#anigor

[lafiametta]

Just saw Anora and got so obsessed w Igor its not funny i need to see more posts about him 😭😭😭😭

Igor’s on such a journey and I love it.

Can you imagine: it’s your birthday and you get a call from the Armenian guy you work for to pick him up at a baptism so you both can check on his boss’s boss’s rich-ass useless son and see if he has or has not married a prostitute. You understand the job — look tough, provide a little muscle if the situation calls for it — and once it’s done you can go return your grandmother’s car from where you borrowed it and visit with her for an hour or so before maybe heading out for a lowkey night to celebrate.

Instead, the rich-ass useless son runs away and you end up having to make sure the girl he married — who takes great offense to being called a prostitute, by the way — doesn’t take off too, and because she won’t stop throwing things and hitting you in the face and screaming you don’t know what else to do except restrain her with a phone cord.

And then she bites you and breaks the Armenian’s nose even as you’ve got her in a hold on top of you.

It’s not exactly what Igor had in mind for the day, is all I’m saying.

As an audience, we also get our expectations turned on their head: Igor, who at first just seems like your standard Slavic hired goon, turns out to have a heart of gold, or at least a soft spot just big enough for a beautiful, foul-mouthed erotic dancer with an impressive left hook. (Although he’s no slouch either, considering how he wields that aluminum bat.) There’s something about her that he really likes, even from the beginning, and you can see him looking out for her and trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to make up for what he did to her back at the house.

I think he admires her brashness, and the way she’s determined to fight for the Cinderella dream that a life with Ivan promised her. In both the courtroom scene and on the tarmac with Ivan’s mother he secretly smiles as he listens to her argue and threaten, even against people far wealthier and more powerful.

(There also seems to be a class element, at least where her conflict with the Zakharovs are concerned. Igor probably doesn’t love the fact that he’s employed by these rich assholes and Ani saying that she’s going to take half their money has him silently cheering her on, because, yeah, fuck them. And when Galina Zakharov winks at him after threatening Ani’s whole existence, he has to look away in shame, because he still works for them, and they think that means they own him.)

I’d love to know when he decides to steal the ring from Toros. Maybe at some point on the plane, after he can see that part of her has given up. It’s a brilliant display of rebellion, made even better by the fact that he waits until the very last minute to give it to her. (Would we have heard all that shit about “hunchback weirdos” and “rape eyes” if he had surprised her with it the first moment they were alone? But Igor is secure enough to take all her insults, and probably likes the fact that she feels safe enough to keep roasting him again and again. “Touché, motherfucker?” she says, and all he can do is giggle.)

Which brings us to the car scene.

The ring is an act of atonement, something to make up for what she’s been through over the past two days — some of which he knows he’s responsible for — and one last fuck you to the family that humiliated her. Igor thinks he’s evening the score before he says goodbye, not realizing that Ani sees it as a gesture she needs to pay back to keep feeling like she’s in control. So she gives him what she thinks he wants — what all men want from her.

Igor’s an adaptive, street-smart guy, but he wasn’t prepared for what she ends up doing. He doesn’t resist, though, taking initiative only once she’s fully on top of him and then just to take her face in his hands. Does some part of him know this is transactional? Does some part of him want it to be real the way Ani wanted Ivan to be real? He wants to pretend at least, and tries to kiss her, only for Ani it’s too real, too much, and she’ll fight to make it stop, like she fights for so many things in her life. But the emotions bubble up anyway, and even through the haze of sex Igor can see she’s in pain, so he pulls her in close and lets her cry, steady and silent as the sobs wrack her body like waves.

It’s a scene that neatly mirrors the one from the living room — him holding her as she’s on top of him — now cast as an expression of vulnerability and care rather than fear and aggression. He’s always been strong enough to hold her, but it’s only at the very end that Ani is willing to be held.

[theredconversegirl]

Hi! Do you know any fics where Sakura and Sasuke meet up in private after he leaves Konoha? <3

Hi nonny,

Thank you for stopping by! 💕

I know some fics like that, but not all of them are about them purposely meeting in private. Some are accidental meetings, some are not so accidental, and in some of the fics, they will meet more than once after the first encounter. I hope that works for you! 😁

Here you go:

Clandestine Encounters 🍅🌸

*Fics were they meet while Sasuke is a missing nin. Some encounters are accidental, others not so much.

A Reason By: sincerelyLen

It was a reunion Haruno Sakura hardly expected. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

And Their Unsaid Words Became Their Silence By: Raina1

This conversation never happened. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Because I Love You By: flowerslut

He lifted his arm, not to attack, but to show her his power. The power he had to destroy, to kill. The power he had that could take her life at any given moment. He was not her friend; he was her enemy. "It's okay," she said in the cold hard voice, "I wasn't planning on surviving this fight anyways." [Rated T, complete] ⚠ Warning: death.

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

clandestine meetings By: supremelyuchiha /  SS_UCHIHA

He knew she might get sick from the coldness of the night—just like when he knocked her unconscious and left on the bench near the village gates—but he wanted her to rouse from her peaceful slumber. Ultimately, he wanted her to see him. But he stood hidden, alone in the dark, like a predator waiting for its prey to take the wrong turn. And he watched her. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Dissolutionated Return By: bacatlover

With lady luck all but gone for Sakura, how will she deal with the one and only Uchiha in her sights? [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Fade Away By: Tsugi no mai hakuren

Sasuke made Sakura a deal she simply couldn't refuse. In exchange he could promise her the safety of the Hidden Leaf but what would she have to give up in return? Is she willing to go as far as to help him complete the last of his goals? [Rated M, incomplete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Luck of the Draw By: Aurora Ciel

Tenshi: a brothel that kidnaps girls and forces them into prostitution. Sakura's mission: rescue the girls and shut down Tenshi. But what happens when she comes across the one person she never expected to see again? [Rated M, incomplete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Magnetism By: bacatlover

She never thought he'd be the one drawn to her, so unlike her childhood. But on this night, he needs her just as much as she's ever wanted him. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Night Visitor By: MangaAnimeLover

Sakura had always been the one chasing Sasuke, but when he left and years passed by, her longing for him faded. Now, years after their depart, Sasuke finds a need for her and seeks her to satisfy this deep hunger. [Rated M, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

tomorrow morning By: ohwhatsherface / @sun-summoning

Drabbles. Sasuke, Sakura, and a life without Konoha. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Treason By: @wishingforatypewriter​

A viral illness takes the ninja world by storm while Sasuke is travelling with team Hebi/Taka. Only one medic so far had been able to form an antidote and resources are scarce.

Of Failed Schemes and Second Goals

Sakura encounters Karin for the first time. Setting: a month or two after the events of Treason (not necessary to read, but recommended)

The Fear

Sakura gets kidnapped by the Akatsuki. Setting: Treason-verse, maybe three weeks after “Of Failed Schemes and Second Goals”

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Once By: Alena S Anigor (Alenas)

The forest is deep and frightening when they meet again... [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Once Bitten By: Aya8

Sasuke and Sakura with snake jutsu, biting, and blindfolds. [Rated M, complete] *Ch 2 is the revised and longer version of Ch1.

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Neck By: MintiNeko 

First it was the pressure point, then the attempted strangulation. It was always the damn neck with him. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Thief By: twitch and spaz 

Sakura should have known stealing Sasuke's sword probably hadn't been the best idea. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Love is a Hole in the Heart By: Mizu no Kenshi 

You have my replacement, and we have yours. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Interchange By: WinterVines 

Sasuke was camped out in a grungy bar in Earth Country when she walked in. [Rated K+, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Shut Your Mouth By: Sharinganblossom 

There was another side to her that he wasn't seeing. [Rated T, complete]

🍅🌸🍅🌸🍅🌸

Welcome To The S Club, Sakura By: Rainy Downpour 

She went through the exact same thing they went through: sleeping with a S-Class criminal. [Rated M, complete]

——————————————————————————

⚠ In order to not make this list longer or repeat more fics, I also recommend checking these other lists:

SasuSaku featuring Hebi/Taka!Sasuke 🍅🌸

Wanted Smut 🍅🌸

There are a few other fics in there that fits this category.

——————————————————————————

I hope you enjoy these stories. 😊 I'll add more fics as I review my lists or in case anyone sends me recs. ❤

~ Happy Reading & Stay Safe!

xoxo

[mika080]

Behind the Word

by Alena S. Anigor

Summary: Maybe it was time for him to finally understand the meaning behind the kanji on his forehead...Slight [Gaara x Sakura]. Reviews are welcome.

Rated: K+ - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,243

Link.

[lafiametta]

Right before Igor pulls Anora into his arms you can see him briefly kiss the top of her head and I don’t think my heart can take that kind of knowledge.

[lafiametta]

Get you a man who confidently mispronounces French words and then cracks up when you correct him and call him a motherfucker.

[lafiametta]

I don’t care how unrealistic it is, I want Anora to get her trip to Disney World. Igor will go with her, of course, and buy her a pair of hot pink sequined mouse ears that she wears in every selfie she posts on Instagram. (Seriously, so many selfies in front of Cinderella’s castle.) She makes fun of the fact that he’s wearing fucking gopnik track pants the whole time, but to make up for it she’ll thread her fingers through his as they wait in line for the Haunted Mansion and whisper in his ear all the things they’ll do once they get back to the hotel room. At the nighttime fireworks show, she starts shivering a little in her tank top and short shorts, so he silently slips his hoodie over her shoulders and pulls her tight into his arms. Her cheek presses against his shoulder and she breathes in traces of cigarette smoke and his aftershave as the fireworks light up the sky, the moment like magic she wants to hold onto forever.

[lafiametta]

For the anora prompt: fear

This one's a bit of a stretch, Anon, but I still hope you like it! :)

It’s after one of the stops they make—somewhere between the crowded nightclub and a late-night kebab shop—that he notices it, a tiny glint from underneath Toros’s seat. Only when he crouches down and looks again, waiting an extra second after everyone has piled out of the car, does Igor realize what it is.

The diamond ring, wedged between the seat and the console.

He has no idea how it got there—maybe it slipped out of Toros’s pocket at some point when he was leaning over—but there’s no question that his boss is going to want it back.

He quickly grabs the ring and jumps out of the SUV, about to explain to Toros that he’s found it.

“Where the fuck is your husband, huh?” he hears Toros bark at her from the sidewalk. “Or maybe you’ve just been fucking around with us all night and you don’t want to tell us where he is. Doesn’t matter. We’re going to get this thing annulled and then you’re done.”

By the time he catches up to them, Igor has closed his mouth, and almost without realizing it quickly slips the hand with the ring into his pants pocket. It makes no sense what he’s doing; he can’t even begin to explain it to himself.

Toros turns to him, switching to Russian. “What?”

Igor shrugs, wiping any expression from his face. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” the Armenian says, waving them into the shop as if they’re children. “Let’s go.”

The whole time Toros is interrogating the shop worker, waving around that terrible Instagram photo, Igor can barely pay attention. The ring is clutched in his hand, almost biting into his skin, as if the pain will keep reminding him of what a colossal mistake he’s probably making. He knows how it could look, not returning it immediately. Maybe they’ll call him a thief or have him arrested—or worse. He hasn’t lived in Russia for years, but he knows there are some families—some people—you don’t mess with.

The fear of that is enough to send a chill through him.

Still, they can’t accuse him a being thief if they don’t know he has it, can they? Toros clearly has no idea the ring is even gone, or else he would be yelling even more loudly than he normally does, and no one saw him pick it up.

As they leave the kebab shop, still no closer to finding Ivan, Igor waits a step or two behind and zips the ring into the inner pocket of his jacket. There are still tiny indentations marking his palm, but they’ll fade soon enough.

As they continue their search, going to more restaurants and bars and clubs, he still can’t quite believe he’s done what he’s done. The ring’s too light to feel but he knows it’s there, burning like a tiny ember against his chest. Even as they stop to get some food, all piled together in a booth and nodding as the waitress tells them about the specials, he’s still thinking about it, wondering what he’s going to do with it.

He’s not a saint; the thought does occur to him that he could try to keep it for himself. It’s worth a lot and there are a lot of things in his life it could pay for.

But it doesn’t belong to him, not permanently. And clearly he doesn’t think it belongs to the Zakharovs either, or he would have returned it the minute he found it.

There’s only one person it belongs to. The first time he had seen it had been on her finger, after all—right before they took it.

And as he watches her that night and through the next day—seeing her beg and plead with her drunk shitstain of a husband and the way they all treat her, like she’s trash to be disposed of, seeing the pain behind her eyes as the dream she had made for her life begins to fall apart—he knows the ring won’t be enough to make up for everything that’s been taken from her.

But it’s a start.

It’s there in his pocket as they board the plane, and there as he slips off his jacket in the warmth of the crowded cabin. He can’t give it back to her now, not in front of all these people, but as she sleeps he lays the jacket over her—and at for a moment, at least, the ring is back where it belongs, hidden and safe as it’s tucked in beside her.

[send me a one-word Anora x Igor prompt]

[lafiametta]

I just want to pop in and thank you for sharing your anora fics/drabbles with us because they truly are so good and I love the way u express yourself, these fics are like some hidden gems for our small group of ppl 🥹 so thank u diva

Aw, thank you, Anon — that's very sweet!

Sometimes when I get really into a ship but I don't have a firm fic idea for it yet, I put out a call for little prompts, which always helps to get the inspiration going! I still have a bunch in the inbox, including one I'm working on now (and @bananaheaven and @harritudur, yours are both in the queue, I promise!), so there's definitely more to come.

I'll also tell everyone that I'm posting them all on AO3, so if you'd like to leave kudos (or a comment? 😁), you can do so there.

[lafiametta]

How do you think Ani and Igor progress from the moment in his grandmother’s car to being actually together (in whatever capacity that could mean) ?

This is such a great (and difficult!) question, Anon.

The last scene is such an emotional gut punch that it makes it hard to see how Ani and Igor could pick back up from it in any immediate and casual sense. I mean, how do you interact in a non-painful and awkward way with a guy who you just fucked in the driver's seat of his grandmother's car and then broke down in front of (like big ugly crying broke down), especially when you've got such big protective walls up like Ani does? I think it would have been nearly impossible for her to look at him, much less slip him her number or invite him inside the house for round two.

But I'm a softie at heart, so of course I want them to be together.

The only way that I think it would actually work would be with a lot of time and a lot of trust. The trust aspect would probably be the hardest, even though Igor seems to possess enough emotional intelligence and patience to know how to get her to lower her guard a little. (You can see it right when he first tries to kiss her. He's got her head in his hands, but he's not pulling her down; instead, he's very slowly moving up towards her, almost like she's something he doesn't want to startle with any sudden moves.) He's already figured out that her brashness — and her capacity for insult — is part of a protective mechanism, so it would be a question of letting her see that she was safe, that he wasn't just going to use her. (I imagine that Ani, given her experience of the world, doesn't have a high estimation of men in general, so proving to her that he liked her for her, and not for something she'd do for him, would also be important.)

So how do they progress to that point of trust? Realistically, I think Igor would have to be the one who takes the initiative. He'd give her some time, maybe a couple of weeks, and then seek her out. Going to her house might seem too forward, and honestly, a little stalker-y, so maybe he'd go to HQ and wait for her after she finished work. And from there it would be really slow: offering her a ride back home (while making it clear there are no strings attached), waiting for the night when she eventually asks if they can stop and get some food, giving her his number but telling her it's only if she needs anything (and not asking for hers), showing up when she finally texts and asks him for help picking up something she bought off Facebook Marketplace (even though he knows it's a bit of a pretense; there's no way she doesn't know anyone else with an car), getting a “hey, thanks” text and after a while messaging back and forth about her day and being sent random selfies and silly memes he doesn't really understand, driving her up to a jeweler in the city where she finally sells the ring and then sits in the passenger seat staring the check until she remembers that he's there and slowly reaches out to take his hand.

To be together, they would have to learn how to be together, how to grow comfortable around each other, and for Ani, to discover that she's worth waiting for. I still think she would keep calling him a fucking weirdo, though.

[lafiametta]

Im so glad im not the only one still stuck on anora x igor😭😭 love them sm

As for a 1 word prompt i think hug could result in something sweet or even unexpected, but i could also leave a word-vomit here and maybe you’ll feel inspired by one of them:)) so let me just

ride, dinner, dance, call, sweatpants, beach, couch, deli

Haha, thank you for all the prompts! I’m going with the first one, but I may come back to some of the others because they’re so good! :)

She wakes a little before two and shuffles into the kitchen. It’s quiet, so Vera must be out somewhere. There’s a quarter of the Honey Nut Cheerios left, which she eats while absently scrolling through TikTok. None of it’s particularly interesting, so she flips over to her texts. There’s one from Vera (“went 2 nico’s. get more tp at the store thx”) and a string of messages from Lulu, detailing some kind of crazy shit that went down last night involving two of their new dancers, a stolen g-string, hair-pulling, and a broken bottle of Cristal.

The last one, sent an hour ago from a contact she put into her phone as Hunchback Weirdo, is in all-caps, as if he didn’t fully trust himself with punctuation.

COME BY AT 3 OK?

She holds down the text and sends a thumbs-up reaction. He’s been coming by her house every Sunday at three for the last month and a half and he doesn’t really need to text each time, but she knows he likes to check with her to make sure it’s alright.

They don’t ever stay at the house that long—normally she just grabs her jacket and meets him on the porch, then they head in the direction of the beach. It’s only a few blocks to the boardwalk, a wide expanse that somehow feels just big enough for the two of them to walk side-by-side. It was awkward at first—neither of them really knew what to say after everything that had happened in his grandmother’s car—but after a while the quiet grew easier, and they learned how to talk in ways that seemed safe. He talks about his grandmother a lot, and about growing up in Russia. Ani’s childhood stories are far less heart-warming, so she avoids them, instead detailing all the things Vera—or Vera’s shitty boyfriend—had done to piss her off that week, along with anything fun or outrageous that had happened at work. She’s got a job at a new club now, secured through a glowing reference from Jimmy, and like any place full of drunk men and insecure women, there’s always drama.

They don’t ever talk about what happened in the car.

She thinks about it sometimes, the memory pulling deep and hard in her chest, a strange mixture of shame and sadness and gratitude that she doesn’t know where to put. Being around him makes it a little easier, which is why when he comes by she always goes with him, despite how fucking strange the whole thing really is.

A minute after three there’s a knock at the door—Ani’s already in her jacket, fingers flipping back the deadbolt.

It’s warmer out today, a tiny promise of spring, but the wind is brisk and tugging against her hair and cheeks, and she sinks deeper into the bulk of her jacket. Igor’s only in a black hoodie; she doesn’t ask him if he’s cold.

Along the boardwalk, there are older men in rumpled suits and women in headscarves sitting together on benches. A kid runs along the beach, trying to get a kite to lift into the air. For a moment, they’re walking close enough that their fingers brush together and Ani quickly stuffs her hands into her pockets, doing her best to ignore the unsteady feeling in her stomach.

By the time they get down to Coney Island the feeling has subsided enough that she lets him buy her a pretzel, which she eats piece by piece against the metal railing overlooking the beach while he smokes.

She’s already told him about Nico, how he had clogged their toilet two days ago and then fucked everything up more by continuing to flush, the whole thing overflowing and ruining their bathmat.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” she mutters. “I can’t believe my sister lets him fuck her.”

She laughs a little, although it’s mostly a sigh, and then lets the silence settle around them as they stare out at the mostly empty beach. He hasn’t finished the cigarette yet, so she reaches out for a quick drag.

“So how’s Garnik doing?” she asks as she hands it back, not realizing until she asked that part of her was actually curious. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t mentioned Vanya or the Zakharovs at all, but it seemed a little weird he never said anything about the two Armenians, who he probably still saw all the time.

“Garnik?”

“Yeah, Garnik. His face still look like a fuckin’ raccoon?”

Igor shrugs, then drops the cigarette butt to the ground and stomps it out with the toe of his sneaker. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how your boss’s face looks?”

There’s a tiny shake of his head, and he turns to lean back against the railing. “I don’t work for him. For any of them.”

The words cut through her more strongly than the wind, leaving only questions in their wake.

“Since when?” she asks.

He turns his face to finally look at her, those blue eyes trained on hers in a way that always felt like she was something worth looking at. She had hated it at first—the intensity behind it—but now she’s wondering what it was really trying to convey.

“Since we come back from Vegas.”

For a moment she’s uncharacteristically speechless. He hadn’t worked for them since Vegas? He had quit his job—for what? For her? No, that made no sense. What was she to him? She had been a problem he had been sent to fix, a rock in someone else’s shoe, and then she had fucked him and cried all over him and run away. And now? She still has no fucking clue what they are. But she had thought she had been left alone to handle all of it, and he’s telling her that she’s not alone, that he walked away to meet her on the other side. And he’s here, with her, knocking on her front door every Sunday, trading stupid stories with her as they follow the path along the beach, looking after her in a way she hadn’t really understood until this moment.

He’s standing here, next to her, the March wind whipping against the fabric of his hoodie.

Ani steps closer until she’s right in front of him, her arms reaching out to tightly curl around his back. She remembers the feel of him, the warmth, and leans in, her cheek pressing up against the top of his shoulder. There’s a moment of hesitation—she hopes it’s only out of surprise—and then his arms wrap solidly around her, drawing her into the hug.

“Hi,” he says, the sound soft, like laughter.

“Hey,” she says, like she’s saying it for the first time.

[send me a one-word Anora x Igor prompt]

[lafiametta]

for the anora x Igor one-word fic prompt : scars

When his shirt first comes off, she’s too distracted to notice, so it’s only as they’re lying there on her bed, the thin morning light filtering in through the curtain, that her eyebrows lift a little and she traces her fingers up towards the center of his chest.

She glances up, cheeks flushed with the sheen of exertion.

“Holy shit.”

Igor says nothing. She does enough talking for the two of them already and he sees no reason to change that now.

“Did you get fuckin’ stabbed or something?”

He shakes his head softly. “No.”

This isn’t really how he had imagined their first post-sex conversation going—even though technically they’ve already had sex, which he’s not sure counts, given how complicated the whole thing was. He’s mostly just pleased that they got to do it in a bed this time and that it seemed like something she was enjoying for its own sake, not because she thought she owed him anything.

“So then what happened?”

He curls onto his side to face her, his arm slipping under a lumpy, flannel-covered pillow. He doesn't have to glance down to know what’s there: a pale ridge running down his sternum, almost twenty centimeters from top to bottom. If she looked closer, she would see a dozen tiny pocks on either side, now faded with time, marking where they put the stitches in.

“Heart surgery.”

A small pinched line appears between her eyebrows and for a moment he’s touched at her display of concern.

“Was it like a heart attack?”

“No,” he says, suddenly feeling the need for a cigarette. But the pack is in his jacket pocket, all the way across the room, and he doesn’t want to leave the tiny nest of warmth that her body and the sheets are providing. “I was born with...” —he pauses, the English words frustratingly distant and unreachable— “There was a hole.”

What he’s telling her is not enough, and he knows he could switch to Russian and have the whole story out in thirty seconds, but there are things that even in your own language you don't really have words for, that can't be shaped into easy explanations. It’s impressions, mostly: the antiseptic smell of countless doctors’ offices, the strained voices of his parents behind closed doors, the blindingly bright room he woke up in, his scrawny ten-year old body nearly swallowed up in the expanse of the hospital bed.

“You were born with a fuckin’ hole in your heart? Jesus Christ.”

She curls back and reaches towards the top of the nightstand, returning with a vape pen. The bedsheet has fallen down to her waist, offering him a distracting enough view that he doesn’t fully register that she’s finished taking a puff and is now offering it to him. It’s peach-flavored and fairly disgusting, but the sensation of nicotine hitting the back of his throat is enough to make up for it.

“Although it’s kind of ironic,” she murmurs. “Igor’s supposed to be the hunchback, but that’s some real Frankenstein shit right there.”

Perhaps to soften the bite of the joke she inches closer, until she’s almost snuggling against him. Her dark hair curtains over her cheek and shoulder, glints of pink tinsel shining like tiny stars.

He reaches out to run his hand along the bare skin of her back. It's smooth, unmarked, perfect. But he knows as well as she does how little that can matter. There will always be scars no one can see.

[send me a one-word Anora x Igor prompt]

[lafiametta]

Hello! I loved your (and your anons’) perspectives on Igor and Anora as a film. I watched it last night and everytime I think about it, it has my heart crumbling. I felt so many emotions watching it and I l have to say it’s one of the best films of this year for me.

Just wanted to share my love towards the movie. I hope you have a wonderful new year!

Aw, thanks! (And thanks to my other Anons as well, for giving me the opportunity to share my many, many thoughts on this particular film…😁)

I think what makes Anora so interesting — and so fun to watch, honestly — is that it’s like three different movies that are put together so well as to make it feel seamless. You’ve got the fairytale romance first act (which should have had us on our guard, but damn, it was so fun to see Ani’s eyes widen bit by bit as she starts to believe she’s going to become a modern-day princess), then the dark comedy of the henchmen coming to break it all up (including the late-night search for Ivan through seemingly every restaurant, club, arcade, and billiard hall in Brighton Beach), and finally the third dramatic act that lands Ani back in the world of reality as she has to face the fact that her Cinderella dream was nothing more than a fantasy. Each part of the movie is so good in its own right, but they build on each other, often with little callbacks, to end up creating something even better. (Consider the two shots of Ani standing alone in front of the huge glass windows in the mansion, the first to showcase her introduction to this life of wealth and privilege, the second to acknowledge how her dream of that life has been wrenched away.) Also, I’m just in love with all the laugh-out-loud comedic bits like Ani kicking Garnik into the glass coffee table or Toros breaking his car free from the tow truck only to crash into a garbage can.

The structure is also aided by some truly astonishing performances. If Mikey Madison doesn’t get an Oscar nod for this, I’d be shocked. She brings this character completely to life, making brash, opportunistic, foul-mouthed Ani into someone we are rooting for the entire time. And it’s not just the brashness — we can see hints of the vulnerable and scared girl under all that attitude (and countless expletives), never more so than in the heartbreaking final scene when she finally breaks down from the weight of carrying it all. Yura Borisov is also fantastic as the taciturn Russian henchman Igor, who gets introduced to us very slowly and deliberately through the second and third acts, until we finally realize that he’s a much more important part of this story than we originally thought. Despite being muscle-for-hire (his skills displayed very convincingly via an aluminum baseball bat), he becomes the moral center of the film, seeing the situation for what it truly is — a bunch of rich assholes doing what they want and having others clean up their messes — and offering support, subtle as it may be, to the person who he thinks has been most wronged by it all. Igor is the only one who really looks at Ani and tries to understand her, those quiet observational glances speaking more than any lines of dialogue could. (Also, can I just say how much I enjoyed Vache Tovmasyan as sad-sack Garnik with his dumpling ice pack, constant nasal whining, broken-nose undereye bruise, and prodigious vomiting?)

Underneath all that, the movie skillfully weaves together some pretty weighty themes: the promise (and illusion) of the American dream, the ways in which wealth allows for the dehumanization of others, the personas we create as we attempt to define ourselves, and the desperate search for human connection.

Anyway, I want everyone to go see Anora and I hope it wins every single motherfucking award. Touché.

[lafiametta]

Loved your meta on Igor and agree so much, he was one of my favourite characters this year. I just wanted to add a thought or two of mine about the ending.

A important moment imo that surprisingly few people are talking about is the moment they just look at each other after he stops her from hitting him again. It's the longest time they share eye contact in the film, they miss each other gazes a lot and when they do you at each other, it's not with eye contact, they're not SEEING each other. Even when she initiates sex she has a 'mask' on even as he staring at her. When the mask finally slips after he tries to kiss her, he looks at her as if he's seeing her for the first time, and he probably is (A+ acting from both of them, this movie would've have worked with any of the cast but particularly those two).

And it's so important that he pulls her in to hold her after she's been so brutally rejected throughout the film ( in the script, she collapses on him, while he still holds her as she cries, its different-and how I though it would be when i read the summary before seeing it). Him actually seeing her and pulling her closer feels important for me, even if it's just for a moment

Love this! And you're totally right: in that moment he really is seeing her without the mask she puts on for everyone else. (And I suspect he already knew the mask was there, even if up until that point he could only see hints of what she was actually like underneath it. Even her name is like another layer she hides under, although he makes it clear his interest is in the real person, not the girlish nickname: “I like Anora more than Ani.”)

He's been quietly watching her almost the whole time they've been together and seen her be all kinds of things — defiant, furious, combative, sarcastic, demanding, resigned — but it's the first moment she lets her guard down and shows her vulnerability to another person. It would have been easy enough for her to scream and push herself off his lap and get out of the car. Instead, she just freezes, waiting to see what he'll do. Now that he's seen her, the real her, will he reject her (as you so accurately put it) like everyone else in the movie has? Will he call her a whore or a fucking bitch or a disgusting hooker?

Even with her hair shielding part of her face, we can see her start to crumble, her chin wobbling. Igor can see it too — the scared and hurt girl who's been putting up a massive front for so long — and he reaches for her, pulling her in close, offering comfort and acceptance. It's only then that she feels safe enough to let go and surrender to everything she's feeling. (Will that feeling of safety last? It's hard to know — Ani's built up some big walls and it would take a lot to bring them down.)

I think it's also true that in that moment, she sees him too. It's not quite the same, because he doesn't wear the mask like she does, but it's a realization that's been slowly growing since the plane ride to Vegas and fully dawns on her only once they're in his car. For all her bluster about him being a “fucking psychopath” with “rape eyes,” she trusts him enough to sit near him as they watch the local news and share a joint. There's no way she would have been comfortable doing that the day before.

The idea of visibility and being seen is such a interesting current that runs through the movie. Ani's entire livelihood — her whole persona — is wrapped up in being seen, but only in the most superficial way. Even to Ivan, she's an ornament, an accessory, something that literally drapes off of him as they party or as he plays video games. Igor, on the other hand, does his best to be completely invisible, not just in his nondescript clothes, but by his silence, the way he backs up and blends in, his habit of shielding himself underneath his hoodie. It's not until the very end, in the final minute of the movie, that both of them are really seen — and not coincidentally, by each other.

[lafiametta]

Anora prompt: Sunday

A little post-film hurt/comfort, as a treat! :)

He wakes up to the sound of his phone going off and blinks his eyes open just enough to see who could be calling him at nearly two in the morning.

“Hey,” he says, his voice thick with sleep.

“Hi,” she replies, and in the brief pause he can hear the faint sounds of a scratchy intercom and a baby crying. “So I know it’s late, and you’re probably sleeping, but can you come pick me up?”

“Where are you?”

“The emergency room. I’m still in the city.”

Igor doesn’t respond immediately, his mind still not fully awake, compounded by the spike of low-grade panic about what might have happened to her.

“It’s just...” she continues. “It turns out I’ve got a concussion and they won’t let me leave on my own. And my sister’s not answering. She must be at her boyfriend’s or something.”

A concussion? Wasn't she at work? What the hell happened? He doesn’t ask these questions, though, because he knows that waiting for answers will mean more time before he can get in the car.

“No problem. It will be maybe forty five minutes. I'll try to hurry.”

In the darkness of his room he throws on some pants and a hoodie, shoving his feet into sneakers, then grabs the car keys from the drawer in the kitchen, and leaves the apartment quietly so he doesn’t wake up his grandmother. The roads are fairly empty this late at night so he makes good time through Brooklyn. The tunnel spits him out downtown and from there it’s a straight shot north to the address she texted him.

After wandering around the building for a few minutes, he finally finds her, sitting near the door in one of the waiting rooms.

His breath stills a little when he sees her. She hadn’t mentioned any other injuries besides the concussion, but as she stands up he can see that her arm is wrapped in a sling and there’s some scrapes and bruising along one of her cheekbones.

“Are you okay?” he asks, as he quickly glances over the rest of her to check that there’s nothing else.

“Yeah,” she says, but her eyes look weary, like she can’t wait to close them. “I’ll live.”

There are a thousand questions he still has, but they can wait. Right now he needs to make sure she gets taken care of.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks. “Do you need to do anything else?”

“I’m good. Just let me wave to little miss control freak over there” —she turns and with her unencumbered arm catches the attention of one of the nurses behind the desk, then points to him as if offering up proof of his existence— “and we can get the fuck out of here.”

They stop at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy on the way back so she can pick up the prescriptions for pain medicine they’ve given her. Along with the prescriptions she buys an energy drink and a gallon of milk.

In the car she finally tells him what happened, but only in the broadest possible strokes. There was a client, a guy she had never seen at the club before, and he was fine at first, but then he kept drinking and started getting possessive and angry. He grabbed her—grabbed you where? Igor thinks, his hands tightening with fury around the steering wheel—and when she pulled away he smacked her on the side of the face.

“Asshole. I fuckin’ got him back, though,” she says, and Igor has no doubt that she did. “That’s when he knocked me down and I hit my head. Sprained my arm too when I fell.”

And where the hell was your security? he thinks. Where were all your bouncers? Just looking at their phones and not paying any attention to what was happening? Cyka blyat! he wants to yell, but instead he breathes out and focuses on driving the car.

He’s never had a problem with her job, even though he knows that a lot of men would. Is taking your clothes off and dancing for money any more shameful than beating people up for money, as he’s sometimes asked to do, or having to clean rich people’s toilets or scrub their floors? It’s just a job, like any other—and it’s one he knows she’s very good at. He doesn’t like the danger that it puts her in, though: the risk that some mudak—like the one tonight—is going to walk in the door and think because he gives her money he has the right to do whatever he wants to her.

“So what happened? Did you call police?” At least if they arrested the guy he can’t try to come back.

She shakes her head. “He ran. Turned out the credit card he was using was fuckin’ stolen.”

“How did you get to the hospital?”

“Jimmy called me an Uber.” Her voice is tired and she looks just as spent, curled up in the seat with her legs tucked under, the side of her head leaning against the headrest. “Thanks for coming. And for picking up when I called. You didn’t have to.”

Igor nods, warmed by her gratitude. “I am glad you called me.”

“You were fuckin’ asleep though, weren't you?” She’s smiling a little, even as her eyes are half-closed. “I made you drag your ass out of bed?”

“Yes, I was sleeping,” he says. “I have to take my grandmother to church tomorrow morning. Or this morning.” He looks at the clock on the dashboard; by the time he drives her home and gets back, he might be able to get in a few more hours of sleep before he has to get up again. “But it’s okay.”

He parks the car in front of her house and then helps her inside. He’s never gone inside before and he’s pleased by how neat and normal it all is, houseplants in the windowsills and little throw pillows on the couch. There’s no reason to be surprised—why shouldn’t it look normal?—but it makes her seem softer somehow, a little more real. Everything’s dark and quiet, with only the hum of the radiator, so her sister must still be gone.

He grabs her a glass of water for the pills while she changes clothes, her jeans and boots exchanged for sweatpants and fuzzy socks.

She’s sitting on her bed when he brings it to her and for a moment he's distracted by the floor-to-ceiling pole a few feet away. It must be for practice, he realizes, and then does his best to dispel the mental image he’s conjured as quickly as he can.

“They said somebody should stay with me,” she says, more quietly than he’s used to hearing her, “to make sure I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he says. He can’t stay for long—he needs to get a little sleep before church—but her sister will be back eventually and then he’ll go.

She lies down, carefully arranging herself so that her injured arm drapes over her side. There’s some space next to her on the bed—space she’s left for him, he suddenly realizes.

“Stay,” she says, and he can’t tell if it’s a question or a command. It doesn’t really matter, because he’s quickly shoving off his shoes and laying down next to her, his body curling instinctively around hers. Her dark hair smells like citrus and cigarettes and it’s all he can do not to reach out and run his fingers through it.

After a few minutes, Igor hears her breathing turn slow and even; he knows if he falls asleep too there’s a chance he won’t wake up in time for Sunday service. But he can wait a little longer. He doesn’t have to go just yet.

[send me a one-word Anora x Igor prompt]

[lafiametta]

I'm kind of cheating with 2 words lol- 'Hold me'

But it’s the best kind of cheating, Anon, so it’s fine! Your prompt pushed me right in the direction of that last scene, so I hope you’re ready...

The ring is sitting there in the middle of his palm and she can’t stop staring because it makes no fucking sense at all.

It had been wrenched off her finger while he held her down—and then it was gone, disappeared down the drain like everything else Vanya had promised her. But now it’s here, and he’s holding it out to her, like he’s been waiting for this moment to give it back. For a moment she wonders how? but who the fuck cares. Let Toros have a fucking heart attack when he figures out it’s missing.

She takes it from him, half-waiting to hear what the catch is.

“Don’t tell Toros,” he says, and yeah, no shit. Then suddenly he’s gone, opening the trunk for her bags and trudging with them up her porch steps.

What the fuck? Why would he just give to her? The ring is worth at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars—she had googled estimates one night when Vanya was asleep—and he might not know that, but he knows how much a new car costs or a down payment on a condo or whatever else a gopnik like him might dream about. He could have kept it—and she would have never known.

So what did he want, then? What kind of game was he playing?

She hates this feeling that’s bubbling up inside her, because, for a little while at least, she was starting to think he was okay. He had still tied her up and gagged her, of course, but she had given him a lot of shit for that, and she still remembers what it felt like to have him ask those rich fucks for an apology on her behalf, what it was like waking up somewhere over the Midwest and looking down to see his jacket tucked around her. But maybe he’s not okay. Maybe he’s just like all of them.

He comes back in the car and she still doesn't know what do or what to say about the ring god the fucking ring, so she takes a half-hearted swipe at his car, thinking to ease the ache somehow, and then he’s looking at her with those wide, trusting eyes and asking her if she likes it and talking about his fucking grandmother.

It’s the softness of it, catching against her jagged edge, so she looks away because the wrenching feeling in her chest is awful and fuck him for making her feel this way.

Fine, he won’t tell her what he wants? It’s not like she can’t guess. And once she’s given it to him, this can all just disappear, she can sleep and forget and take all their fucking money and build something for herself that no one else can ever take away.

The moment she decides it’s like something shifts, the weight that’s pressing down on her just floating away as her body takes over. It knows what to do, all the beats to the dance it’s done a thousand times before.

He stares at her, not saying a word, as she maneuvers herself into the driver’s seat.

Her hands start moving and she lets them go, the motions so natural that she doesn’t even have to think about them. A caress of the shoulders, a pop of the seat release, her skirt up over her thighs, his hands to her ass. There’s a belt buckle and a waistband, and then there’s him, worked in her hand until he’s ready. Some spit and a little positioning and she’s moving on top of him, directing it all with the rise and fall of her body. She can’t imagine it’ll take that long. It never does.

He’s staring up at her, not looking away—like he doesn’t know how to look away—and it’s somehow even worse than all the times he’s looked at her before. He’s looking at her like this means something, as if it’s chocolate and red roses and not a quick fuck in a parked car. Doesn’t he understand what this is? What she is? He can’t be that fucking stupid.

She speeds up, just wanting it to be over.

His hands reach up to clasp the sides of her face, a thumb grazing against her cheekbone. The tenderness is more than she can take, pulling at something deep within her, the easy control she had felt just minutes ago beginning to seep away.

He’s arching closer, searching for her mouth, and no she doesn’t want that she can’t bear the fucking thought of it if he kisses her like it’s something real she’ll scream and never stop, so she jerks in his grasp, but not enough to stop him, and then she’s pushing him away, her hands as uncontrollable as the emotions now flooding over her.

A slap, a punch, blow after blow, his body a target for her pain—because she wants him to feel it too. She wants him to feel it all, not just the last two days but the months and years, all the people who have hurt her, all the names she’s been called, all the things that have been taken from her. It’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair.

He grabs her wrist, not tight, but just enough to keep her from hitting him. Now that she’s not moving she can actually think, and fuck, he’s probably pissed—he probably hates her. Maybe she is just some crazy, out of control shlyukha, like they all said. Hot tears are welling up in her eyes and her hair is a tangled mess in front of her face, and she brushes it away, eventually forcing herself to look up at him.

But there’s no anger in his steady gaze, or even pity.

He’s looking at her like he sees her, all of her, like she’s made of glass and he can stare right through. She can’t remember anyone ever looking at her like that before. But being seen like this, open to his gaze, it’s too much, and there’s nowhere to hide. She can’t take it any longer—the shame of coming apart in front of him—and it’s welling up in a way she can’t control, her face starting to crumble.

His hand reaches up to cradle her head and as he’s pulling her against his chest, something breaks inside her. She can’t help the sobs that escape her body, tethered only by the solid band of his arms as they hold her tight. It’s embarrassing as fuck, but she doesn’t care. In this moment, nothing else matters, not the ring or Vanya, not her job, not the world beyond the shelter of this car.

Just hold me, she thinks. Don’t let go.

[send me a one-word Anora x Igor prompt]

[lafiametta]

Anyone want to send me Anora x Igor one-word fic prompts? I can't promise anything super long, but I'll do my best...