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filling out a “get to know you form” for my new job and they asked me what my favorite hobbies are and what my favorite vacation spot is.



why don’t you let ME know what my hobbies are 🤔😆🥰
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Hi! Could you do something with the primary “bad guys” Dyatlov, Bryukhanov and Fomin x reader? Not really going for anything specific, could be headcanons for each of them seperately or something with all of them (and the reader) together 😳 Either way, thank you!
The Monster Has Three Heads
Pairings: Viktor Bryukhanov x Reader, Nikolai Fomin x Reader, Anatoly Dyatlov x Reader
Tags: p in a, cunnilingus, foursome (?), voyeurism, degradation, praise, abuse of power 😽
a/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH RAAAAAHHHH THANK YOU ANON!!!!! I LOVE THESE OLD MEN SOOOO MUCH UGGGHHH 😩😩😩
during my research for this piece, i had discovered that the REAL nikolai fomin is still alive!!!!! mashallah hizar mashallah to that man, may he live forever so that i can meet him in person 😙😙😙 we need more soviet fics in general.....valery khodemchuk is a man that we would go to WAR for, a man that we write EPICS for. this was my first time writing something like this...normally i never write smut but i was so down bad for these men omg. characters might be ooc but idc, in this story they ARE in character teehee :3 enjoy! i hope to hear from you lil freaks in my comments and inbox as always <3

You were the latest addition to the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant—and a force to be reckoned with.
When people first encountered you they were hypnotized, to put it mildly; your star-stunning looks were the least interesting thing about you.
Strangers and comrades alike can attest to the fact that you have an air of mystique and otherworldliness that imprints and lasts on everyone you pass by.
But your ability to bring intrigue isn’t why you were hired at Chernobyl. No, it was your uncharted intelligence and experience that they sought out. Experience and intellect, might I add, that’s difficult to find in the most seasoned veterans, let alone from someone decades younger. So naturally upon arriving at the first day of the job, the current engineers couldn’t help but gawk.
Deputy Chief Engineer Anatoly Dyatlov was tasked with providing a tour of the facility and get you acclimated to your work environment at Reactor 4—a task that he felt was extremely below his pay grade and insulting to his status. He was all tight-lips and locked-jaw upon first meeting you—but there was something about you, something that piqued Dyatlov to take a closer look.
While Dyatlov planned for the tour to be as crude as possible, your knowledge of the history and inner workings of the power plant had brought forth a refreshing wave in Dyatlov and his own love for nuclear power. There was nuance in your questions, there was empathy in your statements.
The tour concluded with a meeting with all of your supervisors—Deputy Engineer Anatoly Dyatlov, Chief Engineer Nikolai Fomin, and the man who runs the show, Director Viktor Bryukhanov.
Despite being your direct supervisor, Dyatlov was seated next to you while you two looked across the table to Bryukhanov and Fomin. A clear power display.
Sitting in the small director's office, the tension was palpable.
“Welcome to the team, Y/N. Your references and our own higher-ups speak nothing but excellence from you.” Director Bryukhanov began. He leaned forward with his hands intertwined over the wooden table while keeping his warm eyes trained on yours.
“Yes, we are very pleased to meet your acquaintance.” Spoke the sycophant Fomin. He pressed his glasses further up his nose as his eye contact with you was darting at best.
By your side came a scoff poorly covered in a cough. “Of course, we are so very pleased.” Deputy Dyatlov reiterated. When you turned to look at him, he met your gaze with unadulterated arrogance. Dyatlov was leaning back in his chair, head slightly tilted as if to challenge you to contest him.
You were staring into the jaws of the monster by being in this room, yet it was the most thrill you’ve felt in so long.
Now this was a challenge worth fighting: to seduce the three-headed monster.
It was relatively easy to fit in with your new coworkers—as it always is—due to your impeccable experience, skills, and charm, but you had your eyes on the biggest prize.
Compared to Leonid or Aleks who were constantly critiqued by a scowling Dyatlov, the most you got was a cursory glance at your work before he walked off to haunt another poor soul. No bite, no bark.
Bryukhanov on the other hand, made it a habit to extend a warm smile and greeting whenever he saw you in the halls, before turning back to his stone exterior once out of your eyeline.
Fomin, for the position he held, was seldom seen in the building. Only a handful of times had you actually seen him, and that's on his impromptu stress-cigarette breaks outside the administrative office. In those moments where Fomin held a cigarette to his lips, his eyes were drawn, head held up—unfamiliar from his usual meek appearance—and he kept that gaze on you.
Several weeks had gone by since your hiring, and to say that your supervisors have been pleased would be an understatement. You were outperforming and outranking even the most experienced operators on your team, yet you remained humble and always was the first one to lend a hand.
So when you were called into Bryukhanov’s office, you had expected some sort of applause. Well, you surely had an audience.
Upon entering, you noticed your three direct supervisors standing and huddled together by the main desk.
Director Bryukhanov lifted his head and an immediate smile overtook his dark features.
“Y/N, please sit down.” Bryukhanov placed a warm hand on the small of your back as he guided you to the seat in front of his desk. While you were seated on the chair, Bryukhanov found a seat on the corner of his desk table, looking down at you while you had to lift your eyes to meet his. Looking up at him from this angle, a foxy glint could be recognized in his eyes.
“Y/N, you have truly excelled in the short time that you have come to work at Chernobyl, and for that we offer you the highest praise.”
“Thank you, Director.” You responded, with a proud smile.
“No need for thanks.” Byukhanov countered, reaching over and patting your thigh. “Your work deserves recognition.” His hand massaged the fatty part of your thigh while inching higher and higher. Your breath caught in your throat, you were finally getting what you wanted.
A single glance between you and Viktor was all that was needed. You felt a pair of lips attach themselves onto your neck from behind you, while hands roamed up and down your torso and your breasts. You leaned back, your body separated from Dyatlov's only by the chair.
Viktor's hand skillfully moved up your legs until his hand met your mound. He pressed his palm up against you, rubbing his palm up and down your clothed crotch.
Out of the corner of your eye you saw Nikolai seated in the opposite corner of the room, leaning back in his chair while palming his growing hard-on with one hand and puffing on a cigarette in another.
Viktor kept his eyes locked onto yours as he lowered his body down from the desk and kneeled between your legs. With his warm hands, he peeled off your tights from your waist and off your legs. In between pressing sweet kisses from your thigh and towards your center, Viktor licked stripes on your skin and you shuddered in anticipation.
Behind you, Anatoly pulled and tugged at your clothed breasts before he undid the layers of clothing keeping him from your skin. Unlike Viktor’s skillful and delicate touch, Anatoly ripped off your white coat and your subsequent top and bra before he took your breasts in his hand.
“What a dirty girl, to be dominated and used by three men.” Anatoly’s thick Russian accent clouded your own thoughts. Without a warning, Anatoly’s mouth and hands were removed from your body and startled you from your trance.
“Up.” Anatoly snapped, and your body complied before your brain could process his command. Unbuckling and lowering his pants, Anatoly replaced your seat and looked at you like a father about to punish his baby girl. He patted his lap and you faithfully straddled his lap, facing forward.
“Oh, you filthy girl, this is all you wanted all along?” Anatoly spoke as he rocked his hips back and forth, creating friction between his crotch and your ass.
In one ear, Anatoly filled your head with degrading affirmations; in the other, Viktor moaned in worship.
“You beautiful, beautiful girl.” Viktor praised while spreading your achingly wet lips apart. He caressed your bud with his thumb as if he was leafing through gold flickers. Your hips involuntarily bucked at the edging from both sides—from Anatoly’s torture and Viktor’s slow percision.
“Please-” You moaned, falling back further on Anatoly’s chest and spreading your legs wider apart.
“What do you want, baby?” Viktor asked, rubbing his free hand up and down your thigh.
You tilted your head and shot him a whiny look—a pout and downturned eyes.
“Do you want us to make you feel good, hmm?” Viktor pressed his thumb deeper and circled your clit. “Do you want to hear how well you’re doing?”
All you could muster was a meek nod—your ego and persona long forgotten.
“Of course she wants to hear that, the attention whore she is.” Anatoly remarked before roughly taking your chin in his hand and turning your face towards him. Before you could protest, his lips wrapped yours and damn-near swallowed all the air in your lungs.
“Our sweet baby,” Viktor cooed as he kept circling your clit while his mouth had finally kissed your pussy. “You’re so good for us, so good—ugh—” Viktor moaned at the taste of your juices and you squirmed at his sensual, slow licks.
Between Anatoly’s tongue down your throat and Viktor’s tongue in your pussy, Nikolai had long taken off his pants and was stroking his cock in time with the men’s movements on you.
“Shove it in her ass, Anatoly.” Nikolai demanded in between breaths, puffs of smoke escaping his nostrils.
“Yeah, you’d like that?” Anatoly shot back, a smug smirk plastered on his face as he took you by the hips and lined his cock right up to your anus.
Granted, for all of his brutality, Anatoly was still slow and aware as he brought you back down onto his shaft. It still hurt—very much so—and you still yelped and cried in pain, tears pricking your eyes and your muscles tensing, but contrary to his behavior, Anatoly brushed your cheek with his hand and kissed your neck.
“It’s ok, you can take this.” He whispered into your ear.
Viktor was face-deep into your legs when you had tensed all of your muscles, and thus trapping his tongue inside your walls.
“Mmm, deep breaths love.” Viktor reminded, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your thigh as his warm tongue slowed and flattened outside your walls, giving you a chance to acclimate.
Nikolai’s fisting of his cock had come to a slow. He tsked in annoyance.
“Did I say rock her to sleep? I said fuck her.”
Viktor and Anatoly shot a glance between each other before complying.
Despite your instinctual resistance, Viktor spread your legs apart with ease and kept them there as he went back to work on your pussy. Switching in between flat-tongued licks from front to back, and then diving sharp-tongued into your walls.
Your breathing was still shakey from the penetration, but your cries were more from pleasure than pain now. More torture than sex, you felt like a medical device to be proded and experimented with.
The humiliating gaze from Nikolai only added to the embarrasment and pain, yet it felt so liberating.
Anatoly began to rut his hips into your ass, causing sharp inhales and grunts from you.
None of this was pretty. Everything felt too rushed; yet all that mattered was that there was no control.
You had no autonomy. Your voice no longer mattered. You were given no thought, if any.
Despite the public display of humiliation and disgrace, you felt so free that you cried. The pain from the raw penetration; the suffocation from a life survived—not lived; all of the power-moves you had to make to end up here—all of that was worth it, for this moment of bliss.
To never think again. To never make another decision. To never move.
Finally, finally, all of that pent up internal agony could be transmuted into the physical, and thus forever leaving your body.
A final prod into your cervix from Viktor had brought your body into convulsion—mouth agape, but only a final sigh of air left your lungs. Eyes glossy as you lay limp in Anatoly’s arms.
Viktor peppered your inner thighs with kisses, moving up your stomach, in between your breasts, and up to your mouth—all the while singing your praises.
“My beautiful, beautiful girl. You did so well. You always do so well.”
After wiping the cum off his hands, Nikolai had come over and pet your cheeks with the back of his hand, placing a kiss to the center of your forehead.
“Yes, you are perfect. You are greater than perfection.” Nikolai whispered, as you were flowing in and out of sleep. Anatoly hummed in agreement, stroking your hair, all while still nestled deep in a hole that has bled to the point of ache, and ached to the point of numbed.
Perfection, control, and power—those are the three heads of this monster.
Liberation, unity, and humility—those are our saviors.
a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)
DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions!!! comments are what keep writers going <3
feel free to check my pinned post for request rules and don't hesitate to drop in whatever chernobyl requests y'all have (hbo series or movie version both welcome 😎)
#yns world#chernobyl#chernobyl hbo#hbo chernobyl#chernobyl x reader#chernobyl imagine#chernobyl fanfic#chernobyl series#viktor bryukhanov#viktor byukhanov x reader#viktor bryukhanov fanfic#anatoly dyatlov#anatoly dyatlov x reader#anatoly dyatlov fanfic#nikolai fomin#nikolai fomin x reader#nikolai fomin fanfic#soviet union#soviet union x reader
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this photo literally changed my entire brain chemistry.
NEED HIM SO BAAADDD OMGGG BARK BARK WOOF WOOF 🐶🐶🐶🐕🐕🐕
we NEED more viktor bryukhanov fics. THERE ARE NONE TO BEGIN WITH!!! WE NEED THEM PERIOD.
we also need more soviet fics HELLLOOOOOOOO
valery khodemchuk....i got my eye on YOU 👁️ next

#yns world#chernobyl#chernobyl hbo#chernobyl x reader#chernobyl imagine#hbo chernobyl#viktor bryukhanov#viktor byukhanov x reader#valery khodemchuk#valery khodemchuk x reader#soviet union#soviet union x reader#x reader for LIFFEEEE
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WHAAAAATTTTT THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL HELLLOOOOO
ugh this makes me feel Many Things. it makes me nostalgic for a video game i played when i was younger.
stunning op, keep making more art!!!!!!
Illustration

#art#artists on tumblr#forest#illustration#digital art#digital illustration#digital drawing#digital painting#I LOOOOVVVEEEE OUR ARTISTS
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OMGGGG FINALLY FOR THE FIRST TIME I HAVE SEEN THOSE CHERNOBYL TWITTER-BASED MEMES YES GAWDDD

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Can u please do a vasily ignatenko x reader it doesn't have to be anything specific please
Time Jump - Vasily Ignatenko x Reader
a/n: time travel fic with vasily 😼😽 you gave me free reign and i went straight off the dome, thank you anon for being the fire under my ass to get this done <3 you came right at the most PERFECT time since i had just finished watching Chernobyl Abyss and i've been thinking about my favoriteeeee era and my favorite boys 💞🩷
(WATCH THAT MOVIE!!!! ITS SO GOOD!!!! I CRIED SEVERAL TIMES AND THE RUSH OF FEAR WAS SOOOOO TASTY AND CATHARTIC 😩😩😩)
vasily is multilangual for the sake of this fic, why of COURSE he has a c2 fluency of english!!! why wouldn’t he, silly!!!!
also, i don’t believe in disclosing the magic of a plot in an author’s note. whatever magic you come across in fiction, you take it with stride and enjoy the ride. what is the point of reading literature if all of the nuances and twists and surprises were revealed in a paragraph at the top of the page?
as always, enjoy the fic and i hope to release more work soon <3
Dropping your bags onto the bedroom floor, you shut the door and before you could even collapse onto your bed, your face crumbled in utter despair as burning tears streaked down your face.
Your chest was constantly aching and felt as though it would cave in any minute now; your jaw, face, neck, hands, and arms all broke out in itchy, searing hives; your injuries took so long to heal, if they ever did.
You felt—no, you knew—that you were on the familiar path of self-annihiliation.
Everyone tells you to stop surmounting the pressure onto yourself, to get out of your head, to relax.
How can you?
With no family to rely on, with no back-up plan, and only having a shitty-ass job that takes hours to commute to and from, the stress was a promise.
How easy it must be to only do school while living under someone else's roof, eating someone else’s food.
How privileged you must be to take up a career-advancing, unpaid internship.
People your age don’t know—will never know—the tragedy of your life.
Yet you still go to bed and pray. Pray for change. Beg with the universe for a way out. Plead as if your life depends on it, because unfortunantely, now it hangs in the very balance of whether your body will be able to live another day under an unimaginable and abhorrent amount of pressure.
You’ve cried more in the past 4 hours—from the end of your shift, on your way back, and eventually on your bed—that there was no appetite left. All of your exhaustion left with your own tears.
So, as you fell into a dreamless coma, still in your work clothes and on top of the covers of your bed, the universe had decided for a change.
April 12th, 1986
The sun shined down on the city of Chernobyl, rewarding all those who came out to play and revel in the spring air.
Vasily and his group of colleagues and friends from his brigade had no other plans but to spend one of their few days off out in society.
In the midst of a jovial argument between his friends, Vasily looked out to the visage around him—trees blossoming with new flowers, bright-colored dresses and clothes of people thawing from a harsh winter, children weaving between people—a soft smile curved his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd around him, until they locked onto one individual.
When you opened your eyes next, they still held the bitter reminder of a weary day past, your body still held onto a dull ache in your chest but your amazement and confusion easily overpowered any such feeling.
You weren’t atop your bed, and neither were you in the work clothes you had on last—no, here you stood in the square that gave the appearance of a vintage film.
You picked at the choice garments on your figure—a floral-print dress that flew with the passing breeze. Your eyes studied the area and inhabitants—no one seemed to notice you, or bring attention to the fact that you felt like you stood out like a black sheep—that’s the thing, you didn’t stand out in an uncomfortable way. You were easily just another one of the citizens of this town.
As your eyes began to adjust to your surroundings, nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were about to lay your eyes on—
A fully functioning, mighty, and majestic power plant. The infamous red-and-white tower standing tall and proud, nothing covered by any containment facility and no wave of panic or terror injected in the individuals around you.
Chernobyl, pre-explosion. You deducted.
Upon this realization, your soul felt an unfathomable lightness carry it out of a pre-mature grave. Your face broke out into a smile as you kept drinking in the sights around you—the new, not yet historic, apartment buildings; lively statues that have been untouched by age and abandonment; most of all, the bright people that filled the streets and spaces.
As you turned to absorb more than the eye can drink in, you felt a tug in a different direction. Among the kinetic space, you locked eyes with a man who was at the heart of his own world.
Both of you stood unmoving, meters away from the other, oblivious to the rest of the world around you.
Recognition and tranquility were the first emotions to pass through you—recognition of peace; recognition of a life once lived; and of a life that now lives in front of you, in the here and the now.
The man disembarks from his group of friends and begins to approach you, while you—in all of your foolish yet innocent curiousity—begin to approach him, too.
Meters shortned to feet. Standing in front of each other, you two stood in absolute awe of each other. His deep brown eyes crinkled in warmth and perception.
“Ваши глаза видели жизнь, которая нам не свойственна.” His voice was an immediate salve onto your soul—soft, yet sturdy.
You smiled and offered a light shake of your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Ah,” the man understood. “I meant to say that your eyes hold a life that is not known by us. I’m Vasily.” Vasily’s English was coated by his Russian accent, further enchanting you. His penchant for lyrical poetry and his gaze that penetrated and lodged itself into the depth of your soul gave rise to a pink dusting across your cheeks.
“Y/N.”
“I’ve never met a Y/N before, you really must’nt be from here.”
“No, I…” You stopped mid-way, glancing back around you, unsure of what response to give him.
How did you wind up here? Was this a hyper-realistic lucid dream? Was this a side effect to some medically-induced coma?
If so, you wouldn’t have the ability to be aware of the dream state. Even if you did come to that conclusion, the fabric of the dream would dissolve immediately upon that finding.
So why haven’t you woken up yet? Why is everything crystal-clear, from your sight, to your memory retention, to your hearing and movement?
“You’re right again, I am not from here.” You offered a sheepish smile in place of a logical response.
In 1986 Chernobyl, you don’t find many foreigners in a place so highly-regarded and safe-kept as this. Yet no one blinked an eye, regardless of how close they got to you.
No one, except Vasily.
“How much time do you have?”
You were stunned upon hearing his question, whipping your head back to face him once more.
Witnessing your slacked-jaw and incomprehension, Vasily reworded his question, still maintaining an ever-calm, ever-present, ever-smooth voice.
“How much time do I have?”
Oh. How does he know?
Unable to disguise the confusion on your face, it confirmed what Vasily already knew.
Without warning, Vasily took you by the hand and pulled you across the square—blantantly ignoring the calls of his friends—and walking all the way back to his dorm.
With the door gently shut behind him, Vasily turned to look back at you. The afternoon light illuminating your figure behind you, the soft breeze blowing through the cracked window and brushing against your dress; the setting sun offering its rays as your own striking halo around your head—did the universe have to send such a beautiful messenger?
“Do you know why I’m here?” You questioned, eyebrows pulled into a tight furrow at the thought of heartbreaking possibilities.
Vasily sat at the small kitchen table, beckoning you to follow suite.
“Путешественник по жизни, life traveler, or in your case, 'time traveler.'”
If it weren’t for the precarious situation, you wouldn’t have followed a stranger into his home like this—much less a man in a different country, in a different era, in a different life.
But it adds up. No one you know in your life has the funds, the means, or the intention to torture you with such an elaborate prank like this. No one would be able to fake the face, body, or voice of a man that you had become so entranced with.
Vasily took your hand in his once more, the warmth of his palm spilling over onto yours. You felt your heart slow and then sink. Your breath, which was shallow on the way here, had now stopped.
“What are you saying?”
“In order to travel to a certain point in time, that ‘point’ must be of importance, something significant enough for the mind, body, and spirit to understand and achieve. Nothing is more set-in-stone than a tragedy.”
Despite the assuredness in Vasily’s voice, all you could tumble out of your mouth as astounishment.
“So, you—you know…?”
“My guess?” Vasily peels his eyes from yours to glance at the power plant in the distance. A symbol of Soviet power, the heart and pride of the Soviet Union. And yet.
When Vasily turns back to you, he leans in close and lowers his voice to a whisper, although you two were utterly alone.
“A ticking time-bomb.” Vasily’s eyes twinkled with insight and wisdom that you had never seen before, not in the elders or role models you had ever seen or met. But above all else, your heart panged of the inevitable future for the young man in front of you.
“You need to get out of here, now. You are not safe here.” You attempted to keep your voice as stable as Vasily’s, all in vain. Your voice quivered and your eyes vibrated in their sockets.
A bittersweet smile formed on Vasily’s face as he squeezed your hands in his.
“Where would I go? How will they let me leave? I don’t know which era you exactly come from, but I do not have the same grace to leave.”
Then it all clicked.
Vasily and the rest of the Chernobyl citizens were as doomed in this life as you were in your own.
When will this cycle end? Why must humanity be entrenched in suffering? Why must all of our lives equal the sum of the obstacles that we have defeated, until finally, an obstacle defeats us?
Once again, that familiar sense of doom found itself back in your chest—tightening, squeezing, and aching. Tears pricked at your eyes and your cheeks began to flush with the rising heat in your face.
“I’m always trapped. I’m always trapped.” You repeated, your voice caught in the thickness of your throat, your eyes tightening and frantically shooting around.
“Hey—shh, shh, спокойный, спокойный.” Vasily rose from his seat to kneel by your side. He took you into his arms, a firm yet sincere hold. The warmth from his chest and heart radiated into your body. You leaned your head against his broad chest and silently wept. With one hand, Vasily pet your hair and placed a sweet kiss to your temple, leaving his lips there for several moments.
“We met for a reason, my sweet dove. We shall meet again soon.”
a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)
DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions!!! comments are what keep writers going <3
feel free to check my pinned post for request rules and don't hesitate to drop in whatever chernobyl requests y'all have (hbo series or movie version both welcome 😎)
#yns world#chernobyl#chernobyl hbo#hbo chernobyl#chernobyl imagine#chernobyl x reader#chernobyl fanfic#chernobyl 1986#vasily ignatenko#vasily ignatenko x reader#vasily ignatenko imagine#chernobyl request
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YES!!!!!! FINALLY SOMEONE SEES THE VISION!!!
they are my FAVORITEEEEE couple omg. veronica and reggie all the WAAAYYYY
ugh a season is ALWAYS good whenever those two are in cahoots
i love whenever reggie and veronica team up and work together. the speakeasy, pearls and posh... that's hiram's daughter and his pseudo-son
#this original post being posted at 3:33 is the final nail in this angelic coffin#riverdale#veronica x reggie#veggie :P
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back to my home, chernobyl, and i recently watched chernobyl abyss/chernobyl 1986. god, what a stunning movie. absolutely delicious.
and as small as the chernobyl fandom is (both in the hbo sense and hyperfixation-on-the-real-event sense), the people who seemed to watch chernobyl 1986 ARE EVEN LESS?/?/$:8:!
alexei…..valera……my babies 😭🙏
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LOVE THESE TWO DOOOOWWWNNNN

#sapphic saturday#sapphic#lesbian#riverdale#cheryl blossom#veronica lodge#veronica lodge x cheryl blossom#I LOOOOVVVEEE LESBIANS#LETS GO LESBIANS#veronica and cheryl and i are all in one big lesbian relationship
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rewatching boardwalk empire from season 1 episode 1 and omg…..jimmy darmody is so fucking young my poor baby 😭😭😭
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MEEEEEEE I NEED HIM
i need to kiss his face so bad bro not even kidding
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Chernobyl Masterlist
Headcanons
Types of Lovers
in this imagine, there is...
valery legasov
boris shcherbina
anatoly dyatlov
aleksandr akimov
leonid toptunov
boris stolyarchuk
vasily ignatenko
Solo Imagines
Vasily Ignatenko 🧑🚒
Time Jump
Oneshots
The Monster Has Three Heads
in this imagine, there is...
viktor bryukhanov
nikolai fomin
anatoly dyatlov
#yns world#chernobyl#chernobyl hbo#hbo chernobyl#chernobyl fics#chernobyl x reader#chernobyl imagine#valery legasov imagines#valery legasov x reader#boris shcherbina#boris shcherbina x reader#anatoly dyatlov#anatoly dyatlov x reader#aleksandr akimov#aleksandr akimov x reader#leonid toptunov#leonid toptunov x reader#boris stolyarchuk#boris stolyarchuk x reader#vasily ignatenko#vasily ignatenko x reader#chernobyl fanfic#viktor bryukhanov#viktor byukhanov x reader#nikolai fomin#nikolai fomin x reader
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Chernobyl Men and What Kind of Lovers They Are
Pairings: Valery Legasov x Reader, Boris Shcherbina x Reader, Anatoly Dyatlov x Reader, Aleksandr Akimov x Reader, Leonid Toptunov x Reader, Boris Stolyarchuk x Reader, Vasily Ignatenko x Reader
Warnings: none
a/n: this is based entirely on HBO’s Chernobyl and purely fictional.
requests are open for chernobyl 😼
Valery Legasov:
Valery is a slow lover.
Valery is an older man who has grown used to his own solitude. A majority of his life has been spent on his academics and work, he didn’t have neither the time nor the reason to invest in a relationship.
His whole life had been rushed past in a flurry, and it wasn’t until he had met you that he finally felt the desire to want to savor each second.
On the occasional day off, expect at least an extra hour in bed spent lounging across each other’s bodies, head to chest, nose to neck; coffee and tea brewing whilst birds proceed their own morning rituals; and if the weather permits, strolls through nature as you two fill the space between you with words.
Boris Shcherbina:
Boris is a classic lover.
Steeped in Soviet tradition and prestige, this man will bring you the moon and stars as he courts you
The money, gifts, jewelry, are a bare minimum to him. Over time as the two of you get closer, Boris will come to appreciate the things that neither power nor money can acquire: the preciousness of emotion; the treasure of connection.
He’s a very stubborn man, but he gives you more of a leeway and will stop himself short and satisfy you. This man can never stand in a serious argument with you, it’ll always go your way, much to his detest sometimes.
Anatoly Dyatlov:
Anatoly is the all-around Soviet man, and that applies to his love life.
Strict, rigid, and stubborn--but loyal. Once Dyatlov makes up his mind, that’s it.
While you and Anatoly butt heads every now and again, that man will lay his life for you--that much has been promised from the day you two had begun your relationship.
His attitude and personality around you is gentler and calmer; his eyebrows won’t be so dug in all the time lol
At work, his mind often wanders to thoughts of you and he scribbles down those thoughts and ideas in the margins of his books.
He’ll pick up small habits from you here and there--smoke cigarettes less often, substitute a cup of coffee for water, etc--and he tells you that he does this because its “easier to appease you” or something along those lines, but it’s really because he’s finally seeing himself through your eyes; with that same gentleness and warmth that you offer him.
Aleksandr Akimov:
Aleks is the college boyfriend-turned-serious.
Akimov was always serious about you--seriously head-over-heels--whereas it took you some time to actually learn of the depth of your feelings for him.
Not to say that you were cruel or that you led him on, no, just that you didn’t know if this relationship would pan out after the two of you graduated.
Akimov is a hearty boy full of passion--a great academician and a great lover, you are never left unsatisfied.
It’s all smiles and giggles for the both of you as you two were constantly in your honey-moon high.
When you two aren’t together, he’s nose in his books as swears he’ll put you in the best high-rise that money can buy once you two graduate.
Both of you are two of the best students at your institution, and both of you keep trying to tell the other to relax before your brains explode but to no avail. Now you just spend some extra time studying together.
Leonid Toptunov:
Leonid offers an innocent school love.
You guys had gone to the same school since you were young children, all the way through high school.
You and Leonid had always been each other’s closest friends for as long as anyone could remember.
There was always love between you--a light, spring childhood love taking it’s time to blossom.
By the time you were both in high school, Leonid was crushed by the suffocating weight of his own feelings.
You and everyone else in town were painfully aware of this, and you had wanted to relieve him of his pain but no, he wanted to do things the right way.
One warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, Leonid took you on a picnic and handed you a paper with a simple yet truth-bearing message.
With tears welling in his eyes--both from the grueling wait, and also at the physical manifestation of his love for you--you took him into your arms and squeezed all the doubt out of his body.
I love you.
Boris Stolyarchuk:
Contrary to the previous boys, Boris was an academic rival turned colleague.
Constantly pushing each other to the edge, every class session sparked in heated debate--at first it was about the topics, but then it was just competition to see who could think quicker on their feet, who was able to jump around and overpower the other. There was no better high.
You two were always vying for the number one spot at the university that at graduation, the school had no choice but to name you both valedictorians.
Quickly following graduation, you both were hired to work at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, ironically in the same unit and in the same control room.
It took some time getting used to, but you were finally able not to constantly spar with each other (Dyatlov had to get this point across through multiple meetings)
When you two finally started to work together, a new layer broke through. A camaraderie, a respect, and mutual attraction.
For all the hell you put each other through, you two were also unbelievable as a duo. The competitiveness doesn’t go away altogether, but there is also a deep fondness and understanding of each other. No one can fully understand the depth of your intelligence, your wittiness, or comprehend the evolution both you and your mind had gone on--no one, other than Boris. And the same applies the other way. No one is as adept as you are with him.
Vasily Ignatenko:
Vasily is the cheeky boy who gets on your nerves.
He makes it his personal mission to set off each and every last one of your nerves, he thrives off seeing your blood boil.
You can’t stand him, but you don’t notice how you’re his only victim.
Eventually his teasing will give way to light-hearted jokes that give way to sincere compliments.
Vasily will keep his humor and his jestering throughout the relationship, for better or worse.
Beyond that joking exterior, Vasily is very observant of both the environment around him and of you as well. He memorizes everything about you, from the minute details to everything in between.
a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)
DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3
#yns world#chernobyl#chernobyl hbo#chernobyl imagine#chernobyl x reader#chernobyl fics#hbo chernobyl#valery legasov imagines#valery legasov x reader#jared harris#jared harris x reader#boris shcherbina#boris shcherbina x reader#anatoly dyatlov#anatoly dyatlov x reader#aleksandr akimov#aleksandr akimov x reader#leonid toptunov#leonid toptunov x reader#boris stolyarchuk#boris stolyarchuk x reader#vasily ignatenko#vasily ignatenko x reader#jared harris imagine#stellan skarsgard#stellan skarsgard x reader#adam nagaitis#adam nagaitis x reader
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WOOOOOOOAAAAHHHHHH I LOVE THIS OP YOU ARE SO COOL FOR THIS!!!!!!!!
this would make for such a good fic…..
Idol!Y/N au
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I am begging you for a historical courting headcanons of the Terror mains. On my knees. Please.
The Terror Historical Courting Headcanons
Pairings: Francis Crozier x Reader, John Franklin x Reader, James Fitzjames x Reader, Henry Goodsir x Reader
Warnings: i'm sorry johnny boy 💔💔💔
a/n: gender neutral reader!!! some non-canon variation to the history, reader is established as a member of the upper class and able to mingle among these fine, high society gentlemen :)
i tried to be somewhat historically accurate given each character’s background and personality. enjoy and pls support your writers :)
Francis Crozier:
This is an Irish man who had to fight his way into society. Even with all his medals and accolades, he’s still discriminated against and looked down upon by the rest of English society.
Alas, the cruelties enacted upon him have grafted a deep, empathetic, and gentle soul. Every insult, every dig to his character, to his morals, to his upbringing had only brought him the confirmation that he was somebody; a threat to a prejudiced society, but a beacon of light for those to come after him.
Social gatherings were never his calling--it was less about the mockery, and more of the futile flaunting done by both the men and women of high society; futile flaunting to try and feed their barren souls.
No, Francis was not a social man. But he was patient; patient and steadfast.
Having spent his prime on the seas, Francis was not well-versed in the art of romance or courting compared to his counterparts, but he harbored what they sorely lacked: an honest heart.
You and Francis first meet when your parents were hurriedly attempting to marry you off--it didn’t look good that it’s been this long without a single proposal. What your parents refused to acknowledge was the utter lack of sincerity within all of the candidates that appeared at your front door.
Neither upper echelon politicians with centuries of legacy nor counterfeit war veterans were able to cross your manor’s threshold twice.
Francis, though, was a different story.
He had come into your home carrying nothing save for a novel and an empty journal.
Believing that your parents had finally lost their minds, you wanted to be done with this meeting and storm back into your chambers, but his demeanor was what disarmed you.
The first thing you noticed about him was his age of course, but that realization gave way to his wisdom--wisdom that wasn’t used as a weapon to force you into submission, but rather fodder for the mind. Wisdom that called for soft-spoken debate.
Francis introduced you to one of his favorite novels--one of many--and offered you the empty journal.
“To note your thoughts, feelings, reactions. All good analysis comes from those basics.” Francis had told you.
Part of that social call was spent with you slowly flipping through the pages, eyes soaking up whatever ink was left after the many years of use this book has experienced; the other part spent out in the gardens, silently observing nature’s drama unfold before you.
Francis was peculiar, to say the least…but he was an original. Independent yet reserved. Years of rough sea hadn’t cut into him like stone, but carved him like marble.
He came by your manor the following week, this time toting another novel and more inquiries.
“What do your eyes see?” Francis questioned, following that question with a smile: “Now what does your mind tell you you saw?”
A friendship between you two blossomed in step with the tulips of spring. The harsh winter surrounding both of you was melting with every thought shared.
Although steady with his consistent courting that would span over weeks, Francis knew immediately within the first call that you were the one. It was you, that he knew with no doubt in his mind.
Those qualities carry into your marriage with him--reliable, wise, and loving. And his love wasn’t exclusive to just you, no, his love was pulpable to the world around him. Especially the world. There was no place for contempt in a man like Francis; no room for the arbitrary sins of humanity that plague the rest of us.
John Franklin:
Sir John Franklin is a political man--fame and fortune have been following him for longer than you have been alive.
An egotistical man who wields religion as both his shield and weapon, John is no stranger to the ways of society. But given the fact that he had married twice, and both wives having departed, things were not looking good for him.
Unfortunately, no amount of power can fully control how people will see you, and how people see Sir John Franklin was crucial to his entire way of living.
First marrying a poet, then an explorer, he needed a change of pace.
You and John would first meet across a table in front of the Admiralty--you being sent there as a liaison to figure out the numbers it would take from the Crown to fund yet another one of Sir John Franklin’s expeditions.
Initially, you two had butt heads. Him, with his religious spewing about “new-found land”; and you, with your utter contempt for people of his nature and ego.
Contrary to his silver spoon upbringing, you had to claw your way into your position, and even then, you were constantly being challenged.
You noticed the stares, you tallied the scores, and they were counted by men just like John. The meeting was doomed from the start.
John, although miffed that neither you nor the Crown are bending to his will and whim, enjoyed the pushback. Like I mentioned before, no one had really given John a run for his money before, especially not at his big age now.
Hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks of back and forth pestering about costs, fuel, and the necessity for such an expedition.
Every meeting ended the same--John with his lackeys standing their ground at one end of the table; you and your associates refusing to move an inch and storming out of the room. Clearly, this negotiation was going nowhere--exactly what the Crown wanted.
You see, you were sent in for one reason--to not budge. With every failed negotiation attempt, more money was being hemorrhaged from John’s pockets as he had to quarter and pay the fees for the “Royal Consulting” he was receiving.
Finally, John caught wind of this, and decided to concede. He agreed to privately fund the bulk of the expedition, under one condition.
On May 19th, 1845 the HMS Terror, HMS Erebus, and HMS Liberty set sail.
Captain Francis Crozier of The Terror, Captain James Fitzjames of Erebus, and Captain Y/N L/N of Liberty.
You were no marine, nor were you bred for Arctic exploration like the rest of these men, but alas, John Franklin flexed what power he had over you when he convinced the Crown to bring you onboard, despite your valid and loud protests.
Now you’re stuck at commander meetings seated next to John himself, going over charts and maps, hundreds of miles out in sea.
You do your job as newly-appointed captain, your ship would be no laughing stock to anybody, but you do so with malicious compliance.
The other captains pick up on the undercurrent of animosity between you and John but don’t know how to bring it up.
It is only when the ice pack turns dire and all hope of rescue has been destroyed that you two were able to put your political agendas aside.
Surprisingly, with your brain and respect among your crew, and his ability to rally a cause, you were able save at least some of these innocent men and bring them back home.
Malnourished, traumatized, and knocking on death’s door, you and John had formed a bond through your suffering that was inexplicable to anyone who hadn’t been through the great misfortune you have seen and experienced.
You and John had clearly lost a large piece of your humanity that is visible in a single look in your eyes. No medal, accolade, or promotion could provide a single ounce of solace--nothing but each other.
Soon after your return back to Great Britain, you both opted for quiet lives. A small wedding with few guests was held, and eventually you both went off the grid to live in the high mountains.
You both know that you weren’t supposed to survive that expedition, but whether it was by God’s graces or the devil’s work, you did. Every night, you both hold a death grip on each as you fall asleep--a habit you picked up from the cruel and merciless frozen land. Every night, you both die in your sleep and wake up waiting for your bodies to freeze over. They never do, and you force yourselves to trudge on.
James Fitzjames:
For too long you had been cooped up in your manor and your family had had ENOUGH. They practically threw you into whatever social call there was for the members of high English society.
From the very first call of the season, you were dressed to the nines and constantly badgered to mingle as much as possible, but it was nothing but hell.
The stiff collars, the aching shoes, the constant noise and the boasting of fake personalities. Unfortunately, the alcohol they served was nowhere near strong enough to numb anything.
To make matters worse, there was this idiotic baboon rambling on about all his war stories, just basking in all of the attention from desperate constituents.
You saw this imbecile everywhere, and every single time he was in his full get up--the Royal uniform with gold epaulettes, the freshly-shined points, and all adorned with a gleaming smile. Ugh. You didn’t bother hiding your irritation at the unfortunate luck to cross paths every time.
Despite the extreme opinions you had of these events and all of the posh attendants, you did your best to stay out of eyesight as much as possible. You thought you were doing a good job finding your little hide-and-seek spots.
It had been a few weeks into the social season and you were adept of your routine of scouting food, slipping away, and then riding the carriage home. That was it. That was every single event. Until a certain someone had finally spotted you.
Him.
James Fitzjames.
Why him?
As puzzled as you were to find James standing beside you behind the large bushes, away from the flock of potential suitors, James was just as perplexed as to why you were hiding.
“Quite the palace.” James sarcastically remarks, hands clasped behind his back as he makes a spectacle of craning his head back to gander around the aforementioned “palace.”
“You lost, soldier boy?” You retort.
James smirks at your response. “So you know who I am.”
“Get over yourself; half the world has probably grown sick of being constantly bombarded with your ‘war stories.’”
This was the start of the cat-and-mouse game between you and James--he had his eyes set on you from the first time you were begrudgingly dropped off to one of these events; you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t noticed him, too.
Most of the “courting” between the two of you is spent slipping away from everyone else just to pester each other out of eyesight. The jokes gave way to comfortable conversation, comfortable conversation gave way to soft gazes.
It was nearing the end of the social season of the year, and both you and James were getting antsy. James was telling you about a voyage that was suggested for him to take, but neither you nor him actually wanted to leave.
“How long will you be gone?” You asked.
“Three years, they say.” James' voice was low, heavy with his own disappointment.
Both of you couldn’t bear to look each other in the eye until finally you turned back to face him.
“What if you stay?”
James’ deep frown had slowly begun to melt into a smile.
Of course he’d stay.
Henry Goodsir:
The most normal of the bunch, as well as the most shy.
Henry had come from a long history of esteemed doctors, and this had given his family name some prestige to it. Although having that added cushion to his place in society, he was never one for the formal social calls or events where one would gather to peacock.
He had first learned of your name through his own family--as your two families were loosely connected by mutual friends.
Given the minimal information on who you were, Henry agreed to set up a call to come visit you at your manor.
Upon meeting, you quickly realize just how respectful and modest he is. Too respectful.
There were moments you were sure that he didn’t want to be here--that was false, of course, but the lack of eye contact and the distance between you made it seem that way.
The truth was that Henry wasn’t the type to openly express his feelings, regardless if they were swallowing him whole or not (which they certainly were when it came to you)
It took weeks of these calls until Henry began showing some warmth, but when he finally cracked, you were able to peek through the curtain and see a glimpse of the gentle soul you were dealing with.
He’s a quiet man, but deeply intuitive and understanding. There’s never any flash of judgement or rash thinking behind his eyes. There is nothing you could say that would put him off.
He loves listening to you talk, and would add some of his own thoughts and opinions every so often, but by god was that man devout.
Anyone with eyes could clearly see that he was just-near kissing the ground you walked on, but I guess being so close to the flame made you blind to it-- at least at first.
And like a flower, Henry finally began to blossom and started to be more forward, especially since you were receiving more and more proposals.
All of his gifts were deeply personal--flowers carved out of wood, charcoal portraits, watercolor landscapes--his love for you was an endless waterfall.
A genuine man makes for a genuine husband. You literally hit the jack-pot with Henry 🥰
a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)
DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3
#yns world#the terror#the terror amc#the terror x reader#the terror fanfic#the terror fanfiction#amc the terror#captain francis crozier imagine#captain francis crozier x reader#captain francis crozier#francis crozier#francis crozier imagine#francis crozier x reader#jared harris imagines#jared harris x reader#jared harris imagine#jared harris#captain james fitzjames#captain james fitzjames x reader#captain james fitzjames imagine#james fitzjames x reader#james fitzjames#james fitzjames imagine#tobias menzies#tobias menzies x reader#tobias menzies imagine#tobias menzies fanfic#sir john franklin#sir john franklin x reader#john franklin x reader
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BYE I LOVED THIS SCENE SO MUCH LMAOAOAOA I MISS WHEN THE TERROR HAD STUPID SHIT LIKE THIS <///3
You know it’s bad when someone closes the door to yell at you 😬
Bonus:
*Dundy listening through the door*

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