#russixnrxt

[risenagain]

❝ conman and princess

                         get their wish,

                fairytale comes true. ❞

                                                independent. private. selective.                    - ̗̀ anastasia nikolaevna romanova & dmitry nikolayevich sudayev  ̖́-                                                               of anastasia                                                  from the 2017 stage adaptation                                            influenced by the 1997 film and history                                                          as told by katey and elle.

[risenagain]

❝ in that crowd                    of thousands,     i’d find you                     again. ❞

@russixnrxt <3

(non-rp blogs, do not reblog)

[risenagain]

“Now I have something I want to protect. It’s you.”

( Studio Ghibli Sentence Meme / accepting prompts )

           For several moments, all Anya can do is stare at him with her eyes widened and mouth agape. It would be a blatant lie if she were to say that his words had not momentarily made her heart skip a beat or left her breathless ( something that he had been successfully doing quite a bit in the past hour ). Less than an hour ago, Anya never would have imagined that the same man who had, upon meeting her, told her to jump into a canal would be the one delivering sweeping declarations of love and angst to HER on her grandfather’s bridge. But now, as she stares up at him, the breeze gently brushing his hair across his forehead; a soft smile complimenting his handsome features; adoring brown eyes ( that she had come to love so much in such a short period of time ) staring down at her, Anya feels her heart stop yet again and she finds herself wondering how she ever believed Dmitry to be anything but utterly perfect.            ❛ I don’t want to be in love with someone I can’t have for the rest of my life,❜  is what he had said when she had approached him on the Pont Alexandre III. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure WHAT she had exactly expected when she had run after him while still in that ridiculous, big dress. Anger, perhaps, on both their ends. Stubbornness, certainly. More arguing, definitely. Certainly not that, though. He had said those words and surprised her in the best way possible, nearly making her heart beat out of her chest. And now this? It was as if he was trying to kill her.

           ❛ Dmitry, I… ❜ She’s at a loss. His words and the way that he is looking at her are evoking a variety of emotions that she had never expected to feel. The heat of Dmitry’s hand on her lower back and the way he is rubbing tiny circles with his thumb aren’t making it any easier for her to construct basic sentences. This is the stuff of fairy tales ― her mama’s old romance novels, she realizes. The kind of thing Anya had never found appealing but Maria had always wanted with every remotely cute boy they had ever encountered. But now, Anya is looking at him and she is seeing everything that she has always wanted. The home, love, and family she had so desperately craved for the past ten years.

           They weren’t in Paris with Nana. Everything that she needed was on this tiny boat with DMITRY. So she kisses him again, not in the frantic, hungry way she did on the bridge, but with no shortage of intensity this time either.

           When she pulls back, she can’t help but grin at the sight before her. The combination of his swollen lips, the softness in his gaze, and the slightly dazed expression on his face, as if he can’t believe that she exists and that they’re locked together the way that they are, make her heart burst more than she cares to admit.

           ( ❛ The feeling is more than mutual, Dima,❜  is what she wants to say.)

           Instead, she settles for smiling at him and running her hands through his hair ― enjoying the silkiness of it against her fingers now that her fancy gloves have been long since removed. She stands in his embrace, with no intention to move anytime soon, as the boat moves slowly down the Seine. She is missing the sights, Anya realizes this, but all she can do ― all that she WANTS to do ― is watch him.

           She doesn’t tell him that she loves him like she wants to.

           Instead, she admires the way he looks against the twilight of the Parisian sky and continues to run her fingers through his hair as she quietly whispers, ❛ Marry me. ❜

[risenagain]

INSTAGRAM AESTHETIC;; MODERN ANASTASIA NIKOLAEVNA

@russixnrxt

[risenagain]

@russixnrxt plotted for: 

            Painted lips settle into a thin line and her jaw tightens ― Anya can practically FEEL the wrinkles forming into permanent lines on her forehead as she frowns at the display before her. She and Dmitry had been in the middle of their regular evening stroll in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont when she had appeared. Eyes sparkling and crimson hair demanding attention, she had greeted Dmitry as if they were old friends. To Anya’s surprise, Dmitry’s own skin had flushed red as he shot a nervous grin back at the beautiful woman and suddenly, she felt greener than any of the trees surrounding them.

           ❛ Your old partners had said that the Prince of Petersburg had fled to Paris, but ‘no!’ I told them. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to me. Imagine my surprise when I was unable to find you anywhere, ❜ the stranger pouts, heels clicking against cobblestone as she steps closer to Dmitry. A foreign irritation rises within Anya’s chest as she watches the way that this woman is confidently gazing at him ( a look she doesn’t like at all ) and as she takes note of the lack of physical distance between the two of them now. She can’t help but wonder, what exactly had Dmitry left? ❛ I thought you had forgotten about me, ❜ their visitor practically croons as continues to smirk up at him. This time Anya definitely sees red as a perfectly manicured hand slides up to rest on Dmitry’s chest.

           Cheeks flame up as Anya finally steps forward, successfully invading the invisible bubble this woman had tried to establish around herself and her husband. Her grip on Dmitry’s bicep tightens, fingernails digging through the barrier of fabric and into his skin, and before he has had a chance to respond to his old friend, Anya is speaking. ❛ Forgive me, ❜ Anya deadpans, her tone clear that she cares little for this stranger’s forgiveness. There are no false pleasantries or smiles as she stares icily at the other woman. ❛ I don’t believe we have met. Won’t you introduce me to your friend, darling? ❜ She turns to address Dmitry, the term of endearment lacking its usual warmth as she pins him with an unimpressed look as well.