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siilvan · 6 months

Note

navi. we've talked enough about jealous!makarov. but what about jealous!petra?????🥹🤭 poor girl won't even know how to feel at that strange feeling on her chest when she sees him casually talking business with another woman, i wanna hear your thoughts🫡🤍

ohhhhh jealous!petra?? i haven’t even considered that… 🫢🩷

i think it’s probably easier to show, not tell… just pretend we’re a little further down the storyline 🤭 as always, this drabble is not indicative of what’s to come, it’s just based in the bloodsport-verse teehee

(and by drabble, i mean 1.6k... some jealousy with a happy ending and mildly spicy stuff BTC, enjoy <3)

мое небо/moye nebo – my heaven

you don't consider yourself a jealous person. sure, you've been jealous in the past, but who hasn't? it's a natural emotion, like anger, joy, sadness... there's no point in pretending like you never feel it.

except for right now.

you're eyeing the man of the hour from across the sizeable terrace, your back pressed against the pillar behind you as you watch him converse with a woman you faintly recognize. milena romanova. one of konni group's employers, stationed in vondel.

their words don't reach your ears due to the distance and the soldiers idly chatting nearby, but still, your gaze narrows at the pair. makarov is all business— standing tall, stone-faced, hands clasped neatly behind his back. romanova is far more relaxed, one hand on the railing and the other wrapped around the stem of her glass, the burgundy wine nearly spilling over the edge when she laughs at her own comment on something.

you should have expected a party to be lively. there's a healthy mixture of soldiers guarding the compound and government officials conversing with mercenaries, swapping stories and intel that you should be keeping an ear out for.

no, no. none of that catches your attention the way they do.

makarov's expression shifts, a hint of a smile showing on his face for a moment, before it drops again. romanova seems to catch it almost as quickly as you do, because her hand leaves the railing to gesture while she says something along the lines of, "i knew it."

"for special forces, you are not very subtle." a voice perks up from your side. you jolt, letting out a sharp gasp before turning to the person next to you. warden stares back from behind her mask, her head cocked to the side.

you shake your head, looking away from her again. "i have no idea what you're talking about, garanina."

she hums, following your gaze back to the pair. you both watch as makarov moves, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back against the railing. he's facing you, with his head turned to focus on the woman he's talking to.

an unwelcomed feeling blooms deep in the pit of your stomach, a cold burn that has your eyes narrowing and brows knitting together. on any other day, you'd have no qualms about putting her in cuffs or delivering a bullet through her skull. she's the enemy as much as the man next to her is. however... you need to be on your best behavior.

there's a whisper in the back of your thoughts, a voice telling you that his attention should be on you. his eyes, on you. his smile, as rare as it is, directed at you.

"jealousy, is it?" warden asks, pulling a frustrated scoff from you.

"shouldn't you be doing something?" you mutter, dragging your gaze back to her. she shrugs, prompting you to continue. "well, you're wrong. it's not jealousy."

the stifled laugher is audible even through the thick fabric. "romanova is employed because she's loyal to commander makarov and the cause. he keeps you around despite your loyalties being to the opposite side." she lowers her voice, eyes crinkling behind the mask. "don't get cocky, but remember who he chooses to have here."

warden gives you a nod before stepping past you, heading elsewhere and leaving you alone once more. you blink at her as she disappears into the crowd, your head slowly dropping after you lose sight of her, eyeing a scuff on the floor several feet away.

that feeling climbs up your torso like a vine, winding around you from the inside and branching out to every corner of your body and mind. you lift a hand and hold your throat in a gentle grip, the air suddenly seeming heavy, the vines choking your lungs for every last drop of oxygen as the air itself tries to suffocate you. the thorns dig into your brain, piercing, displacing the reassurance and injecting it with pure poison; thoughts of them.

his hands on her, pressing her down into his bed, touching her, holding her, whispering words of praise, clothes abandoned in scattered piles on the floor, bodies flush, moving in perfect sync—

the cool feeling of leather practically tears you from the mental scene. a thumb presses into the spot below your lip as a finger hooks under your chin and forces your head to lift, meeting a pair of dark eyes, familiar, heat persisting within the pools of deep bistre.

it isn't until another hand is placed on your shoulder that you take in a breath, slow and ragged, and realize how you must have looked. your heart is pounding against your ribcage, throat sore from breathing so rapidly, your chest painfully tight.

makarov says nothing as he stares you down, his expression unreadable as always, making you stiffen and fight the urge to shrink under his scrutiny.

"come," he murmurs, barely audible over the voices of the partygoers and soldiers all around you, as he releases your chin and guides you to walk alongside him, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of your back.

you keep your gaze low, focusing on the comforting warmth – too comforting, your rational side insists – that his touch brings, creeping up your spine and chasing away the cold that built its home inside of you. makarov marches you towards an interior door, his hand shifting again as his arm circles around your waist and tucks you into his side, the crowds you're passing through dispersing as soon as they see him approach.

there is some sick sense of pride that swells in your chest, replacing the heavy weight that sat there moments ago as people glance in your direction. it's like he's parading you around, holding you close in a public declaration.

that is, until you reach the door and he pushes it open, ushering you inside. he lets go of you once you're past the threshold and closes the door behind himself; you perk up when you hear the lock click softly, your gaze flitting to him in the dimly-lit parlor room.

"what happened?" he asks, breaking the silence.

you lean against the wall and huff, still shaking off the adrenaline that found its way into your veins. "nothing. just got overwhelmed, i guess."

he moves to stand in front of you, trapping you in your spot. "you're lying. tell me the truth." he mutters, jaw tensing.

"it's nothing, really," you pause, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. you miss the way his eyes carefully track the movement, nerves setting in as you try to search for a believable lie. "any of those people would have killed me if they caught wind of who i am and i freaked out, that's all—"

"petra." he says, succinct.

"i was jealous, okay?" the words escape before you can stop yourself, tumbling out so quickly that you flinch at it. even makarov is struck by the admission, brows lifting for just a moment. "i saw you talking to that woman, clearly having a good time, and i got fucking jealous. happy now?" you continue, the truth continuing to spill out like water after the splintering dam finally breaks.

you two stand there for what feels like minutes, locked in a staring contest that neither person is willing to break. you're not sure what's worse: the embarrassment setting your skin ablaze, or the lack of response.

you try to work up the courage to speak, to cut the tension in the air, but you're left speechless. you don't dare to move, even when the sound of gloves being pulled off and tossed aside reaches your ears.

there's no hesitation in the way makarov closes the distance between you, his mouth crashing onto yours as his hands fly to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. the shock that courses through you lasts only a second before your arms are looping around his neck, a noise that's as much a soft breath as it is a groan escaping him when you respond in kind.

the kiss is a mix of teeth and tongue, desperate and hungry as his hands roam, one coming up to cup your face as his thumb caresses your skin in an uncharacteristically gentle act, the other smoothly gliding past the hem of your shirt and flattening against the curve of your back.

skin on skin for the first time.

blunt nails dig crescent-shaped marks into your skin when your fingers skim down his chest, sliding under his suit jacket and toying with the buttons holding his dress shirt closed. the subtle reaction is all the motivation you need— you pop the bottom button open and keen when he presses himself closer to you. you move up the line painstakingly slow, smiling into the kiss when you graze his skin and feel him tense up under your touch.

your fingers immediately go to explore his newly-exposed skin as soon as the final button is undone, nails lightly scraping along the ridges of his abs and forcing a small shiver down his spine.

he tears himself away shortly thereafter, leaving you breathless as a needy whine passes your swollen lips, earning a low chuckle in reply.

"does that answer your question?" he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours after they flutter open again.

"what question?" you mumble, feeling dizzy, the only thing keeping your head from spinning being his skin on yours.

makarov indulges you when you send him a pleading look, pressing his lips to yours again, softer this time. it doesn't last long before he's separating just enough to whisper something into the kiss.

"no one compares to you, мое небо."

#did you know i wouldn't be able to resist replying with a drabble?#was this a power play?#if so... thank you. i love having excuses to write more between chapters 😭#makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #<- might as well tag this properly LMAO #sylph.writes #sylph.replies

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siilvan · 6 months

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IT'S GIVING JEALOUS-IN DENIAL-GRUMPY-SIMP!MAKAROV I- im crying

oh god i've never seen that first pic, the way he's leaned back and sorta manspreading… good lord i need him in ways disastrous to feminism. till he forgets his tragic past. gonna make him forget he wants to take over the world, save humanity frfr

*ahem* this, uh… i'm not responsible for this drabble, loosely bloodsport-based but more or less just simping, enjoy bestie 🤭

(little bit of suggestiveness BTC, y'all have been hungry for him anyway <3)

ангел – angel (pronounced as written, with a hard 'g' lol)

мое небо/moye nebo – my heaven

he is not a man often annoyed by the "small things" but this, this sight has his blood boiling beneath his skin.

you're standing across the room, about fifteen paces away, chatting with one of his captains. a loyal soldier and a fine field commander, often successful when fulfilling his orders, and makarov's willing to admit: not an unattractive man by most standards. the captain is allowed to walk behind him for a reason, he's pleased with his work.

but, he is just a captain. he holds only a sliver of the power that makarov holds. of the people in the room, he is a mere ant, something that he could crush under his boot in a fit of rage and the only quarrel would be disposing of the body. why are you so interested in him? are you not drawn in to the strength, the pride, the influence that makarov has?

he shifts in his seat, leaning forward and letting his eyes narrow at the sight. your back is to him, but the captain— oh, the captain knows very well what the look makarov sends his way means.

you've encroached on my territory.

makarov doesn't hear the next words quickly stuttered out by the man, but it's shortly after that he nods in farewell and darts out of the room. like a child being scolded; the smile that pulls at the edge of his lips gives away his feeling of cruel satisfaction. no matter how esteemed any of his men may be, he stands alone at the top.

you blink at the door after the captain darts out before visibly shrugging and shaking your head. you turn around, eyes immediately finding his, and some unfamiliar sensation tugs at makarov's heart when he catches the glimmer of familiarity in your gaze.

he shifts again, leaning back into a more relaxed position. with your attention on him once more, he can allow his shoulders to drop, his rigid posture to soften. just keep your eyes on him.

"let me guess – that excuse of 'i need to clean my knives' was actually meant to mean, 'my commander is glaring daggers at me?'" you ask, crossing the space in a leisurely stroll, far more collected than when you first arrived several weeks ago.

he chuckles, lifting a hand to signal to his soldier standing nearby. "warden, give us some space."

the masked woman's gaze flits between you two, before she responds with a single nod and a clipped "yes, commander." she marches out of the room and the door clicks shut behind her, leaving you standing alone in front of him.

"if he has time to chat, he has time to work." makarov says, his hips briefly lifting as he adjusts his position, head lolling back just slightly to look up at you.

"that's a shitty way to boost morale," you comment, mouth briefly twitching up into a bemused smile nonetheless. "why did you really send him away?"

he dismisses your question, shaking his head. "i suppose i shouldn't be surprised that a woman of your position is observant, should i?"

you smile, again, wider and longer this time. "no, you shouldn't." you mutter.

for a moment, you two are left in that position, locked in a stalemate of neither person wanting to make the next move. observing the other, attempting to read their thoughts through nothing but minimal body language. you shift your weight from one leg to the other, hands clasping in front of yourself as you tilt your head to the side slightly, barely noticeable.

your next move.

makarov says nothing more as he pats his knee, silently giving a command. it's not a question, not a request— there is no uncertainty in the action.

he catches the flash of hesitation that crosses your face, and in reply, he offers his hand. the red light cascading over the room could almost be mistaken for an omen, a sign of what is to come in the distant future as soon as you place your hand in his.

he pulls you forward, gently, urging you to close the distance yourself. take the final leap.

carefully, you step forward and place your legs on either side of his, knees pressing into the plush cushions of the sofa as you let your weight rest on his thighs. your free hand, originally awkwardly sitting at your side, comes to rest on his bicep before lightly skating up to clutch his shoulder, the crisp fabric of his suit soft under your touch.

he draws you closer still, arm moving to circle around your middle, bringing you forward until your chests are flush, your rapidly-beating heart a contrast to his own, thumping steadily as he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing an uncharacteristically chaste kiss against your skin.

"he is not worth your time, ангел." he murmurs, lowering your hand.

"and, you are?" you ask, brows lifting curiously with the question.

"by birth right, i am," he replies quickly, voice low but confident. he isn't hiding the confession, he's reserving it for your ears alone. "no matter how many men may catch your eye for a fleeting moment, no matter how many think they stand in front of me in the queue for your hand, i will always be at the front, even if i must eliminate the competition to do so. i was born superior, i alone am worthy of your grace, мое небо."

a small part of you wants to argue, to tell him no, he has to earn that privilege, but a far larger part of you keens at his words, at his hands on you, gloved fingertips dancing along your spine and digging into the plush of your hip.

"you seem awfully confident for a man silently begging to be touched." you mutter, a sharp exhale escaping you when his hand leaves your hip to slowly slide up your side, thumb trailing along your front and stopping just below the curve of your breast.

he chuckles, dropping to a gravelly whisper as his lips hover mere inches from yours, dark eyes boring into yours and rendering you immobile.

"kiss me, then." he says, unabashed. "please, ангел." he adds after a beat, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the darkness in his gaze gives way to hunger, like a beast eyeing prey, waiting for it to run so he can give chase.

you draw in a breath, metaphorically and physically swallowing down the hesitation that bubbles up again. he has you right where he wants you, caught in his trap, but as his hands push you down, his hips raising again to press right into your clothed core, you find that you suddenly don't care.

you practically fall into his embrace, cupping his jaw and pressing your lips to his, matching the predator in hunger; like a rabbit leaping on a wolf instead. his firm grip becomes almost painful as he tugs you impossibly closer, his hand coming up to the nape of your neck, holding you in place against him.

you should have expected him to take over, to reclaim his spot in control. the most makarov will ever do is share, which alone is an honor, but he will never completely give his control away.

you're falling deeper, watching the light fade as you burrow farther into the earth, further into the pitch blackness that is him. it's hard to care, nigh impossible to think about anything else when you're so far down the rabbit hole.

worry about his touch, his lips, the satisfied rumble in his chest when he practically purrs your name against your lips. everything else can wait.

#went a little crazy sorry #btw the only reason why i didn’t finish bloodsport last night #is because i was outlining a historical au for the series…#so even once bloodsport is finished.. there’s at least two spinoff/au fics planned currently #i make no promises but that’s where i’m at LMAO #sylph.replies #sylph.writes

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siilvan · 5 months

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just heard that a bunch of cod actors (including Julian) are pro Isreal life is ass !!

I knew there was some stuff with Nick Martineau/Horangi being pro-Israel (at the very least, focusing on the wrong issues and being willfully ignorant) and Maria Camargo initially posting some pro-Israel stuff (not sure where she stands now, iirc she reposted pro-Palestine stuff but my memory is shot), but I thought the others were better……..

I swear I saw Barry and Sam at least repost pro-Palestine stuff, even Julian and Neil strike some memories, but I may just be misremembering?? Bestie if you can tell me where you got the info, I’d appreciate it because wagh 😭😭

I don’t keep up with celebs for a reason… no matter how nice they seem, you never know who they are. There’s been countless celebs that have shocked me with their stances, COD actors included…

I think this is obvious atp, but for anyone wondering: This blog is firmly pro-Palestine. What’s going on is a humanitarian crisis, and just like how I won’t tolerate anti-semitism on here, I will not tolerate Zionism. If you’re pro-Isreal, kindly fuck off.

#sylph.replies

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siilvan · 6 months

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NAVI SEND HELP PLEASE *FOAMING AT THE MOUTH* 😭✨🤍

bestie……… i’m losing it, i’m gone, i’m whipping out the marriage papers and singing criminal by britney spears outside his cell in the gulag 😩

LORDDDDDDDDDD i know i haven’t mentioned his tattoos in bloodsport yet, but believe me… they WILL be shown off, it’s just so 🤭🤭 i know they’re prison tats but i just loveeeee men with tattoos 🤤

#don’t be shy yuli give us some close-ups #preferably of your tits— woah who said that??#sylph.replies

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siilvan · 6 months

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https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=DlCFgMHA2YQ

It seems like Makarov writes letters to his mom to let her know what he's doing, and now I can definitely see him in Bloodsport writing to her about Petra.

sorry for the late reply anon, ily </3

i've always headcanoned that makarov's close with his mom but having it confirmed— WRITING TO HER IN BLOODSPORT TOO I'M GONNA LOSE IT, YOU ABSOLUTE GENIUS 😭😭😭

*cracks knuckles* yeah okay. i'll bite and write a wee little drabble. mama's boy makarov time.

(not indicative of future events blah blah enjoy the super cheesy fluff, they're so domestic i'm gonna throw up)

an older woman cradles an envelope between her fingers, thumb fondly running over the familiar handwriting that adorns the front of it. handwriting that used to be scribbled alongside drawings in a distant past, letters that she remembers teaching a lifetime ago. a few are slightly smudged, indicative of the sender writing hastily.

that boy, she smiles, thinking to herself. always in such a rush.

she tears open the envelope and pulls the contents out – a letter, neatly folded in half. the woman unfolds it and reads it off to herself, the edges of her mouth twitching up in a warm smile.

"dear mom,

i know it has been quite some time since my last letter. my work has kept me very busy in these recent months, unfortunately. however, i come bearing good news: do you remember that matter that concerned you so greatly? i've taken care of it.

i can make no promises on this, but i believe you will like her."

excitement courses through the woman's veins, igniting a spark that she feared would wither away into nothing more than a pile of ash.

"my volodya... he's finally found someone."

makarov breathes out a soft sigh and drags his gaze away from the computer screen, rubbing at his tired eyes before they flit across the room. the door to his office is closed, a clear sign that he does not want to be bothered, but the other person in the room betrays that message.

you're sitting on the small sofa nearby, curled up under a throw blanket – that has lived on said sofa ever since you dragged it in over a week ago – and reading a book you stole off one of his shelves, a mug of tea resting on the table next to you. as always, when he glances your way, you don't notice, too engrossed in your reading material and too concerned with letting him work undisturbed.

he wouldn't mind a disturbance every now and then, so long as it's you pulling him away from his work.

you started this... routine, about two weeks ago. every time makarov disappears into his office intent on drawing up his next plans, you appear at his door and quietly let yourself inside before grabbing a book off his shelf – dostoevsky, today – and settling in on the sofa that was hardly touched before your arrival.

he would sooner die than admitting to it, but makarov had quickly grown fond of it. he would accept, if not anticipate, your sudden appearance whenever he sequestered himself to the room, his eyes constantly lifting from his work to the door until you showed up.

a knock pulls him from his thoughts, the two of you simultaneously dragging your focuses over to the source. a soldier steps through the door after he calls them in, clutching an envelope close to his chest as his eyes flit between the commander and yourself. he quickly crosses the room and hands the envelope to makarov before silently excusing himself with a nod, sending another your way as he practically scurried out of the room.

"he seemed to be in a rush." you comment, an airy chuckle escaping you as you bookmark your page and set the book down on the table.

"they often are," makarov mutters, immediately recognizing the handwriting after tearing the envelope open. "i don't particularly enjoy people lingering where they're not welcomed."

you hum, sitting up to sip on your tea as he unfolds the letter and reads it to himself.

"my volodya,

if you weren't so far away, i would be telling you to bring her by immediately. i still remember what you told me when you were so young – you would marry when you found your equal. although the search took longer than i would have liked... i trust you've found someone who i'll love as much as i love you.

promise me this: you will treat her even more preciously than the goals you pursue."

makarov's gaze lifts from the message, finding you, cradling your mug close to your face and letting the steam gently waft up in front of you. the faint smile that sits on your expression spreads to his own for just a moment, before he's placing the letter down and chuckling to himself.

"a bit early to be thinking about that..." he mutters, inhaling and exhaling slowly. that's a promise he can keep, at least.

his voice catches your attention, earning a curious sound. "what'd you say?" you ask, his eyes meeting yours as you lean back against the cushion, facing him.

"nothing important," he says, dismissing the question. you frown, a small pout you've taken to doing whenever he fails to provide answers to your seemingly endless list of inquiries, and furrow your brow. "don't give me that look. i'll kick you out of here, too." he adds in an irritated tone – a very unconvincing one.

you respond with a single, pointed laugh. "it's not nice to lie, vladimir. admit it or not, you enjoy the company." you immediately call his bluff, crossing your arms over your chest in a confident display. the two of you enter a staring contest for a few seconds, neither willing to back down, until he concedes with a barely-there shrug. anything but full agreement would be a lie.

"just don't push your luck, lieutenant."

#promise i'm working on chap 6 <3 #but enjoy this in the meantime lol #sylph.replies #sylph.writes

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siilvan · 7 months

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Someone posted on TikTok the bios of the new MW3 operators, including Vladmirs. You have to squint and pause the video a lot to read it, but here it is: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJcKKotP/

my actual hero, ilysm 🫶 i’m gonna go ahead and post makarov’s bio for anyone curious, since it’s hard to read in the vid lol:

“Vladimir Makarov was born before the fall of the Soviet Union in the suburbs of Moscow. As the son of a high-ranking politician within the Russian government, Makarov watched the Soviet Union crumble, taking his father with it. The bright-eyed, intelligent boy woke up one morning to his father’s hanging body. Makarov came to despise his father’s weakness, as well as the failures of the Soviet Union which had brought it about. He vowed not to make the same mistakes and so began his lifelong obsession.

In 1998, Makarov joined the Russian military at the age of 18. A natural soldier with a talent for strategy, his reputation turned sour when he joined forces with an unsanctioned rogue army to maintain control of Urzikstan. When the ULF rose and took back their home, Makarov experienced his first failure.

Recognizing traces of the Soviet Union’s failures once again, Makarov pleaded with his superiors to reclaim Urzikstan, disgusted by the national mockery the ULF had made of Russian power. But the Kremlin, who had not sanctioned the attack on Urzikstan to begin with, refused, stripping Makarov of all military honors. Seeking justice, Makarov joined the Konni group and plotted an attack against Verdansk to get Russia’s attention. Captured by Captain Price and Task Force 141, Makarov was handed to Russian authorities and sentenced to life in a maximum-security gulag.

Now a liberated man, Makarov plans to resume his operations against Urzikstan and its allies. Determined to redeem himself and Russia for its past failures, Makarov will only stop at the full reclamation or annihilation of Urzikstan; and if the Kremlin’s too cowardly to play their hand, he’ll gladly force it upon the rest of the world.”

…dude’s blaming urzikstan for his joint self esteem-daddy issues, damn 😭

i feel so… conflicted lol. obviously he’s an asshole, that doesn’t need to be restated a million times, but i do feel sympathy for him as a child. he never stood a chance at a “normal” life— he was born into those insane beliefs. as an adult, he’s the only one to blame for still holding those beliefs, but it’s pretty clear that his child-mind created a link between the soviet union falling and his father dying; ergo, if he can fix the cause, he can “fix” the death. i get that.

OG makarov and reboot are both referenced as obsessive and compulsive… “developed severe OCD after his father’s death” anyone? no? i’m just projecting? understood. 🫡

i could go into far more detail about my thoughts on his backstory, but this is already a long-ass post, and i’m a little worried about looking like i’m sympathizing with him outside of the childhood trauma. like i said, he is at fault for his actions as an adult. he knows better. it’s a very interesting change from the original, though. this may just be me, but he almost seems… less intimidating? not in a bad way, i think they’ve made him feel more human and less like a caricature of evilness.

this is also 100% influencing how i write him in bloodsport lol. mmm, character analysis…

#shoutout to farah for once again causing a terrorist to rip out his hair #iconic behavior. i fucking love her for it #terrrorists cry themselves to sleep because her 🙏#sylph.replies

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siilvan · 6 months

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omg so i watched one of julian’s interview about makarov and he talked about how he pulled diff accents in one of the mw3 scenes. it got me thinking what if petra and makarov go undercover and makarov just pulls an american accent. petra just goes 🤨

i watched that interview live and loved that part 😭 for those who don’t know:

in the helicopter scene with mak and the 141, they intentionally had him pull three different accents while talking to the team: texan for shepherd, scottish for soap (which neil helped yuli with btw), and english for price. it was meant to show off mak’s skills with imitating and manipulating people (i think)

as for the bloodsport thought: LMAO just imagining makarov switching from his normal accent to american with zero warning 😭 petra’s sitting there trying to be professional, but she’s trembling from how hard she’s resisting the urge to laugh – going up to him like “eh?? 🤨🤨” afterwards as mak tries to brush it off 💀

#mak also speaks 4 languages so that’s fun #russian english and arabic are all canon #and yuli said mak knows spanish bc he knows spanish lol #sylph.replies

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siilvan · 5 months

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navi, mw3 reboot yuri is getting to me i fear…i see the vision now

you see the vision. i love him. my husband <3

#still peeved i can’t find his actor’s age #he’s just 43 to me #same age as makarov #it just feels right to me y’know. he FEELS 43 #sylph.replies

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siilvan · 6 months

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Say hi to makarovs mama : 3 https://youtu.be/DlCFgMHA2YQ?si=Cucan_Ge-bEzJYag

AAAAAAAA I GOT SENT THIS VID IN ANOTHER ASK 🥹 i love it so much, i haven’t replied to that ask yet because it sparked yet another bloodsport drabble!!! gonna be posting that drabble ASAP for the fluff enjoyers 🤭

i just wanna say— makarov is such a mama’s boy, especially after his dad passed. it’s canon to me and i refuse to accept otherwise 🤞

#sylph.replies

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siilvan · 7 months

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https://www.tiktok.com/@lexxiiiii__0/video/7287296853022919982?_r=1&_t=8gQAWU49HZh

Some of Vladimir's voice lines and him saying "quiet" and "perfection" have me all like 🤤🥵

oh great heavens… the thoughts i am having would get me sent to a convent… 🤤🤭

his "perfection" just scratched an itch i never knew i had… disregard, i know i love praise from him 😩 anon, you’re responsible for this drabble that i had no choice but to write while gnawing on the bars of my enclosure…

(we’re skipping ahead in the Bloodsport timeline for this babey)

makarov feels a twinge of something akin to pride at the sight of you, crouched low next to the open window, rifle carefully trained at the objective— one of the general’s top men, a prime target that would surely disrupt not only his plans, but those of shadow company and the one-four-one.

you don't seem to consider the latter consequences, your mind solely on ways to cripple the soon-to-be disgraced war hero. he's seen this laser sharp focus from you only once before; when you stood less than five paces from a corpse, blade in-hand, regarding his soldiers like they were mere children threatening you with prop weapons.

he likes it, this side of you.

"convoy's moving west," your voice, low and controlled, distracts him from his musings. "we'll lose sight of them soon. it's now or never." you continue, finger twitching against the trigger.

makarov hums, dragging his gaze to his own scope and examining the scene on the street below. "you have clearance. take the shot." he murmurs.

with a silent inhale that makes your chest puff out against your vest, a sight that tempts him from his peripherals, you squeeze the trigger. a single shot rings out before the target collapses to the ground. as the rest of the convoy falls into a panic, you withdraw and lower your weapon, eyes flitting from the scene to your companion.

"perfection." he mutters, turning to you with a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. the praise glimmers in your eyes despite your neutral expression, freely giving away your true reaction.

"me, or the kill?" you ask, attempting to flirt your way around the observation.

he pauses, letting your question sit in the air just long enough to make you squirm. slowly, he lowers his rifle to rest against the floor as he lifts a hand and brings it to you, his thumb and forefinger capturing your jaw in a gentle grip. he pulls you in, forcing you to place a hand on his outstretched arm to steady yourself while his lips hover dangerously close to yours. you let your eyes flutter shut and swallow at the feeling of his soft breaths mingling with yours, before his whispered reply is sighed against your lips.

"always you, my dear."

#i’ve never had my hand forced by an ask before #but i simply HAD to after hearing those lines #this isn’t indicative of anything happening in bloodsport btw this is just based in that universe lol #sylph.replies #sylph.writes #<- technically? eh whatever it’s my own tags lol

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