Where will they reveal themselves now that this city is about to fall?

She blinks at the dark that sweeps into her space. Stares at the night that unfolds from the corners of the room, where the dead have met the living earth, and scatters all the light away from itself. There’s dirt in its scent, heavy with muck and grime and something utterly deathless that makes her drop her stone onto the floor. There are shards of dust in her wound that begin to bite and snap at her skin like the embers of a wildfire. Like termites eating their own. There’s ash on her tongue.

She blinks at the dark. The dark blinks back.

“Here,” it says. They say, for they are many. He says, for he is just one man. “Here will I reveal myself.”

“Vyyti, uyti,” she snarls back, voice cracking on the demand of get out, leave. Her eyes widen in a refusal to close for the encroaching dark. “You are not welcome.”

His head tilts. His eyes carry pinpricks of light that should not be warm, except they are and he must think her stupid if he thinks she will follow that. (There is no safety in the light. The light gets you killed. Fire murders, hope dies, the flicker of a flame is only good when attached to something that can raze the enemy to the ground. These things she knows. These things she has learned. She will not follow.)

“You called for me.”

He makes it sound simple. She doesn’t think it is. She huffs. Rolls her eyes for good measure. Tastes the iron twang of blood on her tongue when her head meets the stone wall behind her and she bites down on her lip to stop the dark from changing the colors around her to endless black.

“Any god, any relief,” she spits out, aiming the blood at him despite the gap between them. “Anything that lets me live.” Her laughter is sharp, biting, barking like that of the rabid dogs that have overtaken the river’s second bank. “You must be something desperate, nyet?”

“Not quite.”

Her eyebrow raises. “Everyone here is.”

“I am not everyone.”

“You are here, also,” she points out, rising to her feet soon after. The bones snap and crunch beneath her heel. “Desperate,” she hisses, viper’s venom coating her tongue in earnest now, “tricky, false. Preying on dead and dying, look at you, shadow to hopelessness. What kind of god is that, hm? What are you?”

“I thought you do not believe in gods, Tatiana Ilyinichna.”

“So did I.”

(And she doesn’t, still, though she’s seen the shining ones amid the enemy. She doesn’t, still, though this creature before her speaks her name like a caress and she has not given him such privilege. She doesn’t, still, because to believe is to know the war is lost.)

“I am here,” he says again.

“Congratulations. Now leave.”

“Not…”

“Not…?”

She stares him down, this man with darkness flitting around him, this creature with eyes like midnight, this abomination dressed in a soldier’s garb. Her blood drips from her hand. She’s certain at least one other wound reopened. The burns she sustained from that ill-fated run-in with that tank itch and scrape against her uniform. The hair on the back of her neck stands upright the longer she looks at him. Raises against her as though she were a cat being stroked wrong, as though it means to warn her.

Her sense of danger fled this city long ago. There is just fear now, stark in this room, stark everywhere she walks, and there’s the act of doing.

She walks up to this one, whom all the vellums around her call a god, and aims for its throat.

“There you are,” he says, from beside her this time, because her fist meets air and he moves the way shadows do before the midday sun eats them whole. “There is your fight.”

There’s hunger there, ravenous in the familiar syllables that flood his tongue and coat her language with something utterly foreign, and something that she thinks would’ve sounded like pride if Kolya or Sasha had spoken it. (Kolya never speaks these days. Sasha cannot speak, though she thinks she used to hear his voice in the trees before they burned too.)

“Fuck you,” she replies conversationally, turning and balling her fist anew. “I am not yours to judge.”

“No, you are not. You are mine to want.”

She steps back. Snaps like an animal that knows it is about to be wounded. “Gods don’t want. They take.”

“So let me,” he responds, smile gleaming like hers did in the mirror before she watched herself kill five grown men and a sniveling boy. “Let me take.”

“I do not even know what you are.”

“Don’t you? You, who sung me to life the moment you could speak? You, who took three pills every day to be rid of me?”

“I will eat them as soon as I find them,” she promises. Her voice does not waver, though of course she knows. She knows him. Knows this dark as well as she knows the sound of her own pulse. “You will fall back into shadow. You will not be in me.”

“I expect no less from you, Tatusha.”

“Do not speak that name!”

“Tatiana,” he corrects, so smoothly it is as though he has never uttered Sasha’s name for her at all. “I know your choices. It will only be for this time. For this battle, such as it is.”

“We are losing. I am losing my city.”

He inclines his head. “For now.”

“And you can change it?”

“No.” A beat. An offered hand. “You can. If you are, ah, something desperate.”

He sings in her blood. The dark swallows her, drapes itself around her shoulders like a second coat, turns and enters her wounds until she gasps and her hand jerks upward of its own volition. There’s nothing else to be in this world but desperate. There’s nothing else that remains of her, such as the fear is, such as her heart is also.

Something desperate.

Her hand closes around his. Around theirs. Around hers.

“Good,” says the dark-eyed woman with a voice that sounds like the rush of wings. “Let us begin.”

(Two years and some time to this day, she finally meets the man. He is tall like most of these Americans are, though far more unsmiling than those he is surrounded by, and he fills the room before she turns to greet him. His too-dark eyes barely linger on the patches of blood that still coat her uniform, nor does he seem surprised by the state of her boots or the absence of most of her hair. There’s something of her in the grace of his movements.

She’s alive through them. And she, being who she is, summons her desperation one more time and gives him war.)

#band of brothers #oc: tatiana #ronald speirs #formvoidseries #basilonefic

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