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John Price who, like most repressed socially-awkward men his age, cannot for the love of god figure out how to confess to Nik.
So he tries to make it happen another way. He ‘accidentally’ books a hotel room with only one bed. They walk in, he feigns horror, the night is sorted.
Until Nik, so deep in love for this stupid man, sees John’s upset and argues with reception for a half-hour to get them to change it. John thanks him through gritted teeth.
Nik forgets his lighter; John says he’ll light Nik’s fag off his cigar. Nik thanks him, hugs him, says he’s a ‘great friend’. Price has never been more pissed.
It reaches a tipping point when Nikolai’s lounging on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned, looking like the best page-7-fella that he’d ever seen.
“Nik?” his voice is a little rough, as he’s more than a little taken aback by the sight before him.
“Yes?”
“Wanna watch a film?” Any distraction would be welcome, at this point, so John flounders for the easiest one.
Nik nods, clicks through several screens, they’re through, and Nikolai puts on Rocky.
Midway through, John lies onto Nik’s chest. Something about needing a pillow.
Nik jumps up so fast that Price nearly goes flying off the sofa, face first into a fucking ottoman (who even owns those??), and rushes to the bed to find a pillow for him to lie on.
The exact moment he gives up is right then. He throws the pillow back at Nik, glares at him, stands up. Goes to storm off.
The pillow thumps against the back of his head and John whips around, only to find Nik roughly a condom wrapper’s distance away. If Kate were here she’d call that one hell of a Freudian slip. John thanks his lucky stars that she does not, in fact, have access to his brain.
Nikolai is her legacy. He flies to be closer to the stars.
(cw: a child's perspective of some pretty gnarly stuff, inc. loss, grief, PTSD. Please ensure you are feeling emotionally sound before reading. Sasha is Nik - his given name - and I've rolled with my headcanon that he's a Makarov. Vlad is our very own insane villain, Vladimir Makarov, but baby.)
Day Two - Flight, #NikolaiAppreciationWeek
26th April, 1986: 4am [Location: Valdai Hills, Russia]
The mild spring air whooshed softly over the struts of the jerry-rigged biplane bomber model in Sasha’s hand as he ran through the back garden. It was the same sound the plane would have made when its Night Witch pilot cut the engine so her navigator could drop her bomb during a Second World War air raid. It had been a Christmas present from his parents. A standard Polikarpov Po-2 model that he had adapted to imitate the aircraft that had struck terror into the hearts of Nazi wretches, right down to the carefully painted flowers on the side.
The sun hadn’t risen properly yet. It wouldn't for another few hours. They were up far earlier than usual because their Mama had been working through the night. Endless phone calls, piles of paper and photographs. His father ran coffee into her at intervals, his cane scraping on the wooden floors. Something had happened in Ukraine, but Sasha had only heard snippets. At points, his Mama had raised her voice, demanding the men on the other end do as she said, so it had been impossible to sleep.
In the end, she had dressed and washed them both, sending them outside to play in the fresh air until breakfast was ready. “I don't want you to listen to angry voices, mishka,” she had explained to Sasha, pressing a kiss to his forehead before ushering him into the garden, Vlad following not far behind with his abacus.
“Raskova cuts her engine as her navigator taps her shoulder, and she glides towards the target, silent, deadly - wooooosssshh.” Sasha slowed as he neared his small jumble of toy soldiers and tents. Unfortunately, the makeshift Nazi encampment had already been ravaged by another force far surpassing the make-believe bombs of Sasha’s Night Witch. Huge, monstrous, armed with sticky baby hands and drool. “Vladimir!”
Sasha’s five year old brother looked up at him, a Nazi soldier in each hand, seconds from being smashed together, and his eyes widened in momentary fear. Sasha growled in irritation, placing his model down as he dropped to his knees and tried to gather his toys up. “Why do you always do this? I told you I didn't want to play with you.”
Vlad’s lower lip quivered. “I sorry, Sasha…”
“You never listen.”
Vlad opened his mouth to reply, and then a voice called from the house. They both looked up to watch Mama walk down the stone steps to the lawn. She was carrying two bowls heaped with kasha, and Vlad brightened immediately.
“I see the Nazis have met their match,” their Mama said as she crouched by Vlad and handed him his bowl. “Blow, it's hot, volchonok.” Vlad mumbled his thanks and blew wetly at the steam rising from the hot buckwheat.
Sasha frowned. “He never does as he's told.”
“He's still a baby, Sasha,” Mama said, standing to wrap an arm about his shoulders and drag him into a hug. “When you were his age, you were banned from my laboratory because you had to be involved in everything.”
When Sasha was four, his Papa had been deployed to Afghanistan. With no other family to look after him, Sasha had spent many hours in his Mama's laboratories and lecture theatres, playing with test tubes and models of nuclear atoms instead of wooden blocks. When his Papa had returned three years later, he hadn't been the same man. He didn't smile anymore and his nightmares were scary. Mama said that Sasha had to give him time. Sometimes it could take many years for soldiers to really come back from war.
“That was different,” Sasha said sternly, but he folded when his Mama pressed a kiss into his dark hair, and gladly took the bowl from her hands.
“What were you playing?”
Sasha blew at the steam rising from his breakfast. “Night Witches.”
“Ahh, who were you this time? Nadezhda Popova?”
“Major Raskova,” Sasha puffed his chest proudly.
“The squadron leader herself. Very ambitious.”
“I will lead my own squadron one day, just like Comrade Raskova.”
“My very own Night Witch,” Mama said fondly. “I'm so proud.”
“Mama, I can’t be a Night Witch, I'm a man,” Sasha said, frowning. He liked being a man, but sometimes he did feel like women were better at everything. Science, flying, different languages, cooking, reading. All the important things. He would just have to do his best and hope he measured up.
“Yes, I see the problem.”
Sasha paused, stirring his porridge. He bounced in a full body gesture of epiphany when the solution came to him. “I will be like Nikolai Skomorokhov. Six hundred and five sorties, one hundred and forty-three dogfights, forty-four solo shootdowns.”
“Hero of the Soviet Union?”
“Twice,” Sasha enthused. During a parade, Comrade Skomotokhov had acknowledged him. His Papa had been unconvinced, but Sasha would swear on every model in his bedroom that the Marshal of Aviation had waved at him. Sasha shoved a spoonful of kasha into his mouth, and talked through it. “Did you help Comrade Gorbachev with his problem?” She squeezed his shoulders a little tighter, and when he looked up from his breakfast, she looked… sad. “Mama?”
With a soft smile, she ruffled his hair, the corners of her blue-green eyes crinkling. “Mishka, come,” she said, urging him towards his telescope. He had set it back up as the winter cold had faded into spring. The ice cracked the lens the year before, and his father had told him he needed to take better care of his things, so Sasha had made sure his telescope had been wrapped up warm for the winter.
“Here, tell me what stars you see.”
“Is this a test?” Sasha asked, thrilled.
“Yes. If you get them all right, Papa will take you for Halva after lunch.”
Sasha’s eyes lit up, and he almost fell over his own feet to get to the telescope. It took a little bit of adjustment, but soon the fading night sky was in focus. “I see Leo, and, uh… he's chasing Cancer across the sky.”
“Hmm. Too easy. What else?”
Sasha pursed his lips and studied the sky with a creased brow, tracing their patterns. “Ursa Major.”
“The first stars I saw when you were born,” she said.
“Uhm, Canes Ven.. uh, Venatici? I think, uh… is that… Jupiter? But it's smudgey.”
“It could be, let me see.”
Sasha stepped back from the telescope so his mama could stoop down to peer through. There was a long pause and he waited with baited breath. “You were right, mishka. It's so close to Venus it’s merging into a single big point of light. Well done.”
He grinned, showing all of his teeth… well, except the one he had lost a week ago. Vlad had finished his breakfast and, seeing Sasha get praise, immediately jumped to his feet, hands outstretched for the telescope. “Let me see. I can do it.”
Sasha frowned. “No, Vlad. You're too small.”
His Mama scooped Vlad from the floor and sat him on her knee, boosting him up enough to see through the telescope. “Joo-pit-er…” Vlad said slowly.
Sasha rolled his eyes, but Mama tutted at him, pulling him close by the loops of his trousers. “Sasha, you’re his role model. He wants to be just like you. You must be patient with him, you need to show him the way.”
“But he's so annoying…”
She chuckled, kissing his cheek. “Perhaps, but…” She trailed off. There was that sadness again. He had only seen it once before, on Papa's first night back when he had woken up crying. She had cuddled him like she cuddled Vlad and Sasha after nightmares, and he had sobbed into her night shirt. “Mishka, I will be going away for a while.”
“On your own?” They always went with her. Every time the government called her up, or she went to another country to lecture, the whole family followed. That had always been the way.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It's not safe for little Night Witches. Someone has made a big mistake, and I need to go and help them fix it.”
“It's dangerous,” Sasha said, and he could see he was right. “Take us with you. Papa can… uh, I mean, I can–”
She stroked a thumb over his cheek. “I need you here looking after Vlad and Papa. Can you do that for me?”
Sasha frowned. Vlad was still peering through the telescope, his small hands wrapped around the eyesight. If he pulled much harder, he was going to snap it off. “Yes, but… when will you be back?”
She paused. Her eyes dropped for a moment, and then she looked up at the stars. “I'm not sure.”
He didn't like this. Something felt wrong. Like the day Papa had come back and thrown all his medals in the bin. “Don't go.”
“I must, mishka. There are lots of people in danger. If I don't help, then lots more could get badly hurt.”
His lip quivered, but he swallowed the tears down. Papa said he was a man now and if he was going to look after them, then he couldn't cry when he was scared. “You are going to rescue them, and… and be a hero?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think Comrade Gorbachev will make you a hero of the Soviet Union, like Nikolai?”
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “Maybe, and then perhaps you could meet him properly, hm?"
Sasha nodded empathically. People were in danger, and Mama had to go and save them. She would be a hero and there would be a big parade for her. Yes, he could accept this. “I… I will miss you,” he said quietly. “What if Papa cries at night?”
She took his chin and tilted it up to the sky. "If you ever feel frightened at night, remember we are looking at the same sky. If you ever feel alone, if you ever need strength, you will find me in the stars, mishka. Always.”
The stars blurred in Sasha's vision as tears crowded his eyes until they burned, but he nodded anyway. The thump of helicopter blades cut through the tranquility of the early morning, and Sasha watched as an Mi-8 flew over the trees and slowly lowered into a field left fallow by the local farmer. The Mi-8 looked a little weird, like it had been modded.
“Aleks!”
Sasha looked back at the house to see his father standing there with a large bag. He was leaning heavily on his walking stick, dark circles drooping under his eyes. His Mama placed Vlad gently on the floor and kissed each of his cheeks, before turning to Sasha. She took his face in both hands and held his eyes for a long moment. She had always said he had inherited his father’s eyes; stern and serious sometimes, but full of warmth and love. Sasha didn't really see much of that in Papa.
“My brave, beautiful boy.” She placed a kiss on his forehead, and Sasha felt her next breath stutter, like she was holding back tears.
And then she was gone.
Sasha felt the loss of her warmth like Vlad had stolen all the blankets in the middle of a snowstorm. She ran to the house and took the bag offered to her by Papa, and then pulled him close. He watched his parents hug tightly; Papa buried his face in Mama's shoulder, his stick clattering to the floor as he wrapped both arms around her. She whispered something to him, placing fleeting kisses on his face, and then she was jogging out of their garden and towards the field.
Soldiers had left the helicopter to meet her, but Sasha couldn't hear what they were saying. He knew he wasn't meant to hear, and he wasn't allowed to leave the garden without permission when it was dark, but the sun was coming up soon. He clambered over the fence, ignoring his Papa's calls, and began to run towards the field.
Look back.
By the time he reached the bushes around the edge, the helicopter was lifting back into the sky, and Sasha could feel the downdraft of its blades sweeping outwards.
Mama, look back.
He chased it as it sped towards the horizon, his bare feet cutting on tangled weeds and hard stones, his lungs burning as he willed his legs to move faster, tears and snot running down his face now that no one else could see.
“Mama!”
He couldn't see her. The helicopter was too far away. He stood in the mud, his cut feet bleeding, and watched his mother fly into danger to save the lives of others. He stayed there as the sun rose at his back, casting a gloomy, muted light across the river at the foot of the hill, until the tears and snot had crusted on his face. When he finally returned, Papa didn't scold him as he expected, but sat him down on the couch and cleaned his feet. He did something unusual when he was finished. Something he hadn't done since he'd come back all those years ago. He kissed Sasha on the forehead without a word.
For four days, Papa sat by his radios listening for news. After two days, Sasha found out that there was an accident at the big nuclear power plant in Chernobyl. It made sense that Mama was called; she was an expert in nuclear things. That was her job. Comrade Gorbachev said it was all under control and Sasha felt relieved.
Mama had done it. She had saved everyone. Saved Russia, and all of the Soviet Union. Maybe the whole world.
Sasha expected her back in time for the May Day celebrations, but when she didn't return he found it impossible to enjoy the festivities. He stared at the field, the horizon, the road as the celebrations continued around him, muted, pensive. Waiting for any sign of her.
No one wanted to talk about what had happened. All the adults kept repeating the same thing; it was under control. But if it was under control, then they didn't need Mama anymore. She could come home. On 6th May, they had to stop eating vegetables. Sasha didn't mind that so much. He wasn't a big fan of vegetables. On 10th May, three soldiers arrived at their front door.
“Captain Makarov?” the oldest asked. He had taken his cap off and Sasha could see grey in his hair from where he crouched by the bannister.
“I'm sorry, sir. Comrade Aleksandra Makarov gave her life to–”
Papa’s stick fell to the floor and then he did. Sasha missed the rest because he was rushing down the stairs. He dropped to his knees at Papa's side, and the three soldiers lingered on the threshold. “Papa… Papa, please.”
Papa grabbed at Sasha's shirt and sobbed into his chest. Great, gasping sobs like that first night. Sasha didn't know what to do, so he wrapped his arms as far as he could around Papa's shoulders and bit the inside of his cheek to try and stop the tears. The soldiers left their letter by the telephone, and saluted before they departed.
Sasha tried his best to cook in the days that followed, and only burned himself a few times. He got them ready for school, and tried to keep the house clean. He was patient with Vlad as he tried to help, and held him when he cried. Sasha felt like he was floating in fog. Like the rest of the world wasn't real, or he was watching it from the outside like a little scene in one of Mama’s snow globes.
On 14th May, Comrade Gorbachev gave a speech on the television. He said, “the worst is behind us”. Sasha had never felt hate before. He had never had cause to hate anything. But in that moment, Sasha hated Comrade Gorbachev more than anything else in the world.
26th April, 2023: 4am [Location: Classified]
Nik’s watch beeped and John glanced over from the seat next to him. “All good?”
“Da,” Nik said quietly, leaning to the side so he could get a better look at the heavens above. “Do you believe in an afterlife?”
John looked back up from the folder across his lap. “Bit early in the mornin’ t’ be gettin’ philosophical, Nik.”
“Perhaps."
John shrugged. “Maybe, dunno. Figure there's not much good waitin’ fer me if there is.”
“I think you have more than earned your place in Valhalla," Nik said with wry amusement, and John huffed a laugh. They sat in silence for a bit as Nik checked his instruments, and then he looked out of the window again. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”
John leaned forward and peered out the front of the helo’s windshield. “Yeah, I… uh, ‘spose they're lookin’ pretty bright,” he paused, glancing over at Nik with a crease between his eyebrows. “Is everyfin’ olrigh’? D’ya… is there some'fin' ya wanna talk about?”
“A long time ago, a great woman once told me that there was strength to be found in the stars,” Nik said, glancing up at the faded photographs wedged in the netting above his head. He hadn't looked at them in years. “I hope that, if there is an afterlife, she would be proud of me.”
John reached over and squeezed Nik's forearm. “Course she would be, ya muppet. Yer savin’ the bloody world, aren'tchya?”
Nik nodded and smiled broadly, eyes crinkling. But as John settled back in his seat, Nik's gaze fell to John's lap. Two stern, blue-green eyes glared at him from the photograph on top, full of bitterness and rage, and he felt his heart ache.
He turned back to the window and looked up at the stars one last time.
I wanted to ask what program/app you use for the collages you make? I had to wipe my laptop and I would like to make a new wallpaper in a collage style
I love all the collages you've made they're very pretty and aesthetically pleasing :)
hello!!! i normally literally just use pinterest because the collages come out the same size as my phone screen, though i’ve also used ibis paint in the past (especially when the images need more editing)
both are FREE which is the main appeal. pinterest is great for finding images quickly, but ibis is much better if you’re wanting to draw your own features and have a bit more control over exactly where stuff goes. pinterest can be a bit buggy but it’s a lot easier & quicker imo
not sure if pinterest will let you do it to a pc screen’s dimensions? whereas obviously w/ ibis or whatever you can just adjust the canvas size
lmk if you need any help!! :] i hope that wasn’t too rambly
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keep having people try to talk football with me and i don’t know how to break the news that the first time ive watched a full football match since i was 6 was two damn weeks ago. idk what offside means but yeah sure i agree that shot was onside, uh huh, i definitely watched that match as well i WASNT watching the pitt wdym
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But when Nik broke his leg during a black op for Laswell, John used his entire year's worth of leave to look after him until he was mobile again.
John will never scatter rose petals over the duvet and light candles.
But when Nik said he would like an outside patio for their cat, because she looked sad sometimes, John had his tools and measuring tape out within half an hour.
John will never recite poetry or make grand romantic gestures.
But the way he looks at Nik, the way he is silly and goofy and soppy, the way he kisses and hugs and nuzzles, the way his entire face lights up when Nik walks through the door...
John Price loves quietly, but with his entire being.
His love is written in every action.
No candle will compare to the warmth of his arms.
The poetry is in every moment he spends at Nik's side.
Literallt the biggest knob in the gym right now i’m wearing fucking denim shorts because i zoned out while looking for clothes and i just did a pb leg press in motherfucking denim shorts. update i forgot to press post on this. that was on sunday.
Nikolai, much like most other people on the planet, is a liar. A liar by trade, by nature, there’s no escaping it.
But, for the first time in his life, he feels guilty for what he’s said.
“No, John, I do not have any left.” Nikolai swiftly tucks the packet into his pocket, dropping the last few pieces of gum safely away from John’s fury.
“Fuck’s sake, olright, let me get some off Garrick. GAZ, C’MERE!” he shouts. John turns to look over the back of the sofa just as Kyle runs over, unsuspecting to the cruelty about to unleash.
“Got any gum?”
“..why?” His question is in vain. One hand dropped to his pockets reflexively, a sign John takes as *victory*.
“Gimme some?”
Fuck’s sake. “Sure, Cap,” he mumbles, searching through the pocket of his bomber before producing a crumpled pack of spearmint. He offers it over tentatively. Out of his own kindness, Kyle went so far as to push one piece right to the top for easy accessibility. Old man would need the help, after all.
John snatches it away, taking not one, not two, but *three* bloody pieces out. Each one dropped into John’s mouth, hitting in tandem with the pangs of guilt in Nikolai’s chest. The poor man had just been robbed.
He had to learn somehow, anyway, Nik convinced himself.
“Cheers, la’. Get back to training,” Price grins, teeth flashing before clamping his mouth shut to get to chewing. He gives a firm pat to Kyle’s shoulder just as the sergeant turns away. He feigns ignorance to the variety of expletives Kyle unloads on the rest of the Taskforce, who had watched the crime without intervention.
“You are criminal, John,” Nik mumbles as the man swivels back around to focus once more on the video on Nikolai’s cracked phone. He chooses to ignore his own role in the matter.
A pair of mint-flavoured lips meet his own nonetheless. Maybe lying wasn’t so bad.
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i need data for a statistics project for school, so be my sample data, worms. i need thirty people minimum so if there aren't enough voters yet i'd love if you could help. thank you very much. worms.
take this test (https://www.keithcirkel.co.uk/whats-my-jnd/, it's a color perception/comparison test, it's pretty fun. precision does not matter, just accuracy), then come back here:
what's your JND?
.00030-.00099
.0010-.0017
.0017-.0024
.0024-.0031
.0031-.0038
.0038-.0045
.0045-.0052
.0052-.0059
.0059-.0066
.0066-.0073
.0073-.0080
.0080 or greater
Voting ended onMay 13
the lower the number, the closer two colors have to be before you can't tell the difference
it doesnt have to be a good score, you dont have to take it multiple times, you dont have to get on a good screen, etcetera. just gimme your score please this is my final project grade :)
Feel free to ignore this because politics and it's depressing af, but --
63 seats were up for grabs in my local elections. 63. All but 3 of them have gone to reform. I'm struggling to find a reason to be hopeful for this country right now. Never been more ashamed of where I'm from, either.
Again, sorry for bringing this up to you, but I'm just so gutted, and my family thinks I'm overreacting and nothing much will change and I'm just so done. So, so done.
You can be angry. You can be sad. You can make plans to protect you and yours.
But you must, under no circumstances, give up.
Their victory is only finite when people stop fighting then.
As someone who has lived under a Reform council now for over a year... They're fucking it up. Big time. We just elected a Green counsellor to replace a Reform counsellor. The ignorant and deranged, who care about no one but themselves, need to see how Reform will make their life worse and then they'll vote intelligently.
We're lucky. This is about bins, not human rights. Give them time to fuck up.
Don't write the UK off yet. The vast majority of people vote left or centre left. UK came out of the Second World War with an important realisation; the government is our servant, and it owes us healthcare, education, and protection. Labour broke their promise and now they're being punished.
Give Reform chance to fuck up. They're fucking up Warwickshire and they're fucking up in Kent. Every Reform council has raised council tax to give themselves a pay rise. Local elections have low turnouts and the extreme right/right wing benefit from low turnouts.
If you are apathetic, if you do not vote, if you throw the innocent and the vulnerable to the wolves because you "don't do politics", if you tell me they are all as bad as each other, I will treat you with the same disdain and aggression I do the Nazi cunts themselves. Because you enabled them. You endanger my family with your lazy virtue signalling.
