#tovarich

[ladyolivier9]

#tovarich #vivien leigh #theatre #oliviers 106 #oliviers22 #ladyolivier9 #lady olivier

[oliviers106]

Vivien Leigh in Tovarich 🌹🌹🌹 & reading the critics 🌹🌹🌹

#vivien leigh #Tovarich

[alejandromogollo]

Remembering the legendary Claudette Colbert on her birthday ❤️ #claudettecolbert #ithappenedonenight #cleopatra #midnight #tovarich #oldhollywood #TCMParty #ClassicFilms #AlejandroMogolloArt https://www.instagram.com/p/Cidn04hsqam/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#claudettecolbert #ithappenedonenight #cleopatra #midnight #tovarich #oldhollywood #tcmparty #classicfilms #alejandromogolloart

[wujnl4bjuy40tn]

Tall Long Legged Jelena Jensen Pussy Fucks Hot Ryan Keely! Ass worship is a dream coming true for some beauties an men Mutual Masturbation, Orgasms And Stepson Cum On Tits And Hairy Pussy Of Stepmom المنيوكه شروق مسكت زبر محمد جوزها مص ونياكه فى بزازها وفشخ كسها وكيف كسمها ع الاخر Straight gay tube Excited To Be On The Baitbus Kevin Lieto Ruin Orgasm in chastity Cage MMDR18 Kangxi 12.00 - Hwasa Maria - Hdri City Day Stage 01 Fixed Cam 1333 dogy style mobile click බිරිදs සමග පසු පස ආර Asian babe massages her man with her soapy wet body Me la cojo a una nalgona

#plastidular #subcrest #tovarich #mindedness #nimbated #blood-raw #Kurten #ministerialist #herbivority #nullipore #batchers #well-constructed #jeopordizing #astonishments #sneaksby #bohor #provost-marshal #galiot #patriarchates #harmonical

[xbupmmri7s4n]

MC Pocahontas mais Gostosa do que Nunca MILF Teacher Sara Jay fuck student Piss blowjob gay porn gif Is it possible to be in enjoy with a family? Thick Ebony Slut Railed by Anaconda Black Dick Namoradinha tarada do anal, adora socadas de cacete duro no cuzinho Abrindo o cuzinho para mim Cum soaked mormon teen رقص شرقي ساخن NENA LINDA COLECCION TS selfsucker eats cum

#nondescribable #minutial #inherencies #shawled #coregonid #unmetaphorical #overfoolishly #reformation-proof #levellers #suppertime #calumnious #ponderers #plastidular #subcrest #tovarich #mindedness #nimbated #blood-raw #Kurten #ministerialist

[igotscaredandifartit]

ok well

#ultrakill #groo the wanderer #flying ship 1979 #shit[psot #el hombre siniestro and tovarich #yeahg

[childoferebus]

Tagged by @hurdygurdywizard

rules: put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs that come up and tag 10 people They didn’t say I couldn’t get silly with it :3 1. Ladybug by the Presidents of the United States of America: A silly little ditty about bug friends.  This song got some play on the radio back around 2009-2010 but I never hear it outside of my playlists now 2. Dread in my Heart by Mother Mother: Everyone’s favorite tumblr band, but I actually got MM from a mixtape a friend of mine made me a few years before they got big here. The Sticks is my favorite album by them. 3. P.S: Je t’aime by Christopher Willem: I took a year of French in college and I remember basically none of it but if I don’t have french music in my likes I’ll simply die. Low key dance track.

4. Cimmerian Shade by Sufjan Stevens and Angelo de Augustine: A really soft condemnation of the transphobia inherent in Silence of the Lambs sung from the point of view of Jame Gumb (Buffalo Bill). This is the only Sufjan album I’ve ever found at a thrift store and that delights me

5. Toxicity by System of a Down: if I say this is a classic nu metal track how many of you are going to come for my throat? Not my favorite SoaD but probably what I first heard that got me into them. 6. Destruction by Joywave: Normally I would link to the song for this one since it cuts out part of the intro but the video delights me. Is that a Zune?  Shame the part that they cut out is the Disney sample lol

7. This Too Shall Pass by Danny Schmidt: really excellent guitar work but a rather meandering song on my likes by virtue of catching me at the exact right time to gut me.

8. Coital Improv by Vendetta Red my problematic fav screamo band u_u These fuckers are Edgy as Fuck and until my latest every un I’ve used on this site has been a reference to them.  cw on this song particularly for nuclear annihilation and horrific childbirth

9. DotA (Radio Edit) by Basshunter: if the median age on this website was higher than 21 I’d be very embarrassed right now but instead I’m dating myself. A classic Swedish techno track about playing DotA.

10. My Type by Saint Motel: VERSTECKT HAS SPOKEN the last song is a bi anthem! This is the song I used for his tagline yesterday lol. The video is cute. I love when bands get nostalgic for decades other than the 80s I’m not sure who to tag because vi tagged everyone I’d normally tag lol let’s see. @hippywhippy @ink-fall-ing @hjarta @arcticbonobos @dontknowshitaboutnothing @bloodborne-on-pc @liarmonstersnappydresser @zooophagous and you two are already tagged by Vi but I’m out of deep cut mutuals so @astarlingdiscovery and @parrot-parent, you two are double tagged <3

#I didn't check to see if my Tovarich was double tagged lol #so they probably are too #music #ask games #On an iceberg meme of my music taste most of this is tier one #Except maybe Basshunter and Vendetta Red which is tier 2 for the true believers #But that's alright #If I busted out the truly weird stuff people would revolt #don't feel like you have to listen #but if you do the links go to youtube #like almost all of these have real music videos

[awlm3ornbhn]

Ed Powers Fucked Hot Asian Girl Doggie Style Brazzers - Hot cop Tyler Faith is looking for more than a hotdog GEMIDOS DILDO Latina MILF Swinger Babe Rough Sex Guy fucked by shemale Romanian Cam Slut Sucks Cock Slutty teacher Aliz gets ass fucked by student after class Fleshlight Tribute For Stephanie Fudendo cu de transex sem camisinha Jordi meets a stripper with a happy ending Fucking a blonde big boobed gal

#canto #Holladay #waif #intransitiveness #misliving #severalfold #Barna #dentagra #tovariches #self-sought #Desmomyaria #unslinking #Moina #neurilemmatic #lambish #demonographer #passionate #wirecutters #shalee #protopodial

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part One: Yield Strength (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

You can find more to read on my Main Masterlist! For readers under 18, please see the Light Masterlist which contains all-age-friendly works.

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @femefetalelevelingup @darsynia

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #fashion designer!reader #threadbare #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve x reader #steve rogers reader insert

[atonalginger]

Thank you for the tag and reminder @therealgchu!

I have something (sort of) different for today: a snippet of my Rokov fic! This isn't as spicy like the little sneak peeks I've been sharing in the discord but there is a brief mention of nudity so you've been warned. pg-13 here atm the fic itself will be explicit.

anyway...

---

“So how conservative is the TPS?” Bella asked from the small bathroom as she adjusted her long dark golden brown wig. It made her look like her tia Maria and reminded her that many on her mother’s side said she looked like a blonde version of her abuela when she was young. She bit her lip and got to work tacking the wig down.

“Depends on the guest,” Rokov said from his small desk, “members come from all sorts of backgrounds, the common thread between them all is their love for tax write-offs.”

“Well that should make things easier,” Bella mused as she stepped back, flipping her hair back and looking over her make-up, checking her teeth, searching for anything out of place.

“How do you figure?” Rokov asked.

Bella came out of the bathroom, pulling the belt of the robe she’d slipped into before doing her makeup and installing her wig, exposing her bare midriff and cleavage, “you said I’d need to work the floor for gossip on Dumbrosky? Easier to get people to open up when they’re distracted, don’t you think, tovarich?”

Rokov let out a deep, husky laugh, trying his best to hold her gaze but she could see him struggling, “I couldn’t agree more.”

She leaned over to pull a dress from her bag, the robe falling open and exposing her breasts. She heard him let out a loud breath and his chair squeaked as he turned to the side, “you aren’t shy, are you?”

“Shy doesn’t get you far in the kind of work I do,” Bella said without looking up, “am I bothering you, captain?”

“Did that sound like complaining?” he asked.

She looked up and saw him appearing to look through paperwork on a tablet but she could see her reflection in the glass. She smirked and flipped the bird in his direction, just in front of her breasts.

Another husky laugh rumbled out of him, “okay, you caught me,” he turned back around to face her fully, “happy?”

“Da,” she shook out the slinky red number she’ll pulled from her bag, letting the robe fall off her shoulders. She glanced over at the captain to see him more admiring her face than oogling her body like she’d expected. She continued speaking using a subtle Russian accent, “if I didn’t want your attention, I would have had you wait outside.”

“That so?” he said softly.

Bella let the robe drop to the floor and pulled on the red dress, hooking the neck strap and smoothing the silky fabric, adjusting the neckline to properly cover her chest and untwisting the skirt. She was so busy getting everything situated she didn’t notice the captain had stood up, or was now standing in front of her.

“You are certainly going to get attention in that,” he lifted her chin, “you sure that’s safe?”

“For now,” she winked, “when it comes time to get the goods no one will realize it was Yeva.”

“So what’s the plan, tovarich?” he asked, his finger rubbing under her chin before letting go.

Bella started to pack everything back into her bag, “Tonight is the big opening night, right?”

“Da.”

“I’ll mingle, get a feel for the guests, the hosts of the event, and Dumbrosky. Find out when the award is given away so we can plan around that. I assume that will be a few days in so we’ll have time.”

“You’d be right,” He picked up her bag and carried it to the bathroom so she could load her tools and makeup case inside, “award ceremony is later this week. When you get on the main floor I can direct you toward the one managing the event.” He zipped the bag closed and added in a sarcastic tone, “she’s a delightful woman.”

“Fun,” Bella said with a bounce of her brows, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Let’s get you to the docking bay so you can get checked in,” Rokov said, his eyes taking Bella in again, “then the fun can start.”

#starfield #starfield fanfiction #crimson fleet #atonalginger writes #wip wednesday #starfield spoilers #Evgeny Rokov #Bella Cherise #the coemancer crew #This Rokov fic is taking long to finish because He and Bella have a lot to do...*wink wink*

[oliviers106]

Vivien Leigh in Tovarich 🌹

Vivien Leigh Circle on Instagram.

#vivien leigh #tovarich

[vintagestagehotties]

Hot Vintage Stage Actress Round 1

Vivien Leigh: Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream (1937 Old Vic); Juliet in Romeo and Juliet (1940 Broadway); Sabina in The Skin of Our Teeth (1945 West End); Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire (1949 West End); Grand Duchess Tatania I in Tovarich (1963 Broadway)

Bidu Sayão: Juliette in Roméo et Juliette (1931 Paris); Manon Lescaut in Manon (1937 Met); Violetta Valéry in La Traviata (1937 Met)

Propaganda under the cut

Vivien Leigh:

It killlllssss me that she was never offered the title of Dame. In my head and heart she will always be Dame Vivien Leigh

Bidu Sayão:

#vintagestagehotties #vintagestagepoll #vintage tournament #vintage poll #vivien leigh #bidu sayão #bidu sayao #ladies round 1 #vintage ladies

[profesor-javaloyes]

Ба́ре деру́тся - у холо́пов чубы́ треща́т"

Uno de los mayores misterios (nunca antes citado) sobre la historia de The Beatles es su empeño en volver a Rusia tras una experiencia pretérita que los marcó. Y tal era su obsesión que hasta James Paul McCartney compuso una canción llamada "Back in the URSS" que firmó junto a su compañero John Winston Lennon.

En enero de 1905 el viejo Profesor Javaloyes había acompañado a los chicos a San Petersburgo en su busca de inspiración (y de frío, que ya son ganas). Nos alojamos en casa de un antiguo alumno mío, el pope Gapón, un sacerdote metido a revolucionario y con fama (posterior) de chivato y confidente de la policia política. El hombre, haciendo gala de la antigua hospitalidad rusa nos invitó a acompañarle a conocer la ciudad, a lo que nosotros gustosamente accedimos. Lo que no imaginábamos es que el pope Gapón nos iba a meter de lleno en una manifestación obrera pacífica que él mismo dirigía ese día hacia el palacio imperial

La manifestación partía de la tradición rusa de protestas, es decir, de apelar al zar, considerado como “padrecito” del pueblo y supuestamente desconocedor de las desdichas de su pueblo. Así que en esas nos vimos, avanzamos pacíficamente pero Nicolás II (el padrecito) no se encontraba en el palacio; había huido valientemente. Las tropas (muy mesuradas ellas igual que cuando se ponen a beber vodka) dispararon contra los manifestantes provocando centenares de muertos y heridos, en lo que se conoce como el Domingo Sangriento.

De allí salimos y escapamos por los pelos (los de sus cabezas y los de mi barba) nunca mejor dicho. The Beatles corriendo en zigzag y el viejo Profesor Javaloyes, quieto como una estatua y haciéndose el sueco en Rusia.

Aquí ofrezo el documento histórico que lo demuestra y que ha sido ocultado hasta este momento por problemas de todo tipo con la casa discográfica. Pero esa es otra (auténtica) historia.

Na zdorovie tovarich!

#the beatles #revolución #profesor javaloyes

[norashelley]

The autograph hounds got busy during an intermission of Tovarich. Claudette Colbert, here with  her mother, is one star who never refuses and autograph seeker's request.

#old hollywood #classic film #a #Claudette Colbert

[sadistpet]

"Tovarich Raikov. How did you get your hands on these remarkably-polished black leather boots? They are exquisite." Yes. This is Alexander admiring his fashion sense.

the major almost fails - refuses - to deign his comrade a response. idle chatter, as much as he enjoyed initiating it, was never fitting coming from the mouths of those beneath him, and particularly not when they attempted to rope the swanlike soldier into speaking with them. it’s only the compliment that makes him raise his head. typical, really; his ears were pointed for any mention of his own name, for compliments, insults. he blinks up at the other man from his comfortably lazy resting position on the couch, fingers pressed into the soft fat of his cheek as he rests his head against them, arm propped on the back of the seat. an intentional pause, a mindless expression, conjuring the sound of gummed-up gears gradually beginning to click into motion, before he smiles.

" they’re really are, aren’t they ? " he gloats with a shameless grin, slender legs outstretched, one thrown idly over the other. " very expensive. imported. the colonel got them for me, since i've been doing such a good job, and i’m, hm… " a pause for lips to be pursed and bitten. " under orders not to ruin them. "

the major and the colonel's affections for one another were hardly unnoticeable, despite their feeble attempts to mask their relationship. ( the lights flickering throughout the base due to their activities was always a dead giveaway. ) though there was something tantalising about these subtle displays of affection, about wearing garments tailored for him. surely everybody noticed when ivan wore clothing that was markedly different, unique, and far too lavish to be worn in a military base. and he thrived on it.

sliding leather-wrapped fingers beneath the rim of his cap and into his hair, head leaning into his palm, far too weary looking for a man who had been doing nothing for the majority of the day. he regards the other with a hazy, half-lidded look. " don't expect me to tell you where he got them. they're bespoke. " the exaggerated rise and fall of broad shoulders accompanies the all-too-purposeful sigh. " you couldn't afford them, anyway. "

#HII HIIII HIIIII WAVES VIOLENTLY help me raikov is so mean for no reason like girl TAKE THE COMPLIMENT!!!!!!!!! #he said thank you for the compleyment <3 poor. #like act normal you little demon... smacks his head #g: ¦ ❝ in character. ❞ #g: ¦ ❝ answered. ❞ #pathopsychological

[theolikeworld]

23rd January 1954: British actors Ann Todd, Peter Cushing and Clive Morton rehearsing for their television revival of Jacques Deval's comedy 'Tovarich'.

#peter cushing #ann todd #clive morton