Bob's House

The day of the date Rudi had arranged with Marisa and Akva came. As planned, they went to eat at Bob's House, the restaurant of Marisa's family. Rudi was their waiter that night, and once they were done ordering, Marisa began talking.

Marisa: Ok so like, my parents opened this place a few years before I was born, when they first arrived in this country back in the early 90s. But they weren't doing super well financially, so they tried rebranding when I was around five, and since our logo is a pineapple, I suggested we rename the place to Spongebob's House. Obviously, they couldn't name the place after Spongebob, so they shortened it to Bob, and so here we are. Akva: Ah, ok...By the way, who's that weird guy with the thick accent that's just bothering people for cigarettes? Marisa: Oh, that's Anatoly, but everyone calls him Tolya. He's a guy who moved to San Mysh from Russia at around the same time my parents also moved here. He's been hanging around since day one, except for that six months period where he went to prison and almost got deported. He offers people to pay for their meal in exchange of cigs, but these day less and less people smoke so it's getting harder. Akva: Uh, so we're just gonna skip the "went to jail for six months" part? Marisa: Yeah, got caught with some drugs on him. But he's an integral part of the restaurant and our life to the point he's even my godfather, so my parents really went to bat for him. I don't know all the details though, I couldn't have been older than 10 when this went down. Akva: I don't believe he's old enough to have been an adult in the 90s, my parents were teenagers back then and they don't look as young as him. Marisa: Oh, that' just because he used to be a vampire for a while, got bitten shortly after moving to San Myshuno. He actually liked being one, but 2-3 years ago he accepted to do a drug trial for an experimental cure when he was really desperate for money and it worked.

It seems like every sentence that came out of Marisa's mouth was always wilder than the last, and who knows what she could say now that Rudi had poured them both a glass of wine. As Akva was about to start talking about her life, they heard the sound of plates being broken coming from the first floor, and a woman yelling in Tagalog.

Marisa: That's my parents. They don't get along very well, but they also don't believe in divorce. This is all because of our oldest line cook, his name is Claude, the guy you saw walk in earlier with the big red sweater and long beard. But they don't fire him cause he's been there since the beginning and he's extremely good. Akva: What did he do? Marisa: My mom. Akva: OH! Marisa: Yeah, he's my actual dad. But we all pretend like it's not the case. Also, the guy with long curly hair is my older brother, his name is Dante. Who, as far as we know, is my "father" actual son.

Akva sat there, in awe of how much of a mess the life at Bob's House seems to be. To think the one thing she wanted for her next relationship was for it to be drama free compared to the first two. Well, maybe Marisa is great and all and not messy like everyone she knows...and to be fair, she said nothing about her brother, so he might be normal too...But damn, this seems to be too much. Well, at least, she probably can't get her pregnant or won't shoot her if she were to break up.

Akva: By the way, might sound prejudiced of me, but at first I thought Anatoly was also a line cook. I don't know why.

Prev - Next

Snowden Granted Russian Citizenship

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), Sept. 26, 2022.--Russian President Vladimir Putin, 69, embroiled in a bloody U.S. proxy war in Ukraine, granted Russian citizenship to 39-year-old “whistleblower” Edward Snowden, former employee of National Security Agency [NSA] contractor Hawaii-based Booz-Allen Hamilton.  Snowden, a computer programmer, copied classified government files proving that the NSA was spying on its citizens, fled from Hawaii in May 2013 to Hong Kong, eluding CIA officials who put an all-points-bulletin but failed to capture him before boarding a flight to Moscow.  Putin granted Snowden permanent Russian residency in 2022, with Russia’s sizable ex-pat U.S. community, where he was granted Russian citizenship today.  Whether Putin granted Snowden citizenship to spike the Biden White House is anyone’s guess.  Considered a fugitive by the U.S. government, there’s nothing the State Department can do now.

Snowden released thousands of government files showing that the National Security Agency [NSA] routinely spied on its citizens.  Pentagon Spokesman Ned Price said Snowden dumped of classified national security documents compromised U.S. national security and should return to the United States and face trial for violation the Espionage Act among other U.S. laws covering secret documents obtained by NSA contractor Booz Allen Hamilon.  Snowden’s answer came out of James Bond film, fleeing U.S. territory and making his way to Hong Kong before boarding a flight to Moscow in June 2013.   “Our position has not changed,” said State Department Spokesman Ned Price.  “Mr. Snowden should return to the United States where he should face justice as any other American citizens,” Price said, knowing that Snowed was gone for good.

Given the abysmal state of U.S.-Russian relations, worse today than anytime during the Cold War, Putin has no problem granting Snowden citizenship, anything to stick it to 79-year-old President Joe Biden.  Biden turned a border conflict with Ukraine and Moscow into a U.S. proxy war against the Russian Federation. Snowden asked 76-year-old President Donald Trump to pardon him under the April 10, 1989 Whistleblower Protection Act.  Many people disagree with the State Department view that Snowden violated the U.S. laws related to protection of classified information.  Can you imagine, Democrats want to charge Trump with violation the Espionage Act for keeping boxes of White House files in the locked basement of his Mar-a-Lago residence.  Before Trump left office, Snowden was not one who received a pardon.  Snowden will no doubt continue the pardon route when feasible.

Snowden’s case involved a passionate 29-year-old who had bounced around various government agencies, including Dell Computer and the CIA.  When exposed at Booz Allen Hamiliton to government spying programs, Snowden decided to copy classified government files under what he thought would be protected under the whistleblower statute.  Whether you see Snowden as an intel criminal violating his NSA contract with Booz Allen Hamilton or not, he claims he operated within his conscience reviewing government spying files.  “After two years of waiting and nearly 10 years of exile, a little stability will make a difference for my family,” Snowden tweeted Monday.  “ I pray for privacy for then—for all of us, including his American wife and two children.  Snowden’s attorney tried to arrest speculation that Snowden is now eligible for Putin’s new 300,000 draft.

Snowden’s attorney Anatoly Kucherena said Snowden was exempted from the call-up because he has no combat experience.  Men in Russia with combat experience can be called up until their 65th birthday. Snowden’s the most high-profile U.S. ex-pat discussed in the news since WNBA star Brittney Griner’s attempt to get out a Russian penal colony.  Price said the U.S. government is doing everything possible to pull off a prisoner swap to get Griner out a Russian jail.  But given the state of war between the White House and the Kremlin, Snowden has a better shot of getting a Russian passport than Griner does of getting out of Russian prison.  Snowden never got any reassurance from the State Department that he would not spend a good portion of his life in U.S. prison.  Russia offered Snowden a way out of his dilemma knowing he’s considered a criminal like Trump in most legal circles.

Snowden back in the news shows that the Justice Department’s case under the Espionage Act against Trump is worthless.  If they wanted to go after someone like Snowden they’d have a far better case, even though many people in the U.S. think that Snowden falls under the 1989 Whistleblower Protection Act.  Whether that’s debatable or not, he fled the U.S. in 2013 for a safe haven in Hong Kong and Moscow.  Now that he’s a new Russian citizen, the State Department can do nothing but whine about his situation.  When it comes to comparing Trump to Snowden, 70-year-old Atty. Gen. Merrick Garland, has an open-and-shut case. Trump did nothing to violate the Espionage Act worthy of criminal indictment.  When it came to Snowden, he outfoxed the U.S. government, eluding the vaunted CIA in Hong Kong, before fleeing to his safe have in the Russian Federation.

About the Author  

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

19? Because i'm evil and love your writing

19) “Show off.”

I read ‘evil’ and instantly thought of evil Matt so boom!

I’m so sorry this is garbage. (and that it took me forever yikes) I think i wrote it in like… an hour really? So probably loads of errors. Also forgive if the French is wrong. I did just get slightly hit by a car yesterday. ALSO! I’m gonna finish the other two messages tomorrow after work (so Sunday morning) or sometime Sunday afternoon.

Vladimir.

Buzz.

Vladimir.

Buzz.

Vladi-

“Whatdo you want at this time of the night?” Matt asks, frowning andfeeling his watch. It’s late but Matt still finds himself unable tosleep. So Vladimir calling is a welcome distraction.

Though,receiving calls from the Russian wasn’t an odd thing by any means forMatt. But getting a call from Vladimir at nearly half past three inthe morning is far more rare. Matt wonders for a moment if this hasanything to do with Anatoly or Fisk but then rolls his eyes whenVladimir says, “Found stupid tracksuit mafia in my garage.”

Mattrolled his eyes. “Well that sounds like a you problem.”

Ascoff from Vladimir. A very clear indication that the Russian was notin the mood for Matt’s sass and was growing quite agitated. Anothersign of his annoyance was the grunt of pain Matt heard from who hepresumed to be a member of the Tracksuit Draculas. He snickered as heheard Vladimir swear in Russian.

“Notin a good mood, cher?”

“Goto hell,” is Vladimir’s snappy response. A pause then the sound ofhim taking a breath, possibly to calm himself down then, “I need…help.”

“Doing?”

Athud noise and another yell, this one a stream of sentences inRussian that most definitely is not Vladimir’s voice. It takes all ofMatt’s self restraint to not snap at Vladimir to just answer him andinstead remain silent. And soon enough, after a few more curses fromboth the Russian Vladimir has captive and Vladimir, Vladimirresponds.

“Ihave small problem.” Vladimir gave a low hum and Matt can almostpicture Vladimir rubbing his chin in thought. “Three actually. Fourif you count the blood stains I need to get rid of.”

Asnort-laugh escaped Matt before he could stop it. “What did you do,you idiot?”

Vladimirscoffed and Matt could just barely hear a tinge of hurt in theRussian’s voice as he snapped back, “You are so rude, mudak.” Ayell of pain from the other Russian. “Tu m'emmerdes,” Vladimirscoffed out, kicking his captive once more, this time in the leg. Hesmirked as the other man groaned in pain.

Mattraised an eyebrow. “Who pissed in your cheerios?” He asks,walking around his living room. It’s more for something to do thananything else.

“Ohshut up. Will you come help me get rid of these bodies now? I amthinking I will just throw them into dumpster.”

“Nowwhy would you do that?” Matt asked, suddenly sounding tired even tohis own ears. He blames Vladimir for being very draining at thishour.

Apause then a smug sounding, “Because they are garbage.”

Mattcan tell that Vladimir is smirking in pure glee, as though he’d justtold a hilarious joke. But all it does is make the lawyer sigh androll his eyes.

“S'ilvous plaît, mon trésor?” Vladimir practically coos out.

Heraises an eyebrow when he hears Matt humming a tune, clearly thinkingthis over.

“Whatare you humming?” He asks curious and switching topics easily. Hejust vaguely remembers the song and knows it’s going to bother himuntil he figures it out.

“Noneof your business.” Matt says, picking his cane up from where he’dplaced it on the coffee table a few hours earlier. He’d made his mindup the moment Vladimir had asked for his help but he still wanted tohear the Russian beg a little bit longer. “I’m in my pajamas.”

Ahum of approval from Vladimir. “Good. You are coming here then?”

Mattscoffed. “In my pajamas?”

Vladimirshrugged. “I like your pajamas.” A pause. “Wait your underwearor sweatpants pajamas?”

“Sweatpants.”

Acurse in Russian that Matt recognized as damn.“I can work with that. So you are on your way now?”

Mattthinks it’s almost cute how equal halves hopeful and excited the Russian sounds. It reminds Matt of a puppy. “No. Why doyou want me to help you anyway? You are perfectly capable of hidingyour own bodies.”

Thisis a fact and Vladimir huffs in annoyance.

“Imiss you.”

Vladimir’scaptive scoffs and snaps something that Matt doesn’t understand butthen screams as Vladimir stabs him in the leg. Vladimir snapssomething at him, also in Russian, and Matt exaggerates a loud yawn.

Thisdoes the trick of getting Vladimir back on track. “Matyusha, miliimoi, mon trésor. I am almost begging here.”

Matttossed his cane up in the air, effortlessly caught it, and began toslowly twirl it as he walked around the living room. “You are goingto have to do more than just ‘almost’ begging. Since you want me tocome out in my bare feet-”

“Doyou even own shoes?” Vladimir interrupts, speaking more to himselfthan to Matt. “I do not think I have ever seen you in shoes.”

Mattdrops his cane in mild surprise. “I wear shoes.”

Ascoff from the Russian and he shrugs even though he knows Matt can’tsee it. “Sure. What do I have to do to make you come over here, montrésor?” He drawls out slowly, accent thicker on purpose as heknows Matt would never admit it but he does so love the accent.

Ratherthan give an answer Matt picks his cane back up and begins twirlingit around once more before asking almost absentmindedly, “Why doyou even want my help?”

“Isnot just the bodies. I am also threatening this idiot. I do notlike how they just wandered in here and were stealing my shit. Andyou are much more scary than me,” Vladimir says, fully honest. Hegrins when Matt lets out a happy hum and he can almost perfectlypicture in his mind Matt grinning smugly.

Mattshrugs. “Well, you know what they say. Flattery will get youeverywhere. Now, as for what you can do as payback for me coming tohelp you at half past three in the morning-”

“Ohplease. We both know you were not sleeping.”

“-Iwant pancakes,” Matt finishes, ignoring the interruption. He smirkswhen Vladimir lets out a disappointed groan.

“Fine.”

Ittakes all of five minutes of being in the garage for Matt to growbored. He can’t understand and doesn’t care to understand what thetwo Russians are yelling back and forth. The smell of blood is sostrong from the other three bodies that it takes all of Matt’sconcentration to not gag. He hates the smell of blood. It makes himthink of his dad’s death.

Hejerks slightly as he catches a few insults being thrown from thecaptive Russian to Vladimir. Then raises an eyebrow in amusement as agunshot rings out. A pained scream isn’t too far behind.

“Ithought you weren’t going to kill him?” Matt asks, almost laughingnow.

Vladimirscoffs and looks his gun over in an attempt to calm himself. “Hedoes not need his kneecaps to breathe.”

“Didhe insult me?” The sudden racing of Vladimir’s heart is answerenough. Matt finds that almost sweet that Vladimir cares so much in his own little way. “I understand what ‘suka’ means. I’m not a complete idiot,mon cher. Do you want me to ask him questions now? You can take aquick breather.”

Vladimirwaves his hand, a 'ifyou wish’gesture. And Matt doesn’t think twice. Just swings his cane out andsmacks the other Russian in the face. Vladimir lets out a low whistleas his captive spits out a mouthful of blood.

“Alright!Alright fine! I answer your questions! Just keep him away from me!”He’s not stupid. He knows exactly who Matt is. Everyone knows whoMatt Murdock is. But Matt rolls his eyes and ignores him. AndVladimir tilts his head as he watches the lawyer beat the TracksuitDracula to hell. Matt is enjoying it far too much but Vladimir findsit amusing, and possibly a tad arousing not that he’ll admit that, towatch.

Hewaits just a few minutes more before muttering, “Matvey, I got itfrom here I think.”

Matttsks but steps to the side as he hears Vladimir’s footsteps. He wavesa hand out. “All yours.”

“Showoff,” Vladimir scoffs out. Then turns his attention to the coughingRussian on the floor. His captive seems to be having a hard timebreathing now, arm holding his possibly broken ribs.

Whenthey begin speaking Russian once again Matt just yawns and tones themout. No use in trying to pay attention when he can only understandbasics and insults. He raises an eyebrow when Vladimir turns hisattention back to him.

“Wegive him ride back to his place now.”

“We’rewhat?” Matt asks, eyebrow raised and wondering if for a moment he’djust misheard Vladimir. But Vladimir just repeats what he’d just saidand Matt tilts his head. “Why are we giving him a ride home?”

“Igot what I wanted and I have message he needs to deliver to his otheridiot friends. In case they ever try to steal from me again,”Vladimir explains slowly, as if he wants to make sure Matt willunderstand him.

Mattjust stares straight ahead, not even caring that it unnerves Vladimirwhen he purposefully looks past him when they’re speaking. “Whatwere they stealing from you exactly?”

“Ah.Well…” The sound of Vladimir’s shoes hitting the pavement andthen a light thud noise as he kicks a body over. “This one owed memoney from a game of cards few weeks ago.” Another thud as Vladimirkicks another of the bodies. “And his cousin here did not like that I shot him. So he tried to shoot me and did not work well for him inthe end.” More footsteps as Vladimir walks to the final body thatlies in a pool of blood just a few feet away from Vladimir’s office.“And this bastard tried steal Tolik’s vodka.”

“Pleasetell me you’re kidding,” Matt says dully.

Vladimirjust shrugs. “Alright fine. It was my vodka he was trying to steal.Happy?”

“Ecstatic,”Matt almost spits out. He sighs. This shouldn’t shock him. He knowshow Vladimir is. And yet he still finds himself shocked by the littlethings Vladimir does.

Vladimirgrins. Claps his hands together then pulls his keys from his pocket.“Now, let’s take this asshole home. Go get our pancakes. Then wecan finish our date of ridding this garage of dead people.”

“Thiswas a date?” Matt asks, eyebrow raised.

Vladimirpauses, now standing right next to the slightly shorter man. “Oui,mon trésor,” he says, pinching Matt’s cheek. He huffs when Mattwrinkles his nose and swats his hand away from his face. He looksaround, shrugs, and says, “I think all the red around here now isgood… aesthetic? Very romantic.”

Mattsnorts. “Stick to the roses.”

“Butyou hate their smell?”

“Ihate the smell of blood even more, connard.”

Atsk from Vladimir. “You are so rude today.” He can’t help but to be amused.

tbh i genuinely love the ollie in jail storyline just because of the pure team arrow chaos that comes with it and their new alliances😭😭 example:

dig: “argus has been tracking diaz ever since he slaughtered the bratva in russia. the scpd was responding to a munitions plant break-in, so please tell me felicity, how the help do you end up in the middle of my op? again!”

felicity: “why don’t i just say exponential search algorithm, and we’ll just leave it at that?”

earth 2 laurel: “we planted a tracker on the silencer’s belt. *cue anatoly looking exasperated* obviously, diaz must’ve found it and is using it as bait against us.”

dinah: “how did you manage that? you were nowhere near the silencer at the cdc.”

curtis: “that thing at the cdc was you guys??”

rene: “uh, felicity wasn’t near her. i was. we snuck her out together”

dinah: “so you two captured the silencer?!”

rene: “but felicity and laurel were the ones that tortured her”

*cue shocked & slightly pissed faces from dinah & curtis”

laurel: “actually, i convinced her not to. you’re welcome.”

dig: “so now you’re working with laurel?”

laurel: “i’m standing right here.”

dinah: “to be fair, she did help shut down that illegal psychiatric program at slabside”

rene: “wait. hold on a sec. so you’re gonna give me crap about working with the new green arrow *anatoly literally just watching this all unfold like it’s the best gossip ever, but also still exasperated* and meanwhile you’re siding with the black frickin’ siren??”

felicity: “you’re working with the new green arrow??”

curtis: “guys, i think that the whole point of this is that maybe we should pick up our phones a little more, huh? shoot a text. yeah. i am totally talking about the fact that everyone forgot my birthday last week—

felicity: “YOUR PARTY IS NEXT WEEK ACT SURPRISED” *curtis smiling like an absolute dork* “ok, now that all of our deep dark secrets are out, do you think that we can switch our focus back to the psycho who just TRIED TO BLOW US UP??”

anatoly (finally weighing in LOL): “sounds like good idea.”

john: “first, ground rules. no new green arrow. secondly, no one who isn’t from this earth.”

laurel: “you’re kicking me out?”

dinah: “well, you are the da. you could’ve been exposed tonight, and i think there’s no need to risk that again.”

laurel: “so an international mob boss *ANATOLY’S LITTLE WAVE* gets to stay but i have to leave, is that it?” *everyone just kinda shrugs😭😭* “unbelievable!”

STUCK

Chapter One

There are two new people in the garage. Anatoly has never seen them before. Then again he doesn’t see much of anyone these days. Everyone had fled after what happened to him, the warehouses.

Volodya hasn’t been by in… it’s been a long time. Anywhere between a few months to a year and a half. Time passes strangely, in this limbo. Anatoly spends most of it in an almost sleep. He isn’t unconscious at least, wherever his mind, spirit, is at.

The two have strange equipment with them, carrying it in bags. Anatoly trails one hand on the wall as he walks back to his old office. Nothing about the place has changed since his death. Nothing was moved or added. Teens and reckless adults have broken in, drawn on the walls, played games of truth or dare, tried to call him using candles and ouija boards. That’s the most he had seen.

He knows Veles has a new reputation, has since the moment Fisk closed the car door on his head. Anger curls inside him, screeching at him to be let out. Fisk is in jail though now, where he can’t reach. One of the men had come back at one point, bearing the news and a bowl of water and cloth.

Anatoly appreciated it. He missed seeing familiar faces. Pain bursts in his head and he doubles over, holding his head, barely holding in the pained howl.

The shorter person jumps at the noise, exclaims something Anatoly can’t quite hear over the pain. The tall one scoffs, proclaims that it was nothing, Anatoly can tell by his dismissive tone and waving one of his hands.

All noises he makes though, they come as breezes, glass rattling gusts of wind, odd creaks in the wood where he walks. He is not quite fully there, after all. 

The pain ebbs away and Anatoly tries to find the two new people. There somewhere near the front, he thinks. Few people venture far enough into the garage to really notice him.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

idk if you're taking prompts but i've been really wanting to read something like this: felicity shaving oliver's beard/face bc he broke his hand or idk whatever you want and oliver's really turned on by it. bonus points if its an established relationship/married life. and i wouldn't be opposed to smut so let your muse run wild :) thank you!

King and Queen, Part 2 (Olicity Bratva AU, Mature)

A/N: Sequel to King and Queen (Chapter 4 of my You’ve Gotten Into My Bloodstream fic collection). Prompt from LiteraLi. Written for the Fic for Food Drive I took part in for April.This does not take place directly after the previous installment. A couple years have passed.

Summary: Felicity helps Oliver shave.

(read on AO3)

*

Oliver Queen cursed.

He struggled to hold the pearled handle of his straight razor with as little pressure on his thumb as possible. His hand started shaking, but he managed to hold it. Angling his head, he pressed the blade’s edge to the lengthy stubble on his jaw. But the second he pressed down, pain spiked through his wrist, sharp and white hot. With a harsh, “Fuck,” he dropped the razor, sending it clattering onto the vanity where it bounced right off the edge. Oliver caught it with his left hand, agilely flipping it with an ease that pissed him off. He thought about trying to shave with that hand again, but it had nearly led to a bald patch on his cheek.

Fucking useless.

Both his hand and him.

“Damn it,” he breathed through gritted teeth. He turned his right hand palm-up and glared at the swelling in his wrist, remembering that bastard Bertinelli slamming a metal door on his arm. Scowling darkly, his fingers curled into a fist at the thought of punching him in the face as hard as he could. But all that did was set his wrist on fire, which only pissed him off more, which made him want to punch Bertinelli’s face and a wall. “Goddamn it-”

“Here.”

Oliver looked up into the bathroom mirror as his wife took the razor from him.

The tension in his muscles drained away and he sighed, moving when she nudged him to make room for her between him and the counter.

She stared up at him with a patient, but annoyed look.

His agitation instantly flared back to life.

“What?” he huffed.

“You’re being stupid,” Felicity Smoak told him. She set the razor down and grabbed the brace he’d tossed aside. “Put this back on.”

“I’m not wearing that-”

“Tonight,” she interrupted sharply. “You’re not wearing it to the dinner tonight, but you are wearing it right now.” Oliver clenched his jaw, his nostrils flaring, and he leveled her with a hard look. It was a look that usually had grown men pissing their pants, but not her. She just raised her eyebrows. “Give me your hand, Oliver.”

A war of wills filled the space.

Not that it mattered. They both knew how this was going to end. Even though Oliver wanted to shred that fucking brace and toss the remnants in a fire, he knew he was going to give in as much as she knew she was going to put it on him, and that he was going to be pissed the entire time.

It took a full minute, but Oliver finally growled out a curse and gave her his hand.

“Stop being a baby,” Felicity said as she slipped it on and strapped it in place.

“I’m not being a baby,” Oliver groused, unable to hide his pained winces. He fought to only let out a breathy grunt when she turned his hand over delicately to tighten the brace around his forearm. “I’m pissed I have to play nice to that asshole tonight, as if I didn’t catch him trying to sell more of those goddamn guns to the Mayor.”

“I know,” his wife said softly. “You’ll get him. Well, Arrow-you will get him and then Captain-you will turn his businesses inside out while he rots in jail so this never happens again.”

Oliver just grunted.

Yes, in an ideal world that was exactly what would have happened, but they’d been ready for the Arrow at the docks last night. His nighttime reputation had long ago preceded him and the Families were getting smarter, bringing more firepower, no longer interested in wasting their time trying to kill him, but giving their boss enough time to evade him.

And slamming the Arrow’s goddamn hand in a goddamn door when Oliver Queen had to have dinner and play nice with his “business partner.”

Oliver snarled and tried to flex his hand in the brace.

All it did was make him grimace and scowl and curse.

“Stop it,” Felicity said, smacking his bare chest.

“I need to shave,” he snapped.

“No, you need to lose the attitude,” she bit back. “Now, and not just because you’re talking to me, but because we need to play nice tonight. Got it?”

“I…” He closed his eyes on a ragged sigh. She was right. And just like that the anger receded into a dull ache. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

Felicity softened. “I know this isn’t easy-”

“It’s just… It’s always something,” he breathed, his voice dropping into an agonized murmur. “First it was the Triad, then it was Kovar, now it’s Bertinelli, and if it’s not something with the Arrow, then it’s this fucking deal Anatoly got us into. I want to spend one night - one night - with my wife and daughter without feeling like the entire fucking world is hanging in the balance, because that… this…” Oliver smoothed his hand over her stomach, but the damn brace got in the way, and he couldn’t feel enough of the bump her silky nightgown hid. With a growl, he shifted so his left hand palmed her growing belly. It was so firm and prominent already, even at this early stage. The doctor had mentioned that was common after the first pregnancy. Frustrated tears burned his eyes and he angrily blinked them away as he clutched her stomach. “I want to be here for this. I missed so much last time, with you and Mia, and all I want is… I want a life where I get to enjoy this, I get to enjoy us. God, but if we… Mia’s only three, and already I’m terrified she’s too close, and if we want them to have anything other than this shitshow of a life… to get them out of it-”

His voice choked off.

“I know. But we chose this,” Felicity reminded him, cupping his cheek. “You and me. For them. We didn’t run so they never have to make a choice like that.”

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.”

“And you are here, Oliver. Look at me. Hey, look at me.” When he did, she smiled softly. It was hard not to see the sadness in her eyes, but it had nothing on the certainty he saw there, too. “I get to sleep every night with my husband by my side. And Mia gets to grow up with her father. You are always with us, Oliver. And you remind this one of that every night, too.”

Felicity’s hand covered his over her stomach.

Oliver stared at their hands, at their wedding bands catching the bathroom light, at their fingers tangling together. Hers was so small compared to his, so delicate, so fragile, but it only appeared that way. She was anything but. She was his rock, his foundation, his strength, the guiding light in the darkness he knew he would never escape. She was the voice in his ear, the key to his heart, the anchor steadying his soul. His wife, his partner, the mother of his children. The reason he hadn’t burned the entire world to ash just to get it over with.

“And when you aren’t here,” Felicity continued softly, brushing her other hand over the elaborate tattoo on his left shoulder, “we’re with you.”

Her fingers followed the path she always took. He sighed, savoring her touch, following her mentally as she swept across the rising sun over the open field inked into his flesh. His wife and daughter’s names were etched into the sun rays, and there was plenty of room for more. For their new baby. For any other children they might have.

Oliver bit the tip of his tongue hard enough to draw blood as the struggle he always faced rose inside him - between growing his family with the woman he loved, and wanting to spare any and every innocent being from the shadowed world they lived in.

The only way he survived any of it was because of her.

“Today was a setback… on top of about fifty other setbacks,” she admitted, “but we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

“Like we always do,” he repeated.

“Like we always will.”

Oliver pulled her into his chest. He pressed a kiss to her temple, her name a soft litany on his lips. Her arms snaked around him, gripping him just as tight. He buried one hand in her hair, his other slipping over her back, underneath the strap of her nightgown…

He found the scar on the back of her shoulder.

He had spent so much time touching it that the previously raised flesh was nothing more than thin, pink lines now.

The mark - his family crest, seared into her flesh, a physical seal of the promise of her family to his, payment in the form of their daughter for the debts her father had incurred with the Bratva - was always a reminder when he needed it. When the world crumbled around him. When the weight of what they battled became too much. When the reality that this would bleed onto their children if they didn’t dismantle it as much as possible smacked him in the face again, and again. The very last thing he wanted was his kids to endure what they had. And they would, if they didn’t succeed.

Oliver rubbed rough circles over her scar like a worry stone and Felicity hugged him tighter.

It wasn’t a miracle that they had fallen in love. It was in spite of their circumstances, their arranged marriage, their contractual obligation to procreate, their dues to the Family to keep the legacy going, to grow it. It was only after surviving months of horror and blood and pain and almost losing their first baby that they managed to scrape away enough of the walls they’d built around themselves to plant the beginning seeds of what they were now.

All of it could have gone up in flames, so many times. But it hadn’t.

They hadn’t.

“Together,” she whispered, pulling back to look at him. “Right?”

“Right.” Oliver’s forehead fell against hers. “How did you get to be so strong?”

“I take my lead from you.”

He shook his head, because there was no way that could possibly be true.

“C’mere.” Felicity stepped back just enough to hop up onto the counter and tugged him between her spread legs. She picked up the razor, pursing her lips as she sized up his beard. And then her face fell. “You aren’t going to make me shave everything, are you?”

Oliver chuckled. It felt so good that he leaned into the feeling, letting it turn into a deep laugh.

Their lives were so complicated, perpetually stuck between a rock and a hard place, and yet they still had simple moments like his wife reminding him how much she disliked him clean-shaven.

She was right. This life wasn’t what they could have, but it was more than either of them had expected, more than they ever thought they would get.

And it was more than enough.

“No,” he told her, settling his hands on her thighs. “Just a trim. Bertinelli got close last night.”

“Ah.” Felicity tugged on the longer hair on his chin. “This goatee thing caught up to you, huh?” He snorted. “What? It’s not exactly inconspicuous, Oliver.”

“It gets the job done,” he said, a little too defensively if the way she bit her bottom lip to stem a smile was any indication. He rolled his eyes and she huffed out a giggle before cupping his face. As she moved his head back and forth, he felt the rest of the tension slipping away. “I thought you liked it.”

“I liked it when it was a casual beard,” she replied, slicing the length off his chin. “Then it started becoming this thing-”

“It’s not a thing-”

“Hush,” Felicity interrupted. In quick, efficient motions, she had the hair trimmed back on his chin and then she moved up his jaw line, angling his head where she wanted it as she went. “The last thing we want to do is cancel this dinner because you wanted to argue about the virtues of goatees and I end up cutting you.”

“I wouldn’t complain.”

“Yeah, well, making you bleed isn’t on my itinerary today, and I really don’t want blood all over my bathroom. So no, that’s not happening. Now stop talking. And stop grinning like that. Just don’t move.”

He couldn’t hide one last smirk and Felicity sat back to glare at him. With a quiet, “Sorry,” he did as his wife told him.

Oliver closed his eyes as the seconds passed in peaceful silence. The only sounds were their steady breaths and the gentle rasp of the razor as she trimmed his jaw, then his cheeks, then the extra growth on his top lip. She mumbled something under her breath about pornstaches that had him chuckling, and she immediately smacked his cheekbone with the flat end of the razor. He stopped, but he still had to fight a smile as she continued.

It would never cease to amaze him how easily she brought him back from the edge of darkness.

Or how much he had grown to trust her, to love her. How important she had become to him in every way possible.

He knew from experience what people thought when they first saw her. A slip of a woman who could not possibly yell at a dog much less pose any actual threat. But underneath that diminutive frame was a backbone of pure steel. It wasn’t his growing up in the life, or learning the family business under his father’s tutelage, or the hellish years he’d spent on that goddamn island that made him the leader he was in the Bratva. It was her. She was the voice of reason, the logic, the definitive force that led the Family more than any other person. She guided him at night when he was under the hood, and she was by his side when he stood before the Bratva. And as if that weren’t enough, she did it all with a flawless grace and strength that took his breath away.

She commanded the Bratva, the Arrow, the Family.

And him.

Oliver hummed, swaying closer to her.

“Stop. Moving.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a tick of a smile, never opening his eyes.

Slowly but surely the burdens of their life fell to the wayside, and he became more and more aware of his wife.

The hint of shea butter lingered on her skin, but underneath that was the clean scent that was all her, reminding him she hadn’t showered yet. Gentle waves of heat radiated off her, warming his fingertips where they still rested on her bare thighs. She cradled his jaw with ease, and all it took was the tiniest nudge for him to turn to wherever she wanted him. It was that more than anything that had him yearning closer to her as she scraped the razor over his most tender areas. Anyone else in the world would use this as an opportunity to remove him from the equation. But not her. Never her.

Felicity huffed out a little laugh.

“Hmm?” Oliver asked as the corner of his lips ticked up. He loved that sound.

“I see you’re enjoying this.”

He furrowed his brow, and then opened his eyes in time to see his wife’s gaze drop. He looked down to find his sweatpants tented. His growing erection twitched at the attention.

“What can I say…” Oliver’s smile turned salacious as he slid his hands up her legs and underneath her nightgown. Smooth skin caressed his roughened fingertips, and for the first time he was glad for the brace because the silky edge of the gown caught on it, exposing so much more of her heated flesh to him. “I like being at your mercy.”

A secret smile that was all for him curled her lips.

Oliver slid his hands around to her ass where he stopped on a playful gasp. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

“No,” Felicity agreed, lifting her legs up, her knees grazing the band of his sweats. “I’m not.”

Oliver pushed his hands up to her hips, lifting her nightgown out of the way completely as he pressed his growing hardness to the soft heat waiting for him between her thighs. Her breath caught, but he wasn’t nearly close enough. He didn’t yank her across the counter like he wanted to, knowing that wouldn’t feel good on her bare skin, so he pushed up onto his toes, looming over her and getting the proper leverage to rub against her core.

“Ah ah, I’m not done.” Felicity pushed him back and he pouted. “Keep it in your pants.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad,” she countered. “Stand still.”

His pout didn’t go away, but he did as she told him to. Well, part of him did. His arousal jerked under his sweats, a painfully vivid mixture of eager anticipation and disappointment.

And then there were his hands still under her nightgown.

Oliver was careful not to distract her too much, but he couldn’t stop touching her. And she didn’t stop him. He dragged his fingers over her hips, up her sides, featherlight, creating gooseflesh as he went. He ventured up even higher, as high as the silk would allow him. He avoided her ribs, not wanting to tickle her, but instead moved to her front, ghosting over the underside of her breasts. He watched his hands moving under the silk before glancing at her face, craving her reactions. Her concentration was sound, save for the parting of her lips, the color warming her cheeks, the growing shakiness in her breaths. He kept watching her from under heavy lids as he moved back down, down… down…

“Oliver.”

“What?” he asked with a teasing lilt.

“Get your hands away from there.”

Oliver bit his lips together and removed his fingers from the soft tuft of hair covering her mound.

She took a deep breath and then focused back on his jaw…

He didn’t give her the chance.

Oliver pressed his left hand to her sex and slid his fingers down her cleft. She was already damp with arousal. He knew her inner walls would be even slicker and that they would only get wetter when he buried himself there. The thought had his erection straining against his sweats.

Felicity froze, her eyes slipping shut, and he didn’t wait to tease her. Oliver pressed the tips of his fingers against her entrance and moved them in tight, little circles.

“Oo…h,” she moaned on a shudder. “Oh…!”

“I’ll take that,” he whispered, removing the razor from her hand and dropping it on the counter.

“But I’m not done,” Felicity said. The last word came out on another moan as he pushed his fingers inside her. Her hands flew to his shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut when his thumb found the little pearl at the top of her folds. She arched her hips up, opening herself to him, to the pleasure he could give her. Would give her. That didn’t stop her from arguing with him. “Oliver, I’m not done-”

“Finish later,” he offered, pressing his fingers in further.

She was all needy whimpers as she told him, “You look ridiculous.”

Oliver didn’t bother glancing in the mirror because he didn’t care. Not right now. Not with his wife in his arms, melting further into him even more with each passing second, her sex sucking his fingers in deeper, her growing wetness making each pass over her clit more and more slick. Her nails dug into his shoulders. His hand with the goddamn brace wound around her back and he picked her up, just enough to set her on the edge of the counter where he pressed his thickening hardness against her supple inner thigh.

“You…” she managed, opening her eyes to look at his jaw. “Let me just…”

“Finish later,” he repeated. He buried his face into her hair, breathing her in. He swept his thumb over her clit and started thrusting his fingers in and out. Her inner walls clenched around him and he pushed in a third finger, earning a delicious groan from deep inside her as he stretched her wide.

“But…”

“Please.”

That got her. It was such a simple word, but it was so loaded after everything they’d been through, meaning more than either of them could possibly put into words.

A rapid nod was her response and then she grabbed his face, her lips finding his.

Oliver’s fingers left heaven to grasp her under one thigh as he gripped her waist with his braced hand. And then he was picking her up and spinning them around. Felicity barely got out, “Oliver, your hand!” before he pulled her into another kiss. She kept talking against his lips, but then they were at their unmade bed, and he was falling back on it and she was moving to straddle him fully. She wasn’t done - “Why can’t you do things the easy way?” - but all he did was huff out a laugh as they both pushed his sweats out of the way, freeing his erection. She grasped him tight, making him groan. Her other hand found his jaw and she forced him to meet her gaze as she pushed the slick head of his cock to her entrance. “We are so talking about this when we’re done.”

“Yes,” he started just as she thrust down, taking him deep inside her, leaving only a strangled, “honey,” to fall from his lips.

“And,” Felicity added breathlessly, “the fact that you only have half a mustache right now.”

He chuckled, but it quickly turned into full-blown laughter when she sat back to look at him and a wild grin covered her face as she snorted at the sight he must have made.

The giggles followed them as they made love.

It was the absolute opposite of everything else in their lives, proving how much they were each other’s harbor in the storm. Their love fueled them, giving them the strength they needed to live the double lives they led, to keep going, to keep building the future they wanted for their children. That future was still years off, and neither of them were stupid enough to think it was going to get any easier, but as long as they had each other?

They could survive anything.

And they would.

(They proved this later - much later, after she helped him fix his unfortunate facial hair issue - when they were at dinner, and all Oliver wanted to do was ram his fist in Bertinelli’s face until he was a mulchy pulp. But he didn’t, and not just because of his hand, or because it could potentially open the door to connecting him to the Arrow. But because she asked him not to. And if it was her asking? Anything.)

*

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it - reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

The Assistant (12 of ?) | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

[original picture found on: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings:

(eventual) Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader

Anatoly Ranskahov x OC (Paulina)

✏️ Requested by @kellydixon01 : Y/N–hacker, big mouth, even bigger attitude–is the new addition to Fisk’s team. Sent to help the Ranskahovs, she immediately gets on Vladimir’s nerves. But as time passes, they start to take a liking to each other, even if none of them is willing to admit their feelings. Yet.

✏️ Previously on The Assistant: after managing to leave Wesley’s claws, it’s Vladimir that does his best to take care of a shattered Y/N–he cleans her wounds, lets her sleep on his couch and all in all, protects her. In an attempt to show her his true self, he takes her to the only place he can call ‘home’, but things don’t go according to plan.

✏️ A/N: things are deffffff moving forward for these two, just wait for it, guys ;)

✏️ Warnings: the usual (dark, mentions of troubled past, hand-to-hand combat, murder...) + a hint of fluff with a little heart-to-heart conversation

✏️ Word-count: 3,213

📚 Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TWELVE: THE PRICE OF COURAGE

Despite being relatively big and empty, the underground garage was packed in its middle. Unused and abandoned by the city of New York, it had been seized by the metropolis’ fighting underworld and turned into one of the many scenes of the itinerant circus of impromptu hand-to-hand combats long before Vladimir had come to America.

Places like that were home for him, but for Y/N? Not so much. She had definitely witnessed something like that in Ukraine during her internship  – or at least that was how her resume described the months she had spent there –, but it had never been an entertainment kind of thing. They had been punitive fights and to think that these people were fighting for the love of it…

She wasn’t scared. The curious glances she earned didn’t even manage to touch her, for she knew – somehow – that Vlad would keep her safe. The trust she had in him was most likely more than it should have been, but she didn’t want to think that she was alone in all this, so she kept on hoping – hoping he’d keep her safe from these people cheering on the two men fighting in the center of the room and hoping he’d keep her safe from Wesley and her duties towards him.

On his part, Vladimir was more nervous than he let on. It was an art he had managed to learn in all the years he had spent in this business – and in the many that had preceded it when home had felt just like another cage in the zoo that was his life. To show her, of all people, this side of him… 

It was scary, it made him feel small and insignificant and utterly exposed. This wasn’t Tolya, and it wasn’t Sergei, either. It was someone he didn’t completely know, someone he didn’t completely trust despite all his best attempts. It was also someone that had proven to him that she could be trusted, someone that had proven to him – probably poisoned by the fumes of her own fear, back there in Wesley’s apartment – that she was ready to be beaten to a pulp to shield his secrets.

That was probably what scared him the most. Tanya had been just like that, in the beginning, before things started to go to shit under his nose without him even realizing so. She had loved him and cared for him and treasured his secrets like they had been her own and then, when he least expected it, she had stabbed his back. She had stabbed his back and his love for her had been the one to twist the knife in the wound.

He didn’t want history to repeat itself. He didn’t want nor need another Tatyana in his life and he only wished he were brave enough to tell her because to tell her would mean to acknowledge and give body to the one and only realization haunting his every day: he had started to fall for her.

He didn’t know what it was that he liked in her, for he was still trying to convince himself that he did not like her – he didn’t like her job, nor her employers, nor her past, nor the secrets she had kept from him. But he liked her wits, he loved the fact that she kept her head high and confronted him like she wasn’t afraid of him. He was in love with her legs, sure, but he also admired her strength and the attention to the details she put in what she did.

Tanya hadn’t been like that, and to notice such difference was a relief. Tanya had been a good-hearted person – or as much of a good-hearted person as a backstabbing bitch could be. She had wanted to help people and she had studied to do just that, to reach a position of somewhat power and do a difference in the world. Vladimir had never understood what she had found in him – an orphan, a criminal, in and out of jail, with his hands always bloodied and his wallet always full. He hadn’t even been good with people – and not always a gentleman with her – he hadn’t exactly had the best of upbringings.

Y/N was different, the face on the other side of the coin. She was stubborn and skeptical, more similar to him than his own brother ever was. She had grown up surrounded by crime, she had made her bones on murder and theft and lies and had ended up picking up demons on her way to the present day. Almost more importantly, she was someone he could understand – it had never been like that with Tanya, not even once: he had never understood her need to do good, to always do better than the day before, to elevate herself from the hole he had been digging since the day he was born.

Even now, as he looked at Y/N from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but point out the differences, caving in under the weight of what he needed in life – someone to trust and that could be trusted, someone that could protect him the way he would protect her. She held her head high – despite the bruises, despite the pain, she held her head high and there was a defiant look in her eyes, a defiant stance in her shoulders. She was more similar to him than he’d ever be comfortable to admit: she took her weaknesses and she buried them deep behind the mask she wore when she left the safety of her house, the only place the world wasn’t allowed to enter, not until she decided to open the door.

And suddenly, the fear of being judged left him. It evaporated from his shoulders and from his eyes and left him even more naked than he had felt before. She probably didn’t see it, but he knew she understood it deep down inside – and if not now, then definitely one day.

This was his way to feel normal, to feel alive. The fights had become his life long before he had tried to make himself one. Under an opponent’s punches, with bones cracking and blood staining his teeth, he went back to feeling alive. There was no more Utkin, no more escaping to America, no more fighting to reach the top in an underworld society that could dethrone him the day after. It was just him and the man in front of him, his skin and muscles and bones under his fists as he did the only thing he knew how to.

There was some desperate part of him, a nameless one that never fought harder than his demons, that wanted her to see. See his pain and his struggles, the shadows inside his head – and outside of it – and understand. He didn’t need pity, he didn’t need a shoulder to cry on: all he was hungry for was a person that looked at him and saw what he couldn’t show, heard what he couldn’t say, feel what he didn’t want to bring himself to feel. And whether Y/N was the right person or not, he didn’t know yet.

And it scared him.

It scared him more than falling for a woman that wanted to save the world. It scared him even more than the shadows of Utkin ever did – probably more than they ever will. There was an uncanny safety in the dark demons that populated his world: he knew what to expect from them, he had learned their antics and their strategies, he could foresee their next move – it didn’t imply that he was safe from them, on the contrary; it only meant that he knew how to handle them, one way or another.

But Y/N was unreadable. Even with all the similarities they shared, she remained a closed book – a closed cell. She was foggy and mysterious, a demon he didn’t know how to handle yet. He wanted to learn how to, though, wanted to learn from her – every single shattered piece of his mind craved that – the contact, the company – more spiritual rather than physical.

He wanted to look at her and see the world she carried inside, just as he wanted her to look at him and see all his darkness, all his demons, all those ghostly echoes of a still-living and still-thriving past and find some sort of spark in all that chaos. If she only looked at him – looked through him – and told him what she found there, what she found where his tired gaze and soul couldn’t reach, then he knew he could start over. Not a new life – he didn’t have enough energies for that –, but just… something new. Fewer demons thrashing in his mind, fewer shadows in his bedroom, fewer cigarettes in his life and more love – for his brother, for his men, for the world, maybe even for a woman.

Maybe even for a family.

But as of now, he was stuck in the mud the fighting underworld was.

He wanted to unlearn that – unlearn how to fight, how to survive in a society that only wanted to punch your teeth out, smash your face in, scatter bones and brains and blood around.

He wanted to be like Tolya – loved and with love to give, without the need to bring pain and destruction just to feel the shadow of a spark of life.

“How was it?” he found himself asking instead. “Life with motorcycle club.”

He was leaning against a concrete pillar, a smoking cigarette hanging from his lips as the tip of his index finger danced along the unnaturally cold grip of his gun.

Y/N was standing right next to him – stiffly, almost as though she wanted to become a statue, a pillar herself. She was staring at the fight taking place a few meters from her, probably processing that new level of fucked-up Vladimir had reached. But the frown on her face softened into a half-smile when she turned to look at him and for a moment, her eyes closed and she looked younger than she actually was.

“It was… nice.” She leaned against the pillar he had claimed as his, and her shoulder pressed into his as she extended an arm to take the cigarette from his lips.

Vladimir had never seen her smoke, had never smelled the stench of cigarettes on her clothes. For some weird reason, though, it didn’t surprise him and all he managed to do was look as she took a drag just to then puff out the smoke.

“It was more than nice. It was like… like a party.” She shrugged her shoulders before handing him back the cig. “It probably had more lows than highs,” she chuckled, tongue coming out to lick along her lower lip, “but I was a kid and my daddy and his friends had cool motorbikes and that was all that mattered. I probably spent more time riding bitch behind my father than I did doing my homework.”

“I didn’t peg you for someone who didn’t care about school.”

His comment made her laugh. “Oh, I did. I studied with the other members’ kids. We helped each other with homework, came up with strategies to cheat on the next test… But we were kids living half in this world and half in something else, something we couldn’t even come to comprehend in the slightest. Our fathers were feared and had enemies, they worked two jobs and flirted with jail and the police. It was exhilarating.” She shook her head, lost in thought, and when she turned to look at him again, she didn’t really see him, lost somewhere down memory lane. “You have your fights,” she continued, gesturing vaguely to the garage and the people in it, “and we had… that, whatever that was.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Every day.” Her answer came more quickly than he had thought it would, more quickly than she had ever realized it would betray her like that. “Sometimes,” she added. “Part of me still loves it, still wants to… I don’t know.” His half-smoked cigarette was between her lips once again and all Vladimir could do was stare at the way she smoked as her gaze got lost in the cheering crowd in front of them. “But I also hate it.” She twirled the cigarette between her fingers, stared at the way the ashes danced towards the floor. “Hate that I love it after what it did to us. Hate myself for still flirting with the illegal side of things the same way everybody back there did. But…”

“Is hard to leave when it is all you have ever known.”

Her eyes met his – they saw him this time – and she nodded once. “Yes.”

“Legality is scary,” Vladimir said, more to himself than to her. And it indeed was: it paralyzed him, stuffed his veins with cotton and glass fiber. Before it, he was vulnerable, more vulnerable than he’d ever be with the mouth of a gun kissing his forehead. “It should be easy way, but is not. Illegality is harder but safer.”

Her fingers brushed against the back of his hand and whether that was a voluntary or an accidental touch, he would never know. She didn’t say illegality was easier – she knew the price people had to pay for it, even when they embarked in that life willingly. It was, on varying degrees, a conscious choice that only lead to a marred mind and a tattoo- or scar-kissed body and soul.

“Does not matter how much we want, we can never leave. It always finds way back to us.” He took one last drag from his cigarette before he let it fall to the ground. They both stared at its butt for a moment, silence stretching between them and oddly bringing them closer before he put out the cigarette butt with the ball of his elegant shoe.

*

They didn’t feel the scorching drag of alcohol down their throats – he of his vodka and she of her sambuca. Stopping by a bar hadn’t been in Vladimir’s plans when he had come up with the idea of taking her to the fights, but it had felt like the perfect continuation for the night: it was the perfect way to drown his sorrows, the only route he ever took, and he was starting to understand that Y/N wasn’t that different.

Shot after shot, the alcohol took away the problems still crawling up their spines and it shed light everywhere around them, shooing the shadows of their minds away. Not enough to get them drunk, though, only tipsy, heads dizzy as their sight lost its focus.

Inhibitions lost between a swig of burning liquor and a drag of the same, shared cigarette, Vladimir found himself with a loose tongue. “I loved her, I really did. Part of me probably still does,” he said, tracing imaginary lines on the bandages wrapping her left hand. “Tatyana,” he added when she hummed questioningly.

She didn’t answer but when he looked up at her, staring at the counter of the bar and at the people standing there, he saw she was holding her breath.

She looked both older and younger at the same time, and the lines of her face were starker under the suffused orange-y lights of the place. Shielded away from prying eyes in the corner booth they had sat in, she felt smaller than she was, swallowed away by her own thoughts.

“She was nice and smart and kindest person I have ever known,” he continued. “Even despite betrayal.”

“Why are you telling me?” She had stopped smoking and the cigarette rested unused between the index and middle fingers of her right hand, the smoke leaving its burning tip in tantalizing patterns.

He didn’t know why he was telling her that, not the full reason, at least. But he wanted to do this right, wanted to risk and open a crack in the armor he wore every day to shield himself from the world. “You remind me of her.”

Y/N kept quiet, even when she met his gaze, even when she dropped it to the shiny surface of the table. “I don’t think we’re that similar. I just… work my way around people, play my cards right.”

She wasn’t moving his hand away – nor hers. She kept it there, immobile on the table, and she let him touch it, let him trace the outline of her fingers as he got lost in his mind.

“You are smart,” he nodded stubbornly, finishing the vodka in his glass. “Am not sure about nice and kind, though.”

The chuckle they shared was bitter and amused at the same time. It seemed to ripple up their throats, moving the usually placid waters of their lives.

“I could say the same about you,” she agreed, turning to look at him again and shaking her head a second after, giggle evolving into a sudden burst of full laughter, one that, despite his better judgment, made him smile. It was only when they grew silent again that she continued, the palm of her hand closing to hold his. “You are kind, in your own way.”

He would have blushed, had he been able to. Instead, his lips broke into a half-smirk as he stared at their entwined fingers. It was an odd feeling, a sensation he hadn’t felt in forever. Her hand in his felt more real than he thought it would – not that he had wondered about holding hands with her, that is. He gently squeezed it experimentally once just to then draw slow circles in the space between her thumb and forefinger.

The urge to lie was there, burning his tongue, setting his nerve endings on fire as he set his jaw. But he did enjoy it – enjoyed that small gesture of friendly whatever-this-is, enjoyed the content silence between them, her perfume mixing with the stench of cigarettes and the alluring smell of demons.

“I will not say I trust you,” he sighed and she turned in her seat to face him, moving her left leg so that her thigh was resting on the leather cushion of the bench, her knee pressing into the side of his leg. “But I do.”

The price of saying those three words out loud was the same as ending up and spending time in Utkin, of escaping Siberia, of killing Tatya in cold blood and somehow, it was even heavier. It mixed with the sadness the death of his mother had left behind, the hopeless hopefulness of his short-lived childhood, with the thrill of the fights, the shattering coughing fit of the first time he stole his father’s vodka with Tolik, and the exhilarating sense of liberation he had got drunk on when his abusive father had left this world.

And it was scary.

As scary as her lips pressing against his stubble-covered jaw.

... wow. Did you see it coming? I didn’t :)

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TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi

The Assistant: @flowers-in-your-hayr

People that might be interested: @sweetvengeancee @kind-wolf @brobachev

#Arrow Season 6 Episode 20 "Shifting Allegiances" Recap and Review

The episode starts in Moscow. Oliver takes down a drunk guy who is offering drugs to his girlfriend and gives him to the Bratva in exchange for a favor.

Curtis is taking Rene home. Dinah and Zoe are also there and they all threw him a party. The B-team talks about how much they aren’t doing.

Diggle is telling an A.R.G.U.S. team about Diaz. Afterward, his supervisor compliments him and tells him that he’s sent compliments to Lyla. He also has a lead on Diaz. It’s the black lady from the Quadrant. Her name is Lydia Cassamento. The supervisor wants to take her out. Diggle wants her to lead them to Diaz.

Diaz is getting an expensive suit made. Black Siren come in and they talk about Lance. Diaz wants to talk to him and he wants her to set it up.

Anatoly and his Russian buddies are watching baseball. Anatoly goes to get a beer, which is weird, and comes back to find all of his guys tranquilized. Oliver wants to talk. He got Anatoly his old job back. He can go home. Anatoly thanks him by tazing him.

The B-team gloats about Oliver in the Helix lair. When they are done with that, they discuss possible leads. Diaz used to be part of the Scorpions, and they figure he’ll use them as his new supplier since Oliver and Diggle cut off his old supply. Dinah points out that they no longer have police connections. Rene says that they don’t need them, he knows people.

Black Siren and Lance are at lunch. She apologizes and Diaz walks in. He wants Lance to sign over some real estate for him. Lance won’t do anything for him. Diaz outs Black Siren as working for him and they leave, with Black Siren seeming a tad bit guilty about the whole thing.

The B-team is at a gambling den in the Glades. Rene causes a distraction so that Curtis can use one of his toys to get information.

The information leads them to a warehouse. The Scorpions are running guns, not drugs. Then the Quadrant comes in and massacres the Scorpions, with the B-team in the crossfire. Rene doesn’t help any because he now has PTSD. They’re saved by Diggle.

They all talk at Helix. Diggle even apologizes, which is awful for two reasons. One, he has nothing to apologize for. Two, what is the writers’ obsession with making Oliver out to be the bad guy? First Felicity and now Diggle? Ugh. Anyway, Lance breaks up their lovely little party and tells them what just happened to him and that he can’t get in touch with Oliver. They all eventually figure out that Diaz is Quadrant.

Oliver lectures Anatoly while being chained to a chair. Anatoly says that the Bratva took him for granted and are not his family. He also says that Oliver cannot beat Diaz alone. Dude, it’s bad when a bad guy is talking sense into you.

Diggle and Rene talk about PTSD and kids, conveniently forgetting, again, that Oliver also has a kid and is going through the same thing. They figure out that Diaz is planning to use Star City as a waystation.

Black Siren talks to Lance. She wants him to sign the papers because she is afraid of Diaz. He yells at her and tells her to move out.

Diggle tells the B-team his plan. They are going to tag the trucks and let A.R.G.U.S. take them out. Rene is still having PTSD and is going to sit this one out.

Lance apologizes to Black Siren and tells her about Damien Darhk. He signs the papers and they agree to protect each other, which means that at least one of them is going to die. Any bets?

Anatoly tells Oliver that any betrayal he has made of his former principles is Oliver’s fault.

Diggle and the B-team attack. One of the trucks almost gets away, but Curtis tags it.

Diaz takes his frustration about all of this out on Oliver. Anatoly tells Diaz that he is better than this and convinces him to fight Oliver mano-a-mano. The loser leaves Star City. Oliver of course gets the upper hand and Diaz of course cheats, to Anatoly’s horror.

Oliver even says, “You have failed this city, and I’m going to take it back.” Not by yourself you aren’t.

He visits Oliver in his cell and gives him bandages. He also wants to break Oliver out, but gets called to Diaz before he can do that.

The B-Team asks Diggle to join them. He says no.

Curtis goes to see Rene, but it’s actually Zoe who convinces him to continue being a vigilante. She knows because the B-team is not subtle or quiet.

Black Siren gives Diaz Lance’s papers. He doesn’t care about the papers. It was a test. Then Oliver is brought in with a gun to his head. Diaz doesn’t want Oliver to leave anymore. He wants Oliver in jail. He’s having his trial brought up. I was wondering when they were going to get to that.

Maybe this is what brings the team back together? Worry about Oliver? Diaz’s people are turning on him, so that could be the nail in the coffin. I actually managed to give a crap about parts of this episode, so it was better. 7/10.

The Mystery of the Alexandrite Family

Ryan: This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved we will be discussing the mystery of the Alexandrite family. Now this one is different from others we’ve done-”

Shane: Why?

Ryan: You’ve got to let me tell you. Now this one is a bit strange, because of who survived, and what he may have done following it.

Shane: Well let’s hear it. 

Ryan: So I don’t have the exact date since they were hard to find and most of these articles have been translated from Russian-

Shane: Ooh. Is this going to be like the one about the Romanov family?

Ryan: No. Weell. No. So this happened in a rather wealthy village in Russia, Река Слез (Reka Slez). In about the late 90s. One night people broke into the Alexandrite’s family home. The neighbours called for help after hearing gunshots. Vera and Edmon Alexandrite were found dead in the living room, each from multiple gunshot wounds. Their son, Ivan, was found unconscious and injured on the edge of the woods the family had on their property. 

Shane: They must’ve been rich. Just having a forest on the property.

Ryan: Yeah.

Ryan clears his throat.

Ryan: Later, an investigation revealed large amounts of money were missing from security vaults kept in the home offices.

Shane: Offices? Plural? What’d they do for a living? 

Ryan: That actually has to do with one of the theories. Along with the money whoever killed them also took with them - 

The video cuts to Ryan reading off a list

“- different ornaments, like decorations. Other things that were stolen include jewelry, just jewels and gems in general - 

Shane holds a hand up. “Hold up, they just had gems laying around?”

Ryan shrugs. “I guess? None of the reports specified where they were in the house just that they were stolen.”

“And they didn’t have any weapons or a dog at least? No security system? What did they expect to happen?”

“I don’t know. No weapons were found in the house besides kitchen knives. They could have been hidden though. There were other things stolen though-

“What? What else would they have?”

“Paintings,” Ryan says and Shane shakes his head a bit at him. “The missing paintings were never identified though, so the family probably never bought any, just painted them themselves or got them from friends or family.”

“How did they know the family didn’t buy the paintings?

“They scanned the other paintings for those ID chips and didn’t find any. I’m guessing they assumed the others weren’t bought as well.”

“So is this about the paintings?”

Ryan half-laughs. “No. Not quite. It does tie into one of the theories though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Ryan looks directly at the camera. “Now, back to Ivan…”

The screen goes back to black, showing pictures of a different family and a timeline.

Ryan: Extended family took Ivan in. His mother's cousins, the Bauxite’s. For three years he was under their care until - and wait until you hear this - they left Russia. 

Shane: Did they take Ivan with them?

Ryan: No, and that’s the thing, he was left with no way of ever finding or contacting them again.

Shane: How old was he?

Ryan: Thirteen, I believe. 

Shane: Jesus. Is he still alive?

Ryan: Yeah.

Shane: He know we’re doing this?

Ryan: Yeah. I asked him to make sure it’s okay. He said I probably wouldn’t find anything but he didn’t care.

Shane: You know him?

Ryan: No. He has social media, Shane. Anyway his entire extended family just up and leaves when he’s thirteen. No one really knows where they are though, or why they left.

Shane: Was it investigated?

Ryan: Yeah. There were no signs of struggle or forced entry in their house. It was just all of a sudden. Or any of the houses.

Shane: Poor kid… That’s horrible.

Ryan: No kidding.

Shane: Everyone left?

Ryan: Everyone who was directly related to his parents. So his aunts, uncles, cousins.

Shane: Grandparents?

Ryan: I think they might have already been dead when this was happening. I can’t imagine anyone letting that happen to their family and if they were the oldest… Any the next two years are a bit unclear, I think he was mostly staying in orphanages then.

Shane: Wait- so did the people who killed his parents… did they have to do with the rest of the family’s disappearance?

Ryan: Maybe. We’ll get to that. They do think that the Russian mob killed Vena and Edmon though. Ivan wasn’t able to identify anyone but he said he’s positive the mob had something to do with it. This will also be relevant later.

Shane: Isn’t it solved then?

Ryan: No. When he was fifteen he was taken in by a family in America. Everything was kind of quiet up until two years later when he would have been 17.

Shane: So is the mystery about this Ivan guy?

Ryan: Kind of. His parents too. You’ll see why.

Shane: What happened when he was 17? Also, what happened to all his parents' money and the rest of their stuff? Wouldn’t it have been given to him at that point?

Ryan: About the money, that’s actually part of one of the theories so I’ll get to that later. And about what was happening when he was 17… Some people following the case saw that he had gotten a tattoo. It’s a circle with a dot in the middle of it, it’s known as “The Roundstone.” It indicates the person is an orphan and it also is known to mean “Trust only yourself.”

Shane: Rough. But it’s really just a tattoo.

Ryan: Not any tattoo Shane. It is a common tattoo among vory v zakone, or, as they are better known, the Russian mob.

Shane. Wait. What?

The video shows them both at the table.

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Isn’t it crazy?”

“So this guy says he thinks the Russian mob killed his family, and then he goes and joins them?”

“Maybe. Maybe he just likes the irony of it.”

“That’s…”

“I know. It gets weirder.”

“Of course it does.”

The screen goes to black and two pictures come on screen. One is labelled ‘Anatoly’ and the other is labelled ‘Vladimir.’

Ryan: Around the same time and after he was seen interacting with Anatoly Ranskahov and Vladimir Ranskahov, two very well known members of the Russian mob.

Shane: Couldn’t they have to do with his parents' murders though? Why would he be talking to them?”

Ryan: They couldn’t have killed his parents. When the Alexandrite’s were killed the Ranskahov’s would have been in jail, both on a three year sentence that they did, surprisingly, complete.

Shane: Why is it surprising?

Ryan: Because they later escaped a different prison in 2007 after only having been there for a few years and they still had quite a lot of time left on their sentences. 

Shane: Strange. 

Ryan: Yeah it is. Anyway, he was seen with known and suspected members a few times. At one point he was also seen with Oliver Queen, and not looking at all happy about it. 

Shane: Does Oliver Queen have something to do with this? Ryan: It’s not likely, there isn’t enough evidence to prove that he does.

Shane: Where are you going with this?

Ryan: I’m getting there. About five years later he was seen leaving a mechanic where he supposedly worked at the time. Someone saw that he had a new tattoo, one that looked fresh.

Shane: Fresh? How does a tattoo look fresh?

Ryan: I don’t know. That’s what they said. Anyway, it’s of a cat wearing a hat-”

The video shows Shane laughing. “The cat in the hat?”

“No!” Ryan laughs too. “No. More like Puss in Boots.”

“Oh. So like Shrek.”

“Aah… Not quite. The cat that uses trickery and deceit to gain wealth and power. So. Not as cute as the ‘Puss’ from Shrek. It’s supposedly a traditional sign of the thieves, or vory.”

“So ‘vory’ is ‘thieves’ in Russian?”

“Yes.” “What’s ‘thief’ then?”

“…”

“What is it, Ryan?”

“I don’t want this to get demonetized. V-O-R. Figure it out yourself.”

“Oh. So this puss in boots is a Russian thief tattoo?”

“Supposedly.”

“You didn’t ask Ivan to confirm their meanings or if he even has them at all? Are there any pictures of these supposed tattoos?”

“I actually did ask. He does have the Roundstone one.”

“Well did he confirm its meaning?”

“Yes.”

“What about the cat in the hat?”

“No. He just said,” Ryan slides his phone across the table to show Shane, “and I quote, ‘LOL. Nope.’ and didn’t say anything else. Anyway, at the time he was leaving the mechanic he would have been about 22 years old.”

“So there are these random people creeping him on the internet?”

“I guess. Now on to the theories!”

The screen cuts to black. The words ‘Theory One’ come up on screen. 

Shane: If you say this ten-year-old kid somehow orchestrated his parents murder-

Ryan: No! No. The first theory comes from Ivan himself and what the authorities suspect. He said he would use to hear his parents talk, talk about people who threatened them and what to do about it. He thinks the mafia was interested in his parents' money and they were threatening his parents into handing it over. 

This is probably the most likely one considering how wealthy his parents were and neither of them had an extensive criminal record.

Shane: So the money… How would they have gotten it? What did they do for work?

Ryan: Right! Theory two then. Some people think at one point his parents were involved with, or part of, the mafia and that’s how they ended up so wealthy. They kept a lot of locked up documents in the offices. Some of them were even coded. Some people also think the stolen paintings might have had codes hidden in them and that’s why the mob chose to take those paintings instead of the others. It would also explain why they were killed- easiest way to shut someone up.

Shane: What about Ivan? Wouldn’t the ones he was with try to kill him?

Ryan: Not exactly. The Rusian mob’s hierarchy isn’t very well documented and it’s more… fluid, I guess, then other mafias are. The two groups might not even know each other.

Shane: So the Alexandrite’s were involved with the mob? Ryan: It’s possible. They’re dead so we can’t ask them, Ivan was too young to know which is why he might be alive, and no one would want to come forward with information since it would likely end with them in prison. Also, this case is still technically under investigation, it’s why Ivan can’t get any of his parents fortune. If it’s dirty blood money then the authorities would need to know that before handing it over to Ivan.

Shane: That’d be tough. Going through all that… So is Ivan part of the mob then? Ryan: I don’t know.

Shane: What about the will? Wouldn’t they have one? Especially since the mob was threatening them. And why wouldn’t they go to the police or invest in some sort of alarm system or security?

Ryan: That’s why people think they were once in the mob. And it wouldn’t be safe to raise a kid into a mob- which might be why they left. The video shows both of them still at the table. Ryan is looking at Shane. “What do you think Shane?”

“I think the mob was definitely involved in some way. Were those the only theories?”

“Yeah. It was hard to get my hands on anything else since it’s still an ongoing investigation.”

“Did they ask Ivan anything?”

“He didn’t really remember anything. A night like that would be traumatic to anyone, especially a little kid.”

“How old is he now?”

“About 25 I think.”

The screen shows pictures of the Alexandrite house and the surrounding houses.

Ryan: What happened that fateful night would turn into a lifetime of mystery and wondering. Anyone who truly knows what happened is now dead or won’t be coming forward. For now, this case is Unsolved.

The word ‘Unsolved’ in red bold letters appears on screen and fades away as the video shows Shane and Ryan.

“The mob definitely did it,” Shane says.

“Oh yeah.”

“Think they’ll ever find out who did it?”

“Probably. Who knows, maybe we’ll be coming back to this.” 

“Maybe we will.”

------------------------------------------

I plan on doing the Post Mortem Q&A for this so if anyone has any questions they'd like to ask feel free to do so in the comments. if you don't want me to use your username just put that in the comment too.

A Gulag Historian Returns to Prison

Acquitted of child pornography, Yury Dmitriyev now faces charges of sexual assault.

— By Evan Gershkovich | July 14, 2020 | The Moscow Times

Sofia Miroyedova

Respected Gulag historian Yury Dmitriyev has spent decades calling attention to one of the darkest chapters in Russia's history. He now faces up to 15 years in prison on sexual assault charges in a case his allies say has been trumped up to silence him.

The Moscow Times Profiled Dmitriyev in 2018:

Yury Dmitriyev normally hates Moscow. The concrete, the commotion, the pollution. As much as he can, he stays in Karelia, where he was born, raised and has spent his 62 years. In the northwestern region bordering Finland and the Baltic and White Seas, he can usually be found in the woods or in his study, writing.

Yet on a pleasant evening in mid-May, Dmitriyev, a prominent researcher of Soviet crimes, was happy to be in the metropolis. Accompanied by his elder daughter, Yekaterina Klodt, and his lawyer, Viktor Anufriyev, old friends greeted him with grins and tight hugs in a courtyard outside Teatr.doc, a progressive theater, ahead of a human rights awards ceremony.

One month earlier, Dmitriyev had been cleared of child pornography charges. Authorities had detained him in December 2016 after investigators found nude photos of his 11-year old adopted daughter; Dmitriyev said he took the photos to monitor her physical changes as she was prone to illness. From the outset, human rights defenders claimed that the case was fabricated to silence an outspoken activist.

If the arrest came as a shock to those who knew him, so too did his acquittal: Fewer than one percent of criminal defendants in Russia are cleared.

But authorities, human rights defenders now say, weren’t done with the historian just yet. Only a month after the awards night, a judge annulled the April decision, starting the trial anew.

Then, two weeks later, prosecutors brought additional charges to the table: This time they claimed that Dmitriyev had sexually assaulted his daughter. As of late June, the historian was back in jail facing another uphill legal battle, his freedom having been fleeting.

“The new charges are a chance for the prosecution to get it right,” Anufriyev said. “They failed the first time, so officials are giving them another chance to get the job done.”

Digging and Documenting

Two decades ago, Dmitriyev discovered a set of mass graves in a Karelian forest containing the bodies of more than 9,500 victims of Josef Stalin’s Great Terror. Poring over KGB documents, the head — and sole employee — of Memorial’s Karelia branch spent the next 20 years documenting each victim’s story.

“What makes Yury unique is that he combines both the digging and the documenting,” said Sergei Krivenko, a colleague of Dmitriyev’s at Memorial and a member of the Presidential Human Rights Council. “Some people work on compiling books of names, some people search for the exact locations of the killings. No one has dedicated themselves to both the way Yury has.”

“No one has dedicated themselves to both digging and documenting the way Yuri has.”

Those who know Dmitriyev say he toiled everyday. “He’s been doing this work for the past 30 years, and I’m 33,” said Klodt, his elder daughter. “I’m so used to it that, for me, his work is no different than a dentist’s.”

Since the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, historians say, the state has supported them in locating and memorializing the burial sites of the estimated 15 to 30 million victims of Stalin’s rule. At the location Dmitriyev discovered — Sandarmokh — local authorities helped build roads and erect monuments and aided with an annual gathering at the site.

But in recent years, human rights defenders say, the climate has become less hospitable. Those who spoke with The Moscow Times pointed to a resurgence in Stalin’s popularity as a significant reason: In June last year, Russians voted him the “most outstanding” person in history. In second place was President Vladimir Putin, who has accused the West of “excessive demonization” of the Soviet leader.

Others pointed to a surge in nationalism since 2014, when Russia annexed Crimea and got involved in Ukraine. “There were many foreigners killed at Sandarmokh — Norwegians, Poles, Finns and Ukrainians, including around 200 intellectuals,” Krivenko said. “This is a very important place for Ukrainians especially, and a delegation would visit the site annually.”

Dmitriyev organized the memorial visit every year on Aug. 5. He invited foreign delegations and led discussions, Krivenko said. After the events in Crimea and Ukraine, the discussions often turned to politics.

“I think this is why they went after him,” Krivenko said. He also pointed to an October 2016 decision to add Memorial to a register of “foreign agent” organizations that receive foreign funding. “I think this gave the local siloviki” — officials with ties to law enforcement — “a signal that they could go after us.”

Two months later, in December, Dmitriyev was first arrested.

Prison as a Work Trip

The day after the awards night, Dmitriyev was invited to speak with human rights students at the Sakharov Center, named after the Nobel Prize-winning human rights activist.

Klodt had come with him and complained that she wasn’t feeling well. “Maybe they should put you in prison for a year too so they can toughen you up,” her father joked.

Quick to laugh, thin and slightly disheveled, Dmitriyev presented an unimposing figure. But when the subject of his work came up, he turned deadly serious.

“I don’t fight the system. That’s a dead end, and I’m already old now,” he told The Moscow Times before the event. “I fight for memory. I fight so anyone who wants to can learn about their relatives, regardless of whether the government wants it or not. These people existed at some point. They worked and loved and had children. I’m for protecting the freedom of private life and of those memories.”

Without those memories, Dmitriyev continued, today’s generation cannot judge whether their government is laudable or acting improperly.

“The people I dig up were in the same prison, walked the same halls and were behind the same bars.”

“When a person knows the history of their family for multiple generations, they can understand what our state is doing right and what it’s doing wrong,” he said. “Called upon by the state to do this or that, they’ll say, ‘No, my great-grandfather was summoned in the same way and it ended badly for him. So maybe it’ll end badly for me as well.’”

Dmitriyev shrugged at the subject of his time in prison. “I don’t make a great tragedy out of that year,” he said. “I just think of it as a work trip. I’ve gained a better understanding of what my heroes — the people I dig up and write about — were thinking. They were in the same prison, walked the same halls and were behind the same bars.”

More difficult, he said, was being separated from his younger daughter. Dmitriyev himself was adopted, and at some point he decided he wanted to care for an orphaned child too. He hoped he’d be able to talk to her again by the end of the year. “It’s a humane policy by the prosecutor’s office,” he joked. Then he turned serious again: “I can handle it, I’m a tough person. But what about the child? She thinks everyone has abandoned her.”

Into the Forest

After Dmitriyev was first arrested, the girl was taken in by her biological grandmother. Klodt said the family and the grandmother maintained regular communication. But when Dmitriyev was acquitted, Klodt said, the grandmother cut off all communication with the family. Then she sent a letter to the prosecution demanding the acquittal be overturned.

Anufriyev, Dmitriyev’s lawyer, believes that local authorities pressured her into writing the letter. He also says that the new charges of sexual assault are founded solely on a June 6 meeting between investigators and the girl during which, Anufriyev says, they coerced her into saying what they wanted. “They say they’re helping the child, but really they’re making her suffer,” he said.

Reached by phone, Tatyana Kordyukova, a spokesperson for the prosecutor’s office, said she couldn’t comment on the case and referred The Moscow Times to the Investigative Committee. The Investigative Committee, in turn, did not respond to requests for comment.

On July 25, the retrial of the first case will begin. The Investigative Committee is currently researching the new charges, a process which could take months. The original charges carry up to 15 years in prison; the new charges up to 20.

This time, though, Anufriyev says Dmitriyev is better prepared. “After his last stint in prison, he now knows that we can fight and win this thing,” he said.

Klodt, too, is ready for the fight. “I’m not constantly hysterical like last time,” she said. “I understand that something needs to be done. I’m not giving up.”

His colleagues say they won’t give up either. When Dmitriyev was first arrested, human rights defenders, artists and writers across the country spoke out for him and wrote letters to Putin. Still, they are sober about the possible outcome.

“This is the atmosphere for us right now,” Krivenko said. He pointed to the case of Oleg Sentsov, a Ukrainian filmmaker accused of terrorism after he had refused to accept the annexation of Crimea, and Memorial colleague Oyub Titiyev, who is also in prison on charges widely believed to be fabricated.

“The only good thing from all this is that the president is showing us how it all happened in the 1930s — how people were blamed, how siloviki read signals from the top,” Krivenko said. “We used to study this in archives, now we see it in real life.”

During his short stint out of prison, Dmitriyev returned to work. Anatoly Razumov, a historian and one of Dmitriyev’s closest friends, stayed at his house from the night before the acquittal was overturned until June 19. The entire time, he says, Dmitriyev worked on a book he had to put off when he was first arrested.

In May, asked if he would return to his work or if he feared doing so would anger certain parties, Dmitriyev was unmoved. “If you’re afraid of wolves, you shouldn’t go into the forest,” he replied.

A Definitive Ranking of All Arrow Trios

OTA (Original Team Arrow): Oliver, Diggle, Felicity- 99/100 Practically perfect in every way, the core of the show, complementing skills and personalities, great teamwork, without them there’s no show. -1 for lying to each other

Island Trio: Oliver, Slade, Shado- 91/100 very good team, little island family, love each other a lot, very talented (they’ll kill you and then have a campfire and tease each other), very supportive even when murdering, would die for each other, -4 love triangle stuff, -5 death and mirakuru

The Queen Siblings: Oliver, Thea, Tommy- 85/100 Wonderful sweet family, lots of canon and headcanoned sibling bonding, big brother Tommy, Oliver and Tommy looking out for one another, -10 for Oliver stealing Tommy’s girl, -5 for Thea flirting with her brother

Team Super Spies: Maseo, Tatsu, Oliver- 83/100 lovely family dynamic, Maseo and Tatsu power couple, swords archery and gun makes a great combo, Oliver gets nice mentors and a positive example of a loving couple, spy stuff, -7 dead kid, -5 abandoning your wife, -5 group only formed under threat of death and Oliver was basically enslaved the whole time

TAJ (Team Arrow Junior): Roy, Thea, Sin- 80/100 could also be called the scooby gang, lots of spunk, no love triangle drama, gets stuff done, also almost get killed, -5 bad listeners and lie a lot, -15 for forgetting Sin existed

Mayor’s Squad: Oliver, Quentin, Thea- 77/100 supportive family dynamic, good political team, pretty honest with each other (its a big deal for them), nice blend of political styles, so grown up, I’m proud of them, -10 shady political dealings, -3 nepotism, -10 bad judge of character for other members of the Mayor’s office

NTA (New Team Arrow): Rene, Curtis, Dinah- 75/100 great realistic friend banter, meta tech and skill makes a good power balance, good back up singers, different enough from OTA, -12 for limited screen time

The Queens (aka Team Impaled on a Sword): Moira, Oliver, Thea- 73/100 wonderful family, don’t mess with them they’ll have you killed, will lie for each other about anything, would do anything for each other, shared experience with swords, -7 for lying to each other, -10 for having Oliver tortured, -10 for petty grudges

Suicide Squad: Diggle, Lyla, Deadshot- 71/100 Dyla Dream Team, Diggle/Deadshot bromance, ex soldiers working together, very skilled, lots of snark, -15 for shooting Dig’s brother, -9 for putting a bomb in a team member’s skull, -5 for general distrust

Evil Girl Group: Talia, Black Siren, Evelyn- 68/100 Very powerful, very evil, good chance of redemption as individuals, small chance of redemption as a group, effective team, big sisters to Evelyn yay!, -16 for lack of screen time together, -16 for maybe leaving each other to die on an exploding island

The Diggles 1.0: Diggle, Lyla, Sara- 68/100 Dyla Dream Team, very cute baby girl, superspy and vigilante power couple, low drama, -30 baby Sara can’t contribute to team efforts and does not have her own characterization for she is a baby, -2 don’t work together very often

The Diggles 3.0: Diggle, Lyla, JJ- 67/100 same as above but -1 for erasing Sara from existence

Slightly Less Evil Girl Group: Chien Na Wei, Cupid, Liza Warner- 65/100 fun team up, good diversity, broke out of jail that’s fun, Cupid always gets points, -20 for only one episode, -10 for Liza Warner barely being a character, -5 for Chien Na Wei sometimes outclassing the others sometimes being on their level

Team “We Don’t Need Oliver and Felicity- Oh Wait We Do!”: Diggle, Laurel, Thea- 62/100 interesting combination of characters, good vigilante team, did a good job protecting the city, good sister dynamic with Thea and Laurel -20 never actually really saw the group on screen, -13 needed Oliver and Felicity back as soon as things got tough and interrupted the proposal, -5 not enough Diggle

Newbies: Rene, Rory, Evelyn- 60/100 nice varied skill set, good sibling bickering, lots of sass, -30 for Evelyn betraying them, +10 for cute Christmas presents

Kinda a Group Briefly- Diggle, Roy, Laurel- 58/100 good team potential, good Roy and Laurel friendship, good Diggle advice, -7 not enough Diggle, -30 only existed for one episode, -5 Laurel doesn’t know what she’s doing

Original Trio: Oliver, Tommy, Laurel- 56/100 Tommy and Oliver bromance is very very good, Tommy and Laurel romance is very good, allusions to growing up together is good, Laurel and Oliver supporting Tommy is good, -30 for love triangle nonsense, -4 for not getting out the glades when you’re supposed to and getting Tommy killed, -10 for judgment and accusations and lies on all accounts

The Lances: Sara, Laurel, Quentin- 55/100 Love each other a lot, good dad, good sisters (mostly), assassin lawyer and cop is a fun combo, -30 why you always lyin’, -5 why you always dyin’, -10 can’t handle grief

So Crazy it Just Might Work Squad: Anatoly, Sara, Oliver- 52/100 hard to beat because they’re a little crazy, good out-of-the-box thinking, origins of the Anatoly/Oliver bromance, pretty effective -10 because they might ram a sub into your brand new freighter and won’t even say they’re sorry, -30 bad habit of assuming the rest of the team is dead without checking, -8 no real bonding 

SCPB (Starling City Police Buddies): Quentin, Hilton, Kelton 50/100 matching names! kind of, Kelton respects Felicity, good police work, good dry humor, -30 for forgetting Kelton, -10 for demoting Quentin, -10 for killing Hilton 

Did They Send Me Daughters?: Yao Fei, Shado, Mei- 48/100 all cool people, good fighters, took care of Oliver, -30 in a year and a half didn’t mention Mei once, -15 Yao Fei playing favorites only training Shado, -7 forgetting Mei

League of Jerks Remix: Ra’s, Maseo, Al Sahim- 42/100 big improvement over original League of Jerks, lots of talent, very evil, much less rudeness to each other than original LoJ, Ra’s is very supportive of Al Sahim, they train each other try to help each other improve, could probably take over the world if one of them wasn’t only pretending to be part of the team, -40 for Al Sahim secretly being still good, -10 for forced marriages, -5 for mass murder, -3 for attempted brainwashing

Lance Sisters: Laurel, Sara, Sin- 40/100 cute sister moments, Sin’s existence brings them favor, -20 for sleeping with sister’s boyfriend, -10 for pettiness, -30 for Sin and Laurel never meeting

Bratva and Friends: Anatoly, Oliver, Viktor- 39/100  +30 for Oliver and Anatoly bromance, +8 skill overthrowing Bratva leaders and despotic tyrants, +1 Russian accents, -40 for betrayal, -18 for Viktor not mattering except to betray them, -3 because friends don’t let friends casually torture people to death

The Smoaks: Donna, Noah, Felicity- 37/100 no team unity, divorce and betrayal, lying to your daughter, not telling your mother your secret identity, too much criminal activity, abandonment issues, +10 for hacking skills, +7 for sacrificing for Felicity, +15 for Felicity, +5 for Donna’s emotional intelligence when she shows it

Team Deathstroke: Slade, Blood, Isabel- 35/100 accomplished a lot, all of them are Oliver’s friends but not really, very very evil, -10 for not liking each other, -5 for Blood’s name, -30 for betraying and killing each other, -10 for Isabel being creepy, -10 for Blood falling for Oliver’s charm and quitting the team

Original Trio Senior: Robert, Malcolm, Moira- 25/100 Lots of cheating on each other, lots of secret keeping, one murder, one attempted murder, lots of blackmail, not very good with teamwork at all, a fair amount of accidentally killing their own children because of all this, +10 for sneakiness skills, +5 for dry elitist snark, +5 for taking care of each other’s kids, +5 good doomsday planning

Purgatory Pals: Fyers, Wintergreen, Yao Fei- 22/100 they’re not even friends, have to pay each other to work together, Billy doesn’t get to show his face, kidnapped the daughter of one of them, shot Yao Fei in the face

Team Vertigo: The Count, That Psychiatrist Dude, Count Vertigo- 20/100 Know how to stick to a theme, shared interests, make for really good episodes, villainous but also know how to create good cathartic internal struggles, -5 for not knowing the one guy’s name, -5 for two kind of having the same name, -70 for not actually being a team

League of Jerks: Ra’s, Maseo, Nyssa- 17/100 very rude to each other, too many forced marriages, intentionally kicked one member of the trio out and replaced her, are Maseo and Nyssa even friends?, +10 for Ninja skills, +5 for Nyssa, +2 for effectiveness

I Guess They Were a Team: Slade, Oliver, Sara- 12/100 only together very briefly, first thing they do is lie to each other, lots of strangling, some torture of each other, no trust, too much mirakuru, +12 for taking over the freighter and good planning skills

The Diggles 2.0: Diggle, Lyla, Andy- 7/100 very bad trio, lots of betrayal, threatening the lives of children, killing friends, brainwashing, keeping people locked in cages, shooting brothers, +7 for Dyla Dream Team

The Psycho Ex’s: Helena, Isabel, Cooper- 5/100 very bad team, don’t even know each other, very mean to their ex’s, very creepy, +5 would be good villain team if they met

The Assistant (5 of ?) | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

[original picture: pinterest]

✏️ Pairings:

(eventual) Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader

Anatoly Ranskahov x OC (Paulina)

probably other pairings in the future

✏️ Requested by @kellydixon01  : Y/N–hacker, big mouth, even bigger attitude–is the new addition to Fisk’s team. Sent to help the Ranskahovs, she immediately gets on Vladimir’s nerves. But as time passes, they start to take a liking to each other, even if none of them is willing to admit their feelings. Yet.

✏️ A/N: for once I have nothing to say haha hopefully not a bad chapter, but I’m glad I managed to write after these days of hell. (Hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes)

✏️ A/N 2: jk I have stuff to say. Any ‘hacking scene’ from now on is just based on my imagination, I don’t have the strenght (psychological or physical) to search realistic things now, it’s a rough period + I used google to research one Hungarian name (Miklos) and one Hungarian surname (Dobos) so I hope they’re not wrong; in that case, I’m sorry. Why Hungarian mob? I don’t know, but I did a project on Hungary in middle school and I remember I liked it. Is there anything like Hungarian mob? I don’t know, but for the sake of this chapter I hope so haha Why not Italian? Bc I’m Italian and it’s often Italian mob in fics and movies and it’s tiring after a bit, so... HAHA #sorrynotsorry #letschangeitupalil

✏️ Warnings: mention of murder and that’s probably it

✏️ Word-count: 2,870

📚 To read the previous chapters, click on the MASTERLIST link in my bio (unfortunately I can’t put links here if I want my post to come up in search results. I apologize.)

CHAPTER FIVE: MIKLOS DOBOS

Vladimir had never been this close to Y/N. Stuffed on the back seat of the car with her between him and his brother, he was seething.

Her shoulder pressed against his and his knee bumped against hers every time Aslan drove over a hole in the asphalt, almost as though he was doing it on purpose. He didn’t know if the buzzing feeling in his brain was due to such close proximity on her part or simply because he was still pissed by the fact that Tolya had allowed her–had insisted and bugged him all day for her–to come with them. It was probably a combination of both, but Volodya didn’t exactly care. As long as he didn’t have to drive her home, he was good.

Or, at least, he was good as long as he kept his distance from his own apartment. He had known right from the start that the chances of Y/N having dipped into the privacy of his life were pretty high, but he had never considered, in the days he had spent trying to work with her–keyword: trying–that she would do something like moving in next door.

If this wasn’t the sign he had been waiting for–consciously or not–, the proof of her spying on him and his brother and his business in general, he truly didn’t know what else could be. She hadn’t stopped working for Fisk just as she had never started to work for him, he reasoned now.

Now more than ever he wished he had someone to cover his back or to stop his finger from pulling the trigger of his gun because he didn’t want to disappoint his brother by killing that woman.

Her presence in the apartment in front of his–and next to him now, for that matter–had the same shocking effect of dipping naked in ice-cold water. And he had done that–and on many an occasion–but he had never been forced to and it had never been a surprise.

This, however, was a lot more than his already feeble patience could take.

And to ask him–to force him–to take Y/N along to go ransom the last part of the payment before the shipment got–well–shipped was like asking him to suddenly turn into a saint when he wasn’t even a good person, to begin with.

“Did we really have to-”

“Don’t start now,” Tolik cut him off, slightly turning his head in his brother’s direction to warn him that his patience was running thin.

They had both used Russian–Vladimir because he didn’t give a fuck, Anatoly because he did give a fuck and the last thing he wanted was to risk insulting her and end up on the first page of a hacker’s black book.

No one spoke again after that, at least not before Aslan reached the location Y/N had chosen and turned off the engine.

“They’re not here yet,” Sergei pointed out, sticking his head out of the window to check the area. “What do we do now?”

“Now we wait.” Y/N’s back was relaxed against the leather seat of the SUV as she opened up the laptop she had on her knees and switched it on.

Her calmness was irritating: it made Vladimir’s skin itch and his brain pound like a military march in the confinements of his skull. He truly didn’t know what it was about her that had that effect on him and made that sort of primal instinct resurface, but here he was and he was definitely not happy.

Who did she think she was to know what to do better than him or his brother? To claim the right to choose what was good and what was wrong in his business? To stomp into his office and demand he follow her orders? Like some dog?

And now here they were, at the pier, the Hudson river peacefully flowing in front of them. The gentle night breeze breathed in through the open front window, caressing their cheeks with its cool tendrils, and it carried the sound of honks being pressed on in the early night traffic. And still, the Hungarians were nowhere to be seen.

Vladimir already didn’t like them–and it wasn’t because the mudaki were late, for it wasn’t that late when he checked his watch. He hated them because they always tried to trick him, because there was this one Hungarian dick at the fights that seemed to have taken it upon himself to piss the shit out of Vladimir. He wasn’t part of the mob, of course, he was just some twenty-four bitch that had fun beating the blood out of people’s noses, but it was such a minuscule detail that Vlad didn’t care.

And if this was going to turn out to be the debacle of Dobos’ irritating organization, then so be it. Vladimir Ranskahov was just waiting for the right time to lower the saber on the dick’s neck and watch his pitiful society die like a rat in a trap.

What pissed him off even more was, again, Y/N’s presence not just in the car, but at the meeting. There was no way he was going to let a newbie take part to it, and it wasn’t just because she hacked things for someone else–or, well, maybe yeah, maybe that was part of the reason behind his annoyance.

The biggest issue was Miklos Dobos’ attitude towards newbie–or people in general, for that matter. He didn’t trust them, and even when–and if–they won his trust, he still continued on with his doubts and he’d do anything in his power to protect himself as best as he could. And this usually translated into stricter controls and suspects–and greater irritation on the part of the people that had to deal with him.

Which, in this case, translated into the figure of Vladimir Ranskahov. And he was anything but happy.

Vlad had his own problems with newbies, too–he didn’t know about Tolya, but he sure as hell did have problems with newbies. And from this point of view, he wasn’t even that different from Dobos. He only worked with people he trusted, who had crimes behind their backs that he respected, and who respected him. Y/N didn’t have his trust nor his respect–yet, for he wanted to hope that one day he would be able to at least stand her.

Newbies could very well be time bombs in situations like the one they were all going to live. They could get scared at anything, or blurt out something they should have never told, or do crap in general and blow everything up. It was a fragile world, the underworld. It sure had a tough face, but the body was of fine crystal and anything could shatter it. Alliances were never forever–it didn’t matter how hard Wesley was fucking himself with that idea, even the whole Gao-Fisk-Ranskahovy affiliation was going to go to shit one day–and literally anything could undermine a thriving organization. Newbies were that threat: they could inadvertently blow a whole world up if they hadn’t been delivered the right education.

This was exactly why Vladimir and Anatoly Ranskahov refused to hire anyone who hadn’t served their time in jail–be it in Russia or America or anywhere else on the globe, it didn’t really matter, not as much as the committed crime did. And hacking into people’s lives and businesses didn’t exactly count as a crime in the brothers’ eyes. It was something anyone could do–at varying degrees, of course. They might not have been able to hack into someone’s bank account, but they still knew their ways and had their informants–or they could just use a gun and get it over with it.

Yet, this girl was probably going to prove herself to be one of his nightmares.

Vladimir was sure she hadn’t even seen a corpse before. Sure, she might have seen Granny or Gramps in their coffin, dead people on the news or on newspapers, but she had never been mere inches from someone who had just been shot in the head, nor had she ever had someone else’s blood splatter on her face or on her clothes.

She was a fucking time bomb, ticking their last seconds away, and Vlad couldn’t understand how Anatoly couldn’t see it.

It was Anatoly’s idea to let her come–maybe she had bugged him too, but Tolik had had the last word on the matter. It was Anatoly’s idea that they accept her presence just because some fat dick wanted so. And if they were going to go down in a bloodbath, it was going to be Anatoly’s idea and Vladimir was going to have the right excuse to kick his brother’s ass all the way into the afterlife.

“What are you doing?” She had stuck something into her laptop and may he be damned if he wasn’t going to find out what that was. He was no tech-genius, and at the same time, he was no stupid.

“Blocking phone signal,” she shrugged, sparing him a glance before going back to work. “I’m going to knock out their chances of calling anyone, but your phones won’t be immune, either. So I guess this is the time I understand whether I can trust you or not.”

Vladimir scoffed. “What about you?”

“Told you on day one.” She turned towards him this time and one of her hand ran to partially lower the monitor of her laptop. “I’m not here to spy. I’m here to help you. You are one stubborn dick, aren’t you?”

“And you are sneaky bitch. You still have not proved my suspicions wrong.”

But another car had parked on the other side of the open space, a grey Mercedes whose shiny surface reflected the light of the lampposts nearby. They stared as Dobos’ driver got out of the car and only then did Aslan and Sergei follow his example.

“Stay down and try not to get seen,” Anatoly ordered her, fixing the holster of his gun underneath the jacket of his suit.

“This would have been easier if you hadn’t let her come,” Vladimir commented in Russian and as he exited the car, he missed Y/N’s smirk at his words.

But she did as she was told: she crouched down behind the driver’s seat, laptop resting where Vladimir had been sat just seconds before and prayed with all her might to get out of that meeting alive and undiscovered.

Vladimir was praying, too, and he truly couldn’t fathom how his brother could be so calm and composed when they were basically violating the accords they had with the Hungarians.

Dobos got out of his car only when the Ranskahovs had reached their driver and Sergei. He was an imposing man: tall, big, with broad shoulders and a shiny bald head that shone brighter than the recently-washed roof of his own car.

He was a chicken, though, and the Ranskahovs knew that, and that was why he was flanked on either side by two other men, big but not as big as he was, with scarred faces and tattooed necks.

What irked Vladimir was the fact that those two bodyguards were new, they weren’t the ones Miklos Dobos usually used when they had to meet. He had never seen them, hadn’t been informed of that change and he did not like that. Not one bit.

“New men I see,” he groaned, pointing at the people in question with a nod of his head.

Dobos smirked and the fingers of his right hand rose to touch the crucifix that hung from his necklace. “Others have gone meet God.” He stopped two feet behind his driver and a fourth man got out of the front seat of the grey car, opened the trunk and grabbed two black bags. “Did you ship shipment?”

“We ship when meeting is over,” Anatoly pointed out. Dobos’ question ringed suspicious to his ears, for he had never asked such dumb things, but he didn’t think about it, not immediately at least. “You know that. It’s how we work, or have you forgotten?”

Dobos grimaced and threw a glance at the man on his left, a quick glance that Vladimir didn’t like. The Hungarian’s behavior was starting to smell fishy. “Three hundred grands,” he said and the man that had joined the party last let the bags fall to the ground in the no man’s land that separated the two parties. “Like accord.”

Sergei had already taken a step forward when Vladimir stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. “We check it first,” he declared and he himself walked to the bags, picked them up and then retreated, not turning his back to the Hungarians in front of him.

And stinking it was: Miklos Dobos gritted his teeth, his hand reaching the crucifix once again, but after a second of tension, he let out a soft sigh. “Why would we cheat you, Ranskahov? We have always paid.”

True, but they had never ordered such a big shipment and they had never had to pay such big money.

“New policies,” Vlad grinned. He took a step back and when Dobos’ men moved their hands over their guns, he spoke again. “I’m going to count money on hood of our car.”

It was going to be a slow count, every present was sure of that, but no one protested–not even Dobos, too intent in praying God Vladimir would be quick and superficial in his counting.

Vlad dropped the bags on the hood, still grinning in the direction of the other men, and as he turned, he briefly met Y/N’s questioning gaze as she stared at him from between the front seats behind which she was hiding. You better start praying too, girl, he thought, for he was sure the meeting was going to end in blood.

He unzipped the first bag slowly, almost begging he was just being paranoid and took out the first wad of bills. He counted them, touched them, almost sniffed them, but the green money was real. As were the bills in the second, third and fourth wads. He couldn’t say the same about those in the fifth: the first and last bills of the wad didn’t seem weird, but the ones in the middle didn’t seem to flow like the ones he had handled until now.

Brows furrowed, he refrained himself from turning towards Tolik or from seizing his gun. It could very well be his paranoia playing tricks on him. There was no reason why the Hungarians, weak as they were, would trick them. They had always paid on time and with nice money–maybe less than tonight, but that didn’t matter. And sure, their society was on the rise these days, but it didn’t mean anything.

His hands still ripped the band keeping the wad together and he stared at them as if those tattooed fingers belonged to someone else.

He was so not in the mood for blood or killing, tonight. He just wanted to stop to buy a pizza, go home and watch the boxing match on TV, drink more vodka than his stomach and liver could stand and smoke a well-deserved cigarette in the quietness of his apartment. It didn’t matter that he had Y/N living just next door, he was going to enjoy the rest he worked so hard for.

But Dobos thought he could play him. Thought he could trick someone who had been tricked by life in worse ways. Thought he could trick who now considered himself untrickable–though he was, and that fucking cheap mob boss proved that he could, indeed, be played like a whore.

The bills in the fifth wad had been counterfeited.

His fingers twitched, his tattooed rings burned and as his gaze met Y/N’s once again, he felt the blood in his brain reach boiling point.

“Everything alright?” came Dobos’ voice and at that moment it did sound like a dead’s voice.

“Da,” he yelled back, but he was still staring at the girl in his car and he wished she could do something, let Tolya or Aslan or Seriozha know they had to open fire on those motherfuckers. He snapped the bands of the wads he had checked open, piled the bills in a neat stack and grabbed both them and the bags before going back to the others. “But I have question,” he continued as the bags fell to the ground with a dull thud. His left hand knocked twice on his left thigh and as his own men and Tolik were staring at him, he knew they had caught the message. “What, exactly, made you think you could play us?”

In a heartbeat, the bills he had had in his right hand were flying through the air, momentarily blinding Dobos and his men, while the Ranskahovs and their own men fired.

The deafening sound of shots seemed to roll down the street lights, tumbling over Dobos’ Mercedes before, a heartbeat later, shell casings jingled on the wet asphalt.

*

Feedback and suggestions are always appreciated. Thank you for reading, I love you all 💛

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask. Same goes for ‘Bratva’)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi

Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested): @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs @brobachev 

All the Write Words, Pt.III (Library AU!Vladimir Ranskahov x Reader)

A/N: I’m gonna be real, this is just total juvenile cheesecake because even at my age, I have the sense of humor of a baby. And let’s be real, this was bound to happen at some point. This is a Vladimir fic after all . . .

Prologue Part I Part II Part IV Part V

For the first time in a long while, Vladimir Ranskahov’s life had a schedule: Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and every other Saturday, he was to be dropped off at the S. Lee Public Library from 10:45 AM to 1:30 PM. After every shift and on Tuesdays and Thursdays, he typically would resume his previous work at his and Anatoly’s taxi garage. On Sundays and nearly every single night when he figured he could manage, time was put aside for downing copious amounts of vodka and drunkenly praying to God that this bullshit would end soon.

If not for his upbringing by a God-fearing born-again woman, Vladimir’s belief in a higher power would have died completely the moment he realized the ordeal wasn’t disappearing any faster than it could have been. However, it made no sense to disbelieve in a god when every other day he had to face the Devil.

The Bible had it all wrong. The Devil was not called Lucifer or Satan, and he wasn’t red with horns or anything of that nature. Instead, he was much less predictable: He was a she. And her name was (Y/N). And she was not red and with horns, but brown and small (thought she might have horns lying beneath that bushel of curls, Vladimir suspected). And her domain wasn’t an infernal pit of whips and organ-pecking birds so much as it was a homey little den of a library (still, there was much suffering, it was just relative). And there weren’t any torture devices like spears and daggers and racks so much as there were plenty of books and ridiculous words and references that could make a man feel insignificant all the same.

Or the damn alphabet chart she kept using during their little lessons in the faculty lounge. It was definitely plucked from the children’s learning corner, and it was definitely humiliating that he was being taught pronunciation association with it. C’s cat and F’s fox mocked him with their cartoonish faces. He swore he could hear D’s toothy donkey wheeze with laughter.

Maybe they were (Y/N)’s little demon accomplices? Maybe he himself was so weak that they needn’t resume an actual three-dimensional form to torture and berate him? The thought would make Vladimir shake his head furiously and toss the shot glass to the side, going full-on swig with whatever remained in the vodka bottle he’d nicked from Anatoly’s wine rack. Christianity had gotten one thing right about her, though: She had soul-sucking eyes that could make you feel quiet and nude. Especially when she was certain she could gain an upper-hand. Which, with Vladimir, almost always seemed to be the case somehow.

Vladimir stared blankly at the book in the center of the table, part-because its original cover had been so mangled that at some point it’d been given a new “jacket” made out of folded paper and marker, and part-because with what little English he could read, there was oneword  on that book cover that stood out to him the most. He’d seen it graffitied on the cell walls, heard it uttered a million times more, even said it himself plenty of times if the situation suited it. Enough to identify it by sound and connect it to the letters.

Fun with Dick and Jane.

Was he going to read/look at a porno? Vladimir fought to keep from smirking. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Sip. Oh. Wait.           

“Well, I see that childish humor transcends all languages.” And already, today was back it being normal. Vladimir flashed (Y/N) a reproachful look. She sat on the other side of the round lounge table per unspoken request, wearing yet another baggy sweatshirt that ended practically midway down her thighs and was altogether swallowing her short form up. She should’ve been more than warm in that suffocating getup, but she still insisted upon helping herself to a Styrofoam cup of hot Swiss Miss. She also insisted that she coyly sip from said cup for what seemed like every ten seconds of silence.

“You can try to hide that smirk all you want but the proof is in the pudding, puddin’: you’re all giddy about that Dick.” Proud of her little joke, (Y/N) smiled into her cup. The roundness of her cheeks were still visible. Vladimir quickly tried to change the subject before he slapped that cup out of her hands in a childish revenge fashion.

“What sense does it make that I read this when I can barely write?” he questioned. It was a fair point: how could be possibly read when he didn’t understand what composed the words before him?!

(Y/N) pursed her lips in thought. “Weelll . . .” she dragged, tapping her fingers against the side of the cup. “To tell you the truth, I’ve actually never really taught before . . .” Her cheeks turned rosy slightly, and Vladimir knew instantly that was it wasn’t because of the Swiss Miss. Her tone indicated a sudden realization of the gravity of this task. Maybe it’d prove to be too heavy for her and she’d just give up, sign the papers, and set him loose? Vladimir hoped so.

But all at the same time, there was a small part of him, one he didn’t want to acknowledge too greatly, that wanted her to remain persistent. Just to see where and how far this all would go.

“B-but I have younger siblings, and I read to them occasionally. So . . . so I figured that if I tried reading some basic words to you, you’d begin to connect words to writing. Or at least get more enthusiastic . . .” She shyly played with one of her many curls, suddenly gaining an interest in the image of her Styrofoam cup. She bit at her lip slightly, repressing only a fragment of the smile that was beginning to grow on her face. “I guess I could be on the right track, though.” She glanced up at the rugged Russian. “After all, you could read ‘Dick.’”

A hiss of irritability escaped from Vladimir’s flared nostrils but nothing else. She had a point, as pissed as he was to find himself understanding and agreeing. He glanced back down at Fun with Dick and Jane with its printer paper makeshift cover. What the hell, his mind finally gave in. Jane was having fun with a dick, so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad . . .

“’See Jack laugh?’” A painted illustration of some nancy boy laughing at a clown on a clunky old TV set. “’See Jane play? Jane plays with the doll.’” A little blonde girl swearing a frilly blue dress, playing with a raggedy old doll that his mother probably wouldn’t want. “’Dick is running. Run, Dick, run!’”

Yeah, you dick: Run away for fooling me, Vladimir wanted to say. This was pure torture: Having the poofy-haired Devil read to him – and at such a slow-ass pace! (Y/N), at the very least, seemed to be enjoying herself in some way. Well, that’s what the tight smile plastered across her face had initially said. But about midway through, Vladimir began to suspect that it was because she, too, might be embarrassed by the childish display. 

. . . Or maybe because there was something rather odd about having to constantly utter the word “Dick” in front of a guy with whom she was not involved with nor even on friendly terms. Either way, it managed to create a small sense of victory for Vladimir; the torturer suffering alongside the tortured. Beautiful.

Why should he care about the daily activities of Jane? Or that Spot the dog and Puff the cat liked to play? Or – aw, hell, who the hell is Pam and why is she being brought into the cast seventeen pages into this travesty?!

When (Y/N) began to talk about how Sally was “funny Sally, funny, funny Sally”, a knock came from the threshold. Vladimir’s relief was almost immediately run over by embarrassment as a certain pudgy young man appeared to have walked in on their little lesson.

“Uh, hope I’m not interrupting anything major,” Foggy said from the doorway. “But that one guy? Mr. Wesley? Yeah, he’s here for those language books but we’re having trouble locating the one on Mandarin.”

“Oh, really? Okay, hold on, I’ll be right out,” (Y/N) offered. The slight eagerness in her voice indicated that she was just as excited to stop reading the bore-fest. As she followed Foggy out to the front desk, she called back, “Few-minute break, my little big pupil! Hang tight, I’ll be right back.” Vladimir nearly broke his phone with how fast and frustratingly he whipped it out of his pocket. Immediately, he set to dialing one of the very few numbers he had.

“You should not be calling,” Anatoly greeted after the third ring. Before he could say anything more, Vladimir interrupted, his Russian becoming more like gibberish. “Brother, you have signed me up for sick torture. This -- this witch has me sitting here listening to her read about Jane and Dick and –”

“Zaderzhat, zaderzhat– khuy?! You are reading porn?!” Anatoly demanded. Judging by the harsh whisper he’d delivered the sentence in, it was safe for Vladimir to assume that he was in the garage surrounded by the employees. Vladimir opened his mouth to clarify but the elder Ranskahov went on. “What the hell are you reading porn in a goddamn library, you mudak?! I send you to make you better person, not to be like some horny teenage boy!”

“No, you idiot, listen! I – ”

“Volodya, I understand if last two years in jail were rough on you – urges is -- is normal. But just because it is so long, does not mean you go about letting your dick lead you like a dog on a leash. You are its owner, you control it. So stop hiding in back room and get to work!”

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me, you goddamn mudak!” Vladimir hissed. His pride had been severely wounded. How dare Anatoly assume he was stooping so low. Hell, how dare he assume he couldn’t just walk right out this library and get any! “Women is not problem for me! And to correct you, you idiot, is not porn, is a . . . a fucking book for children!”

“Ooohhh,” Anatoly muttered with slight relief. A beat occurred between them, with Vladimir too furious and embarrassed to say anything and Anatoly suddenly in thought.

“Why are you reading children’s book?” His voice broke the crisp silence. A flurry of emotions and thoughts banged against the walls of Vladimir’s skull. Like hell Anatoly was going to find it out now!           

“Okay, I’m back,” (Y/N) said as she returned into the room. At that moment, Vladimir considered the little devil an angel. But just for a second. He quickly hung up on his brother without offering him an explanation and shoved the phone back into his pocket, his usual glare holding in place. “Sorry for the holdup,” the young woman said as she grabbed another cup from the counter. She was making yet another cup of Swiss Miss.

“Mr. Wesley is a man with some rather . . . high . . . expectations. He’s a bit of a butt if you don’t put things a certain way, though . . . Oh, well,” she sighed. But her words fell on deaf ears for Vladimir. As did her continued narration of yet another Dick and Jane segment. To be perfectly honest, Vladimir had bigger, better things going on in his mind. Like how his own flesh and blood had the audacity to accuse him of being like a hormonal plebian.

He was a grown-ass man, he was more than capable of controlling his hormones! So what if he hadn’t gotten any kind of anything in a while? . . . A rather long while . . . Vladimir unconsciously furrowed his brows in thought. How long had it been precisely?

“Ow! Dammit!” The little curse yanked Vladimir back into the world of reality. In reality, (Y/N) had spilled a majority of the hot Swiss Miss on to her baggy sweater. The large brown stain coupled with a hiss of minor pain caused (Y/N) to click her teeth with dismay. “Sorry ���bout that, Vladimir, I was just – gimme a sec.” She said it as if Vladimir had actually made any attempts to help out with the situation. Mentally, the Russian scoffed as he took his seat once again. . . . Wait. When did he even get out of it?

(Y/N) sighed after further inspecting the damage the spill had caused. “It’s all damp and gross now . . .” she muttered, her shoulders slumping in defeat. It made Vladimir roll his eyes. Why did she care about it like a normal woman cares about actually fitting clothes? It was just a baggy, old sweater. Hell, it was probably just a burlap sack dyed a different color to hide just how rough it was. Silly peasants and their attachments to their trash. These thoughts rattled in Vladimir’s head, completely drowning out his previous mental documentation and the insults that had called for them.

Then he noticed (Y/N)’s arms disappearing from the sleeves of her sullied sweater. She began to do that all too familiar wriggle a person does when they were getting a shirt off. What the – ?

“Hope you don’t mind . . .” (Y/N)’s voice sounded bashful from behind the cloth as it covered her mouth. He could see her cheeks reddening as her face descended into the neck hole, the sweater completely swallowing her. “I – I just can’t wear something so damp. It’ll get chilly, I’m sorry if this comes off as unprofessional but – ” The rambling continued on as it normally did with (Y/N), muffled until the little woman emerged from the bottom of the jumper but the embarrassed blush of her face continued. Her brown eyes scurried to look anywhere but at her overgrown pupil. Had she looked up, she would’ve noticed a change in his demeanor.

Well. The Bible might have gotten one more thing right about the Devil: She could completely transform her impression by someone in the blink of an eye because damn was that sweater like a ragged snakeskin hiding a form like that. Maybe it was the way the black fitted t-shirt embraced the slopes of her curves. Maybe it was because without the low-hanging sweater, Vladimir could see that she had soft-looking thick thighs being hugged by comfortable jeans. Maybe he just liked how after the ordeal with removing the top, her hair had become a mess he had only ever seen after becoming very . . .  “playful” with a woman. … Or maybe he just liked the fact that now he could confirm that she had a nice perky-looking set of –

Konechno net! Vladimir scolded himself. You are not some simpleton brat who gets a hard-on at the mere sight of a shoulder!

It was irritating to say the least and it rang in his head even as (Y/N) carried on like normal, clearing her throat as she resumed her place in the book. It was distressing how much Vladimir was actually forcing himself to pay attention to the words she read, especially after being so insistent that he do otherwise not too long ago. But then ago, not too long ago, he wasn’t trying to not think about the last time he’d been with a woman. And not too long ago, (Y/N) the Devil had been wearing an unflattering sweater that made Vladimir certain she probably had the body of a deflated potato. And not too long ago, he was certain the book was mostly focusing on the antics of Pam or Sally . . .

“Dick is lonely. Poor, lonely Dick,” he heard his teacher utter. He was almost certain he heard a wave in her voice as she said it (almost like a laugh attempting to flutter out) but decided against that possibility. But he did notice that among other things, he sat up straighter and his eyes searched frantically for other stimuli. Something, anything to dull out the ridiculous and rather suggestive sentences he had to hear her utter, even the minor add-ins she made to soothe the laughter he swore wasn’t there.

“Dick wants to play. Dick goes to play with Jane.”

This is absurd. This is ridiculous –

“Jane wants to play with Dick as well. Hurray!”

Surely these damn Americans knew how filthy this all sounded!           

“Dick j-umps with happiness (Oh, God . . .).”

Focus! On that poster – shit, it’s in English. The fridge? How many dots are in the ceiling tiles?!

“‘Jump, Dick!’ says Sally (pfft!). Dick jumps high.”

Hell no, nothing down below was jumping, right? Nothing to get all jumpy down there about when you’re looking at – a toaster? Magnets? Napkins?! Hair? Her hair? All messy and curled against cheeks red from being flustered –

“Dick is b-big . . .”

Those curves that didn’t exist until now, that perfect handful set on her chest –

“Dick is bigger than Ja – I can’t do this!” Immediately, (Y/N) burst into what might have been the most juvenile laughter Vladimir had heard in a long time. Like a series of bubbles overflowing from her mouth, rampant and without any of the control or demure nature she’d appeared to have before. It was unsettling. “I – I’m zsorry, V-vladimir,” (Y/N) wheezed as she tried to pat the laughter back with gentle taps to her chest. “I dknow it’z childish but – but come on, it’z zso ridiculous!” Vladimir could only stare and fight off the feeling of gobbsmacked that he actually felt.

He had been brought back to reality by a thunderous laugh and yet he wasn’t sure how much of it was actually real.

“Shoot, man,” gasped (Y/N) when she’d finally managed to calm down. “I think I laughed myself a set of abs almost. Geez, I’m a child . . .” She shook her head. Vladimir was used to only her curls bouncing when she did this but with the sweater gone and her body still making minor heaves after such a laughing spell, he couldn’t help but notice some other things moving in a bouncy fashion as well. And he fucking hated that he noticed this. He also hated how when she laughed in that gross fashion, his face burned. What witchcraft was this freaking suka pulling?!

Knock-knock.

The two looked up to see Claire in the faculty lounge doorway. “Hey, (Y/N)? Yeah, a young man at the desk is asking about Arachnemania? That one book on spiders? I swear we have it somewhere but we can’t find it in our system, is there any way you could . . .?”           

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks Claire,” (Y/N) turned to Vladimir. “Hang tight for a sec. When I come back, we can start on some workbook crap, a’ight?”

Vladimir nodded slowly. He had to remind himself to make his perpetual scowl at last minute. It didn’t last long, however, as when (Y/N) turned to leave, Vladimir’s eyes could help but slink downward on her body. Well. Apparently there were now two things Vladimir didn’t hate about his teacher from Hell. It took the end of his shift and his distance from them for him to realize in pure frustration that the little cheeky devil had turned the things he liked against him to get into a false sense of enjoyment.

My observations watching 🎯 Arrow 5x12 "Bratva"

- awww "the Hood" in training... ooooh nice catch!!

- Why are they keeping Thea away!! 1 episode I can take. 2? I got nervous... 3?!! It's too much. WHERE THE HELL IS THEA?!!

- noooo Oliver my dear. Thea DOESN'T like her. Neither do we. Nobody likes her, except you, for an inexplicable reason

- YAY!! Quentin is back!! And in perfect timing I might add. Completely unnecessary the conversation of sleeping together. Altho, I'm glad that we have the confirmation that they haven't... yet.

- Damn! Not even Adrian likes the obnoxious reporter. More points to him

- Okay, there they go to Russia!! YAY!!!

- Oh Rene on guarding duty hehe. Oh c'mon Lance. Don't be that way. See! yay!

- hahaha Yep, Dinah. Aliens, metas like you, mysticism, parallel universe, anything can happen

- here the punch comes. *cringes* Anatoly, no!

- Seriously? Because of that?! c'mon Anatoly. you know he was against Slade!! not some low thug, please!

- nooo no no no no no!! damn it no!! *sighs* why are they do this to me?!!

- I get you, Oliver, I do... but please, please go to Anatoly and apologize, pleeeeeeaaaase

- See why I like this guy?!!! Oh Anatoly! I love you so much!!

- hahahaha  now Diggle is his fave American hahaha (wasn't you @nalla-madness that said something like this would happen?)

- What are you thinking Felicity? Tell me that you're going to visit Anatoly, please!!

- who's that?

- damn!! Dark Felicity "Bratva queen" Smoak is soooooo great *squeals*

- It's nice to see that, for once, Oliver is the one keeping the head straight and thinks clearly

- Rene got a point, Quentin. Susan won't be nice. Hear the man! Don't... ugh, don't go! *groans*

- Felicity, you know to whom you're sounding like, right? *evil grins*

- and talking about the devil...

- Okay, Anatoly and Oliver are back on the good terms (a little tense) but good *sighs relieved*

- yeah baby, they're going dark, so you need to be their light. That's all. like they were to you in the beginning. Just like Bratva. A favor is paid with favor. Just this time you do it cuz you care about them and not because they’re collecting it. Listen the woman, Oliver. She's right.

- awww Whatever scene that Paul Blackthorne plays is great, not matter with who he plays it.

- hehehe she had to say it, didn't she? what happens in Russia stays in Russia

- aww a much needed OTA scene (I need more!!!)

- Ugh! Curtis did you really needed to interrupt?!

- no no no no no no they can't kill my fave recruit!!! AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!! What I'm saying? of course they can!! *screams*

-aaaaaaahhh she hugged hiM!!!!! He's protecting her again!! more touching!!! YAAAAASSSSS!!!! *claps and grins*

- Oh thank god!! he's alive!!

- As always, Digg saying the truth.

- I couldn't agree more, Anatoly.

- YAAASSS!!! Anatoly going to Star city in the present.. yes!!!!

-*sighs* yeah that's the only part I don't like about the bratva. I'm guessing we'll see Anatoly again , in star city, when the obnoxious reporter is going to disclosed Oliver’s connection to the bratva

- OMG!! poor Anatoly!! What happened? yeah, that was what I thought

- ugh! this was totally unnecessary. Why they had to show it. It was more than enough to imply it. I'm feeling sick *gets nauseous* oh please, stop!!!!

- awww I like this. Seriously, I don't know why people don't like Rene

- oh, he's going away. Well, at least he's not dead! That's something *sighs*

-*groans* this hacker chick, I don't know, i don't trust her. I'm sure she's connected to Prometheus and all it's a trap for Felicity. (I mean it makes sense. Promy knows that attacking Felicity, directly and physically, will bring a much fierce reaction in Oliver, something he doesn't want. It much better that tempting her with the dark side to then exposed her. Here’s where the theory of Felicity going to jail comes in nicely)

- Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!!! FUUUUCK!!!

- I hate that's the reporter that makes the connection, but seriously it has been long enough to somebody to find out that Oliver is the Green Arrow. Star city's citizens are a little slow. just sayin!

-------------------

@felicity-said--yes // @emmaamelia95 // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @somewhatinvisible // @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline // @wanderingmmries // @laurabelle2930  // @hope-for-olicity  // @nalla-madness // @vaelisamaza // @cris101071 // @oliverfel4 // @mel-loves-all // @imusuallyobsessed // @smkkbert // @almondblossomme // @djeniiscorner // @mtb1002 // @tdgal1 // @pjcmfalcon // @missafairy //

more conversations from domestic au

Vasya: Maddie, you're a better lawyer than me. Maddie: Okay. Vasya: ... Jamie, you're a better lawyer than me. Jamie: I know, sweetie. ~oOo~ Danny: Why can't you be more like Lucy?! She's meditating beautifully! Luke, pointing at Lucy: She's sleeping, Danny. Danny: ... well her form is perfect! ~oOo~ Darla: I'm going to be a bioengineer! Rikki: Psh. You nerd. ~oOo~ Bucky: Alright look here Sasha, yah lil shit! ~oOo~ Vladimir: Oh come on! Can't I just gauge my eyes out instead?! ~oOo~ Sam: It's okay! Dinosaurs are part bird right? And I speak to birds. So I can just go talk to them! Bucky: That sounds like a terrible idea... Sam, moving closer to the T-Rex, sweats: Okay yeah fUck this! Sam out! ~oOo~ Vladimir, kicking a dinosaur away: Don't fucking bite me you fucking heathens! ~oOo~ Sharon: Leila! Get off the damn table! ~oOo~ Matt: Look I'll lie to a lot of people but I won't lie to Jessica. Danny: Is it because she terrifies you too? Matt: It's because she terrifies me. ~oOo~ Sam: Hey Sharon! Your girlfriend is drunk and misses you! Leila, taking the phone from him: Shar bear! I miss you! Sharon: I miss you too sweetie! Leila: You should come home! Sharon: I can't right now sweetie! I'm on a mission! Leila: Oh... kick their asses, Shar bear! ~oOo~ Alex, trying and failing to kick Anatoly away: Bitch we just goin' to the store! Shauna, trying and failing to walk away: For god's sake, Anatoly! You are a grown ass man! ~oOo~ Vasya, amazed: Babe! You can kick my ass! ~oOo~ Jessica: Oh Dani! Danielle: Oh no what did I do?! Danny: Oh no what did I do?! ~oOo~ Natasha: Where are you going, dressed all nice like that? Nika: ... I’m eating Italian tonight? Yelena: ... was that some sort of euphemism? ~oOo~ Elektra: Helloooo, nurse! Claire: If you want to get laid, you're doing it wrong. ~oOo~ Vladimir: Yelena Jr.! Nika: That is not my name?! Vladimir: ... Natalia Jr.?! ~oOo~ Yelena, almost in tears: Natasha! Lisichka! We have adopted a monster! Natasha, holding three year old Nika: She didn't mean to eat your leftovers, lebedka. ~oOo~ Vladimir: Ugh I feel like I am carrying dead weight on my shoulders! Natasha: Well that may be the dead body you're currently holding. But that's just a guess. ~oOo~ Jack: Babe, what's your favorite kind of tea again? Marie: Jasmine. Why? Jack: Damn can a guy not ask his girl what her favorite kind of leaf soup is? ~oOo~ Michael: Oh bella! I bought you more leaf water! Jamie: You know 'tea' is quicker to say than 'leaf water', right? ~oOo~ Vladimir: Hold on. I am still trying to process that my children are alive and not in jail yet. ~oOo~ Jamie: I made you guys dinner! Michael: ... this is just a plate of red and green chili peppers? Jamie: I know what I said. Michael: ... thank you dear. Vasya: ... I'm so scared... ~oOo~ Luke: Ah yes my wife. One of the only people on this planet who can kick my ass. I love you, sweetie. ~oOo~ Vladimir: Your left! Left! No! Your other left! Matt: ... that would be my right, you idiot! ~oOo~ Shauna: So what'd you guys eat? Alexei: Well I ate Korean but Dad ate Indian. Alex, choking on her water: ... Anatoly: ... boy sometimes I just want to choke you... ~oOo~ Jamie: Go to hell. Go to hell, go to hell, go to hell! ~oOo~ Rikki: Sometimes I want drugs. But then I remember there's rehab and I go nah nah honey I'm good. ~oOo~ Michael: I'll write something nice on your tombstone, bella. ~oOo~ Yelena: We text like civilized people or we don't fucking text at all! Natasha: That is rich coming from you. ~oOo~ Jack, about Richard who won't shut up: Oh God. He's going to piss someone off and then I'm going to have to kill him and then everyone in this classroom is going to have to help me hide his body and I am too young to be dealing with this stress! ~oOo~ Alexei: Some dude was in our class smokin' somethin'. ~oOo~ Ian, striking poses: Take a picture of me! Take a picture of me! ~oOo~ Derrick, pointing to Richard: That your boyfriend? Vasya, scowling: No! Derrick, shrugging: You two look cute together. Vasya, gagging: No! ~oOo~ Darla: Rebecca. What is that on my bookshelf? Rikki: ... a cheeseburger wrapper... Darla: And why is it on my bookshelf? Rikki: 'Cause I missed the trash can... ~oOo~ Vladimir, holding a sleeping two year old Vasya: She uh... has your exact hair color. It's weird actually. Matt, slowly grinning goofily: You love me. Vladimir: Oh shut up. ~oOo~ Michael: Good lord sometimes I just want to kill all of you. ~oOo~ Michael: If I am succeeding let it be known it was purely out of spite. I hate my father and my older brother and I want them to be aware that I am better than them at everything. ~oOo~ Jamie: I want a cannoli. Vasya: Ravioli? Michael: Fucking hell... ~oOo~ Matt: I think my three year old just said he wants to fuck the dinner roll.  ~oOo~ Marie: No, I don't know kung fu! I do know how to whoop your ass though! ~oOo~ Peyton, fanning herself: Why is it so hot in here?! Jamie: Oh, sorry, Li. It's because I'm here. ~oOo~ Vasya: Daddy why is there a pretty girl doing your paperwork?! Matt: ... I didn't know she was pretty? Vasya: She's flipping gorgeous! I'm going to die! ~oOo~ Vasya: Ahhhhhh! Peyton: ... wow she has been screaming for five minutes straight. What a set of lungs. Nika: Should we stop her? Jack: Vas. Sestrichka. Stop. Vasya: ... the screaming wasn't internally? Jack: No, sis. It was external and loud. You've never been the best with keeping thoughts on the inside now that I think about it. ~oOo~ Richard, pointing to Jack: This is my friend. Jack, narrowing his eyes: Bitch you don't do this shit to your friends. You don't do friends like this. ~oOo~ Alexei: I just want to hit him once. Just once. Someone let me just fucking beat his ass! ~oOo~ Peyton: Well what do we do now? Jamie: We kill everyone. I'll start. Hand me a knife? Alexei: We are not killing anyone! You psychopath! Sit your butt down. ~oOo~ Fisk: Richard, you embarrass me. ~oOo~ Misty: Colleen! The girls are two! Why are you teaching them to play with katanas?! Colleen, shrugging: Practice for the future? Vladimir: Well I'm terrified. ~oOo~ Darla, yelling at Rikki: Oh yeah?! Well you're adopted! Sasha, pausing as he walks by their room: Well damn. No need to be rude! Rikki and Darla: Oops... ~oOo~ Jack: I don't think that's the proper use for a CPR dummy, Ravdí. ~oOo~ Alexei: No, I can’t even think a bad word or else my mom will descend from the heavens out of literally no where and begin beating my butt. Jamie: Yeah have you ever met our parents? I’d sooner jump in front of a train than think, let alone say, certain words. Peyton: I feel like I gotta clutch some pearls. Do that Catholic crossing thing. Pray for my soul. ~oOo~ Vasya: I got a scholarship. Matt: To Juliard? That's great, honey! Vasya: Uh no? Harvard. Matt, choking on his coffee: What?! ~oOo~ Nika: Hahaha! Suckers! ~oOo~ Sam: Oh her phone better be on or so help me god! Darla: She left it in her nightstand. Sam: Oh my god! Of course she did! ~oOo~ Lucille: Only child children unite! ~oOo~ Jack: Oh god! He's a thespian! He just gets worse! ~oOo~ Peyton: We can’t fight right now. Jamie: Ugh, you’re right. Not in front of the baby. Alexei: I love you two. ~oOo~ Darala: Rikki can you throw this away? Rikki: Psh, nigga nah. ~oOo~ Maddie: I... I think I'm dating Ian now? Like it started as rehearsal but then that kiss got intense. ~oOo~ Bucky: My child didn't run away to Europe! My child got a scholarship into science! Darla, studying and finally looking up: Huh? ~oOo~ Matt: Honey being a lawyer is hard. Vasya: What? No it's not. I've seen you work. ~oOo~ Jamie, forcing laughter: I will be on you like white on rice if you keep talkin' smack. So keep talkin'.

Street Protests Might Bring Down Putin—Or Make Him Even More Dangerous to U.S.

Vasily Maximov/GettyThe well-known Russian political scientist Valery Solovey has talked a lot recently about possible political change in his country, but he was particularly emphatic in a tweet on Sunday, the day after 60,000 Russians protested on the streets of Moscow:  "I have a growing feeling that this fall mass protests will enter a self-sustaining trajectory.  This is even faster than I expected and what I have publicly talked about.  The underbrush of mass discontent has become parched. And the government is stubbornly bringing a match to it."But does Solovey's scenario—based on the premise that the Putin regime has gone too far in suppressing peaceful protestors—take into account the huge punitive machine that the Kremlin has to douse the flames it is igniting?  A Missile Explosion, a Radiation Spike, and Kremlin Secrecy Bring Back Memories of ChernobylNot only are Putin's loyal siloviki (those who run the “institutions of force”) showing no hesitation in unleashing their might against the democratic opposition;  the rank and file forces under them are zealously following orders and unlikely to rebel.  As one responder to Solovey tweeted:"No one has explained to ordinary police officers what would happen to them when the power changes, so they will continue to come down furiously with their clubs.  After all, they, like Putin, are very afraid of revolution."This video of police on Saturday beating up a young woman illustrates the point and has caused a huge stir in the Russian independent media. She later was hospitalized with a concussion:Russia's mass street protests over election fraud in 2011-12 shook the Kremlin to its core and were a nightmare for Putin, who blamed Secretary of State Hillary Clinton for the unrest. She publicly expressed “serious concern” about irregularities in the 2011 Duma election, and former Director of National Intelligence James Clapper among others has suggested Putin's enduring grudge against Clinton may partly explain his aggressive support for Trump in 2016.Mindful of those protests eight years ago, Putin has long been preparing for another such outbreak, which this time began in July and was fueled by the decision of Russia's Central Election Commission to ban numerous independent candidates from running in Moscow's municipal election on September 8.  In 2016, Putin created a National Guard (Rosgvardia), which reports directly to him and numbers an estimated 350,000 men, including special forces and internal troops that used to be under the MVD (the Ministry of Internal Affairs).  A Battered Professor Leads Moscow’s Growing Grassroots Protests Against PutinDesigned to quell mass unrest, Rosgvardia is headed by Viktor Zolotov, a KGB veteran who became a close Putin ally when the two worked for the St. Petersburg mayor, Anatoly Sobchak, in the early 1990s. (Zolotov was Sobchak's bodyguard.)  The FSB (Federal Security Service) not only arrests and investigates Russian citizens for such crimes as "extremism," and corruption; it also has its own special forces, which are designated mainly for anti-terrorism, but could be called upon to suppress public disorders.  FSB chief Aleksandr Bortnikov, who joined the KGB in Leningrad in 1975, is a direct protégé of Putin.  The MVD, which operates the regular police, is also loyal to Putin. MVD chief Vladimir Kolokoltsev is not a "piterskii" (part of Putin's St. Petersburg clan), but he is a dedicated career cop, (he formerly headed the Moscow police) known for coming down hard against real or perceived lawbreakers. And finally, the powerful Russian Investigative Committee, which recently opened a criminal case against Aleksei Navalny's Foundation Against Corruption (FBK) on charges of money laundering, is also under Putin's thumb. Its chief is  Aleksandr Bastrykin, a fellow law student with Putin at Leningrad State University in the 1970s and a long-time Putin crony.  (The Kremlin has reportedly awarded staffers from the Investigative Committee a 20 percent pay raise.)  Navalny, a leading opposition figure, and several of his colleagues are languishing in jail for organizing unauthorized protests; if the Investigative Committee's criminal case against them proceeds, they could end up in labor camps, like Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the exiled former head of the oil company Yukos, who was arrested in 2003 on Putin’s orders and spent 10 years behind bars.The Putin regime may have overreacted in its response to the protests, with the bungled jail poisoning of Navalny recently, the thousands of arrests, and the excessive, indiscriminate use of force against protestors.  The whole crisis might have been avoided if the authorities had allowed at least a few candidates to appear on the Moscow ballot, which would have hardly threatened the Kremlin's grip on the city's government.  But the siloviki have good reason to maintain their resolve.  They are all incredibly corrupt, as demonstrated in the numerous exposes by Navalny's FBK, and would suffer bad consequences if Putin's regime fell.  (Recall the fate of the corrupt Ukrainian president, Viktor Yanukovich, who was forced to flee to Russia by the seat of his pants in 2014.) As for ordinary policemen and guard troops, rather than getting their news from the internet, where Navalny and others make their case against the Kremlin, they apparently watch state-controlled television, which portrays the protestors as pawns of the West.  Radio Liberty's Mike Eckel wrote last week:  "Conspiracies of foreign intelligence agency meddling have also trickled down to the precinct level for Moscow police. One man who was detained during the protests, even though he said he was merely a bystander, was berated by an officer during his two days in police custody: 'Guys, you understand nothing. You’re being controlled. It’s the CIA that is manipulating you…The protests are just the beginning. This is part of a protracted campaign to oust the regime and seize Russia’s resources.'”As in 2011-2012,  the authorities prefer to see the current ferment as Western inspired, rather than to question their own policies.  After the August 3 street demonstrations, the Russian Foreign Ministry accused the U.S. Embassy in Moscow of encouraging turnout and "interfering in the internal affairs of our country" because the embassy published a map of the planned route:  In fact, the Americans intended the map as a warning to its citizens to stay away from the protests.  And on Sunday, Roskomnadzor, the government agency that oversees the internet, demanded in a formal complaint, that Google prohibit users of YouTube, its subsidiary, from posting notifications about  the protests. Roskomnadzor threatened Google with an “adequate response” in case of refusal to comply with its requirements: “The Russian Federation will regard this as interference in the sovereign affairs of the state, and also as hostile and hindering the conduction of democratic elections in Russia.”Russian journalist Iulia Latynina (forced to flee Russia in 2017 because her life was threatened) observed after Saturday's protests:  "It is very interesting to watch [on YouTube] the riot police, because they have the special tactics and strategy of a war against their own people. These police went through combat coordination, that is, they know how to act…They beat people as if they were going after Germans at the entrance to the Kremlin."  Latynina claims that members of the riot police and the security organs think of themselves as a righteous sect, surrounded by enemies who are supported by the U.S. State Department.  Their violence is arbitrary because it doesn't matter to them whether the person who is arrested or beaten is just an innocent bystander or an oppositionist.  Drawing parallels with Stalin's terror, Latynina concludes: "We have a lot of commentators who say: 'This violence is ineffective. It only makes people angry.'  Well guys, sorry, please. Of course, violence is effective… and the history of our country, unfortunately, is direct evidence of this. Look what Stalin did. Stalin destroyed the Russian people and not only the Russian people but  the Soviet people, all the people that were there. How many rebellions were there against Stalin?" Former FSB lieutenant-colonel Gennady Gudkov, who used to serve in the Russian Duma, seems to share Latynina's pessimism.  In a blog for radio Echo of Moscow on Sunday, Gudkov wrote:  "If we discard the version that the Kremlin and its inhabitants are completely crazy, then we are left with one single impression: that the regime ordered its police to act extremely cruel with only one purpose - to anger society, sow indignation, hatred and a desire to take revenge."  Gudkov goes on to explain that the Kremlin's end game may be to provoke enough public unrest to justify the declaration of a state of emergency, which would result in a cancellation of all future elections, complete censorship of the press and the internet, a shutdown of the independent media and even curfews.   "One gets the impression," Gudkov continued, "that today the regime deliberately acts on the principle of  'the worse, the better.' If so, then you and I have entered the last stage of Putin's rule: the masks are dropped, the image in the world is gone, there is only one way - a la North Korea and the complete 'freezing' of public life for decades. And holding on until there are no longer enough forces, money and ammunition for the fighters of the 'Rosgvardiya.'  A bloody road to nowhere."Whatever the likelihood of these grim prognoses, which probably give the Kremlin too much credit for having a strategy, the authorities are keeping up some appearance of biding by the rules. On Saturday, when police with black masks arrested Lyubov Sobol, a lawyer and producer of videos for Navalny's FBK, as well as a would-be candidate for the Moscow elections, they came with policewomen. Thirty-one-year-old Sobol, who has been on a hunger strike for over three weeks in protest against the election committee's decision, tweeted later: "The female police were hauled along just 'for show.' They were under the command of other officers…The police car that took me away stopped literally around the corner and let the policewomen out."  Sobol, the mother of a toddler, was released only after several hours of questioning, so she missed the demonstration.  On the way home she thanked all the protestors for their solidarity with the opposition and urged them not to give up.  On Monday, the FBK posted a stunning expose, revealing the extensive corruption of a key member of the Central Election Committee, Boris Ebzeyev.  Noting that Navalny and several colleagues are sitting behind bars and that its offices were raided last week, the FBK voiced defiance: "They are obviously trying to destroy us and make it so that we cannot go about our business - the fight against corruption. But this, of course, will not work. And to be honest, it only infuriates and energizes us." The democratic opposition is calling for another street demonstration on August 17, despite the fact that the Moscow mayor's office has refused to authorize it.  Political scientist Solovey observed in May that revolutions aren’t made by majorities, but by ambitious minorities “who suddenly understand that they have a chance to do now what they could not do earlier."  Maybe he is right, after all.  Read more at The Daily Beast.Get our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

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Vasily Maximov/GettyThe well-known Russian political scientist Valery Solovey has talked a lot recently about possible political change in his country, but he was particularly emphatic in a tweet on Sunday, the day after 60,000 Russians protested on the streets of Moscow:  "I have a growing feeling that this fall mass protests will enter a self-sustaining trajectory.  This is even faster than I expected and what I have publicly talked about.  The underbrush of mass discontent has become parched. And the government is stubbornly bringing a match to it."But does Solovey's scenario—based on the premise that the Putin regime has gone too far in suppressing peaceful protestors—take into account the huge punitive machine that the Kremlin has to douse the flames it is igniting?  A Missile Explosion, a Radiation Spike, and Kremlin Secrecy Bring Back Memories of ChernobylNot only are Putin's loyal siloviki (those who run the “institutions of force”) showing no hesitation in unleashing their might against the democratic opposition;  the rank and file forces under them are zealously following orders and unlikely to rebel.  As one responder to Solovey tweeted:"No one has explained to ordinary police officers what would happen to them when the power changes, so they will continue to come down furiously with their clubs.  After all, they, like Putin, are very afraid of revolution."This video of police on Saturday beating up a young woman illustrates the point and has caused a huge stir in the Russian independent media. She later was hospitalized with a concussion:Russia's mass street protests over election fraud in 2011-12 shook the Kremlin to its core and were a nightmare for Putin, who blamed Secretary of State Hillary Clinton for the unrest. She publicly expressed “serious concern” about irregularities in the 2011 Duma election, and former Director of National Intelligence James Clapper among others has suggested Putin's enduring grudge against Clinton may partly explain his aggressive support for Trump in 2016.Mindful of those protests eight years ago, Putin has long been preparing for another such outbreak, which this time began in July and was fueled by the decision of Russia's Central Election Commission to ban numerous independent candidates from running in Moscow's municipal election on September 8.  In 2016, Putin created a National Guard (Rosgvardia), which reports directly to him and numbers an estimated 350,000 men, including special forces and internal troops that used to be under the MVD (the Ministry of Internal Affairs).  A Battered Professor Leads Moscow’s Growing Grassroots Protests Against PutinDesigned to quell mass unrest, Rosgvardia is headed by Viktor Zolotov, a KGB veteran who became a close Putin ally when the two worked for the St. Petersburg mayor, Anatoly Sobchak, in the early 1990s. (Zolotov was Sobchak's bodyguard.)  The FSB (Federal Security Service) not only arrests and investigates Russian citizens for such crimes as "extremism," and corruption; it also has its own special forces, which are designated mainly for anti-terrorism, but could be called upon to suppress public disorders.  FSB chief Aleksandr Bortnikov, who joined the KGB in Leningrad in 1975, is a direct protégé of Putin.  The MVD, which operates the regular police, is also loyal to Putin. MVD chief Vladimir Kolokoltsev is not a "piterskii" (part of Putin's St. Petersburg clan), but he is a dedicated career cop, (he formerly headed the Moscow police) known for coming down hard against real or perceived lawbreakers. And finally, the powerful Russian Investigative Committee, which recently opened a criminal case against Aleksei Navalny's Foundation Against Corruption (FBK) on charges of money laundering, is also under Putin's thumb. Its chief is  Aleksandr Bastrykin, a fellow law student with Putin at Leningrad State University in the 1970s and a long-time Putin crony.  (The Kremlin has reportedly awarded staffers from the Investigative Committee a 20 percent pay raise.)  Navalny, a leading opposition figure, and several of his colleagues are languishing in jail for organizing unauthorized protests; if the Investigative Committee's criminal case against them proceeds, they could end up in labor camps, like Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the exiled former head of the oil company Yukos, who was arrested in 2003 on Putin’s orders and spent 10 years behind bars.The Putin regime may have overreacted in its response to the protests, with the bungled jail poisoning of Navalny recently, the thousands of arrests, and the excessive, indiscriminate use of force against protestors.  The whole crisis might have been avoided if the authorities had allowed at least a few candidates to appear on the Moscow ballot, which would have hardly threatened the Kremlin's grip on the city's government.  But the siloviki have good reason to maintain their resolve.  They are all incredibly corrupt, as demonstrated in the numerous exposes by Navalny's FBK, and would suffer bad consequences if Putin's regime fell.  (Recall the fate of the corrupt Ukrainian president, Viktor Yanukovich, who was forced to flee to Russia by the seat of his pants in 2014.) As for ordinary policemen and guard troops, rather than getting their news from the internet, where Navalny and others make their case against the Kremlin, they apparently watch state-controlled television, which portrays the protestors as pawns of the West.  Radio Liberty's Mike Eckel wrote last week:  "Conspiracies of foreign intelligence agency meddling have also trickled down to the precinct level for Moscow police. One man who was detained during the protests, even though he said he was merely a bystander, was berated by an officer during his two days in police custody: 'Guys, you understand nothing. You’re being controlled. It’s the CIA that is manipulating you…The protests are just the beginning. This is part of a protracted campaign to oust the regime and seize Russia’s resources.'”As in 2011-2012,  the authorities prefer to see the current ferment as Western inspired, rather than to question their own policies.  After the August 3 street demonstrations, the Russian Foreign Ministry accused the U.S. Embassy in Moscow of encouraging turnout and "interfering in the internal affairs of our country" because the embassy published a map of the planned route:  In fact, the Americans intended the map as a warning to its citizens to stay away from the protests.  And on Sunday, Roskomnadzor, the government agency that oversees the internet, demanded in a formal complaint, that Google prohibit users of YouTube, its subsidiary, from posting notifications about  the protests. Roskomnadzor threatened Google with an “adequate response” in case of refusal to comply with its requirements: “The Russian Federation will regard this as interference in the sovereign affairs of the state, and also as hostile and hindering the conduction of democratic elections in Russia.”Russian journalist Iulia Latynina (forced to flee Russia in 2017 because her life was threatened) observed after Saturday's protests:  "It is very interesting to watch [on YouTube] the riot police, because they have the special tactics and strategy of a war against their own people. These police went through combat coordination, that is, they know how to act…They beat people as if they were going after Germans at the entrance to the Kremlin."  Latynina claims that members of the riot police and the security organs think of themselves as a righteous sect, surrounded by enemies who are supported by the U.S. State Department.  Their violence is arbitrary because it doesn't matter to them whether the person who is arrested or beaten is just an innocent bystander or an oppositionist.  Drawing parallels with Stalin's terror, Latynina concludes: "We have a lot of commentators who say: 'This violence is ineffective. It only makes people angry.'  Well guys, sorry, please. Of course, violence is effective… and the history of our country, unfortunately, is direct evidence of this. Look what Stalin did. Stalin destroyed the Russian people and not only the Russian people but  the Soviet people, all the people that were there. How many rebellions were there against Stalin?" Former FSB lieutenant-colonel Gennady Gudkov, who used to serve in the Russian Duma, seems to share Latynina's pessimism.  In a blog for radio Echo of Moscow on Sunday, Gudkov wrote:  "If we discard the version that the Kremlin and its inhabitants are completely crazy, then we are left with one single impression: that the regime ordered its police to act extremely cruel with only one purpose - to anger society, sow indignation, hatred and a desire to take revenge."  Gudkov goes on to explain that the Kremlin's end game may be to provoke enough public unrest to justify the declaration of a state of emergency, which would result in a cancellation of all future elections, complete censorship of the press and the internet, a shutdown of the independent media and even curfews.   "One gets the impression," Gudkov continued, "that today the regime deliberately acts on the principle of  'the worse, the better.' If so, then you and I have entered the last stage of Putin's rule: the masks are dropped, the image in the world is gone, there is only one way - a la North Korea and the complete 'freezing' of public life for decades. And holding on until there are no longer enough forces, money and ammunition for the fighters of the 'Rosgvardiya.'  A bloody road to nowhere."Whatever the likelihood of these grim prognoses, which probably give the Kremlin too much credit for having a strategy, the authorities are keeping up some appearance of biding by the rules. On Saturday, when police with black masks arrested Lyubov Sobol, a lawyer and producer of videos for Navalny's FBK, as well as a would-be candidate for the Moscow elections, they came with policewomen. Thirty-one-year-old Sobol, who has been on a hunger strike for over three weeks in protest against the election committee's decision, tweeted later: "The female police were hauled along just 'for show.' They were under the command of other officers…The police car that took me away stopped literally around the corner and let the policewomen out."  Sobol, the mother of a toddler, was released only after several hours of questioning, so she missed the demonstration.  On the way home she thanked all the protestors for their solidarity with the opposition and urged them not to give up.  On Monday, the FBK posted a stunning expose, revealing the extensive corruption of a key member of the Central Election Committee, Boris Ebzeyev.  Noting that Navalny and several colleagues are sitting behind bars and that its offices were raided last week, the FBK voiced defiance: "They are obviously trying to destroy us and make it so that we cannot go about our business - the fight against corruption. But this, of course, will not work. And to be honest, it only infuriates and energizes us." The democratic opposition is calling for another street demonstration on August 17, despite the fact that the Moscow mayor's office has refused to authorize it.  Political scientist Solovey observed in May that revolutions aren’t made by majorities, but by ambitious minorities “who suddenly understand that they have a chance to do now what they could not do earlier."  Maybe he is right, after all.  Read more at The Daily Beast.Get our top stories in your inbox every day. Sign up now!Daily Beast Membership: Beast Inside goes deeper on the stories that matter to you. Learn more.

August 13, 2019 at 05:36PM via IFTTT