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#I thought these kind of things only happened in Russia
sovietpostcards · 3 months
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hi! i really like and enjoy your blog, but this question just keeps popping up for me whenever i see some of your posts recently, which feel like youre kind of romanticising life in russia… and i know that people can choose to be apolitical etc etc, im not trying to be mean, but i was wondering what you stance is towards ukraine or just the general situation in russia (i know its also not easy there rn with the repercussions for standing up against the regime and for queer people for example…) ?
i just wanted to know if you support russia politically or if youre just choosing to show your life in there and embrace the soviet aesthetic?
i will unfollow if youre pro-putin (as is the right of anyone using any social media site) but wanted to ask first and give the benefit of the doubt since i really like some of your content and have been following for a really long time.
Hi! I'm not apolitical in real life and the current situation in the country nauseates me. However, I originally started this blog (years ago) as a safe haven and a way to look at the good things in the past that happened despite the regime and all the horrible things (that also happened). Perhaps you're right and I'm romanticizing it, but perhaps it's different for me because I know more of the context.
It was difficult for me to keep going after February 24, and for months I wasn't posting anything except an occasional ask. Eventually I started missing my safe haven and slowly started posting again. I got a lot of support messages--much more than hate or disgust--it helped me stay afloat, not only in the blog but also in life. I'm very thankful to everyone who reached out or left supportive comments.
I do love old pictures very much and the atmosphere and old things and clothes and toys, and black and white pets and animals, and random shots of a tree or a piece of bread someone thought to take 70 years ago. It connects me to previous generations--seeing that they did and loved the same things we do and love today.
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olsenmyolsen · 4 months
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Ever Since Natasha Saw You (18+)
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master list
dark master list
Post Black Widow Dark!Natasha Romanoff (Female Reader X Natasha Romanoff)
Summary: She was a hero. But to her, YOU were so much more.
Word Count: 6.1K
Content: Dub-Con, Obsession, Kidnapping, Stalking, Blood, Knife, Knifeplay, Mommy Kink, Feelings, Trauma, Death,
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The Black Widow hid a secret.
She was in love with you. Sounds pretty innocent... right?
"Night Y/N!" Your coworker Daisy called out as you were still typing at your computer. It was Friday night, and everyone but you was already leaving. Leaving to be free of the thoughts of work for at least the weekend.
You had a marketing job in downtown Manhattan. Skyscraper. Cubicle. Long nights. That kind of job.
You liked it, honestly.
Sure, New York and the surrounding areas were dangerous. Hell, at times. But you had heroes and vigilantes to save you. You had first-hand experience in 2012 when you and your Dad were saved while out at your "I made it through University without killing myself" lunch.
Now, here you were 4 years later. Still in the city while your Dad left. But that was fine. Being on your own has been exemplary. Sure, you have some friends... coworkers, really. You went on dates! I mean, they didn't lead to much more. But you were going through life.
A cat! You have a cat. An orange tabby who only loves you for food...
Anyways! You were fine and finishing up work on your computer when a pop-up of World News showed up in the top right-hand corner of your screen.
What's New 3 Weeks After The Fall Of A Secret Organization Hiding In The Sky? Russia and the U.S. Remain Quiet.
You heard about the debris and strange things found over on that side of the world earlier this month. With that came the theories.
You rolled your eyes at most. But some were fun. Like aliens was a popular one. People online said it was a crashed group of green-shape-shifting aliens. Your coworker Lindsey swore by another that claimed it was a giant purple guy who crashed on Earth.
Yeah, that'll be the day.
You even had a friend of a friend named Darcy who said an Avenger was present to what happened, leaving you curious.
The Avengers, as far as you were concerned, were in trouble. Rumblings, sightings, and videos of two sides of the superhero group fighting at a German airport left many to speculate that this was the end. Plus, this coming weeks after what happened in Lagos and the murder of King T'Chaka made it all the more plausible.
So, if the rumor was confirmed that an Avenger was at the collapse of what many were confused about, it was... interesting.
But you couldn't dwell on that. You shook your head and closed out of the news to finish up your projected cost for the next wave of Roxxon Marketing.
_
As you walked out of your office building, you were unaware you were being followed.
It wasn't the first time you had been followed. Fuck it wasn't even the fiftieth time it had happened, but still you remained clueless. She thought it was cute at first how unaware of your surroundings you were. It always made her smile.
Because in one second, an innocent and pretty thing like you could be gone.
But she wouldn't let that happen.
Not by anyone else, at least.
You have to understand. She was your protector. Yeah.. Yeah, that's right! The one to make sure you got home safe. The one to take care of threats no matter how minuscule they might be. She also made sure no one got too close or even dared to ask you out.
You couldn't date. That would be unfair and very hurtful to the one who... watched over you...
I mean, you never wondered why suddenly Dennis never showed back up to work after asking you out to lunch, now did you?
Rumor was his family got sick, and he had to skip town. But we know about rumors now, don't we? I.E., purple aliens. Green shapeshifting ones. You get it.
Oh. Also. What happened to Dennis, you may ask?
I'll let you know when his body turns up.
However, all of this is to say that you were lucky Natasha Romanoff picked you.
She was back after being gone, having to deal with some family business. But she was back! For you! Natasha thought you should be grateful. She could be- SHOULD BE on the run right now, but here she was twenty feet behind you.
After tonight, you were going to know precisely who she was.
Natasha smiled as she followed you. She laughed as she saw how cautious you were of people even when you're on your phone like you are right now.
However, as cautious as you may be, it leaves you vulnerable. Sweet. Easy.
Natasha thinks you're too nice for your own good sometimes. Like you always see the best in people. It drives Natasha crazy the amount times she has had to stop because you stopped to help someone. A drunk. A homeless man. A- you get it.
As you and Natasha head down into the subway, she appreciates how your route hasn't changed at all since your first day of work many years ago. Yet she can't help but snicker at how you've never noticed her taking that walk with you. But then again, even with how cautious you are, you don't notice things.
You still haven't noticed the tiny cameras Natasha installed in your place. Or the amount of panties she's stolen. Or even the amount of times you've slept with her arms around your body. In addition to the hushed whispers and stolen kisses, she's left on your lips.
On top of that, you haven't noticed her feelings for you.
Natasha moves closer to you as you both are nearing your stop. With a plan in motion, The Black Widow can't help but smile.
Natasha takes another step forward and grabs onto the metal pole in front of herself to stop her movement when you look up and around the car. You stop when your eyes reach Natasha's green ones in a hoodie and jeans. You smile quickly before putting your head down, focusing back on your phone.
What you did just now was polite. You looked from your phone to stretch your neck and smiled at a cute blonde who just so happened to be looking your way.
That's what you thought.
To Natasha, you signaled her out.
With your eyes, you noticed her. After all this time, you did it! On tonight of all nights. It was a sign. It was meant to be!
Natasha smiled and stared at you, unaware.
When you finally got up to get off at your stop, you felt your arm being yanked back. When you stumbled back and turned your head to find a bald man older than your father looking at you like he won a prize, you pulled as hard as possible. But his grip was tight. "Where are you going, sweetheart?" He looked over your body, making you pull again.
How was no one stopping this man? Was no one seeing it? Did no one care?
The train car beeped, signaling the doors were going to be closing, and the man had yet to remove you from his grip. You were about to scream when the blonde woman from before grabbed your other arm, making you shriek in surprise. The woman acted fast and kicked the man in the knee hard enough to break it before rushing the two of you out of the train car just as the doors closed on three other men hitting their first against the door.
You wanted to wave them bye and flick them off, but your arm hurt. Not the one the man held.. But... but your other one. The one the woman held as she saved you.
"You, alright?" The blonde had a raspy voice as she spoke. It sounded familiar, but as you quickly scanned her face, you declared she must have that kind of face. (as if) But her eyes. Her eyes were one of a kind. Beautiful and a shimmering green you wanted to get lost in.
So lost that you almost forgot about the arm pain and the dizziness you were starting to feel...
"Yeah." You nodded to the blonde who had yet to release your arm. "I'm fine."
This was a lie, and Natasha, of course, knew that. I mean, she was the one wearing the ring that, with one turn of the gemstone, revealed a tiny needle. One that the blonde used to inject your arm with a sleeping agent.
"Are you sure?" The woman smiled as she asked you. Why was she smiling? You went to nod that you were indeed fine but found yourself more tired. Weaker even. "Oh, honey, you don't look so good."
Natasha smiled as she felt your body losing the fight. Natasha quickly looked around before wrapping your arm around her shoulder to make it appear as if you were a drunk friend who needed help getting home.
"Oh, Y/N, it looks like that guy must have really done something, huh?"
The guy in the group of men that she paid off.
Your mind was becoming black as your body went limp, and before you could ask her how she knew your name or who the hell she was, you took one last look at the blonde.
This time, you recognized who she was.
You went to speak but slurred your words as you closed your eyes, passing out in Natasha Romanoff's arms.
_
Getting you home was easy.
As Natasha unlocked your front door, she smiled, pulling you closer as you entered through the threshold between the hallway and your apartment. Natasha smiled wider as she looked around at what would become her place with you before looking at your limp, unconscious body. "We're home!"
Home was with you.
With a kick to the door, it closed behind you two as she hurried you to your room.
Once inside, Natasha was happy to find that not much, if anything, had changed since she last visited. She said hi to your cat, who purred at the sight of the blonde.
Natasha loved your cat and couldn't wait to be a good cat mom.
Natasha took you and gently placed you on the bed before looking around the room. She was looking for something. Natasha closed the bedroom door and went back, kicking the floorboard to the right of your end table, and up it flipped. She bent down and pulled out a small black backpack she stored two years ago.
Opening it up to make sure everything was still there. She knew you probably didn't even know that it existed. (You hadn't.) But Natasha had to be sure.
Dumping out the bag's contents, she was happy to see that nothing was missing. But she still took inventory. 5 Widow Bites. 1 Pistol. 12 Bullets. 1 Set of Handcuffs. 1 Knife. 3 Needles of the Sleeping Agent. 1 Burner Phone.
Finally, 2 very dry Nutri-Grain Bar.
Natasha kept the loaded gun, knife, and handcuffs out of the bag and placed it on the desk in the corner of your room. The bag moved to the edge of the bed—no point in hiding it now.
"Oh, Y/N!" Natasha sat next to your upper body, passed out on the bed. She spoke as her soft hand ran through your hair. It calmed Natasha. "You're so pretty, Y/N."
Natasha looked over your still-covered body before moving her hand down your back. "Here. Come on." She flipped you over onto your back and pulled you more onto the bed.
Natasha's eyes found your face. "Baby, I can't wait for the rest of our lives." Natasha bit her lip as she spoke to you. Hopefully, and giddy for the future. "We're going to be so happy." Natasha leaned down and planted a kiss at the top of your head. "You still smell like coconut. I still don't really like that shampoo, but I know how much you do." Natasha smiled as if this was a normal conversation before giving you another kiss. Just as one of her hands began to snake its way across your stomach before landing at your hip.
"I love you."
Natasha couldn't help herself. She smiled brightly as she said those words out loud to you for the first time.
Natasha's lips found the side of your face again and again. She always loved how soft you felt against her. Delicate. Like something Natasha wanted to cherish. Keep perfect. Forever.
But there was also that part inside of her. The side of Natasha that wanted to own you. Take that softness and fuck it out of you. Damage you. Hurt you.
Both were fighting for control.
Regardless, Natasha slid down the zipper of your unbuttoned jeans and slipped her hand over your black cotton panties. Moaning as her stomach flipped in the joys of touching you, feeling your heat on her fingers. Letting excitement wave over her, she cupped your pussy before dragging her index finger up over your growing wet-covered folds. "Oh fuck, baby!" Natasha moaned before looking at the side of your face.
Natasha smiles to herself. She leans over and kisses your cheek, and quickly removes her hand from your recently shaved pussy.
Natasha licks the little slick on her fingers off.
Natasha savored the taste before she laid flat on her back. Lifting her ass as she tore off the black jeans she was wearing along with her red panties. Choosing to keep her slightly raised pullover hoodie on, Natasha grabbed your left wrist. "I want you to feel me..." Natasha looked over and spoke to you. "I want you to feel how wet you make me, Y/N! How tight I am for you. I've been waiting."
With that, Natasha kept her eyes on your left hand as she moved it down her toned stomach. The tips of your fingers brushing over her skin, making her squirm in anticipation for what's to come.
Moving them further down, Natasha gasps as your hand gets pushed down onto the top of Natasha's bare pussy. "This is for you." She moans as she pushed your hand further down. Directing your middle and ring finger to her clit. "Oh fuck!" She moans and grows wetter at your unconscious touch.
"Keep going. Keep going!" Natasha directs your fingers to move in a circular motion. Before her mouth drops as your fingers get pushed over The Black Widows dripping pussy. She moans and grips your hand. "Right there." Natasha moves your fingers around her opening for you.
"It's for you, baby. Come on. I want you to fuck me!" She gives your hand one more push and bucks when your fingers easily slide into her. Natasha loudly moans while her left hand grips the comforter of the bed.
Your fingers feel perfect inside of her.
Natasha can't get over that.
She thinks you were made for her.
Slowly, Natasha starts to move herself against your fingers. Her hips working overtime. Only using her right hand to position your hand better. "Oh my God!" Natasha smiles as a shaky breath comes out. You're doing this to her. You're making her feel this good. You're fucking her right.
Natasha is rocking her hips up and down your slick fingers. You're pushing her closer and closer. "Oh god!" She grunts as she slams the back of your hand to feel you deeper, indirectly slapping her pussy and clit that, sends a wave of pain that morphs into pleasure. "Oh yes!"
Natasha does it repeatedly while her left-hand works on her clit. Her middle fingers pushes the bud of it up as she continues her circular motion. "That's it, baby! Make me cum! Make me fucking cum!" She turns her head to you and stares at your unconscious body. "You're doing so well, baby."
If you were awake right now, you'd feel Natasha's wetness run down your fingers. Into your palms. And down your wrist. You'd hear her moans and screams of pleasure as she makes herself cum with your fingers. "Oh my God!" Natasha Romanoff jolts up. "Y/N, I'm cumming! I'm cumming! Oh fuck! Oh, fuck, baby.."
Natasha rides her orgasm out and smiles when she falls back onto the bed. She turns and looks at your body. "You made me feel so good."
You're perfect.
As she catches her breath, Natasha gently pulls your fingers out and brings them up to her mouth. She marvels at the sight of you now covered in her before she takes her tongue and runs it over your fingers. Enjoying the taste of herself. "I can't wait to taste you." Now that we're together, she forgot to add.
Natasha insets your finger back into her mouth. Loudly sucking on them and moaning before shoving your fingers to the back of her throat, making herself gag on them. She repeats the action.
"Will you let me do that to you?" Natasha says after she's pulled them out and caught her breath. "Hmm?" She licks them again. "Will you gag for me?" She kisses your ring finger and twirls it around. "I wonder..."
Natasha kisses you one more time as she gently places your hand down and moves her body to lay half of it on you. "I wonder what you won't do now that you're mine." She takes your chin in her hand and moves it in her direction. "I can't wait for you to be awake. For us." Natasha deeply kisses your lips as her hand quickly pushes your boobs up. "But first." Natasha releases you and gets up from the bed. She takes off the rest of her clothes and tosses them into your now-shared laundry basket before moving to the desk where her belongings are located.
"I need to take care of a few things."
_
Slowly, your body starts to stir awake.
You go to move to your side but wince when you land on your arm. You are unsure why it hurts, but you are too stiff and tired to worry about that right now. But for some reason, since you're awakening, your body isn't going back to sleep.
Silent bells are ringing in your head, but you don't know they're there.
You groan and manage to flip your body onto its stomach. This position feels terrific, especially since you feel the coolness of the bedsheet against your body. You snuggle your face into your pillow- your eyes shoot open.
You don't remember coming home...
You open your eyes wider and take a look around the room. It's your room. You're relieved to see that but grow more worried at your nonexistent memory of getting home.
Plus, it looks like things around the room are off... you turn your tired back against the mattress and find yourself surprised to have another person in the room.
A blonde-haired woman wearing one of your college sweatshirts looking through one of your old journals... Once again, the alarm in your head is not alerting you. It's distant and faded.
"That's my shirt..?" Your groggy voice makes the woman look up with a smile.
To you, the woman's smile looks like a kid on Christmas morning.
To Natasha, she's testing out how you're gonna act.
"Hi!" The woman gets up with a glass of water from the chair at your desk. The action reveals to you that it looks like she's not wearing any bottoms, but you can't tell because of the length of her- your sweatshirt. The blonde rounds the bed and carefully gets on her knees before you on the floor. She looks kindly at you as your eyes quickly scan her face and exposed legs. "Nice to see you up." She says to you. Innocently enough. "How are you feeling?" She sweetly asks as she hands you the glass of water.
"I don't- I don't remember..." You say, making the blonde smile wider. "I was walking..." You struggle to come up with anything after that. It's like your mind went blank.
Why couldn't you remember?
You shake your head and take a few sips from the glass before the blonde takes it from you to place on your bedside table—a kind gesture on the outside. But the less you know about the pheromonal powder agent you just ingested, the better.
"Oh, honey..." The blonde lifts and places her hand on yours. The soft contact makes you feel warmer. However, the feeling of this being wrong is still unreachable to you. Natasha smiles when you don't pull away. The drugs from before and now are working. "Those men really did a number on you, huh?"
Men? You think as Natasha watches your face.
"You know you're lucky I was there," Natasha says as she rises from her kneeling position to stand in front of you. Now she towers you, and you feel her legs brush past your own. You don't stop her as she moves closer to you. She raises a hand and pushes some of your hair back. "A man grabbed you and wanted to hurt you, but I was there to stop them. But honey, I think they drugged you..."
Her touch and voice were soothing. She felt and smelled wonderful. You even did your best to not react to the pet name she gave you. "Dru-drugged me?" Once again, the bells should be going off, but Natasha knows exactly what she's doing. "Yeah, I got you off the train, but as we were walking, you started to walk funny. Your face got sleepy." She says this while looking into your eyes. She has her gaze fixated on you, and it pulls you in. "But you were smart." The blonde smiles down at you. "You made sure to tell me where you lived so I could get you home safe." Her raspy voice makes you smile, but her words are making you question if that happened... but you don't remember...
"Are you okay?" She asks as you're thinking. You look back up at her concerned face. "Yeah.. I- I was just trying to remember..." Natasha nods and moves her body in between your legs. Spreading them further apart. "What did you say your name was again?" You ask, making Natasha laugh. "I didn't. Good try, though." She places her hands on your shoulders. She's bold. "What's the matter? You don't trust me?" Something about the way she says it makes you feel sick and guilty for even thinking that you didn't trust her.
Natasha, of course, knows this.
"No- no, I trust you! I'm sorry!" You reach your hands out and place them on Natasha's covered hips. Natasha smiles at your action while faking a sad sniffle. "My name is Natasha." You look over the blonde and smile.
That's when it clicks.
"Natasha Romanoff." Natasha's frown turns into a smile. "Wow, you know who I am?" She fakes surprise and turns on the innocence. You nod with your mind, unable to think about anything else but her. "Wow! I got saved by The Black Widow."
Natasha watches as you process this faux information. Gosh, you look so cute. "I guess I was lucky, huh?" You look at her, earning a chuckle. "I just didn't want anything to happen to you," Natasha says, warming your heart. "You're too perfect." She adds in a low whisper. Something you catch that makes your brain fuzzy.
However, before you can do or say anything else, Natasha pushes her body closer to you. Carefully, she watches your eyes as she lifts one leg over yours. Placing one knee on the bed next to your hips before doing the same with the other. She smiles down at you as her bare ass finds itself sitting in your lap.
You feel her wet pussy on your tight black bike shorts.
"Is this okay?" She whispers as she brings her face close enough to yours to feel her breath on your ear. You inhale her scent and feel the butterflies in your stomach.
"More than okay, Natasha..." You find yourself saying. The alarms in your head have officially been silenced. You should be asking why she's doing this, why she's still here. You shouldn't be accepting her advances. But yet you aren't questioning her. You accept her actions with a smile.
She smiles back.
"You know..." Natasha leans down and kisses your cheek. "I'll always protect you." You feel a blush on your face when her soft lips touch your skin again. "I've loved you for so long, and now I get to show you." Natasha lifts her face away from you to look at your eyes flutter.
Natasha sees how defenseless you are now.
The drugs have all worked.
"You love me?" You question as you move your hands down from Natasha's hips to her thighs. The touch of her feels cool to your warm hands. You peer into her green eyes and see them sparkle. "For years, I've loved you." She unwraps her arms from around you and places them on your hands. She moves them up from her thighs to under what used to be your shirt. You feel the bend of her hips and the softness of the sides of her body as your fingertips brush past their way to her nipples.
She pushes your hand to grope her boobs.
"For years, I've wanted you, and now I have you. Don't I?"
Natasha slowly moves her hips back and forth, sending a wave of pleasure through her body as her wet clit brushes up and down the end seam of your bike shorts. She moans and whimpers while looking at you, waiting for an answer. "Don't I, Y/N?!" You push and pull her boobs as you look at Natasha Romanoff acting like a slut for you. "Yes. Yes, Natasha! You have me!"
"I'm yours!" You wanted to scream.
"Good girl." She whispers as she leans down and kisses you again and again. Her tongue pushing its way into your mouth. The taste of her is salvia is electrifying. The pleasure you feel makes you moan into her mouth. Natasha smirks as you push yourself deeper and closer to The Black Widow.
Natasha reaches down as you two fall onto the bed to places her hand in the middle of your bike shorts. She begins rubbing your core up and down as her hand pushes your legs open. "Come on, baby. Open up for me."
You nod with your eyes closed and feel Natasha's fingers slow down in speed as she now gently brushes her fingers past your wet clit seeping through the shorts.
Each time she touches it, you jump.
And then. Natasha pulls her hands away from you: nothing but the cool air touching the wet spot on your shorts. You feel needy and frustrated. You open your eyes to see Natasha on her knees, lifting her shirt off her body. Her blonde hair falls back into place right above her shoulder.
She smiles at you and watches as you take her in.
You feel your mouth become dry as you look up at Natasha's toned stomach. A set of abs staring at you. You move from her perfect breast and hard pink nipples to her shoulders and biceps. The definition in her arms makes you close your mouth to hold in a noise that would've been embarrassing.
You look up at her neck—a smile when you see a cute mole that was previously hidden. Finally, you bring your eyes to her face and the smirk on her lips.
"Can I take these off?" Natasha points down to your bike shorts. You nod, making Natasha internally laugh. The shorts were coming off no matter what your answer was.
You pull your head from Natasaba's gaze and watch as Natasha's left hand goes to the bottom seam of your shorts and lifts them up from your body.
Once again, her touch makes your skin flush with pleasure. It's as if you're addicted to her and her touch.
Natasha pulls her right arm from behind herself, and that's when you drop your mouth. "Na-natasha, what's that?"
"Did I say you can speak?"
You sit stunned as the knife in her hand comes closer to your body. You weren't aware that you couldn't speak unless spoken to, but... di- did Natasha expect that of you? Did she tell you, and you just forgot?
"Look at me." She sternly asks of you. "Not at the knife but at me." The movement of the knife doesn't stop when you pull your eyes to Natasha and her beautiful green ones. "What did I say earlier?" She asks. "Think real hard and then answer me, okay." Her eyes leave you as she focuses on the blade, meeting the bottom seam of your shorts. You keep your eyes on Natasha's face and hear the ripping sound of your shorts as she goes further and further up.
She stops at your hip close to the top seam when you decide to speak up.
"That you'll always protect me." Natasha smiles wide. You listened and answered her perfectly. Natasha smiles and can't help herself when she leans in and kisses you. "Good job." She says with care dripping from her lips. "What else did I say?"
"That you love me."
Natasha nods. "I do love you." She leans in and, with the knife still in her left hand, drags up the rest of the way. Her lips touch yours at the same time the blade cuts through your shorts.
Immediately, Natasha tosses the knife off the bed. It clatters on the floor, making you jump into Natasha's lips again. "Sorry." You say when she backs away. "It's okay." The blonde tells you. "As long as you know that I would never hurt you, right?"
"Right." You agree easily.
Natasha smiles as she pulls at the fabric resting on your pussy. The coating sticks to you as she pulls it further away until the string of wetness breaks mid-air. Falling back onto your thigh. "Did Mommy make you feel this way?"
She knows that she did.
But she wants to hear you say it.
"Yes." Natasha brings her fingers back to where they belong. "Yes, what?" She glides her middle finger over your pink mound. You moan and shudder.
"Yes, Mommy."
_
Natasha should've left soon after that night. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.
She knew her friends needed her help, but she couldn't leave you. She finally had you, and you had her. Why would she want to jeopardize that?
So as, the days turned into weeks to months to years. Natasha felt the pressure to run continue to build.
In contrast, as the days turned into weeks to months to years. You felt yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with the one who saved you. The Black Widow. The cute blonde hero who made you breakfast in bed. The woman who stayed with you. The one who whispered sweet nothings into your ear every night as you drifted asleep. The woman who saved the world repeatedly could now be there for you.
Natasha even let it be known that you didn't have to work anymore. She had an array of offshore accounts and wanted to spoil you, and you, in turn, let her.
You blushed when she looked your way and never got tired of seeing her smile. A goddess herself sculpted her body, and Natasha happily made sure you came for her. Only her.
"Hey, what's going on?"
You walked out of your and Natasha's bedroom after finding the bed empty to see her in the living room going over her weaponry. Something you didn't like, but you trusted Natasha with them. Knowing she would never harm you.
It was early afternoon, and after your morning trip to the farmers market, followed by some light grocery shopping, you came home to Natasha, waiting with some brunch and a board game.
You took a nap after that, and while you slept, Natasha made her decision.
"They need me."
You knew who Natasha was talking about. It wasn't a secret that you were dating Natasha Romanoff. Well, it was a secret to everyone else. But you get my point. You were dating a fugitive labeled that by the United Nations on account of the Sokovian Accords—an ex-Avenger who still wanted to help.
"What if I don't want you to go." You asked with hurt in your voice. You finally had the love of your life. Someone you weren't even looking for, and now she wanted to go?
"Baby..." She put her gun on the coffee table and made her way to you. Wrapping her arms around you as you wrapped around her body. "I don't want to go..." A white lie, considering her little weekend-avenging trips from time to time weren't enough. "But I have to. To protect us. To protect you." The truth.
"Rogers needs me. Plus, with Vision and Wanda running around trying to be a normal couple again. He really needs the help."
You nodded into Natasha's shoulder. You hated that she was right. "How long?" Natasha sighed. She really didn't know how long it would be.
"Give me two weeks, and I'll be back."
You deflated, and your heart formed cracks. You didn't want her to leave, and you didn't want her to go for that long!
Natasha started kissing your head and rubbing your back, and you didn't understand why until you felt the tears leaving your eyes. You were crying.
Natasha hated it. She hated hearing how heartbroken you were. But at the same time, she loved it. You were hers. And she was yours.
"I love you Y/N. I'll be back before you know it."
"I love you, Natty. Please be careful."
_
Natasha wasn't even gone for two weeks. In fact, her time with Captain and Birdboy lasted a mere pair of days.
On day 3, Vision turned off his transponder.
Within 48 hours, half of everything was dust.
When Natasha found the others at the corpse of the synthezoid. Two people ran through Natasha's mind.
Yelena.
And you.
_
"Y/N!"
Natasha screamed as she busted open the door to your shared space. She threw her useless phone onto the counter as she ran through the living room, still in her uniform. Passing by the TV that sat on the emergency broadcast. "Y/N!" She called out again as she stopped at the bedroom door. "Please be here. Please be alive.."
Natasha had tears in her eyes as she slowly opened the bedroom door. Her breath left her lips in a gasp before she blinked away tears that were escaping. She carefully made her way to the bed and sat down.
You turned over as you felt the bed shift. Then you opened your eyes when you felt Natasha's presence. "Natasha? Natasha!" You sprung up from the bed and collided into her body.
You both wept as the relief flooded your combined emotions. "You're alive..." Natasha whispered into your head before inhaling.
She grew to love your shampoo.
"I miss you." You said. "Don't worry, Detka. I'm here. I'm here." Natasha kissed the side of your head before leaning back and kissing your mouth.
God, she missed your lips and the softness of your cheeks as you tried to hide your blush.
"I miss you." You repeated, confusing Natasha.
"Babe?" She pulled back and held your head in her hands. Her green eyes scanned your beautiful face and saw nothing wrong until a speck of dust flew off your nose. "No.." Natasha whispered with pain. "Y/N." She kept your face in her hands as little by little. You ceased to exist. "Y/N!" Her hands started to be covered.
"I miss you."
"Y/N, please no! No! Please!"
"I miss-" "Stop it!" "Nata-"
"No!" She screamed and screamed as you vanished until she woke up thrashing in her bed at the compound. Alone. Gun drawn and ready...
"Whatever it takes..." Whispered by you... Is this the last thing Natasha always heard when she woke up from her nightmares..
Natasha looks around the room with bags under her red, dried eyes and chapped lips. She struggles every day to live. She hates herself for leaving.
She hates that the last thing you told her was, "be careful."
She is hurt. Alone. Scared.
She misses you.
Every day, she tries and uses her resources to find a way to bring everyone back. But so far, she's always coming up empty-handed.
The worst part is, is that even after three years of you being gone. Natasha never told anyone. You were a secret to everyone else.
But to Natasha, you were everything.
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dividers by @/benkeibear & @/firefly-graphics
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cricket-reader · 10 months
Text
Mutual Agreement
Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox
Summary: whilst on a mission, you and Bucky get caught in the cold. Your body doesn’t handle the temperature well, being you’re not a supersoldier. Your state brings back memories of Bucky’s life before Hydra, making him fear for your health.
Warnings: language, hypothermia, crying, mentions of death, fluff
Word Count: 1,551
Prompt: Delirium | Hypothermia | Stabilisation
A/N: Day 4 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom
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Bucky never showed his emotions. He was a closed book, and he intended to keep it that way. But that all shattered to pieces one fateful mission.
You and Bucky had been assigned to take down an abandoned Hydra base in Russia. Bucky had wanted to go alone, but Steve insisted that he went with a partner. That partner just so happened to be you, the girl that Bucky admired from afar.
You were strong, intelligent, and beautiful. He admired you for that and all the good you had done. You were better than him in every single way.
Finding and destroying the base was an easy matter. It was abandoned, therefore, there were no surprise attacks. It was the perfect mission. No injuries, no deaths, and most importantly to Bucky, not even a hair on your head was harmed.
Things only went downhill from there.
The getaway vehicle you had parked in the forest refused to start again. It didn’t matter what Bucky did, the vehicle refused to start up. On top of that, it was freezing in the vehicle. Almost as cold as it was outside, without the wind, of course.
If your shivering was anything to go by, Bucky knew you both couldn’t stay there. On his GPS, the safe house wasn’t far away. The supersoldier could make it on foot no problem. He just wasn’t so sure about you.
Internally, his thoughts were running rampant. On the outside, he looked as calm and collected as usual.
“We shouldn’t stay here. Do you think you can walk to the safe house?”
You bit your lip. “Sure.”
Bucky didn’t trust the tone of your voice whatsoever, but he didn’t let it show. He had to get you to warmth before he lost you.
You both exited the useless vehicle, and trudged your way towards the cabin.
It didn’t take long for your hands to start shaking, and your steps to begin faltering. You had to stay strong, though. You couldn’t face the embarrassment of failure in front of a teammate that you swore hated your guts.
The feeling in your face as well as your feet had long since vanished. Your fingers hadn’t had feeling since you reached the vehicle. These were not good signs, but you resigned to deal with it since the cabin was coming into your view.
Bucky noticed you lagging behind before you did. His heart raced, wanting to pick you up and bolt to the cabin where he could get you warm. He knew, however, that you would not like that notion. You’d probably smite him if he dared lay a finger on you. You liked your space, hating when people invaded it. Because although you were kind, you too had boundaries. Physical touch just happened to be yours.
It wasn’t until you tripped and fell into the snow that he decided, “screw that” and picked you up from the ground. You were trembling so hard, as cold as ice and it fucking scared him.
You let out a small noise of protest as he gathered you in his arms and began to run to the cabin. You could do it yourself. You just needed a little rest, that’s all.
Bucky slammed the door to the cabin open and slammed it shut before running to set you on the ground. He took off your soaked jacket and boots. You gently pushed him away, not really able to put any force behind it. “I can do it myself,” you muttered indignantly.
Whilst Bucky usually loved your sense of independence, it only served to frustrate him. He pouted with his signature grumpy face, arms crossed and all. He watched you peel off your drenched socks. Your fingers were still trembling.
He just wanted to help. You turned to go to one of the rooms, hoping to find a new pair of pants that weren’t wet.
You overestimated your ability to walk. Tripping over nothing probably had to be the most embarrassing thing you had ever done in front of Barnes. He didn’t hesitate to catch you. In Bucky’s arms you wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle of shame.
Bucky muttered something to himself as he carried you to the nearest room. He set you on the ottoman in front of the bed before going to ruffle through the closet. He found some clothes for you to wear.
He turned around to give them to you, so you could change yourself. When he saw you falling asleep, he dashed to your side. You couldn’t fall asleep on him now. “C’mon, wake up,” he muttered, not a trace of worry evident in either his tone or on his face. He was determined to keep calm in front of you. Freaking out would do no good.
You blearily opened your eyes. It was so cold. Why were you so cold? You were in the warmth now. You should be fine.
“I’m gonna change your clothes now, okay? Is that alright?” Bucky asked. He didn’t want to do anything without your consent, but if worse came to worse, he would have to. He just needed to stabilise you before things got any worse. You just groaned in response. Cursing under his breath, Bucky dutifully peeled off your pants and dressed you in the sweats he had found. He left your shirt on, since it wasn’t affected by the snow. He didn’t want to do anything more. Not without your consent.
In your state of delirium, you barely noticed that he had picked you up and carried you to bed. You barely noticed the way he took care to wrap you in multiple blankets.
When you woke up, you were incredibly warm. You were also practically trapped in a cocoon of blankets. Groaning, you unwrapped yourself from the layers upon layers of blankets.
You tiptoed your way into the hallway. Looking around, you didn’t see Barnes anywhere.
You furrowed your brows when you heard a muffled sound coming from the bedroom down the hall.
You creeped to the door and pressed your ear against it. You could hear ragged breaths and choked sobs coming from behind the door. It had to be Bucky. No one else would be out here. However, you’d never seen him cry. He always was so strong given what he’d been through. He was resilient. So what could have prompted his tears? Did he have a nightmare? You knew from Steve that he was struggling with them. Your hand hesitated at the door handle. How you longed to go in there and comfort him, to wrap him in your arms and tell him he was safe now. But you knew he was a private person. He hated it when people saw him vulnerable, and you didn’t blame him.
All it took to break your hesitance was a sob.
Bucky had a hard time keeping everything in. He didn’t mean to let it out, but god he couldn’t help it. Seeing you look so pale and weak, your ice cold skin and shivering body… it reminded him of Steve. Little Steve back when they were kids. He thought Steve was going to die that cold January night. Bucky had stayed with him the whole night, praying to anyone that would listen to not take away his best friend.
It was like history was repeating itself and just the thought of you dying tore him to shreds. Now, Bucky didn’t believe in any god, not after all he went through with Hydra, but you bet your ass he had prayed. He didn’t get too far before his emotions caught up with him, hitting him head on like a bus.
That led him to the moment where you burst through the door. Your concerned features swept Bucky’s distraught figure. He was in the corner of the room, curled up into a ball. He didn’t even notice you, too busy trying to get air into his lungs.
Your heart tore at the sight of him so broken. You gently moved up beside him and kneeled just a few feet away. “Bucky?”
His red, watery eyes looked up at you like you were a ghost. Those eyes widened as he scrambled to make himself look like less of a mess. He sniffled back his tears and ran his hands over his eyes. Red creeped onto the tips of his ears and the back of his neck, completely ashamed you were seeing him like this.
His body froze when you wordlessly wrapped your arms around his body. He wanted to cry all over again. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him as if he were something precious. It took him a few seconds before he returned the gesture, hesitant to touch you. He could hurt you… or what if this was all just a figment of his imagination. Bucky didn’t want your tender hold to disappear.
You both stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for the rest of the night. Not a word needed to be said between you both. In your silence was a mutual agreement. An agreement that no one had to know about Bucky’s meltdown. An agreement that you wouldn’t ask questions. An agreement that this is what both of you needed. Some comfort.
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captain-mj · 1 month
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Hiiiii can I please request a PriceGraves fic where General shepherd would like sexually harass Graves (ass slapping/grabbing, comments, etc.)? And like Graves is a bit scared to do anything of that nature with Price? Idk this came to me as I was under the effects of anesthesia 😂
I certainly can! I'm assuming you mean Graves is nervous to enter a relationship due to concerns that Price would start acting like that but if I misinterpreted, just send me an ask with clarification and I'll rewrite!
Graves felt his skin crawl every time he thought of Shepherd. Now that he was dead, he definitely felt better, and he'd never admit this to anyone, ever. But some of the... behaviors he had exhibited had put Graves on edge.
Graves was not a stranger to locker room talk and how men bragged about touching people, regardless of whether it was asked for or not. As a teen, he would participate, trying to fit the mold of straight man in the American South. As he got older, he started to avoid it, claiming he thought it was childish to talk about people, especially women like that. Which was partially true. He naively thought this was something straight men did. His bubble was quickly burst when he joined the military and found himself the target of that derogatory talk.
But hey, he managed. He kicked ass. Started a company. Made sure anyone that spoke or acted like that either learned their lesson and shut it up or was booted off to scramble for work elsewhere like a dog.
When Shepherd stood behind Graves during an explanation and his hand just brushed against Graves's thighs, he brushed it off as an accident and kept talking.
Then his hand firmly grabbed his ass and squeezed. Under his breath, just loud enough for Graves to hear, “firm”.
Graves despised working with him after that. When he sent his men to die in Russia, he started working through the red tape to separate themselves. Every time they were in the same room, there would be some comment, some line, even just full on grabbing and the only reason Graves didn’t kill him was that his Shadows would be dealing with the repercussions of it. So he sucked it up, minimized contact and kept it moving.
Almost a year later, with Shepherd dead and him in an entirely different position, he'd think the idea of it happening would be the farthest thing from his mind.
But he... felt Price's eyes on him. He was polite and a gentleman.
Unlike Shepherd, Graves liked Price. Really. He wouldn't mind rolling around the hay with him. But they worked together and he didn't want another situation like before.
Price sat with him one day, after a mission and everything had simmered down. He even bought him a drink at the bar. The Shadows and the 141 mingled some, chatting normally.
Graves hesitated to take the drink. "Not going to owe you anything, am I?" He didn't sound like he was joking.
Price paused, bourbon almost touching his lips. "I'm not that kind of man, Graves. I won't lie. I want you. In a way that's not that gentleman like. But I won't ask you for anything. Not unless you ask first."
Graves looked at his drink. "I don't think you'd take advantage of me. I wouldn't let you. Worried you won't respect me."
Price frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Shepherd. He didn't respect me much."
"Did he ever?" The sudden anger in Price's voice was shockingly reassuring.
"Besides grabbing me a little, no. Made some disgusting comments."
Price downed his drink. He ordered another round for the two of them. "I don't allow that kind of behavior. Not among my men. Hate to see someone in power take advantage of it."
Graves was quiet a while, finishing his drink up. He wanted to. He really, really did. He glanced over and they made eye contact.
Price never bothered to hide his emotions. It was an admirable trait. He looked at Graves with such passion and ardor.
Graves broke the gaze and kept drinking. Price patted his shoulder, like they were just friends. "Phillip, I'll always respect you. You made a company from scratch. Stronger men than most."
"Thank you, John."
They separated and Graves wanted to ask him to come back. He didn't. He kept drinking until the Shadows could pull him into karaoke. This was all he needed. They were great. The best friends and coworkers he could ask for.
The bar got ready to close and they were all kicked out. Graves felt that surge of confidence that only came from being too drunk for your own good. He grabbed Price's arm and they stumbled forward.
Price let him into his quarters. He kissed him softly. Sweetly. They both tasted of bourbon.
"Graves, you're too drunk."
"Only time I'll be dumb enough to say yes."
Price smiled at him, though it was a tinge sad. "Let me get you in bed, love." He picked him up, like he didn't weigh anything. He carried him to the bed and laid him down, making sure both of their boots were off and on the floor.
Graves pulled off his shirt and pants, quickly waving his hand at Price's grunts. "I refuse to sleep fully clothed. I'm not in the field."
Price sighed but didn't stop him, only kicking off his own socks. "I'll make tea in the morning."
"....no coffee?"
"Don't drink the stuff."
Graves groaned loudly. "Should've just went back to my own room. No dick and no coffee."
"You're too drunk for me to sleep with you."
"You're buzzed. Cancels out."
"I don't think so." Price ran his fingers through Graves's hair, admiring his flushed face. "What are the chances you pretend you don't remember tonight?"
"Higher than I want to tell you."
Price nodded and leaned down, kissing him again. Graves could feel his heart in his throat. "Not being much of a gentleman, am I?"
"You're the one person I'm okay with it." Graves told him softly. "Look, sleep in the bed with me. Nothing has to happen, but I don't want to kick a man out of his own bed."
Price nodded and crawled in with him. They pressed close together and his arm went around Graves's middle.
It felt nice. Being held. His hands didn't wander. He didn't make any comments. Even pressed against his body, where he could no doubt feel the muscle and how his hands fit around his waist and his ass pressed against him, Price said nothing. Just held him.
Graves felt his eyes start to close. "John, I want you back."
"I know."
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annieqattheperipheral · 4 months
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for reference here's michael nylander's hockeydb
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for my willy babes💕 here u go:
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STOCKHOLM — About 35 minutes outside Stockholm sits the place that always felt most like home for William Nylander.
It is the long-time offseason home of former NHLer Michael Nylander, and it’s where the Nylander family has been congregating every summer since William Nylander was a boy.
There’s the main house, the guest house and the barn where William practically lived from the time he was old enough to hold a hockey stick. It isn’t the kind of barn where you might house cows, horses and piles of hay. It’s nicer than that, William says. There are wooden floors and, as you might expect in a household of hockey players, two hockey nets.
William and his younger brother Alex would be holed up there for hours, day after day, every summer when they were kids.
Alex would play goalie and William would fire shots. Sticks would be thrown. Fights would ensue.
“But then after the fight, no matter what happened,” Alex said, “we would be best friends again.”
Then they might step and fire pucks on the shooting ramp Michael built in the yard by the soccer nets. After that, zip the 30 seconds it took to the nearby dock for a jump in the lake. Then, a visit to the sauna.
As boys, William and Alex would often make their way over to their father’s gym, where they would watch Dad go through his offseason workouts in preparation for another NHL season.
Then, the summer would come to an end and young William, and the rest of the family, would follow Dad back to North America. Somewhere in North America.
William Nylander’s life has been forever split between two worlds and two homes.
- - - - - - -
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Almost every fall, it seemed, Dad’s NHL jersey changed.
Which meant a new city, new school, new friends, new home, new minor hockey team and new hockey heroes for William (outside of Dad, of course).
William Nylander was born in Calgary while his dad was playing for the Flames. Michael was traded there from Hartford. He spent parts of five seasons with the Flames before they dealt him to Tampa Bay. Michael played only 35 games for the Lightning before another deal sent him — and the family — to Chicago.
Trades weren’t talked about in the singular, but rather, the “we.” Michael Nylander wasn’t getting traded. The Nylanders were.
William was just starting the first grade when the Blackhawks traded his dad yet again, after only nine games in the fall of 2002, to Washington. The Capitals flipped Michael to Boston not long before the 2004 trade deadline.
Michael signed with the New York Rangers not long before the 2004-05 lockout. After two seasons there, the family trekked back to Washington, where Michael signed as a free agent.
Over 17 years, Michael Nylander played for seven teams – none lasting longer than a 239-game run with the Blackhawks. He also suited up in Sweden, Switzerland, Russia and Finland, as well as minor league outposts in Rochester and Grand Rapids.
“Moving around – it’s been like that since I was born,” William said. “It’s just the way it was. And actually, every time we moved somewhere, we thought it was fun.”
Moving came to feel normal. The first week at a new school was nerve-wracking, but also familiar. So was making new friends in Chicago, Washington, and New York, the three spots that occupied most of William’s childhood.
It helped that William and Alex always had each other, along with four sisters. Alex was born in Calgary two years after William. They did everything together.
“Willy and Alex, they’re like stuck,” said Rasmus Sandin, the former Toronto Maple Leafs defenceman and a close friend of the Nylander family. “They’re together all the time.”
Alex says William is a little quieter than he is, a little less goofy, and more similar to their dad.
Thommy Nylander, Michael’s younger brother and William’s uncle, thinks William inherited his father’s mentality, among other things. Thommy trains William every summer (he’s also a chiropractor and often treats William) and said his thoroughness in preparation is very much like Michael’s.
“He’s so warm and a nice guy, but when you get to the gym, he’s very serious about working,” Thommy said. “He’s probably the best player, but he’s still doing the hours and he’s serious. He doesn’t want to waste time.”
Anders Sorensen, who coached William when he was a kid in Chicago, saw him do things that seemed beyond the comprehension for someone his age. Like the time William dropped the puck behind his own net and took off.
“What are you doing?” Sorensen asked.
“Well, we’re breaking out!” Nylander responded. “It’s a power play!”
He was unmistakably the son of an NHLer.
Michael would bring William and Alex around to the rink often. They thought it was the coolest thing imaginable, being there with Dad where actual NHL hockey was being played.
William would hop onto the ice with Alex and shoot pucks before practice. Then he would retreat, on Dad’s orders, to the ping-pong lounge. From there, they would amble over to the dressing room and inspect the sticks of their father’s teammates – stars like Tony Amonte and Doug Gilmour in Chicago or Jaromir Jagr and Peter Bondra in Washington.
When Michael played for the Rangers, the Nylanders lived for a time in Greenwich Village — about a half-hour’s walk from Madison Square Garden. William’s mother, Camilla, would walk the kids around midtown Manhattan before Michael’s games and then walk up the stairs into the arena.
The “green room” at MSG was particularly special.
“I guess it’s called a family room,” William said. “But me and my brother called it the green room. ‘We’re going to the green room!’ Go smash a Coke every period and watch the game.”
In the green room, they could sip as much Coca-Cola as they wanted.
“It’s like ‘Mom, can I have a Coke?’ ‘No. Today’s not Saturday.’ There you don’t even have to ask mom,” William said.
Their mini sticks were with them always. William and Alex didn’t need much to create a playing ground. A doorway for a goal was all it took.
That’s what made their house in Washington so thrilling: It had a big basement that was perfect for hockey. And because their dad just happened to play in the NHL, those games grew to include actual NHL players.
Fellow Swede Nicklas Backstrom visited the Nylander home for dinner frequently. Backstrom says he felt like another one of Michael’s kids. For William and Alex, Backstrom was their dad’s work colleague and also an honourary sibling.
At one Thanksgiving dinner, the Nylanders — with chef Michael doing the cooking — hosted Backstrom and his even starrier Capitals teammate, Alex Ovechkin.
Life amongst the stars was just part of the deal for William growing up. There was that one time he looked up in the elevator at MSG and saw Mario Lemieux standing across from him.
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- - - - - - -
Michael taught William the game. At first, he just let William and Alex play for fun. But as they grew older and more serious about the sport, he would instruct them on how to shoot, how to skate, how to do everything on the ice. They would watch, take notes and try to do it all the same.
“Growing up, we would follow him around and stuff, but it wasn’t like he was pushing us or anything,” William said. “But once we decided that we wanted to play, he helped us out a lot and pushed us in the right way.”
Dan Houck, who coached William when he lived in Washington, saw the same thing in him that he did with all the sons of the Capitals he coached. They all seemed to come fully stocked with a certain hockey intelligence.
William saw the ice just like his dad, Thommy Nylander says.
“William was front-row to some of the most dynamic offensive talents in the NHL,” Houck said. “I think that was formidable for him in his development as a player.”
Backstrom remembers watching William and Alex both play for a local youth team. “I knew they were special players, for sure,” he said. “They were dominant.”
“I always looked up to my dad and wanted to be like my dad,” William said.
But William never played much like his dad. Michael was a pure setup man. He didn’t have William’s power as a skater or shooter.
Sorensen wonders if William, raised on all those North American rinks, had more of a shooter’s mentality than his dad, who came up in Europe, where most players think pass first.
Sorensen coached William and his dad together for Södertälje in the Swedish Hockey League when William was 16 and Michael was almost 40. They would all chuckle at signs in the rink that said explicitly: “No parents allowed on the bench.”
Not only were they on the same bench, but often the same line, with William at right wing and Michael in the middle. During one game, William pleaded with his dad: “Pass me the puck instead of hanging onto it!”
Michael wasn’t an overbearing hockey dad. He even pushed his boys to explore other sports. He did like to ask lots of questions though.
“I call him ‘Wallander’ sometimes,” Sorensen said, referring to the fictional Swedish detective, “He’s always like, ‘Why is that? What do you think about that? Why did you do it this way? Why did you do it that way?’ He’s a smart man. He’s a very smart man. He cares for his family, he cares for people around him so I’ve always got along with him great.”
As Sorensen noted, it was usually Camilla who handled a large chunk of the duties when it came to getting William to the rink.
- - - - - - -
Even as a youngster, the skill always popped with William.
Houck remembers the first time he faced William, when he was 10 and playing for the Greenwich Jr. Blues. Houck’s squad was a year older, but they still trailed by a goal late and pulled their goalie. The puck popped up and hit the stick of the “wrong” player — William Nylander. He calmly shot it down the ice into the empty net.
“Not many kids at age 10 would have the wherewithal [to do that],” Houck says. “If you miss that and it’s an icing, then the puck’s pinned in your end again.”
Sorensen remembers a select tournament in Toronto when William faced off against future NHLers like Connor McDavid, Josh Ho-Sang and Robby Fabbri. Someone came up to Sorensen and said: “This Nylander kid, he’s right up there with all those other guys.”
Michael was a little surprised when he heard about it: “They really think he’s that good?”
Houck’s primary objective when he coached Nylander was to ensure he didn’t stifle that skill. He wanted to let those gifts shine as brightly as possible, especially in key spots with the game on the line.
What sticks out most in Houck’s memory of William is how he loved the game. This wasn’t a kid who played because of his dad. It was the opposite with William, who would even sneak onto the ice with Alex’s team whenever he could.
“We always just loved hockey from the first time we ever played it,” Alex said.
- - - - - - -
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William still retreats to Sweden every offseason.
“Mostly what you miss about Sweden is the family,” he said.
The Nylanders are an especially tight bunch. Michael is one of seven siblings himself. It’s not uncommon for the Nylanders to make their way to Toronto. Thommy and his older brother, Peter, came to watch in April.
In his early years with the Leafs, William was announced at home games as hailing from Calgary. That changed a couple of seasons ago. Now, when he’s introduced, it’s “from Stockholm, Sweden.”
Stockholm became home on a more permanent basis at 14 when Michael’s NHL days came to an end and when William, with Canadian and Swedish citizenship, had to decide where he would play his hockey internationally. He and Alex both opted for Sweden. That’s when he and Alex could begin to enjoy the outdoor rinks in and around Stockholm and “play and play and play and never go home” as Alex remembered it.
For a long time, William stayed with his parents when he returned to Sweden in the summer. He’s since bought an apartment in Stockholm and invited Alex to live with him in the offseason. They take William’s two dogs for walks down by the water. They hit Ciccios for dinner or Brasserie Astoria next door, or Restaurant AG for a quality steak.
William will golf five days a week with Sandin during the offseason, forever finding space for a daily nap. William and Alex might have friends over and still William will dip out for his daily nap. “We both nap a lot,” Alex said, “but you’ll never see somebody who naps more than my brother. He’ll nap 365 days of the year.”
William is still trained at home by his dad through his Playmaker92 agency.
William and Alex will usually hit the gym around 8 a.m. By 10, it’s over to the ice with a much larger group that includes Sandin and his brother, Linus, for on-ice sessions lasting an hour and a half led by Michael.
Few, if any, NHL players are trained by their former NHL-playing fathers. Michael is known to be a master of the details, creating the kind of skill drills that only a former player of his calibre could.
Another bonus of returning home to Sweden for William is the chance to eat his dad’s cooking.
Michael has been something of a foodie dating back to his playing days. He prepares “gourmet” meals with a starter, main, and dessert. (Unprompted, Backstrom mentioned Michael’s excellent food.)
Sandin remembers a particularly delicious potato pancake and says the experience of eating a Michael Nylander meal is “like you’re going to a Michelin-star restaurant.”
That’s the thing about Sweden for William. It’s home. It’s family. It’s the place he could, and can still, always come back to. It’s the place where he’s able to find some distance from his hockey-playing life.
The days of hopscotching around North America have long been over. William has played the entirety of his career with the Leafs. Toronto has become his adopted second home. He rides the TTC to most home games these days.
He feels settled in Toronto, though, he adds with a big laugh, “With every year having a trade rumor.”
Two worlds. Two homes. Forever the life of William Nylander.
It’s how he was made.
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xxavengingangelxx · 5 months
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Somewhere Only We Know 1/?
This is part of a series: Long Way From Home. Graves gets ahold of 141's translator and demands she give up information she knows about 141.
Graves still has Val in this continuation. This continuation includes the events of MW3 so 141 will find out Graves is alive and they will learn where Val has been this whole time ;) MW3 SPOILERS Thanks to @unicorngirly1 for talking ideas with me!
Taglist!
@bellgraves, @unicorngirly1, @lily-lily131313, @shepgurl. If you'd like to be added and/or if I left anyone off, please let me know!
Triggers/Warnings: Mentions of torture, dubious consent, brainwashing, mentions of suicide. More will be added as the story develops.
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“Un-fucking-believable,”
You were across the dark room, not visible to the camera, but Soap’s voice drew your attention and your head snapped in that general direction.
You’d been given orders by Shepherd and Graves: you can be in the room but you were not to move, not to make a sound and certainly not to approach the camera. 141 still thought you were dead, remember?
Consequences for approaching that camera? A return to a room similar to that cold, terrifying room where you’d spent your first week with Shadow Company being tortured for information that you eventually gave up. That was all you needed to hear. You in no way, under no circumstances, wanted to go back there so you’d do what you were told. Besides, you’d been more tired than usual, not feeling like yourself, like you were on the verge of getting sick, so it’s not like you even had the energy to put up with that. You wouldn’t be able to mentally handle it, either.
You’d make a third attempt on your life if you were returned to that room. Of that you were sure.
“Soap!” You heard Graves respond. “Ya miss me?” Graves laughed coldly. “Well technically you did, didn’t you?”
“Laswell, if you’re tracking this,” Ghost’s voice interrupted, “let’s call in an airstrike.”
“Ghost that is not nice,” Graves chided, almost as if he was speaking to a toddler. It made you wonder how he would be around kids.
“And Val?” Soap demanded.
“Now her ya did kill, Johnny,” Graves sneered. “Shame. I liked having her around.”
“Go fohck yerself. What’re you up to?” Soap’s voice snapped at Graves.
“I’m up to doing my fuckin’ job, kid. Maybe you should try it sometime,” Graves shot back.
“My fucking job is to kill the enemy. Guess what you are,” Soap spat back.
“Let’s keep this professional, boys,” Shepherd interjected. “Cap’n let me pain you the bigger picture. You need Makarov in a pine box. I’ve got the nails.”
The rest of the conversation was faded out because that name, Makarov…Makarov scared the shit out of you. Graves had told you that Vladimir Makarov liked petite, little, innocent-looking things and that like they’d done before with other male targets they might use you to help draw him in or distract him. You were Shadow Company’s femme fatale after all. You’d drawn in men before.
But the idea terrified you. Makarov was a different kind of monster. A psychopath. What was stopping Makarov from taking you like Graves took you? And Makarov you knew would not be nearly as ‘nice’ as Graves had been. Makarov would haul you to Russia and torture you himself. And he would get off on it. Unlike Graves Makarov wouldn’t hesitate to use rape as a weapon.
“Val,” Graves’s voice drew you back to the present.
“Graves,” you responded, shaking your head of the chilling thoughts that had occupied your mind only seconds before.
“We gotta meet 141,”
You sighed. Got teary eyed. What if they took you from him? So you said something. “They’re gonna take me from you,” you sniffled.
“We’re gonna have a fucking problem if they do,” Graves snapped. “We’re not moving forward until I get you back if that happens. They think you’re dead, Val. Remember that.”
You sighed again. “They better. I’ll raise hell ‘till they give me back.”
“I know it sucks,” Graves conceded. “But this is moving quick. We need Makarov. The quicker it’s done, they quicker we never see any of ‘em again.”
Makarov. That name. It gave you chills. You had the worst feeling about him.
Graves then gave a series of commands: wear both vests (we don’t know if they’ll try to kill you), wear your mask, wear your combat goggles, wear a helmet, wear a uniform. Do anything you can to hide your identity. Do not come within an arm’s length of them. You’re going to have a sidearm, your rifle, and a knife. And it all else fails? Run.
You followed orders and got dressed exactly how you were told to in the morning. You were exhausted. You hadn’t been sleeping well and your body ached.
-
It had been decided to meet in an abandoned warehouse. No electricity so it was easy to sweep for bugs. That meant no heat. It was raining and the dropping temperatures promised snow. It was miserable but at least all the layers you were wearing kept you warm.
You could feel 141’s eyes penetrating you.
You tried to tell yourself it was because out of a group of men you were by far the smallest one. The only female, obviously.
Price, Laswell, Shepherd, and Graves were in a room sealed off from the rest of you. Shadows were in that same room protecting Graves and Shepherd. Graves had wanted you in the same room as him but that risked Price recognizing you since the room was so small. The meeting would be quick, Graves promised. You only hoped it wouldn’t be drawn out.
That left you in a large room with Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. You stayed as far away from them as possible. You had your rifle hanging from your shoulder. You had your sidearm ready to go. The only problem was there was no damn way you could shoot any of them. You only prayed they’d stay across the room.
You didn’t like this. In fact you hated it. Why couldn’t another Shadow have stayed with you? Actually no. That Shadow might shoot at 141 and the last thing you wanted was to have them hurt.
Soap met your gaze. You had a soft spot for Soap. You two had been close. A little more than close but that was a story for another day.
“What’s your name, lass?” Soap called out. “Didn’ know he had female Shadows.”
You didn’t answer. You were scared your voice would give you away. You just pointed at your tag: P-80.
“I can’t read that,” Soap replied. “You can’t talk or sometin?”
You shook your head no. Duh. Of course you could talk. You just chose not to. Your voice was a lot softer than any of these men’s. It stood out. And they’d recognize it for sure.
“Your mannerisms remind me o’ someone I was close to,” Soap added. “Real pretty lass. Had a lotta fun wit her. But smart as ‘ell. Dangerous, too.”
“That you, Val?” Ghost asked.
“L.t.,” Soap whined. “I was gettin’ there.”
“I think it is,” Gaz added.
You shook you head no again. Tears pricked your eyes. This was getting to be too much. You didn’t care that you’d been told to stay out of that briefing room. You wanted to be in the same room as Graves.
“I know that’s you, Val,” That person, Ghost, calling your name was like someone lighting a fire under your ass. Graves had conditioned you to RUN from them if he wasn’t close by. You shook your head before taking off running, following Grave’s orders.
You were so frazzled that a flight of stairs presented too much of a challenge for you and you tripped, hitting the landing hard and slamming into the wall sideways, your head hitting the wall with force. You had a helmet on thank God but the hit still rattled you. Voices were scrambled and everything got blurry for a few seconds. You were about to get up and keep running when someone grabbed you by your vest and dragged you back up the flight of stairs you’d just tripped over. You fought not to scream to be let go.
Ghost had grabbed you. You knew because he was the roughest one out of the group. Only because he was incredibly protective of his men. After dragging you back up the flight of stairs he released you onto the concrete landing.
You tried to get back up. You were shoved down.
“On your knees,” Ghost demanded. Rifle raised.
“Ghost,” Soap started. “Don’t—”
“I’ve got this, Johnny,” Ghost retorted.
You sighed and dropped to your knees with hands held out.
“Helmet,” Ghost demanded.
You unclasped your helmet and took it off.
“The goggles and the mask,” came the next command.
“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself.
You complied and took both off, dropping them to the ground next to you.
“Hoooly shit,”
You recognized it as Soap’s voice.
You shook the bangs from your eyes and glanced up.
Gaz was not far behind and approached. And you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t. You decided long ago you would never go back to them. They’d either kill you or send you to a military prison for the rest of your life.
Worst of all, Graves had said, you’d never see him again. You knew for a damn fact you couldn’t handle being separated from Graves.
So you pulled your sidearm and put it against your head.
The effect was instant.
141 backed off. Ghost dropped his rifle, leaving it to hang off his shoulder.
Immediately.
“Back off,” you stood up slowly.
They were speechless.
“What happened to you?” Gaz asked, eyeing you with stunned, wide eyes.
“Nothing,” You responded.
“Val, we’re not leaving,” Soap stated simply, his hands in front of him to show he was not reaching for a weapon. “Put the gun down, Jesus Christ.”
You didn’t respond. You lowered the gun from your head. Little did they know you’d rather die than be separated from Graves. In your panic you didn’t notice Soap was no longer in front of you. You raised the gun in their direction.
Yet not one of them reached for their weapon. You wondered if it was because despite how much you had changed they could see it in your eyes that you couldn’t shoot any of them.
“Let me go,” you warned, taking small steps backwards. “I’ll call him and they’ll come running.” Your mind flashed to that first night in Las Almas when Graves had ordered you to call out to 141. You being your stupid self had refused. Now you were actually threatening to scream to get Graves’s attention.
Then.
Your worst nightmare.
Someone grabbed you from behind. He placed a heavy, calloused hand over your mouth preventing you from screaming, from calling out to Graves. His other hand gripped your right wrist on such a way that you dropped your weapon. Your gun dropped to the ground. Soap expertly kicked it away from you. You were then flat on the floor on your stomach, the sudden movement aggravating the ribs that had been broken several times over now. Your rifle was taken. Your knife was taken. You were about to say, “Fuck you, let me go.” But duct tape replaced the hand that had been on your mouth.
They were treating you exactly like Graves warned you they would. You screamed into the tape because what else could you do? You were flipped onto your back and you immediately starting swinging fists, kicking, trying to scratch, anything to get them away.
Soap clearly was overwhelmed because he just stared in horror and how hard you were fighting. For what? To go back to Graves? To go back to the man who had inflicted that cut on your face that had scarred?
“Thas’ enough ‘o that,” Ghost said lowly. You’d forgotten how big he was because when he stood over you, he terrified you. He looked like the grim reaper. Zipties went around your wrists after your arms were pulled in front of you. But not before you put up a hell of a fight. You tried to scratch but only got Ghost’s Kevlar and uniform. Zipties brought back bad memories.
“You swing at anyone again,” Graves knelt in front of you while a Shadow ziptied your hands in front of you. You were lying on the floor, beat halfway to unconsciousness by said Shadow. “I’m leaving you in those with a broken arm,”
“Fuck you, sadist,” you mumbled as you lost consciousness.
-
Price, Graves, Shepherd, and Laswell were still in that small room. Talking about what you had no idea. You tried to use your hands ziptied in front of you to break the window of the SUV they were dragging you to.
You struggled, tried to be dead weight. Your worst fear was coming true. You were being taken from Graves. And you couldn’t scream because they’d taped your mouth shut.
But then you got an idea. You got into that SUV willingly because you had a plan. They’d removed the tape from your mouth provided you promised them you wouldn’t scream. The skin on your face was still red, though. Just wait until Graves finds out what they did to you.
-
I feel like this isn't as good as Long Way From Home. :( Idk why! But please let me know what you think! If you have ideas, message me! I'm thinking of opening an ask box :D I wanted to post a longer chapter but character limits got me!
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atom-writings · 9 months
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Can i req yandere canada, japan and russia do after s/o failed escape? (Bonus if they want to take care of their s/o wound, up to you)
(HWS Canada, Japan, & Russia x Reader) After S/Os failed escape!
(Gender Neutral) Scenario ~ A/N u guys should req more yandere stuff bcs it is so fun
Trigger Warning: Typical Yandere TWs, (domestic?) violence, being held in captivity, unhealthy mindsets, self harm.
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Of course. You want to leave, just as he anticipated. It’s his own fault for allowing that, he knows, it’s not entirely your fault. But… it did show that you’re not as exceptional as he thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have treated you any differently than anyone else.
Your knees hurt, more than anything else. The burns on them were only getting worse as you pleaded on the floor. You’d been begging for hours now, but it felt like days. Days of sobbing and asking for mercy. But whenever you dared to lift your head to meet his cold gaze, he revealed to you absolutely no signs of slowing.
Before you could cry out another appeal to whatever kindness remained in him, he silenced you with another sharp kick into your stomach. His steel-toed boots made you keel over in pain again. Was your shirt wet because of your endless tears or because his shoes were still dripping with snow?
You waited for another blow to come, bracing your whole body as you were barely able to hold yourself off the floor. Your muscles ached, your eyes stung, your knees burnt, and you knew… knew that none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t taken your first impossible chance to escape. But that’s what he wanted. Although he hadn’t spoken since he’d dragged you kicking and screaming back into his cabin; you could hear his voice telling you this is your fault. It was… in some sort of twisted way… but of course, that’s what he wanted you to think, rather you than him.
He had really found his way into your mind, hadn’t he? Even when he was completely silent, he controlled you. But it was worse in your own head. Maybe his voice could provide some sort of relief, you thought. You hesitantly looked up and flinched as he looked back down at you. His face still betrayed nothing, but he stepped back, walking away from you.
“Mercy, at last?” That was the last thought you allowed yourself before you saw him open the door to the basement.
Immediately you stumbled back, trying to crawl away as his heavy footsteps drew closer to your cowering form. Your knees stung before… but they stung worse as he dragged you by the back of your collar towards the door. 
“Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate me now. If not… well… there’s always other ways.”
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How ungrateful. How brutish. He would have never thought his darling capable of being so awful. But there you go away, rejecting his help… maybe you’ve forgotten how much worse your life was without him? 
It had always been quiet in Kiku’s house, but never like this. Even in the darkest days and nights, you could faintly hear a steam passing by the house, birds still awoke with you each morning. But since he had tied your hands to the wall, providing you only a pillow for comfort, you had heard no such thing. Maybe it was a different room in the home. Maybe it was a different home. Maybe the world outside of you two had simply… stopped.
You knew it was an irrational thought, but it was becoming harder and harder to remember reality. Your reality was this plain room, with your pillow, and occasionally a plate of food which would only appear when you slept. You had accepted that quickly. Mostly because, well… accepting your fate had worked with him in the past. But no matter what you did, no matter how much you cried or starved yourself or screamed or rubbed your hands raw on the rope so horribly your arms became covered in your own blood, the room never changed and it never became less silent.
If he wanted you to want him, it had worked. It had worked weeks ago. But yet, he failed to show himself no matter what. Your only way of knowing he hadn’t abandoned you was the meals he brought in. God, if he brought you food while you were awake, you would beg. No matter how embarrassing it was, no matter how ashamed of yourself you were, you would plead for as long as he wanted. Because even his abuse was better than this. Better than nothing.
No matter how much you hated him, you hated this blank, meaningless, silent existence more.
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Why… why would you ever want to leave him? He keeps you safe, he gives you everything you could ever need, he LOVES you… what did he miss? What did he do so horribly wrong that you have to run away?
You had expected punishment, abuse, and isolation… but not whatever the hell this is. The first thing you had awoken to after your first escape attempt was… sweet smell. Like bacon, a little bit? And once you sat up to see the source of it, you noticed how your clothes felt. Like your normal pyjamas, but softer. Infinitely softer, brand new, and in your favourite colour too. All while you’re in his bed. You hadn’t been rejected to his guest room, or his basement, or the freezing outdoors.
As you walked downstairs to investigate the smell, you were immediately greeted with an… unexpected sight. Ivan in the kitchen, cooking your favourite breakfast, in an outfit that you always liked on him. When you approached, he jumped in surprise, looking at you terrified for a moment. But he quickly regained his composure, rushing forward and wrapping you in a tight hug.
“Моя любимый!” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “You’re awake!”
Now you were the one being startled. What was going on? Where was the awful, childish monster you had known? Why was he being so nice to you?
“I didn’t realize you would be awake so soon. I hope you slept well,” He tells you gently, smiling all the while. But then you realize, nothing but his lips are smiling. He was forcing himself to appear all happy-go-lucky, just for you. But the closer you look, the more you see… including his shoulders, which were shaking.
But then he notices your face, which notably, isn’t smiling with him.
“What’s wrong? Are you upset? Did you not want this?” He asks frantically, his smile falling as quickly as it appeared. He desperately rubbed your arms, trying to force his grin back.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong, why aren’t you happy? I’ll do whatever you want, please, моя любимый! Please... Don’t be mad with me…” He pleads, struggling to keep up his facade as his eyes start to glaze over with tears.
You step away, looking at him in shock as he lurches forward. You shudder as he does so, gripping onto the front of your shirt as he cries, “I’ll do whatever you want, anything to make you happy! J-Just don’t leave! Don’t leave!”
What’s worse, a controlling, homicidal maniac, or an unstable, controlling, homicidal maniac?
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gayerthanevertbh · 1 year
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my beloved natasha
you meet a gorgeous green-eyed woman in the same alley where you no longer see a man who was your “friend”, only to know about the dark secrets from the woman herself. 
warnings : 18+ MINORS DNI dark!natasha, oral sex, fingerfucking, dirty talk, mommy kink, mentions of violence, stalker-ish, just unhinged natasha.
notes : ENJOY I GUESS?? but seriously i am deprived from writing, but i’m having inspirations now which is good
masterlist | navigation 
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You always walk on the same road every night from work. The city lights gleam on your face as the acrid smell of gas pollution curls up in your throat madly, yet there is some comfort in it. You love the city, you love the people around you, mostly because they bring you comfort and safety – that’s why you live in a crowded area, to feel safe.
Well, whatever that means now, especially when you no longer see the familiar face in the alley whenever you walk back home.
Technically, you made acquaintance with this man. He had a very kind face, beautiful silk brunette hair, and long veiny hands. They were always placed on your biceps and tell you how much you mean to him, and you’d reply the same way because it’s true, that man has done nothing but be the nicest person to ever exist. Except that, he’s gone. Out of nowhere, out of sight. Now, this leaves you curious. What happened to him? Did he just disappear? Perhaps he has, and never told me about it. He’s been “gone” for almost two weeks and you couldn’t stop this feeling in the pit of your stomach; is he hurt? What happened to him?
Everything was such a mystery, you felt distraught.
Then something abruptly came out. (dum dum DUUUUM!) A woman appears, a mysterious tall looking woman walks towards you, and makes your stomach feel all types of things. Like churning or the idea of going to the bathroom, that kind of feeling. You swallowed thickly and made a surprising smile, but she made the first move.
“Hi,” she greeted. “I was wondering where the pub is. You see, I’m quite new in this city, and I’m not sure where I’m going.” oh, she seems nice. Doesn’t feel alarming at all. You decide to reply and tell her the direction, and she pats you on the shoulder like the man always does. “Thank you for that, lady. What’s your WhatsApp number? Maybe we could talk or something since you’re the only person who seems nice to me.”
WhatsApp? Why does she want my number? You think crudel about it y, as you intend not to. Yet, when you look at her in the eyes, it seems like this woman was the next man that you always see in the alley. Except maybe her eyes are greener than his, more physique, and not-so-tall – which you didn’t mind, you never really cared about the height difference.
“It’s 999-9999-99088.”
She chuckles, pushing the back of her hair that looked red, you could see a bit of blonde on the edge of her silk hair. “I didn’t understand that, could you repeat that for me, hon?”
Hon… doesn’t feel alarming at all. Hmm, not really.
“Let me type it down for you,” are you seriously giving your number to a stranger? What happened to “Stranger Danger”? “What area are you from?”
“Manhattan,” she responded in a thick accent, yet you could hear from her voice that it was sort of Americanized. “Would you like to go to the pub with me? I don’t know, grab a couple of drinks or something?”
I guess I could just forget about him, you thought solemnly. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, she seems nice. Too nice.
“I mean,” you hesitated for a moment, but those wandering eyes won’t let you stop staring or even think about leaving her. God, she looked so kind and very approachable. How could you not? You shrugged, smiling with your teeth pearling in front of her. “If you treat me then, why not?”
“I most definitely will, sweetheart.”
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A few drinks – as if a few – later, “Natasha” is walking down the alley with you, sharing her life in Russia that seems to grow your interest. So, she’s gorgeous and Russian? This made my day even better, you thought to yourself. As both of you were nearing your area, you halt her to stop with your hand on her coat.
“Are you coming along with me?” you asked.
“I want to bring you home,” she responded, licking her lips. “Can’t I bring a friend home?”
“Well you can,” you shrugged. “It’s just–my house is a mess, I wouldn’t offer you to come inside.”
“I don’t mind the mess, I just want to be around you right now.” yeah, but I could be your mess.
Definitely not alarming, you thought. And if you admit it right now, you do enjoy her sly comments and her green hooded eyes. It’s quite bold, actually. And you like bold. Your parents are certainly wrong for thinking of you as a conservative child. You walk her to your apartment and unlock your door, pulling her collar inside the house as you kiss her hard on the lips, which both of you melted from. She holds your neck and moans into your mouth, her other hand on your lower waist. This feels so… incredible. Igniting, even. Fuck.
“My god you taste good,” she whispers, licking the corner of your mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
You pulled away, cracking up a laugh as you scrunched your eyebrows together. “Huh?”
She only smiles – this time you don’t know whether this is innocent – and pushes you against the wall, her wet plump lips on your chin, as she tucks the strand of your hair behind your ear. She smirks at you, and growls into your ear, saying: “I’ve longed for this moment. Ever since the day I’ve met you.”
“Wha–”
“Shh,” she interrupts you with a wet kiss, making you pull away when she bites on your lower lip. “Oh, come on baby. Don’t do that now, I have photographs of you with that man and I just… couldn’t help but slice his throat.”
Now, what?!
“Wait,” you have your hands on her lower stomach, trying to push her away, but god she was strong. Probably stronger than you. “H-Hold on, what are you talking about?”
“I killed that man for you, little girl. He was taking you away from me,” she coos, shaking her head with a tsk sound from her mouth. You shut your eyes when you felt the hilt of her knee pressing against your covered core, trying not to get aroused at the moment. “I love you, I love you so much! I did everything for you, can’t you just give in to me now? After everything?”
“You killed an innocent man!”
“He was trying to bring you home!” she shouts, holding your biceps down as you feel smaller and smaller from the way she yells at you, especially with that deep tone of hers. This felt like a dream, a very bad dream where you don’t wake up and instead die from your sleep. You hate it, you loathe thinking of it. You turn your face away when she tries to kiss you, which makes her angrier. “Don’t pull away from me baby, please don’t be like this… let me touch you. Let me kiss you.”
“Get off of me!” you pleaded, pushing her with all your might, but you were pinned on the cold brick wall as you whimpered from the pain. She was gripping you tightly, kissing down your neck to soothe you down, but nothing was working. “P-Please, don’t hurt me…”
Natasha pulls away with a crude smile and cups your cheek, her thumb rubbing your skin up and down, which is a little comforting. She leans down to your face and whispers with that fucking smile of hers, “I could never hurt my precious girl, you’re mine. You’re all mine.”
“Please,” you begged with a whine, pushing her face away when she’s suddenly going down on you, kissing each part of your clothing. “...Leave! I need you to go, now–”
“Shut up you slut,” she demands with a hissing whisper, pinching your naked inner thigh while her mouth is on your pelvis, smelling your cunt that is still covered by your panties. “Can’t believe I have such a little whore like you, my good little girl. Gonna fuck you so good… maybe even bite you.”
The idea was rather arousing yet trembling, though you never bat another word. You nodded and let her continue to spread your legs. She removes your skirt along with your silk white panties down, revealing your shaved cunt – which she smiles like the wicked woman she is.
“My god,” she whispers, her smile never fading away. “This pussy is so fuckin’ beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Gonna ruin it now…”
She plunges two fingers inside of your wet slit, immediately creating this irritating feeling in your walls, as you cried for help. But she lifts herself up again and covers your mouth with her bare hand, shushing you with a worried look. “Baby, it’s okay… you’re gonna be okay. Mommy wants to play with you for a bit, it’s going to be alright.”
You believed her, maybe you tried at least. You wanted to push and block this feeling away, this immense pleasure that circulates your entire blood, but you couldn’t. You wanted more, you needed more. She knew that, her smile gave it away. “That’s it,” she coos kissing your cheek with tenderness. “That’s my good little kotenok, my good girl. Take all of my fingers.”
She slams her fingers inside of you with a grunt, her head burying into your neck as she lets out a quiet moan – her fingers curling inside of you to hit that spot of yours. You writhe in her body, you cry for mercy, and you cry for pleasure. It hits you slowly, you were attracted to this feeling, mostly her, and you are ashamed of it. But the way the heel of her palm hits your clit gives you a sign of climax; you wanted to come for her.
“You’re gonna cum for me?” she asks with a higher pitch in her voice, licking the skin of your neck as if she’s going to mark you. Mark me, mark me, taste me! “Oh princess, you make Mommy absolutely crazy. Come on, cum on my fingers. That’s it… Argh, you’re so beautiful, gonna keep you…”
You imagine her keeping you in a den. Or maybe in a dim-light room where no one else is surrounded but her and her gorgeous smile, an evil smile that takes you away completely. You rock against her hand, finding that sparking orgasm as you cling to her, biting your lower lip to hold your screams. But she taunts, “Let me hear your scream baby, let Mommy hear you.”
“Mommy!” you shake your head while humping her hand. “I’m–please Mommy, fuck me harder… I’m so close!”
“My precious obedient girl,” she growled into your ear, pushing you further against the wall while speeding her thrusts, creating a wet squelching sound that gives pleasure to her ears and her core. “You’re going to be a good girl and cum for me. And once you cum, you’re going to come home with me and I’ll tie you all up and fuck you with my cock, yeah? You like that?”
You nodded. “Please, I want it all!”
“I bet you do sweet girl,” she grunts, pressing her forehead against yours while curling her fingers inside of you at a rapid pace. “Yeah fuckin’ hell, look at you coating my fingers with your juices, take it all… Take all of it.”
Both of you let out a throaty moan as you came hard on her fingers. She feels you clenching on them, and she couldn’t help herself but hump you back for friction. You realize what kind of a whore you are letting some stranger fuck you, and you would certainly like the idea the most if you are going to be her personal whore. You sobbed out loud as you felt your legs trembling from the overtaking orgasm you had let out.
“I’m gonna take you home,” she sighs, still thrusting inside of you but at a slower pace. “I’m gonna fuck you all night… you’re going to be my dirty slut.”
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pleasesend me ideas for my kinktober for nat if you’re interested!
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odinsblog · 2 months
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Arnold Schwarzenegger, MAR 17, 2022
Full transcript below the cut
Hello everybody, and thank you for sharing your time with me. I'm sending this message through various different channels to reach my dear Russian friends, and the Russian soldiers serving in Ukraine.
I'm speaking to you today because there are things that are going on in the world that are being kept from you—terrible things that you should know about. But before I talk about the harsh realities, let me just talk about the Russian who became my hero.
In 1961 when I was 14 years-old, a very good friend of mine invited me to come to Vienna to watch the World Weightlifting Championship. I was in the audience when Yuri Petrovich Vlasov won the World Championship title, becoming the first human being to lift 200 kilograms over his head. And somehow a friend of mine got me backstage.
All of a sudden, there I was, a 14-year-old boy standing in front of the strongest man in the world. I couldn't believe it. He reached out to shake my hand—I mean, I still had a boy's hand. He had this powerful man's hand that swallowed mine, but he was kind, and he smiled at me. I will never forget that day. Never.
I went home and I put his photo above my bed to inspire me when I started lifting weights. My father told me to take down that picture and to find a German or an Austrian hero. He got really angry, and we argued back and forth.
He didn't like Russians, because of his experience in the second World War. You see, he was injured at Leningrad, where the Nazi army that he was part of did vicious harm to the great city and to its brave people. But I did not take the photograph down, no. Because it didn't matter to me what flag Yuri Vlasov carried.
My connections to Russia didn't stop there, by the way. Oh, it actually deepened when I traveled there, with bodybuilding and for my movies and met all my Russian fans.
And then one of those trips I remember I met Yuri Vlasov once again. It was in Moscow during the filming of Red Heat, which was the first American movie allowed to film in Red Square. Now, he and I spent the day together. He was so thoughtful, so kind, and so smart. And, of course, very giving. He gave me this beautiful, blue coffee cup. And ever since then I've been drinking my coffee out of it every morning.
Now, the reason why I'm telling you all of those things is that ever since I was 14 years old, I've had nothing but affections and respect for the people of Russia. The strength and the heart of the Russian people have always inspired me.
And that is why I hope that you will let me tell you the truth about the war in the Ukraine and what is happening there.
No one likes to hear something critical of their government. I understand that. But, as a longtime friend of the Russian people, I hope that you will hear what I have to say. And may I remind you that I speak with the same heartfelt concern as I spoke to the American people when there was an attempted insurrection on January sixth last year, when a wild crowd was storming the U.S. Capital, trying to overthrow our government.
You see, there are moments like this that are so wrong, and then we have to speak up. This is exactly the same with your government. I know that your government has told you that this is a war to denazify Ukraine. Denazify Ukraine? This is not true! Ukraine is a country with a Jewish president. A Jewish president, I might add, whose father's three brothers were all murdered by the Nazis.
You see, Ukraine did not start this war. Neither did nationalists or Nazis. Those in power in the Kremlin started this war. This is not the Russian people's war. No. As a matter of fact, let me tell you, what you should know is that 141 nations at the U.N. voted that Russia was the aggressor. They called for it to remove its troops immediately.
Only four countries in the entire world voted with Russia. That is a fact. See, the world has turned against Russia because of its actions in the Ukraine. Whole city blocks have been flattened by Russian artillery and bombs, including a children's hospital and a maternity ward. Three million Ukrainian refugees—mainly women, children, and the elderly—fled their country, and many more are trying to seek to get out.
It is a humanitarian crisis. Because of its brutality, Russia is now isolated from the society of nations.
You're also not being told the truth about the consequences of this war on Russia itself. I regret to tell you that thousands of Russian soldiers have been killed. They have been caught between the Ukrainians fighting for their homeland and the Russian leadership fighting for conquest.
Massive amounts of Russian equipment have been destroyed or abandoned. The destruction that Russian bombs are raining down upon innocent civilians has so outraged the world that the strongest global economic sanctions ever taken have been imposed on your country. Those who don't deserve it on both sides of the war will suffer.
The Russian government has lied, not only to the citizens, but to its soldiers. Some of the soldiers were told they were going to fight Nazis. Some were told that the Ukrainian people would greet them like heroes. And some were told that they were simply going on exercises—they didn't even know that they were going into war. And some were told that they were there to protect ethnic Russians in Ukraine. None of this is true.
The fact is that Russian soldiers have faced fierce resistance from the Ukrainians who want to protect their families and their country. When I see babies being pulled out of ruins, I think that I am watching a documentary about the horrors of the Second World War, not the the news of today.
Now let me tell you, when my father arrived in Leningrad, he was all pumped up on the lies of his government. And when he left Leningrad, he was broken, physically and mentally. He lived the rest of his life in pain. Pain from a broken back, pain from the shrapnel that always reminded him of those terrible years. And pain from the guilt that he felt.
To the Russian soldiers listening to this broadcast, you already know much of the truth that I've been speaking. You have seen it with your own eyes. I don't want you to be broken like my father. This is not the war to defend Russia that your grandfathers or your great-grandfathers fought. This is an illegal war.
Your lives, your limbs, your futures, are being sacrificed for a senseless war condemned by the entire world.
Now, to those in power in the Kremlin, let me just ask you: Why would you sacrifice those young men for your own ambitions?
To the soldiers who are listening to this, remember that 11 million Russians have family connections to Ukraine. So every bullet you shoot, you shoot a brother or a sister. Every bomb or every shell that falls, is falling not on an enemy but on a school, or a hospital, or a home. I know that the Russian people are not aware that such things are happening.
So I urge the Russian people and the Russian soldiers in Ukraine to understand the propaganda and the disinformation that you are being told. I ask you to help me spread the truth. Let your fellow Russians know the human catastrophe that is happening in Ukraine.
And to President Putin, I say: You started this war. You are leading this war. You can stop this war.
Now let me close with a message to all of the Russians who have been protesting in the streets against the invasion of Ukraine: The world has seen your bravery. We know that you have suffered the consequences of your courage. You have been arrested. You have been jailed. And you have been beaten. You are my new heroes.
You have the strength of Yuri Petrovich Vlasov. You have the true heart of Russia. My dear Russian friends, may God bless you all.
(source)
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xoxoladyaz · 4 months
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Steddie Bigbang #177: Infernally Yours is HERE!
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Finally, after months of work I am SO HAPPY to start publishing my contribution to @steddiebang, a post-Season 3 AU in which Hopper doesn't go to Russia, the Byers family stays in Hawkins, and Steve Harrington finally agrees to play DnD with Hellfire. Chapters 1 and 2 are up today, chapters 3 and 4 will go up on the 9th, and the last two chapters (and the epilogue) will be posted on the 16th.
Here's the link to the story on Ao3 and a preview below :) I can't wait to see what you all think!
Listen. Steve Harrington knew that he had some sins to pay for, okay? He was kind of a stuck-up shit for most of high school and while he didn’t go out of his way to, like, ruin anybody’s day – cough, cough, Tommy Hagan – he also didn’t really reach out to anyone who needed help either. He’d led on a lot of girls before Nance, too, and if judging by the fact that the only girls he dated these days wanted a good time and not a long time, well, he had some work to do on the whole “relationship” and “finding everlasting love” front. But he’s done the work to be better! Granted, a lot of the work consisted of him getting beaten up and/or tortured by other people while protecting a group of unthankful little shitheads, but it’s still progress. And, not to brag, but he got Robin Buckley as a best friend out of the whole thing, so really, Steve Harrington’s not doing so bad on the whole “redemption” thing, thank you.
So why, why does the universe continue to torment him?
“ – and that’s when Lorcan Fairwood used Horde Breaker to fire into the pack of gnolls, dealing five points of damage to Kazar, the gnoll pack leader, and then Eddie said - ”
“Dingus,” Robin hissed, knocking her elbow into Steve’s and dislodging him from his thoughts. “Get Dingus Junior to knock-it-off with this dork talk before I knock him into the recent returns.”
Groaning, Steve rubbed his palms against his dry eyes and braced for impact. “We got it, Henderson, Munson’s the best thing to ever happen to Dorks and Demons - ”
“ – Dungeons and Dragons, Steve, I know that you know that’s what it’s called - ”
“ – and as much as I like hanging out with you, dude, these multi-hour play-by-plays aren’t convincing me that this nerd shit is, like, fun or whatever,” he finished with a sigh. Robin shot him an exasperated but grateful look and then slid her newest stack of freshly rewound returns his way.
“Shelving time, doinkus.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolled his eyes and reached for the stack.
Dustin snorted and kicked at the front of his desk, which, the attitude on this kid, seriously. “Guess Eddie was right.” 
Steve froze. What the hell does that mean?
“What the hell does that mean?”
Dustin snorted again before spinning to face Steve, his hands falling to his hips. “Eddie said says that jocks only care about other jocks. And jock stuff.”
“Hey, okay, first of all, there’s only one of us that’s actually saved your life multiple times and it’s not Eddie Munson, so jot that down,” Steve snapped, dropping the tapes back onto the counter (and ignoring Robin’s yelp as they tumbled everywhere). “And second, just because we don’t have the same interests doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, man. That’s a shit thing to say.”
Henderson folded inward, his eyes dropping towards the ground and voice losing its normal intensity. “Sorry, Steve.”
“And third – look, Henderson,” Steve sighed at Dustin’s drooping. (Look, he was a little shithead with the biggest ego in every room, but he was Steve’s little shithead and he hated to see him upset – even when it was his own fault.) “Maybe it isn’t like, totally boring in the moment or whatever, but getting a two-hour play by play after your game every Saturday isn’t doing a whole lot to convince me, man.”
“Well,” Dustin perked up slightly and cleared his throat, “we’re always looking for new members - ”
“Nope, no way.”
“Steve,” Henderson’s whining was out in full force now, “it would be so much fun! You wouldn’t even have to do that much work; I could help you get started and - ”
“No.”
“ – seriously, I can make you a character sheet so fast, and our party could really use another fighter anyways - ”
“No, Henderson!”
“ – besides, we haven’t gotten to hang out with you as much now that school started, and you know that Will’s having a hard time because everyone keeps calling him ‘Zombie Boy’ and he would be so excited to have you playing with us - ”
Shit, he’s pulling out the Zombie Boy card. Shit, shit, shit.
“Henderson - ”
“ – and, you know, I totally believe you and everything but Mike is pretty convinced that you’re still an asshole, especially with everything Eddie’s said, and this could be your chance to prove him wrong!” Dustin finished emphatically, his chest puffing with exertion.
Steve shot an exasperated look over the top of the Horror section towards Robin, who was pouting in mock-agreement with Dustin.
Traitor.
Sighing, Steve shoved Friday the 13th onto the shelf and dropped his gaze towards Dustin. “One game.”
Dustin let out a loud whoop, hopping in place and punching wildly at the air. “YES!”
“Just one game, Henderson, that’s it.”
“I’LL TAKE IT!” Letting out an even louder victory cry, Dustin raced for the door. “I’m going to get working on your character sheet right now – Wednesday, 3:30 in the drama room,” Dustin said, whirling around to point at Steve. “You’ll be there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”
“YES! Don’t worry Steve, you won’t regret this!” Dustin beamed and then he was out the door, disappearing into the October sun.
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13atoms · 5 months
Text
Anthology (Count Orlo x Reader)
There's someone in court distracting Orlo from his daily duties, who loves the written word as much as he does. 1.5k, fluff, F!Reader
📚📚_
There were very few things in the palace as predictable as Count Orlo. He rose in the mornings, he ate when food was presented to him, and he completed his work on time. When Peter teased him, he did not rise, and when he made choices he followed the most pragmatic route which still offered some kindness.  
He could name each person at court, how they were related to each other. He often didn’t know who was sleeping with who, or when cruel words were passed between courtiers, but he knew the things which mattered.
In each part of his routine there were a hundred variables each day, and he could cope with all of them.
Except for you.
When you appeared in the library, or sat beside him at dinner, or smiled at him as he stood beside Peter and suddenly made his hands shake. It confounded him, that he would look for you in every room he entered. If you were behind him on the staircase, he would grow self-concious of the way he walked, the words he spoke, the way he held his papers.
Gradually, his steady routine had become decentred, until finally he was altering it with the hopes he might spend a little more time with you.
It was one of those evenings, where sleep was too far away and work was too much of a chore. He wandered the corridors, waited for some crisis which never seemed too far away.
At each wide-hipped skirt flitting around a doorway, his heart skipped  with the hope it might be you.
Finally Orlo settled in the library, hoping that if he could not read, he might find some solace wandering amongst the books. Hoping against hope that you would be there again.
He was so set upon his wallowing for the evening, that when you were there, he hardly noticed.
Orlo had closed the door behind him and wandered halfway across the room, before he heard your soft voice.
“Good evening.”
There had been precious little opportunity to speak in private before tonight, and now it was happening, Orlo had no idea what to do.
“Evening.”
You were sat at the oversized study table, which he recalled Peter ignoring lessons at when he was a child. Around you were a dozen chairs, the ghosts of academics which no longer existed in this part of Russia. He picked a book from the shelves blindly, and fumbled to smoothly pull a chair free of the part of the rug it had become stuck in.
You looked up at him, a few chairs down from the one he had chosen, and Orlo fumbled for words.
“Do you mind if I sit there?” he asked, suddenly struck by the fear he was intruding.
“Not at all,” you replied softly, “be my guest.”
In truth, Orlo realised he had little interest in the history volume he had picked up, and the moments passed interrupted only by the scratching of your pen. Long minutes stretched by, and yet he did not grow bored. Instead, Orlo found himself fixated on the thought of his body so close to yours in space.
Of what might be in your head, whether it might chime with what was in his.
“What are you writing?”
You looked up in confusion, your forearm curled around the page protectively, and he bit back an apology.
“Hm?”
“You’re writing, I assume? If it is not personal, of course.”
“Oh, no. It’s… it’s poetry. Nothing good, I’m afraid, I just… I admire a great many poets –”
“Me too!”
Orlo regretted his interruption at once, it had seemed like a wild thing, trapped in his chest and fighting to get out. You smiled at him, and he thought from the crinkling of your eyes it must be genuine, before continuing.
“Anyway, I just… I thought I would never know if I was any good at poetry if I never tried it.”
“That’s wonderful.”
You chuckled, and Orlo found himself smiling along for no reason he could name.
“How are you doing, then? Trying it?”
With a shrug, you gestured to the page in front of you, and Orlo could see you were halfway through a notebook.
“I’m doing okay. It’s a puzzle, but I enjoy it. Truly, it’s nothing special, but I find it settles my mind.”
“Incredible,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help wondering if he was teasing you.
“Do you write?”
“Poetry? No!”
Startled, Orlo stopped attempting to read what was on your page, and instead found himself staring at your face. A prospect which induced his heart to beat even faster.
 “Could I read anything of yours?”
It was impertinent to ask. He had predicted the hesitation on your face, anticipated the moment you could freeze and turn your face away from him as embarrassment burned at your cheeks.
It was worth it, though, for the moment he watched you stand and pull a book from the shelves opposite the table. It was smaller than all the others, without an ornate cover, and as you thumbed through the pages Orlo could see it was entirely handwritten as many of the older tomes in the library were.
“This is my favourite piece,” you offered, handing the open book to him.
Orlo thought he would melt to the floor, holding his breath as he read, and you watched with an intensity he had never seen from you amongst the frivolities of court.
“I wonder if you studied under Dante himself?” he finally commented.
Orlo was delighted at your response, the fear you might misunderstand him entirely gone.
“Actually, I wrote something closer to his tone – though obviously incomparable…”
 As you flitted through the pages, a furrow in your brow, Orlo could only stare.
The evening passed in moments of silence and moments of laughter after that moment. You were selective in the pages you showed him, glancing nervously if his fingers strayed to turn a page.
Yet you trusted him. You returned to your words as he read, and laughed in delight as he praised your work. You had moved a seat closer to him, and brought the candles around both of you, and if Orlo focused for long enough he imagined he could feel the heat of your body in the cool night.
When the night finally grew too late, you excused yourself with a sincere regret that made Orlo’s heart ache with hope. He took the book to his room, and devoured it cover to cover, in a way only someone with a true love of a poet can.
Between each piece he thought, trying to imagine where your mind had been as you wrote it.
The tone oscillated between love and loss and distress and simple joy, from piece to piece and stanza to stanza, and some hidden part of Orlo felt voyeuristic to have such a sudden insight into your inner life.
Each page was written with the tempo of good poetry, a few dozen meticulously penned words, followed by a flowing stanza of more rushed handwriting – as though you were desperate to get the words onto the page as inspiration struck.
When he finally fell asleep, it was with a jolt awake, as he carefully removed your book from where it had fallen atop his sheets and placed it on his bedside table.
*
When Orlo awoke, there was a sealed letter on his desk. It bore no other markings, not even his name – though once the page was snapped open the handwriting seemed as familiar as his own.
Time is curious, how it hangs around us
Languorous when it seems abundant, and short when it is scarce
An hour of joy lasts barely a blink,
A second of sorrow long enough to wrinkle crows feet.
Time is not told by the clock, but by the heart as it beats.
Orlo, my days here are often meandering,
Filled with banality,
Yet I find time flies, when you are near me.
Once Orlo had finished reading, he sat on the chaise by the door, and he read again. By the morning light streaming through the windows. In the privacy of his bed, curled up against the pillows, pulling the paper to his chest once he had read. Finally, he put the paper down and rushed to the door, only to return and read it again.
When he found you, it was at the breakfast hall, your meal long abandoned and your eyes firmly set upon the main doors. He had taken a shortcut, and watched you for so long he interrupted the servers and feared you would catch him staring as they swerved, swearing, around him.
It would be a decade before Orlo acted as a proxy to help you publish your first collection of poems, but his decision was made in that moment. Once your eyes met his, the time flew by.
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thefallennightmare · 11 months
Text
Soldiers-three
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credit to whoever made the gif, found on google/pinterest.
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader.
Warnings: angst, language, fluff, violence, smut.
Summary: Reader has spent the last seventy years in hell as a prisoner soldier; Hydra's greatest weapon. Well, second greatest weapon after The Winter Soldier. The only thing that got her through that hell was him, even if she was the one behind his biggest pain.
Authors Note: I think what I'm going to like most about writing this story is that I can write Bucky/Soldat a certain way that I like and how I imagine he would be if he had someone there with him during the most horrendous time of his life. Tags are open!
Tags(open): @elizacusi-blog @pattiemac1 @yvessaintmuerte @mdpplgtz03 @mayjaysthots @broadwaybabe18 @sebsgirl71479 @yourfavunsub @themorningsunshine @nikwld
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The busy night life of the small town was shining behind the curtains from the motel room where James and I were currently held up in. 
No, not James. 
Soldat. 
All this time later, I still had to correct myself on his name. Zola didn’t want James to remember any part of his past, afraid that it would confuse his weapon. 
I couldn’t stop the way my eyes rolled into the back of my head when he said that. He never saw James or I as people, simply a way to scare their enemies. Which was why we were here in this run down town in Russia to take care of one of Zola’s problems. Soldat and I did what we were told, us returning back to the motel a bit ago. 
I was positioned at the window, peaking through the curtain to make sure that no one had followed us back, while the large body sat at the edge of the bed behind me. 
“Voin.” 
The richness of his voice set my skin a blaze as I slowly turned towards him. I wished that I was able to tell him what my name was but knew that we both were ordered to only call each other by our soldier names. 
His eyes were so dark, glossed over while the strands of his hair fell into them. His hair had grown so much in the last few months along with his strength. Zola’s men worked tirelessly the last six months with Soldat, training and modeling him into the perfect prize. I was never allowed to sit in on these sessions, only being brought in to erase his memories if needed.
What started off as every day slowly became once a week until now, six months later, that I only needed to erase his memory when I thought he was remembering too much. The pain that erupted from his throat when my static shocked his brain had burned deep into my bones so I was thankful that it had been a while since I needed to do that. 
“Voin, are you alright?” 
Soldat’s voice brought me back and I gave him a small nod, still remaining in place. This was our first mission together and with what happened earlier, I knew that his mind had to be racing, his erratic heartbeat pounding loudly in my ears. 
“I’ll be fine,” I reassured him. “I’ve had worse things happen to me.” 
We were in a local mob’s laboratory looking for some kind of vial that Zola needed to perfect his serum, so if we ran into this scientist, we needed to kill him then steal whatever was in his safe. Everything went smoothly, the scientist going down without a hitch thanks to my powers while Soldat was taking care of the guards. One of them, however, slipped away and attacked me from behind. The image of me staring down the barrel of a gun was burned into my brain and I thought for half a second that I was about to die. Until Soldat snuck up behind him, snapping his neck in half. 
There was a look in his eyes that I had never seen before as he looked at the dead body that laid at his feet. The bright blue eyes of his were dark with hatred and it took a soft hand on his chest to bring him back to me, the darkness vanished in an instant. 
“I shouldn’t have let him get that close to you,” Soldat looked down at his hands, the metal fingers gripping tightly at his flesh.
My heart sank knowing that he thought it was normal, that he was born with it. He had no idea that he was forced to have it. 
I sighed while kneeling in front of him, still in my tact suit, and did my best to look into his eyes. There was no light behind them, almost as if he had no soul. 
With what he had been through, I couldn’t blame him.  
“It’s alright, Soldat. You were there. It all worked out,” I said. 
I gently brushed the hair out of his face, not wanting to scare him from my touch but he didn’t move, not even a flinch. 
Over the last six months, we had grown close, spending a lot of our free time together when we weren’t running our own solo missions. Soldat wouldn’t show his emotions at all, even around me, but he didn’t need to. His silent cues were enough. 
The soft brush of his hand as we walked past each other in the long halls of the compound, my name falling from his lips while he slept in the room next to me, and when his eyes would be looking for me in the training room. 
I wished that I was able to get to know James Barnes, not Soldat. So I took it upon myself to sneak into Zola’s office to retrieve his folder, staying up late one night reading everything I needed to know about him. 
He grew up in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, Captain America himself.  Soldat used to be a sergeant in the army, him and Steve being in the Howling Commandos. I remember them because they were taking out all of the Hydra bases during the war and succeeded when Steve flew the plane he and Johann were on straight into the ice. 
I thought I would have been upset when I found out about Johann’s death because of everything he had done for me but that was the exact reason why I felt relieved at his death. Yes, he did give me a place to stay when I needed it most but it was his idea that made me the way I am, this soldier, so I felt no ounce of hurt because of his death. 
What hurt me the most was that according to Soldat’s paperwork, he was killed in action when he fell from the train, the day Steve captured Zola. But Hydra knew what everyone else didn’t. The serum that was pumping in Soldat’s bloodstream is what kept him alive, surviving the fall. 
All of this happened only a few months ago and I did everything I could not to tell him about Steve or the fact that Soldat had a life outside of Hydra. 
“Voin.” 
I looked into his eyes and hummed; the sudden proximity made my heart flutter. His metal fingers tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and I closed my eyes at the touch. 
“I don’t know what I would have done if you got hurt,” he admitted with a hushed tone. 
“Soldat,” I cupped his cheek. “You need to stop dwelling on it, everything worked out the way it was supposed to. Please.” 
He reluctantly nodded but I didn’t remove my hand from his face, loving how the warmth radiated off of him even in this cold state. There had been this sexual tension between us for a while now and as much as I wanted to feel him I knew that he had to be the one to make the first move. Soldat had so many things done to him that he had no control or choice, the last thing I wanted was to make him more uncomfortable. 
But a little nudge wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Thank you for saving me,” I breathed over his lips. 
Soldat swallowed thickly as I laid a kiss upon his cheek and our eyes bore deep into each other for a few beats, our breaths getting caught in our throats. Lust clouded around us in a black form and I felt the magnetic pull from his lips drag me in with the want to know what he tasted like. 
“Voin.” 
The brokenness in his voice made me stumble on my knees a bit and realized that he had tears welling in the corners of his eyes. 
“Why can’t I remember anything?” His bottom lip trembled. 
“Oh, Soldat,” I sighed while spreading his legs apart, kneeling between them. 
I was ready to tell him everything, let him know about who he was before this, but both of our bodies stiffened when our ears perked up due to the loud footsteps running down the hallway. 
The door to our room busted open with a loud kick but both Soldat and I were quick to our feet, staring down the intruder that had kicked the door down. It was one of the men from the lab we raided and by the bewildered look in his eyes, he was here for revenge. 
“Where is it?” He demanded; gun clenched tightly in his hand. 
Soldat stepped forehead while flipping his knife between his fingers but my hand on his chest stopped him. 
I looked back to the man with my head tilted. “You’ve got a lot of balls showing up here.” 
He ignored me by cocking the gun. “I’m going to ask one more time. Where is it?” 
“Where’s what?” I shrugged. 
The bullet nearly missed me by a few millimeters and I stared at where it met the wall with fire in my eyes before the electricity sparked at my fingertips. I sliced the man in half with my gaze, anger radiating the sparks. 
“I’m going to assume that was an accident,” I seethed. 
Soldat gripped the knife tighter in his hands, still waiting for my cue. 
“I’m not afraid of the two of you; Zola’s monsters!” The man yelled. 
However, I saw the way his hand shook while holding the gun towards us and knew that he was lying. 
“Alright, I’m finished with this conversation,” I groaned before nodding towards Soldat. 
He wasted no time in throwing the knife towards the man, hitting directly into his heart. Just for added measure, I extended my fingers at him, the electric shocks shooting towards him and evaporating him to dust. 
“If he found where we are, it’s only a matter of time till someone else comes,” Soldat said. 
I nodded with a sigh and gave his flesh hand a squeeze. “Pull the bike around while I pack our things?” 
He agreed with a kiss to the back of my hand and my heart fluttered with the mundane action, not stopping to think what would happen to us when we got back to the compound. 
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haunthouse · 2 years
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hello! do you have any favorite poems about haunted houses?
i do!! here are a few i'm fond of:
how to draw a circle by joan tierney
[...] You've been building this house since you were born, just like your father. Just like your father, you will not live to see it finished. The house has been a nursery. The house has been a burial site. The house is swallowing bodies before the blood has dried. [...]
why are you haunted? a survey also by joan tierney
[ ...] This haunting is architectural. It is not about you. It is about where you are. There are bones in the foundation. This house is a graveyard. This house is a corpse. You are inside the corpse. That makes you the maggot. [...]
ash by tracy k smith
Strange house we must keep and fill. House that eats and pleads and kills. House on legs. House on fire. House infested With desire. Haunted house. Lonely house. House of trick and suck and shrug. Give-it-to-me house. I-need-you-baby house. House whose rooms are pooled with blood. [...]
the house by the railroad by emily berry (copying the whole poem here because i can't find it online anywhere & it's one of my favorites!)
This place? This place happens to be my only world. — Norman Bates, Psycho The house was an old ship moving under me. It sighed and sighed. Dear House, I aid, whoever lives here has neglected your hopes. The house looked down with its big round eye and I stared back, my face was pale as fire. I was a lantern, rising. I was the one right thing. This is her room, the house sighed. It was lonely. In a museum of mirrors and pedestals I walked and felt the decadent shape of an absent woman. She was so accounted for, and perfumed. Her Heavy womanliness was like a thump on the back of the neck. The house was full of wants and no one had come. I'd opened my arms and it leaned to me like a ghost that was tired of haunting. The house rocked itself and mourned. I laid my hand on the door. But it was too wicked. It hung my reflection on the wall. The house wanted me stripped, painted gold and put on a pedestal. It wanted my delicate hands. I climbed the stairs with my light. I rose the way a wave does, all gathered and graceful. A dirty symphony played in the attic. The house was full of tricks. House, where is she? I demanded, but the house had gone quiet. I ran downstairs. I began to know how it feels when something terrible happens. My kindness had made the house shiver. I began to fall. The only world was wrong. I was the highest wave now, I had taken everything into me and risen up and up. I went through the rooms in the dark. I thought I had found er. The moon lit her neat grey hair and I broke. Mother?
if i should come upon your house lonely in the west texas desert by natalie diaz
[...]
If you say to me, This is not your new house but I am your new home, 
I will enter the door of your throat, hang my last lariat in the hallway, 
build my altar of best books on your bedside table, turn the lamp on and off, on and off, on and off. 
I will lie down in you. Eat my meals at the red table of your heart. 
Each steaming bowl will be, Just right. I will eat it all up,
break all your chairs to pieces. If I try running off into the deep-purpling scrub brush, 
you will remind me, There is nowhere to go if you are already here [...]
healers by sophie collins (not a house, technically, but similar vibes. this poem kills me)
I encountered a scaffold outside the Holy Trinity Church in Vladimir, Russia. At first I didn’t notice her slumped against the side of the church —  she was pretty small for a scaffold, pretty un- assuming. Her safety mesh was torn in places and sun-bleached all over and threatened to dislodge due to a forceful wind that was typical of the season. She was shaking. She was fundamentally insecure. She told me that good foundations are essential and that the men who had put her together hadn’t taken advantage of the right opportunities. Now, each day, someone came by called her “unsafe” and also “a liability” then left, failing to initiate the dismantling process that yes would have been painful and slow, but kinder. [...]
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arinavah · 1 year
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hi arina! how are u doing? i've read your life update before about how you may not be able to do art stuffs due to life circumstances, seeing you open your shop now really brightens my heart! i'm also an artist in a kind of tough situation where i dont have much choice and might have to give up drawing or have difficulty continuing. im wondering how you got thru it? your art updates give me strength and hope! but if u dont feel like sharing, i totally understand. hoping you best and thank you!!
I'm sorry I'm answering this so late, talking about my current life always ruins my mood. (this will be a long whining post, I'm very upset right now so I need to speak out)
Probably we are in different situations, unlike you, drawing is the only thing I can do now. I've  mentioned here before that my grandma had a stroke this summer, my parents live in another city, they come here from time to time. Me and grandma live in Moscow, sooooo, generally, disabled grandma is MY responsibility most of the time. Even though she's making some slow progress in recovering, she's still mostly bed ridden, she can't take care of herself, she can't get up from the bed without help, she barely walks, etc., etc. So we can't leave her alone, and taking care about such helpless person, 24/7 IS HARD. She can wake us up several times at night to go to toilet or whatever, during the day she always wants something and we have to serve her, it really exhaustes me. (I half jokingly say that I unexpectedly became mother of 76 y.o. child, but I've always been child-free, so guess what I'm feeling right now)
Good news: I have some time to draw. To be honest drawing is the only sphere of my life I still can control, it's the only thing bringing me joy. And thankfully some people buy my merch so I can earn some money even in these circumstanses.
Bad news: I lost all freedom I'd had, I can't go anywhere without hiring nurse, I have much less time for work and drawing, I can't properly relax after long day, in fact I can NEVER relax, I can't meet with friends, I can't travel, I have to cancel work trips. Even simple mandane things became very difficult and even impossible because of all these restrictions. I can't find proper words to describe how those restrictions of my freedom make me depressed and devastated, right now my mental health is the worst it's ever been. I cry almost every day, I became hysterical and agressive, I hate my life so much, that the mere thought of spending the rest of my youth living my family's life, not MY OWN LIFE makes me want to kms. At the moment I control nothing in my life, I can't decide where to live, what to do, where to go, absolutely nothing. Probably I will never find a partner, because dating in these life contitions is impossible. Probably I will die alone without any love and friends. Maybe my only destiny is to take care of disabled person.
I'm trying to accept the fact that my life's ended, that I won't have any freedom and any new people around me till she passes away or till one of my parents will take full charge of taking care of her (it will happen in 5 years or so, they have work to finish in another city).
I spend my days solving my family's problems, my grandma's health problems, selling some merch to earn money and drawing some silly things just to ✨feel something✨.  So me being able to draw something in difficult circumstanses is not some heroic thing, I'm not overcoming myself to make art desprite everything, what I'm doing is just...escapism... I want to get lost in my little drawings or in little stories for some time to forget about everything bothering me. Honestly, I'm very happy that I haven't lost ability to draw after everything happened to me this year.
Guys.... sorry for whining, but 2022 ruined my mental state completely... Political situation (fucking Russia 💀💀💀), family situation, I just feel so much hatered for this world, for this universe where none of my dreams will ever come true, where I control nothing, where I have to live someone else's life, where I have no freedom, where I have to be silent, where I have to look at my government's crimes and be silent, where I can't  plan anything, where I can't love who I want (yesterday they accepted "lgbt propaganda" ban law), where I have to live the rest of my life in the country I hate, with a government I hate, isolated, lonely, constricted, attached to disabled person.
My parents keep telling me it's temporary, they don't want me to be a nurse for the rest of my life, everything is gonna be okay, they will solve everything. I don't believe them. Maybe I'm overdramatising, maybe if I get a therapy I'll feel better and less pessimistic about my future, but for now... I feel terrible. So, if drawing makes me feel a little bit better, then I'll continue to draw.
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lietpolski · 8 months
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The tags u left on that serbrus drawing are fascinating... Can you tell me more i want to study this dynamic on a petri dish
YEAH ofc !! i'm not the expert on those 2 but i do find the idea of them VERY entertaining <3 this will get long bc i'm insane
i think vuk's crush on ivan would've been a thing since the 1800s! and it was SO onesided even back then :,) so russia supported the serbs in their struggle for independence from the ottomans, right? this was nothing special for russia (they'd helped out other balkan states too), and they just did it because they wanted to weaken and defeat the ottomans. for serbia though this was huge! russian support played a central role in winning their independence, and i think vuk's the kind of person that doesn't forget it when someone does something nice for him
the next decades brought constant fighting with austria, during which vuk was 24/7 daydreaming about his only powerful ally, big hunk muscle daddy ivan <3 panslavism was ALL the rage (ivan wasn't nearly as into it as vuk was until ww1, i think that's part of where the idea of starstruck vuk who wants to be buddy buddy kissy kissy with russia and ivan being like uhhhh... comes from)
but when ww1 did happen, ivica came to the rescue daww. (overdramatic jokes aside, ivan DID like him, as a loyal ally & fellow orthodox slav, but more on that later.) so at the time vuk was all like <3 <3 <3 omggg my hero
relations soured when russia went on their big baddie commie era because yugoslavia thought they were cringe, but this changed during the 90's. russia was the only one to show support for serbia at the time (when no one else did including old allies) and so vuk was like 'ohhhh fineeee i can forgive him for his stalinist phase <3 i miss his dick anyway <3' and has been obsessed ever since
tldr a lot of this comes from vuk's main character syndrome where he thinks that the world revolves around him and everything that other people decide to do, they do because of how they feel about HIM, duh. & vuk being a prideful person who had no one else to turn to during multiple points in history, so he stuck to the one dude who WAS there like a little homosexual flea to a dog
he stalks ivan's instagram, has a helga from arnold-esque russia shrine in his bedroom and idolizes ivan (/has frequent dreams about having sex with him).
meanwhile ivan remembers to send vuk a happy easter card every year for that slay orthodox solidarity, and then forgets about him for another year because vuk's a huge pick-me girlie and it even weirds IVAN out a bit <3 his feelings are still overall warm but it's the difference in intensity that makes this dynamic very funny to me
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merenwenformulauno · 6 months
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the italian madness summer of 2021
It has come to my attention that while people may know of måneskin and zitti e buoni, they do not know of eurovision, the schemes, and the summer of italian victories.
ok so for people who don't know, eurovision is the gay olympics with singing and a lot of glitter. every country in the radio broadcast range of europe, whatever the fuck that means gets to compete. so for some reason it is europe and...israel (who are usually pretty good and send bops actually. they won in the 90s one time with Dana International's song Diva and Dana is trans so hell yeah. keep your opinions about israel out of my post) also Australia who are randomly let in after decades of people getting up in the middle of the night to watch eurovsion into the small hours. what. i don't know. they are mostly horrendous.
anyway, there are rules to eurovision and that is...you use it to heir political greievences. russia has been bood off stage in the past few years. ukraine won and couldn't host. if that happens one of the Big 5 have to host. (uk did it. glasgow was pissed it didn't get the nod over liverpool) The Big 5 basically pay for europe to have eurovision with their biggest fiancial contributions to the European Broadcasting Union and thus do not have to go through the knock out rounds mid week but go straight to the live finals. and this is important. the 5 are Italy, France, Germany, Spain and the UK. The thing is while the singers want to win...no COUNTRY ever wants to win Eurovision because it is a logistical pain in the arse and never makes a profit. So you see nations send acts hoping they will lose. Apart from San Marino (tiny place (on italy's arse) who once sent a local girl with FLO RIDA. and he wondered why they lost and they lost because 90% of the time it votes on politics. everyone hates the uk so they/we never get any votes unless the irish are feeling kind or spain gives us 1 for a laugh. this has previously annoyed the uk to the extent we got andrew lloyd fucking webber to write our entry and it still only got 4th luz. the eastern block is fascinating because in the 90s and early 00s they all gave each other the big 12 points. russia to ukraine. estonia to belarus ect. and then....then they stopped doing that and shit got real fucking interesting. everyone likes sweden because they always send a dance bop and they don't have beef with anyone so there is no reason NOT to give them points. where like, greece and turkey would rather nuke their own capitals than give each other points. the cypriot vote is always fascianting. people remember malta exists only at this point in time of the year.
the scandanavians are always a riot. they may send a viking ballad. they may send lordi. hi finland.
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but italy. italy don't try. another rule. songs in foreign languages don't tend to win because well...only sections of europe will understand them and when you're listening to 20 songs in an evening you need to stand out. you need a hook. or a gimmick. austria shocked the world when they won because again, austria exists?! when they send the bearded lady conchita wurst with rise like a phoenix which was both heartbreaking and they were a man in drag but at the time we thought she was a trans woman with a badass beard and there was tensions rising over homophobia in europe so good europeans (this is our gay olympics mind) went fuck you and had austria win.
ANYWAY, italy don't want to win. italy is balls deep in another financial crisis. italy is balls deep in another political crises. mussulini's fucking granddaughter is around being as nice as that sounds. they do not want attention. they do not want to win. what wins eurovision mostly? english songs with dance vibes. so they send... a rock band that sings in italian.
and while europe goes FUCK YES the italian cultural minister who is there is going oh fuck no. there were pics of them just looking dead in the eyes like 'how the fuck do i tell the pm these fuckers won'. they didn't even WIN their season on the italian xfactor. they were the favourites on the odds going in but the judges, who make up half the vote and are a panal of boring old farts experts from each country didn't like them and didn't score them well. the public overturned their votes.
The judges wanted France and their big ballad singing Barbara Pravi to win. italy overturned her lead from the judges by only 26 points. it is not abnormal to see countries win by hundreds of points. it went down to the final declaration. damiano reached down to pick up a glass they broke and got accused of doing coke off the table in a arena of thousands of people. it was fucking pandemonium.
bc now not only had the fuckers who used to busk on rome's streets won, now italy had to find the money to host eurovsion AND somehow take their winning group around the country. their country which was becoming more right wing politically by the second and had this queer rockband where the female bass player kept getting her tits out.
and then the football happened.
then the italian football (soccer) team who did not have really any big stars went and won the european championships and broke the souls of the english to the grand amusement of every scottish person alive, yes we know at least england qualified that isn't the point fuck off. but the thing is, england have won ONE tournament in the men's game in 1966 and have not shut the fuck up about it since. in the 90s they released a song called 'footballs coming home' inferring they were going to win. then the english WOMENS team DID win the european championships in 2022 which caused mass amusement at 'if a man says he is going to do something, ignore the cunt and do it yourself'. well done the lionesses ect.
but also, italy beat england in the final and the images omg. the english are understadably gutted but this image is TAME. i can't find the others but the italians were ready to strip on main and go balls deep. and then everyone used zitti e buoni as the theme song for any vids put together and it was beautiful
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Then because they don't have a lot of internationally renound broadcasters to host eurovision but he has been succesfful there the italians got MIKA to host in 2022 and because everyone's performances were so tame he went full FUCK THIS and had pink glitter fall from the ceiling while his piano was on fire. He also had a HUGE inflatable heart. And a SECOND piano. Because he is THAT bitch.
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And this all started because the Italians thought they could send an XFactor Italy act, fail, and carry on unnoticed. BITCHES YOU THOUGHT.
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thank you to everyone who made it to the end of professor sam's ramble.
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