#romanovich

[cartoon-goon02]

rodion

[stargazer333]

[lickstynine]

So uh this started in a logical place, I swear

I was like "Jace likes to post stuff to YouTube and he's definitely the type to try shit like the milk challenge"

"but he'd want somebody to do it with him"

"Vody"

G: Ghost would be very mad if he wasn't invited

"invite him"

And now we've ended up here. My Vody and @sickandvomiting 's Ghost doing the milk challenge together like the extra-ass idiots they are. Yes, those gallons are duct taped to a bike helmet. Jace is probably somewhere slightly out of frame chugging pink milk and trying not to puke.

[lickstynine]

Zhao and Vodka: Origins

The glorious BrOTP is back! After writing a little modern-day drabble, and an overarcing summary of their relationship, G and I whipped out our proper storywriting gloves and wrote about the very first meeting of Ghost and Vody! It’s just plot, no whump, but I really liked writing it. 

(also remember, this is 1985, so the money amounts are a little less than half of what they’d be today)

Enjoy, and feel free to send any questions you may have.

Vody sat on the curb, head in his hands. Painful bruises coloured his ribs, but nothing hurt worse than the sinking feelings of regret making him want to melt into the pavement. How did he end up here? He’d been an Olympian - a winner, even! People had cheered for him, gushed over him, showered him in praises and prizes. And now, not even a month later, he was poorer than ever, with death threats hovering over his head. How could he have been so stupid?

Part of him knew it wasn’t totally his fault - he’d never had money in his life, much less anyone to teach him how to manage it. In theory, poker had been a great idea. He was a sharp guy, with a steely face. He could’ve multiplied his winnings, been set for life… if the game hadn’t been rigged to hell and back.

He hadn’t expected underground gambling to be fair, but he also hadn’t expected to get fucked over that hard. Now he wasn’t even safe in his own country, and he’d had to dig up all the money left to his name to buy a one-way ticket to California before he got a one-way trip to the graveyard. What a fucking idiot he’d been.

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon, sparkling on the frosty roads. Vody’s hand rested on his single duffle bag, and he slung it over his shoulder, climbing to his feet and trudging down the street towards the airport. He couldn’t tell if the ache in his chest was from the bruises, or the already-growing homesickness that made him want to turn back with every step.

Lera’s words hung in his head. “We know you don’t want to leave. If it’s what has to happen, it has to happen. We want what is best for you; being safe is obviously the best. Take care of yourself, man.”

Though he was only a train ride away from home so far, everyone already felt so distant, and Vody knew it was only going to get worse. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to freeze on the spot, and he brushed them away with one gloved hand. Going through the airport barely felt real. The voices around him sounded miles away, and he shuffled through the lines like an awkward robot.

He hadn’t expected to fit well in an airplane seat, but the cramped space was almost insufferable. His knees had to touch his chest to keep from busting through the seat in front of him, and his head practically hit the ceiling. The flight was going to take the better part of a day, and he knew he wouldn’t be comfortable enough to sleep for any of it. He rested his chin on his knees, constantly glancing up at his duffel bag, which seemed worryingly insecure in the overhead storage.

The flight went quite smoothly, but Vody almost wished something had happened, just because he was so painfully bored. He hated being so alone, with nothing to do or think about. It left him far too much time to get lost in his thoughts, to beat himself up for being such an idiot, to miss his family, to panic about how lost he would be when he got to the states. By the time the plane finally landed, it felt like his blood pressure had tripled.

Walking into the airport was already a culture shock. Everything seemed so much more lively and colourful, and the people were so diverse. He was getting a lot of strange looks, but that wasn’t new - even back home, giants with face scars weren’t exactly normal. The restaurants around him smelled amazing, if strange, and Vody’s stomach growled as he eyed the iconic golden arches of the fabled McDonald’s.

As good as everything looked, he just shook his head and kept walking. He didn’t have any money for food; he’d barely managed to scrape up enough for a plane ticket. His only chance at eating tonight were the handful of trinkets in his suitcase - his mother had given him what few heirlooms she had left, in hopes that he could maybe sell them for a bit of money to get back on his feet. He tugged his duffel bag closer to his body, not that he really expected anyone to attempt to rob him of all people.

Stepping out into the chaos of San Francisco was perhaps the most surreal experience of Vody’s life. He felt like Dorothy walking out of her grey Kansas farmhouse and into the technicolour Oz. The more he heard the people around him talking, the more painfully aware he was of how little he understood. Sure, the ones who spoke loudly or slowly or clearly were somewhat intelligible, but overall, he really couldn’t make out much.

Luckily, Vody at least knew the phrase ‘Pawn Shop,’ and he didn’t have to scan the streets for too long before he found what he was looking for. Sadly, no one was looking for what he offered: some first-edition Russian books, a handful of old copper rubles from nearly 200 years ago, and a set of beautifully painted Matryoshka dolls that had belonged to his grandmother.

One guy suggested taking them to a museum, but the word seemed lost on Vody, who eventually just sighed and walked away. He’d trudged all across town, his hat, coat, and gloves shed and tucked into his bag. The California heat was strange and exhausting, but he couldn’t give up. If he couldn’t sell these for something, he wasn’t eating tonight, and Lord, was he hungry.

After the fifteenth pawn shop, Vody was starting to get hopeless, and his energy was fading with his enthusiasm. He had made his way to a part of the city the locals called ‘Chinatown,’ and it wasn’t hard to tell where it got the name. It made him a little excited - maybe someone with a different cultural background would see more value in what he was selling.

Sadly, the pawn shop there was no more interested in Vody’s trinkets than the American-run stores. However, they had directed him to someone who might want to look at his items: a store around the corner that sold ‘very weird things, very weird’ as the pawn shop owner had put it.

As he came up on the shop he’d been directed to, Vody couldn’t help but be intrigued. There were strange animal skulls and weird trinkets in the window, and it had an almost supernatural air about it. He had to duck severely to even attempt to fit in the door, but it didn’t hinder him from going in. The walls inside were completely obscured by floor to ceiling shelves and cabinets of all different sizes, makes, and colors. The whole place seemed to be bursting at the seams with various knick-knacks, as well as some strange furniture and a cluttered table and shelves in the middle. Some of the trinkets looked to be junk, and yet others appeared quite valuable, tucked carefully away inside the glass-paned cupboards. The inside of the store was dimly lit, and a little spooky-- Vody swore there were eyes staring at him from inside many of the cabinets--  and he could only hope he wasn’t about to get murdered.

“Um… excuse?” He ventured, peering into the shop. He could see a figure shuffling around in the back room, and raised his voice. “Hello?”

An older man, probably mid-forties, appeared from behind a shelving unit toward the back of the little shop, beaming brightly, arms extended in welcome.

“Hello, my large friend, and welcome to the shop!” the man said. “You’ve got trash? I’ve got cash. You’ve got cash? I’ve got treasures!” He strode right up to the larger man and ushered him further into the store. They passed what appeared to be half a car that had been converted into a shelf, while the other half had been turned into a sofa. Vody peered around curiously.

“So, I hear you buy strange thing? I have thing, but pawn shop tell me to do the fucking off…” Vody held up his bag hopefully.

“You heard right!” the man declared. “Only the strangest things here.” He pushed an odd slanted stool toward Vody for him to sit at the desk, but thought better of it and pulled it back away. It was rickety and wooden, and Vody might just break it if he was as heavy as he looked. He looked around for something else, holding a finger up that told Vody to just hold on a minute. After much scraping and shuffling, he returned pushing a slightly worn sofa chair with dogs printed on it, and patted the cushion for Vody to take a seat.

“Alright, let’s see what you got,” he said, going behind the desk and sitting down himself.

Vody was hesitant as he sat down; though it creaked a little, the sofa chair was sturdy, and he sat down properly. He held the bag in his lap, unzipping it and pulling out items one at a time.

“First I have, uh… books. They very old, bout… eighty, hundred years, I think? First… er… oh, what is word? First kind? First one?” He sighed in frustration.

“Oh, a first edition!!” the man said, taking the book and carefully turning it over in his hands. He puffed, blowing his long hair out of his eyes so he could see better. “Very nice,” he concluded after rifling through the pages.

Vody nodded, looking very pleased. “You like?” he asked, properly hopeful for the first time all day.

“I like,” he replied with a smirk. “How’s twenty sound?”

Vody seemed surprised. The other shopkeepers had told him he’d be lucky to get a few bucks for the ‘crap’ he was hauling around. “Twenty? For just book?”

“Just book? Just book?” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “These are multiple first editions! Of I don’t even know what, but I like them!”

Vody was so relieved, he nearly deflated, sinking into the chair. “I have… other thing. You want to see?”

“Naturally,” he said, placing the books on the shelf behind him.

Digging in a small pocket of the bag, Vody pulled out a handful of coins. He had diligently polished them before he left, and they were glossy copper. “These are rubles. Russian coin. But old one. From seventeen… fiftyish, I think? Mother did not know for sure. Just know we had very long time.”

“These are beautiful! And very collectable to people who are into that kinda thing,” the shopkeeper said. “How are they in such good condition?” He pulled a pair of magnifying lense glasses out of a drawer behind the desk, and flicked two of the lenses down in front of his eyes. They made his eyes appear to take up the entire lens, and they darted about comically as he looked from Vody to the coins and back.

“Family keep them very safe, in little lock box. Before I bring, I wipe off all dust and smudge. Want them to be nice.” Vody explained, sort of miming as he spoke to make sure he was understood.

“Ya done good, kid,” he said, flipping one deftly through his fingers. “Fifteen for the lot?”

Vody nodded eagerly, his face lighting up again. “Da! Ah… yes! Yes, please!”

The man pulled a few bills out of his register drawer.

“Got anything else in that magic sack of yours before I pay you?”

Vody practically jumped out of his seat. “Da! Save best for last.” He pulled out a cloth bundle that looked tiny in his massive hands, unwrapping it as gently as possible to reveal smooth, glossy paint on a little wooden figure. “Is Matryoshka. Think you say… nesting doll? Was grandmother’s… one of first sets made.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and he took the doll gently.

“Are these hand-painted?” he asked, a note of awe in his voice.

Vody nodded. “Da. Think they were… wedding present.”

The man nodded, opening the first doll carefully to reveal another similarly painted one nestled inside.

“They’re beautiful,” he breathed, twisting the second doll open. The smaller one was just as immaculate, and the tiny one in the center was so glossy it was almost as if it had never seen the light of day before.

Vody watched the man with bated breath. He’d already been offered nearly ten times the money he had dared to expect; if the dolls were worth enough, he could even afford a place to stay for the night. After a long moment of silence, he dared to ask, “You… you like?”

“Like? I love!” he said. “Thirty!” he declared heartily, rummaging around in his register drawer and pulling out more bills.

Vody looked like he might actually have a heart attack. “Thirty? Just for doll?”

“Not just for doll. For handmade, handpainted, early set of genuine Russian nesting dolls,” he said, passing the small wad of bills to Vody. “And what can I say? I like them, and you seem like a good kid.”

Vody took the money, tucking it into his pocket and grabbing the man’s hand to shake. “Thank you! Very much thank!”

“Very much welcome,” the man said with a laugh, reassembling the dolls once he had been released from the ardent handshake and placing them on the shelf behind him as well. “If you ever happen to come across some other buyable things, you know where to find me,” he said. “The name’s Zhao, by the way. My army buddies called me Ghost.”

Vody looked surprised, but pleased by this information. “You in army?” He asked.

“Marines, technically. Or at least, I used to be,” he said. “Vietnam.” He pulled his dog-tags out of his shirt and jingled them bit before tucking them back in, safe against his chest.

“Really? You not look old enough for Vietnam…” Vody remarked, earning him a loud laugh from Zhao. “I was in army… couple years ago now. Afghan war. You… America… against us. But, America been against Russia long time now.” He shrugged.

“True enough,” he agreed. “Unfortunate thing, really. War. World, Cold, “police action”, or any other names they might come up with for ‘em.”

Vody nodded solemnly. “War no good. I go because I have to. Wished I could stay with family. Wish I could stay with family now.” He sighed.

“They’re, what, back in Russia?” he asked.

“Da. I… had to leave. My fault.” Vody huffed, scowling down at his worn boots.

“Damn,” Zhao murmured sympathetically. “You got anyone over here?”

Vody laughed bitterly. “No. I not even have money for dinner til I come here.”

“Double damn, kid,” he said, falling deep into thought for a second. After a moment’s silence, he slapped the top of his desk, startling Vody a bit. “Tell ya what. My wife is trying her hand at frying some chicken tonight. Never done it before. If you want, you can come up and suffer through it with me and my girls, provided you give me something to introduce you with other than “kid”, and maybe help me move some shit around the shop. You look like you could push these shelves around easy as you could me,” he said with a snort.

Vody paused, partly to process everything Zhao had said, and partly to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. “You… give food? And… work?” He asked.

“Yeah, why not. It’s just me and the missus running this place, and she’s got her hands full with the girls and her other job,” he said with a shrug. “Could use an abnormally large and strangely gracefully Russian man around.”

Vody laughed. He would’ve bowed, but there wasn’t really room for him to do so without knocking over. “Will do my best.” He paused for a moment before adding. “Oh! Almost forgot. Name. Am Vodyanov Romanovich. Friends just say Vody.” He held out a massive paw to shake again.

“Alright then, Vody.” He gave the proffered hand a firm shake. “How about you come upstairs and get yourself set up?”

“Okay.” Vody closed his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder and smiling. “Lead way.”

[hanniecoffee]

está aparecendo muitas edits de crime e castigo na minha fy do tiktok e estou começando a ter vontade de reler 💭

[medneeeeeey]

[medneeeeeey]

[medneeeeeey]

Как жаль, что наше приключение Волнует сердце только одного...

Сергей Романович