#novichok
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SUDEP or SUDEPNO (novichok)?

The fact that everyone thinks it is Russia and that Trump would do nothing says it all.
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LOL
On Carry-on, a cop has to Google novichok for benefit of the audience. Like, US doesn't even know what novichok is. They know nothing about russia or any of its threats.
Yes we have been a big threat to russia. Really on a war footing lol.
#movie#carryon#russia#novichok#how many movies w anything current russian that isnt just adjacent or russian mafia
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chess and mercuriy
just learned about Russian Amina Abakarova, 43, smearing Mercury (Hg) on the chess table of her opponent - what's with Russians and poisoning? Remember novichok?
Russian chess champion âsmeared poison on childhood rivalâs boardâ (msn.com)
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REVIEW: Canadian Thrash/Heavy Metal Band NOVICHOK "Geo-Desiccant"
Canadian Thrashers NOVICHOK âGeo-Desiccantâ is a solid collection of Thrashing Groove Metal delivered with a tightness many bands only wish to have. Theyâre right in the pocket and know exactly when to kick it into gear and slow things down. On top of that their lyrics, vocals (lead and gang) are very clever, leaning into some slight humor at times too. You are certainly convinced these guys areâŚ
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Ruslands Doodseskader
Navalny vermoord door Ruslands Doodseskader Unit 29155. Te lezen op mijn blog https://sloeserwij.wordpress.com/ #Navalny, #Rusland, #Poetin, #Unit29155, #Spetsnatz
Vrijdag 16 februari 2024 overleed Aleksej Navalny op onverklaarbare wijze. Rusland beweert een natuurlijke dood, maar bewoners van de vrije wereld weten wel beter. Autoritaire regiems hebben gemeen dat zij met harde hand hun macht moeten afdwingen. Deze harde hand beperkt zich niet enkel tot het eigen land maar strekt ver over haar eigen landsgrenzen heen. Alles wat het zittende regiem op enigeâŚ
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The Salisbury Poisonings (2020) Ep1
4 March 2018. Emergency services descend on Salisbury's city centre where they find Sergei and Yulia Skripal unconscious on a park bench.
#The Salisbury Poisonings#2020#ep1#2018#mini tv series#novichok#poisoning#neurotoxic#based on true story#Salisbury#drama#history#thriller#just watched#Russian double spy
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Not gonna lie I'm really curious to see what they're going to pick for Maeve even though I probably won't agree lol

#watch them pick 'being mean to Hughie' instead of something actually bad#they bring up the novichok a lot though so probably that#but there's some other things that i wouldn't say are the worst and they would definitely think so#anyways#i will find out in 4 days lol#and i will make myself mad when i go and read it#personal post#i don't agree with Butchers btw#and can't remember what Hughie's done
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NOVICHOK
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If I had a nickel for every time my favourite character threw herself off a high ledge bc she decided she was the one who had to do it to save everyone I'd have two nickels which isn't much but it's weird it's happened twice
#queen maeve#natasha romanoff#at least maeve is still alive#and yet she still got a better memorial than nat#also has anyone discussed maeve lobbing literal novichok out the window into the STREET?????#zero brain cells only anger
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âË࿠°シâ SOLDIER BOY HEADCANNONS .á
𦹠SOLDIER BOY has reoccurring nightmares. He has deep-rooted trauma from both the physical and emotional wars of his pastâhis abusive childhood, the bloody battles fought, and the years he spent as the russiansâ experiment. Heâs brash and forward in most aspects of his life, but not when it comes to confronting his trauma head-on. Thus, it tends to accumulate and lay siege on him during the time when heâs most vulnerableâin his sleep. He often wakes up in a fit amidst the dead night, and the first thing he does isnât grounding himself with a few, steadying breaths or a doing scan of his surroundingsâitâs to instinctively reach across the bed to make sure youâre still there beside him. To make sure heâs not alone. Heâs so plagued with the need to be loved and valued, that heâs latched onto the one person whoâs shown him nothing but. So, funnily enough, losing you might be the worst nightmare of all time.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY wears a simple, silver promise ring on his left index finger. After a year of dating, you gifted it to him as a commemoration of your relationship milestone. His first instinct was to bitch about it, but it came from a place of unfamiliarityâBenâs not used to gifts. Heâs barely adjusted to the stability of the lifestyle heâs founded within you. But he takes it, anywayâbriskly slipping it into his pocket while he practically herds you into the bedroom for a gift of his own. He kept it stashed aside in a memoir box��yes, he owns one and he hoards all his gems of the past in it for nostalgiaâs sake because heâs just an old-timey boy who never fully adjusted to modern life. And after gnawing his ear off about never wearing it, he looped a chain through it and wore it like a dog tagâafraid that itâd get lost to some combat commotion if he wore it on his hand. And then one day, youâd absentmindedly brought up the idea of marriage, and later that night, Ben finds himself considering the lifestyle by finally slipping that ring onto his finger. As time passes, he finds himself absentmindedly playing with it whenever heâs idling around or unwinding from the day. And itâs something he specially reaches for when he feels overwhelmed or anxious. It quiets his brain, like the mere touch of it is the calming tether that keeps him grounded in the midst of his mental stormsâreminds him of the solid rock that is you.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY often experiences the âProust Phenomenonââwhere certain smells trigger vivid memories of the past. Due to his Supe nature, Benâs olfactory senses are enhancedâlike a k9 with extensive years of training. It was a handy skill when it came to operations and the element of surprise surrounding rigged locations, where he could detect the biting scent of chemical agents and certain metals that smelled like sure death. But, ironically, itâs also a perforation in his balls-of-steel armour. And now, in the modern daysâstemming from the PTSD of his pastâthere are certain smells that remind Ben of his time in the Russian compound. Of the torture he endured. Metal traces, gunpowder, general anaestheticâwhich shares the same undertone of the novichok gas used to put him to sleep. Fun factâwhen you had to get your wisdom teeth removed, Ben dropped you off and picked you up but refused to step foot inside the building. He canât tolerate the smellsâchemicals, gas, death. It overwhelms him, and itâs unwelcome on his mind. And later that night, he wouldnât go within ten feet of youâbothered by the scent of the anaesthetic still clinging to you. Eerily familiar. It was an eye-opening moment for you and the true magnitude of his trauma. So, overtime, you both worked on a way to counter-condition the traitâusing smells he could associate with better memories. Something like the scent of your perfume. Everyday, before he leaves the house, he makes sure to spurt a drop of your perfume onto the neckline of his shirtâso that it evades his nose at all times. So that thereâs no room for his senses to entertain a smell other than yours. It keeps him grounded and wards off the other scents threatening to invade his fickle peace of mind. And best of all, it smothers him with every thought, feeling and memory associated with you. Another way for him to be consumed by all that you are, even when youâre miles apart.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY craves your proximity. Itâs not something heâs aware he does, but it happens, regardless. When you first started dating, it wasnât anything too seriousâmutual benefits with minimal strings attached. But unbeknownst to him, heâd come to crave your company like relentless clockwork. And he was a colossal prick when he didnât get itâespecially on the late nights where heâs taunted by his thoughts. A phone call that found you in the midst of a club amongst menâany man that wasnât himâwas a line of static corrupted with heated words. And a few minutes later, heâd show up like a relentless tractor, ploughing through the crowd with the sole objective to pluck you from the masses and lead you back to the car with a firm grip on your wrist. His possessiveness is something you helped work him through, and heâs surely dialled it down to a stinging glare and a tongue bitten raw whenever another guy spares you attention that extends beyond a polite conversation. He is refined, thoughâmore subtle in his possessiveness. Like when youâre in the kitchen making dinner, he simply grabs a beer and sips on it while standing a little ways away from you, leaned against the counter while he watches TV from across the apartment. If you drift to the island to start plating the meals, he strays to the other end of itâall while his eyes remained glued on the TV. He doesnât know heâs doing itâitâs like an instinct to be tethered to you at all times, following, guarding, yearning.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY always opens doors for you. Car doors, restaurant doors, apartment door. Any door. Initially, out of habit, heâd always enter the space before you and do a quick sweep of the areaâlike heâs on the scout for potential danger, or like youâre the president that heâs tasked with keeping safeâbefore beckoning you inside. It was a prevalent routine in the initial months of his domestic life, but youâd sat him down one night to talk about itâhow he doesnât need to be on such high alert anymore. And admittedly, how it hurt a tad bit that he didnât let you in first. Almost as though those words had flipped a switch about how unaccustomed you are to his Soldier habitsâhe made sure from that night onward, that he always lets you in first. Heâd wanted to argue that he was doing it from a place of good intent, wanting to keep you safe from any potential hidden threats, but heâd bit down on his tongue. Because it didnât matter. There was not a damn thing worth doing if it didnât favour your happiness. Now, he always makes sure that he opens the door to a room and steps aside to usher you in with a jerk of his chin. But once youâre inside, he still executes a subtle scoutâa brief survey tossed over your oblivious shoulder and a hasty sweep of the outside before he trails in after you. Youâre his gem, after all, and he canât risk having you stolen from him.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY drives with one hand on the wheel, and the other on you. Whenever youâre his passenger princessâwhich is always because he still believes in misogynistic chivalry, his hand always manages to stray from the gear and onto the hump of your thigh. Always. He holds you there, strokes an absentminded thumb over the skin, or rubs soothing lines that sometimes dip far too close to your core. And not once will he look at you while he does itâas if it adds to suspense of his clingy encroachmentâbut you might catch the corner of his lip spreading with a knowing smirk. He also has one hand on your headrest whenever heâs reversing, and then itâll trail down to tuck your hair behind your ear, or run two fingers down your jaw before settling in its rightful place amongst your thigh.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY likes TLC. I feel like this started with one of those times he was sat on the sofa watching TV, and you snuck up behind him to run your hands through his fluffy hairâbecause come on. At first, he mightâve flinched away from the unfamiliar intimacyâhabitually moving to seize you at the wrist and yank you away with a low muttering of âthe fuck you doinâ?â But you shake him off with a giddy laugh, telling him to lay off the armour of stress for two seconds before returning your hands to his hair. He still tenses under the touch, but the longer your hands spend entwined with the hairs flowing from his scalp, he starts to melt under the touchâlike youâre loosening the strings woven through the very DNA that renders his every muscle tightly-knit. Scalp massages turn into neck and shoulder massages, and that turns into rubbing out his backâand it even extends all the way to arm and head tickles. Sometimes, while youâre laying in bed, heâll settle himself down beside you with a kiss to your jaw before heâs leaned his head against the side of yoursâand he wonât say anything, but thereâs a newfound stillness to him that screams expectancy. And when your hand wanders up his back and around his neck to settle in his hair, you feel him start to relaxâunwind. And once, he let slip a soft and strained groan of pleasure, like he was desperately trying to swallow the truth of how much he enjoys ed it. But it never escaped your notice, and it wasnât the last time he did it.
𦹠SOLDIER BOY loves doggy-style for a quickie, and cowgirl for a stickie. When this man is hard and craving a quick release, he does love the idea bending you over beneath him and sending you to heaven. Heâs a refined type of rough, never pushing limits he knows would hurt or leave a bruise youâre not keen on sporting. However, if you ask for it, heâs happy to oblige. And he LOVES holding you at your waistâloves it. Absolutely clings to it like a lifelineâkneading, gripping, pulling you into his every thrust. And he loves drinking in the view of your backâarching and flexing with silent pleas for his touch. But on the slower, softer nights of the week, heâs quite fond of cowgirlâback against the head-board with you on top of him, riding him at a pace that suits your current mood and needs. His hold on you is firm, but open for adjustmentâguidance. And heâll be damned if he doesnât admit that the mere view of your faceâcontorted with pleasure and effort alikeâgets him worked up in addition to your every movement. God, youâre the prettiest girl heâs ever had the pleasure of calling his, and he watches you like heâs trying to memorise every detail about you. And if he doesnât also love watching the way you swallow his length wholeâand the way he glistens with the mingle of your combined pleasure. This man loves a cream pieâsaid what I said. And dirty talk.
a/n â first ever headcannons đ happy birthday to pookie schnooks! can you tell i worked hard on these? pls itâs almost 1 am now and iâve been busy since 9 pm. and itâs all 100% canon in my head idc what yâall say.
thank you for reading! all likes & comments & deeply appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer wayâso please support your writers with it! <3
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HALF OF ME (iii)
SUMMARY: Spending years in a Russian lab as nothing more than an experiment does a lot to a man, even one as strong as Soldier Boy. Experiment after experiment after torture technique slowly chips away at his willpower. And, alongside the loss of his strength, comes his anger. His anger at the people who put him in here, the people he used to call his team; and his need for vengeance increases. 37 years after his capture, a group of 5 release him from his prison, and sets him and his rage free.
WORD COUNT: 1755
WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Torture, human experimentation, inhumane treatment/practices, violence, gore, unethical treatment/practice, drug abuse.
MAIN MASTERLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST
If there was one thing Ben knew, it was that he wanted the fuck out of here. This cold, lonely, dark room the Russians had had him locked inside of for god knows how long. Between the torture, the Novichok, and the cryo, heâd lost count of the days.
Or the months⌠or years. Yeah, he really wasnât sure anymore.
But another day brought more bullets shot into the back of his throat. And, honestly, he was more tired of the taste of metal than the feeling of his throat being ripped apart.
They could be more inventive with their torture techniques.
Injecting acid into his veins, pouring it down his throat, and setting him on fire was boring. Really. If he had more strength in his body, heâd mock them for their predictability. It was repetitive. How were they learning anything new when they did the same damn things every day?
He spent most of his days alternating between thinking of two things; how to kill these Russians, and how to kill Payback.
Because, oh yeah, was he going to rip that shitty excuse of a team apart by their limbs when he got out. Not if. When.
And heâd start with you.
The woman heâd been sleeping with in the lead-up to The Betrayal.
Sure, you werenât at Nicaragua, but he had no doubt youâd opened your legs as some fucked up, psychological way to soften him up. Fucking whore. Sure, you were a good fuck, but his rage swallowed up any remaining softness he had for you. (Or hardness).
He was going to take great pleasure in squishing you like an annoying bug.
And then Crimson â honestly she was number two on his kill-list, simply because he didnât really like her. She was a boring fuck, and totally used his âdeathâ as a PR stunt.
What was it with these bitches and manipulating him?
Every time he thought about it, he got more angry. More vengeful. He could feel the power draining from his bones every time they drugged him up on Novichok, and it only heightened his rage.
Right now, he was stuck here. But, when he got back, every single one of those fuckers were going to pay.
ââââââ ⌠ââââââ
He dreamed about you a lot.
Sometimes, as they poured acid down his throat, Ben imagined you. He clawed and begged breathlessly for mercy, becoming a weak, vulnerable mess at the hands of these men, and he thought of you.
He didnât want you. You were the one whoâd put him in here. But he couldnât help it.
With your pretty face, sweet words and gentle touch; youâd been the first woman heâd loved.
Ben never thought heâd be capable of such an emotion. That love and emotional intimacy was far, far out of his reach. But, with you, it came easy. Being a dick to you felt more like teasing and playful remarks, rather than genuine hatred. And heâd never dared raise a hand to you like he did Gunpowder or Noir.
He hated himself for it. He should be angry. So, so fucking angry. He should spend his days wishing the worst on you.
Instead, he wished you were here. That youâd come and rescue him. That youâd hold him and whisper soothingly, your words sinking through his skin and to his heart, lighting up his nerves.
Heâd never felt so alone before.
ââââââ ⌠ââââââ
So⌠apparently you couldnât age.
It came as a shock as much to you as it did to Vought. Theyâd pulled you out of the spotlight when itâd become too obvious, when the media started to notice the lack of wrinkles for your age and had begun asking questions, and theyâd ran some tests.
Turns out, your father was a moron. And the strain of Compound V the assholes at the hospital had given you, was the same strain theyâd given Ben during the human trials in WW2. Fucking dickheads. Because now you were stuck on this godforsaken planet until you discovered something that could kill you.
You had no idea why they did that. But it was Vought. They always had some shady, unethical shit going on in the background. Turns out you were just another victim of that.
Hopefully the Russians had another one of those lasers theyâd killed Ben with.
Itâd been 15 years since that fateful day. 1999 had olled around, and Vought officially kicked you out of the business. They gave you the âSoldier Boy Planâ â giving you a pretty house in the middle of god-knows-where, and telling the media you were dead.
You couldnât complain, really. Youâd befriended the local wildlife and spent your evenings watching the sunset over the trees. The years went by slowly, but they were far more peaceful than your life in Vought had been. Finally, you could just breathe.
And you watched the news, as Payback fell apart and were replaced by a new team, the Seven. Homelander seemed like a Soldier Boy 2.0 â same cockiness, same fake smiles and kindness. You were sure there was some shady shit going on with that team. (There always was with Vought).
It wasnât your business. It was 2020, you hadnât been a superhero in 21 years. Whatever bullshit was going on with Vought was in your distant past.
⌠And then Queen Maeve made it your business. On a quiet day in 2021.
Initially, when you opened the door to see the smug superhero in your doorway, you were half-tempted to just kill her right there. But, you held back. Your hand curled around the door, staring back at her. âWhat do you want?â
âI want to know everything you know about Soldier Boy.â She didnât even look surprised you were alive.
You kind of just⌠stared. âBen?â You echoed. That was the last thing youâd expected to come out of her mouth âYou mean⌠the man who died 37 years ago? Why the fuck are you asking me about him?â
She shrugged. The corner of her lip tugged to a smirk. âYou were fucking him.â Honestly, you had to give her some credit. She obviously did her research before coming here. Plus, she had some fucking balls just turning up out of the blue like this. You could rip her head clean off her shoulders if you wanted to.
Scoffing, you turned and walked away from the front door, inadvertently inviting the supe in. She followed you through your home, to the kitchen, where your first instinct was to grab a bottle of wine. âWhy are you asking me about him?â
âWe thinkââ
âWhoâs we?â You cut in, grabbing two glasses.
Maeve stared for a moment. âA few friends.â
You scoffed, pouring the wine into the two glasses. âIâm going to need more than âfriendsâ if you want me to tell you anything about Ben.â With an unimpressed glare, you handed her a glass.
âWe think whatever killed him, might be able to kill Homelander.â She didnât give you the information you wanted, but it was better than nothing. And itâs what made you help.
So, you fetched her the files youâd gathered on Ben, in your 15 years of trying to figure out what happened to him. You wished her luck, hoping she found more than you did. You never found who the friends were, and why exactly they wanted Big-Man-Homelander dead, but you had a good guess.
Whatever.
Not your business.
ââââââ ⌠ââââââ
Ben came in and out of consciousness a lot. Theyâd rip into his muscles and his bones, or inject something into his bloodstream, and then theyâd pump him full of Novichok again, until his muscles went weak and his eyes rolled back.
Fucking assholes. Finding one of the only things in this world that could do damage to him.
It made it difficult to keep track of time. Sometimes they kept him asleep for weeks, while they analysed results and came up with new techniques. Like a rat. It was dehumanising.
He was tired these days. Tired of being angry. Tired of being tired.
He missed home. He missed drugs. He missed his fame. He missed sex. He missed you. Whenâd he become such a weak pussy? He was a man, for fucks sake. Not a snivelling bitch. He could get through this. He could get out the other end. And he could kill you.
He was sure of it.
And, in 2021, only two weeks after you delivered the file to Maeve, a group of five landed in Russia, and set him free.
ââââââ ⌠ââââââ
Soldier Boy being alive was not on the itinerary. All their clues had lead them to Russia, where theyâd expected to find a weapon⌠and instead found the man himself.
Hughie couldnât quite believe his eyes, and Butcher was too busy rethinking their entire plan to really digest this all.
Really, there was a man in his 100âs snorting lines of bennies in front of them, making demands. Theyâd fetched him food, alcohol and drugs, with the hopes to calm him down and rationalise him. He took it all with no âthank youâ, but seemed a bit more relaxed once the white powder went up his nose.
Relaxed enough to make a deal.
He wanted Payback dead, they wanted Homelander dead â theyâd kill two birds with one stone. It was good enough for Butcher.
âTwoâa your olâ mates are dead.â Butcher spoke to the supe, who was drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. âI sorted Gunpowder.â (Ben hadnât been impressed with that news). âAnd your olâ girlfriend, Y/Nââ
Now that caught his attention. âSheâs dead?â Benâs head lifted quickly, analytical eyes watching Butcher. His teeth ground together. Heâd wanted to be the one to kill you. Heâd dreamt of watching the life drain from your eyes. âHowâd she kick it?â
âVought never released those details.â
He allowed himself a smirk. Smart bitch. âThen she ainât dead.â He slammed the hilt of his dagger into a few pills, crushing them into powder. âShady fucks pulled that stunt hundredsâa times.â
Hughie sat a little straighter. This was fresh news. While theyâd been searching for people to help find information on Soldier Boy, theyâd suggested you. But, everything in history suggested youâd met the reaper in â99. âThey faked her death?â
He nodded, sure of it, cutting the powder into lines. âFind her.â He demanded. His sharp glare cut into the pair of them. âI want her fuckinâ dead.â
a/n: sorry for the loooong ass wait on this chap. i rlly struggled to write this one + iâm currently sitting my a level exams. this chapter was more of a filler. the good stuff happens next chapter !!!
taglist: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity @mostlymarvelgirl @aaronhotchnerlover @delaynew @let-me-luve-you @yvonneeeee @livsh20 @thej2report @lostin-jensenseyes
@boywivlove @leavli @cassieriddle713 @drasticemotions
#soldier boy#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x female reader#the boys#the boys tv#jensen ackles#jensen ackles x reader#half of me
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Memories Are All I Have
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Supe!Reader
Summary: Youâre all Ben thinks about while heâs in Russia
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: Cursing (6x), Mentions of torture (but nothing insanely graphic in description), Fluff (Ben just deeply loves reader & misses her)
Authors Note: Flashbacks are in italics | If you liked this, donât forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome âĄ

He found you washing dishes, wearing nothing but your forest green silk robe that he had gotten you for your birthday last year. Forest green specifically so you knew that he was the one that had gotten it for you (since that was his color). You were barefoot like always, humming 'Almost Like Being in Love' by Sinatra; the same song your mother would hum to you as a lullaby when you were a child. "You comin' to talk to me or are you just gonna stand there?" You asked him; not looking away from what you were doing.
"Hate when you do that," he chuckled, making his way toward you.
"You can blame Vought for that," you said, letting out half a laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "And to be fair, you do the exact same thing to me." His chin rested on your shoulder, and your hands rested on his hands; your body slightly leaning into him as the two of you swayed a little.

Half knocked out, Ben could vaguely hear the Ivan's talking; going on about what experiments they were going to be doing on him today. Ben couldn't really speak Russian, or understand most of it; but he had been here long enough to know what certain words or phrases had meant when it came to him getting experimented on.

You were sitting on the counter, his hands on either side of you; essentially trapping you. Your legs were slightly wrapped around his waist lazily, along with your arms around his neck. He was simply just staring into your eyes; and this was the first time he had noticed small little specks of various color within them that were about a shade or two lighter than your actual color â it amazed him that he had never noticed this about you or your eyes before. "I love you," he told you, his voice slightly low. He caressed your cheek a little with his thumb as he searched for your reaction.
That's when you smiled at him. A smile that he's seen from you so many times before â one that was a genuine look of pure, unadulterated happiness. It was the kind of smile that he had wanted to just stare at and admire for the rest of his life. "I love you too," you replied back. You leaned in just then; your foreheads touching.

Ben heard the door start to open; but he was too drugged up to really respond to what was happening. He was so used to this song and dance at this point, as he's been through it all. He's drunk bleach, sulfuric acid cocktails, had AK's shot into his mouth, and torched with fire.

Ben had his eyes closed, but he knew that you were staring at him; it was just something that you did whenever the two of you were lying in bed together. He didn't mind of course, as he often found himself staring at you too when he thought that you weren't looking. "You're staring," he said, a small smirk on his lips.
"I call it admiring," you stated, your fingers tilting his chin up so he could face you more. As soon as you did that, he opened his eyes to look at you; admiring that soft smile you so often gave him. "Now you're the one staring."
"It's called admiring," he grinned.
"Smartass," you replied, leaning in, cupping his face and gently kissing him.

Ben was on the cold metal table now, strapped in like he normally was; still slightly out of it due to the Novichok. He could barely understand what they were planning on doing to him today; but the words that he could make out (as he had heard them plenty of times in this context) was gasoline and matches.

Ben was in the gym, punching away at a punching bag, attempting to get his aggression out. Today was one of the worst days he's had in a while, and all he wanted to do right now was curl up in bed with you after he fucked your brains out against the tile of the shower wall; but you were no where to be found.
He usually had a pretty good idea about where you could be, but for some reason you weren't in your usual places. But that's when he heard it; heard the pitter patter of your feet running down the hallway towards the gym, trying your best not to slide on the slick marble floors.
With one final punch, the door to the gym swung open, and he knew that it could only be you. But without fail, you did what you normally did in order to try and surprise him and placed your little hands over his eyes, promptly covering them. "Guess who!" You exclaimed.
"Noir," he smirked, and you laughed, removing your hands. God he fucking loved the way you laughed.
"You're very good," you replied, and he turned to face you, looking slightly down at you.
"Where were you today?" He asked. "I couldn't fucking find you anywhere," you frowned slightly, and he hated more than anything whenever you frowned â especially when he was the cause of it. "Don't frown Sugar," he said, tilting your chin up. "You're far too pretty to be doing that." Your frown instantly became a soft smile. "There she is," he grinned.

Today was one of the worst days as they bathed him in gasoline and lit him repeatedly with matches. The first couple of times, Ben held in the pain and simply just gritted his teeth as he didn't want to give these fuckers the satisfaction that they were actually causing him immense pain. But after about the sixth or eighth time (he couldn't remember), he actually let out a groan as he just couldn't hold in the pain any longer.
After he let out that groan; the Ivan's must of been satisfied, as all he could hear was the sounds of them laughing, laughing as if they were at some comedy show; and for the first time in Ben's life, his stomach actually felt like it was in knots â that was how disgusted he was.

"So, I met with my agent and Legend today," you said, starting to trace small circles on his bare chest. "And guess what?"
"What?" He asked, cocking a brow.
"You know the show Solid Gold right?" You asked him.
"Of course I do. It's your favorite fucking show," he said. "What about it?"
"Well...they're going to be doing a special episode coming up featuring Kim Carnes, the Oak Ridge Boys, Wayland Flowers and Madame, and they want us on the show too!" You exclaimed, smiling wide.
"Why wasn't I invited to this little meeting if they want me too?" He questioned.
"Because they know you'll agree to anything as long as I bring it up to you," you said, flashing that charming smile you always did whenever you were trying to butter him up to get something you wanted. Repeatedly he would tell himself that he wouldn't fall for it, wouldn't give in; but he always did without fail, as he found himself never being able to say no to you â he loved you too fucking much.
He sighed. "When do we film?"
You bit your bottom lip, almost as if you were afraid to give him the answer. "Friday," you mumbled. Today was Wednesday.

Memories of the two of you were one of the only things that had kept Ben going besides dreaming of the day when you would rescue him from this awful place. But if he was being honest, the longer he was here, the more he was starting to question if you were ever going to come and rescue him. Were you even looking for him? A question that started to enter his mind more and more lately; a question that he hated came to mind. But he had to hope that deep down that you were actually looking for him and have been for the past unknown amount of years because you had loved him just as much as he had loved you.

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#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x you#the boys#the boys imagine#the boys one shot#the boys amazon#ben x you#ben x reader#female reader#reader insert
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Russiaâs Alexei Navalny, a fierce anticorruption campaigner who galvanized the countryâs political opposition, has died in prison, Russian news agencies reported Friday. The cause of his death was still being established, said prison authorities, cited by Russian news agency TASS. Navalny had been serving sentences in a penal colony amounting to more than 30 years on various charges. He was 47 years old.
A statement from the prison authorities said that he had felt unwell following a walk outside and lost consciousness. The statement said a medical team was called on site but was unable to save him. Navalny had been behind bars since January 2021, when he returned to Russia from Germany, where he was recovering after falling ill during a flight inside Russia. German doctors concluded that he had been poisoned with the Soviet-era nerve agent, Novichok. Navalny blamed his poisoning on the Kremlin, which denied involvement in any attempt to harm him.
[WSJ]
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Alexi Navalny has been murdered by Vladimir Putin. Democracy is fragile. Not a drill. Rest in power.
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âListen, I've got something very obvious to tell you. Youâre not allowed to give up. If they decide to kill me, it means that we are incredibly strong.â
- Alexei Navalny
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"Everything will be all right. And, even if it won't be, we'll have the consolation of having lived honest lives."
Alexei Navalny (1976-2024)
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Imagine being Soldier Boys younger sibling: Pt. 1
Requested: anon / Pt. 2
"Soldier Boy."
"Y/n?" His voice breaks. Ben doesn't know what happened or how long it's been, but he does know, the last time he was awake, lucid, you were trying to escape. You were running, escaping, and then there was the gas. That stupid fucking Novichok gas. Did you get away? Did you break free? He looked past the array of strange faces, searching for your familiar features. "Y/n?" He says again. Your name sounds familiar. Hughie remembers reading it somewhere during his research. Were you a friend? A lover? And then it clicked. You were his baby, the only person he was willing to share the limelight with. Supposedly, everyone on the team hated you and Ben together. You were the most famous Supe sibling duo, the first, and that made everyone else jealous. You two partied together and got into trouble and, as far as The Boys knew, were sold off to the Russians together, too. After that, your trail goes cold. Did you escape? Did they kill you? No one in the room knew.
"What? You mean-"
"Y/n!" He yells, disoriented, stepping out of his chamber. He searched the room, but everything was different. Everything changed. Who were these people? What did they do to you? Ben had spent years listening to your cries, your pleas, your begging. One minute you were on top of the world together. You were the best, the most powerful, the most famous. You could have anyone and anything you ever wanted. And then, suddenly, you were lab rats. You were being experimented on. You were forced to suffer through tests and surgeries and all kinds of taunting. They laughed at you. They spat at you. They enjoyed doing what they did to you. If you escaped, where would you be now? Where would you have gone? What would have happened to you? "Where, where's y/n?" The look in his eyes crushes Hughie. He wanted his family, he wanted to make sure you were okay.
"We'll help you find them, okay?"
#requested#soldier boy#soldier boy imagine#the boys#the boys imagine#hughie campbell#hughie campbell imagine#ennasfavorites
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The Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny has died in jail, the countryâs prison service has said, in what is likely to be seen as a political assassination attributable to Vladimir Putin.
Navalny, 47, one of Putinâs most visible and persistent critics, was being held in a jail about 40 miles north of the Arctic Circle where he had been sentenced to 19 years under a âspecial regimeâ. In a video from the prison in January, he had appeared gaunt with his head shaved.
The Kremlin said it had no information on the cause of death.
In early December he had disappeared from a prison in the Vladimir region, where he was serving a 30-year sentence on extremism and fraud charges that he had called political retribution for leading the anti-Kremlin opposition of the 2010s. He did not expect to be released during Putinâs lifetime.
A former nationalist politician, Navalny helped foment the 2011-12 protests in Russia by campaigning against election fraud and government corruption, investigating Putinâs inner circle and sharing the findings in slick videos that garnered hundreds of millions of views.
The high-water mark in his political career came in 2013, when he won 27% of the vote in a Moscow mayoral contest that few believed was free or fair. He remained a thorn in the side of the Kremlin for years, identifying a palace built on the Black Sea for Putinâs personal use, mansions and yachts used by the ex-president Dmitry Medvedev, and a sex worker who linked a top foreign policy official with a well-known oligarch.
In 2020, Navalny fell into a coma after a suspected poisoning using novichok by Russiaâs FSB security service and was evacuated to Germany for treatment. He recovered and returned to Russia in January 2021, where he was arrested on a parole violation charge and sentenced to his first of several jail terms that would total more than 30 years behind bars.
Putin has recently launched a presidential campaign for his fifth term in office. He is already the longest-serving Russian leader since Joseph Stalin and could surpass him if he runs again for office in 2030, a possibility since he had the constitutional rules on term limits rewritten in 2020.
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