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nicohischierz · 3 months

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one in a million: luke hughes

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hischif you want to join the taglist let me know!!

he searched for you at every gathering, the saving grace and the only incentive he needed to attend anything.

the two of you would often hide away from the rest of the party. consumed in a world where it was just the two of you.

a world with no responsibilities and no comparisons.

luke understood you and you understood him.

“i’m gonna miss this when i’m gone,” luke whispered.

you smiled up at him, snuggling further into his chest. luke was your calm during the storm. the one person who always put you first.

both of you wished everyday could be like this.

“so you’re going to jersey? straight after frozen four, win or lose?” you asked.

he nodded.

when the game was over, luke only searched for one person. he found you almost immediately. to him, you stood out in the sea of faces, wearing his ntdp jersey.

luke tried changing as fast as he could to meet you but the devils representative stopped him. "I'm sorry but they want you on the plane immediately," the guy explained.

"i need to see her," luke fought.

the guy shook his head. "i'm sorry kid," he ushered luke away, giving the boy a solemn look.

walking into the locker room, you noticed the sour looks on everyone's faces. but at this point, you were only looking for one face and he didn't appear to be there.

erik portillo saw you first.

he initially came to tell you he was signing with the kings but when he saw your frantic nature, he knew he had to tell you about luke's departure.

the tall swede ushered you outside, making sure you were away from the media commotion before whispering "he left sötis,".

you almost let out a laugh before looking at erik. "that's not funny erik, where is he?" you asked.

erik's eyes were a giveaway that he truly wasn't lying. luke had left without so much as a goodbye.

your breathe was shaky as you looked around the hallway, tears filling up your eyes once again.

once you were back in your hotel room, you did what any sane person would do. you texted luke, telling him what a coward he was for leaving you like that.

lukie pookie: call me

that text alone sent you into a spiral.

obviously, you didn't call him. he was the one who left without saying a word so he should be the one to pay for the pain he caused you. a pain that rivalled what you felt with the pressures of the world.

it was obvious to everyone who knew you and luke that something was going on.

the once energetic duo, now barely had the energy to say hello.

after luke left the others started to leave one by one.

nolan joined a team in russia.

the seniors said their last goodbyes before going off.

mackie signed with the panthers.

and when erik left you felt as if things were changing too fast.

you followed the swedish boy to california and stayed with him until you wrapped your mind around what was going on.

alex turcotte was shocked to see you when he arrived to training one morning. well, he was shocked to see the shell of the girl he once knew. the chicago native immediately texted jack that you were in california and asked what happened.

“sötis, you can’t hide here forever.” erik prompted. he was currently trying to find flights for the two of you back to michigan so that you could spend summer with your family.

you ignored him and ate your soup dumplings. “i’ll pay the rent cost while i’m here erik. please don’t make me go back,” you begged.

but alas, erik had enlisted the help of alex who had brought trevor along with him. both older boys had their bags packed and tickets in hand as they reached the apartment.

“listen y/n/n, we’re not taking no for an answer. now either you pack your things and follow us or we pack for you and you get stuck with whatever we choose,” trevor gave the ultimatum.

rolling your eyes, you walked into your room as the three boys followed. they smiled as they watched you pack, happy that their slight threat worked.

erik drove the three of you to the airport and gave you one big hug before whispering “stay there for two weeks and if you don’t like it, i’ll buy you a ticket to sweden,”

you nodded. now you just had to get through two weeks and complain that it was a horrible experience.

“but you’re not allowed to make yourself hate the trip,” erik added. you hated how well he knew you.

that’s how you found yourself waiting for jack to pick you, trevor and alex from the airport.

jack ignored his two best friends as he ran over to you. engulfing you in a hug, spinning you around. “i missed you squish!” he exclaimed.

you smiled into jack’s shoulder. “i missed you too rowdy,” the middle hughes held onto you a little longer before greeting his friends.

the car ride to the lake house was silent in your part as you furiously texted erik about your dislike for his plans.

upon reaching the house, you were greeted by your fellow michigan classmates. they all yelled in delight at your presence and swarmed you into a hug.

“we thought we lost you to sweden!” dylan exclaimed, his arm around your shoulder.

you chuckled and looked to alex and trevor. the two boys wearing cheeky grins as they grabbed you bags. “well if it weren’t for these two i might’ve gone with erik,” you answered.

luke looked from a distance. pain and hurt in his eyes as he watched you interact with your friends and his family.

once everyone was done greeting you, you looked up at luke and smiled. the boy smiling back at you but no words exchanged.

you didn’t talk to luke until the boys first party.

just like every other party, you were hiding away on the roof. it didn't take long for luke to find you but once he did, he was glad.

the two of you sat in silence until you spoke up. "you didn't say goodbye," you murmured.

luke's heart broke as he heard your voice crack.

"they didn't let me bubbles. i wanted to come say bye to you but the guy said I needed to get on the plane. then my phone died and I didn't get any of your calls. when I tried to call you back it didn't go through," he ranted.

at this point, you were turned to luke. tears in both your eyes as you finally spoke about your feelings over the past two months.

"you're my best friend luke and we promised we'd be there for each other. you promised you'd never leave me and you didn't say goodbye," you raised your voice slightly.

more tears were streaming down your faces. your chest rose and sunk furiously as you tried to remain calm.

when luke didn't say anything more, you made your way back into the house. you glanced at him one more time before reaching his door.

"you weren't at my debut," he exclaimed.

you stilled and turned to him. "i was there luke. i bought the first available ticket to new jersey and the first ticket i could get my hands on for the game." you confessed.

luke's eyes softened. he ran over to you and brought you in for a hug. your face was nuzzled in his chest as both of you cried in each others arms.

"i don't want to lose you again bubbles," he whispered.

"you never lost me lukie,"

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nicohischierz writes

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polymoria · 7 months

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Hello!!!!!! I'm poly! I am a musician and DDR nerd from Russia. These few years have been hell on earth and I have experienced it all: war, anxiety, health problems, living or being on the street for days, passing out several times. Living through all this, I created a music album. We must live no matter what, all this doom and gloom should not kill our soul.

#musician #fantasy #soundcloud #bass #eternity #life #hope

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charliemwrites · 7 months

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Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression.

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

#my writing #fanfiction #john soap mactavish #reader fic #cod #writing prompts #demon!soap #soap x reader

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itsagrimm · 4 months

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What is a Russian Character and How to write them

As @sarapaprikas-blog and I were working on this post, we noticed a gap of knowledge and public perception that we want to address. Plenty of characters get labelled as Russian in media without necessarily being Russian. On the other hand the Archetypal ”Russian” character often does not mirror the realities of being Russian. We are to talk about that.

What is Russia?

Russia is a country. It is the largest country in the world with over 140 million inhabitants, stretching over 11 time zones. It is often seen as the successor state to the Soviet Union, which in itself was the successor state of the Russian Empire. The Soviet Union and Russia do not have the same borders or government. However, modern Russia draws a lot from its history as the largest and dominant part of the Soviet Union. Before the Soviet Union, the area was governed by the Russian Empire. The Russian Empire, as the name already indicates, was imperialist. The history as an Empire with massive expansion, colonies and conquering different people, is arguably the biggest reason why modern Russia is as big as it is today.

What is Russian?

There is a difference between the language Russian, the ethnicity Russian, and the nationality Russian. In English the difference can be made out only by context.

Who is Russian?

As aforementioned, there is a difference between Russian (Россиянин) meaning citizen of Russia, and ethnically Russian (Русские). The term Russian (Русские) usually refers to ethnicity, indicating a person who has Russian roots. Russian (Россиянин) implies Russian citizenship, regardless of ethnicity. Thus, a Russian can be someone with Russian citizenship, but not all Russian citizens are Russians in the ethnic sense. Also, not all ethnic Russians have Russian citizenship or live within Russia.

Ethnic-Russians are an East Slavic people. Obviously, they mainly live in Russia. But there are also large communities in Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Belarus, Latvia, Lithuania, and other countries. The traditional religion among Russians is Orthodox Christianity. The main language is Russian.

The country Russia is home to more than 190 ethnicities, including indigenous and autochthonous people, leading to a variety of languages, religions and practiced cultures. So, someone who holds a Russian citizenship, has ethnic Russian heritage and / or speaks Russian, can look very different than the cliche Russian bond girl or evil-doer indicates. That also means that those who get labelled Russian can live very different lives. Writing a Russian character gives you a lot of room outside of the prevalent stereotyped depictions.

Who is not Russian?

Simple - those who say they are not Russian, are not Russian.

Who are Slavs? What is Slavic?

The slavic people are a variety of people, ethnically Russian people are part of that group. However, there are a lot of other ethnic groups that are Slavs without being Russian e.g. Poles, Sorbs, Czech, Ukrainians, and many more. Slavic is the corresponding adjective to Slavs. It is often used to describe the indo-Slavic language group. Slavic is also often used to describe the collectively perceived similarities of Slavic peoples' culture. However, that can be misleading and get’s often orientalised as not everything from Eastern-Europe or Russia is slavic.

Russian vocabulary Да - Yes Нет - No Привет - Hi Здравствуйте - Hello Как дела ? - How are you? Хорошо - Good Пожалуйста - Please Не за что - my pleasure До свидания - Goodbye Пока - bye Увидимся - See you later Хорошего дня - Have a nice day Простите - I'm sorry. (Plural or honoured addressee) Помогите, пожалуйста. - Help me please. (Plural or honoured addressee) Доброе утро - Good morning Доброй ночи - Good night. Добрый день - Good day / afternoon.

Pet names in Russian About pet names. They are either masculine of feminine . Please don't use words like darling, kitten, baby, pretty, sweetie, little one, little fox, etc. as they sound really strange in translation to native speakers. Pet names are common for close ones (family, close friends, spouses). Sometimes primary school teachers call students by affectionate names. Also sweet old lady may call you ( Дорогой/ Дорогая). But outside of that nobody calls each other by pet names, only using names because Russians are very reserved and private people in general. Gender neutral pet names: жизнь моя - my life солнце мое - my sun or my sunshine ты мое все - you my everything. лучик - sunray. мое сокровище - my treasure. мое золотце - my gold or sweetheart. моя любовь - my love. ты моя радость - you are my joy. ангелочек - Angel. прелесть моя - my precious.

Queerness and gender-neutral speech in Russian Being queer in Russia is hard as queers face oppression. Because of that, there is limited to no public discourse on how to adapt and diversify the language to include queer and especially non-binary identities. This is a problem as the Russian language is extremely gendered and expresses a gender binary in near default. While gender neutral pronouns in Russian exist, it's harder to use them in real life as the neutral pronoun “оно” is mostly associated with things or animals and not living humans, similar to the English “it”. Often words generally do not have gender neutral alternatives. However, one way we suggest for a more gender neutral speech is to avoid most explicit gendering as the flexible syntax in combination with using plural pronouns in Russian allow for more gender neutral speech. For Example: Я люблю их всем моих сердцем - I love them with all my heart. Расскажи мне о них! - Tell me about them. Дай им время- give them time. Я горжусь ими - I'm proud of them. Они сделает это сами - they do it themselves. Read more about queerness in Russia here: one two three four

Russian swearing In Russia, swearing is considered a sign of rudeness and poor manners. Use accordingly. Also, as mentioned here, Russian syntax and inflection are different from English. Meaning one word can be a whole sentence. We punctuated every swearing that is technically a whole sentence and therefore can stand on its own grammatically. Блять - fuck Пошел нахуй. - fuck you Хуй - dick Пизда - cunt Мы в пизде. - we are fucked / “We are stuck in the cunt.” Ебать - fuck Ахуел. - are you/they crazy?! Это пиздец. - this fucked up Мудак - asshole Завали ебало. - shut the fuck up Сука - bitch Черт - damn Непизди. - stop fucking lying. / Cut your bullshit. Пиздобол - Person who lies a lot/ Don't lie Мамку твою ебал. - i fucked your mom (mostly used by middle schoolers, here in grammatically masculine gender.) Заебись. - holy shit (could be bad or good depend on situation) ��охуй! - I don't fucking care. Навешать пиздюлей - to beat up someone. Срать тебе в рот - To crap in your mouth. Ты ебанулся. - Are you batshit crazy. Заебал. - I'm sick of you. Жопа - ass. Иди в баню. - soft version of Иди нахуй.

Explanation of the Russian Naming System & Patronyms

The Russian naming system consists of three main elements: first name, patronymic and last name. Name: This is the first name given to a child at birth. In Russia, the names are chosen by the parents or relatives of the child. Names can be both traditional (Alexander, Anna, Ekaterina) and modern (Sofia, Victoria, Yaroslav). Patronymic: this is the second name, which reflects the child's origin from his father. Some cultures in Russia also use the mothers name. The patronymic name among Russian people arose in the 10th - 11th centuries and was used infrequently at first, but became widespread around the 16th century. It is formed by adding the suffix "-ovich" or "-aries" to the father's name. For example, if the father's name is Ivan, then his child Ivan or Ivanna will be called Ivan Ivanovich or Ivanna Ivanovna. Last name: This is a family surname that is passed down from generation to generation. It is usually assigned at birth and does not change without special circumstances. Surnames can come from various sources, such as profession, place of residence, origin, or personal characteristics. As a result, a person's full name consists of a first name, a patronymic (if applicable) and a last name, for example: Ivan Ivanovich Petrov.

How to respectfully address a person in Russian. In Russian there are two ways to address someone. Using the polite you (Вы) amd using the formal you (Ты). The choice of mode depends on how well you know the other person and whether you are superior or inferior in terms of age and social position. If you know the person's first name you refer to them by first name and patronymic. For examples: Борис Юрьевич, Ваши рабочие отлично справились с ремонтом- Boris Yurievich, your workers did a great job with repairs. Adults never address a person by name, only by surname or patronymic unless the addressee gives permission to address them in an informal manner. Regulations of most military require their members address each other in formal you( Вы ); subordinates address commanders as товарищ (comrade) + rank , while higher ups address subordinates by military rank and surname. Example: [Colonel to Sgt. Sidorov] Сержант Сидоров, ко мне! Sergeant Sidorov, front and center! [sgt. Sidorov to colonel] По вашему приказанию прибыл, товарищ полковник! Reporting for duty [lit. arrived at your (pl.) request], comrade colonel! Military men sometimes use same forms of address, albeit in singular, in friendly conversation. Example: Сержант, дай сигарету. - Give (sing.) me a cigarette, Sarge. Military hierarchy in Russia You can find useful links here. One Two

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