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stargirlstudio · 2 years

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You Are My Task [Part 1]

☆ Dmitri Antonov x fem!Reader

☆ Warnings: age gap (11 years apart), class difference

☆ Word Count: 2815

☆ Summary: As an assignment, Dmitri was tasked to protect a foreign diplomat's daughter. His disdain for beautiful coldhearted women like you made him weary and your disdain for intelligent social men made you ill. How could anything come from this?

☆ A/N: This series starts from the mid 70s up until 1986 when Season 4 takes place. This series will contain smut, so this is 18+. Chapters containing smut will be marked!

Part 2 ⇨

“Antonov!” Roman yelled out. The brown haired man ran over to him, giving him a firm grip on the shoulders. “I heard you’re assigned the diplomat’s daughter!” Dmitri rolled his eyes. “I heard from a friend of a friend that she’s easy on the eyes, but 2 pairs of bodyguards have already been dismissed. Yet they are sending you alone,” He teased. Dmitri had heard the same thing. The other bodyguards were apparently “unsatisfactory” and not fit to protect the diplomat’s daughter. However, he hasn’t heard about her appearance. “Maybe Dima can make some relations,” Wiggling his eyebrows. Dmitri pushed him off, one of the more insufferable things about his childhood friend.

“I have no interest in starting any relations with an assignment. Much less a-“

“Ohh you dirty bastard, I was just talking about political relations. It would do well for the country to have their men open different borders, right?” He joked again. “Maybe you can find yourself a wife after the job? Get a hefty payout and big rock. Women will come flocking to you,”

“No they won’t,”

“Are you kidding me?” Roman said incredulously. “You’re not blessed with gorgeous looks like me-“ Dmitri elbowed him. “But you’ve got the brooding, mysterious persona,”

“What persona?” Dmitri asked. Roman tutted just patting his shoulder again.

“You won’t understand yourself. I mean you can barely tell when someone fancies you,” Roman paused. “Maybe just pay attention to a woman for once, you’d know a lot about one if you listen,”

Dmitri chuckled, “You son of a bitch!” He smiled.

Dmitri opened the file once more, noticing how the chauffeur scoffed. He flipped through the pages quietly.

Name: (L/N), (F/N)

Age: 21

“Father is a diplomat, mother is a homemaker.” He said aloud. “Spent 1 university year in East Germany followed by 3 years in Boston, USA…currently on a gap year before graduate studies in Britain.” Dmitri noted the numerous photos of you. Graduation photos, study abroad photos, pictures of you on beaches, and some sketchy candid photos. He looked at the recent portrait of you with your parents, Roman wasn’t wrong about you being pretty. You had a beautiful smile, very pristine appearance.

“We’re here,” The driver said, looking at him through the rear view.

“Time to find out for myself,” He thought. Dmitri followed the man, the house he was at was actually an estate. A Russian businessman who was a close friend of the diplomat’s allowed the daughter to stay with her workers. It was an old estate, nothing that is even comparable to most villages. Dmitri looked at the numerous pillars and the paintings that decorated its walls. So much for political ideology, the excess will live in excess.

A door opening caught his attention, he whipped his head to see an older woman. She walked over, introducing herself. “You must be Mr. Antonov. I’m Emelia, Madame (L/N)’s caretaker. I heard many wonderful things about you,” She paused. “Come, you may impress us but it is truly the Madame’s impression you need to focus on. Be prepared, she’s quite fickle.” Dmitri walked up the grand stairs, listening intently to the caretaker and her speeches about the estate. She abruptly turned around, “I must say…since you’re by yourself and you seem intelligent enough. I do hope that you understand the Madame is just going through a lot. She’s kind but has such a cold exterior. Please understand,” We stopped in front of the numerous portraits of the businessman and his family. Emelia gestured for Dmitri to look at one particular photo. “This is the little miss,” He looked at the childhood photo, playing on the estate grounds. It was a young girl, with a few missing teeth smiling. “Please make yourself comfortable, the bathroom is right down the hall,” Emelia said as she let him sit on the sofa.

He laid back, looking at the patterned walls and the decorated ceiling. It really was a small palace when he thought about it. He smoked a cigarette waiting for the Madame to come out of her room, getting up and walking out. He walked down to the opposite end, admiring the plethora of paintings and family portraits. Until he heard giggling coming from one of the rooms.

“I have another bodyguard interview,” A woman’s voice said. He heard some chattering over a phone line. “How many more of these do I have to go through? I didn’t even look at the photo they sent me. Can you believe it, Milner? They sent me a catalog of men to choose from this time,” She laughed. “Let’s hope he’s not grotesque or disgusting,” She joked. He scoffed, until he heard the woman put the phone down. He hurried to the empty room, leaving the door ajar. From the crack he saw the back of the Madame. She peeked around the hall eventually closing the door .

He hurried back to the living room, just in time as he heard the click of the Madame’s heels down the hall. When the Madame walked in, he was stunned. She was much prettier in person, her hair was perfectly styled, pretty lips, and beautiful facial features. The way she carried herself was unbelievable. She wasn’t just easy on the eyes, she was beautiful. Dmitri had never seen someone so poised. Unbeknownst to him, he had sat up straighter. Daring to look at the one feature he had glossed over: her eyes.

“You must be the new bodyguard they sent,” She said, stalking around the opposite couch, grazing her lace gloves hand over it, observing him from head to toe.

“Yes, I’m Dmitri Antonov,” He spoke. “What do I call you?”

“My employees call me Madame (L/N). However, I would much rather have you call me Miss (L/N),” Dmitri nodded. She raised an eyebrow at the cigarette put out on the plate. It didn’t fall past Dmitri, he felt his face growing hot. “Tell me about yourself. What exactly makes you qualified? I’m curious because you’re alone,”

“I’ve had international experience before. Other than my mother tongue I also speak English. I’ve served before, as well,”

“Anything else?“ She said sternly.

“The pay is good too,” She raised her eyebrows again. Dmitri could have sworn he saw a smile.

She noticed Emelia walking past the room, stunned at the sight before her. “Honesty can only get you so far Mr. Antonov,” She whispered. “Let’s continue this conversation in English. Speak freely and as you wish, my employees aren’t fluent in English,” She paused, crossing her legs. “I must say Mr. Antonov, I’m impressed by your extensive language skills, I wasn’t expecting that. Looks can be quite deceiving,” Excuse me? “You’ll get your status in due time. But can I be honest with you Mr. Antonov, please work on your…etiquette,” She said as she eyed the cigarette once more. “I need to keep up appearances. Please understand,” She said in a vindictive manner.

Who does she think she is? He watched as she had a smug appearance. He almost hoped he was barred from taking the job ever. “Of course Miss (L/N). I wouldn’t want to embarrass you by being…grotesque or disgusting,” He got up, watching her raise her hand to her mouth. “Hope to hear of my job status soon, am I dismissed?”

“Yes,” She said curtly. “Please follow Emelia. We’re done here,” He watched as she stormed off into her room. So much for the pay, he was definitely not getting the job now.

Over the next few days, Dmitri had been mulling over the conversation. It was much worse than he could imagine. He hasn’t been called down to the boss, but he was absolutely seething. The way she grazed his eyes over him, nitpicking and judging everything he does. It’s clear she has her nose in the air, but one thing that stuck with him was her comment.

“I must say Mr. Antonov, I’m impressed by your extensive language skills, I wasn’t expecting that. Looks can be quite deceiving,” He remembered her saying. He hated the way the scene was burned into his mind. The laced finger tapping her lips, the condescending tone, her eyes, It was as if her eyes burned him, until he felt like a pile of ash. He was taken out of his thoughts by another employee of his.

“Antonov! Mr. Nazvanov wants to see you. It’s about your assignment,” He said. “You know I was actually one of the bodyguards who didn’t get the job,”

“Really?” Dmitri questioned. “What was the woman like?”

“She didn’t say anything. One swat of the hand and we were dismissed,” Odd. She didn’t even talk to them. “I mean. She didn't even look at us! She was silent! It was scary!” He joked.

Dmitri saw her face clearly. Nothing that blocked her features. She had a full conversation with him. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes!” He said incredulously. He said, opening the door to Mr. Nazvanov’s office. “You’ll probably have the same fate as the rest of us. Say hi to the next guy will you?” He whispered.

Mr. Nazvanov gave Dmitri a big smile. “Good morning, Dmitri, how are you?”

“I’m very well,” The man smiled.

“It’s been a few days since your interview, how did it go?” He asked.

“It was fine,” Dmitri replied. “We had a nice conversation I think,”

Nazvanov gave a hearty laugh, his toothy grin shining bright. “I knew you would be different. Just letting you know that tomorrow, Miss (L/N), would like to give you your status in person as well as have lunch with her?,” He flipped through a file. “What exactly did you say to her? I’m impressed,”

“Nothing too offensive I hope?” He wasn’t looking forward to going back to the estate, much less facing the woman he had been thinking about the past few days. It’s not like he can take another job as well paying as this one.

—

Finally, the place was calm once again. No strangers, no bodyguards, no interviews. You looked out at the expanse of land, nothing could be seen for miles except some mountains and trees. While it wasn’t your top pick, you had been extremely indebted to your father’s friend.

“Madame (L/N), lunch will be ready soon. Please get ready and head downstairs. A guest of your father’s will be coming,” You headed to the bathroom. You had always admired the vintage French styled interior — Emelia never let you forget about the history of the house. An homage to the businessman's late wife, a refined woman from Occitanie. It’s one of the finer things about having culturally knowledgeable people work for you. You relaxed in your porcelain bathtub, letting the aroma of aloe, bluebell, and chrysanthemums relax your body, lolling your head and noticing the unused ash tray that decorated your bathroom counter.

“Of course Miss (L/N). I wouldn’t want to embarrass you by being…grotesque or disgusting,” You remembered him saying. You sunk your head into your hands. How embarrassing, he must have overheard you when you were talking on the phone.

You remembered saying that line, flipping open the file that was sent to the house. This was the first time you had even opened it, thinking the interview would be like the rest. You were met with a photo of a man in his early 30s, dirty blonde hair buzzed short, clean shaven with very striking eyes. Even in the photo, it felt as if he was looking right through you.

When you heard a noise outside of your room that day you immediately hung up and went to check. Nothing in the hallways, just the faint smell of tobacco. When you closed the door you looked at the clock, noticing the heavy footsteps that walked to the end of the room. You came outside to smell the tobacco again, and just like that it was gone. It made your heart race, the smell was so unfamiliar something you haven’t smelled in a while, it was captivating. Everything was so pristine and orderly, but the smell was something that was not familiar in your home.

When you walked in, you noticed the bodyguard slouched back on the sofa. The same one from the photo. He was more handsome in person. His eyes more sunken in, a tiredness to his face, and eyes that made you question yourself. Who was he? Everything that could ever be but the one thing that stuck out the most was that same tobacco scent. He must have been the one that made that noise in the hallway, he heard you say you hoped he wasn’t grotesque or disgusting. And he wasn’t, but you weren’t going to let him know that.

When you walked into the dining room, it was surprising to see him again, already digging into his plate. You weren’t expecting him, you weren’t expecting anyone. Mr. Antonov looked up, gave you a toothy grin and shoved a large piece of omelet into his mouth. Emelia walked in, gesturing you to sit down in your usual chair, right across from the man you interviewed days ago. You couldn’t look him in the eye. It was too embarrassing. “Madame (L/N), Mr. Antonov will be your new personal bodyguard. I have already arranged for the maids to clean the adjacent guest room. Since he’s your personal guard, he will be staying at the estate,”

“But Emelia I didn’t sign off on this? Who authorized this?”

“Your father,” She said sternly. “He’s been quite impatient. You know he just wants to protect you.” You huffed. Picking away at your food. This is unbelievable! You thought that you could just push it off but it has been decided. You glanced at Dmitri, seeing that he had cleared his plate, patting his mouth with the cloth. You tried your best to just focus on your food but everything was wrong.

After lunch had ended, it was suggested that you and Dmitri get to know each other. “It’s only natural, I won’t be on your trip to Yakutsk, remember?” She said, “Please (f/n), now that we’re alone, try to get to know him. When I’m not there in a few months I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with a stranger,”

You both walked the halls in silence. It felt like your whole body was burning up, you couldn’t stand to look at him. You felt angry. Angry at your father for not being here. Angry at yourself for whatever reason you couldn’t comprehend.

“Lunch was good today. Do you always eat breakfast foods around noon?” Dmitri asked. You kept your head forward, not wanting to meet him in the eye.

“I tend to wake up later. I don’t wake up early,” You told him. You nervously picked at your lace gloves. You couldn’t hide away behind a hat or sunglasses. Or even your small fascinator. Most of that afternoon was spent with questions. You answered curtly, just enough to be satisfactory or enough to the point he didn’t push further. Dmitri walked ahead, not noticing you stopping in your tracks. He turned around, an inquisitive look in his eye. “Mr. Antonov,”

“Yes, Miss (L/N)?” He said.

“I’m sorry,” You said quietly. He walked a little forward, turning his ear toward you. “I’m sorry,” You said.

He smiled. “What for?”

“For what I said to you. I said that looks can be deceiving. I didn’t mean to offend you,” He huffed. “I hope you can forgive me,”

“Do you actually mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“The apology,” He said. “The way I hear it, it just seems you are embarrassed. We can just move past this, it’s fine,” Embarrassed? This was outrageous. “You don’t need to apologize. I felt humiliated at the time, but I would rather have you apologize to me when you’re actually sorry rather than…what’s the term…keeping appearances?”

Your heart burned, it felt like it was swelling, your skin was hot – matching the fire in your lungs. You couldn’t believe the man. Of course you felt sorry, was saying it not enough? Was allowing in your home not enough? You stayed silent the entire time, walking along the halls until you reached the bottom of the stairs. Emelia came out, escorting him along with you.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again. I hope my etiquette was okay?” He answered with a grin. You acutely felt the way your fingers dug into your palm, of course the action didn’t go unnoticed by Dmitri.

“It was,” You said angrily.. He nodded his head and gave a goodbye, watching him be driven off into the distance. Emelia turned to you and smiled, holding your wrist and shutting the door.

“He seems so nice,” She told you. That could be further from the truth.

Tag List: @druigswh0ree @h3k3t

#fics #stranger things #dmitri antonov #dmitri antonov x reader #enzo stranger things #fanfic #fanfiction #enzo x reader #fic: you are my task

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mentalnahigijena · 2 years

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GRANATE ZA OBUKU Ne prestaje se pisati o misterioznom letu iz Niša. Rusi sumnjičavi, Grci bijesni, a u Beogradu histerija: ‘Ne, taj avion nije letio u Ukrajinu!‘ Teretni avion u kojem je bilo osam osoba srušio se kasno u subotu u blizini grada Kavale u sjevernoj Grčkoj, javile su agencije. Srbijanski ministar obrane Nebojša Stefanović, čiji se otac spominjao u aferama prodaje oružja još dok je sin bio ministar unutarnjih poslova, potvrdio je pad. Prema njegovim riječima, teretni zrakoplov Antonov An-12BK, u vlasništvu ukrajinske kompanije Meridian, poletio je u subotu u 20.40 iz Niša, prevozeći 11,5 tona proizvoda "namjenske industrije" (vojne, prevedeno). Svih osam članova posade, za koje je ukrajinski konzul iz Soluna potvrdio da su Ukrajinci, poginulo je u padu. Ministar Stefanović rekao je da je avion prevozio robu srbijanske tvrtke Valir, minobacačke osvjetljavajuće i školske mine. Prema službenim informacijama Beograda, teret je bio namijenjen Bangladešu, a na letu do Dhake trebao je imati tehnička slijetanja u jordanskom Amanu, Rijadu u Saudijskoj Arabiji te Ahmedabadu u Indiji. POŽAR U ZRAKU Let je po zlu krenuo kad se zrakoplov našao nad Egejskim morem i pilot je zatražio odobrenje za slijetanje. Ponuđene su mu zračne luke u Solunu i Kavali, odabrao je potonju, ali nije uspio do nje stići. Prema informacijama očevidaca avion se zapalio već u zraku. Zbog toga stručnjaci smatraju da je u zrakoplovu vjerojatno izbio požar, a zasad je poznato da je još u letu izgubio četvrti motor. Eksplozija pri padu bila je gromoglasna, uzbunila je okolna naselja, a vatrogasci, koji su ubrzo došli do mjesta pada, nisu mogli prići zbog izuzetne vrućine, gustog dima i neprestanih eksplozija. Stanovnicima okolnih mjesta naloženo je da ne izlaze te da zatvore prozore, ali je ta odluka povučena u nedjelju kad su službe obavile pregled mjesta pada i nisu pronašle toksična isparavanja. Ali, naišle su na velik broj neeksplodiranih mina. Srbijanski ministar obrane odlučno je odbacio bilo kakvu ideju da je teret bio namijenjen Ukrajini. Prema njegovim riječima, kako prenosi na mrežnim stranicama beogradska Politika, "od 2016. godine, otkako se sistemski vodi evidencija za svaki let i svaku dozvolu koja se izdaje za promet naoružanjem, nijedna dozvola nije izdana za transport bilo kakve robe te vrste iz Srbije ka Ukrajini ili ka Rusiji ... Srbija izvozi naoružanje samo u skladu s međunarodnim dozvolama, dozvoljenim kupcima". Stefanović je dodao da su prošle godine imali saglasnost za izvoz naoružanja za nešto više od milijardu dolara, a realizirano je oko 500 milijona dolara. NOVAC ZA BIH Sarajevski portal klix.ba objavio je da je Antonov, koji se srušio kod Kavale, tri dana prije toga sletio u Sarajevo i dopremio iz Pariza novac za Centralnu banku Bosne i Hercegovine. Nakon toga je imao još nekoliko letova u regiji. Denis Bogdanovič, šef tvrtke Meridian, izjavio je za Reuters da let nije imao nikakve veze s Ukrajinom ili Rusijom. Iako su ministar Stefanović i šef Meridiana tvrdili da oružje nije išlo za Ukrajinu, pojavila se sumnja da je konačna lokacija bila Ukrajina. Ministar se poziva na dozvole i dogovorenu rutu, ali i mali posrednik u trgovini oružjem zna da se posao tako radi, ishode se svi valjani dokumenti koji se negdje tokom puta promijene, bolje reći izvade se novi. Pa brod ne završi u najavljenoj luci, a tako je i sa avionom. Tu teoriju u određenoj mjeri podriva sigurnost doleta, koji je blizu Bliskog istoka, u Ukrajinu. Rusija u Nišu ima "humanitarni centar" kojemu sigurno nije promakla informacija o polijetanju Antonova. Prema Ukrajini bi, ako se nije kanio vratiti pa letjeti preko Bugarske i Rumunjske, morao ići preko Crnog mora gdje bi bio laka meta ruskim avionima ili raketama. Osim ako bi dobio pratnju borbenih zrakoplova. GRANATE ZA OBUKU Ako, dakle, smjer leta ostavlja razumnu sumnju u tezu da je oružje išlo za Ukrajinu, kad je riječ o poslovima srbijanske "namjenske industrije" nema dvojbe. Raditi za Ukrajinu počela je neposredno prije rata (što govori o razini naivnosti Kijeva kad je riječ o pripremi za ruski napad). SAD je tada poslao trgovce koji su tražili tvornice koje mogu proizvoditi municiju svih vrsta, od onog za osobno naoružanje do topovskih i minobacačkih granata te raketa za višecijevne bacače, sovjetskog tipa. Većina ukrajinskog naoružanja je tog tipa - toliko o pričama Moskve da je NATO opremio Kijev najmodernijim naoružanjem. Takve pogone imaju Srbija i Bugarska i zaposleni su. Isporuke u Ukrajinu obavljaju posrednici preko neke treće strane (što opet budi sumnju da je zrakoplovavion u Amanu mogao promijeniti rutu leta). Ali, opet, jednostavnije je prevesti oružje u Ukrajinu Dunavom ili preko Rumunjske (Mađarska ne dopušta prelazak oružja) cestom, željeznicom, avionom. Bangladeški bdnews24.com prenio je u nedjelju da je Služba za odnose s javnošću (ISPR) njihove vojske potvrdila da su teret bile minobacačke granate za obuku i da je avion u nedjelju oko ponoći trebao sletjeti u Dhaku. No, treba uzeti u obzir mogućnost da je Bangladeš jednostavno potvrdio što je rekao Beograd, jake su te nesvrstane veze, kako ne bi razotkrio moguću stvarnu lokaciju. Išao teret u Bangladeš ili Ukrajinu, pad aviona punog minobacačkih granata izrađenih u Srbiji ozbiljna je afera s koje je trebalo što prije skrenuti pažnju javnosti. Sve zemlje na svijetu koje mogu, trguju oružjem, ali ne žele da se o tome previše zna ili priča u javnosti. Pa je dobro došlo otvoriti medijski rat s Hrvatskom.

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oohnoniall · 3 years

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The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter One (Anastasia)

WARNINGS: cursing.

The Grisha were puppets. She could tell that from the way her father had them paraded before him. No one should be treated the way they were and yet, it was the safest they had ever been. She had not grown up in a time before the Darkling. She had only ever known him to reside over the Little Palace. He kept the Grisha safe.

That didn't stop them from having to perform great feats at the winter fete every year. She had been in attendance every year since she was six.

She still remembered that first one clearly. It had been the first time she had been presented to the court. Her mother had actually come to her room, getting her ready to be shown off like a prized horse. It was the first time she had been allowed to wear a tiara.

Nikolai had teased her for it the entire night. He still teased her for it.

"Annie," a voice hissed to her right. Her eldest brother looked proud in his jacket, his medals pinned to his chest. They showed that he had claimed something in his year of service. Even if she was certain that it was not a brain. "Get your head out of the clouds."

Vasily had never exactly been close to Anastasia. He had always been more focused on learning how to run Ravka, how to be the king that their country deserved. He had never paid much attention to her as Nikolai had. He hadn't paid Nikolai much attention either. Vasily was less their brother and more an acquaintance.

Yet he was all that she had.

Nikolai had left three years before to study and to serve in the military. Anastasia had written him daily letters for the first year, weekly the second. Now, she was lucky if she wrote him monthly. He didn't answer the letters. Too busy with his studies, with forgetting all about the life he had lived back home.

Forgetting Anastasia.

"My head is never in the clouds, Vasie," she huffed as she straightened her spine. She found it somewhat hard to breathe in her gown. Her corset was too tight, her mother had said her waist needed to be smaller and her maids had apparently agreed. Despite the lack of oxygen, there was no denying that the gown was beautiful. It was a shade of cream that matched Vasily's jacket perfectly with sky blue lace detailing on the bodice and matching blue flowers embroidered along the hemline.

It was not the prettiest gown she owned, but it was one of her favorites. If only because she liked that she stood out just a bit from her family. Her mother's gown would be plain, letting everyone focus instead on the Lantsov emerald that would rest on her left hand. Her father and brother would both be sporting their military jackets, the pins and medals gleaming in the light. If Nikolai had been there, he would have at least been the one to escort Anastasia.

Instead, her arm was linked with Vasily's. A bored smile crossed her features, taking away the seventeen-year-old's normal vibrancy. She despised the winter fete. The past three years had all been more disappointing than the last.

It had nothing to do with the Grisha. But it had everything to do with the fact that she had no one to speak with. No one to confide in or giggle with when the night grew boring. Life without her brother had become stale, boring even.

She sighed softly, trying to push out all those negative feelings as Vasily began to gently pull her out of the small antechamber. Her heart pounded in her chest. A four-eighths rhythm that seemed to skip the second beat. She wondered what it would sound like as an aria.

"Presenting His Highness Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov and Her Highness Princess Anastasia Lantsov," a booming voice announced to the waiting crowd of nobles and rich merchants that surrounded Os Alta.

A small smattering of applause greeted them, as it did every year. They were not the show though. They were merely just important guests, visitors to the show of something amazing. Something that none of them were entirely prepared for. At least, not yet.

"Mingle," Vasily murmured in her ear, not bothering to bend. The two were only mere inches apart. A fact that Vasily hated and Nikolai had found humorous. "Just don't wander far from my sight."

"And if I don't?" She did not move to raise a brow or do anything that might cause alarm. She barely moved her lips as she spoke. Speaking with Vasily just meant keeping it quiet and not allowing anyone to hear.

"Then you'll never make a friend that isn't Nikolai." Despite their lack of a relationship, he did care for his younger sister. He cared for his brother as well. Although that relationship was far more strained. Not even Vasily could ignore the rumors surrounding his siblings. Anastasia, however, would never be a threat to him getting the throne upon their father's death.

She gave a very slight nod of her head. If one happened to see it, they would merely assume she had just shifted her stance or something of that nature. They'd never realize that she had agreed to do something for him. Even if it was as simple as mingle with those who gathered with them in celebration of the second army.

Her brother released her arm, allowing her to slip free from him and into the crowd. She would not leave the room. She knew better than to cause Vasily a heart attack. Had Nikolai been there, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of it. She would have been able to do as pleased. He'd just follow after her, his charisma hiding the fact that he was threatening people or watching over the sister he'd never asked for.

Soft laughter, low tenors mixed with high sopranos, filled the air with a gentle melody. One that Anastasia could feel tingling in her bones and in her heart. The melodies of life in Ravka had always seemed to flow through the princess. She just hadn't said a word about it to anyone. Her mother had only ever been told she excelled in music lessons.

She had strived to excel in everything though. Anything to avoid being sent off like her brother.

"Princess," a tall young man stepped in front of her, blocking her from moving forward. He bowed at the waist to her, his left arm going behind his back in a sign of respect. His dark, blue-black hair fell into his face in the softest of waves. Briefly, she thought about reaching out to run her fingers through them. "I was certain we wouldn't be graced with your presence this evening."

"And why exactly is that?" Her tone was soft, lilting and pretty. If she added a bit more breath it would sound more like a song.

"There's a rumor that your parents sent you to Fjerda a week ago," he admitted as he straightened his spine. His eyes were bright, only a few shades darker than the Lantsov emerald. She wondered how many women he had enchanted with his eyes alone.

Anastasia forced a gentle laugh to leave her lips as she looked at the man. "I'm afraid I will not see Fjerda for a few more years. Although, my departure date is not to be common knowledge." Her eyes glinted in the light, matching the sky blue detailing on her dress.

"Of course, your highness," the man nodded his hand once. "Might I have this dance with you?"

She considered it for a moment. A dance didn't mean they'd be courting. Nor did it mean she would be respected. Everything was so political nowadays. If she did not do the right thing, she would create a scandal. However, most of the time it felt as though if she breathed wrong she would cause a scandal or trouble of some sort. It was all quite exhausting if she were being honest.

Slowly, Anastasia took the man's outstretched hand. "Of course."

He led her towards the small dance floor. The winter fete was not a place for dancing. But her mother had thought that it would be nice to have a bit of a dance. She was certain that it had only been in case Nikolai or Vasily had caught sight of a woman that might one day become a queen. Or at the very least it made for a good chessboard.

"What is your name?" She asked as he placed on hand on her waist. She could feel eyes on them. She was certain his family was watching closely, certain that her brother was preparing to protect her honor.

"Dima Antonov," he said as the music began to swell. He led her through an intricate waltz. One that she had danced a million times. It was practically drilled into her feet.

The music spoke to her in a way that nothing ever had before. She loved the way it made her feel as though she were floating on air. Every rest was like holding her breath, the crescendo was the beating of her heart as Dima twirled her across the floor. Her gown floating around them as though there was nothing holding her onto this plane of existence. She could fly away, farther than any bird.

"You're an incredible dancer," his voice brought her back down to the earth. Gravity pulling against her limbs and her hopes.

"Oh?" An amused smile crossed her features. "You're not so bad yourself."

A glint of something was in his eyes. She could not tell if it was amusement or something darker. She prayed to the Saints that she would not have to deal with a pining lordling with dreams of becoming king. It wasn't as though the throne would ever fall to her. Yet, some of these lordlings seemed to believe that they would inherit the throne upon marrying her. Her betrothal didn't seem to matter to any of them either.

Why would she marry a backward Fjerdan when she could have a good, honest Ravakan? Honestly, the whole thing was rather dull.

There was nothing that could be done about her marriage. Contracts had been signed long ago. Although, the Fjerdans were not holding up their end of the bargain particularly well. It seemed as if they assumed they could do whatever they wanted to the Grisha and get away with it. It seemed as though all they cared about was getting another country to trade with them. Something that her parents also wanted.

"Thank you, your highness," Dima broke her out of her thoughts as he dipped her in time with the music. Her long flowing hair nearly touched the floor as strands began to fall from the mess of braids that her maids had put it up in. Her heart skipped another beat as she stared up into his eyes.

Love was such a trivial matter to her and yet, she found it hard to not be wooed by bright eyes and a dazzling smile. She was just a girl after all. A girl with hopes, dreams, ambitions.

Dima's dazzling smile just happened to be distracting enough to keep her mind off of her ambitions.

"I've heard that the Princess of Ravka was a sight to behold, but I didn't expect the rumors to be true." He admitted as he gently pulled her back up. She found that she was pressed rather closely to the young man.

"I take it that this is your first winter fete?" One of her eyebrows rose just a fraction of a centimeter, barely enough for anyone but the man standing in front of her to notice.

"I've been spending my time with the First Army. My father is a general," he admitted as he stepped back enough to make their dance proper once more. "I've finally been allowed leave and thought I would spend my time is Os Alta."

"And this has nothing to do with our new Sun Summoner, does it?"

"Nothing at all," Dima's lips quirked in a handsome smirk. One that sent heat racing to Anastasia's cheeks. She fought down her blush, not wanting a soul to know her feelings.

Her mother had once told her that she was an open book. Her emotions were easy to read and easy to figure out. Her mother had made sure that she knew it was not a good thing. Beauty was what mattered. At least, until she had done what she needed to. Then she could worry about falling in love and being in love. Until then, she had to focus on the Fjerdan prince and providing an heir when the time came.

Anastasia's life was nothing more than a game of chess. She just didn't know if she was the pawn or the queen.

The music slowed to a stop, her heart still kept the steady beat of the waltz. If only to keep it inside of her for a few hours more. Dima stepped away from her, bowing his head politely.

"Thank you for the dance, your highness," he took her hand in his and raised it to his knuckles. He brushed his lips against it once, before he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and out of her life.

She knew better than anyone that it was easier to dance with royalty than actually spend time with them. It was one of the reasons why Nikolai had been her only friend for so long.

Anastasia did not allow for this to keep her sedated for long. Instead, she slipped away into the crowd. Her eyes searched out Vasily, who was drinking something that was not water while flirting with a lord's daughter. One that he had been speaking with for nearly a year now. She was expecting a courting announcement any day now.

Vasily being preoccupied was a blessing to her. She could escape from his supposedly watchful gaze and find something to do that was not fawn over the Grisha and what they could do. It wasn't like she hated the Grisha. She just thought that they didn't need to be put on parade. There was no reason for them to be a sort of sideshow.

Anastasia slipped out of the throne room of the little palace. The noise of the music and the endless chatter allowed for her to be silent, despite the harsh clicking noise of her heels on the tiled floors.

She could not lose herself completely in the crowd. Others moved out of the way for her, occasional bows were thrown her way while others tried to speak with her about some piece of political jargon that she didn't particularly care about. She was certain that they were only speaking to her because they thought she had her father's ear. It would be quite a shock to them when they realized that she didn't. She had no say in anything political. She was not allowed in council meetings.

All she was was the pretty princess. The one they could trade for marriage and gain political allies through. It was quite aggravating if anyone were to ask for her opinion. Which they more than likely wouldn't. No one ever did.

She kept her head held high, her chin pointed just slightly to show she knew who she was and what power she held, as she walked down the hallways and through the crowds. She rounded a corner, her brow furrowing as she noticed something out of the ordinary.

A man in a guard's uniform. A man that she did not recognize.

Anastasia knew every guard in the palaces. She had trained with much of them under Nikolai's orders. They had treated her with respect and constantly allowed her to win while also ignoring her horrid aim. Seeing someone new at the winter fete? That was quite unlikely.

"Excuse me," her voice was soft, barely carrying above the noise of the music and idle chatter. Yet, anyone who knew the royal family would have stopped at her voice. The man kept walking for two steps before realizing his mistake.

Something was very wrong in the Little Palace. None of the guards should have continued walking. Not even the freshest of faces would have made that mistake.

She could tell that the man was cursing his mistake as he turned on his heel. There was a look in his eye. A glint of rage, of anxiety even. She would never wish to be the one that rage was directed against. His blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul, drowning her as though it were the depths of the sea or the Fold. His cheekbones were high, sharp enough that they might cut her if she were to touch them.

She ignored the thundering in her chest, her four-eighths time had become a sixteenth. Fast, quick, ready to jump into her throat.

The fact that his rage soon melted into the look of one of a new recruit did not help. His features still made him deadly, despite the innocence that he had schooled into his features. Anastasia was someone who wore a mask every day of her life. She had gotten rather good at figuring out who was faking things. She had found different ways to discern who wore a mask and who wore their true face. It was normally in the eyes, in the quirk of their lips, the slightest motion of the eyebrows. There was always a tell.

It didn't matter who wore the mask.

"Your Highness," he bowed somewhat awkwardly. It was almost as though there was something wrong with him. Like he had been hurt before or like he found it difficult to bow before anyone. Perhaps he thought himself a king in his own right. "May I help you?"

His Ravakan was somewhat harsh, the syllables not coming out as easily as they would for a native speaker. She didn't think that was a warning sign. If they had needed more guards, they would have looked to recent immigrants. They'd be too happy to work for the palace and send money back to their families. She just wondered where exactly he was from. The accent didn't seem to be anywhere she could place.

It was too prim for Kerch and too gentle for Fjerda. Maybe he was from Novi Zem, but he didn't have the air. She figured she would find out later. Now was not the time to question anything as simple as where his accent stemmed from. That would be a conversation for later.

"You're new," she said as she stepped forward. She did not step close enough to be within his personal bubble, just enough so that he could hear her without straining himself. "I haven't seen you on the grounds before." She had not sparred with him before. It was just improper for her to say so with the entirety of the court present.

He cleared his throat once, as though he was unsure how to approach her. Or maybe just the topic at hand.

”They’ve had me preparing for tonight for the last few weeks,” he said it casually, as though it were nothing but the truth. It should have been. No one would have been fool enough to break into the palaces on the one night when everyone was on high alert.

At least, that’s what they had all been led to believe. There was no telling if this was the truth or not. No telling if they were actually safe or if they were all just pawns in someone’s chess game.

Anastasia was prone to believing one over the other.

”I see,” her eyes blazed as she looked at him, not daring to back down from his soulful gaze. “Well, in any case, I like to be well acquainted with my guards, Mr?”

”Vanzin,” he said quickly. He no longer looked nervous, the name fell smoothly from his lips. “Nikolai Vanzin.”

”Nikolai?”

”My mother thought it would be lucky to name me after a prince,” his cheeks heated slightly, enough to make her believe the excuse.

”Very well then, Mr. Vanzin. I will see you later then.”

“I’ll be here all night, Your Highness.”

A small smile crossed Anastasia’s lips at that, a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with mischief and everything to do with the new handsome guard. “I expect to see you on the training field tomorrow.” She did not wait for his answer as she turned away.

Anastasia did not notice the scowl that crossed Vanzin’s face, nor did she notice as he slipped unnoticed into the crowd. Vanzin soon becoming nothing more than a ghost.

A ghost who went by the name of Kaz Brekker.

#six of crows #shadow and bone #grishaverse #kaz brekker #kaz x oc #mobster x princess #kaz x princess #kaz steals an emerald #nikolai lantsov #lantsov emerald #vasily lantsov #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #grisha netflix #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #i'm not sorry #brought over from my quotev

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percysmarguerite · 3 years

Text

ANASTASIA THE MUSICAL DRAMATURGICAL INFORMATION

I had to research all of this information as part of an assignment for one of my classes this past year at university. Enjoy!

disclaimer: I am not Russian, and do not have a super big in-depth background in Russian history, culture, or geography. The following information is accurate to the best of my knowledge, but parts of this post involve heavy amounts of conjecture about travel times, and it’s also possible that there may be some errors, of which if you spot any, of course, please correct me.

content warnings: This post discusses at length the historical/canonical death of the Romanov family, along with brief implication/discussion of animal death

Anya and her Fitbit

when Anya says she walked Russia, girl ain’t kidding

If she walked from city to city without ever hitching a ride, girl got her steps in

from the jobs that she mentions she has worked in the show, she has chronologically worked in the following places

Perm - hospital worker

Odessa (located in modern-day Ukraine) - dishwasher

St. Petersburg/Leningrad - street sweeper

prior to Perm, she was living with her family in the Ipatiev House (also known as the House of Special Purpose) in Yekaterinberg, but following the death of the Romanovs, the bodies were transported first approximately half an hour north to the Koptyaki forest, then once again south to Ganina Yama, which is about half an hour west of Yekaterinberg (these distances considered for vehicles not for walking)

Anya mentions being found on the side of the road, with fresh vehicular tracks in the snow (it was July when this happened, and I attempted to figure out how likely snow would have been to occur, but didn’t really come up with anything conclusive, but it leads more towards being unlikely but not entirely outside the realm of possibility), and recounts the events that happened in the basement, which means that she likely escaped from the truck afterwards somewhere between Yekaterinburg and the Koptyaki forest

So the following distances are according to Google Maps with the walking option turned on, so obviously take this with a grain of salt, but here is the approximate time it would take to walk between those areas without stopping:

Yekaterinberg to Perm/Koptyaki Forest to Perm (see note below) ~ 3.04/3.2 days (73/77 hours)

Perm to Odessa ~ 21.125 days (507 hours)

Odessa to St. Petersburg ~ 14.0833 days (338 hours)

as mentioned before, Anya said that she was found on the side of the road by fresh tracks, so it’s likely that she didn’t make it all the way to Perm, or even that she walked very far from where she escaped the truck transporting the bodies

Patronymics, diminutives, and historical inaccuracy, oh my!

the musical has a surprising lack of Russian patronymics, as the only named character to really have one is Anastasia, given that she actually has a historical patronymic, but the fact that no one else has one is just like...kinda weird

common fanon is that Dmitry’s full name is Dmitri Sudayev, as that was the name of a real servant of the Romanov family. Sources very on what his full name is, Dimitri Floydorovich Sudayev or Dimitry Nikolayevich Antonov, but the historical record lists his father’s name as Nikolai Aleksevich Sudayev, which means that in all likelihood his name would be Dmitry Nikolayevich Sudayev

however, given that Dmitry’s backstory was changed for the musical and is no longer a former servant of the Romanovs but instead the son of an anarchist that died in a labor camp, his patronymic and family name are technically kind of a free-for-all

as mentioned in the musical, his diminuative is Dima

One of the men involved in the killing of the Romanovs was named Stephan Vaganov, which is presumably where Gleb’s surname comes from, which makes Gleb’s patronymic Stephanovich

ergo, his full name is Gleb Stephanovich Vaganov

the diminutive for Anastasia is NOT Anya, it is Nastya

Anya is a diminutive of Anna, which itself derives from the name Hannah

this itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing, because Anya had amnesia, and wouldn’t know her name and the correct diminutive

Lily’s surname (Malevsky-Malevitch) is an example of a double surname, which is an indication her priviledge and higher social class, as they were adopted to distinguish from different branches of the same family, and to differentiate between different members of the same family as well

now onto my favorite controversial name from the show: Toby. Anya mentions having a dog that she holds to her during the moment where the Romanovs are killed, which is true to historical record, except her dog wasn’t named Toby. His name was Jimmy. I have literally no idea why they felt that it was necessary to change the dog’s name. It’s not even hard to find this information out, it’s in practically every account on the Romanovs, and even can easily be found on the Wikipedia page.

Jumping off a moving train (not clickbait!) and the return of the fitbit

Anya mentions that they will take the train at midnight from the Finland station, which is obstensibly the St. Petersburg-Finlyandsky Station, which handles westward travel towards Helsinki and Vyborg

if they had remained on the train, they probably would have taken the route that Anya, Dmitry, and Vlad take in the movie, which is the train to Finland, then a ship across the Baltic Sea to Denmark, then traveled across Germany/Brussels/etc. until they reached Paris

However, the musical trio are forced to leave the train once Cheka officers arrive looking for them

so they just, you know. no big deal. jump off of a moving train.

they then turn around and head south and west back towards Poland, likely to avoid being caught at the Russian/Finland border, which is mentioned by Gleb in the musical

and then they walked across a third of Europe

in total, to walk from St. Petersburg-Finlyandsky Station (in St. Petersburg) to Paris, France it would have taken ~ 21.3 days (512 hours) without stopping (not counting the time it would have taken for them to walk back to the train station)

from the train station to ~10km northeast of the Polish border (mentioned by Dmitry), it would taken ~ 7.625 days (183 hours) without stopping

it’s also good to note that at some point, they managed to pick up a driver who took them through France to just outside of Paris, and we can assume that they possibly were able to hitch rides for other stretches of the journey, but that the stretch from the train station to Poland is implied to have been walked in entirety by the musical

which means that for the journey from north of St. Petersburg to Paris took anywhere from one to four weeks or so

I hope all of this information was interesting to any fans of the show out there! I had lots of fun researching it, and glad that I can share all of it with you all. <3

#anastasia #anastasia meta #claire.txt #it's not quite meta but that's the closest tag that i'll get to what this is #this got long but i'm gonna leave it like this

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porthavenhq · 4 years

Photo

Welcome to Porthaven, Barbie! We can’t wait to meet Dimitri Antonov!

Please look over the acceptance checklist and submit your blog within the next 24 hours. If there is a problem or a prior obligation and you need more time than provided, just message the main and we will gladly extend!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　OUT OF CHARACTER　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Name: Barbie here, yet again Pronouns: still she/her Age: 25 yoo Timezone: cst Activity Level: 8/10 cause remodeling the housee time Triggers: nope Anything Else: im good c:

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　CHARACTER INFORMATION　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Name: Dimitri Antonov Age: March 14, 1994. He’d be 26 years old as of today c: Gender: Cis Male FC: Brenton Thwaites

Character Biography

It is fair to say that some people are born with luck, while others inherit misfortune; so is the case of Dimitri who hadn’t yet been on this earth more than a month before loosing his mother as a result of medical complications, and his father followed not long after, by taking his own life in response to such tragedy. However, this pattern never ceased to trail behind every step in the young boy’s path, as even when given a second chance at a life, and a family with his aunt and uncle, disgrace and horror stained whatever happiness Dimitri once yearned for, as the attack on the Romanovs took away everything he had known in life so far, teaching him a valuable lesson: To love, is to lose.

Naturally enough, such nights can’t be forgotten either, no matter how horrible the trauma it led to could be; so Dimitri swore to make something out of it instead. Sure, the first step on his heroic act of helping Anastasia and her grandmother escape with him had been pretty much an accident, but everything that came after parting ways seemed to be some sort of karmic justice for the boy.

From then on, Dimitri had to adapt and learn his place on the streets of St. Petersburg while avoiding police and being thrown back into the system; turning him into quite the con artist, often tricking American tourists into paying him for taking care of his things while they entered a tourist attraction, or even making the local mafia gangs believe he was a delivery boy for both sides without the other knowing. Long story short, he learnt how to play with people, and it would take all of his skills to pull off his greater trick yet; convincing the ever so lucky Grandmother that he had not only saved her life once, but that because of him, and the little music box souvenir he took from the crime scene, that whichever beauty he put in front of her was the real Anastasia.

Headcanons

He hates trains because when younger and alone, Dimitri had to sleep on an abandoned train that was not only cold and scary, but also to him it resembled the room he found his family after the attack. Unfortunately for him, it was either that, or having no roof on his head for the night.

TW: ALCOHOLISM ? –– Drinking has always been a problem for him, as from a young age he picked up the common habit for most kids in Russia (to an extent), but it only worsened when most of what he could afford to eat was cheap vodka and bread as he constantly had to run away from authorities and therefore spend most of his money on transportation. He’s not yet an alcoholic but it does bring out the worst in him, and he is well on his way.

Because he knows how he can get with some booze in his system, Dimirti tries to stay away from bars, and nightclubs just to not feel tempted. It hardly ever works if he sees a profit in going in however.

In order to appear older to whoever employed him at the time, Dimitri slept very little so the bags under his eyes deepened, and insisted that he was at least 4 years older than what he really was at the time. To this day, he still confuses the real and fake age.

He has a coffee addiction. Can’t go a day without drinking at least 4 cups of it. Anxiety? He don’t know it. (Of course he does but plays it off)

Dimitri hates ballet, but likes going shopping a lot. Could go a whole day just walking around stores without feeling like he’s breaking a sweat.

Before passing, his uncle and aunt called Dimitri “Dima”, which is a nickname he is very fond of, but because of it’s deep meaning, Dimitri has never told anyone about it but one girl once when he was a kid, as it is too precious for the world to taint.

Inspiration

Here’s a link to Dimitri’s pinterest board section c:

#phqacceptance #alcoholism tw #suicide tw #parental death tw

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