#nizshiy

[sashashostakov]

@nizshiy

‘ knock, knock ... maybe wanna tell tall dark and so-not-handsome to take a hike? ’

[balshoy-medvyed]

*logs on for the first time in months*

.... phil, wtf u at bro?

.... kinda funny seeing yelena land flat on her ass in a cell.

.... omg, are you okay josephine?

.... omg, are you okay carol?

.... *fawns over roman*

*desperately tries to catch up on all the drama*

[russiasredguardian]

@nizshiy

he lets himself in, keycard already slipped into his back pocket before she can catch sight of it or make a swipe for it. as much gripes as she might have about him letting himself in and out, she hadn’t changed the locks. 

‘ hey, goldilocks. ’

alexei set the small wrapped boxes on the table, claiming one of the armchairs for himself before she rounded the corner of the corridor, hands already held up in defense.

‘ yeah, i know ... they’re late. was waiting for the seventh, but - uh ... my bad. ’

[starlightsulu]

THE NEW BOSS // @nizshiy

          " and i don’t like wasting time. ” simple as that , really . he’s not here to sell a spiel ; to charm his way into a job. there is after all, no profit that comes from falsification . bad for business ; terrible for reputation . he’s good at what he does ( he’s great , he’d argue ), no more , no less .  

the fighter’s comfortable , respectful of the place ( his shirt is pressed , his shoes are clean , he sits with perfect posture ) , but there’s a softness to the edge of his voice . it’s something casual --- light --- despite the job .  keep it professional ; but there’s nothing wrong with that little bit of fun. 

a wolf’s smile. confidence , rather than arrogance. he’s here for a reason.

“ this is not exactly a job that pays overtime . ”

[ruinaa-archive-blog]

You should be proud of yourself.

supergirl.

          ( accepting. )

          i don’t feel very proud of myself, she wants to say, but that isn’t wholly true, either. she knows she’s come much further than she ever expected herself to and that, more than anything, she’s survived. that seems like a strange thing to be proud of, sometimes, something so basic and everyday that she never says it aloud, but it’s there. i survived, and that’s enough. it has to be.

          hearing yelena say it doesn’t catch in her chest the same way it does for raven, for the professor, for roman. there’s no winded feeling bubbling in her chest. it still lands, like it always will, but there’s a cold, hollow sort of satisfaction that comes along with having yelena tell her so. (if she were any better, if she were any different, she wouldn’t want it from her. there’s a part of her now that doesn’t, too, because as much as she looks at yelena and sees parts of herself, she knows that it’s not what she wants. there are plenty of people josephine would settle for being compared to, but yelena belova is not one of them.)

          she cares about her, which is the best and worst part of all this, the double-edged blade that fits so neatly between her ribs. we know the type of people we are, she thinks, but i’m the only one who wants to change it.

          “thanks.” that, at least, is genuine. josephine tucks her legs a little closer beneath her and hopes that, when she leaves and pulls a burner phone out of her pocket to text phil coulson, yelena will still think the same thing.

[ruinaa-archive-blog]

          ( @nizshiy​ !! )

          sliding into the backseat without putting up a fight, she gives yelena a look, though it lacks any real bite. “if you wanted to see me,” she starts, unwinding her scarf from around her neck in the stuffy interior of the car, “you could’ve just come over.”

[ruinaa-archive-blog]

I love you. (don't look at me)

insurgent.

          ( accepting. )

          she feels like shit, and probably looks like it, too. that’s what she gets, she thinks, for ending up in another hospital bed with a good number of painkillers pumping through her system and another handful of stitches snaking up her side and roman always outside the door or sitting beside her with those deep lines of worry in his face. it’s a familiar scenario even if she doesn’t want it to be, but it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. she has that, at least.

          the last person she expects to see is yelena, but she comes swanning in at the tail end of her third day there and slides into the chair roman has only recently abandoned. when she glances toward the door, she sees him pass by and shoot her a look, one she returns with the same sort of confusion, albeit a little muddled. yelena doesn’t seem like the sort of person to come dropping by for a visit, especially not for her, but -- here they are. like always, it seems. 

          they talk, or josephine talks and yelena listens, and there’s a strange expression on her face that josephine doesn’t really understand, again. like so many things with yelena, this feels like something other than what it is at face value, and she’s waiting for the inevitable question or offer or quip, but it never comes. (has yelena gone soft? maybe spending so much time with sasha has done her some good, and josephine was right about her after all; they aren’t so different, she’s always known that, but maybe they are both less jagged-edged and hard than they pretend to be.) 

          it surprises her, still, when she says it. it comes stumbling out, clumsier than anything yelena has ever, ever said to her, and josephine feels her voice stick in her throat. she blinks once, then again, everything slow and measured and -- she’s probably heard her wrong. i love you could sound like a dozen other things, couldn’t it? it would have to, because it’s not -- well, it’s not a possibility for yelena to say something like that to her, because they are friends or something like it, but that’s it. they aren’t family, or whatever yelena considers alexei and sasha and whoever else she’d consider worth protecting, but --

          but.

          she reaches for yelena’s hand before she can think better of it and, fingers curled loosely around yelena’s, gives a light squeeze. “i didn’t take you for the sentimental bedside visitor.” the corner of her mouth ticks up and, like she has with so many other people in her life, she falls into the role she knows so well: softening this, making it better, easier, another thing that doesn’t need to feel so hard. “-- -- but, y’know, love you, too. just don’t tell alexei.”

[russiasredguardian]

How did everything get so screwed up?

‘ … you showed up in my life. pretty sure i was doing just fine fore then ‘lena. ’