#Vladivostok city

[vintage-russia]

Yelena Höök-Daughter of Finnish and Russian naval captain,whaler and free trader Fridolf Fabian Höök (Fridolf Kirillovich Höök),Vladivostok (1897)

[alexxx-malev]

Vladivostok 84 by Alexxx Malev Via Flickr: Russia. Vladivostok Владивосток

[oceanmint]

[vestaignis]

Стеклянный пляж во Владивостоке, расположенный в бухте Стеклянная на берегу Уссурийского залива, представляет собой уникальное место пляжного отдыха, где вместо песка и гальки побережье усеяно самоцветами из стекла и фарфора .Линия пляжа с темным песком около 5-10 м шириной, утопающая в разноцветной стеклянной «гальке» от 2 до 5 см, выглядит словно сказочный путь, ведущий в мир волшебства. Эта знаменитая достопримечательность Приморья, обязанная своему возникновению симбиозу человека и природы, ежегодно притягивает тысячи туристов, ведь разноцветный пляж из стекла во Владивостоке имеет только один аналог в мире, и тот находится в Калифорнии.

"Как появился стеклянный берег, никто точно не знает, но все версии сводятся к тому, что сюда свозили мусор из города и отходы с местного фарфорового завода." До 2011 года бухта имела не самую лучшую репутацию: в народе его называли «Стекляшка», и она считалась городской свалкой. Но со временем все изменилось: мусор утилизировали, а побережье очист��ли. Спустя годы, приморское побережье Уссурийского залива приобрело необычный вид -миллионы битых кусочков стекла, закругленные гладким неумолимым течением океанских волн покрывает каждый кусочек пляжа .На солнце они сверкают, как зажженные свечи. Теперь это одно из любимых мест местных жителей и туристов, которые иногда увозят разноцветные стекляшки с собой в качестве сувенира.Сверкающее «мозаичное» побережье обрамляют скалы причудливой формы, напоминающие вулканическую лаву. И это еще ��дна отличительная особенность этого места.

Стеклянная бухта является уникальным местом, где человеческая безответственность все-таки не смогла помешать природе, и теперь они существуют в гармонии.

Glass Beach in Vladivostok, located in Steklyannaya Bay on the shore of Ussuri Bay, is a unique place for beach recreation, where instead of sand and pebbles, the coast is strewn with glass and porcelain gems. The beach line with dark sand about 5-10 m wide, buried in multi-colored glass "pebbles" from 2 to 5 cm, looks like a fairy-tale path leading to a world of magic. This famous landmark of Primorye, which owes its origin to the symbiosis of man and nature, attracts thousands of tourists every year, because the multi-colored glass beach in Vladivostok has only one analogue in the world, and it is located in California.

"How the glass coast appeared, no one knows for sure, but all versions boil down to the fact that garbage from the city and waste from the local porcelain factory were brought here." Until 2011, the bay did not have the best reputation: it was popularly called "Glass", and it was considered a city dump. But over time, everything changed: the garbage was disposed of, and the coast was cleaned. Over the years, the seaside coast of Ussuri Bay acquired an unusual appearance - millions of broken pieces of glass, rounded by the smooth, inexorable flow of ocean waves, cover every piece of the beach. In the sun, they sparkle like lit candles. Now it is one of the favorite places of local residents and tourists, who sometimes take the multi-colored glass with them as a souvenir. The sparkling "mosaic" coast is framed by rocks of bizarre shapes, reminiscent of volcanic lava. And this is another distinctive feature of this place.

Glass Bay is a unique place where human irresponsibility has not yet been able to interfere with nature, and now they exist in harmony.

Источник: ://travelask.ru/russia/vladivostok/buhta-steklyannaya, /gostopgo.ru/бухта+стеклянная+владивосток,//animals-travel.ru/news/obschaya-tematika/steklyannaya-bukhta-ussuriyskiy-zaliv/,/dzen.ru/a/YVzbVIpc8WJ6VoCj,//tonkosti.ru/Бухта_ Стеклянная?utm_referrer=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2F, bolshayastrana.com/dostoprimechatelnosti/primore/buhta-steklyannaya-490,//www.tripadvisor.ru/Attraction_Review-g298496-d10024359-Reviews-Steklyannaya_Bay-Vladivostok_ Primorsky_ Krai _Far_Eastern_District.html,/travelask.ru/russia/vladivostok/buhta-steklyannaya.

[mesetacadre]

Aviation in the USSR

A collection of excerpts from Anna Lousie Strong's The Soviets Expected It, compiled for @czerwonykasztelanic

[...] Or the guerrilla detachment which captured six German planes, destroyed five of them, and sent the sixth to the Red Army, piloted by an amateur air enthusiast, who was a tractor driver in ordinary life. Lt. Talalikhin’s initiative is already a Soviet aviator’s tradition. Exhausting his ammunition in a fight with three enemy planes, he rammed the tail of one enemy with his propeller, smashed the tail of another enemy plane with his wing tip, and then bailed out of his own plane safely. Moscow parks displayed the wreckage of the German planes, and other Soviet pilots quickly copied the tactics. An aviation technician, Konikov, won renown by attaching the fuselage of a plane he was repairing to the front platform of a military train whose locomotive had been bombed by the enemy; he thus pulled the most necessary parts of the train to safety.

pg. 14

The Soviet people glimpsed and felt victory. For the first time they began to feel that they were no longer “backward Russians.” They were beginning to challenge the world. With this went a proud sense of their unity as a nation. Cotton growers in Turkestan exulted, “We have conquered the Arctic,” though they themselves would never see the snow. Bearded peasants, who had never sat in an airplane, began to talk about “our conquest of the air.” Young Nina Kameneva expressed the mood of the country’s young people when she broke a world’s altitude record in parachute jumping and remarked on landing: “The sky of our country is the highest sky in the world.”

pg. 46

Moscow can make all the implements of war, including planes and motor trucks, inside the city. [...] Moscow’s sky is covered by an air defense that was the marvel of the London experts who visited it after the war began to make suggestions and found it far superior to London’s. Anti-aircraft shells make a thick blanket at four distinct levels to London’s one, and observation planes patrol the heavens night and day. Moscow’s four million people also offer a night-and-day defense.

pg. 51

Alma Ata, the capital of this area, has grown from a town of 60,000 to a proud young city of 260,000 in the ten years since the railroad reached it. Its life has leaped at once from the nomad epoch to the airplane. The railroad is too slow to tame the wastes of Kazakstan. From Alma Ata Airport the planes shoot forth, east, west, south, north, on new discoveries. [...] Kazakstan is only one of the energetic regions behind the Urals. South of it lie the lands of the Uzbeks and Tadjiks, where some of the largest textile mills of the U.S.S.R. work up the locally grown cotton and where automobile and airplane parts are produced by mass production in the historic city of Samarkand.

pg. 58

I have traveled many times on the Trans-Siberian. In the spring of 1935, I went from Vladivostok to Moscow with a stop-over in the Jewish autonomous territory whose capital is Birobidjan. The train was crowded with pioneering people in warm woolen clothes and padded leather jackets, engineers, Army men, developers of the Far East. [...] An army engineer who shared my table at dinner was celebrating his return by airplane from the northern wilderness by consuming a whole bottle of port and bragging about the Far Eastern pioneers.

pg. 59

According to Pierre Cot, the French Air Minister, who visited Moscow in 1933, the Soviet air arm was at least equal to the best in Europe in numbers, technical equipment, and, above all, in the productive capacity of the aviation industry.‡ Thus, by the end of 1932, which ended the first Five Year Plan, the Soviet Union had reached the level of Western Europe in armaments – a fairly modest level judged by standards of later years.

pg. 65

Other official indications of the extent of the Red Army’s mechanization come from Voroshilov’s report in 1934 [...]. Five years later [...]. He claimed that the “bomb salvo” of the Soviet air force (the number of bombs that can be dropped by all planes at once) had tripled in five years and had reached more than 6,000 tons.

pg. 66

Soviet airplane pilots also hold many world records, both in altitude and long-distance flights. Their conquest of the Arctic and its difficult weather has accustomed them to the severest conditions. Americans well remember the Soviet pilots who twice made world records by flying from Moscow to America. These were individual exploits, but the development of Arctic aviation on which they were based was the work of large numbers of pilots and implies a whole air tradition

pg. 67

Parachute jumping has become a national sport in the Soviet Union. Soviet people are probably the most air-minded people in the world. Training for air-mindedness begins in the kindergarten. Small tots play the “butterfly game” and jump around with large butterflies pinned on their hair, gaining the idea that flying is fun and a natural activity. Children in their teens make jumps from “parachute towers” which are far rougher and more realistic than the parachute tower in the New York World’s Fair, which was copied from them. The sport is popular not only in the cities but on the farms. Several years ago a Ukrainian farmer told me of his trip to the nearby city with a group of farm children, all of whom immediately formed in line in the recreation park to go up in a tall tower and jump off under a parachute. “I thought it very terrifying,” he said, “and wondered why the park authorities allowed it. Then I saw that my own thirteen-year-old daughter was at the head of the line. These children of today aren’t afraid of anything.” At an older age, Soviet young people jump from airplanes, learn to operate gliders, or even become amateur pilots in their spare time. Every large factory, government department, and many of the larger collective farms have “aviation clubs,” which are given free instruction by the government. Probably a million people in the Soviet Union have made actual jumps from parachutes. It is not surprising that the Red Army was the first to use parachute troops in active service several years before the Germans adopted them. In 1931 a small detachment of parachutists surrounded and cleaned up a bandit gang in Central Asia. The making of airplane models by young people is taken seriously in the U.S.S.R. In 1937 over a million school children were spending after-school hours in aviation model stations. At a later stage, young people of talent create real airplanes and demonstrate them at Tushino aviation exhibitions. Owing to the wide interest in aviation and the public ownership of factories, a bright Soviet youth who invents a new type of airplane may get it constructed by his factory sports club and show it off. At one of the aviation festivals I attended, I saw a score of different amateur planes, including every possible shape of flying object – short, stubby ones, long thin ones, others shaped like different kinds of insects. They added greatly to the gaiety of the occasion. Whether or not they produced any really valuable new invention, they at least encouraged the inventiveness of their makers.

pg. 72

In the past two years, especially, all this training has been given a very realistic turn. [...] Only a month before the Germans attacked the Soviet borders, 7,000 Moscow citizens practiced a special drill in repulsing parachute troops over the week end. The large numbers of such trained citizenry, both among recruits entering the Red Army and among the older citizens assisting it, greatly add to the Soviet Union’s total defense.

pg. 73

[glossysoap]

pssst im dropping this and then running-

rtc!ghoap finding reader after they “deactivated” hydra’s control to their darling. and someone interferes with their secure comm link on a mission and they have to watch in rapt horror as reader becomes a winter solider once again. rtc!ghoap unable to help them through the mental breaking down.

n e wayssss hi glossyyy how’re you doing💕

DIVINE <33

oh???? OH????????? MY GOD

OK I PROMISE I PROMISEEEE that i’ll be doing a whole ass drabble for this and OF COURSE adding it into the fic so for right now take these ramblings <3

referring to y/n as “you” for my own convenience lol also if you want an expanded scene from any part of this just let me know! wink that smut mention wink

reactivation

tags: mentions of torture, brainwashing, etc. tease at smut. ghoap being protective. also i’m so so sorry for taking so long with content hskajdks there’s just been so much going on and i’ve been having a hard time coping with it but i hope this kind of makes up for my absence? idk :)

masterlist

word count: 1k+

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @shadowycreatormentality @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @jinxxangel13 @luvmeijii @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @hunterbunter3000 @zittles3000 @thriving-n-jiving @mar-mar-mel @namgification @ivymarquis @crazy-phan-girl13 @goodsoup03 @schaarfyx @rhyanna6012 @abbiesxox @kenz-ee @whateverwhocares6 @sae1kie @thychuvaluswife @elichisstuff @grippingbeskar (more tags in rb)

It all started, your behavior started changing, when the mission was announced in the conference room. The Task Force was gathered in that room to brief on the intel and targets that needed to be taken out. You were the first of the force to take a seat at the table, leaving plenty of other seats available for everyone else. But of course, Ghost and Soap sat with you. Ghost on your left side, Soap on your right. Even though, after everyone was seated, there were four empty seats. But they always followed you, gravitated to you.

Ghost and Soap’s hands itched to touch you as the meeting began. They wanted to hold your hands, caress your clothed thigh. anything.

Meanwhile, when Ghost and Soap were glancing at you, their eyes burning into your face — you were analyzing the situation. Starting with Price. Every furrow of his brows, every clench of his jaw and intonation to his voice. You noticed how Price paused before reading the file aloud. Most of all, you noticed how Price heaved a shaky sigh, blue eyes darting to you before scanning the documents. Your brow would furrow, he almost seemed nervous about this mission — especially because you were involved in it.

Only a moment later, you would find out why Price was nervous about the mission and you joining it. “This mission is taking place in Russia. Vladivostok, to be exact.” Which is the city HYDRA took you to.

And they all knew it. you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, especially the ones on your left and right. But you paid them no mind. You simply took the files from Price’s outstretched hand and began reading it.

You weren’t fragile. You weren’t defenseless. You were a fucking war machine. You weren’t just going to tuck tail and run at the mention of the Russian city you were held prisoner in.

So while you held firm and unshaken, Ghost and Soap were reeling. They couldn’t even focus on anything else during that meeting. Every detail, every single word that came from price’s mouth went in one ear and out the other. All they could think about was that you would be going back to that same city you were held captive in. You would be going right back to the lions den.

They were so scared that somehow you would get taken again. Somehow, you would get hurt again. You would get snatched right out of their lives again.

You’re not nervous as much as you are shutting yourself down. Reverting back to that mindset you were in for two years, the mindset where your survival is what matters most. Acting like a caged animal — only speaking when spoken to, following orders like a robot, not an ounce of humor. Never any reaction to Soap’s jokes or Gaz’s quips. Always brushing off Ghost’s calls for concern.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Soap would be dejected when he noticed you closing yourself off from the team, building those walls back up again. He would find himself reaching for you only to see that you were out of his reach — literally and figuratively. He just wanted to pull you into his warm arms and hold you tight, until your walls crumbled around you and you relented into his hold. He wanted to cup your face in his gentle hands and pull you into a kiss, pouring every ounce of desperation and passion into it.

Ghost could tell you were isolating yourself from everyone — and he would want to put a stop to that, immediately. Him and Soap had made so much progress with you. They had broken down your walls and convinced you to let them in. Ghost could just see you building those walls up again, brick by brick. He wanted to just drag you to their shared room and pull you out of that headspace. He wanted to grip your jaw and force you to look at him, really look at him, instead of avoiding eye contact or using those blank stares. He wanted to smash his lips to yours and swallow any of your worries. He wanted to feel you melt in his arms while he slotted his mouth against yours, holding your face in his hands — just like he would before you were captured, cupping your face and checking that you were unharmed. He wanted to be your shelter from the storm outside. Especially because he couldn’t stop you from being taken in the first place.

He wanted to storm into Price’s office and demand for you to be taken off the roster for this mission. He wants to keep you here, unharmed and out of HYDRAs clutches.

He wanted to finish that damned mission, get in and get out. He wanted to kill any Russian soldier that entered his sights, almost as if that would ever avenge everything that happened to you.

He wanted to come back to you after the mission, storming back to your room with Soap in tow. Both still wearing their gear, all sweaty and bloodied, not even bothering to shower yet. They would slam your door shut behind them and lock it, before grabbing your face in his hands and crashing his lips to yours. Whoever wasn’t kissing you breathless would be flush against your back, his chest pressed up against you. He would be leaving wet kisses down the span of your neck, his hands grazing up and down your chest and stomach.

They wanted to worship you. They wanted to force you into giving a shit about yourself, and your happiness. Your safety.

Whether that would come in the shape of them marking you on every inch of your body, leaving love bites on your most sensitive areas, or pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, making you cry in pleasure and overstimulation — they would happily do either if it meant you would stay with them. If it meant you would stay unharmed.

They wanted to just pull you in their arms and keep you away from the horrors of the world that you had already experienced.

But they knew they couldn’t do that. They couldn’t just derail the whole mission because of their feelings.

The weight of the mission caught up with them, and before they knew it, the task force were in the plane on the way to Vladivostok.

You stepped onto the plane and looked for a seat. You saw that Ghost and Soap were on one side of the plane, strapped in with their duffel bags by their feet. Their eyes darted to you, and as much as you loved them, you were in no mood or headspace to talk. Especially when you knew that they would talk your ears off about their worries with HYDRA. They would fill your own head with their worries about your safety. You just wanted to spend the flight in casual silence, unburdened by their nerves and worries.

Your wishes were answered by Gaz waving you over to where he sat on the opposite side of the plane. “Oi, y/n! Wanna go over our plans one more time?”

You would head over to gaz with your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, before sitting down next to him and setting your bag down on the seat next to you.

Gaz pulled out his tablet so it would look like you two were going over mission plans, but then he leaned in to whisper to you.

“I figured you wouldn’t wanna be stuck next to them for the whole flight, with how tense they are.” He gave you a knowing nudge. He was always perceptive. He could easily tell that you were in no position to dwell on the anxieties and problems that will arise when you touch down in russia.

“You’re a life saver, Garrick.” You grinned.

About ten hours later, the plane touched down in Vladivostok.

Everyone got up from their seats and picked up their duffel bags, slinging them over their shoulders.

Everyone filed out of the plane, with you behind Price and Gaz, and Ghost and Soap behind you.

The moment you stepped off that plane, you felt a chill run down your spine. You could tell yourself that it was from the chilly weather and the snow crunching at your feet, but you knew that it was your bodies natural reaction to returning to where your trauma took place. You didn’t let it show, though. You just kept following Price.

Meanwhile, while you were holding your head up high and appearing utterly unfazed, Ghost and Soap had their eyes on you the entire time. Watching for any signs of your walls crumbling down. Any bricks falling, any cracks in the foundation of the barrier you had built back up.

They watched for any falter, any wince or tremor. Any sign of your nerves or terror or anxiety. They looked at your hands, to see if you were clenching your fists or picking at the skin around your nails. They looked at your chest, to see if your breath was picking up with panic. Finally, they looked at your face, to see if your eyes were widened or if your lips were trembling. They were practically at your heels in case you needed help from them. In case you had an anxiety attack, they would be right there for you - ready to hold your face in their hands and stare into your eyes and reassure you that you would be alright and nothing would happen to you. If you fainted from pure panic, they would be right there to catch you before you hit the snow.

But there was nothing. No sign of panic or nerves, no terror or anxiety. You looked just fine. Perfectly prepared to execute this mission to the fullest of your ability.

On the inside, your senses went in overdrive. You could hear every crunch of the snow beneath the boys’ boots. Every huff and grunt as they hiked through the cold terrain. Every click as they loaded their guns and checked the ammunition. You could hear so much. Too much. Most of all, you could hear your heart pound in your ears, so so loudly. Just as it did every single day in that bunker in Russia.

Your mind and body were running on pure instinct. It was running on every skill and lesson that HYDRA had taught you — had forced into you. Fight. Kill. Eliminate.

Your brain was filled with different methods of execution. You imagined curbstomping a Russian soldier’s brains in, their blood and brain matter covering your combat boot. You imagined jumping down from a roof, landing on a Russian soldiers shoulders before snapping his neck, a loud crack hitting your ears. You imagined catching a Russian soldier’s neck in your metal grip, watching the color drain from his face as you squeezed and squeezed. You imagined every single possible way to take an opponents life.

It made you feel in control. It even calmed you.

Soon, the Task Force arrived to the first intel point - a warehouse. You and Gaz were leading the way into the warehouse, starting out on the roof. Price, Ghost and Soap would be on standby, hiding next to a few abandoned cars.

Gaz would use his tablet to get the heat signature of anyone inside, revealing it to be full of Russian soldiers. You would be the first to drop into the building because of your advanced skill and your fluency in the Russian language.

You identified a hatch on the roof that you could use to drop in, before reaching for your radio to update Price, Ghost and Soap.

“Found a hatch on the roof, I’m going inside.” You reported, not waiting for a response as you swung inside and grabbed one of the pipes running along the ceiling.

On the other side of the comms, Ghost pressed on his radio to respond. But his voice never went through.

So instead of the British voice belonging to Ghost, you heard an accent that made your blood run cold. The accent that flooded your headphones was Russian.

You tightened your grip on the pipe to prevent yourself from falling to the floor in shock.

You used your other hand to try shutting off your comms but that voice began talking before you could succeed.

On the other side of the comms were Price, Ghost and Soap. Still hiding behind those abandoned cars as they scrambled to turn off their comms, in hopes to stop the hijacker in their tracks. But no matter how many times they shut the comms off, that Russian voice just kept speaking.

The Russian voice in your ears droned on, barking out the very words that had controlled you for your entire captivity.

“Желание.” Longing. “Ржавый.” Rusted.

As each word hit your ears, your grip on the pipe faltered until finally you let go. You fell from the ceiling and landed on your feet, your boots hitting the floor with a thud.

“Печь.” Furnace. “Рассвет.” Daybreak.

You were met by multiple Russian soldiers surrounding you, all with their guns drawn and ready to attack.

One soldier caught your eye, though. He had his gun drawn just like the rest of them, but he wasn’t wearing a Russian ensemble. No red beret or flag representing Russia. He was so familiar that it almost made you wince. It almost reduced you down to that wide eyed, trembling state you were in when hydra captured you.

His hair was black and styled into a point and his jaw was clenched. His eyes were dark, rid of any emotion besides anger and sick satisfaction. His voice was gruff and gravelly, with an accent that lived in the deepest recesses of your brain ever since you escaped hydra.

Suddenly, you remembered him. You remember him storming into your HYDRA cell every day. You remember him sending shocks throughout your body, with a single press of a button on that damn remote.

That man who was right in front of you, speaking into your headset, was your handler. Brock Rumlow.

His hand was on his ear piece as he spoke into his mic. You watched as the words he spoke melded perfectly with the words being fed through your comms.

��Семнадцать.” Seventeen. “Доброкачественный.” Benign.

By now, Gaz had met with the rest of the task force at those abandoned cars. They were all watching his tablet that was connected to that warehouse’s security footage — where they had a perfect view of you being surrounded by Russian soldiers.

They all watched you wince with every word, as if struck by electricity. All of those signs of panic that they were looking for previously? They were showing clear as day right now. Your chest was heaving and your jaw was clenched, lips pulling back in a snarl as you fought tooth and nail to resist giving in.

They all watched with bated breath as the HYDRA soldier barked out your trigger words. Your metal hand kept clenching and unclenching, the metal ridges rippling.

“Stop.” You growled, voice filled simultaneously with anger and desperation. Desperation not to be dragged back to that bunker, back to HYDRAs clutches. Desperation to stay with your Task Force, with your boys, so you could have one last chance to let them in. To stop taking them for granted because you were too scared.

But he didn’t stop. Your eyes watered as he kept talking, kept feeding you those trigger words. You could feel your brain ache and throb with every word, as if it knew it was going to be reprogrammed again. As if it knew it was going to be hooked up to that machine and electrocuted again.

“Девяdть.” Nine.

Ghost and Soap were panicking. You were getting reactivated right in front of their eyes. Soon you would be stuck back in that emotionless state, doomed to only care about the mission. They would lose you again. For what felt like the millionth time.

They also felt frozen. They knew that they could just dart forward and rip the comms headphone from your ears and stomp on the device, rendering those words pointless. But they just couldn’t move. Their feet felt glued to the wood beneath them, legs feeling heavy as if filled with lead. They couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked Soap’s eyes, red rimming the whites of his eyes as he could only watch you being violated. As your mind was being hijacked, just like those damn comms.

Ghost was angry. Angry that those Russians could still effect you even after all this time. He was angry that those comms got hacked, and he blamed himself so bad. Those were his comms. You were reaching out to him. And he failed you. Even if he didn’t mean to, he still did it.

Their throats tightened and their hearts sunk as they saw tears track down your cheeks. Soap’s lips trembled when you sniffled. Ghost’s fists balled when you sobbed.

They felt like they were watching the footage of your capture all over again. They had to watch you cry and experience searing pain, just like they had to watch that two years ago. Your mind was being torn apart and rewired with every word Rumlow spoke, each word bringing you closer to that brainwashed state.

Wasting no more time, the Task Force left their post at the abandoned cars and broke into a sprint towards the warehouse. They needed to be ready to take down the Russians and get you back with them, no matter what state you were in.

“Возвращение на родину.” Homecoming.

Their backs were flush against the wooden door of the warehouse as Rumlow continued talking.

Ghost’s hand darted out as if it had a mind of it’s own, grabbing Price’s radio. “Y/N! Listen to me! You can fight this!” Ghost, no — Simon, shouted into the radio. “That’s right, Y/N! Stay with us, please. Listen to us!” Johnny shouted into it next. Simon watched you on the tablet, pleading for you to listen to him. Desperate for you to let him in, let him be your anchor to sanity. He watched as you gasped from his voice, biting your lip to stop a sob. He knew you could hear him. He knew you were trying.

“Один.” One. There was only one more word after that.

They were running out of time. With the tablet forgotten, Price kicked the door down and they rushed inside with all weapons drawn. Immediately emptying rounds into any Russian soldiers in their path. Only a few moments passed until they saw you, though they felt like minutes with how it stretched on.

You couldn’t even look at them. Your eyes were frozen at Rumlow, all glossed over with tears. You knew what was going to happen. There was no avoiding it. You were going to be treated like some caged animal. Feral.

“Грузовой.” Freight car. Rumlow finished, wearing that same fucking smirk that he always wore.

The second that the last trigger word left the man’s lips, Ghost and Soap’s stomach sank even further. It would only be a matter of a few seconds before you were gone. The you that they knew. You would be loyal to HYDRA once again, your mind would be in their clutches. HYDRA would still be pulling the strings even when you weren’t with them.

Their fears were confirmed when they saw your face change in a split second. Your expression went blank, completely stone faced. Your brows would be relaxed, and no longer furrowed from crying. Your eyes would no longer be glossy with tears, but instead glazed over and unseeing. Just staring out into space. Your lips were no longer trembling, instead they were just pressed together. Not downturned into a frown or upturned into a grin. Just.. nothing.

The boys watched in horror as you were just staring blankly at Rumlow, as if you were waiting orders. Just like you did for over a year.

“с возвращением, солдат.” Welcome back, soldier. Were the last words Rumlow could utter before his brains were splattered against the walls. Skeleton gloved hands lowered their gun as Rumlow’s body collapsed onto the floor.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[nullnvoid911]

Russian riot police detain a man during a rally in support of jailed opposition leader Alexei Navalny in the far eastern city of Vladivostok.

Aleksander Khitrov, January 31, 2021

[lascitasdelashoras]

Igor Palmin - Vladivostok, the city beach (1985)

[tubborucho]

Honestly, It from It Follows. Because as long as you make sure it did not get on a train/airplane/simply a car with you, you can pretty much just be on the move for 24 hours without any real worry.

It does not teleport or anything, so sure, it will be following you, but it will not get you in 24 hours if you fly to another continent. Heck, in Russia I can just get on a train from my city to like Vladivostok (which is a 7 day or so long ride) and win without a problem as long as I am SURE the thing did not get on the train with me.

[alexxx-malev]

Vladivostok 89 by Alexxx Malev Via Flickr: Russia. Vladivostok Владивосток

[oceanmint]

[fightingrabbit]

Autobot City remembers...

Siyang Culture Vladivostok (Metroplex) VS. Lucky Cat Riki-Oh (Devastator).

[vladivostok-yura15cbx]

Владивосток. Нейбута

Владивосток. Нейбута. Звуки города. Vladivostok. Neibuta - sounds of the city

Владивосток. Нейбута. Комментарии № 2. Vladivostok. Neibuta - comm. № 2.

Владивосток. Нейбута. музыка № 1. Vladivostok. Neibuta - music № 1.

[theseventhoffrostfall]

Can I come out and say most of the Based Mongolian people are only 1 step above Based Russia Savior Of The West people? (Unless you only mean Russia, the city state sized entity of St Petersberg and Moscow and not the entire rest of the country who is so non western it'd make Heinlein write another Starship Troopers when he saw a soldier from Vladivostok but I digress) I can admit as a unique culture and force of worldwide change they are interesting but they are some of the most bloodthirsty and destabilizing invaders in world history. Their "cool" and "respectful" tolerance is only literally because they'd rather go around killing more people more quickly and having to enforce rule on their areas instead of just extracting tribute like a criminal organization means that at best, they were a societal band-aid over a stab wound they created.

The destruction of Baghdad, the ass raping of the Russians, the sheer amount of violence in the millions means while I find them interesting as a quasi force of nature and bringer of change to Eurasian History, they are deserved of nothing but death. I respect their tactics and bravery but that doesn't mean I would actually want them to win in any situation and the eternal contrarians who think Mongolia is some sort of cool place and not flat-Appalachia where the quality of living is akin to a slow cultural death when they aren't reliant on developed societies for all the technology they use have gone from "ok yeah the Mongolians are kinda unique" to "shut the fuck up, you live in the suburbs of Ohio and have never even so much as ridden a horse."

What in the rat fucking hell could possibly have prompted this

[nullnvoid911]

Russian riot police officers stand guard during a rally in support of jailed opposition leader Alexei Navalny in the far eastern city of Vladivostok.

Pavel Korolyov / AFP, January 31, 2021

[andijaart]

+++🙏🏻God Bless🕊️+++

Icon of the Theotokos The Triumph of the Most Holy Theotokos (Port Arthur)

MEMORIAL DAY AUGUST 29

Today, the city of Vladivostok is triumphant and all the ends of the Far Eastern Region are rejoicing with it, meeting Your newfound icon, the Mother of God, named Port Arthur, given to the Christ-loving army of Distant Russia as a blessing and commemoration of the celebration, looking at her, we all cry: "Holy Russia, keep the Orthodox faith, your strength is in it."

💫International Orthodox Art Corporation Andcross May the blessing of the Lord be upon you!