i love damien's "not necessarily because i have a soft spot for her [angela]" in a fun romantic shipping way, but platonically it also really hits. angela and damien do have a friendship where they both really lift each other up in videos, and it's really lovely to see that side/kind of friendship from both of them, especially since a lot of the friendship dynamics we see from angela with the rest of the smosh cast tends to be more (playfully) antagonistic. it's just really sweet to see that from both of them and a huge reason why i love their dynamic.
Same! They have such a different dynamic than most of the cast. Every now and then they'll antagonize each other but most of it is softer. It's always a joy to see them together.
In the same way that people have pointed out how during TNTL, Shayne will use different types of humor depending on who he’s trying to make laugh (silly characters for Amanda, weird noises for Courtney, clever wordplay and distinct pauses for Damien, etc.) I think Damien is friends with all the Smosh cast in different ways. (You could argue that this happens with everyone, which is true, I just think it’s more noticeable with Damien, especially since he gets so much hate on how he’s friends with the other Smosh cast members). Like with Shayne, they will get each other’s inside jokes, and laugh even if no one else gets it. They fit together so well because they’ve known each other FOREVER. They’ll laugh their squeaky laughs. But with Angela, it’s fond looks at each other, admiring each other. It’s mutual respect and support. Of course, all the Smosh cast (and all of smosh) have mutual respect and support, since all of them are pretty good friends, and also coworkers. It wouldn’t work if it wasn’t. But with Damien and Angela, their friendship is almost BUILT from respect and support. It’s Damien’s inability to scold or berate Angela, no matter how much he’s joking. It’s Angela noticing Damien’s laugh from years ago. It’s Damien noticing Angela’s laugh, saying “God, I Iove your laugh”. It’s the little touches they have, even though they’ve both said they’re pretty touch adverse. It’s Damien leaning up against the couch, turning his entire body to face her, and listening intently during Reddit Stories. When Angela leans up against him or touches his arm; him letting her, and high-fiving her every chance he gets. It’s Angela playing with his ear, and him letting her, barely even flinching, then thanking her saying that he hasn’t felt human touch in a while. It’s them mentioning the other whenever they can, even if it’s not relevant. It’s the lazy looks that they have, in the background of videos just looking at the other. The one sided rivalry Angela has with him, and Damien supporting it, high-fiving her whenever she beats him at something. It’s the fact that the other won’t engage in any physical contact at all unless the other does too. It’s that Damien will remember little things about her. It’s the smirk he got when she said she would help him sing “Dancing through life”. It’s Angela laughing harder than ever whenever he does musical bits. It’s the ability to say “Nah I love you” “I love you too” platonically. It’s the fact that for whatever reason, they’ve gotten especially close recently, even more comfortable with each other. It’s the fact that even though Shayne and Damien have known each other for years, you’re not gonna see them leaning on each in a video, but you WILL see the little touches Damien and Angela give each other, the looks. The looks that have practically divided Damangela fans, whether shippers or just lovers of the duo. They obviously admire each other.
No one that hate each other give looks that have split a fandom in two.
A quick birthday 🎂 post about some of the reasons Iike and respect Ian so much.
I made one for Anthony's birthday and this is a good occasion to keep on talking about why Ian and Anthony are two of my favorite people.
Recently I've noticed that Ian is getting a lot of praise. In these last year or so there have been a lot of comments everywhere on youtube appreciating him for keeping Smosh alive all this time, being grateful for all that he has done during the "single working mom/dad working two jobs" era when Defy collapsed, and saying how great he is for the way he manages to foster such a good work environment at the company to this day.
So I won't add to that and just mention some other little things that I think should be mentioned more.
Referencing what I wrote in the Anthony birthday post, I always thought that Ian and Anthony handled the split with a lot of grace. It still blows my mind tbh how careful they've been to never say anything publicly that could even indirectly harm the other’s reputation, and that is so rare when these things happen. Ian especially as the person that most people considered the hurt party could have said things to gain the fans favor, it would have been very easy at the time because for a longest time the fandom was looking for someone to put the blame on. But Ian didn't turn Anthony as a villain in the eyes of the fandom even if he could have easily done it just by throwing some weird comment here and there, knowing that people were waiting for him to say something. He actually did the opposite of that and even when the chance was served to him a lot of times, he always refused to fall for the bait, and instead said nice things at the time, even if there was a bit of resentment there like he said after the reunion on a couple of interviews.
This obviously also speaks about Anthony's character too and who he is off camera, because there must be a reason Ian had that level of respect and loyalty. Like, I can't stress how rare this is, and how much I appreciated it.
Another random fun little thing that shows how respectful Ian is in these situations imo is how he always makes sure to subtly correct people in interviews and stuff, whenever the interviewers mention that "they" created Smosh as early as 2002 fr example. He could just roll with it, nobody would even notice, or know but he always makes it clear that it's Anthony that built the website and started the whole Smosh thing, and he does it when Anthony is not there to listen. It's subtle but a soon as he hears it he always finds a way to correct it, even in passing. I noticed this many times and I just love that.
He is very "fair" imo, and doesn't try to earn respect when he feels like he didn't deserve it, I still remember how genuine he sounded for example when he went out his way to correct Keith one time and say that he doesn't want his fans to defend him or to love him unconditionally, and wants them to hold him accountable, even when Keith had framed it in the way where it would have been easier for Ian to just agree with him and say that he's thankful for the fandom to be by his side no matter what. "I don't really relish in the idea of someone supporting me no matter what. I should be judged" /"The thing you said about unconditional love? The fans don't really know the person that they are a fan of".
Basically what I am trying to say is that I really appreciate that you can tell that he is a nice guy even though he doesn't do anything to sell you the idea that he is. He doesn't hide his love for drama, or gossip, or trashy shows or and doesn't hold back from judging or being cynical, he has a moral compass but it's his own and it's not for show or to gain any sympathy.
I think that what Ian said is true and it's impossible to know and to love someone unconditionally as a fan just by watching them through a screen, and my love is conditional, but what I can say is that what I have seen so far I really liked lol.
I think that people like Ian or Anthony are so difficult to come by! I'd talk more about how much I like them, but I want these posts to stay short so, yeah
Summary: Exhausted and desperate, Illya brings his battered team to your door seeking shelter, doing the one thing he wanted to avoid, risking your safety.
Word Count: 3.0k
TW: Mentions of blood and canon typical injuries
✨Gender Neutral Reader✨
Also, it’s established that the reader is Russian.
Helpful: Babushka is the Russian word for Grandmother
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The crisp night wind seemed to leak through the windows of your small house. Though this valley was blessed with rich soil and plenty of vegetation for livestock in the summer months, the frigid winter nights brought forth by the wind trailing from the hills seemed to temper your love for your homestead. It was the sort of cold that could not be remedied with a cup of tea, rather that chill always sat in your bones. A strong knock on your door startles you from your thoughts.
You didn’t get many visitors to your farm. That being said, not once had someone knocked at your door well past midnight as someone was right now. Who could it be? A distant neighbor? Thieves? KGB? You had your knife if your hand as you reached for the door. Taking a breath, you open the door a third of the way open, just enough to make eye contact. But you don't make eye contact exactly. You're met with a broad chest at your eyeline, leading up towards a familiar face.
“Illya?” You see the tall agent, his features sunken with an exasperated look. It had been at least a year or two since you had seen or had contact with your childhood friend. Despite the cold wind swirling around the door the heat of the three individuals greets you, the small woman in his arms and the attractive yet equally exhausted man behind him.
“We need your help.” Illya pleas breathlessly, his eyes desperate contrasting his stoic and unmoving stance, you can tell he is giving you the option to reject them. You swing the door wider stepping back, letting them into your small home. Friends of Illya are friends of yours. Quickly, the dark-haired man clears your old couch as Illya places the woman on it.
“She’s wounded.” Illya stated, attempting to clue you into the situation. Though that was the one thing you were able to gather this situation from the blood staining her dress and the pained look on her face.
"Uh- There's bandages and cloth in the cabinet in that corner." you state, wracking your brain for any helpful information. The shorter man follows your directions quickly as Illya grabs your Babushka's sewing box, pulling out a needle and thread.
Seeing Illya holding the sewing box send you into a spiral of childhood recollections. The two of you spent much time together after school. Not much alike one another in any sense, it was the simple force of proximity that kept your bond strong. In your teen years, few months after Illya's dad was sent to the Gulag and his mother had since gone off the rails, he came to your door for the first time since the incident. Upon seeing him you were hopeful to help him regain his sense of purpose, but he had already done so. He coldly informed you that he was joining the KGB and was saying his goodbyes.
Lost in your memories, you were pulled back to reality by an unusual sound. English. Snapping your head up, you see the other man talking calmly to the woman in perfectly accented English. You’re not the best with the western language, but just from his mannerisms you can tell he is trying to soothe her. Yet, his caring act brought you distress. This man was not Russian. No way does a Russian speak without an accent like that unless they were raised that way and now this man seemed less and less Russian with every passing second that you continued studying him. But once again, friends of Illya were friends of yours. You weren’t going to attest now.
You wanted to offer help, but Illya and the man seemed quite capable of tending to this woman. With a space so small and such purpose in Illya's actions, you felt as you were in an invader in your own home. Illya was quite obviously well aquatinted with these people. Both he and the English speaker were focused on stabilizing the woman. The two moved in near perfect synchronization. To make yourself less of a bother, you moved into the kitchen and took up a seat on the wooden stepstool. It was a not much of a room but was separated from the rest of the home with a small door frame and a drape acting as a door.
You heard her cries as the two did whatever first aid they could to help her.
Your home was just big enough for you. It had a couch, table, two chairs and a bed. The kitchen and bathroom were the only things not in this main room. Four people made the quaint wood cottage feel compact.
So much of what was happening flew over your head. Firstly, why was Illya hiding out in the Russian countryside? Secondly, why was Illya with an American? Thirdly, how had he got so much more attractive in the course of a year?
The sounds die down after a bit. You hear the occasional creak of the floor and shuffling on the other side of the drape. The heavy footsteps identify the person pulling back the drape to the kitchen before you can even see their shadowed figure through the sheer fabric. Illya, with bloody bandages, bringing them to the basin underneath your faucet to clean them.
His long expression tells you he’s no longer immediately worried, yet there is still no reason to celebrate.
“You’re in hiding?” You whisper as he begins to wash the cloth of their stains.
He nods, continuing to wash.
“But you can’t say any more than that.” you complete your thought. He looks at you with a look of true regret.
“I am sorry. This is very important. Otherwise, I would never put you in danger.” His jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign he is angry with himself and with what he cannot do. You stand up next to him at the basin. Your hand goes up to frame his face.
“I know, don’t worry about it, Illyusha.” you say sweetly with a small smile. He should know by now you would always be there for him. He lets out a breath that you can see some of the tension disappear with into the air. You bring a hand to the base of his neck, pulling his head down towards yours to meet your foreheads.
"You will be safe here." You whisper.
He nods.
You two stay there for a moment before you hear the kitchen drape pull back once more. Going back to standing straight, you see the other man in the doorframe.
"Thank you for letting us in." The well-dressed American states in surprisingly good Russian.
“Of course.” You smile with a small bow of the head.
He strides closer, offering you his hand. “Napoleon Solo.”
“Y/N L/N.” American or not, Illya trusted him.
“It’s a pleasure.” he gives a small smile, obviously also troubled by tonight's events, but not one to give up on formalities.
"You weren't followed?" You ask, facing Illya once again.
Illya looks to Napoleon.
"Not that we noticed. We had quite the head start." Napoleon states looking down to adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt.
"No car to hide?" You asked.
"Nope. We caught a ride on an unsuspecting freight train and then caught a ride on the back of a farm truck until about two miles away." Napoleon answers. You stand there still quite impressed with his Russian.
"Anyways, I came to get some water for Gaby." He continues.
You hurry and grab a glass from your shelf and fill it with water offering it to him. He nods as he goes back into the main room.
With Napoleon's absence the space between you and Illya grows quiet. Illya was always a man of few words unless prompted. Watching him continue to wash the bandages you begin to pull a pot from your cupboard.
"What are you doing?" He asks softly.
"You three must be starving. Who knows the last time you had any food? Let me make some stew."
Upon your answer the silence returns. Both of you busy with your respective tasks. Invested in your cooking, you fail to notice that the water had stopped running quite a while ago.
You pull out some bowls and meet the gaze of Illya, wondering just how long he had been staring at you.
"Again, thank you so much." He whispers. You shake your head.
"Of course, now go feed your friends." You extend two steaming bowls towards him.
Though undeniably a bit small for four people, your home seems much warmer with the added company. Illya tends to the fire in the stove as Napoleon alternates between feeding Gaby and himself stew. You take up residence at the table mindlessly staring at Illya concentrating on the crackling fire.
Gaby seems to drift to sleep after a few bites, so Napoleon comes to sit in the chair next to you at the table.
"So, how do you know Kuryakin?"
“We’ve always been good friends.” you say. "We grew up together." You look at the dark-haired man. He seems satisfied with this answer, continuing to eat. Also satisfied, Illya steps back from the stove watching it continue to burn. Finally, begins to eat his food. As happy as you are to see him, you're worried he isn't well from all of this stress. He definitely is not the same Illyusha that would merrily skip down the road in grade school.
“It’s getting late.” You state, seeing Illya’s head lull to the side as he holds his empty bowl. The two share a questioning look before you cut them off.
“Gaby needs a proper rest. She can sleep in my bed. I’ll bring all the blankets I can to make the floor and couch comfortable for you two.”
“What about you?” Illya questions.
“I can sleep in the rafters of the barn.” Sure, it wasn’t the most pleasant place to sleep, but it would be alright temporarily. But Illya's eyebrows snap together in distain.
“No, that is too cold. You cannot possibly.” he says giving you a look of pure disbelief.
“I didn’t ask you, Illyusha.” You retort giving him an equally questioning look.
You hear Napoleon snort as he picks up Gaby and gently sets her in your bed. As he gets here settled, you pull every blanket you own out from under your bed and attempt to make a decent place to sleep on the couch as well as the floor towards the stove. As for Illya, he simply stands there, you're not quite sure why.
When you are satisfied with your work, you help Napoleon dress Gaby in some of your clothes, much comfier and cleaner than her current outfit. Once done, you take one sheet and one quilt as you gather your coat and plan to head out towards the barn.
"Alright, I will see you all in the morning. In the case its needed, there's a rifle secured to the underside of the bed." You note. You catch Napoleon's smile and nod. Illya does not react.
"Goodnight." You smile and shut the door behind you. The two men stand there in momentary silence, before, as always, Napoleon breaks it, in English.
“So that’s why you haven’t gotten laid since I met you.” He smirks. Illya is nowhere near as amused.
“Shut up.” He storms to the door following you, as he slips into his jacket.
“Your friend made it clear, peril.” Napoleon argues.
“I don’t care. Couch is yours. I am staying in the barn too.” He opens the door with a strong jerk, nearly ripping it from its rusted frame.
Taking a pitchfork, you flatten an area in the hay enough to give you a place to lay down.
“Make it a little wider.” You hear him request in Russian.
“Illya, please.” Undoubtedly, he was exhausted and needed to sleep in the warmth and quietness of the house, not in a drafty barn with odd smells, noisy animals and on a pile of hay nonetheless.
“There’s room for both of us up here. Besides, cowboy snores.” He smiles briefly.
“Alright.” you accept. In your experience it is easier to not argue more than once with Illya. You can tell by the look in his eye that this was now nonnegotiable. You continue to hollow out a side of the mound where you two can rest comfortably. Taking an old sheet, you lay it down on top. He sits down first as you slide down next to him pulling over a quilt on top. With his tall stature, he barely fits in the quilt, but it’s all you brought for yourself, so you would have to make do. He certainly doesn't seem to mind as he pulls you under his arm and closer to him. You're practically in his lap. That's one way to fit under the quilt.
The silence is too loud. The quiet interjections of breathing and shifting in the hay bring some relief to the silence.
“Thank you again for letting us stay here.” He mumbles.
“You’re always welcomed here Ilyusha." you look up to him and see the look of concern on his face as he stares at the wooden barn wall.
"Wish it could have been a less dire circumstance for you to finally visit me though." you smirk leaning your head into the crook of his shoulder.
He chuckles, "I meant to, KGB business never ends." And this is a reasonable answer, still unfortunate in your mind. A small gust of air seems to seep through the siding of the barn, sending a shill down your spine.
“Are you still cold?”
"Just a bit." You mention. He brings you in closer to where you were practically laying on his chest.
“You gave us shelter. The least I can do is keep you warm.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head.
The silence returns but seems much safer and less awkward. You were about to drift to sleep when a thought pops in your head.
“You recognized my Babushka's sewing box.” You state. Without hesitation earlier, he knew the exact place to find a needle and thread. Sure, it was a family heirloom you treasured, but how had he remembered that?
“Somehow I remembered the fabric.” He replies, eyes closed. "It was the same one you were holding when you stood at my door when she passed.”
Of course he recognized it. It was what you were holding the day you showed up on his doorstep crying hours after your Babushka had passed. You cannot even imagine how pathetic you must have looked, but Illya never described it. He simply brought you in and let you fall apart in the safety of his arms. That was years ago at least two years before he joined the KBG. Truthfully, after losing your Babushka and then Illya, you had no reason to stay in the city. Finally, two years ago you made a decision. That is when you chose to escape to the countryside where you made the rules, and the government had a little less worry for your doings. You informed Illya by letter of your new homestead but did not receive a reply back. He obviously did read your letter.
In the morning you woke up stiff. Illya was nice, but still you were quite unrested after sleeping on a pile of hay but it would have been worse if you hadn't been practically sleeping on top of Illya. As you rise up from the hay Illya begins to stir. Slowly he recuperates enough to look up to you, a small smile on his face, nothing out of his limited emotional palate, but enough to make you smile back at him.
The three of them stayed in your home for three more days. Gaby grew stronger and the men rested as well. With this added time, you had a chance to actually meet Gaby as Illya and Napoleon attempted to figure out their next move. They wanted to head towards South-Western Europe. You were able to get them a ride from a trusted neighbor into the forest at the base of the nearby mountains.
"Ok, Daniil will take you to the edge of the forest and from there you should be able to catch the morning cargo train back towards the west." You state, helping Gaby stabilize herself as she steadied herself on her feet for the first time in days. Napoleon took her arm as he helped her outside.
"Thank you, Y/N." the American says before walking outside with the woman who also gives her regards. You smile and wave at them. That leaves just you and Illya in the home.
"Ok, there's food in your bag that isn't much, but it should keep you three satiated for a few days." You hand him the bag. He takes it and immediately lowers it unexpectedly.
"That is quite heavy."
"I filled your canteens with water." His look softens in gratitude appreciating the detail even he had forgotten. He lets the bag sit on the couch as he places his hands on your upper arms, looking down to you.
“I owe you. For all of this."
“Just,” you smiled stopping yourself to think, “stop by again sometime, with a little less worry. Ok?"
“On my own?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Preferably.” You smile with a small laugh.
With that you get a rare, yet classic Illya smile. Not a small one, but a full toothy grin. You see a glimpse of the boy you had known your entire life. Picking up his bag once more and slinging it over his shoulder, he heads to the door. You follow behind him.
He looks at his companions loading onto Daniil's truck. You peer out there from behind him. After a few moments you wonder why he hasn't moved.
He looks down at you, a bit desperate.
"Illyusha?"
He brings a hand to the base of your neck and pulls you into a kiss. The first kiss you two have ever shared. Much overdue, but truly intimate, and everything you imagined kissing him would be like. It seemed like the world slowed down for a brief while to let you enjoy this moment you had dreamed of since secondary school.
"I will come back to you." he smiled brightly again, but promptly turning his back to you to head out the door.
I haven’t seen a Despicable Me movie since the first one so to me Gru is like someone I knew years ago whose Christmas card list I’m happy to inexplicably be on. Oh wow, I forgot he got married. What a nice thing for the girls. Oh, he and his wife had a baby! How lovely!
You know what? I don't want to change my VPN every six months cause it was caught selling information. I don't want to go deep into the settings of every website I so much as look at. I don't want my internet browsing to be a constant leap through hoops so that companies can't do things which should be illegal anyway. I want privacy to be the default and for it to be difficult to take it away, not the other way around. Is that too much to ask?
