* home, love, family ( 8 / ? ) .
“ who else could pull it off but ME & YOU ? “
ft. @aristofake
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* home, love, family ( 8 / ? ) .
“ who else could pull it off but ME & YOU ? “
ft. @aristofake

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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👩🏼🤝👨🏻 + anya
@aristofake | . SEND 👫 FOR FOUR HEADCANONS
okay but hear me out . they met once or twice when anya was a child , and anya didn’t know any better . they didn’t know each other terribly well , but anya liked pulling on his beard .
whilst she finds dmitry rude and abrasive, she likes vlad, even if she finds him a bit ridiculous at times . initially she sticks it out for him . when she’s down , she can be found sitting with vlad , and he’ll pour her a cup of samogon . even if she doesn’t like the taste.
he often tells her tales about the court , from his own experience . it works a lot better than just rattling off history lessons , and that’s why she finds him so engaging
post-reunion anya is the one vlad defers to for relationship advice . he rehearses things he would like to say to lily and tries his best and she tries her best to help , even though she’s young and inexperienced .
@aristofake
“You said you were once a member of the Imperial courts, but...” Sapphire eyes took in the figure before her curiously before looking away with a sigh and shake of her head. The memory just refused to surface of ever seeing him there- but then again she had the same of every aspect of her past life. Her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaievna Romanov. It didn’t sound right though her chest warmed at the familiar name. Fingers brushed along the side of the worn stool she sat on across from Vlad as legs swung slightly back and forth.
“-I hate that I can’t remember any of it. c'est tellement frustrant.”
❈ ✼ ❈ @aristofake // cont. from here
“ Your Imperial Highness, your family has held the throne for 300 years. After so long, do you think that a little unrest would unseat them? ”
He doesn’t believe this, not as the full truth, but he fervently wishes to be so certain that this revolution will fail. In the years after the revolution in 1905, he’d received letters from his father telling him that in fact, all was not better and much had broken down: schools shuttered, for a start. Internally, Vlad’s done his best to remain impartial; he’s not a monster, but he has enjoyed his life as a count and isn’t quite ready to let it all go.
“ In a few years, we’ll all have a grand laugh about this and how silly we were to worry. ”
the tremor in her hands has persisted for hours now --- it refuses to go away. a part of tatiana is convinced that these are the first signs of fever, that she will succumb to the same sickness which has confined their siblings to their sickbeds... and the very idea brings a new wave of dread, fresher than the gunfire and hollering in the distance. safe behind palace walls, whatever chaos is ensuing without seems very distant... but it grows closer with each hour, and the sick feeling grows and grows, until it can no longer be contained.
is this what they have spent their entire lives dreading? is this r e v o l u t i o n ?
in spite of it all, she offers count popov a wan smile, trying to take his reassurances to heart. how much easier they are to believe! ‘ if only the tsar were here, ’ tatiana confides, ‘ instead of returning to the front. he would know how to settle things down. ’ with a rustle, she brandishes a folded paper from the pocket of her dress. ‘ i have received a letter from countess lily in paris. it seems news of the unrest has even spread abroad. ’
❛ i don’t think you’ve mentioned how you and dmitry met yet. ❜ a part of her is too scared to ask if it was because they’d already groomed an impostor before ( another part of her is worried about whether they succeeded or not, if ever ), but she also doubts they could call each other old friends; dmitry was young enough to be vlad’s son. still, anya was curious. ❛ how did your path cross his ? ❜
@aristofake ! starter call.

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@aristofake / random sentence starters : “ love never really goes away, it just changes sometimes. ”
Vlad could put up a facade, claim that he loved her riches than the countess herself, but Dmitry has never seen his friend so LOVESICK-- rambling on about a woman he hasn’t seen since the revolution started. “You still love her?” A brow arches up and the corner of his lips quirk up to follow as he leans closer, playfully elbowing the other man in the arm. “So, what’s changed then? Don’t tell me you’re going to try to win her back when we get there.”
@aristofake / ✦✧ : ❛ do you think we have any chance of surviving this? ❜
THEY ARE OUT OF OPTIONS. There’s no turning back now, not when the Bolsheviks are hot on their trails hanging up wanted posters with their faces plastered on them, and certainly, not with the fatal boom of the officer’s pistol and Anya’s involuntary cry resounding in their ears. Vlad’s question is spoken in a sharp whisper, but Dmitry thinks he can hear growing hysterics in his friend’s voice, see the shock ( or is it fear? ) still paling his face when the train roars back to life. And for once, Dmitry wholly shares his partner’s panicked apprehension, especially after Anya stands up amid the compartment’s chaos, white knuckling the windowsill, and declares that they’re getting off.
Now they’re peering out into the snowy expanse, the train’s engine still wheezing out grey puffs of smoke as unrelenting wheels thud against the tracks, and their laboured exhales are dancing through the frigid air against their whirling surroundings. Dmitry’s bag is slung over a shoulder, his hand clasped above Anya’s on the rusted door handle, his heart pounding a million times faster than they’re moving. But it’s LIFE or DEATH, now or never, and that seems to be a common thread in his work more and more each day. “I don’t know.” He admits quietly, breath stolen in the rush of wind. “But we don’t have a choice. Jumping is our best shot.” It’s either that or meet the unforgiving barrel of a gun.
" Look at you now. All grown up. "
the crown weighs heavy perched on her golden curls, and her gloved fingers trail along the scarlet silk, edging around the glittering jewels and beading she could have never imagined wearing before this week, but her eyes are trained on the family portrait in front of her. anya feels like a new person, surrounded by this foreign opulence, and she wonders if this is what coming home is meant to feel like. it’s the sweet smell of orange blossoms, the puzzle of her past fitting together, and the familiar tune of a lullaby that often persuade her it must be, but something is missing. her teeth begin to worry her crimson stained lips and she has to reprimand herself to stop. something tells her that coming home shouldn’t feel so... lonely.
after all, anya has her grandmother and a whole court of people she must have known once upon a time, but even then, she only remembers them in faint pockets of memories, in words that she had heard her father saying once, in the stories vlad and dmitry had told her. she doesn’t truly know them, but it’s like a party trick when she does recognize them. so when she sees vlad rounding the corner, how he stretches out his arms, and the note of pride in his voice, anya can’t help the grin that lights her face. finally, someone familiar, someone she knows. that little girl in the portrait is not someone she knows yet.
“all grown up.” anya echoes back, twirls to prove her point, but her gaze flickers back to the painting on the wall, smile falling slowly. there’s a question on her tongue that she’s been dying to ask. “you knew them, right? do you think they’d be proud?”
( doctor who series 7a / accepting! )