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aralisj · 5 years

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“I never stood a chance, did I?” + dimya 😏😏😏😏😏

"And then... He bowed," the words came out of Anya's mouth before she could think about them. Was it a vivid dream or just her imagination placing her in Dmitry's memory? It just seemed so real...

"I didn't tell you that!" Dmitry looked at her, astonished, from the other side of the room.

Then, was it real? "You didn't have to. I remember!" Anya shook her head; all it had taken was one shared memory from a sunny day forever ago and it was all coming back to her. The dances, the palaces, her sisters, the mischief, the banquets, her brother, the soldiers, the gunshots, her parents... There were tears in the corners of her eyes and she could hear her pulse in her ears.

Dmitry ran towards her and she hurried to meet him. His hands on her arms, his eyes on hers... In the middle of the vertigo of regaining her memories, he anchored her to the present.

"I knew I'd find you again," Dmitry said softly. Anya was shaking in his arms; he wanted to hold her together and protect her, protect her from the past, impossible as it was. The pupils of her eyes were blown, the Romanov blue just a halo surrounding them.

They both were inching closer to each other, trying to keep the darkness of not knowing what happened next at bay. Suddenly, Anya was hit with a memory, a more recent one, of them learning how to dance and the small silence that brought them together, gravitating towards each other, like they had finally fallen in orbit. It felt right, meant to be. His hands on her face, his eyes on her lips...

It happened all at once; he got so close his breath tickled her skin and then his lips brushed against hers.

Anya had spent so long caging the butterflies in her stomach but now they flew, all at once, to meet Dmitry's lips, they moved so light and tender. There was reverence in the way he kissed; 'Your Highness', he seemed to whisper as he parted, if only for a second, to catch his breath. He bent over to reach her, almost bowing his head in deference. He was kissing Anastasia, she realized. It upset her, somehow. Yes, she was Anastasia, she had her memories anyway, but the butterflies he had set free were all Anya's and they were hungry...She missed the thrill of being twirled in the air, recklessly.

Soon, Anya found herself grabbing Dmitry's shirt in her fists, pulling him towards her.

'Fight me, argue with me, just see me!' she wanted to scream. Instead, she kissed him harder, nibbled at his lips, and squeezed the muscle of his arms and neck. She wasn't some ghost, long forgotten; she could be touched and feel and love. 'I'm real, I've always been.'

Dmitry took half a step back in surprise, still holding her face. In that moment, he was reminded that Anya, his Anya, wasn't some helpless little bird that needed to be held with white gloves. She was fierce and strong and infuriating and the one he loved. So he grabbed her waist and pressed their bodies as close as they could possibly be, shivering when he heard her hum in approval. Her tongue met his, tentative then eager, and Dmitry couldn't help but smile against her lips.

Anya's hands were at his sides now, under his shirt, pulling him slightly towards the bed.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers. "Anya, are you sure?" he asked, breathing heavily.

"Yes," she nodded and smiled, trying to catch her breath too.

Time seemed to slow down as they stared into each other’s eyes, knowing well what happened next.

Anya helped Dmitry out of his shirt, blushing only a bit when he caught her staring as he removed his pants. He took her hand, kissed it and gently placed it over his heart. She had always suspected that she'd find softness behind his bravado but the gesture seemed so natural it still shocked her.

Dmitry then reached to unpin her hair. Anya giggled when he didn't succeed after two attempts so she turned around, with her back to him, to make it easier. Her hair fell on her face and Dmitry moved it out of the way, peppering kisses on the top of her head, her shoulders. His fingers playing with the straps of her nightgown and his breath on the back of her neck made her shiver in anticipation.

With a nudge of his fingers, the ivory silk pooled at her feet; Anya instinctively covered her chest and stomach, where she had her biggest scars... That is until she realized that the trail of kisses Dmitry was leaving on her neck and back wasn't at random: he was kissing every hole and cut the shrapnel had left behind.

She turned to face him and held him close as they kissed, inching blindly towards the bed, only laughing slightly as they landed ungracefully in a tangle of limbs. He kept kissing her still: her ankle, her calf, the bend of her knee, the inside of her thigh... She gasped. There was a devilish smile on his face as he climbed back up to kiss her lips, so smug it made Anya's blood boil. And so when he was finally in her hold she turned them over on the mattress. Dmitry wasn't exactly complaining when she straddled his hips and rocked forward to kiss him; his hands were possessive over her hips, his breath more and more erratic. She swallowed his moans and fed them to the butterflies he had woken up until they were satisfied...

"Can I tell you a secret?" Anya asked, looking down from his chest, where she had been laying down to catch her breath.

"Always," he replied, his hair was messy, a little bit sweaty and it fell over his eyes...

"I always dreamed that my first kiss would be in Paris, with a handsome prince," Anya said; she was now entertaining herself by drawing the outline of the muscles on Dmitry's stomach with her finger.

He squirmed and chuckled a bit. "Ah! I never stood a chance, did I?" Dmitry had that smart smile on his face but there was an uncertainty to the way he asked. Anya felt her stomach sink as she realized that even now, holding her in bed, his lips still bruised from kissing, he didn't think it would last.

"Dima," she snuggled up to kiss him, slow and with all her might. 'Please, believe this'. "It's you."

#i love these fools #she touches the ab that bit's especially for you lar #dimya #dimyaedit #dimya fanfiction #anastasia #anastasia fanfiction #anastasia the musical #anastasia musical #anastasia broadway #aralisj writes #christinealtomare

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truthofherdreams · 6 years

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soulmates playing the hot/cold game and they kEEP MISSING EACH OTHER

It’s warm in the palace.

Dmitry doesn’t think too much of it; he’s used to the biting winds of Russian winters, to the cold slipping under your clothes and into your bones. But fires are lit in every rooms of the palace, shadows dancing on the walls until everything looks like molten lava, and Dmitry’s cheeks redden a little. He rubs his fingers against his trousers, licks his lips. He wasn’t meant to be here tonight but Nikita, who works at the restaurant with him, got sick and begged him to replace him instead. It’s easy money. It’s the promise of one night not sleeping under a bridge.

He grabs a tray full of champagne cups and makes his way around the crowd of rich aristocrats. If his father could see him, dressed in a ridiculous suit, playing the help for the Tsar. But a job is a job, and Dmitry’s empty stomach wins over his political convictions. It’s been three entire days of starving himself. He would put his ideologies to the side for less, at this point.

A woman with a ermine scarf glares at him when he gives her a drink; a man bumps into him and Dmitry almost drops the entire tray; a child screams happily to his left. He feels dizzy, his fingers are tingling – it would be so easy, to snatch a watch, a ring, a bracelet. They wouldn’t notice. They probably wouldn’t even care, and he could live like a king for an entire week.

A girl brush against him, the skirt of her dress tangled in his legs, and his entire word turns to fire.

…

Anastasia startles. Looks away. Only the crowd of people, minding their own business, chatting, whispering, plotting. Nobody to look back at her with wide eyes, nobody to call after her, nobody at all. She ignores the disappointment falling like a brick in her stomach, when her heart had been in her throat only a second ago. She looks around her once more, just for a moment, just in case. But still nothing.

Tatiana must notice her crestfallen face, for she is next to her a heartbeat later, her cold fingers against Anastasia’s elbow. “What is it, Malenkaya?”

“I thought…” she starts, before choking on the words. She shakes her head. “My mind is playing tricks on me.”

She grabs a cup from a nearby waiter and downs it in two large gulp, much to her older sister’s disapproval. But Anastasia is nineteen now, old enough for champagne and wine, old enough to ignore Tatiana’s scolding – it looks too much like their mother’s, a fact that Tatiana uses to her advance more often than not.

When Anastasia turns around, it is to see Maria dancing around, changing partner every ten steps. She turns and dances and laughs, hand brushing against that of every suitor coming close to her. Anastasia knows her game – Maria’s way of assessing a crowd of would-be husbands, touching their hands and finding them cold. She is yet to find her soulmate, but it doesn’t stop her from looking – and from enjoying herself as she does so, if the way she moves into one Duke’s personal space is anything to go by. Maria doesn’t mind a bit of fun with other men until she finds the one. Anastasia envies her this carefree spirit.

There isn’t much Anastasia takes seriously in life, but that she does. It must be Olga’s romantic inclinations rubbing on her, or those novels she stole from Aunt Xena – the ones where warmth is not just something shared by soulmate, but also sets your body on fire for reasons that have Anastasia blushing like the innocent maiden she is.

“Nastya…” Tatiana tries again.

“I need some air,” she replies, hastily. “I will be in the garden, if anyone is looking for me.”

Tatiana offers her one last worrying glance as Anastasia grabs the pans of her skirts and walks toward the back of the ballroom. Thankfully for her, everyone else is too busy with the ball to stop her, and the guards know better than to try. The cold air against her cheeks when she steps outside is a relief. For a moment, she fancies herself walking around the park and make her way back to the Alexander Palace, but she knows her mother will be upset at her if she finds her way to her bed before the evening is over. So instead she walks toward the Greek Gallery, walks up the stairs to admire the ancient statues lining up inside.

Despite the moon hanging high in the sky and the soft wind, Anastasia isn’t cold. No shiver wrecks her body, no goosebump raises on her bare arms. It is, actually and surprisingly, quite warm for a spring night. Especially to Russian standards. It makes for a nice change, after the stuffiness of inside, bodies close to each other until you can barely move.

Anastasia moves around slowly, admiring the statues she’s known since she was a little girl. Maître Pierre would sometimes bring her here for a lesson, talking of tales older than life itself, of gods and sirens and centaurs. Those were her favourite lessons – myths are so much more interesting than French grammar, or stuffy, boring philosophers.

So lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice she is not alone, until she turns on her heels and lets out a yelp of surprise at the dark shadow in the corner. She presses a hand to her own heart with a heavy sigh when the man turns around, his face lit by the burning end of his cigarette, red shadows dancing mysteriously against his handsome features.

…

Dmitry startles at the unexpected scream.

He didn’t expect to be found here – ran off to take his one and only break the moment he could find an empty table where to put his tray. He knows he is a coward, running away. But what else is there to be done? The entire palace is full of members of the royal family, people who will never look twice at him – people who didn’t even notice he exists when he was walking around them and doing his job. What does he really would happen, once he finds his soulmate? That she will welcome him into her life with open arms, him the street rat, him the anarchist’s son?

No, Dmitry know better than to believe in fairy tales.

The Zorya are not looking over him from the stars.

So he didn’t expect to be found there, hiding from his soulmate; he didn’t expect to be found there, by Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova herself. She seems as surprised as he does, mouth slightly opened, delicate hand against her heart. Even now, with her parents dead and her brother made Tsar, she wears one of those white dresses the sisters are famous for. It falls all the way to the ground, and shows a tasteful amount of shoulder. Dmitry’s eyes linger, perhaps for too long, before he remembers his manners.

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he starts, and hopes it’s the right title. He has no idea. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She blinks at him, once, twice, before she shakes her head a little bit and schools her features into a less startled expression. An easy smile blossoms on her lips, beautiful yet unexpected. “Don’t worry. My fault entirely, I didn’t look where I was going, let alone if anyone else was around.” She looks back at the statues behind her. “Those ones make for good company, don’t you think?”

It takes a moment for Dmitry to understand she is making a joke – she is joking with a stranger, and smiling at him, on a secret garden in the middle of the night, away from a ball. Dmitry’s cheeks set themselves on fire, and he looks down at his shoes.

Perhaps it his mistake.

Because he does not see her taking a step toward him, and so does not immediately understand why the air is suddenly so much hotter than it was only second ago. He frowns, and looks up; the Grand Duchess has a puzzled look on her face as she looks back at him. She takes a small, tentative step forward, and Dmitry’s body is on fire. She steps back; he breathes again. She moves closer, and his blood turns to molten lava, slow yet burning under his sky as the warm spreads from his heart, down his limbs, down down until all he can feel is the warmth of her into his own soul.

She stops, moves back a tiny bit, the temperature lowering just so. Despite his muddles brain, his heart beating so fast in his throat he feels like throwing up, Dmitry is the one to finally close the distance between them. Heat is not something he particularly likes – his Russian bloods longs for the cold of winter, after all – but the scorching warmth of her soul meeting his is something else, entirely. Like going inside after a day in the snow, warm air biting at your cheeks even when your skin is so numb you can’t feel it anymore. Like the first sip of green tea, burning down your throat until it settles comfortably in your stomach. Like warming yourself in the biggest blanket you own, cocooned away from the outside word.

Like coming home.

She is so close, he can see the green around the blue of her eyes, the soft freckles on her nose. So close her breath fans on his mouth, so close he just has to move his hand the slightest bit to brush his fingers against the fabric of her dress. So close, he would only need to lean forward and–

“What’s your name?” she asks in a whisper, as if afraid to break this moment between them.

For a moment, Dmitry’s mind is empty of any thoughts – her voice is as soft and delicate as her body, and he forgets everything, even his own name, stammering on the sounds like a young boy enamoured for the first time. Which he might as well be, at this point.

“Dmitry Konstantinovich Sudayev,” he manages to say, after way too long.

…

Oh what would her poor mother say, if she were here today, if she knew Anastasia’s soulmate is nothing but a waiter, nothing but the help. Olga’s was a soldier, met during the Great War. Middle class, yet a hero of war. Tanya’s is a handsome Greek Archduke, a good title, good family, and above all good fortune.

Nastya’s is a poor waiter with hollowed cheeks and broad shoulders, with pride in the angle of his jaw and gentleness in his eyes. Nastya’s soulmate is a prince of the gutters, handsome and tall and, oh, the things her heart does. She steps closer to him, tilting her chin up so she can look him in the eyes. There is red high on his cheeks, and it makes him look younger – innocent, almost. Kind.

“Hello, Dima,” she whispers into the wind. Nothing but the night around them, nothing but the echoes of music from inside and the loud beating of her heart. “I’m Nastya, nice to meet you.”

Her hand rises to play with the ridiculous white bowtie around his neck. She understands Maria all of a sudden, when her brain pictures nothing but her fingers pulling at the tie until it comes undone, ripping the buttons of his shirt to leave his collarbones bare. She’s never experienced such things before – pure want, unadultered lust. Dmitry’s eyes seem darker, and she dares think he shares her thoughts.

When she finally pulls at the bowtie, it is to bring him down and crash her lips against him – there is nothing but warmth, and fire; an entire sun of their own, lightening then entire world, melting even the snows of Siberia. When she kisses him, it is hot and scorching and absolutely perfect, her body pressed into his, her hands in his hair. So she kisses him, and kisses him, and knows she will never be cold again.

#anotherdayblue #asks #dimya #dimya fanfiction #anastasia the musical #fanfic #ff: anastasia #playing fast and loose with the timeline here idc

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theskittlemuffin · 3 years

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A Very Dramatic Announcement by theskittlemuffin

Several months ago, an idea came into my mind. A ridiculous, entirely self-indulgent idea. An idea that would appeal to very, very few people besides myself.

That idea grew. And grew. And grew. It wouldn't leave. And now it has manifested itself as the first chapter of a fanfiction, with more to follow.

Some background: I fell in love with Anastasia the Musical a long time ago. I really love Dimitri and Anya's relationship in the musical. However, I was intrigued by Gleb's character and couldn't help wishing that he could have a happier ending. So, I decided to expand the storyline a bit.

Coming soon to an AO3 page near you: The Neva Flows, A New Wind Blows: the Gleb Vaganov x Original Character fic you never needed.

Glenya people, you'll get Gleb. Dimya people, you'll get some Dima and Anya content eventually. Angst, fluff, roommates, more angst, and hopefully an enjoyable fic experience. Coming soon.

Because isn't self-indulgence what fanfiction is all about?

Tl;dr: I wrote a Gleb x Original Character fic and crave validation.

#Gleb Vaganov #Anya Romanov #Fanfiction #Glenya #Dimya #Ramin Karimloo #Original characters #yep this happened

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purplerock11 · 3 years

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For the character asks: Anastasia!

ANYA!!! My Sassy Queen!

Favorite thing about them: She is so sassy!!! And doesn’t take anyone’s crap!!! Although she found her family, she went with her found family 🥺🥺

Least favorite thing about them: NOTHING! She’s prefect!

Favorite line: Fuck there’s so many!

Movie: “Men are such babies”

Musical: “Meet the Royal Mess”

brOTP: ummm… I Guess her and Vlad lol they have that mentor/student friendship lol he’s like that fun uncle everyone has!

OTP: Obviously Dimitri! Like hello! They complete each other! They’re banter is top notch! Especially because the whole “In a crown of thousands I’ll find you again” thing 😭😭😭

nOTP: ummm Rasputin?? Must I say more?? In the musical theres Gleb… and idk it’s iffy lol they’re the enemies type thing but at the same time, Anya and Gleb would give me age gap vibes lol but I don’t practically ship it myself?? I don’t think??

Random Headcanon: She’s not the actual Grand Duchess Anastasia lol she a con artist that conned the con master himself 😂😂

Unpopular opinion: OH! The fanfic writers who write Modern AUs of Dimya and they do it based on the Broadway actors 😂 ((I know it’s not actual Anastasia opinion, but it had to be said))

Song I associate with them: The obvious “Journey to the Past” 😂

Favorite picture of them:

((Of course it’s the “uploaded by Heidi :)” LMFAOOO))

#Anastasia #Anya #dmitry #Dima #Dimya #Anastasia fanfiction #thanks for the ask Katie!#LOVE YOU 💜💜💜

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izloveshorses · 11 months

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Sleep On The Floor

ao3 | playlist

“So… where are we going?”

Dmitry knew prodding her didn’t always work, but she would have to tell him eventually anyway. When he glanced over Anya shrugged. “Did I not tell you?”

“No…”

“Oh. Well, I decided to run away.”

~~~

“What if I come with you?”

~~~

Anya runs from her grief. Dmitry follows her, as he always does. Neither of them really knows what they're getting themselves into.

#dimya #anastasia broadway #anastasia #fanfiction #my writing #my gifs #my edit #do you think a depressed person could make *this*??#get ready to see this gifset a lot with every update lol #it's ur typical friends to lovers road trip running away fic but with a delicious twist: life is so damn hard when ur in ur mid 20s aslhkdfj #road trip fic #road trip au

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inthetruthofmydreams · 3 years

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'Cause you are near and everything's clear

MODERN AU Hallmark Christmas Movie Style Dimya Story

When she wakes up in the hospital without her memories and only someone that works at her family's hotel manages to make Anya feel like herself and not worry about her not getting her memories back, what will happen with the Christmas time magic?

Read Here

#anastasia #anastasia musical #ff #fanfiction #ao3 #dimya #anya x dimitri #anya x dmitry #anastasia the musical #anastasia fanfiction #dmitry sudayev #Anya #anastasia nikolaevna romanov #christmas one shot #hallmark inspired christmas story #anastasia broadway

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ldflow3r · 2 years

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bitches be like "oh i need more dimya hurt comfort post-canon in my life!"

it's me. Im bitches

#this meme is so dead #ig i'll pretend like it's not #dimya #anastasia #anastasia the musical #anastasia fanfiction #anastasia fanfic #dimya fanfic #dimya hurt comfort #hurt comfort #pls give me fic recs #post-cannon #this is a desperate plea

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starrysky-whumpfics · 2 years

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Safe and Sound

Summary: Okay, okay, so the thought process behind this was actually inspired by some fanfictions that explore the concept of Gleb confronting Anya after the ballet, rather than on her way to run to Dmitry. However, I have had yet to see someone write about Gleb having to confront Anya after she reunites with Dmitry.

—————

Gleb hadn’t planned on confronting her like this, he had loved her. When he saw her fleeing the press conference, he thought that maybe, just maybe, she had come to her senses and had let go of this dangerous dream. He followed closely behind her to see where she would go, hoping to speak with her. Bring her home, perhaps if he were to speak on her behalf, she would get away with a slap on the wrist. He loved her, he wanted to take care of her.

Then…then…he watched from afar as Anya, radiant and beautiful in her red dress, approached the con-man on the bridge. He watched her proudly and confidently shout, “The Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov would beg to disagree!” She hadn’t let go, she hadn’t come to her senses. His heart began to ice over once again as she pulled the man into a kiss, and the final blow came when the man melted into her embrace.

He had let her go before, and he had been nearly ready to do so once again. He had intended to rescue her and to bring her home, that’s how it was supposed to happen. Not again though, he had a duty to fulfill. Anya had chosen her fate by declaring herself as the Grand Duchess, he had warned her and this was the consequence. She could have chosen him, and not this dream, and certainly not some lowly criminal. That was the cherry on top that Gleb needed to make up his mind. As the couple began to walk from the bridge, Gleb followed behind once more.

He followed them all the way to a shop. They had stopped briefly to get Anya a change of clothes, having realized the attention that her ballgown must be bringing.

“I’ll try and get us a room for the night at the hotel next door.” The con-man, Dmitry, he’d learned was his name, said to Anya outside. “I’ll be right back.” He promised. She nodded, leaning up to kiss him once more.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Dima.” She said smiling. “Don’t be too long.” He smirked happily at her and kissed her back before heading to the hotel as she entered the shop. Gleb entered the shop after seeing her disappear into the. back, supposedly to change. He walked around the shop, gathering supplies that could be used as potential restraints, should they be deemed necessary.

Once he felt adequately prepared, he snuck his way to the back and knocked lightly on the door.

“Just one second!” She called back politely to the knock, opening the door once she was changed. Her eyes widened upon seeing Gleb. He didn’t waste a moment though in stepping into the small room, his hand immediately covering her mouth before she could speak. Her pulled her against his chest as she struggled and fought, wincing as she tried to bite and claw at him, he feet colliding with his shins. Even against the tight grip of his hand over her mouth, she managed to make too much noise as she screamed.

“Shut up and stop fighting me, Anya. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He whispered through gritted teeth. Her screaming and fighting only seemed to worsen though, so he released his arm pinning her to him and reached for his gun, hitting her over the head. Letting her slump to the floor unconscious.

“Hard way it shall be then. I was hoping to avoid needing to restrain you…but it seems I have no choice. You seem to have a habit though of wanting to bring more trouble your way.” He sighed, picking up the items he had gathered. She was quickly starting to regain consciousness, as he seemed to have just temporarily stunned her. Acting quickly, he hastily ripped into a white shirt, shoving a wad of the fabric into her mouth and then tying another strip over her mouth. She continued to protest as he tied her hands behind her with another tear from the shirt. He felt guilt starting to creep up once again suddenly as he started to see fear creeping into her eyes. She was afraid of him…she could never love him because she feared him. He was burning the imaginary bridge that he had conjured up with her, the possibility of a future with her was vanishing.

The guilt was only vanquished by remembering the kiss on the bridge, anger flooding his mind once more. It no longer felt about duty though. While finishing the job was his duty, the role he needed to play, this had now become something that felt more personal. The guilt would return though the moment he made eye contact with her once more. He noticed that she was breathing much heavier than before, tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but she still was trying to act brave. Muttering angry words at him through her gag, though they were muffled, they still managed to sting. Her eyes were beautiful, a brilliant blue. Conveying so much emotion, betraying the fear that she was trying to disguise. Beautiful beautiful eyes…

“Do not fight me or I will not only shoot you, but Dmitry when he returns for you.”

He threatened suddenly, breaking from the trance he realized he got into. Her eyes were distracting, they had lived in his dreams since he first ever saw her. He watched her freeze upon hearing Dmitry’s name. Her fear becoming much more apparent now as she slowly nodded. He stood her up, pulling her through the door and out a back entrance that led to the alleyway.

“I can take the gag off now if you promise to not scream. It was merely a precaution to start to guarantee our exit. I was unsure how you would react.” He offered once outside, he hated seeing the gag cutting tightly into her face, as was concerned that she could suffocate. It would be a slow death if worse came to worse, and the thought pained him. She nodded once again and he reached to remove it, letting it fall on her neck and pulling the wad of fabric from her mouth.

“I warned you, Anya. I warned you that there would be consequences for being involved. I tried to tell you that anything involving the Romanov’s was dangerous.” He told her as she caught her breath.

“I may be her…but it’s not what you think. No one needed to know that I was alive. I was going to leave Paris and that part of me behind with…”

“It doesn’t matter. You want to claim and believe that you are her, and you have openly admitted to being her aloud. My orders were to finish the job should that be the case. And finish it I shall. I cannot give you any more chances.” He waited in anticipation for her response, a small wish was in his mind that she would give in, beg him to take her away from this. Tell him that this criminal she seemed to love was threatening her.

However, as she stood her ground, and said nothing, he understood the only one threatening her was himself. It seemed that she had nothing to say to him, which seemed very unlike her. The anxiety he felt was painful. Maybe she had decided to just accept her fate.

“DMITRY!” She shouted quite suddenly as he was lost in thought once again, pulling away violently from his grasp. Gleb grabbed her mouth once again with his hand, releasing as she bit his hand with a painful force.

“Dmit—mmm!” She shouted once again. Gleb pinned her to the ground and forcefully pulled the gag back into her mouth, tying it even tighter than before, holding his hand over her mouth once again to further muffle her screams as he pulled her back. Once again, he had trusted her and the rug was swept underneath him.

Gleb held her as tight as he could manage for several moments, waiting to see if Dmitry would come for her. She screamed and screamed as much as she could manage. Tears began finally falling from her eyes as it became clear that her cries were not heard. He wondered if she felt betrayed that her supposed love didn’t come to her rescue.

“I certainly would have…” he thought silently to himself. I love her, I love her…I can’t have her…she’ll never be mine. She doesn’t love me. So many thoughts swirled through his mind. Time was running out, even if Dmitry had not heard her, someone would have. And leaving the alley wasn’t smart either.

“Goodbye Anya…I really had hoped to see your mind changed.” He said solemnly, realizing he needed to act now, pulling out his gun and holding it to her head. His finger trembled against the trigger, he had to look away as she fidgeted and squirmed, trying to plead with him. As his head turned though, he was met with a fist to his face as Dmitry tackled him away from Anya.

Gleb instinctively pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the alleyway. Dmitry reached for the gun immediately and turned it at Gleb, hitting him forcefully over the head repeatedly until Gleb finally lost consciousness, blood was evidently coming from his head. Dmitry picked himself up to go over to Anya who was on the ground, desperately fighting to free herself. He needed to get to her…he remembered how frightened she had been of the gunshot on the train. He couldn’t begin to imagine what she was feeling now.

Dmitry kneeled in front of her, releasing her and pulling her into a tight embrace as sobs escaped her. Her guard finally dropped as she screamed and sobbed into his chest. Loud, painful, and agonizing screams. He had seen her frightened…but not this…this was beyond that, and it was torture to witness. He just pulled her closer to him, circling her back with his hands. Her own were tightly gripping onto the back of his shirt.

“I’ve got you, you’re safe.” He whispered, keeping his voice low and gentle. “Breathe, Anya…just take deep breaths.”

“I called for you…” she muttered through cries. “I called for you…I thought you didn’t hear…”

“Anya…I’m here��you’re safe now. I heard you…I heard you.” He promised softly, gently holding her as she trembled. He had been coming back to the shop, hotel key in hand, when he heard her scream his name. His heart had sunk upon hearing the first scream, he wasn’t gone that long. Adrenaline kicked in when the second scream came, his feet flying across the sidewalk. He had arrived and seen her fighting against Gleb, and nearly flew into a rage right then and there. He realized though that Gleb was expecting him, was waiting for him to show up. He had to wait until Gleb believed that no one heard her.

“I’m frightened…Dima…” she whispered, glancing at Gleb. Dmitry turned her head away.

“He can’t hurt you anymore…just look at me.” He promised, slowly lifting her to her feet. She continued to tremble, but her sobs had started to quiet. His hand that was at her side pulled away as he noticed the red that was on his palm.

“It’s just a graze…” he assured her as she took notice. “I can stitch it up when we get somewhere safe. Right now we should just try and…” he stopped talking as he noticed Gleb had begun to stir, pressing his hand back to her side to cover the wound. He began walking her quickly to the hotel. Laying her down once they were in the room he had bought.

“I had some supplies in my case…” he said, opening the battered brown suitcase, the very same that she had stood upon to declare her love to him not that long ago.

“We need to leave…tonight. When he wakes up, he might know that we’re here…” Dmitry spoke as he stitched her up. “I’m not leaving your side this time…no matter what.”

“Dima…” Anya said softly.

“I should’ve killed him down there…to think what could have happened if I was even a moment later…” he continued.

“Dima.” She repeated again, her voice still soft, yet commanding.

“I was stupid to leave in the first place, I should’ve had a better plan…I almost lost you moments after I finally found you!” he shouted, he hadn’t prepared for her to come to him, he had no plan and was too caught up in the fairytale of a moment to remember that it was just that…a moment. There were still dangers that lurked and waited even when it was happily ever after in that moment. He couldn’t have almost lost her so easily.

“Dmitry!” She finally yelled, her voice straining, a playful smile crossed her face though as she finally grabbed his attention. “I am right here, you couldn’t get rid of me or lose me if you tried. And, as the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov, I require that you stop this useless rambling and just kiss me.” She commanded, grabbing his face, the same way she had earlier, her lips colliding with his.

“You’re giving me orders now?” He asked smirking, as if to challenge her. “You should know that I don’t do well with authority.”

“Oh really? You didn’t seem so defiant to me.” She challenged back, raising an eyebrow.

“How about you kiss me again and we’ll see?” He smiled, puller her closer once more in a gentle embrace.

“Sleep…tonight we shall rest and then early tomorrow we shall leave.” She whispered as they laid down face to face. “We both need the rest…and then tomorrow we’ll sneak away to the trains and go wherever they may take us.”

“As you wish.” He smiled, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as his arms wrapped around her, letting sleep overcome them.

*Two Years Later*

“What was your fathers name again?” Anya asked Dmitry, leaning back against him in their bed, together cradling their newly born son.

“Aleksandr.” He answered softly, gently embracing her with his arm that was supporting her own that was holding the small baby.

“Aleksandr.” She repeated. “So similar to my little brother…Alexei.”

“Your best friend.” He nodded.

“We should name him Aleksandr.” She decided. “Alexei is perfect.” Dmitry said at the same time.

“Aleksandr can be his name in full. Aleksandr Dmitriyevich Sudayev. But, we’ll refer to him as Alexei. As a nickname of sorts.” Dmitry suggested.

“My fathers name will then be honorary still, but he’ll be better known by the name Alexei. His life was taken far too short, but our son won’t have that happen. We’ll protect him and he’ll live a full and happy life.”

Anya just nodded tearfully.

“It’s perfect.” She whispered.

“Alright, alright! You’ve had nearly an hour of the five minutes that you asked for. And I heard a name! I would like to see my godson!”Vlad laughed as he entered the room impatiently, reaching down and taking Alexei from Anya and slowly dancing him around the room. Lily rolled her eyes at him before smiling as she went over to Anya.

“The dowager would have come herself, but with her age, travel is hard. She was overjoyed with the news of your expecting though.” She explained, her hand pressed over her heart from the joy that she too was experiencing.

“Nana will meet him.” Anya assured. “We want to visit Paris soon, so that she can meet her newest member of the family.” They had never learned of what happened to Gleb, but after two years of peace, they both decided it was time to return. If only for a small visit.

“She will be thrilled to see you, all of you. Even you Dmitry.” Lily laughed.

“Ho ho! Look at that smile! Just like his father’s!” Vlad loudly proclaimed, beaming as the young baby laughed and smiled. “I’ve always said that I have a way with children. I have so many stories to tell you, how about the time your mother and father and your uncle Vlad all decided to jump off of a train!”He said gleefully to the baby as they left the room to pace the house.

“Take some time to rest, I have a feeling you won’t be getting him back for quite some time.” Lily said smiling, following after Vlad.

Anya had already fallen asleep in Dmitry’s arms, a smile on her face in her sleep. Years ago, if you had asked Dmitry to describe what his life would look like years from now, this would not be anything like what he would have guessed. Not even close. Out of Russia, married to a grand duchess, and a father…none of those things had ever seemed plausible or even on his radar. Anya had turned his whole life upside down and inside out, everything had changed when she walked into the room. Life kept trying to pull them apart ever since that parade when he was ten, but she was here now. Nothing would take her away. He’d do anything to protect her and Alexei.

“I love you…” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before letting sleep overcome him as well.

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tessiepessie · 5 years

Text

A new wind blows

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

At his twenty, there a few things that Dmitry knew.

He loved his family.

He cared deeply for his country.

He was going to be the next Tsar.

He didn't want to.

And then, there's a new thing. He has to take care of his people.

That last thing he learned it thanks to a pretty and bossy girl.

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aralisj · 5 years

Note

dimya + 47

47. “Why are you whispering?”

Cut scene from Holding Tight / Split timeline where the author really leans in on the fake dating trope.

It was late afternoon on a quiet day, there were only a couple sat near a corner and the two regulars that practically lived in the bar. Dmitry cleaned the wooden surface, rearranged the glasses, and checked his phone for the umpteenth time; he had to silence a groan when he realized there were still thirty minutes left on his shift.

It was a particularly bad day to be idle. He had struggled all morning with their step sequence and now his feet seemed to have a life of their own, tapping and swaying from one side to the other, giving him a slow motion replay of his misteps from that morning. Anya had patiently skated with him, even as he asked to repeat the same sequence over and over… Bless her. It was like that for him with most things, he didn’t have many innate talents but his stubbornness and competitive nature led him to master most things he put his mind to. “Time and practice,” Vlad would tell him when he grew impatient about something; it helped sometimes, mostly it just irritated him.

Dmitry turned his attention from the now immaculate bar to the couple near the corner. They were young, almost too young to drink, and were probably on their first date, judging by the awkward distance they kept between them as they flirted. “Oh, to be young and in love”, Dmitry thought sardonically. He had had his share of awful first dates and, at the moment, didn’t look forward to the prospect of getting back in the game. He didn’t have the headspace to even consider it anyway, what with his days consumed by training at the rink and pretending to date Anya.

In front of him, the boy made a move to kiss the girl and… They turned to the same side and bumped heads. Dmitry had to turn away to hide a grimace of second hand embarrassment. When he looked back again, they had gotten the hang of it, the placement of hands only slightly awkward, the kiss itself quite sweet. With a chill, Dmitry realized that, since he and Anya were only a couple when in public, they wouldn’t have the luxury to fuck up their first kiss (and if he was completely honest, most first kisses weren’t exactly cinematic). He started to worry; they had been “together” for weeks now. The image they were projecting wasn’t like one of those weirdly detached couples that kept their distance and barely shook hands in public; they were very tactile, hugs and piggyback rides were a common occurrence. Dmitry had said that would sell the romance better but now he realized a bad kiss could ruin their lie in a moment. As he walked home, he thought of contingency plans if they were ever put on the spot and forced to kiss. This was going to be an awkward conversation, he was sure.

He took his muddy boots off and left them at the door, realized his hands were shaking (why were they shaking?).

“Dmitry! Here’s your jacket! I borrowed it yesterday and I know you hate that I leave it smelling all flowery but it was sort of an emergency…” Anya was all sunshine as she walked towards him.

“Is Vlad here? Sophie?” he asked, his voice low.

“No,” Anya cocked her head, still holding his jacket. “Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know! I’m freaking out!” his voice still sounded strangled but not as quiet.

“Is this about the step sequence? You are being too hard on yourself!” Anya reached out to touch his elbow and Dmitry felt shiver go through him.

“No, it’s not about the step sequence!” he shook his head and decided to just go for it. “I need to do something quickly, please don’t freak out,” and with that he took a step towards her, cupped her face, and planted a soft kiss on her lips, short as a sigh, little more than a peck, and then he let her go. They stood in awkward silence for a moment; Anya seemed to have kept her eyes open during the kiss because they were wide as saucers when he looked at her.

“Thank you- I think,” she said softly, scrunching her face, handing him his jacket, and walking to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea? Sophie gave me some leftover chamomile from the café,” Anya started setting mugs and boiling water, her initial instinct to not even acknowledge what had happened.

“Anya, let me explain!”

“Please do,” she said, her voice high-pitched, “because living with you is strange enough without all this,” she gestured vaguely in his direction.

“I saw this couple at the bar, yeah? They were so awkward with each other and their first kiss was a disaster and I didn’t know how to talk about it with you because I realized we would have to kiss eventually if we keep pretending to date…” he said in one breath. “I panicked, okay?” It wasn’t an apology but she nodded in acceptance. “Was it bad? Weird?” he asked frantically. She would never admit it but seeing cocky, self-assured Dmitry nervous about kissing her was more than a little endearing.

“A bit weird,” she replied after a pause. There was no bite to her words and she was playing with the strings of the tea bags as she talked. Anya had thought about kissing him, once or twice, she had dreamed of kissing him once. She would, of course, never say that to Dmitry, his ego was big enough as it was. “I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,” she said. It was only half a lie, she wasn’t expecting it but she definitely wanted it to last longer.

“So… Are we okay?” Dmitry took her hand, warm from the mug of tea, in his cold grasp.

“Of course,” Anya replied as she bit her lip. She was racking her brains to find an excuse to kiss him again. Now that they had entered the realm of stupid decisions, she didn’t want to leave. “And, you know, if us kissing is something that worries you- we could- uh-”

“What?”

“You know how we said that we were a couple in public and just skating partners at home,” Dmitry nodded, confusion furrowing his brow. “Well maybe we could do a- an interval… Say, thirty minutes, and we can practice and say what we like, what we don’t like, that kind of thing,” Anya tried to seem indifferent at the prospect but her knuckles were white as she squeezed the hem of her sweatshirt.

“Practice,” Dmitry’s voice came a bit broken so he cleared his throat, “practice kissing?”

“I mean, if you want,” Anya shrugged. “If it worries you that much…”

“Yeah, no, for sure,” Dmitry replied nonsensically, making Anya chuckle under her breath. Seeing her light up like that, he knew this was an undeniably bad idea, and yet, who was he to resist? He took out his phone and set an alarm for half an hour later. “Okay, thirty minutes start… Now!”

He walked towards her with caution, like she was a scared white hare about to disappear into the snow.

“So… How do we do this?” Anya stared straight ahead, to Dmitry’s sternum, losing her courage all of a sudden now that it was actually happening.

“Let’s start slow, no tongues,” he replied and Anya had to contain a nervous giggle when Dmitry tilted her chin up with his finger. It was timid and contained, with both of them keeping their hands at their sides. His lips were soft, just a little bit dry from the cold, and careful as he pressed them against hers. He would often loose his patience when they were on the ice, rolling his eyes when she took too long to learn a move but now… His lips were mouthing the words to the world’s gentlest ballad, so slow and tender she quickly forgot her panic about what to do with her teeth and whether she was doing things right. It was like the first time they had skated together, with Dmitry waiting for her to catch up and then taking her hand and keeping pace with her. This time round, Anya did close her eyes and it made her feel giddy and unstable, like she was falling backwards, only that Dmitry was there to catch her too. Without her noticing, he had taken his hands out of his pockets and placed them on her waist, they hadn’t moved any closer but it was a nice feeling anyway. She took that as a sign to move her hands towards his neck, her right index traced the contour of his jaw, moving with a will of its own.

“Is that okay?” Anya asked, her voice was embarrassingly breathy.

Dmitry nodded and gulped. “You can play with my hair, I like that.”

“Okay,” she replied. “You can pull me closer, if you want.”

He nodded and dragged her towards him, she silently hoped he couldn’t feel the thump of her heart on his skin. She, in turn, reached out to run her fingers through his hair, giving special care to those loose strands that always fell on his eyes. Dmitry bent over to kiss her again, it was not so tender now, less controlled. She stood on the tips of her toes and carded her fingers through the soft hair on the back of his neck. He held her tight and sighed, making a shiver run down her spine. Admittedly, Anya had laughed at the notion of french kissing Dmitry, however, intertwined like they were it felt not only natural but necessary. When the tip of his tongue brushed over her lip, she was a little too eager to reciprocate.

“Woah, there!” Dmitry laughed, backing away a fraction and wiping his top lip with the back of his hand. “Slow, remember?”

“God! Sorry!” Dmitry still held her waist very tight so she couldn’t run away like she wanted to in that moment. Her cheeks were burning with shame.

He laughed again and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he fixed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes. “It is! Come on, now you kiss me, I’m doing all the hard work here,” at that Anya finally smiled and relaxed in his arms again.

“I’m going to need something, though. Wait here,” she pressed a quick peck on his lips and disappeared in the bedroom. She appeared moments later with a cardboard box Dmitry kept at the foot of the bed. She carefully aligned it with Dmitry’s feet, stepped on it and, now that their heights were level, cupped his face and kissed him hard. She could feel Dmitry’s amusement mixed with something else, something different. He sank his fingertips into her skin, one hand playfully lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, the other resting on her hip. Anya wasn’t idle, she tried to replicate the delicate way Dmitry had brushed his tongue over her lip.

“Slow. Less. Good,” he guided her, their foreheads still touching and their lips brushing when he spoke. “More.”

In a weird turn of their heads, Dmitry bit her lower lip and Anya let out a moan.

“Shit! Are you okay?” he brushed his thumb over her lip, worried. Anya looked down and bit the inside of her cheek. “What is it?”

“I- I liked it,” she confessed with a lopsided smile.

Dmitry laughed and pressed a peck on her now swollen lip. “Kinky,” he mocked, brushing his nose against hers. Anya tugged at his hair in retaliation and smiled a devilish grin when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat.

Anya played with the zipper of his leather jacket as they made out. How were they suppossed to go back to skating partners/roommates/unlikely friends after the thirty minutes were through? How was she suppossed to go back when she knew the feeling of Dmitry’s hand on her bare back and the way he tasted? She really hadn’t thought this through.

“Can I lift you?” Dmitry asked, taking her out of her thoughts. She nodded and held on to his shoulders, marveling at the lines of muscle there like she had never felt them before. He set her on the kitchen sink, her legs framing his waist. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Technically, they weren’t any closer than seconds ago, and still Anya felt the roof of her mouth dry up; when Dmitry rested his hands over her thighs she knew why. His touch was so close to where she need it and yet…

The alarm on Dmitry’s phone sounded as he closed the distance between their lips one last time. They parted and the awkward silence that followed was asphyxiating.

“I should- uh- I’m taking a shower,” Dmitry announced, “I still smell like cigarrettes from the bar,” was his excuse.

Anya, that had spent the past half hour treacherously close to his skin, could say that he, in fact, didn’t smell like cigarrettes. She ran her fingers over her lips.

Inside the bathroom, staring at the mirror, Dmitry came to terms with the fact that maybe he wasn’t as cool and detached as he thought. Winter was the worst time for a cold shower, he thought with a wince.

#what can i say #i have no shame #dimya #dimya fanfiction #dimyaedit #anastasia #anastasia the musical #anastasia broadway #aralisj writes #chrhorowitz

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truthofherdreams · 6 years

Text

people can surprise you (or not)

Friday

also on ao3

Maria is the one on Nastya Watch when Anya wakes up the following day. She’s made herself at home already, sitting cross-legged at the dinner table with her laptop and graphic tablet in front of her. The strong aroma of coffee fills the room, and the last notes of a Panic! At The Disco song fade away, Paramore’s guitar riffs rising in the silence of the apartment.

“The emo playlist, really?” Anya asks as she makes her way to the kitchen so she can pour herself a cup of coffee. She adds two sugar and a drop of milk, head bobbing to the music. It reminds her of being a teenager, singing along to rock songs and dancing on her bed with Maria and Alexei, playing at who-would-be-the-more-dramatic. (Her, always her.)

“It’s still solid, stop complaining,” Maria replies, not looking away from her screen. She’s drawing a mermaid, and it’s probably part of the children’s book she’s been illustrating for weeks now.

“Am not,” Anya says as she comes back to the living room, and sit on a chair opposite Maria. She puts her feet on the chair, arms wrapped around her legs and chin on her knees. “You could have bought croissants, though.”

Maria takes one grape from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and throws it at her. Anya catches her with her mouth, the grape exploding on her tongue before she swallows it around a proud grin, to which her sister only replies by rolling her eyes.

“The bakery is just next door, feel free to go whenever.”

Anya pokes her tongue out at her sister, before she looks down at her phone. Emails have been piling up since yesterday and it will take her hours to go through all of them – not that she has anything else to do. She can’t remember the last time she took that many days off work, but it would be lying to say she doesn’t deserve them. She’s been working so hard the past few years; she deserves a break, even if it comes with an almost mental breakdown and an identity crisis.

She’s in the middle of sending a requested to DisneyLand – lots of kids want to be in the happiest place on earth as their Wish, after all – when Maria’s phone blasts Alexei’s personalised ringtone.

“Yeah, baby bro? …Okay, wait. I’m putting you on speaker.” She moves the phone away from her face and presses here and then on her screen, before she adds, “Okay, you can speak now.”

“Nastya, what’s Dmitry’s surname?”

She frowns, both at the question and the hurried tone. “Sudayev. Why?”

“You need to check Twitter,” is all Alexei says instead of answering. “Now.”

The sisters frown at each other above the top of the laptop screen, before Maria pushes her graphic tablet and Anya stands up to walk around the table. By the time Anya stands behind her sister, both hands on the back of the chair, Maria has opened Twitter already. It’s her profession account, the one where she posts about her work and current projects, but it’s not the most important part right now.

Because Anya’s eyes are drawn to the Worldwide Trends list on the left of the page, and they widen when she reads through it.

BuzzClick is trending, and with it Dmitry Sudayev. Worldwide.

Maria’s mouth hovers over the name, before she pauses and looks up at her little sister. Anya is aware that she’s waiting for something, for some hint of approval that she can click and discover what is going on. But she just can’t stop staring at the screen, at the name. Just a bunch of letters aligned in one specific order, and yet her heart is in her throat, beating so fast that she’s afraid her breakfast will go out the wrong way. Maria is silent, and so is Alexei, and Anya is staring and staring and staring.

She isn’t sure if she offers Maria a nod, or a jerk of the head, or just that her entire body is trembling. But at some point she moves, and Maria clicks on the link, opens the floodgates, releases the kraken. And Anya, with her heart in her throat and cotton in her ears, and her damn fucking mind playing tricks on her, Anya leans closer to the screen so she can read.

The first tweet comes from the Huffington Post, of all places. ‘How one Frenchmen called out incel-friendly online magazine,’ reads the title. Next tweet is from a feminist organisation. The one after from a politician. Then another feminist, some angry dude, a smaller newspaper, a YouTuber, random person number one, random person number two. It goes on and on, and on, until Maria scrolls back up and clicks on the HuffPost article.

“Sudayev, who had been working for ClickBuzz for the past five years, posted the article early this morning,” Maria reads out loud for the both of them. “It stayed online for three hours before it was deleted – but not before people could screencap it and share it on social media. The article soon went viral and…”

Maria stops then, goes back to Twitter, finds the screencaps. It’s four of them in a row, sentences after sentences, paragraphs after paragraphs. The style is messy, all over the place – she pictures Dmitry sitting in front of his computer and typing angrily, or going at it on his phone, before hitting the ‘Publish’ button in a spur-of-the-moment fit of rage.

That raw, unguarded flood of emotions, she felt it too.

It’s hard, to come to terms with it, with the fact that Dmitry may be going through the same heartbreak she is. A small, angry part of her wants him to suffer, to feel so sorry for his crimes that he will come crawling back to her and beg for forgiveness. But, at the end of the day, that is not who Anya is. That is not what Anya wants. She just wants… she just thinks that Dmitry messed up, and is as broken as she feels, and probably was drunk when he wrote and posted this.

She thinks that he would never have said some of those things, sober, to her face.

Maria’s phone beeps twice loudly, startling Anya out of her reflexion. It’s another call, from Olga, and Maria is fast to merge the two conversations together so they can share a big Romanov conversation.

“Did you see it?” are Tatiana’s first words.

“Yeah, looking at it right now,” Maria replies.

“How’s Malenkaya holding up?”

“You’re on speaker,” Maria says, at the same time that Anya replies, “I’m fine.” But her voice is flat and small, and her eyes are still glued to the screen, and she isn’t even convincing herself. She doesn’t feel fine. Actually, she doesn’t know how she feels at all about all of this.

The Dmitry she knows – or, well, thought she knew – never would have done that in a manipulative way. Despite what some of those tweets are claiming, he didn’t do it to throw a pity party for himself, or for Anya to feel sorry for him. If Dmitry is half the man she thought he was, he meant every word he wrote. And perhaps that is the most terrifying part.

“So what are you going to do?” Olga asks, her voice so soft and gentle that Anya’s eyes start prickling.

“Well, she can’t exactly…”

“I think that’s quite romantic and…”

“She should just call him to see if…”

“...obviously manipulating her and…”

“...if he really means it, it could…”

“...benefit of the doubt and…”

“...doesn’t deserve her anyway, she’s too…”

“...but what about second chances and….”

“HOW ABOUT YOU ALL SHUT UP!” Hands in her hair, pulling a little, she is still staring at the screen and ignoring Maria’s wide eyes, enjoying the silence that settles over the phone. Not even Olga makes a comment about her language, which says a lot. “My love life isn’t some kind of democracy where you all have a say!”

A pause. Then, Alexei, “Well, more like an oligarchy because…”

“Oh shut your damn mouth, okay!”

Alexei may shut his mouth, but Maria’s jaw is on the floor. Olga weakly protests about not talking to her brother that way, not that Anya pays her any mind. She’s just focusing on breathing properly again, deep in, low out, so as to calm down the anger building inside her. She loves her siblings, she really does, but sometimes they forget about boundaries. Which would be fine any other day, but her mind is too much of a mess already for her to take into account everyone’s opinion on the matter.

“I’ll call you all back later,” Maria hastily says, before she hangs up despite her siblings’ protests.

The silence that follows is deafening.

It’s only when Anya goes to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, only to struggle with opening the bottle, that she looks down at her hands. They are trembling so hard she can’t make them stop, even when she clasps them together. She closes her eyes and leans her forehead against the cold metal of the fridge’s door, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, her entire body to calm down.

Maria’s hand, warm and soothing, settles on her back and runs small circles against the fabric of her shirt. She doesn’t say anything at first, just lets her comforting presence do the job, and Anya has to admit it is effective. After the noise and mess of her siblings, some moments of peace with the other half of the Little Pair might be exactly what she needs right now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Maria asks softly.

Anya scoffs. “Is there anything to talk about? This doesn’t change anything.”

She isn’t so sure who she is trying to convince here but, as always, Maria isn’t fooled. She doesn’t say anything for a while, her lips pressed tightly, as if carefully pondering on her next words. Maria has never been the wiser of the lot, after all, especially not when it comes to relationship advices. She got her heart burnt too many times before meeting the love of her life, and yet she kept throwing herself back in the game every time. Anya has no idea how she did it.

“But he said you were the love of his life,” Maria finally says, her voice soft and careful. “That has to change some things.”

“You think I should forgive him?”

“No.” Simple. Final. “Because what he did is unforgivable, I stand with Tanya on this. But… But Nastya, you owe it to yourself to find some closure, don’t you think?”

It’s dangerous -- she is afraid of what might happen if she confronts Dmitry again, if she looks into his eyes only to find something she doesn’t want to see in them. Or does want to see. What then? Fall back into his arms, only to get burnt once more? Walk away from him anyway? She doesn’t know what she wants, what she needs, what she expects. Why does everything about all of this have to be so complicated, her mind at war with her heart?

“I don’t know…” she starts, before she pauses. Tongue darting out to lick her lips. Hand rubbing one of her eyes.

But perhaps not knowing is exactly why she needs to do that. Perhaps it will shed some light on the situation and allow her to make sense of everything that has happened since Wednesday night. And, like Maria said, it might help her get some closure, might make it easier for her to move on after this. So she sighs, and looks back at her sister.

“Yeah, okay.”

Maria smiles, soft and protective, before she takes out her phone and opens the maps app. “Let’s go to BuzzClick, then.”

#dimya #dimya fanfiction #anastasia the musical #fanfic #ff: anastasia #ff: people can surprise you (or not)

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