FAV AOT SHIP DOODLES but I had to unadd reibert and nicosasha one because of the pic limits

🤍 Svetlana Fedorova 🤍

IG: Sangua_

Represented by Elite Stars Management

Photo by Светлана Беляева

Hmm is it just me or does fem!Briar just hit harder than masc!Briar?

Like not just with the whole way she looks (red gown and sharp hazel eyes with silky brunette hair hnmm..)

I can just imagine sitting on her lap in her office, looking up to see those orbs so focused, almost not as cold for second, but then she smirks. And I just know that that woman has her own little villainess origin story. She build her whole shady buisness herself, became cutthroat, became what she used to loathe.

Oh and also mommy

NO LEGIT JUST.. JUST

Okay, fem!Briar, in a deep red open shirt, with deep black blazers and suit pants. Rings, leather choker, minimal makeup, only lipstick. Short hair and trimmed nails, specifically her forefinger and middle finger.

THEN, masc!briar, only wearing a blazer and trousers, long hair. Eyeliner with eyeshadow, just a speck of lipstick, a square on his bottom lip. Rings, but a shit ton of necklaces, bracelets. Longer nails, not too long, painted deep red or black.

And legit, my thoughts on briar follows as this:

The same year as Leighton, so the eldest in the asshole ensemble. Knows how to overcharge prices to the students, just cause they're horny buggers and don't know the difference. Lazy hand jobs in the bathroom while scrolling through their phone, sucking off someone through the gloryhole that the pc uses later while counting notes. Actively lets Leighton pay his weight in pound coins to give him a rim job before loosing his virginity to Briar.

There already was a brothel in town and it was doing okay, yknow, no shows or such. Briar became a worker there when thrown out of their house and even bunked with Bailey for a time just to have somewhere to sleep.

Straight up conned the old owner out of their business. Either by hiring Landry, Bailey, Wren and Eden and fully pulling the long con, OR HANG WITH ME

FULLY MARRYING THE OLD FUCK AND MAKING SURE THEY GET WIDOWED EARLY (think that last Svetlana con on Shameless).

ANYWAY, Briar for me has been a menace money maker since birth and most probably the smartest in the room. Legit doesn't think they need sex, doesn't go stupid over it, but realizes that By God, people in this town want it, and christ, they know how to turn tricks for money.

NAME : Dimitri Nikolaevich Graves-Romanov NICKNAME : Dimi, Riri, Mimi, Niko, Romeo, DR. Graves AGE : 30 BIRTH DATE : July 17 GENDER : Male ORIENTATION : Pansexual LOCATION : Saint Petersburg, Russia { Has homes in several places around the world } PROFESSION : Streamer, Mafia Leader SPECIES : Human SPOKEN LANGUAGES : English, Russian, French HEIGHT : 6'2" WEIGHT : 172 lbs HAIR : Brunette EYES : Blue TATTOOS : Several PIERCINGS : A Few SCARS : A Few FACE CLAIM : Neil Newbon

FACTS

Is the rightful Emperor of Russia Was an edgy angst filled reckless teenager who got into several fights and is still an edgy reckless trouble marker Knows how to sing Can play the guitar, electric and acoustic Has a collection of cars, motorcycles, trucks Paints his nails Has studied martial arts Is adept with numerous weapons Knows how to change his voice and does it when he needs to Is like a cat when it comes to affection No control on what comes out of his lips at times Comes from a wealthy family and is wealthy even without his family money Dislikes tea, prefers coffee or hot coco Likes to sleep in the middle of the bed, prefers the right side when sleeping with someone. Loves Disney Can see and talk to spirits Is fascinated by the supernatural Can skateboard, loves to skateboard Loves adventures and loves to explore Is allergic to cranberries and pineapples Only cares for a few animals and insects Hates cockroaches and worms

FAMILY

Nikolai Alexei Romanov - Father Anastasia Natasha Graves - Mother Emiko Kasumi Sakurai† - Wife Akemi Raisa Sakurai-Romanova - Daughter Alexei Romanov - Paternal Grandfather Raisa Romanova - Paternal Grandmother Taisiya Romanova - Paternal Aunt Luka Romanov - Paternal Great Grandfather Mika Romanova† - Paternal Great Grandmother Yuri Romanov† - Paternal Great Uncle Katya Romanova - Paternal Great Aunt Leika Romanov - Paternal Great Uncle Artemis Graves - Maternal Grandfather Ksenia Graves - Maternal Grandmother Makari Graves - Maternal Uncle Damien Graves - Maternal Great Grandfather Tatiana Graves† - Maternal Great Grandmother Alena Graves† - Maternal Great Aunt Samara Graves† - Maternal Great Aunt Ryusei Sakurai - Father In Law Mitsuki Sakurai - Mother in Law Takara Sakurai - Sister in Law Kosuke Sakurai - Brother in Law

Nikolai Romanov ❪ Nicholas II of Russia ❫† - Paternal Ancestor Alexandra Fyodorovna† - Paternal Ancestor Olga Nikolaevna Romanova† - Paternal Ancestor Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova† - Paternal Ancestor Maria Nikolaevna Romanova† - Paternal Ancestor Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova† - Paternal Ancestor Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov† - Paternal Ancestor

CONNECTIONS

Alexsey Solovyov - Best Friend / Second in Command { Has been in love with Dimitri since they were kids } Maksim Morozov - Best Friend / Third in Command Iyla Solovyova - Best Friend / Assistant Ekaterina Morozova - Best Friend / Assistant Alyosha Raskolnikov - Bodyguard Artemas Raskolnikov - Bodyguard Akilina Belova - Bodyguard Nastashia Makara - Bodyguard { Has a crush on Dimitri } Kiska Novikova - Capo Nika Novikov - Capo Vika Novikov - Capo Zoria Aslanov - Soldier Karina Makarov - Soldier Matvey Orlov - Soldier Jalena Agapova - Soldier Mikhail Agapov - Soldier { Has a crush on Dimitri } Hakoda Kazeev - Soldier { Has a crush on Dimitri } Anatoli Alexeyev - Soldier { Has a crush on Dimitri } Sitka Alexeyeva - Soldier { Has a crush on Dimitri } Niurka Alexeyeva - Soldier Olya Sokolova - Driver Jeremie Garin - Driver Veronika Rostova - Ex Girlfriend Atsuko Haruki - Ex Girlfriend Svetlana Karenina - Ex Girlfriend Rue Nakamura- Ex Boyfriend Nyx Kinsella - Ex Boyfriend Kimika Kimura - Ex Boyfriend Rania Akamai - Ex Fling Electra Ricci - Ex Fling Riki Koizumi - Ex Fling Nikita Nikitin - Ex Fling Kazimir Rasputin - Enemy { Is Obsessed with the Romanov family } Norvina Dorofeeva - Enemy { Kazimir's assistant and advisory } Zathura Alatyrtsev - Enemy { Is in love and obsessed with Dimitri but is jealous of Dimitri at the same time } Gorky Laskin - Enemy { Zathura's Goon } Simeon Laskin - Enemy { Zathura's Goon }

I petting her best as a short haired brunette, this petite babe looks great bent over taking my peewee and even better with a nice best load of spunk on her pretty face!

Added new scenes with Lily, Svetlana, Selene, Elijah Spa to the Gallery; CONTINUE...

Светлана Иванова (Svetlana Ivanova) by Макс Пыжик (Max Pyzhik)

Svetlana Bilyalova not so much out of the box...

idk about the books referenced in my earlier post being Baby Gay Reading Material but they sure did feature a lot of spunky assertive heroines

I got inspired while drawing Joey Drew from a talented animator named "Halfus"

Svetlana Shashkova 🖤

IG: Lama_Paluta

family template: brunette siblings with weirdly big eyes

because sigi wants you to use more of their gifs and thinks these faces look nice together.

all faceclaims are white. can sub in any brunette with huge ass eyes and a round lil nose. listed from sorta oldest to sorta youngest.

adam copeland (the edge)

svetlana khodchenkova

astrid berges-frisbey

alexander dreymon (s2 gifs)

adalgisa manfrida

basil eidenbenz

all packs can be found on my directory, linked in source.

Falling for You

ballet au one-shot for @gallavichthings 's a.u.gust

summary: dance instructor mickey! ian keeps messing up the lifts with the dancers, and mickey cannot have his girls injured because of this himbo, even if he is hot. he makes ian stay after class to practice on him -- and he swears there's no ulterior motives. but they're so close and his hands are all over him and he can feel his breath and it is so unprofessional but fuck it.

words: 2k

Mickey had a new guy in his class that wasn't doing... well... by any standards. Alright, the dude sucked. Mickey had been a ballet instructor for several years and not once has he met a dancer as uncoordinated and unbalanced as Ian fucking Gallagher.

Somehow, Ian had managed to not only rip the ballet barre off of the goddamn wall in his attempt at a grand plie, fallen flat on his face after pas de chat gone wrong, but he also managed to launch his fellow ballerinas onto the floor instead of the air.

He was a disaster.

Mickey had better shit to do with his time at the studio than patch up his dancers, and studio, after Gallagher's classes. Svetlana's father would have his ass if she got injured on his watch. And Ian being the only guy in their class, there was no way for him not to share the front-and-center spotlight with Svetlana.

Yeah, Mickey wasn't letting Ian any-fucking-where near Svet if he could help it. At least in his current state. Dude was a piece of work.

Mickey figured he would be a lot more upset about all this if Ian's apologetic puppy dog eyes weren't so goddamn convincing.

Fucking Gallagher.

--

"Ayo, Mands! Come help me with this!" Mickey called, echoing in the studio, now nearly empty besides the Milkovich siblings and a six-foot-tall ginger man looking both utterly clueless and utterly terrified. Mickey was utterly hopeless.

Mandy popped in the doorframe, sliding her shoes on but leaving them untied.

"Can't! I got actual shit to do! I don't live and breathe the studio like your sorry ass. No offense, Ian, my brother is great, please stay. Full offense, Mickey, get a fucking life!"

Mickey was left speechless and slightly embarrassed by Mandy's outburst and only managed to flip her off before she was out the door.

"Charming sister you got there," Ian let a quiet laugh slip before schooling his expression at Mickey's lack of amusement.

Mickey sighed and rubbed his hands down the length of his face for a moment. Ian and Mickey held eye contact a bit longer before Mickey abruptly straightened up and clapped his hands together. The noise startled Ian from his own amused trance.

"Alright, Clifford, how do you feel about private lessons for a little bit until you're not tripping over your own feet?"

Ian stepped forward to argue, but, proving Mickey's point, stumbled over the shoes on the floor in front of him. He didn't miss the way that Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side.

"Can't afford extra classes," Ian shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

"It's on me," Mickey swiped his top lip. He didn't miss the way that Ian's gaze lingered on his mouth,"Kinda need you..." really want you, "to, uh, look good..." as if he doesn't already, fucking red-headed alien-looking motherfucker, "on the floor..." of my bedroom, goddamn it, Mick, get it together! "the, uh, dance floor."

Ian paused, considering the way that Mickey was stumbling over his words in a way that one might call endearing, another might call the-worst-fucking-experience-of-his-life.

"I'll do it."

Do me. Seriously, go drink some water, oh my god.

Mickey literally took a sip from his water bottle, hoping that it would at least calm his nerves. He was a professional!

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You free after class?" A pause, "To work on some skills, I mean."

"It's a date," Ian smirked, leaning down to pick up his shoes from the ground in front of him. By the time he was upright again, Mickey had already started walking away, but the blush on his cheeks and the back of his neck could be spotted from a mile away. He was utterly fucked.

--

Mickey yawned and got up from his stretching position on the floor. He walked over to the stereo, systematically knocking his dancer's feet on his way over until they were all turned out and pointed.

"No Orange Boy today?" Svetlana asked, meeting Mickey's eyes with a challenging stare.

Mickey ignored the chorus of "He's so hot!" "Have you seen his arms?" and "Ian's the nicest!" from the rest of the girls.

Svetlana raised her eyebrow in question and Mickey's defenses flew out the window. This goddamn power dynamic was going to be the death of him.

"I put him on private lessons until he's no longer a disruption to the class," he shrugged.

"Aww," one brunette pouted.

"Disruption to class or disruption to tiny bulge in your pants?" Svetlana smirked, earning some scandalized gasps from the other dancers.

Mickey flipped her off, "The fucker made me take out a greater insurance policy with all his accidents, don't be fucking absurd."

A blonde nodded understandingly from the back of the class, "My ankle is still a little funky from the last lift we tried."

Mickey held his arms out in a display of I-told-you-so and Svetlana rolled her eyes.

"Great!" Mickey clapped his hands together, earning the full attention of his class as they hurried to their feet, "Now that all the hot drama is outta the air, let's do a quick warm up combo across the floor. Chasse step pas de bourree double pirouette step arabesque, in 5, 6, 7, 8..."

--

Ian had been waiting outside the studio for the last ten minutes of class, more-so watching his instructor shift around than paying attention to what the dancers were actually doing. That's probably what got him into his current predicament, and he couldn't decide whether that was a curse or a blessing. Mickey's arms flexed as he pointed across the room to call out someone's weak spot.

Yup, it was a blessing.

Oh shit, Mickey was looking his way. Was this a double sided mirror? No, of course not. Why would there be a double sided mirror? Oh, Mickey was definitely staring at him. Fuck. Wait, did he just wink? No way, he must've just blinked. With one eye. Yeah, totally normal. Nothing to overthink, Ian.

Get it together!

--

Mickey dismissed his class five minutes early and it had nothing to do with the Jolly Ginger Giant standing outside his studio.

While most of his dancers wordlessly accepted the easy out, Svetlana stayed back to taunt. "Have fun with private lessons," she sneered, jerking off an invisible cock.

"Choke on it," Mickey retorted tossing her warm-up jacket at her face, which she swiftly caught.

Svetlana turned and made a show of looking Ian up and down, his cheeks turning pink under her intense gaze. She faced Mickey head on, "You will be vegetable stew by the time this man is done with you."

The fuck does that mean?

Sometimes Mickey thought that Svetlana spoke in riddles just to mess with him. He blamed it on the Russian accent, never mind he was part Ukrainian himself. The languages were similar, but not identical, fuck you very much.

But, damn, forget that, Gallagher looked good. He was wearing his usual white tank top and grey sweatpants, but Mickey never got the opportunity to openly ogle in class. Not that that was what he was doing now.

Ian returned the long look appreciatively before stepping closer and Mickey snapped back into professionalism, well as far as professionalism goes, Milkovich-style.

He turned his back on the bane of his pathetic existence and snapped a quick but polite, "Get your shoes on and we can get started."

"Oh, right."

That seemed to be enough to get the gears in Ian's head going again as he dropped his bag to the floor, echoing in the truly empty studio, and dropping down onto the floor himself to secure his ballet shoes, which may as well be clown shoes for as big as his feet were. Mickey fit into the same brand as the girls, but he had to order special for Gallagher.

"Thanks for doing this, Mickey."

Mickey. The way that this man said his name was making him feel all sorts of flustered that he would most definitely deny.

"Mandy said you don't usually make exceptions."

"Gotta catch you up to speed or you're gonna be dancing with the 5 year-olds, man."

Ian tilted his head considering.

Mickey frowned, "Don't do it."

Ian smirked and Mickey had to look away as a grin and blush creeped up on his own face.

"Alright, so we'll start you off with the basics."

Mickey went through their normal class routine, but broke it down slowly, pausing to explain certain positions in details he couldn't afford to spend time with in class, specifically how not to fall. It should have been fairly obvious in his opinion, but Ian still managed somehow. The first few times, he was on the floor before Mickey even knew he was going down.

But the third, Mickey made a mistake. Mickey instinctively reached out to catch him.

As soon as he realized where his hands were, he pulled them off like he'd been burned, which he may have well been. He pulled his gaze to his feet, studying the floor while he composed himself.

"Mickey," Ian waited until he looked up, and then he spoke so quietly, "You can touch me."

And what made things worse was that Ian's dazzling eyes left little to the imagination. They both knew where this was going, and the moment was too intense too quick. The longer their eyes held, the hotter Mickey felt his neck grow.

"Ya know," Ian stepped closer. "To fix my positions..."

Mickey swallowed, "Uh, I think we're done for today."

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He never meant them to begin with. But if Ian stayed any longer, Mickey was going to climb him like a tree and that really wasn't under his personal code of professionalism, no matter how loose those terms may be to begin with. It was getting late anyways, he reasoned with himself.

"What about the lifts? That's the important part, right?" Ian questioned, eyes pleading like he would die without this one skill being taught to him by his oh-so-unprofessional instructor.

Mickey sighed. Ya know what? Fuck it.

Mickey sauntered over to Ian, pressed his back to Ian's front, and grabbed one of Ian's massive hands and placed it on his own waist.

Ian gave an experimental squeeze and Mickey softened in his grip.

Ridiculous.

"We're not doing the lift are we?" Ian murmured breathily, hot air making the hairs on the back of Mickey's neck tingle.

"What do you think, Firecrotch?" Mickey pushed his weight back into Ian's chest, which would be the second mistake of the day.

Ian toppled over backwards, landing with a painful sounding thud and sending Mickey down on top of him before he rolled off the the side with a groan.

Ian started laughing and Mickey was concerned. Was this idiot actually fucking concussed this time? He wasn't sure how he would explain this to his insurance company.

Mickey straddled Ian's lap, gently slapping his face, "Are you good, man? Alive?"

"Never better." Ian was still smiling like an absolute goof.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in concern.

"Seriously, I just can't play things cool," Ian raised his hips to grind against Mickey's ass, "Obviously."

"You're an idiot," Mickey rolled his eyes, and all Ian could do was grin and reach up towards Mickey's neck, pulling his down until their lips almost touched, sharing breaths and excitement.

"Maybe," another breath, "But I still got you to fall for me."

It was Mickey's turn to laugh, more of a raspy exhale than anything. His "fuck you" was almost lost between them as they fell together at last.

(side note: this was the lift that they were going to do, so i feel like the hand on the waist makes sense -- gotta have a visual lmao)

Dear Daughters

Darkling x Daughters

Profiles 📜

Summary: Information about Irina, Sasha and Natalia Morozova. Have fun!

...♡...

Name: Irina Svetlana Morozova

Age: varies from chapter (22)

Grisha: Shadow Summoner, lieutenant

Hair: Blonde

Eyes: blue/green

Attitude: Kind, nice, bossy, leader, serious, like her father all the way, strong, boring, manipulative.

Quote: "Maybe, if you didn't act like this, I wouldn't act like this,"

Likes: Her sisters, father, Grisha, baking, ordering, being bossy, winning, playing in the garden, reading, fighting and winning, playing, having fun moments with her sisters, her father telling her and her sisters about their mother, being Grisha, color red.

Dislikes: The King and Queen, being told what to do, being criticized, somebody telling her she's only lieutenant because her father is the general, others fighting her battles, when someone hits on her dad, Grisha dying, being sexualized.

...♡...

Name: Sasha Elizaveta Morozova

Age: varies from chapter (20)

Grisha: Shadow Summoner

Hair: Brunette

Eyes: Brown

Attitude: Kind, bitchy, boss, manipulative, nice, takes shit from no one, strong, goofy, smart, witty, sassy.

Quote: "I'd rather let a dog eat my tongue for breakfast,"

Likes: winning, ordering and demanding, her sisters, father, playing mind games, being bossy, reading, being a hopeless romantic, boys who take a liking to her, anything with love, Grisha, her headbands, her fashion choices, shoes, scarfs, Ivan, color purple.

Dislikes: The King and Queen, being annoyed, not getting what she wants, losing, her father scaring boys away, being told what to do, being stopped, clingy people, when someone hits on her dad, when someone criticizes her, being insecure, Grisha suffering, being sexualized..

...♡...

Name: Natalia Ekaterina Morozova

Age: varies from chapter (18)

Grisha: Shadow Summoner

Hair: Brunette

Eyes: Brown

Attitude: Kind, nice, goofy, manipulative, strong, witty, funny, intelligent, sometimes serious, smart, goofy.

Quote: "Half of me says no, half of me says hella yes!"

Likes: Her sisters, father, playing, baking, reading, painting, her father playing chase with her, eating pastries, eating desserts, her father sticking up for her, cake, chocolate, pastries, ice cream, her earrings, color pink.

Dislikes: The King and Queen, someone hitting on her father, being short, being told what to do, being disturbed, clingy and annoying people, Grisha suffering, being criticized, cold weather, being the youngest, her father babying her since she's the youngest, being sexualized.

Yelena

Hi everyone, as promised when I reach 50,000 hits! We get to see a different side of Yelena, a bit softer since we hear her inner thoughts. I hope you enjoy!  (Also, unlike the other mini fics I post on here, this one is canon and exists within the series!)  _____________________________________________________________

           I am barely old enough to tie my shoes, I when I meet Natasha. She walks in first, leading a group of young girls like her- wet and frozen. But she holds her head high and commands the room, despite barely being up to the guards’ waist. It hadn’t been my first time seeing her, as I look down from my hiding spot on the stairs, but it is my first time noticing her. The next day, during our free hour, I seek her out.            She is in the courtyard, alone. We are never alone here, so this being the case is odd. It took a great deal of effort on my side to get out here without Fredrik, one of the guards for the younger girls, to notice me.            “Hello,” she greets me without taking attention off her task, “Yelena, correct?” She turns around now, her eyes bright and face kind. Kindness, such a rarity.            “Yes,”            “I am Natalia,” She sets down the stick in her hand, “You were watching last night, when we came home.”            “I heard some of the older girls, this is when they start to have less of us.”            “The trick is to take off your coat and keep your hands cupped.” She sits down on the grass, stick in hand once more. I walk over, looking down at her project. They are swirling lines, graceful, looking like art. “It is cursive English. I am practicing,” She explains.            “No one else would tell me about the water,”            “Everyone else wants you dead,” She states matter-of-factly. No deception or tricks.            “You don’t?” I do not yet understand the permanence of death, only that it was undesirable, worse than even the Red Room.            “No.” She wipes the sand from her palms, and then leans back to look up at the sky.            “Why?”            “I don’t want any of them to die. I can’t save everyone, but I’ll die trying.” Her mouth form into a hard line, and to most, it would cute, seeing a little girl seem so resolute. But that same look of determination, years later, would cause men to scream in fear.            “You talk like an adult,” She always spoke as though she lived a thousand lifetimes. I would joke later on that she was born serious. Though sometimes, later on, she would point out clouds in the sky that look like different animals, or weapons. And on rare occasions, we would spin each other around as fast as we could, to fall back and look at the sky spinning above us.            “See Yelena? We make the world go ‘round,” she’d joke.            And then, two days after our meeting, we are in a combined class. Three different years, all together, working on letters of different alphabets. My elbow knocks over a jar of red paint, splattering across a stack of white paper, like blood on skin. Last week, Svetlana tripped and broke a plate. Madame slit her arm with a letter opener. I stare at the pile of paint in fear, unable to move or make a sound. Natalia appears at my side. She stains the arm of her shirt with paint and begins to apologize loudly. Madame walks over, since that night, she seems to always be where Natalia is, and sees the mess.            “Did you knock over this paint?”            “Yes, Madame,” The woman strikes like a snake- her cane striking the back of Natalia’s knees, forcing her to the ground. “Clean it up. Then you clear her up as well,” I look down and see I am stained with paint, across my stomach like a bullet wound.            “Why did you do that?” I ask as Natalia washes my pinafore.            “I am going to protect you, like sisters.” Familial words like that are forbidden, even saying friend will get you a warning glare.            “Sisters,” I reply, watching as she wipes out the red.

           I am nearly eight when I first see Natalia crack, just a little. She is angry, furious. She tries to run away, without me. I heard what everyone was saying. She made her first kill. Secretly gentle Natalia, who once hid and nursed a baby bird back to health in her courtyard. The bird still visits, and I frequently find her smiling out the window when she sees it. Or not smiling. Just happier than the flatness she normally sports.             But in front of me now, she dances with glass in her shoes. A morbid part of me thinks of Cinderella’s glass slippers. Perhaps this is what really happened to her feet. When she finally stops, Madame breaks her cheekbone, for her pride, I think. For being unbreakable.            The last time I see Natasha in the Red Room, our courtyard days are long over. Both of us have graduated and sit at a table separate from the students. The number of adult Widows has dwindled as the KGB sends us on more dangerous missions.            Her spark has begun to dim. She is getting worn down, like they want. The first that burns with in her, that in explicably Natalia, should not be put out. That evening, for the first time in a long while, I slip into her bed.            She moves closer, so our shoulder touch, something she doesn’t normally allow anymore. Since she turned thirteen, she has grown more and more opposed, and I don’t need to ask why.            “I have a mission in America tomorrow.”            “Alone?” She nods in the dark.            “Don’t come back,” I request, daring to speak the words. She stiffens beside me.            “Don’t say silly things, Yelena. We are not children.”            “They are going to kill you.”            “It is what I was made for.”            “No. You were made for better things. If you get the opportunity, don’t come back.”            “There is only one way I don’t,” she whispers, “I will bring you back sweets, Little Sister. They’ll be hidden in the same spot as always,” Inside the rip in my mattress. It hadn’t occurred to me until now, that the reason she keeps coming back, might be for me.            Except she doesn’t, and I am grateful. They tell me she is dead, but I know better. The next time I see her, it is to burn this place to the ground.            In America, she has people who care for her. A best friend who takes me in, a nephew. And they welcome me in too. We celebrate Christmas together, spend time with one and other. Natasha, as she is now called, is finding herself again. That fire within her grows stronger once more, rising out of the embers that had begun to die out.            After Christmas, I leave for Europe, following leads about the Red Room. There is a rumor that Ivan is still alive, that he could resurrect what Tasha and I destroyed. I have to kill him, kill him before he can find out Natasha is alive, or get anywhere near her. His prized possession. That is what he used to call her. I step out of my taxi, heading into the hotel lobby, where the once lush carpets are worn down from years of suitcase wheels and feet. A bellhop smiles at me, and a man sitting at a nearby table, drinking coffee, catches my eye.  _______________________________________________________________

           “Yelena?” I blink, feeling nauseous. Clint, Tasha’s American, is sitting close to me, too close. He looks almost as though he has seen a ghost. A part of me, for some reason, feels like it has been a long time since we have seen each other, though it has only been a few weeks.            “You look old,” I tilt my head. He grins and squeezes my shoulder. “Where are we?”            “We’re on a quinjet, we rescued you,”            “Rescued?” He seems reluctant to answer.            “You were being held prisoner,” I feel pressure building up in my head, the feeling of hitting a wall.            “Where’s Tasha?” I get up from the cot, my legs unsteady, and pull back the curtain. Rather than seeing Natasha in the cockpit as I expected, there is a gaggle of individuals deep in discussion. A slight brunette catches my eye, blushing furiously and looking away.            “Yelena, they’re friends,”            “I don’t know, they not friends.” I growl.            “They are my friends, Nat’s,” Clint explains, “Tony, Sam, Rhodey, Bruce, and,”            “Wanda,” The girl offers, her voice timid and unsure. He looks at her with a particular tenderness that makes me inspect the girl closer. She has folded into herself, as if she is trying to disappear.            “Nice to meet a member of Nat’s family. I was always curious,”            “Not the time, Tony.” The American glares at the man. Though, they all seem American.            “Where is Tasha?” I try again.            “We’re on our way to her now. We were on a mission,” One of the men, Sam, explains. I look him up and down and give him a little smirk. The girl calls my attention again, however. She does not speak again, playing with the rings on her fingers.            We touch down on the tarmac and the gangplank drops. They do not handcuff me, which seems foolish on their part. Though, I suppose I am not a prisoner. But maybe I should be, I don’t know what I have been doing since I last saw Natasha.            “Hey Friday,” Tony begins, “When are Steve and Nat landing?”            “They are currently in the kitchen,” I break into a sprint. There is some kind of AI wired throughout the area, and I ask for directions. The AI, whom had been referred to as Friday, provides the answers promptly. AI, something that had seemed like a distant future just days ago, or weeks, months, years.            I skid to a stop in the kitchen. Her red hair shines like a beacon.            “Tasha,” I breathe, my heart aching. My mind may not know how long it has been, but my soul clearly does.             She spins around, along with the man she is with, gun drawn. I put my hands up, remaining passive. A piece of me fears she does not remember me, does not know who I am. But she has to, it is us.            Clint and his little friend run into the room, panting. They quickly take in the scene and turn their attention to Natasha.            “Nat, put down the gun,” He tries. She doesn’t take her hard gaze off of me, the gun steady.            “That isn’t, it can’t be, you saw, you were,” She speaks in half sentences, her words becoming lost in her head, in her memories. Whatever happened to me, she was there for it.            “Is me, Tasha,” I swear once Clint affirms who I am. She is beginning to become distressed, her hands starting to shake. I’m upsetting her.            “Mom,” The girl says quietly. Mom? I whip around, looking at her. She still sounds fragile, quiet. But she called Natasha mom. “It’s her. I looked. I saw her giving you a pair of ballet slippers and sitting with Cooper as a baby.” What the hell does that mean? I saw, how would she see? Home videos, maybe? How does that ensure I am me?            She comes between Natasha and I, gently taking the gun out of Natasha’s hand and putting it back in her holster. There is a quiet moment shared between the two, before she finally speaks.            “Lena?” Relief, elation. Elation is the only word I can use to describe the optimistic hope that lilts up at the end of my name.            “Hi Tasha,” I beam.            “How are you here?”            “I don’t know,” I feel pressure begin to build again, “I think it has been long time, yes? It feels like long time.”            Ten years she tells me. She tries to take the blame, as she did when we were children. Whatever happened, I know it was not her fault. She had begun to panic, believing none of this is real, that I am not real. I tease gently about her pulling a gun on me again, though it is a legitimate concern.            Then she properly introduces Wanda. The girl doesn’t meet my eyes, almost hiding behind her mother. Her mother. Natasha has a daughter. An adopted daughter, like how I am her adopted sister. Because that is what Natasha has always done, she takes in strays, people in need of help.

           The girl. Wanda. She sits next to me on my couch, while Natasha is on her date with Steve. This couch from Pottery Barn that we bought together, after she had shown me a particular episode of Friends. Clint informed me that she does not talk a lot to anyone but Natasha, even his own children and her best friend, a fellow superhero, get few words from her. So, whenever she says anything to me, I feel particularly flattered.            And the guilt for what I had done to her when I first found out about her past continues to eat me alive. Guilt is supposed to be Natasha’s specialty, but it seems as though I am taking on some of her traits.            “We order takeout?” I ask the witch. She looks up from her phone, where she scrolls through social media, a new trend that I am still trying to catch up with.            “Okay,” She looks back down.            “You can go home,” I offer, not wanting her to feel trapped. Her lips pinch momentarily, “You stay, I order food,” She raises an eyebrow before going back to scrolling.            I have no clue how I am supposed to be an aunt. Barton’s children, they refer to me as Auntie Lena, and that is definitely my familial position with Wanda. But I’m twenty-, no. I’m in my thirties. I pass a mirror on my way into the kitchen, catching a look at my face. Time has barely passed on my body, in my mind, but the world kept going while I was on pause.            “Wanda,” I call, coming to a decision, “We go out,” I come back into the living room, the girl craning her neck to look at me. “Put on nice dress, we go out. Have fun.”             She stares at me, considering for a moment, before nodding, hopping up from the sofa, her powers bursting.            “What are we doing?”            “Go to gala,”            “What gala?”            “I not decide yet. Put on gown and be back in twenty. I do your hair.”            She returns fifteen minutes later, donning a ruby red satin gown. It looks custom made. She also holds a makeup box and a red clutch, clearly well loved.            “I was supposed to wear this to a charity event in November,” she explains, sitting down at my bathroom vanity. I’m given no other explanation, and though I wait in silence for more information, unlike most people, she does not open up.            I sweep her hair to the side into a side bun. She leans forward, doing her own makeup. She glances back at me every few seconds, taking her attention off her eyeshadow.            “Do you want me to do your makeup?” She puts down her brush. She stands up, and I can hear the faint mechanical whir of her leg as she stands up. To anyone with unenhanced hearing, it would be silent. I don’t know how I missed it initially.                        I sit down on the stool and face her. Wanda’s eyes meet mine momentarily before looking away, going through her palette.            “You like doing makeup?”            “I used to wear it a lot,” She shrugs and continues to do her work, and then steps back to admire it. “Okay,” She picks up a handheld mirror.            “Oh, you should have been one to do Tasha’s makeup for date,” Wanda blushes to the color of her dress, ducking her head. “Okay, I go change, then we leave.”            When I come out of my room, wearing a dress the color of a night sky, Wanda is busy scrolling through her phone.            “There is a gala at 583 Park Avenue tonight, it is for one of the mayor’s pet projects.”            “We go,” She watches as I grab my beaded wallet, “I call us cab,”            “Uber, Yelena. No one calls taxis anymore.” She rolls her eyes, teasing, and we head down to the lobby.            We take the car to the venue, and the beautiful Greek revival is lit up by glowing pendants, the four pillars casting shadows down on us. Security stands at the front, checking everyone for a ticket.            “They are sold out online,” Wanda’s bottom lip juts out.            “Come on,” I grab her hand, pull her behind me as I round the corner, heading towards the back entrance of the building. “You watch and play along, da?”            “Okay,” I spy a pair of busboys sharing a joint, taking a break from the mayhem of the evening. I think of the whole song and dance I had planned to get us in. Fake being locked out, fight with my boyfriend who is a staffer for the mayor and got us tickets.            “Three hundred for each of you if you let us in.” The pair exchange a glance and stand up holding out their hands and opening the side door.            “That was watch and learn?” Wanda laughs as we head down the hall.            “Sometimes money speaks better than words,”            We enter the hall and I grab us each a glass of champagne. It is not very often, or rather never, that I get to attend galas without having to kill or torture somebody. However, Wanda seems to fit right in. She wears large diamond studs, each the size of a blueberry, and this custom-made gown. However, her anxiety is visible in the way she grips her clutch, almost like a security blanket.            “Is special to you?”            “Hm?” She follows my eyes to her wallet. “Oh, this is the first gift Nat every bought me. It was for my sixteenth birthday.” Her face softens at the memory.             “We find people to dance with, come.” She laughs as I introduce her as a foreign princess, and the man plays along, despite the obvious fact that she is her.            I, on the other hand, am still harder to identify. The world news has not been plastered with my face for the past two years as it has her. I am not burned into the collective consciousness. I dance with a woman is a white cocktail dress, keeping one eye on Wanda the entire time.            After two songs, the pair break apart, and I bid the woman adieu. Wanda takes an empty seat, and I next to her.            “Hello,” I look at the nametag, “Mr. Abbot,”            “Mrs. Pruitt,” She responds, eyes twinkling. We order more champagne, or rather Wanda does while I switch to vodka on the rocks, and take canapes and caviar off passing trays.            “And then, as Tasha in middle of mission, she stop to,”            “Stops to save a cat from being hit by a car,” A voice finishes. I turn around.            Natasha and Steve stand behind us. Natasha looks stuck somewhere between amused and stern, while Steve is doing nothing to hide how humorous he finds the situation.             “How did you two get in here?”            “I pay,” I reply hotly, jutting out my chin. She moves her gaze to Wanda.            “We bribed the busboys.”            “I not say who we pay,”            “Do you even know what this event is for?”            “Dogs?” “Children?” We both say at the same time, causing a fit of laughter. My sister pinches the bridge of her nose.            “Well, since you two are here, you may as well come to the after party,” She looks to Steve for agreement, who nods. “But you, Little Witch, will not be having any more champagne,” Wanda’s face, already flushed from alcohol, seems to redden even more. “Come on,” Nat leads us out the front door where a town car awaits.            “We are sorry for ruining date night, I had no idea that you were going to be there,”            “It was on the calendar in the kitchen, perhaps that is where your subconscious got the idea,” Natasha teases and fixes the strap on her daughters dress as we climb into the car.            We pull up at the Avengers Tower, and take the elevator up to the penthouse.            “There you are, and you brought company!” Tony cheers, “Good, I could use some of her expertise,” I expect him to be pointing at me, but instead he is at Wanda, “You are the expert at naming things, I have a list of baby names and need your help,”            “I thought you were naming her Morgan,” Nat calls, heading over to the bar.            “Middle names, Natalie!”            “Did he say names, plural?” Steve asks.            “Did he call you Natalie?” Natasha pours Steve a glass of whiskey and I another cup of vodka before coming around the bar with her own drink, a martini.            “You snuck my underaged daughter into a gala,” She leans back next to me, watching Wanda and Tony, while Steve begins to thumb through the vinyls next to the record player.            “Was either that or Chinese food again,”              “Maybe try bowling next time,”            “With ax throwing,” I grin.            “Galas, then,” Natasha laughs.            “Sorry for ruining date night,” I say earnestly. I hadn’t expected them to be there.            “Oh, please,” She waves me off, “Tony already did. Pepper called us saying Tony was here at the tower, working late, and you know,” She nods to the empty bottles, “Trying to develop a special crib or something. Asked Steve and I to check in. We ran into you two while we were heading out.”            “You can’t give her the middle name Una, then her name would be Morguna,”            “I like the sound of that, put it on the list!” Tony cheers, while Wanda scrawls on the glass screen.            “This is good life,” Steve finally selects a record, and the Beatles start to play. The first lyrics, Flew in from Miami Beach BOAC, cause Natasha to grin. “Is our song!” I cry out, tugging her out into the center of the room, kicking off my heels. She laughs as I spin her around, spilling her drink the process.             Tony, Steve, and Wanda join in as we dance to the Beatles at one in the morning, I can’t imagine a life any better.

Captions under cut

Today in Belarus, September 5th, 2020

The Belarusian medical community released a video condemning state violence.

Students continue to protest after more than forty arrests were made yesterday. Video footage showed many altercations with police to be brutal. Arrests continued today.

Thousands of women marched across the country. Journalists covering the march in Minsk were arrested.

Hackers compromised four state websites, posting anti-government messages. They allegedly accessed databases with the names of some riot police involved in torturing detainees.

Another member of the opposition’s Coordination Council has been forced to flee the country. Olga Kavalkova was arrested, blindfolded, and dropped at the Polish border.

Opposition leader Svetlana Tikhanovskaya has called for Belarusians to march in a “unity rally” this Sunday.

 Photo shows a professional shot of Olga Kavalkova dressed in a red suit. She has brunette hair that is shoulder length and bangs. She is wearing red lipstick to match her outfit. She looks determinedly into the camera with her arms crossed.