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simonxriley · 3 years

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OC lore part 1 of 7 for @gear-redfield

Since I have a ton of ocs I’m gonna start off with the ones that are in different fandoms and then work my way through the fandoms I have multiple ocs for. I think I’m gonna do 5-6 HCs for them so it won’t be a mile long. The other ocs I’ll go into more details (maybe).

Riley Sanders (Metro Series)

Has three Watchers for pets, they’re her babies. But there was barely any room on the Aurora for them until they ended up getting the other rail carts. They tend to sleep anywhere they want, mostly in place where they stop people from moving around the train.

She’s not very talkative, likes to keep to herself for the most part. The people she talks with the most is Ulman, Artyom, Anna and Duke. That was until Katya and Nastya joined them.

Being able to breathe fresh air was kind of liberating for her. It made her happy that there were placing where you can live and breathe on the surface, not stuck in the dark, cold and damp metro.

Besides her and Ulman, Nastya was the first of the Aurora crew to hold their son.

Her brother wasn’t with her when that whole issue on the train occurred. He has no idea if she’s alive or not and she vice versa. She’s hoping she’ll be able to see him soon and have him meet his new nephew.

Amazing at stealth. Can sneak by a group or camp in a matter of minutes without killing anyone.

Kenadee “The Viper” Taylor (Ghost Recon)

She joined the US Army right out of high school with her high school sweetheart, Maverick. They married a year later and a year after that had their daughter Addison.

Joined Delta Force at the age of 24. That whole selection process was rigorous but very rewarding.

She has a very happy outlook on life, always bubbly. You wouldn’t think she’s apart of Delta. It throws people off every time.

Lost her husband in the field when their daughter was 5 years old. She retired after that and moved back to her hometown of San Diego where she could raise their daughter in a better environment.

Joined Nomad’s Ghosts five and a half years later. All thanks to Midas, who she met because their kids go to school together.

Carries around a knife coated in snakes venom, only uses it during interrogations.

Anja Kovic (Uncharted)

Was born to Borislav Kovic, a General Major in the Yugoslavia Ground Forces and Svetlana Kovic, a former nurse. Also the younger sister to Vladimir.

She grew up in a highly abusive household under her fathers rule. He had that mindset of the men work and the woman stay home, then add on the strictness of being in a military family.

Wanted to be a nurse growing up but those dreams got shot down when her father married her off to the war lord Zoran Lazarevic at the age of 18.

Marriage to Zoran was horrific, she was just happy he spent more time in the field than with her. His death did not sadden her whatsoever.

Lost her mother to suspicious circumstances when she was twelve. Leaving her and her older brother at the will of their father.

After Zoran’s death she was finally free. She left for Serbia in search of finding her brother and during that time gave birth to her and unfortunately Zoran’s son, naming him Dragan. And yes, she did find her brother and became the nurse she always wanted to be.

Evelyn “Evie” Hazelton (The Order 1886)

Was born to Edith Hazelton and an unnamed father in London, England on October 1st, 1860. (Her mom was a prostitute)

She lived in a brothel up until her mom’s murder. She loved it, to be surrounded with so many women that helped her through her life, gave her advice and helped molded her into the woman she is today.

Sir Percival/Malory gave her a spot on the Order after her mom’s death and she became the protege of Sir Galahad/Grayson. There she learned how to fight and shoot a gun.

The first time she ever saw a werewolf she thought it was a big dog. It was late at night, she was young and couldn’t tell since it was in the far distance.

Has a scar going down her back from being scratched by a werewolf during a fight.

Very protective of the people she cares about. She was the only person who pleaded not guilty during Grayson’s trial because she knows him. She knew he wouldn’t have worked with the rebellion if it didn’t suit a good cause.

Lydia Wilson (Call of Cthulhu)

Her parents were apart of the cult that was trying to bring back Cthulhu. However, they left Darkwater when Lydia was five and moved to Boston.

No matter how much her parents tried to make her forget the past, she didn’t. She still has memories of the cult, what the uniforms looked like, the masks. It never left her.

Started hearing the voice of the Leviathan in her dreams once she hit her late 20′s. Eventually she caught wind of what he wanted and she set sail for Darkwater, a place she hasn’t been since she was five.

Her father ran a tailoring shop and she helped a lot through her childhood.

When she spaces out she has a resting bitch face. It makes her loo unapproachable according to her mother.

The first time she saw the Shambler she though she was hallucinating. That wasn’t the case and she never wants to deal with it again.

Lily (MCU)

Born on the planet Prometheus. A planet cover in lush green grass and waterfalls.

Ever since she was a child she had this fight in her. She use to find a decent sized stick and pretend to fight a tree.

Was married to Thanos for over 20 years. The only good that came out of it were her kids.

Joined the Avengers after Thanos’ death. It was nice to be around people and strike up conversations. She just loved learning about Earth and she would talk about her home world.

She was the first owner of the scepter until it was given to Loki. That made her angry, she really loved that scepter.

The first person she befriended was Carol Danvers because her youngest daughter, Lotus really liked her.

Ashlynn Davenport (Tomb Raider)

Was born into Trinity. Her father was a sergeant in the Trinity army and her mom was a nurse.

She liked her life for the most part, loved her parents and friends, but the more she found out about Trinity and all the harm they do she wanted out. Unfortunately they didn’t happen when she was being married off to the Trinity field commander, Konstantin.

Being married to Konstantin meant moving around a lot, never really staying in one place for too long. Once the mission was done then they moved on. She didn’t mind it, not at first. She liked traveling around and seeing the world, but the stuff Trinity did put a bad taste in her mouth.

Ash can be quite manipulative when she wants to be. It was something she learned from her dad growing up.

She helped Lara take down Trinity from the inside when they were looking for the divine source. No one figured it out, all of thinking it was Lara.

Ashlynn actually loved Konstantin, she just thought his mind was corrupted by his sister and was trying to make him see what was right. So when he died she was pretty pissed and was going to say her true feeling to Ana. Unfortunately the Trinity sniper got to Ana first. Leaving her with a bunch of anger inside her.

Sawyer Monrow (TLOU)

She was 12 at the time of when the cordycepts outbreak began. Her life was pretty great as well and then over night everything changed.

Her family ended up at the Hartford QZ, where her and her younger brother went through military training (just like in Boston) to teach them how to kill infected and other humans if necessary.

Met Joel and Ellie in Pittsburgh. She was with Henry and Sam at the time and after their deaths she stayed with them and made the trek to Jackson.

She can be very standoff-ish at first glance. It’s how she acts in this apocalyptic world, more so to protect herself and because she doesn’t trust people.

Started a relationship with Joel a year and a half later. He was the first person she really let in and was happy for the few years they were together. She even considers Ellie like a little sister.

She lost her family when the Hartford QZ fell. She tried to save her brothers, but couldn’t. That still haunts her to this day.

Phaedra Alexeyev (Werewolf The Apocalypse)

She’s very good at backstabbing and manipulating people. All thanks to her former caern. A part of her hates it, but the other knows how in handy it can be.

She was born at the Shadow Lords Thunderstrike Sept, Ural Mountains, Russia. Close to the city of Chelyabinsk.

Phaedra and Cahal became a surrogate family after they both had to kill a family member.

Always the first ready to jump into the action. When there’s a fight she’s on the front lines, she’s not going to miss out. And she just likes to fight in general.

She born under a full moon making her have the Ahroun Auspices.The Full Moon makes the Ahroun the living weapon of Gaia. They are the warrior among a race of warriors, the champion of a martial people. Ever ready to kill, and to die if need be.

Her name means Bright Defender.

Emma Ross (Stargate Atlantis)

Joined the Marines to help pay for her college tuition. She surprisingly enjoyed it and continued to serve as she got her degree in science.

Lived a very mundane life growing up. Had two wonderful parents, a good upbringing, nothing exciting really happened. Which might have been the reason she joined the military.

The hardest thing she has to do is lie to her friends and family when she was transferred over to the Atlantis expedition. Being so far away from them sucks, but with the Daedalus she has more of a chance to go visit them.

As much as she’s in danger, she’s never felt more alive than being on Sheppard’s team. All the action just makes her blood pump.

Ronon calls her ‘red’ due to her being a red head. She finds it kinda funny.

She’s very friends and loves to strike up conversations whenever she can. Getting to know more people on Atlantis made living there easier.

#gear-redfield #oc riley sanders #oc kenadee taylor #oc anja kovic #oc evie hazelton #oc lydia wilson #oc lily #oc ashlynn davenport #oc sawyer monrow #oc phaedra alexeyev #oc emma ross #long post

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shachihata · 4 years

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Ivan Valentinovich is born of ice.

He wakes up in the biting frost of winter, the wind dancing around him, the cold wreathing his eyelashes and his face with shivering kisses like a long-lost mother greeting a newborn child. Something pounds in his head. Something echoes in his chest. He is heavy, weighed down with sheets of sleet that slide off of him in chunks when he rises to his feet, his breath the quick exhales of a man who’d slid like a fish out of the cold grasp of death for the tenth -- hundredth -- thousandth --

His coat is stiff like a cutting board and snowflakes fall heavy on his collar, like an inexplicable gravitational force is somehow drawing them there, but he does not feel the bite of the cold. His hands are bare and he spreads his fingers wide, feeling the winter call his name, Ivan Valentinovich, the singing of violin strings in an empty concert hall.

Household lights gleam in the distance. Under the moonlight, Ivan follows their glare.

---

Changeling, they whisper.

Ivan Valentinovich does not know what the word means.

He listens to the steppe grass sleeping under the thick snow, soaks in the sunlight that creates overcast clouds out of an overcast sea, falls into the torpor of sleeping bears curled up in their caves after having been fattened by the rich blood and milk and honey of the summer land that he has so disdainfully been rejected from. He smiles at the people he passes by, but his frost spreads unwillingly and unwittingly like a disease to the adults who deign to listen to him. He walks the dirt roads and listens to the men and women whispering changeling behind his back and does not know if, to them, there is a truth to what they cannot understand.

“Changeling, changeling,” the children chant, with unseeing eyes and speaking mouths, whenever they see his stiff brown coat pass over the snow in the wind. “Tell us a story, please.”

“I work in trades,” Ivan replies, simply. “I work in truths.”

And so the children give him chestnuts and frozen flowers and the dead animals that their cats bring home as offerings to the family, smiling, understanding yet unseeing of the life and color and memories that they grant a colorless man like Ivan. He, in turn, lets them remember what they could not and should not possibly remember -- they feel the lifeblood of elk running thin after the snap of the hunter’s bow, the flick of siren’s fin as she darts through the floes of the arctic ocean, the fierce satisfaction of the fearful hawk as its talons pierce its fearful target. They shout changeling to his face and he knows that, to them, there is no truth to what they cannot understand.

“I have a gift for you,” a child says, once. She holds out her tightly-closed fists expectantly.

“I work in trades,” Ivan replies. “I work in truths.”

“Then let me give you one of mine,” the girl says.

Ivan crouches to meet the girl’s eyes and holds out his hands, carefully cupped, fearing that his own frost will spread to her fingers unwillingly and unwittingly like a disease. “I will give you something in return. It’s only fair, devochka.”

“That’s what you just told me,” the girl says. She opens her hands, and from them fall a handful of chrysanthemum petals, red and white, blood on fresh snow. “Aren’t these pretty, changeling?”

“Very much so.”

“I buy these flowers for my brother. I don’t know what he does with them.”

“Would you like to know?”

“It’s not your truth to tell,” the girl pouts, and Ivan smiles. “Tell me something that only wise men like you could know. I know what is true to me.”

“There are many men wiser than I am, devochka.”

“But they live differently from you, changeling. Tell me a story -- you promised to, anyway.”

“Let me think,” Ivan says, the chrysanthemum petals burning holes through the skin of his hands. “I know the story of a man -- one who was whispered to by the seasons.”

“What did they tell him?”

“The spring brought him their flowers, and he bloomed under their bright colors. The summer brought him their sun, and he grew tall under an everpresent sky. The autumn brought him their leaves, and he learned how to preserve his warmth under the chilling bite of cold.”

“And the winter?”

“The winter brings death.” Ivan closes his eyes. “But this man was given -- a name, a body, and a life, instead.”

“Did the winter choose him?”

“Perhaps.”

“What does he want to use that life for?”

“To work in trades,” Ivan says, opening his eyes again. “To work in truths.”

The winter wind falls around them, and Ivan gets to his feet, crushing the chrysanthemum petals in his bare hands that do not feel the bite of the cold.

“Is this your truth, changeling?” she asks.

“Tell your family that I wish for them to have good health,” Ivan replies, instead. “Run along, now.”

“And what truth will be mine?”

“It will grow within you -- as long as you have patience,” he says. “Simply remember to see -- to listen -- and finally, to speak.”

---

Ivan coaxes an abandoned campfire back to life using the dead twigs of the winter trees, letting the night fall over him like a funeral shroud. The forest trees shudder at his presence; they give up their lost, give up their fallen, let him feel their cold roots clinging stubbornly to life underneath the freezing permafrost, waiting for the spring flowers to return to the earth and sky where they belong and he doesn’t.

“Ivan Valentinovich,” he says, tasting the name on his tongue. It tells him who he was, tells him who his father was. Now, he doesn’t know if he needs it; he is born of ice, after all. And yet -- a name is so little to ask for from the greater world around him, isn’t it?

Ivan Valentinovich, the trees whisper back, the susurration of the falling branches around him singing like violin strings as they give up their dead for Ivan to burn into frostbitten ash. Ivan tears himself away from the spiderweb of trees and voices and tends to his material needs.

He hears the man’s boots crunching over the snow before he hears him speak.

“Changeling,” the man says. His hands must be warm under those thick leather gloves. He wears a fur-lined cloak that clings like a shadow to the contours of his figure, moving as supplely as a freshly-dead animal.

“Ivan Valentinovich, actually,” Ivan says, lazily, tipping his head back to meet the man’s eyes from where he’s sitting cross-legged in the snow. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Matvei Dmitrievich Alexeyev.”

Matvei’s name had been humming through the branches of the trees long before he’d even started to speak -- he is a brother, a son, a man in thick leather gloves and a fur-lined coat, who starts when he hears Ivan’s response.

“You know my name?”

“The forest does.”

“I do not understand.”

“Listen closely, Matvei Dmitrievich.”

Matvei pauses, for a minute -- but he only hears the crackling fire, dead wood burning into frostbitten ash.

“You offered my sister the truth,” Matvei says, instead. “I would like to know it as well.” He approaches Ivan, crouches at his side like he is approaching a hurt animal, his eyes sparkling in the light of the fire that casts Ivan’s eyes in shadow like pale milk and moonshine. Ivan thinks that perhaps he will never know, he will never understand, that Matvei can have his seeing eyes and speaking mouth but he will not feel the waves of steppe grass, feel the drops of water in those overcast clouds, sleep in the torpor of the bears curled up in their underground dens after having been fattened upon the blood and milk and honey of the summer land.

“I offered your sister a truth. It’s not a race,” Ivan says, simply. “Nothing is, really. I have learned throughout many lives to see -- to listen -- and finally, to speak.”

“I would like to learn from you,” Matvei says. He stares at the fire instead of the firs, warms his hands under his thick leather gloves.

“You already know and see your own truth,” Ivan says. He stares at the firs instead of the fire, but his hands stray unwillingly and unwittingly towards the cinders, watching the embers shy away from his fingers. “You simply do not understand them, not entirely.”

“I would not consider that sight at all, Ivan Valentinovich.”

“Blindness isn’t a sin. I don’t judge the children who beg for stories and beliefs on the cobblestone paths.”

“I’m not asking for a moral judgement; I’m asking for your gift.”

“I work in trades,” Ivan says. “I work in truths.”

“Tell me, Ivan Valentinovich, what you value. I will find it for you -- I will search the steppe grass, watch over the freezing oceans, hunt the sleeping bears with holy arrows and hawk’s feather.”

Ivan spreads his arms wide, lets snow fall between his fingertips. “I value what has value to you, Matvei Dmitrievich. In return, I can only show you my world and my truth -- within them, you will still have to discover your own.”

“What kind of world and truth do you see, Ivan Valentinovich?”

“They are both as cold as the winter wind.”

---

Matvei returns the following sunrise with a book of dried flowers, colors staining its dirty pages, dusty leaves leaving a trail that leads the town towards him as surely as a trail of blood leads a hunter towards its prey.

“This is the truth I have to offer,” Matvei says, presenting the book to Ivan by the light of the steadily-waning fire, by the light of the steadily-waxing dawn. “A collection of dried chrysanthemums -- gifts from my sister, who buys them from peddlers and merchants whenever they pass through the town, and gives them to me. It is a collection of the years gone by -- the colors, the memories, the life that lives within.”

“Is this the sister that I offered the truth to, Matvei Dmitrievich?”

“Her name is Olga Dmitrievna.”

“She is a nice girl,” Ivan says, “who offered me petals of the same flower.” He takes the book delicately in his hands, watches his fingers of white frost creep over the leather binding, cracks it open in a heavy puff of pollen, lets snow settle into the creases between heavy folios of aged paper. Red and white chrysanthemums stare at him from between the pages. There is no water left in them for Ivan’s touch to freeze.

“She is,” Matvei agrees. “You’ve met her -- you would know.”

“You are giving me her life, Matvei Dmitrievich?”

“A portion of it -- a reflection of it. Something that is part of her, but something that she is not part of anymore.”

“A fair distinction to make.”

“A truth, then, Ivan Valentinovich?”

There is a silence. Ivan flips through the pages of the book, deliberately, like he’s trying to absorb the colors on each page with only his eyes. Matvei listens to the crackling fire, dead wood burning into frostbitten ash, before Ivan finally speaks.

“Look at the sky,” Ivan says, raising his head to stare off at the distant stars. “Trace the constellations -- the Hunters, the Fish, the hundreds of spirits that haunt the heavens above us. They tell stories with more meaning than that which I told your sister.”

Matvei follows Ivan’s gaze, but he only sees the black expanse of a starless night, the void of a new moon. He doesn’t reply.

“Learn to recognize the patterns,” Ivan says, with finality. “Then, you will begin to see.”

Matvei leaves Ivan with a book of dried flowers and watches him drain their colors with the sheer intensity of his gaze. He hugs his coat tightly around himself, allowing it to cling like a shadow to the contours of his figure, and trudges back into the snow, following his hunter’s-trail of dried leaves back to the town where he came from, staring up at the black sky that covers the earth like a funeral shroud.

---

“I have looked,” Matvei says. His coat absorbs the cool, silvery glow of the waxing night; his eyes glimmer in the light of the waning fire. “But it is not enough. I have returned with a question, and another trade, if you are willing to accept it, Ivan Valentinovich.”

“I always am,” Ivan replies. The book of chrysanthemums is carefully put out of reach of the flaring cinders. There is no color in his dark eyes and his dark hair, plated in the caress of silver that makes him look like a creature that’d somehow managed to escape from the grasp of the earth that supports him. “Ask, Matvei.”

“I see the sky for what it is,” Matvei begins, carefully, tracing the lines connecting the stars with a clinical gaze. “The Hunter chases the Scorpion across the ethereal unreality of space; the Zodiac circles endlessly, month after month, a wheel of fortune that never ceases to spin onwards; the Eagle aids the Waterbearer with wing and with talon on their journeys into the heavens. I see the colors, the memories of worlds and lives that are not my own, but I have already given my own colors to you. Why is this, Ivan Valentinovich?”

“A truth does not always have to be given away, Matvei,” Ivan says. “Just because something is taught does not mean that it is irreversibly lost from its original student.”

“You still have no color in your eyes or your hair, though,” Matvei observes. “Was my truth really a shared experience, then?”

“I am the winter,” Ivan says, simply. “I can only learn as much as the winter allows me to. I exist, with or without the memories, the life, the red blood that runs through humanity.”

“Tell me, Ivan Valentinovich, what you have learned from our trade.”

“I learned that chrysanthemums are a very pretty flower.” The corners of Ivan’s mouth quirk upwards, like he’s trying to hide a smile.

“The next time the peddlers come through town, then, I will bring them to you -- in more colors than just red and white. You’ve surely seen more blood on fresh snow than any man rightly needs to see within a single lifetime, Ivan Valentinovich.”

“Life is a constant -- as I have become.”

“All mortal men would wish to claim the same.”

“Well, that’s a shared truth between the two of us.”

“You deal in trades, you deal in truths,” Matvei echoes. “But now, I wish for a truth that neither of us have sought to recognize yet, Ivan Valentinovich.”

Ivan watches as Matvei pulls out a bundle wrapped in white cloth, before he sits down next to him in the winter frost, crossing his legs neatly, his back straight, a primary-school student at the beckon of their strict teacher. He unravels the package carefully and reveals a loaf of bread. There are lumps where it should be smooth, boils where there should be hard crust, three slashes across the top that’d parted irregularly to reveal a broken, crumbling interior.

“Bread,” Matvei says. “I will break it with you. This is my truth.”

“I do not understand, Matvei.”

“I am offering you the vulnerability of a first attempt, the promise of company, a hand extended outwards and inwards to the winter snow. I offered you the shadow of the colors in Olga Dmitrievna’s life, and now I offer you the presence of mine.”

“You are offering me bread.”

“I am offering you bread, broken by a friend.”

“The winter will not protect you, Matvei Dmitrievich,” Ivan says, warningly.

“I seek no protection.”

“I have no control over the sleet that freezes the steppe grass, the ice floes that sink the greatest of ships, the frost that kills sleeping bears and watches the world grow white around it. I am no blizzard, stepping around the figure you cut in the winter haze; I am the cloud that brings it.”

“I have called upon you nonetheless, wishing to see a world and a truth as cold as the winter wind. I have brought my coat, you have brought your fire, and we will outlast each other.”

“Then listen to the forest, Matvei. Run alongside the elk, drink from the rivers that gave it life, allow the earth to provide for you as you have provided for me. Watch the stars, and they will turn for you. Allow yourself the space to see, to listen, and finally, to speak. A truth will come to you immediately -- a truth will come to you in time. Neither is more important than the other.”

Matvei breaks bread, and the storm falls silent around them.

---

“I have listened,” Matvei announces. His hands are sticky with the blood of a successful hunt; they are no longer reddened, but Ivan can feel the electricity crackling in the air, like Matvei’s life had been inexorably intertwined with the life of something both greater and lesser than he is, that’d occupied an entirely unique place in the world and still managed to pull Matvei towards it like an inexplicable gravitational force.

“What have you heard, Matvei?”

“I heard the calls of hawks -- the whisper of the steppe grass, the crashing of waves against a beach, the gentle breathing of animals, nestled in dens far away from the rush of human life. I hunted with arrows fletched with hawk’s feather, I watched sunrise and moonrise over the mountains, I returned lifeblood to the earth and shared lifeblood with those that I love. I see the winter wind cutting through the spring, bringing both death and life to the men that grasp at its heels. I see roots twining together between the stars and the skies, lines between my hands and my heart and the trees that grow thick around the town. Tell me, Ivan, is this the truth I was meant to see?”

“There is no deception in what you describe.”

“And did my bread provide a truth, as well?”

“Company is comforting,” Ivan says, instead. He smiles. “But you have still returned.”

“I merely spoke of the truth that came to me immediately. I offer one more gift -- for the truth that comes in time.”

“I work in trades,” Ivan replies. “I work in truths.”

“Take my coat,” Matvei says, decisively, shedding his pelt like an insect sheds its skin. He holds it over the fire and it slumps as supplely as a freshly-dead animal; Matvei cuts a rift through the funeral shroud of winter darkness with his sheer presence alone. “It is protection; it is warmth; it is a line between my hand and my heart. I no longer need a shield against what I used to fear.”

Ivan laughs, and the fire glows like the sun.

“Then take mine in return, Matvei,” Ivan says. He casts off his own coat and holds it over the fire and it’s as stiff as a cutting board; Ivan wraps the funeral shroud of winter darkness around him like a man condemned to life. “The fairest of trades -- a shield for a shield.”

They exchange hands. Matvei puts on Ivan’s coat and it brings with it the frost of winter, the cutting divide of ice, sleet laced between its thin lining and its thicker outer layers. Snowflakes fall heavy on his collar, like an inexplicable gravitational force is somehow drawing them there, but he does not feel the bite of the cold.

“The truth, Ivan?”

“Wear my coat for a week,” Ivan promises. “Feel the winter’s chill, and tell me whether spring is on the horizon.”

“I will not return without an answer.”

---

“Tell me,” Ivan asks. He is the first to speak, for once, having already heard the man’s boots crunching through the snow. “What did you see, Matvei?”

“I saw many things,” Matvei begins, slowly, “and I still do.” He closes his eyes, but Ivan steadies him. “I see snowflakes, falling from an overcast sky; I see a door being slammed open by a sudden cold draft; snow drifting through the cracks of open windows; icicles forming and falling from the heavy eaves of buildings. I see the steppe grass that buried you and the steppe grass that birthed you, the clouds rising from their liquid sleep into their liquid sky, the torpor of the bears nesting in their dens after having been fattened on the blood and milk and honey of the earth of the summer land that you have so disdainfully been rejected from. I see the warmth of fire, having been coaxed to life by a man who was whispered to by the seasons, who was gifted with a world and a truth as cold as the winter wind.”

“Tell me more.”

“I finally see you,” Matvei whispers.

The fallen branches around them sing their names, violin strings in an empty concert hall. Ivan Valentinovich, born of ice, smiles like a summer’s breeze.

“Is this your truth, Matvei?”

“There is no deception in what I describe.”

“I can offer you no truth of my own that you have not already heard.”

“You don’t have to,” Matvei says, firmly. “I know what is true to me.”

Matvei takes Ivan’s hand and leads him out of the snow-laden woods, away from the dying campfire that’d shied away from Ivan’s fingers, under the gaze of the Hunter as it chases the Scorpion across the ethereal unreality of space. The lifeblood of the earth thrums underneath their feet; the darkness of the forest clings to their coats; the bright moonlight wreathes their faces in its heavenly breath. There is color there, twining around them like starlight, red and white chrysanthemums blooming where their fingertips meet. There is memory there, hovering on the edges of their consciousnesses, like their lives had been inexorably intertwined with each other, neither one greater nor lesser, each of which had occupied an entirely unique place in the world and had pulled themselves towards each other like they were drawn together by an inexplicable gravitational force.

Household lights gleam in the distance. Under the moonlight, Ivan Valentinovich closes his eyes, allows Matvei Dmitrievich to lead him away from the winter, follows Matvei Dmitrievich into the spring, thinks that this is truth, this is life, this is --

#writin #writeblr #prose #please god format right im begging you :pensive:#anyway yall ever just [takes the concept of the intimacy of breaking bread and just runs with it]

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charlottelouisebedford · 5 years

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23/04/19

Russia

LGBT people are faced with legal and social challenges in which non-LGBT people don’t experience. Although same-sex sexual activity between consenting adults in private was decriminalised in 1993, homosexuality is disapproved of by most Russians, and same-sex couples and households headed by same-sex couples aren’t eligible for the legal protections that are available to opposite-sex couples. Currently there are no laws stopping discrimination based on sexual orientation in Russia. Transgender people are allowed to change their legal gender following sex reassignment surgery, however, there are currently no laws prohibiting discrimination based on gender identity or expression and recent laws could discriminate against transgender residents.

Homosexuality has been declassified as a mental illness since 1999 and although gays and lesbians are legally allowed to serve openly in the military, there is a de facto "Don't ask, don't tell" policy. Even in the US openly trans people are no longer allowed to serve in the military as of this year (2019).

On the 30th june 2013, the law “for the Purpose of Protecting Children from Information Advocating for a Denial of Traditional Family Values” was passed by president Vladimir Putin. This law is also known as the “Gay Propaganda Law” or “Anti-Gay Law” as it mutes the voice of the LGBT community with the excuse of protecting children from a homonormative society (where homosexuality is the norm). The city of Moscow has actively refused pride events despite the fact the city has a thriving LGBT community. The mayor Yuri Luzkov supported the city’s refusal calling the events “satanic” and blaming western groups for spreading “this kind of enlightenment” in the country. In 2007, Alexander Chuev attempted to push a similar “propaganda” law, however with the opposition of the prominent LGBT rights activist and Moscow Pride founder Nikolay Alexeyev, Chuev was publicly outed to have had same sex relationships before his time in office. In 2010, Russia was fined by the Europien Court of Human Rights under allegations by Alexeyev that cities were discriminating against gays by refusing pride events. Although claiming a risk of violence, the court interpreted the decisions as being in support of groups which oppose such demonstrations.

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bladengineer · 4 years

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Sooo how is the pet situation in the Sasha household - if the boys were to adopt a pet (like any pet at all.) wich one would they chose? (bonus points for naming them)

currently, they don’t have any pets, but the boys sure would love a few – let’s pray for Sasha’s house my good lads

Bryan

surprisingly, Bryan would love a quiet animal, something he could hangout with on the regular

reptiles are very high on his list because of that, snakes especially

alright, he saw one (1) video of those REALLY tiny snakes and cried he loves them so much

i’d imagine him just sitting in his favourite little nook in the house near a window, where the sun is shining in as he draws in his sketchbook, ball python gently clasped in his other hand as it just chills with him in the sun

he’d be very gentle with his snake and calls them the most ridiculous endearments, not only to piss off his brothers but also because. well, he actually means them

he’s one of those assholes to conceal that his snake is currently with him and they once randomly popped their head out of his collar causing Kenny to scream until he passed out

no doubt still calls them cute when they eat a dead rat

he’d pick nice names for his pet snake – however it’s a little disconcerting of him to offer people to meet “Daisy” only to pull out a whole-ass snake from his jacket

Tala

he doesn’t care how stereotypical it is; this guy wants a cat

they’re independent, sociable in their own choice, mischievous if they wanna be, not to mention cute and fluffy

also, like, they can throw down so that’s cool too

“if Kai gets to have a cat why can’t I”

not to mention, it would fit his aesthetic to have a cat lurking somewhere in the background of his insta-pics

in all seriousness, he just enjoys the company of cats; they do as they please and are happy with enough attention and stimulation and each of them have their own personalities which never fail to entertain him

he adores the Bengal Cats, Egyptian Maus and Norwegian Forest Cats – but he’ll most likely take in an adult rescue, who’s quiet and gentle and loves to snuggle up at night, yet has no problems smacking people when they get on his nerves

Tala would have so many damn pictures of his cat on his phone and he looks ridiculously photogenic on it

the cat would often just slink around the brother’s legs, loving the little scritches and cuddling up to them for warmth – however, when not sleeping alone, he’ll always sleep in Tala’s bed and no one else’s at night

Tala wouldn’t spend too much time choosing a name for him, usually he picks out a physical trait and implement it in the name, which was in Noski’s case as it is the russian term for Socks because Noski has a pure white sock on his right paw

Spencer

honestly? he’d love to have a little birdie

he just thinks they’re neat!

birds have always interested him with their colourful feathers and pretty songs, he’d always wonder what it would be like to have them as pets

in the end, he’d get himself a lively pair of Sun Conures, he’d love them so much

they are loudmouthed and very playful, they bring plenty of colour into Spencer’s life with their clownish antics and in turn, they love him for being always gentle and kind with them

Spencer would be very careful with them, always making sure they are fed well and healthy and takes care with their plumage

he’s always sure to give them enough stimulation so they won’t get bored and start attacking objects or rip out their own feathers; it’s not rare to see him walking around the house with two colourful birds climbing around him like he’s a jungle gym

he tends to read to them out loud and the love it, bobbing up and down in joy whenever they get story time, it’s honestly so adorable to watch

because they are rather intelligent creatures, Spencer managed to teach them a few tricks, one involving stealing snacks from Ian’s hidden stash

the two birds often roam the house when outside of their cage and when tired, they’d nest on the heads of the brothers, enjoying the free ride until something new catches their interest

since Spencer’s an avid cook, he’d probably name them after food - sure, it’s silly, but it’s cute and the birds love it, so he ended up with Pineapple and Lemon Sorbet

Ian

he’s a child, what do you expect he wants?

yeah okay

he wants a dog

but not any dog!

if given the chance, he’d go the pound and choose the biggest dog he could find – which happens to be an Alaskan Malamute, who had grown too big for the previous owner’s liking

that fur monster is nearly as big as Ian himself and just full of love after having been chosen by this plucky little snot

thanks to it’s natural born nimbleness, the Malamute does well within a house and pretty much falls in love with all the people inside; she has so much love to give and isn't very aware of her size

she’s just a Good Girl

Ian loves getting barrelled over by her, he just gets attacked by a whole load of fluff and it’s great! not to mention, people are understandably intimidated by her size and Ian just stands with her leash in his hand and this small haughty smirk

and while Ian is notorious for his little schemes and mischievousness, he’s very open with his Malamute; they love to go on long walks together in the woods (especially in snow) and Ian kinda just. talks with her as she trots up next to him with her lovey-dovey eyes – it’s nice to have somebody love you this unconditionally

when not busy with his inventions, Ian spends plenty of time with her, usually playing catch in the yard, sometimes he goes on a grocery trip with a sled attached to his Malamute so he can put the bags in it

“what the hell is this?”

“oh, that’s just one of Alexeyev’s boys and his beast of a dog”

okay, bear with Ian, he’s a teenage boy with a massive dog, what do you expect him to name her anything other than something edgy and hardcore

yeah, her name is Hellripper the Destroyer

yeah, everyone just calls her Hela

yeah, its after the Norse Goddess of Death so still cool right?

#blader asks #x-sroboda #blitzkrieg boys #the alexeyev household #beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #beyblade headcanon #engineering some headcanons #MAN THIS WAS OS MUCH FUN #tbh i want a Hela #i love alaskan malamutes

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bladengineer · 4 years

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Oh man I still love Sasha so much! I must imagine if the boys get either sick (and I mean really sick so they have to stay in bed for a while) or hurt, that on the outside she plays it cool but on the inside, man, she is about to lose it. She cares so much for her boys and hates to see them suffer but knows that times will be better. Such a great mom!

im sobbing rn bc you are so right and you should say it

Sasha knows she’s a capable woman, she’s raised many foster kids before, who all went their own ways knowing they had someone to call home to, she knows she can do it. but by god, she’s also just one person caring for four heavily traumatised teenage boys only now learning how to be Teenagers. so when Ian once got incredibly, terribly sick, there was this spark of fear in her heart.

and she could feel that the other boys were afraid too, because they were raised to be hardened to literally everything – being sick meant being weak and being weak was a call for punishment. but the fact that Ian, who was raised alongside them, got so sick he was willing to let his icy charade fall, they couldn’t help but think what if. the poor kid went from a light cough to throwing his guts up to the point he could barely hold water in his stomach.

so Sasha had to keep face, letting the boys know that things were gonna be okay, that Ian was going to get better. unknowing to her, there were many nights where sharp pair of eyes would watch her in her bedroom at night as she sat next to her bed where she had put Ian. and she’d just sit there, hours on end, watching the boy even as he slept fitfully with fever, stroking his hair when a nightmare started up, holding herbal ointment to chase away nausea and clearing his head a little, always changing the damp towel on his forehead.

she’d sit there with bags under her eyes and an aching leg from wearing her prosthetic too long, plastic tub on hand in case Ian had to throw up again, water and medicine on hand, a cold soup resting on her bedside table.

to the boys, being sick was a weakness, and that in turn instilled fear in them. so Sasha went on to watch over them whenever they got sick, to tell them its okay, to not be afraid, because things will get better, things will be okay again. Sasha is just as scared as them, but as a mother, its her job to fight her own fear so she can make sure her kids don’t have to be afraid anymore.

#beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #blader asks #x-sroboda #the alexeyev household #blitzkrieg boys #IM SOBBING YALL

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bladengineer · 4 years

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who’s ready for a new chapter of A Loud House soon

cause i am this fucking close guys i feel like i’m gonna pass out

#blue chit chat #the alexeyev household #beyblade fanfiction

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bladengineer · 5 years

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SO you already told us that Sasha the Boss Lady is bi. How are your headcanons on her boy's sexualitues?

OOF, good question! if it were up to me (and also like, Major Self Projection) i’d probably make the entire bunch bi/pan. but then again, they’re teenagers, so who knows? i think with Sasha, the boys won’t feel compelled into conforming to the heteronormativity and are free to identify and explore who they are. generally, i just float with the bi/pan vibes (again, mostly self-projection from my teen years lmao).

except Ian bc Ian is still a Whole Child whose mind is mostly occupied with new inventions and committing occasional arson at the local junkyard.

#blader asks #x-sroboda #Blitzkrieg Boys #the alexeyev household #beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #PRIDE MONTH IS ALMOST OVER AND I HAVE DONE JACKSHIT

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bladengineer · 5 years

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So how are Sasha and her Blitz boys doing

Very good! it’s not like ;) that i’m ;) in the middle of ;) writing a new chapter ;) for a loud house ;)))))))

but otherwise, it’s June and that means Pride Month and yall bet your ass that on the 1st Sasha kicked down the door to the kitchen with the most Big Dick Energy she has as a Distinguished Bi and hung that Bi Pride Flag outside her window for everyone to see.

(someone once did try to make a nasty comment about it but given that Tala probably has like 15 knives hidden on his person, Bryan only needs his bare hands, Spencer’s height is intimidating as hell and Ian bites – let’s just say nobody tried ever again)

#blader asks #x-sroboda #blitzkrieg boys #the alexeyev household #beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #HAPPY PRIDE EVERYONE!!!#my pan ass is. SHAKING #i wanna. DRAW and WRITE

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bladengineer · 6 years

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a loud house

Title: a loud house

Characters: Blitzkrieg Boys + Sasha Alexeyev (OC)

Word Count: 1558

Summary: Snippets of the Alexeyev Household – the home of teenage disasters, petty arguments, russian yelling and boisterous laughter all in-between.

It was almost ironic how time seemed to slow down when disaster was about to happen – infuriatingly more so, when you can’t prevent the said disaster in time. So, with a painful sounding thump!, Bryan slid another few inches forward on his belly over the wooden floorboards, arms outstretched as the expensive looking ming vase shattered into, what he felt like, a million of pieces. He could even feel the impact on his very finger tips, it made him both angry and irritated because oh fuck, that particular vase was Boss Lady’s favourite.

They’re so dead.

“We’re so dead,” he muttered horrified, wide eyes still glued to the pathetic heap of shards in front of him. Behind him, Spencer made a sound between a terrified squeak and pained groan. The two teenage boys proceeded to look at each other with various levels of fear and Bryan was sure, Spencer’s face journeyed through the entire stages of grief in a span of 10 seconds. He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so hellbent on trying to convince himself that all of this was a fucked up nightmare – Boss Lady will ground their asses well into the next century.

“What was that sound?”

Speaking of the devil. They had to act quick if they wanted to keep their generous outdoor life privileges, so Bryan quickly heaved himself onto his knees and hastily tried to scrape the shards together, mindful of the sharp edges. He threw a panicked look over his shoulder.

“C’mon Spence! Help me, it was your fault anyway!”

To his confusion however, instead of helping him, Spencer’s face went somber as the telltale sound of footsteps ascending the nearby stairs rang through the house. Slowly, Spencer backed away from Bryan, regret in his eyes as he shook his head. Bryan gaped at him.

“Spencer. Don’t you dare–”

The blond stood within his room he shared with Ian, slowly closing his door, face hard.

“Long live the king, Bryan.”

“Spencer, I swear– did you just quote The Lion King at me?!” Bryan hissed, “Spence– Spencer, get your ass–”

The door clicked close and he could only stare at the door in absolute disbelief – betrayed, in cold blood, by his very own brethren. Was this how heartbreak felt like? He couldn’t mull over it too much when a shadow fell over him. Bryan cringed.

“Is that my favourite vase?”

Oh man, and he was really looking forward to that Friday Sale at the local Arts & Crafts Store.

Sasha lifted off the rattling pot lid, mindful of the hot steam emerging from underneath. She took a good whiff, smiling contently at the pleasant smell of food. Swiftly, she picked up the ladle she had put aside previously, stirring the contents in the pot. Attempting a taste, Sasha scooped some of the curry out of the pot, free hand clawing at the countertop next to her. After coming up empty, she furrowed her brows, finally looking away from the pot.

“Huh,” she mumbled. Weird, she was sure she left the fork from before right there. Shrugging, she turned down the heat, checked the rice cooker and then opened the drawer where she put all her cutlery. There, she fished out another fork, only to blink, stunned, again.

Where did her wire whip go? She could’ve sworn it wasn’t missing before, she didn’t even use it today. Now suspicious, she pierced a potato within the curry, blowing on it to dispel some of the heat before eating it. Deeming the curry ready, she went on to get the plates. To her surprise, when she opened the plate cabinet, she was greeted by the sight of the electric hand mixer.

“What on earth–” Sasha muttered, taking the utensil out of it’s wrong spot, only to notice how much lighter it felt than normal. Then, as if on cue, one of the surrounding plastic shells dropped from its unscrewed position, allowing Sasha to discover that the entire motor was missing inside.

A beat of silence. Then, she turned her gaze towards the ceiling.

“IAN!”

Snickering, Bryan took in Tala’s dismayed look and the split lip the other was sporting. Meanwhile, Sasha was busy brewing tea and fussing at the same time.

“I can’t believe you punched that kid at the festival!”

Tala grunted, “He deserved it.”

The woman gave him an unimpressed look.

“Well,” Bryan drawled, “the guy did try to kiss Astrid without her permission, he had it coming.”

“He deserved more than a punch,” Tala grumbled further, leaning his head back against the couch. The Alexeyevs had decided to visit the local festival for a fun day and a chance to meet up with one of Sasha’s former daughters Astrid Rundström, a sweet but incredibly shy young scandinavian woman, who had left the household to attend her scholarship at a prestigious art school abroad. She had been the first ‘sibling’ the boys had met, and though the woman towered over almost half of them, her personality was meek but kind. And despite initially low-key teasing her constantly how her looks didn't match her character, Tala had taken an incredibly protective stance on her – sure, the other boys did too, Ian was even ready to deck the guy at the festival after Astrid had broken into a fit of anxious tears, but Tala had always been the one to fend off unwanted attention.

“So you just break a guy’s nose?” Sasha’s voice brought him back from his reverie.

“He also lost a tooth,” Bryan informed unhelpfully her, which earned him a scornful glare from Tala. Realising his mistake, Bryan shrugged as if to say ‘my bad’ and ducked out of the living room, back outside.

The traitor.

Tala heard Sasha sigh and he watched how she craned her neck to look out of the window – no doubt trying to see if the others were still outside. Spencer and Ian had taken up the task to calm Astrid down, the youngest pelting a joining Bryan with snowballs in an effort to make Astrid smile again. The redhead prepared himself for a long lecture, when a small bag of special festival-only dried chocolate-covered strawberries was shoved under his nose. he looked up to see Sasha grinning down at him.

“Don’t tell your siblings, Pretty One,” she said, winking, “good job on that jerk.”

Tala snorted, taking the bag and opening it eagerly – he had a taste of them before and they were absolutely delicious.

“You’re so full of shit, Babushka.”

He got another bag from Astrid later, who smiled down at him serenely.

“Bryan, you absolute piece of shit!”

Tala’s screech greeted the entire family seated at the table in the morning as he came thundering down the stairs. Sasha, halfway through her usual morning tea, immediately looked up, appalled and ready to rip her second eldest a new one. That was, until she saw his face.

“Ay, Pretty One, what happened to your face?” she blurted out, causing the rest to finally turn around. Ian snorted into his cereal, immediately cackling loudly as he pointed at Tala, whose usual clear skin was now mottled with what looked like green paint. Spencer avoided eye contact altogether in favour of trying to conceal his twitching lips. Bryan, however, unabashedly grinned at Tala’s misfortune while taking a huge bite out of his peanut butter-strawberry jam toast. Icy blue eyes immediately zeroed in on him.

“You,” Tala hissed, “you did this!”

Bryan only shrugged, finishing his toast.

“Dunno what you’re talking about, Red, but I hope that teaches you not spill nice on other people’s sketch books.”

“Oddly specific for someone who doesn’t know what’s going on,” Spencer muttered behind his mug before taking a gulp. Sasha put her hands on her hips, ready for a lecture but Tala interrupted her as he leaned forward, glaring at Bryan with such ferocity, the other actually started sweating a little.

“I shall piss on everything you love,” he threatened and Bryan would’ve laughed if he didn’t know what Tala was truly capable of. Ian sniggered again.

“Kinky,”

Spencer choked on his drink.

“IAN!”

“Guys, this is a bad idea.” “Spence, you always think it’s a bad idea.”

“Yeah, because that shit usually blows up.” “Hey, you gotta sacrifice some things for innovation!”

“Well, your innovations always catch fire, Ian.”

“Uh, no they don’t.”

“The automatic potato peeler.”

“Self-serving coffee pot.”

“Automatic can opener slash jellybeans dispenser.”

“Oh god, that one was a mess.”

“You guys are all shitheads, you know that, right?”

“Shut up, pipsqueak, and fire it up.” “Don’t tell me what to do, Bryan!”

“10 bucks says it’s gonna blow up.”

“You’re on, Red!”

“Oh, fuck off, guys.”

“If you ain’t moving, I’ll do it myself then.”

“I– wait, Bryan, no! That– ouch! That is very sensitive, you can’t just–!”

“Eh, what could go wrong?”

“I really hate when you say that.”

“Zip it Spencer. Bryan, turn...whatever that is on.”

Sasha sat at her desk in her workshop, sketching up a new watch design, when a sudden explosion shook her room. Not a minute later, a barrage of angry russian floated through her open window, followed by roaring laughter. She shook her head, chuckling slightly.

My, what a handful they are.

She left her seat, sticking her head out of the window.

“Boys!”

#engineering some fics #blitzkrieg boys #beyblade oc #sasha file #beyblade fic #beyblade fanfiction #tala valkov #bryan kuznetsov #spencer petrov #ian papov #the alexeyev household #beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #i really wanted to write something about this disaster household #bUT HAD TOO MANY IDEAS #AND A TOO SHORT ATTENTION SPAN

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