#russianforged

[lttlchcpshcp]

@lttlchcpshcp asked :  ❝ You say that you’re no good for me. ❞

HE’S GOOD AT REMAINING STOIC. Or at least he had been good at remaining stoic the last time that he had seen Gaby, or Solo, had proven that he was not as in control as he liked to think.  Moscow was dangerous, he knew this, even more dangerous for an AMERICAN and an EAST BERLINER, just as dangerous for him to be with them EVEN WITH permission.  uncle made him too comfortable,  made him forget how things work.   He still remembers the harsh JAB to the throat of the party member who had made one comment too many about the oh so short woman who stood in front of him now.  He remembers small hands pulling him away, Solo making some comment about his impressive professionalism.     Mostly he remembers the broken down doors and the disabling hits that came in the night, the bag shoved roughly over his head and his heels scraping against cement as he is dragged away by KGB.  

Mostly he remembers how similar it was to when he was ten.

He remained with them for weeks,  testing his loyalty, questioning his loyalty.   He was there to play nice with uncle not grow ATTACHED, he is there to relay back anything IMPORTANT to Yuri and the party. Not to get Attached.    

They had made him remember it.    

Finally they believed his broken sentences and battered body and threw him out onto the streets to sort himself out.    That was months ago but there is still yellow bruising around his eyes,   a split in his lip that never properly healed, a click in his ribs when he breathes in too deep.  THIS is the first time that he had been back to UNCLE since, first time that he had been allowed back now that they made sure he knew who was the hand that fed him,  Yuri’s threads of gulag ringing clearly in his mind.

So he had to distance himself,     more similar to the man on their first mission together than the man he had become around them.   There are no sarcastic jokes, or comments at all,  only hard eyes and even harder vowels.   A slightly haunted, far away look in his eyes.    

(  BE GOOD KURYAKIN AND MAYBE WE’LL LET YOU SEE HER  ——her, her, his mother.  you know where she is? —   OF COURSE WE KNOW WHERE SHE IS )

“ нет. ”    NO.  And he needs his next words to hurt, feigning indifference, almost contempt like he had first had when they first met.  She has more control than he does, if he pushes her away enough she will not come back, and that is what has to happen.      “ You are no good for me. ”

She has been waiting for this day for FAR too long. It has been killing her, the GUILT, as they waited for any sort of news through Waverly about the fate of their third member. Their family. Because that is what he is. No matter what the KGB might try and tell him. Illya Kuryakin was her family. 

Her insomnia has gotten worse. Napoleon had at first tried to stay up with Gabi. He’d tried to comfort her – wrapped her in blankets, stroked her hair, even sung to her quietly as he had her all but swaddled like a baby trying to get her to sleep while they waited for news. And she had let him. But out of the two of them, Napoleon really did need his beauty rest if he was going to be a functioning person in the morning, so she’d started pretending she had fallen asleep only to sneak out of her bed again once he left. 

That day replayed in her mind over and over again. What if she had tried to stop him – a hand on his arm. A grounding hand on his back where the schlappschwanz [ limp cock; coward/wimp ] couldn’t see. 

                                      Could a simple touch have changed anything? 

She knew she couldn’t have done what she had in Italy; the hands gripping his arms to keep them down as she pressed her body to his, moving to the tip of her toes to try and break his deathly gaze and bring him back from the brink. Illya had been doing so well of fighting off what she and Napoleon liked to call his red mist. She still remembers her surprise when he had all but lunged at the other man. Gabi feels no shame to say that she felt a small amount of satisfaction watching the terror in the other man’s eyes. 

             She hopes his throat still hurts. 

       Hers certainly does as she holds her breath to keep from crying at the sight of her giant brummbär [ growling bear – someone who is sweet but often grumpy; child speak for teddy bear ] alive and in front of her. Gabi has barely been able to tear her eyes away from him since Waverly had reintroduced them ( along with Napoleon, of course ) an hour ago in his office. 

                                                                                        ‘нет [ No?]’ 

It was easy enough for her to understand the word but the use of it was odd. Not that it was in Russian but that he was disagreeing with a statement she had heard many times from his own lips. Her eyebrows began to scrunch as she frowns. “ No good for you ? “ she echoes. “ Что ты имеешь в виду?” [ What do you mean (by that)? ] She has been practicing her Russian since he was taken. She’d hoped if any of the Russian visitors the last few months had known anything about him she might be able to overhear something. She was a far ways away from being fluent but she was able to pick up a few things. Sadly nothing had been about him. Gabi also had been hoping to impress him. If she practiced maybe he would be proud. Maybe he would see that she cared. Maybe he wouldn’t be taken away again if she spoke in his mother tongue. If she was less herself. Perhaps he’d see she had been trying to keep him close to her as best as she could. “Что, Илья?” [ “What, Illya?” ]

[calledelio-moved]

@russianforged ♥’d this

the sight of the man is enough to have elio’s throat tightening and his heart seizing in his chest. it’s not oliver, he knows. but god there is enough about him that for just a second, for one single second, elio hoped. the more he looks, the more things he sees, the more features he finds that they share. tall frame, square jaw, bright eyes. the man is wearing a hat, but elio can’t help himself but wonder if the hair beneath was golden. there is a fleeting curiosity of what it would feel like if he slept with him. would he kiss him as oliver had? touch him the way oliver did? the curiosity is, however, not purely sexual in nature, and he finds himself moving forward to the table is sitting by himself at, as if driven by some masochistic force. before he can think about what he’s doing, think RATIONALLY about this, elio is sitting down at the man’s table. 

      ❝ sorry, can i sit here? ❞

[chopshopchic]

[ @russianforged ]

Gaby is colder than she has ever been. 

This mission had been dubious from the start, but owing to her rapid gaining of experience, she’d considered herself worthy of the challenge and capable enough to handle whatever might be thrown at her, especially in the company of her partners. All she feels now is fear. 

It’s a wonder she and Illya had made it to the safe house at all. He’s injured, badly enough to leave scarlet markers in the snow here and there. Though he’d assured her that freshly falling snow would cover the trail, she couldn’t help but keep watch behind them as well as in front as they made their trek. Her parka is thick and fur-hooded, large enough to swallow her whole, but her small body can’t help but tremble. It’s not exactly warm inside, but the change in temperature from the frozen chill outside is almost a shock. 

“Sit down,” she orders at once, when the door is locked and she’s sure the windows are secure. As secure as they can be, anyway; she thinks there must be a draft someplace. Despite the hood, there are flakes of snow clinging to her hair, which she shakes free as she stalks to and fro, in an attempt to take stock of what they’ve landed in. This place doesn’t look as though it’s been used in quite some time, and she tries not to think about how supplies might not have been replenished for too long. At least, for now, it’s a safe place. 

[fortcvolontc-a]

gaby | apologies | russianforged

@russianforged bc ur such an enabler

Gaby could feel that Illya had been hurt by her betrayal, lying to him and Napoleon about being a spy. MI6 and she hadn’t predicted the arrival of the Russian and American spy but she had played innocent to not blow her cover. While she didn’t like Illya at first, she had grown to care somehow about him. And by his jealousy in Rome, so did he, she believed.

“Я извиняюсь,” she said with her German accent.

[chopshopchic]

[ @russianforged ] [cont. X] [You gave me explicit permission to turn anything into a thread, RIP in pieces]

Gaby can’t help herself; she startles when his voice carries through the otherwise silent room, interrupting her rummaging. She purses her lips, annoyed with herself for not paying enough attention to sense him enter the room. Illya must be commended; despite his size, he knows how to keep his footsteps silent as anything.

It has been said more than once that Gaby lacks shame, and she’s learned over the years to embrace that. Why be embarrassed about being caught red handed when she can simply brush it off, as though she has every right to have been snooping through Illya’s things in the first place?

“Isn’t it obvious?” she responds, straightening up and settling her hands on her hips. There’s an air of detachment in her expression, as though she couldn’t care less what he thinks, even though there are faint spots of pink sitting high on her cheeks that would say otherwise. “I’m looking for something.”

[chopshopchic]

[ @russianforged​ ] -- cont. from meme

Gaby’s lips quirk as soon as she hears that familiar voice, but she doesn’t immediately roll herself out from beneath the vehicle she’s working on. In addition to whatever projects she picks up here and there, Waverly has given her leave to keep UNCLE’s collection of private vehicles in tip-top shape, and she’s pleased to have been allowed to carry on doing what she does best even as everything else in her life had taken a sudden left turn.

“Do you, now?” she hums, clinking away as she reaches for the tool she requires to put the finishing touches on her current task. Nearly done, and it isn’t worth it to pause now when she can simply press through and finish the job before allowing her attention to wander. When she finally does emerge, it’s with a smudge of grease across her nose and hands that look as though she’ll never be clean again.

“Illya,” she admonishes once she gets a look at what he’s brought her. “What’ve you done to it?” Clearly, she’s been missing out on some death-defying adventures, or else he’s far more careless with his ride than she’d ever imagined him to be.

[kingcfashes-blog]

❛   there most be a reason for your presence ,          i can’t just tell what can that reason be exactly              care to explain ?   ❜     *   @russianforged     sc.

[thelionofnaples]

“king me” [ because this is like my favourite thing ]

Send “king me” for an AU starter where my muse is royalty.

“Kuryakin’s here? Again?” Napoleon sent a beseeching look towards his father, nose wrinkled, only to receive a withering look from the King. “Papa, he’s--” 

“He’s eligible, Napoleon.” He knew that tone all too well, and it sent disappointment sinking into his stomach, curled and nauseating. Sighing, Napoleon, Prince of all the land, dropped his head back against his throne. 

“Send him in.”