#остаться

[dark4web]

«Остаться в живых», «Побег из тюрьмы» и еще 12 диснеевских шоу выйдут на Netflix

New Post has been published on https://dark4web.com/ostatsya-v-zhivyh-pobeg-iz-tyurmy-i-eshhe-12-disneevskih-shou-vyjdut-na-netflix/

«Остаться в живых», «Побег из тюрьмы» и еще 12 диснеевских шоу выйдут на Netflix

Disney собирается совершить стратегический сдвиг в пространстве потокового вещания, перенеся все прошлые сезоны медицинской драмы «Анатомия страсти» на Hulu, сохраняя…

[tambovfox]

[kissycat]

I can imagine such a good sasuke amv to kino группа крови which absolutely no one in the world will care about except for me but one day I'll make it

[ulysses000]

Day 16 ~ Animal Instincts

Animal Instincts... Instincts to eat Sanji

[boblosev]

Сериал Остаться в живых

Сериал Остаться в живых (или Лост, если в оригинале) - это феномен. В свое время он гремел на весь мир, заставляя людей из разных стран ломать головы над загадками этого проекта. А загадок с каждым сезоном становилось все больше и больше, строились различные теории о том, почему же все эти люди оказались на таинственном острове, как они сумели выжить при крушении самолета и отчего теперь не могут оттуда выбраться.

Недавно я стал пересматривать этот сериал, нашел его онлайн на https://lostseries.fans/ Оказалось, что многое уже подзабыл, так что гляжу с неослабевающим вниманием. Одним из любимых героев у меня там является обаятельный сердцеед Сойер, а другим - Бен, с его бесконечными интригами. Учитывая как много есть различных персонажей, то каждый зритель может выбрать тех, кто ему ближе.

Если вы еще не смотрели - завидую, обязательно попробуйте.

[pinopinko]

#1 work

🌱🔞🚬

[gremlins-hotel]

my ivan is about that tall as well. 2.15 m. they are matching. though, your ivan is very cool and strong. my ivan is like a very docile cat, harmless.

Finally, another creature of fine culture 😩 he is outwardly cold and a bit of a grump, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t have better facets that he can show. He smiles for cats and old ladies at most. Rumor has it that his laugh when genuine is quite contagious. Or scary, if you’re inclined; it’s rather booming. Perhaps he used to do it more often, but it’s rarer now.

[rotyolk]

а зачем она оставалась после уроков…

мы никогда не узнаем, как и она...

[classybananacoloregg]

Хоть убейте не понимаю как можно живому человеку попасть под контроль мимиком?? Ванни понятно, маска чип вживленный в голову вся херня НО ЭТО БЛЧТЬ как это сука работает. Господи книги за что вы все усложняете

[httpskuzuu]

I'll stick around if you will

Fyodor x Reader

idk english

summary: a morning with Fyodor

tw: none, only softness and happiness

When Fyodor wakes up, he is alone. But as he turns his gaze to your empty side of the bed, an uneasiness claws at his chest. The warmth of your side still lingers, an ephemeral trace that his tired hand senses as it glides over the sheets. Sleep suddenly leaves him. With a clear purpose, he gets up to look for you.

The window is frozen, as is the rest of the house. He has always loved the cold. It felt like an old friend, ingrained in him since birth. It was his home: the crunch of the frozen ground beneath his feet, the breath condensing like little sighs stolen from the air. He likes the way the snow covers the meadow and the trees, the way everything looks covered and shiny when he leaves home. 

His feet step on the dark planks until he reaches the kitchen. He sees your figure, half hunched over the wooden counter, illuminated by the dim morning light. Next to you is a metal bowl still with a large spoon in it. He stares at you for a few seconds, admiring you. How you move so naturally while still focused on your recipe, so relaxed that he smiles. A smile that barely grazes his lips but lights up everything inside him. How can he not smile when he has you?

He approaches you without making a sound that disturbs you, a natural thing for him. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him and embracing the warmth you give off. Your body, so warm under his hands, was the promise of something more than cold: a home he never knew he could belong to.

When you say his name, it's like the song of an angel just arrived on earth. He appreciates your beautiful smile after kissing the back of your neck.

“What are you doing?” his accent clings to the words more than usual. You grab one of his hands delicately, almost as if it would break if you tighten your grip a little more. Fyodor finds it funny, watching you treat him like he's made of glass, a porcelain doll you're terrified he'll fall.

“I'm going to make you the best breakfast.” Your smile lights up your face, the room and the world. At least that's how Fyodor sees it. You make his cold body warm and he can't even complain; because some nights, when he holds you close but still can't sleep, he thinks about how he'd rather have your warmth than the cold he's always loved.

For someone who had always found comfort in the cold, your warmth was disconcerting, like a flame that doesn't burn but doesn't let off either.

Your hand separates from his to put it on a notebook. You bought it some time ago for its design, with a cover full of flowers with warm, yellow colors, not even the white was pure, like the snow he is used to. The flowers are harmoniously distributed among leaves and stems, making perfect patterns. In the center, there is a box with small ornaments in the corners, where you wrote <<Fedya's Recipes>>. A burning sensation sticks to his chest when he remembers the time you showed it to him. You told him in your charming voice, that you wanted to learn how to cook Russian foods, from his childhood, the ones that reminded him of his parents and lost childhood. All from a childhood he thought he had forgotten.

Now, the notebook is full, its pages covered with your careful annotations, sometimes messy, torn straight from the corners of his memory. A few words get stuck in his throat, more than words, it was like a torrent of emotions that before he met you, he had not felt. He would like to express all the appreciation and love he has for you, to tell you that you are perfect, that he needs you as much as air, but his lips, so used to silence, barely manage to articulate anything.

As he listens to the melody you hum softly, Fyodor allows himself to be vulnerable, for you. He leans into you, letting the words escape in a heartfelt whisper:

“Я люблю тебя.” He closes his eyes, noticing how the cold has disappeared from the room. “Я хочу остаться в этом моменте, с тобой, навсегда.”

Я люблю тебя: I love you.

Я хочу остаться в этом моменте, с тобой, навсегда: I want to stay in this moment, with you, forever.

[dark4web]

Несмотря ни на что, Battlefield 2042, возможно, действительно убедил игроков остаться

New Post has been published on https://dark4web.com/nesmotrya-ni-na-chto-battlefield-2042-vozmozhno-dejstvitelno-ubedil-igrokov-ostatsya/

Несмотря ни на что, Battlefield 2042, возможно, действительно убедил игроков остаться

Поле битвы 2042 на самом деле справился с этим и сделал возвращение, которое, по мнению большинства, было невозможным. Все началось…

[tambovfox]

долго мы ещё будем молчать о том, что в заставке сериала "извне" буквально нарисовали бена лайнуса?

[korobka-sahara]

Ставь чайник

Я обожаю русреал как жанр. Чувствую себя так хорошо, читая румангу.. после неё очень легко и приятно даётся романтизация всего вокруг. Проникшись этим чувством я уже не просто тащусь в магазин, а слегка навеселе шагаю в *пятёрочку* за *дошиком* в своих *чёрных вансах* под *стрыкало*, если вы понимаете, о чëм я.

Поэтому я люблю и абсолютно обожаю "Дëшево и сердито". "Исчезни", "Пойдём гулять" и "Вместе". Арты Исаковского и.. как ни странно, тамблер. Почему-то он так же дарит мне эти ощущения.

Описывая здесь свои некрасочные будни и читая чужие посты, чувствую себя.. персонажем, что-ли.

Под таким углом обзора становится чертовски приятно варить на ужин пельмени, на своей маленькой светлой кухоньке, в уютной многоэтажке. В одной из тысяч таких же, уютных, со своими тёплыми кухнями и фикусами на подоконниках. Шумными соседями и приподъездными лавочками. Где каждый изо всех сил вьëт себе своë гнëздышко. Кардинально разные и до смешного похожие.

Раз пошёл такой мотив, приглашаю вас на азерчай с бутербродами, обсудим прошедший день. Есть пачка чая и целая коробка сахара, вечер будет длинным. Можете остаться, я постелю на диване и ляжем спать.

И всë у нас с вами будет хорошо.

[storja-historja]

дай нам остаться здесь, дай нам остаться здесь.

[blonndiec]

Yuuri Katsuki once believed gold was a finish line...

Yuuri thought moving to Russia would feel like the next chapter. Like skating into a warm-down routine after the final spin. Instead, it felt like standing on the edge of a frozen lake and realizing...he didn’t know how thick the ice was. St. Petersburg was beautiful. Beautiful and brutal. The cold clawed through the seams of his coat. Strangers stared. He missed conbini coffee. Missed vending machines. Missed understanding signs without squinting.

Viktor said he could teach him Russian. “Start with the important words,” Yuuri said. So Viktor taught him любовь, then здесь, then остаться. Love. Here. Stay. Yuuri didn’t say them out loud. He just nodded. Mila showed him how to haggle for apples at the market. Yakov yelled at him less than expected. The rink smelled like metal and ice—different than Detroit’s sterility, different than Hasetsu’s warmth. But it was a rink. He could work with that.

Viktor’s apartment had high ceilings and cold floors. Too many mirrors. Not enough ramen bowls. Yuuri unpacked slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was staying or just if this was real life now. He forgot how to move with Viktor. He knew how to be his student. His competitor. His fantasy. Now he was brushing his teeth beside him, buying milk, folding socks. It felt more intimate than kissing. And when Viktor returned to the ice... Yuuri didn’t know how to watch him. As a coach? Or as a lover? Or maybe as the boy who once idolized him? He just watched. And felt like he was bleeding in reverse.

They trained at different times. Yuuri liked the silence. Viktor liked the music. Yuuri didn’t say he felt small next to Viktor’s effortless charisma or how much he missed being the only one Viktor skated for. They fought. Over nothing, at first: A forgotten lunch. A bad practice. A towel left on the floor. Then over something stupid Yuuri said, “Maybe you don’t need me here.” Viktor flinched. Didn’t answer.

Phichit called. Yuuri cried into his phone and Phichit said, “This isn't a 'lovers to enemies' trope. You just moved in together, it's a big change.” Then, they talked about Detroit and that time when attempted to make a pizza, almost blasting their apartment when they forgot about the oven. Now, they laughed about it.

The next week with Yakov's blessing, Yuuri started skating before sunrise. Alone. He built a routine from scratch. Raw. Stripped of flourish. Just breath and blades and fear. He didn’t show Viktor. Not yet. This was his. They apologized. In gestures. In silence. In holding hands under the table at dinner. “I want you here,” Viktor finally said. Yuuri answered, “And I want to stay.”

Yuuri learned how to curse in Russian from Yurio. He used it once when the toaster exploded. Viktor nearly fell off the couch laughing.

They started using Japanese at home. Viktor mispronounced everything with dramatic flair. But when he said okaeri, something knotted in Yuuri’s chest came loose. Yuuri finally showed Viktor the routine. No music. Just movement. Viktor watched, silent, glassy-eyed. When Yuuri finished, Viktor whispered, “That’s the most honest thing I’ve ever seen.” It didn’t get easier overnight. Some days Yuuri still felt like a guest. Some nights Viktor curled around him like he was afraid Yuuri might disappear. But there was laughter again. And practice. And tomorrows. Hasetsu was his family. Detroit was memory. St. Petersburg was still strange. But it was where his skates lived now. And his toothbrush. And Viktor. And if Viktor was here, then it was home.

Yuuri Katsuki once believed gold was a finish line.

Now he understood... there was no final pose. No standing ovation. This wasn’t the end. Because their love had no end. One night, curled up on the couch, Yuuri asked, “What now?” Viktor smiled. “Now?” He reached to take Yuuri's hand into his. “Next level.”

[heghogsblog]

люди боятся остаться без денег

больше чем умереть

*великий философ - ёжик