#russicnrat

[noblehcart]

Aesthetic: Mrs. Suit Liesel Ivanov-Vaganov (White Collar AU)

[hesteals]

sorry, not sorry, @russicnrat​

“ bro, are you even living if you don’t have at least twelve pairs of sneaks ? ”  al adjusts the sleeves of the sleek leather jacket freshly commandeered from dmitry’s closet. ( hey, it’s his room too ! )

[princessduty]

@russicnrat​ liked for a starter ( from ANYA ! )

          ❛  what do you think you’ll do after all of this is over? ❜ however this ended, whether or not the dowager empress recognized her, anya would be a step closer to finding her family, for someone, long ago, had once spoken of meeting in paris. anya knew what she was running towards. but what did dmitry hope to find?  ❛ will you make paris your true home? ❜

[suverennaya-moved]

        ❛  excuse  me,  ladies,  but  that’s  quite  enough.   it’s  my   turn  with  our  champion.  ❜   a  playful  smile  is  cast  as  she  drags  him  away,  though  it’s  dropped  along  with  the  hand  on  his  arm  once  they’re  outside.   ❛  congratulations,  ❜   anya  says  with  little  mirth,  taking  two  wine  glasses  from  a  passing  waiter  and  handing  him  the  one  on  her  left.   ❛  it  tastes  better  down  your  throat  than  on  your  tongue,  so  drink  it  quickly.  ❜

@russicnrat​ !     au  verse  starter  call.

[heheals]

once, when he was a kid, zahid wanted to be a doctor. with his ability to heal, some of the difficulties that plagued the job would be trivial. he would never lose a patient, and there would never be anything he couldn’t treat. 

it had felt like a calling.

but like everyone else, he’d been made to grow up, and that dream lost its sheen before he took his first steps into adulthood. the reality of his power is its chief limitation: what good is it to be able to cure only such a small, finite number of people ? he chose to go into science to bring healing to as many people as possible, to make it beyond himself.

and yet here he stands, like the bleeding heart that he is, in an unfamiliar hallway filled with warm, yellow light. his gaze flits over framed pictures, most of them featuring a blond little boy, his smile cheeky and bright as he rides his father’s shoulders and rides his tricycle. shifting his weight, he turns to the man next to him. with his arms crossed, he asks quietly, “ why am i here, dmitry ? ”

for @russicnrat​ from a starter call

[unelectedofficial]

✧･ﾟ  @russicnrat​​​  asked  :            “  you’re talking too much.  ”

      𝘛𝘏𝘌  𝘈𝘜𝘋𝘈𝘊𝘐𝘛𝘠   of  the  total  stranger  (  who  had  been  assigned  to  be  her  partner  on  this  project  just  minutes  ago  )  was  unbelievable  ,  her  mouth  held  agape  in  the  same  position  it  had  been  before  he  cut  her  off  .  there  is  irony  ,  in  what  he  says  ;  nessarose  doesn’t  often  go  on  tangents  like  this  .  this  is  an  exception  ,  for  she  can  see  that  the  boy  opposite  her  doesn’t  exactly  have  the  most  scholarly  look  --  and  some  people  in  this  world  had  standards  that  they  preferred  to  stick  with  .       ❛  talking  too  much  ?  ❜  she  repeats  ,  eyes  narrowing  slightly  out  of  offense  .  a  small  huff  ,  nostrils  flaring  dramatically  .  ❛  why  ,  you  haven’t  said  a  word  !  humor  me  ,  what  do  you  propose  we  research  for  this  ?  ❜  

[wonwars]

@russicnrat​ says, “ i don’t think i trust anyone else. ”

“ i think i can get that. ” steve nods, painting in dmitry’s shoulder and peeking out from behind the easel. the afternoon sunlight streams the window, cloaking his subject in an almost uncharacteristic warmth. it’d taken weeks to get mr sudayev to hold a conversation with him, but while he and his wife could be enigmatic at times, they’d become easily some of steve’s favourite neighbours. “ how did you and mrs sudayev meet ? ”

[imperises-a]

↳  plotted starter :     @russicnrat​

        𝐀  𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘  𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒  𝐎𝐔𝐓  𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄  her,  vast  and  ornate  and  dimly  lit.  In  the  distance,  a  group  of  figures  stand  cloistered  together  all  beckoning  to  her,  their  smiling  faces  earnest  and  kind.  Anya  runs  towards  them;  yet,  the  farther  she  runs,  the  further  they  seem  to  draw  away  from  her.  She  tries  to  call  out  to  them,  but  her  tongue  feels  like  lead—can’t  seem  to  form  itself  around  a  name,  though  she  tries.  The  scenery  changes  abruptly  and  suddenly  there’s  the  sound  of  a  loud  gunshot,  startling  Anya  so  badly  that  she  jerks  upright,  and---

        The  vision  fades  away  just  as  the  bus  drives  over  a  large  rock,  jostling  its  passengers,  and  Anya  lurches  forward  in  her  seat.  She  gasps  for  air.  Sweat  beads  at  her  hairline.  Her  eyes  are  wide  and  frightened.  It  takes  a  moment  for  her  to  realise  it  was  just  a  nightmare—it  had  felt  so  real,  the  fear  a  palpable  thing  not  just  for  herself  but  for  the  people  in  her  dream.  If  only  she  could  have  made  out  their  faces.  

        The  bus  feels  stifling.  It  had  been  Dmitry’s  idea  to  take  a  bus  to  Germany,  and  considering  what  had  happened  on  the  train,  she  wasn’t  all  that  keen;  but  she’d  gone  along  with  it  because  what  else  would  she  have  done?  Now  though,  scrunched  down  in  a  seat  beside  him  with  barely  an  inch  between  them,  she  suddenly  wished  she  had  a  seat  to  herself  so  she  could  breathe.  It’s  only  then  she  realises  that  he’s  awake.  How  long  he’s  been  awake  and  how  much  he’d  seen,  she  doesn’t  know,  but  she’s  immediately  on  the  defensive  anyway—the  last  person  she  wants  to  see  her  in  a  vulnerable  position  is  him.  ❛  How  long  until  we  reach  Germany?  ❜  she  asks,  electing  to  ignore  how  her  voice  shakes.