#inessa;answers

[abiteofhoney]

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

i found two different typos and realized that i needed to change a few lines after i posted it the first time. so let’s try this again. if there are still typos this time, no there isn’t :) also i had to format this on mobile so if anything is off or weird, whoopsies

4402 words | Chapter Navigation

Chapter 3

Maggie’s leg bounces anxiously as she glances at the room around her. It’s oddly familiar - uncomfortably familiar - with its plain white walls and grey plastic chairs. A single clock sits on the wall, ticking away in the silence. While Magdalena has never been in this room, she’s almost certain that she’s been in a room like it before, even though she has no specific memory of it.

And it sets her on edge. She keeps her eyes trained on the only door to the room with the sinking feeling that someone is going to come through that door and try to attack her.

Anzurin sits next to her, just as still and silent as she is. He glances at her periodically, never for more than a few seconds at a time.

Just when Magdalena is beginning to feel like she wants to shred her own skin off just to rid herself of the uncomfortable feeling coursing through her, the door swings open, and Inessa comes through with a yellow-ish folder in her arms. She gives the two of them a tight-lipped smile and takes the chair on the other side of Anzurin. “Labs came back alright,” she says with an uneasy edge, “but I have some concerns about the x-rays.

Anzurin sits up straighter. “What kind of concerns? What is it?”

Inessa glances at Maggie, her gaze trailing from head to toe. “Fractures,” she answers. “A lot of them.” She opens up to the folder to reveal a stack of black and white pictures of bones, and Magdalena leans in to get a closer look. It’s a strange thing to look at her own bones, but she kind of likes it. “Some new, some old,” Inessa continues, pointing out all the little spots she circled with red ink. There’s a lot of red circles.

“What the fuck,” Anzurin murmurs. “That many? How is that even possible?”

She flips to an x-ray of Magdalena’s ribs, pointing at one spot that she circled multiple times. “This one’s new. Like… it happened today, new.”

Magdalena presses her hand to her ribs, where there’s still a slight ache, and she knows exactly what it’s from.

It seems Anzurin does too, grumbling, “Velur kicked her. I’d bet that’s from him. And if the rest of them are also from him…” He trails off, not bothering to finish his sentence, but it’s understood through the anger radiating from him. He sighs and shakes his head. “What else?”

“I think that’s the only recent one. At first glance, anyway – I can look at them closer later and also have some fresh eyes look them over. But some of these look like they healed slowly, while she was still human, but some of them healed quickly and out of place, after she was changed, and she wasn’t looked after. And they’re everywhere, sir. Her arms, legs, ribs, hands, feet. Even her face.”

“With this many breaks and fractures, it seems more like she was tortured to me,” Anzurin scoffs. He takes the folder from Inessa, flipping through the pictures while only spending a few seconds on each, and with each one he looks at, the creases between his brows get deeper. After sifting through all of them, he finally looks over at Magdalena, brandishing them at her. “What happened to you, Magdalena? Who did this to you?”

She has no memories of receiving any of those injuries, except for one of them, so she pokes at her ribs and says, “Velur.”

“That one, I don’t doubt,” Anzurin says, “but the ones you got before you were made? Who did those?”

“Dunno,” she shrugs.

Turning back to Inessa, Anzurin tells her, “Not right now, but before too long, I want a scan of her brain, or something. I want to know if her memory loss is completely due to whatever this other devilspawn did to her, or if some of it’s injury related.”

“She responded well to my tests; I don’t think she has any brain damage, and if she does, it’s minimal. I don’t think it’s the cause of her lapse in memory.”

“More than a lapse,” Anzurin grumbles, standing out of his seat. He holds a rosy-palmed hand out to Magdalena. “Now that we know you’re mostly okay, we should get that blood cleaned off of you. It might do us good to get some rest and revisit this later.”

Magdalena takes his hand without thought, her entire hand engulfed by his. The devilspawn she’s met so far have all been much larger than her. The top of her head barely reaches Anzurin’s shoulder, maybe just his collarbones. But she and Inessa are nearly the same size, Inessa only slightly taller.

She likes Inessa. Nothing about the woman makes her angry.

Anzurin leads her out of the empty, colorless waiting room, much to Magdalena’s relief. She hates that room. She hates how it makes her feel cold and trapped. The hallway outside is much better, painted a warm, sunshine yellow, art along the walls of green landscapes and colorful bouquets. Some of the weight on her chest stays behind in that room, and she doesn’t miss it.

As they walk side by side, Anzurin asks, “Do you have any memory of what happened to you?”

Magdalena shakes her head.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” he sighs. “Do you have … any memories? At all?”

She has to think about that for a moment. “Today.”

“You only remember today? Nothing else?”

“My name,” she amends. She remembers her name.

“Well, at least you have that,” he mutters, then clears his throat. “Usually, fledglings stay in the dorms on the second level, but I’m going to put you in one of the rooms down here. Near my rooms. I’m appointing myself as your mentor, so that might be easiest for us.”

The rooms he leads her to next aren’t too far away from the medical wing, going back the way they came, towards the office Velur brought her to, but just before they reach the office, he turns them down a hallway to the left. It’s a dead-end hall, with four doors: one on the right, one at the end of the hall, and two on the left. He points first to the one on the right. “This one will lead back into the office. The one at the end goes into my personal rooms, this one is the bathroom, and then this will be your room.” He opens the door closest to them on the left, revealing a fully furnished bedroom, decorated much like the rest of the manor with warm-toned wood and deep reds.

Maggie’s attention is drawn first towards the bed, wanting nothing more than to go lay down in it. She starts towards it, but Anzurin tugs on her arm. “It’s probably best if you wash up before getting into bed, Magdalena. Though, then again, you don’t strike me as the type to mind sleeping in a puddle of blood. Come on. You have access to the bathroom through here.”

He leads her into the bathroom and shows her around, showing her where the towels are and the soaps, and he starts the shower for her before leaving her to herself to clean up.

Once alone, Maggie isn’t quite sure what to do. She stands in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the steaming water running out of the showerhead, and then she looks down at her own bloody clothes. Slowly and robotically, her body moving on its own accord as she’s barely present in her own skin, Magdalena undresses and steps under the water.

She flinches when it hits her head, but quickly relaxes as the warmth washes over her. Dropping her chin to her chest, she watches the water run off of her and down the drain, a deep red at first, and slowly fading through shades of pink before it finally begins to run clear.

Without using any of the soaps, she steps out of the shower, leaving the water running, and she returns to the bedroom, to Anzurin. He glances up when she opens the door, his already red cheeks darkening, eyes wide. He splutters for a moment, gaze trailing her entire body before finally spitting out, “I showed you where the towels are. Are you done? Do you need something?”

“Done,” she croaks and shivers. “Cold.”

Anzurin laughs awkwardly, dropping his gaze to his hands. “Yeah, I can see that.” Then he grabs a bundle of cloth next to him, walking towards her to hand them to her. “These should fit you.” She shadows behind him, the clothes in her hands, as he ventures past her and into the bathroom. He shuts off the water and then comes back to her and sniffs her head. “Did you actually wash, or just rinse the blood off?”

She shrugs, giving no verbal response.

He tugs his fingers through her wet and knotted hair. “You still have blood caked in here.” He takes the clothes from her and turns to set them on the counter. “Get back in the shower. We’ll at least get your hair clean.”

Maggie does as told, stepping back into the shower after Anzurin turns the water back on. She stands there, waiting while Anzurin picks two bottles out of the cabinet. He also grabs a large towel and a smaller one, and then carries the pile over to the shower. He hands all but the bigger towel to her, and she just holds onto them, unsure what to do as he returns to the vanity across the room.

He sets the towel on the counter, pausing there for a moment, and braces his hands on the counter as he looks into the large mirror in front of him. He doesn’t look at himself, though, instead staring at Magdalena.

Except, in the mirror, the shower is empty, and Magdalena is nowhere to be seen. She searches for her own reflection, but only sees two bottles and a hand towel floating in the air. She looks down at herself, needing to make sure that she actually has a body that she can see. And there is flesh when she looks. Scarred, discolored flesh, but it’s a body she can see and touch. It’s not gone like it seems to be in the mirror.

Heaving a deep sigh, Anzurin pulls a comb out of the drawer at his hip, and then comes into the shower with her, leaving his clothes on. He slides the glass door closed and takes the bottles from her to set them on a glass shelf to her left, but lets her keep the rag clenched in her hands.

Anzurin takes a bottle and pours a small dab of soap into his palm and then hesitantly reaches for Maggie’s head. She doesn’t move, allowing him to slide his fingers past her hairline, and a shiver runs down her spine when his nails scratch lightly across her scalp. Her eyes flutter closed and she sways on her feet, breathing in the flowery, soapy scent. It grows stronger as he lathers the soap in her dirty hair, working his fingers through the knots. She hums contentedly, and a ghost of a smile stretches across her lips.

When she opens her eyes, there’s a familiar man standing in front of her, grinning happily down at her. She studies his pale face, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar, searching his human eyes and their sky-blue color. Then he blinks, and his eyes flick to all black, covering even the whites of his eyes, and his grin grows threatening.

In a flash, Magdalena’s hand snaps out, pinning his wrist to the wall and sending suds flying in all directions. Her breathing comes heavier, chest heaving as she glares at him, fangs bared in a silent snarl.

But she steps back abruptly, releasing him once she realizes that it’s not the black-eyed, pale-faced man standing in front of her, but Anzurin, looking shocked and confused, red irises glowing in their black abyss.

Magdalena looks around, just as confused.

Where’d that man go?

She slides the glass door open, searching the bathroom for the man she just saw, ready to chase him into the next room if she has to, but Anzurin catches her hand just as she lurches for the door. He tugs her back, hands braced on her shoulders as she tries to twist around in search of the other guy.

“Magdalena, stop. What – what are you looking for?”

“Him,” she snarls.

“Who? Velur? It’s just you and me in here. Velur is long gone, Magdalena. Come on, come back. Let’s get your hair washed.”

She doesn’t know who it was, but it wasn’t Velur.

Still on edge, she allows him to guide her back under the water, but when his hands return to her hair, she doesn’t enjoy it like she did before. She stands there stiffly, unmoving and unblinking; she stares at Anzurin, making sure that the other man doesn’t take his place again.

She watches his every movement as he shampoos her hair twice and slathers conditioner into it. And more so as he drags the comb through it, over and over until it no longer snags, and she still hasn’t blinked but the time he’s rinsing her hair, stiff as a board while he takes the cloth and cleans behind her ears, and then, finally, he shuts the water off.

Anzurin steps out first and Magdalena numbly follows, both of them dripping water the entire way. He grabs the towel from the counter and wraps it around her, tucking it under her arms, and finally, after a long stretch of silence, he asks, “What was that? Who were you looking for?”

“The man.” Her gaze darts around the bathroom in search, just in case she missed him and he’s still lurking around the corner.

Anzurin also looks around. “What man? Velur? He’s not here.”

“Not him,” she grumbles.

“Then who? There’s no one else in here. Did you remember something?”

Oh. She hadn’t thought about that.

Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, Magdalena tries to recall the man’s face. Was it only a memory? Was he not really there?

“Maybe,” she mutters. Still, she looks around to check one more time. Just to be sure.

Anzurin nods and steps back, pointing at the clothes he’d left on the counter by the sink. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll be right back.”

She does as told, unfolding the clothes to find a pair of loose fitting jeans and soft dark green shirt that has tiny little puffballs stuck all over it. She picks a few of them off before slipping the shirt on, and then the jeans - even though she doesn’t really like the feeling of denim on her skin - and then she just stands there to wait for Anzurin to return.

But after a few seconds, she steps in front of the large mirror and looks at herself.

At least, she tries to, but there’s no her in the reflection. Not even the clothes she’s wearing. Not a single part of herself is in the mirror, and it feels so odd to stare at a mirror but only see an empty room. She should see herself, shouldn’t she?

She can’t even remember what she looks like.

Magdalena grabs a chunk of her wet hair, pulling it in front of her face. “Red,” she murmurs, then touches the skin around her eyes. What color are they? She looks down at her body to study her fair skin, densely covered with freckles and paler than it should be, with little pink scars all over her visible skin. More than the fractures in her bones. She touches a few of them, running her fingertips over the rough bumps, and she tries to remember where they came from. They had to have come from somewhere.

Why can’t she remember anything?

Frustrated, Magdalena lashes out, letting loose a shriek at her not-reflection, begging that she remembers something, anything, and angry that she sees nothing when she looks in the mirror. She slams her hand into the traitorous glass with another wild shriek, sending shards flying in all directions and embedding into the palm of her hand. Her gaze becomes transfixed on her sliced skin, the red blood that drips to the white marble counter.

There’s a slight stinging pain in her hand, but not as much as she expects after slicing her hand over with many tiny shards of glass. She makes quick work of picking out the glass, then places her mouth around her sliced skin, lapping up her own blood. It has a strange bitter tang that she doesn’t much care for, but it’s not bad enough to deter her hunger.

The door flies open and Maggie whirls to find Anzurin standing there with a wild gaze that bounces between her and the broken mirror. He’s in dry clothes now – a black pair of trousers and a green and gold tunic - with his dark hair dripping water into his blazing red eyes.

Magdalena points her bloody hand at the broken mirror and barks one question: “Why?”

“Why what?” he snaps. “Why’d you just break my mirror? I don’t know! If I can’t even leave you alone for a minute, then we’re –”

“No!” she shouts at him. She points at what’s left of the mirror, at the fact that there’s no her. She pokes herself in the chest, then points at her fangs, and finally, jams her finger to her temple where she seems to have the most issues. Unable to find the words, she once again screams, “Why!”

A moment passes. And then two.

Anzurin’s face falls and his shoulders slump. “Oh,” he mutters, blinking as his shock and anger fizzles. He drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing before he lets out a bitter laugh that’s more of a scoff. “Shit. Right. Of course you’re angry. You should be. All of a sudden, you’re a starved and tortured fledgling with no memories.” He steps into the bathroom, closer to her but not yet approaching her. “Do you even know what you are? Do you know anything about vampires?”

She has a fundamental knowledge that comes flooding back when he says the word. She’s heard of vampires before – bloodthirsty night-crawlers, people that were once human and now have the urges of a monster, and the abilities of one, too. She knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, of a world in which humans and vampires exist together, and she knows that she was once part of it. She just can’t remember how exactly she fit into that world.

Magdalena points at her chest once again. “I’m not human.”

She doesn’t ask it, but Anzurin answers anyway. “No, not anymore, but you were once.” He ventures into the room and comes to join her at the vanity, shoes crunching on broken glass. He picks up the small rag that he’d used in the shower to clean the new blood off of her hand and arm and where she’d smeared it around her mouth. As he cleans her up, he tells her, “Brem is hopefully finding out whatever he can about your human life, something that I hope will help refresh your memory, but I suppose what you really need to know now is what you are.”

She gives a jerky nod. She knows of vampires, but not much about them.

“You’re a vampire, Magdalena. Well, a fledgling, right now. Not quite a vampire yet, but you’ll be there in a few months. You lost a good chunk of your time as a fledgling to … well, wherever you were.”

“Three months,” she says, remembering what they’d said when she’d been prodded earlier.

“That’s what we estimate, yes. Usually, the fledgling period can last anywhere from six to nine months.” He holds her chin gently, tilting her head up as he wipes the blood off of her lips. “You’re hungriest during this period, but it calms down gradually as you fully develop into a vampire. But, unfortunately, it seems to be that you’ve been starved, so you’re hungrier than most.”

Magdalena runs her tongue along the tips of her fangs, the taste of her own bitter blood still clinging to them. Her hunger isn’t so bad now, but it’s still a dull ache in the pit of her stomach, and she fears that it may never go away, no matter how much she drinks.

Anzurin drags the cloth along her chin and continues. “But being a vampire comes with a few quirks. Bloodthirst. Advanced senses along with healing, movement, and strength. You can’t …” He glances towards the shattered mirror. “You don’t have a reflection anymore. You can’t go in the sun. You don’t need regular food or water anymore - only blood. You’ll still sleep, but not as much. You won’t age, but your hair and nails and things still grow. There’s more than that, but you’ll learn it all as you go through your classes.”

“Hmm,” she grumbles, unhappy about what he’s saying, but unable to vocalize why.

Anzurin pauses, pulling back. “Hmm, what?”

She thinks about it for a moment before she just says, “Weird. Don’t like it.” She bumps his hand out of the way to poke at her fangs, hard enough that the point pierces her finger, which she quickly places on her tongue for the blood drop that escapes.

Anzurin turns to wring the cloth out in the glass-filled sink, a soft sigh passing through his lips. He turns back to her, lifting her chin to clean the underside of it. “Honestly, Magdalena, I’d change it for you if I could. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You should have been brought here the day you were changed and taken care of properly. But we’re going to help you now, however we can. We’ll help you acclimate to vampirism and learn how to navigate this new life.”

Tired of having her face prodded, Magdalena pulls away from his touch. She drags the back of her hand across her mouth, and when it comes away clean, she deems it good enough.

Anzurin gets the message and tosses the cloth on the counter, but then he wraps his arm around her waist and lifts her. He does it so swiftly that she hardly has time to get mad about it before he’s setting her down again, away from the mess of glass on the ground. Without missing a beat, he turns and strides away, gesturing for her to follow him. “Usually, I’d assign another spawn to you, one of my appointed mentors, and they’d guide you and feed you and teach you, but I’m going to be your mentor instead. With what you’ve been through and the instincts you have, I think it’s best.”

Magdalena patters after him, bare feet tapping against the tile of the bathroom, and then the bedroom’s hardwood. She looks down at the delightful noise, a giggle bubbling in her chest. “Thwap, thwap, thwap,” she mimicks in a whisper.

Anzurin stops in the middle of the bedroom and turns back to her, his head tilted to the side. “Say something?”

She points her chin towards her feet, tapping her feet and repeating, “Thwap, thwap.”

Anzurin chuckles lightly and shakes his head. He brandishes a red hand towards the bed. “Alright. Well, this is where you’ll stay. I figured it might be time for some rest after today, and we can start fresh later. Maybe you’ll feel a little better after some rest.”

Will rest restore her memories? Will she know who she is by the time she wakes?

She feels like she could sleep, at least, so she starts towards the bed, trying to remember the last time she slept in one. The last time she slept at all. Flashes of blurry, fleeting memories brand the back of her eyelids when she blinks, memories of waking up on cold floors or in uncomfortable chairs, waking in agony.

Magdalena hesitates, stumbling back a step away from the bed. In an attempt to scrub away the memories, she grinds the heels of her hands in her eyes. Her head shakes back and forth, wet hair smacking off of her shoulders. “N-no, I – I don’t sleep there.”

Anzurin walks around in front of her, keeping his distance. “Where do you sleep, then?”

She looks around the room for an adequate spot then points towards an empty corner that looks spacious and cold. “There.”

A second passes. Two. Three. Four.

“I … I guess you can sleep on the floor if you want to, but you can sleep in the bed, too, Magdalena. It’s yours now. Everything in this room is yours.” He glances to the corner she had pointed out, staring at it for a few moments too long. “Is that where you’re used to sleeping?”

“Dunno,” she murmurs. “Feels right.”

“You can sleep in the bed,” he repeats, his voice dropping a level. Clearing his throat, he adds, “Go on, get some rest. I’ll just be in the other room if you need anything – just through the bathroom and the door on the other side. I want to trust that you’re fine to stay in here on your own, so please, when you wake up, just come get me. Don’t go anywhere else.”

Maggie looks towards the door that leads into the hallway, and she does in fact wonder what’s on the other side of it. Clearly there was more to the manor that she hasn’t seen yet, more than Anzurin’s office and the doctor’s wing.

But Anzurin grips her chin and points her gaze towards the bathroom. “No, go through there. Not out there. I don’t want you wandering around without me.”

Teeth bared, she jerks her chin out of his hold and snaps at his fingers, which he abruptly pulls away. He scowls at her for a moment, and she thinks that he might hit her for snapping at him, but ultimately, he just shakes his head and says once more. “Get some rest, Magdalena. Come get me when you wake up.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks through the bathroom to his own room, leaving her alone once more.

———

yay! chapter 3!! fun news, i’ve started putting together a fledgling handbook so we’ll see what happens with that! it’s been super fun and helpful i’m hammering out the details of fledgling stages :D

taglist :)

@pizzamanstan @leahnardo-da-veggie @dyrewrites @trippingpossum @possiblyeldritch

@godsmostfuckedupgoblin @jgc-comeundermybridge @shortcircuitthegreat @seastarblue @bloodmoodtrash

@theaistired @korol--reznii @simonnebethel @danimia @written-among-stars

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@annothersummerofsleep @saecarnell @albatris @solaristawrites @the-letterbox-archives

@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese @threedaysgross @corinneglass @fifis-corner

if you’d like to join the taglist to be notified when i post a chapter, let me know or interact with this linked post here. if you are on the list and would like off, just let me know!

[transmutationisms]

hello, this might be a weird question but i was wondering why alot of communists seem to be against people having multiple sexual partners, it doesn't seem to be a thing exclusive to weird "trad communist" types, lenin himself said that promiscuity is bourgeois and an intoxicant (https://www.marxists.org/archive/zetkin/1925/lenin/zetkin2.htm) and while i could see it being hard to balance with political organizing, a life of being a militant does have to come with alot of personal sacrifices anyways.

there's not going to be a singular answer here because attitudes about sex vary widely among self-identified communists and for that matter so do attitudes about 'communism'. i also am not any kind of expert on lenin or soviet history. however, just looking at his reasoning as stated in this text, the quote you've zeroed in on goes:

Promiscuity in sexual matters is bourgeois. It is a sign of degeneration. The proletariat is a rising class. It does not need an intoxicant to stupefy or stimulate it, neither the intoxicant of sexual laxity or of alcohol. It should and will not forget the vileness, the filth and the barbarity of capitalism. It derives its strongest inspiration to fight from its class position, from the communist ideal. What it needs is clarity, clarity, and more clarity. Therefore, I repeat, there must be no weakening, no waste and no dissipation of energy Self-control and self-discipline are not slavery; not in matters of love either.

emphasis mine.

so, what he's saying (as relayed by clara zetkin; let's assume she's quoting him faithfully) is that sex is a special kind of activity because, like alcohol, it is "intoxicating"—a way of stimulating or stupefying the proletariat, and therefore a threat to both the health of the individual body, and the health and political fortitude of workers as a class. and again:

[Communist youth organisations discussing "sex problems"] is especially dangerous and damaging to the youth movement. It can easily lead to sexual excesses, to overstimulation of sex life and to wasted health and strength of young people. [...] Communism should not bring asceticism, but joy and strength, stemming, among other things, from a consummate love life. Whereas today, in my opinion, the obtaining plethora of sex life yields neither joy nor strength. [...] Healthy sports, such as gymnastics, swimming, hiking, physical exercises of every description and a wide range of intellectual interests is what they need, as well as learning, study and research, and as far as possible collectively. This will be far more useful to young people than endless lectures and discussions on sex problems and the so-called living by one’s nature.

emphasis mine again.

it's important to note here that lenin's objection is not exactly to a certain number of sexual partners, per se (he is consistently scathing of the "disgustingly false sex morality" of bourgeois marriage), but to an 'excessive' amount of sex, which he sees as intoxicating, distracting, and weakening young people, mentally and physically. this argument may sound stupid and bad, and it is. however, it was also a very commonly defended mainstream medical opinion in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; this is not just something lenin has invented himself. the reference to "degeneration" and the comparison to alcoholism (considered one of the main causes, and symptoms, of degeneration) tell me that lenin is concerned about 'freedom of love' being not a liberatory state, but a corrupting, insalubrious force of social decline, the psychological desire for which results from a reaction to bourgeois morality but fails to free itself from the capitalist conditions giving rise to such ideology.

indeed lenin spelled out his position 5 years earlier, in 1915 (& seems to have remained relatively consistent) in two letters to inessa armand. although he says that people (specifically women) should be free in matters of love from financial calculations, religious prejudice, legal interference, familial prohibitions, &c, he goes on to decry the idea that such "freedom of love" includes freedom from "the serious element in love", freedom from childbirth, or freedom of adultery. these latter three he says are bourgeois, not proletarian, demands.

so, when we put this together, what emerges (exclusively from reading lenin's stated positions; this would be only a first step to a real historical analysis) is an idea of sexual morality that prizes 'restraint' and self-control and views sexual pleasure as dangerous in excess; that opposes bourgeois marriage but also opposes a perceived libertinism that arises as its opposite; that fears energy is being wasted on cerebral discussions of sexuality that distract from the material conditions of oppression & fail to change them; and that is expressed through the medical terminology of degeneracy theory and discourses on physico-moral sensitivity and the susceptibility of the body to exhaustion and corruption by excessive pleasurable stimulation.

again, dissecting lenin on this is not equivalent to providing a general explanation of how sex-negative attitudes arise among communists (& i don't think such a singular explanation exists lol). but there are definitely some throughlines we could trace here, from degeneracy theory (rarely named as such these days, but still a motivating fear in a lot of cultural prognostication) to the general discomfort with 'excessive' sexuality. i don't think communists are more prone to these sorts of ideas than anyone else, but, yknow, also not magically exempt.

[simvanie]

Hi wcif the wet t shirt/swimsuit outfit in this post? (It's in the third photo) thanks!

https://www.tumblr.com/simvanie/753373420054544384?source=share

Hi,

I already answered the wcif for the wet t-shirt here :) I combined it with the Inessa bra accessory from this set, and the Ocean bikini bottom accessory from this set.

[sodaabaa]

his shadow chapter three; nikolai

nikolai lantsov x OC inessa, the darkling's daughter and a childhood friend of ravka's golden prince, joins nikolai and alina in their plan to fight against the darkling.

tw: just some angst

masterlist

My closest friend, my most trusted confidant. 

Nikolai rubbed at his temples. Within the last few hours, he learned that the girl who nearly killed his father had been a part of his crew the entire time, that his father was a rapist, and that his mother not only knew, but allowed it to happen. 

He poured himself another glass of kvas, he’d need something stronger than whiskey tonight. He downed the bitter liquid, relishing in the burn. 

Inessa hadn’t informed him of Genya’s situation which worsened the entire situation tenfold. He’d been angry with her at first but as the information settled within him, he realized she was just protecting a friend who’d been hurt. Guilt washed over Nikolai, he shouldn’t have sent her away like he did. 

Nikolai stood, his head spinning momentarily as a result of many glasses of the strong liquor. He steadied himself before walking through the grand double doors at the front of the study and into the hall. Nobles, guards, and servants were a blur as Nikolai rushed to the Little Palace. 

“Nikolai? What are you doing here at this hour?” Spoke Adrik as Nikolai entered the building. 

“Inessa, where is she?” He replied.

“I haven’t seen her since the party, why?” 

“Nothing. I just needed to talk to her, that’s all.” He passed Adrik with a pat on the shoulder and continued into the building.

He stood before her door, his chest filling as he inhaled. Nikolai raised his hand to knock, but it opened as soon as he laid his fist on the obsidian door. 

“Inessa?” Nikolai stepped inside, scanning the room for the Shadow Summoner.

Her bed was made, windows closed, not a sign of Inessa’s presence in the dark room. 

Where the hell is she? Nikolai thought, anxiety rising to the surface.

He left Inessa’s room and rushed to the Triumvirate’s meeting hall, he rang the emergency bell near the center of the room. Within minutes, David, Genya, Zoya, Adrik, Leoni, Tolya, and Tamar piled in, their voices filling up the room. Alina and Mal entered last. 

“What’s wrong?” Genya asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“I swear to the Saints, Nikolai, the Fjerdans better be attacking for you to call us at this ungodly hour.” Zoya rumbled. 

“Inessa’s missing.” 

The room fell silent. 

“What do you mean ‘missing?’ And are you sure?” Alina said.

“I mean I went to her room and it was empty, nothing had been disturbed. Her bed was made, the window was closed and the lights were off.” He paused. 

“Inessa likes to leave the window slightly open at night and she always keeps the lights on.” 

“She may have just gone for a walk or something, right?” Mal asked.

“Has anyone seen her since the banquet?” Tamar asked.

The members of the Triumvirate looked around to each other, no one had an answer. No one had seen her. 

“Could she have been taken? And if so, by who? No doubt we have many enemies but not many know of Inessa, why take her?” Tolya mused.

“You don’t think it was him, do you?” Zoya asked.

“Who else could it have been?” David said.

“How are we going to find her if-”

“She’d been working on a map of the Darkling’s strongholds in Ravka.” Nikolai cut Zoya off. 

He reached for a cluster of papers, shuffling through them in search of the map that she’d been working on. 

“Here.” Nikolai said, laying the map out on the table.

There were three red marks on the map, indicating areas the Darkling held influence over. Inessa’s notes were written on the margins of the map, explaining each area.

“Ulensk, Udova, and Arkesk. He has loyal followers in each area. But he couldn’t have gotten that far in one night? That’s across the fold.” Mal spoke.

“He could be in the area tonight, granted cover by night. By morning he’d be in Adena, the closest city to the Fold.” Genya said.

Nikolai turned to Mal, “can you track her? She couldn’t have gotten far.” 

Mal looked at the map and then back at Nikolai. “I can try. We should split up and you should take a pair of trackers as well.”

Nikolai shook his head, “I won’t need them. Zoya, Tolya, Adrik, you all are with me. Alina, Leoni, and Tamar will go with Mal.” He nodded to the group.

“David and Genya, you two are responsible for keeping the Little Palace from trouble for the time being.” He finished.

“Splendid.” David muttered. 

“What’ve you found?” Nikolai asked.

“Isn’t this a piece of her kefta?” He lifted a scrap of black fabric with fibers of silver thread on the corners. Nikolai took the fabric. His head swam, plagued with possibilities of what happened to Inessa. He clenched his jaw, his hand closing around the swatch of fabric. 

“The ground here shows signs of someone passing by recently.” Nikolai said, his voice grave as he continued, “We should go on this way.” 

Nikolai, Adrik, Zoya and Tolya trekked on. They’d been searching for hours in the harsh night, at this point they were miles away from Os Alta. 

“Should we signal the others?” Tolya asked. 

Nikolai and Alina had made a plan, whoever was first to find a lead to where Inessa could be would signal the others. Alina’s signal was, quite obviously, a ray of light in the sky. Zoya recommended using a lighting strike as their signal. 

Nikolai gave a nod to Zoya who immediately lifted her arms to create a lightning strike.

“Let’s rest here until they find us.” Adrik said, leaning against a tree.

“You all should rest, I’m continuing.” 

“He speaks as if he’s a grisha. If anyone should be resting, it’s you.” Zoya retorted. 

Nikolai rolled his shoulders and massaged a kink in his neck. “I’ll be fine.” 

The demon inside of Nikolai was growing more restless as they inched closer to the Darkling, as if it could sense its creator, its tormentor. 

Nikolai continued walking, getting farther away from the group.

Maybe it’s time to let you out. 

His breathing grew shallow, his eyes closing and heart slowing down. Nikolai flexed his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers in anticipation. 

Come on. You have to find her.

His shoulder blades expanded, growing into black wings. His fingernails dug into his palms, trying his best to keep silent. His neck tilted and turned, black veins crawling up his throat, his arms, his legs. Fingers became claws, eyes turned black, teeth sharpening. 

Nikolai-no, he wasn’t Nikolai anymore. He was Korol Rezni, King of Scars. He shot into the sky, nostrils flaring and eyes scanning the area below in search of his creator. He came to an abrupt stop. His eyes narrowed on a spot in the distance. He soared through the clouds, diving for his target. 

He landed with a loud crash. The demon stalked through the trees, eyes already trained on the target, his black kefta blending into the night.

The Darkling turned, eyebrows raised. He chuckled.

“Well, this is a surprise.” 

The demon wasted no time, he pounced right onto the grisha, tearing and clawing into him. He shrieked, baring his fangs. The Darkling raised shadows, using tendrils of darkness to claw the demon off of him. He did not relent, continuing his assault. 

“Nikolai?” 

The demon’s attention faltered, searching for that voice. The Darkling used that opportunity to grab the demon into a choke hold, restrained by the tendrils of smoke.

“Let go of him!” 

Darkness ran toward the demon, a thick cloud surrounding the Darkling. The shadows tightened around the grisha, causing his grip on the demon to falter.

“Run!” The voice said. 

The demon snarled, turning onto the Darkling.  Shadows trailed around him, pushing him to the side. His head shot to the girl who was raising her hands, preparing for an attack.

Darkness gathered, a metallic line forming in the middle. 

“You’d kill your own father, girl? Even I showed Baghra mercy.” “You blinded her.” She spat.

“I could have killed her. I showed mercy. You’re no better than me.” “You kept her alive as a warning to those who defy you.” 

“Clever girl. Go on then, what are you waiting for?” The Darkling held his arms out.

The girl raised her arms and slashed across the air, throwing a blade a darkness that missed the Darkling by a hair.

“Pathetic.” He spat.

“Take him.” The girl said, dropping her arms and walking away.

From the shadows, three people surrounded the Darkling. A girl made of light restraining him while a boy kept a clenched fist, stealing the air from the Darkling’s lungs. His eyes widened, gasping for air, attempting to call onto the darkness to save him.

“INESSA.” He roared. 

Inessa. 

Nikolai suddenly became aware of what had just happened. He ran after her.

“Inessa!” Nikolai called out.

There she was, sitting against the trunk of a tree. Her legs were clutched to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees and her head tucked in. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“Nes?” Nikolai said, sitting down beside the girl.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s over. Look at me.” He cooed.

She lifted her head slightly, chin still tucked into her arms. Inessa shook her head.

“It’s never going to be over, Nikolai. Even if he’s not physically here, he will haunt me until the day I die.” She choked on her words. Tears fell rapidly down her cheeks. 

Nikolai didn’t know what else to do, so he wrapped her in his arms. She buried her head in his shoulder, gripping onto him with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. Nikolai stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple, trying his best to soothe her. They stayed in each other's embrace until rays of light broke through the grey clouds. 

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 2, Chapter 10

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

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This is a longer chapter than normal...because lots of sh*t goes down!

Enjoy!

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PART 2

Chapter 10

Yelena jumped off the counter and stalked towards Volkov. “How?” she barked. “How are they tracking us?”

He just smiled.

Her hand shot out and she backhanded him viciously across the face. His head snapped back, but when he faced her again, that damned smirk was still in place.

“HOW?”

The smirk stretched into another savage smile. “Project планктон.”

“Project Plankton?” Yelena translated, sounding confused. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Volkov didn’t answer. And for the first time since he’d stepped foot in the mansion his unflappable countenance faltered. His smiled slipped and he frowned.

“Answer me!” Yelena demanded.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes rolled back in his head and he started jerking and twitching against the restraints.

“He’s seizing!” Sofia yelled. She ran over to him and shone a pen-torch in his eyes, flicking the light back and forth.

“He’s faking,” Kira said.

“No, Melina warned us this could happen.”

“Stabilise him,” Yelena barked at the medic. “We still need answers.”

“No, we need to get out of here!” Inessa objected. “You heard him!”

“And go where? They’re tracking us somehow.” Yelena turned to Anya. “Is there anything about Project Plankton in Dreykov’s files?”

Anya was already scrolling through her ever-present tablet. She didn’t look up from the screen as she bit out a quick, “I’m on it.”

The Widows crowded around her as she searched through the terabytes of information she’d spent the last few months decrypting. “Got it. There’s a single reference to Project Plankton in a memo from 2013. It was a theoretical nanite programme one of the scientists suggested to Dreykov.”

“Theoretical?”

“Well, it was theoretical when this memo was released. Maybe it became practical in the years since, and Dreykov kept it off the books.”

“Nanites?” Calina asked. “As in nanotechnology? That’s well beyond theoretical now. It underpins all of Tony Stark’s latest Iron Man machinery.”

Katya started rubbing her arms. “And they’re inside us? These nanites?”

Anya finally looked up, her face grave. “Do you remember the injection they gave us all after Yelena disappeared? They must have realised they needed another way to keep track of us after she managed to dig out her chip.”

“How do we get them out?” Calina asked, trying to resist the urge to scratch at her own arms. The though of still having Red Room tech inside her was making her feel nauseous.

“We can’t dig them out, that’s for sure,” Anya said. “There’s a reason it was called Project Plankton. Plankton are tiny organisms carried around on tides and currents. The nanites are in our blood.”

“Can we block the signals?” Calina asked.

“For one of us maybe, but not all of us. Not unless we had a jammer the size of a Buick.”

“Fuck,” Kira spat. “So we’re stuck with them?”

“I didn’t say that,” Anya replied. “I just said they couldn’t be dug out. But there is a way to remove them. It’s mentioned in the memo: plasmapheresis.”

“Plasma-what?” Yelena said.

“Plasmapheresis,” Sofia repeated, using her medical knowledge to explain to the group. “Plasma exchange. You remove a person’s blood, circulate it through a machine which filters out the plasma and anything harmful that’s present in it - in this case, evil little robots - and then the blood is returned with a substitution fluid.”

“Is it safe?”

“Yes, but the bigger question is, how the hell are we going to find a plasmapheresis machine before Volkov’s men find us?”

“That’s your new task,” Yelena ordered. “Calina and Anya, help her with anything she needs. The rest of you start implementing lockdown protocol. I want this place turned into a death trap for any motherfucker who comes looking for Volkov.”

 ———

 Calina tightened the strap on her thigh holster and then checked the clip in her gun. The weapons were just a precaution, in case they ran into any of Volkov’s men. The actual mission was a quick in-and-out bit of grand larceny. Anya had found a private clinic just over the border in Georgia that offered plasmapheresis treatments.

And they were going to rob it.

“Keep in contact,” Yelena ordered, as Calina, Anya and Sofia finished arming themselves. “I’ll send a text every 30 minutes. If I miss a check-in, you’ll know the mansion is compromised, so stay clear.”

“No,” Calina said. “We’ll haul ass back here to provide reinforcements.”

“No, Calina. We need at least some of the group to be safe. In case any of us are captured, we need a team to mount a rescue. From a new base, with no nanites in their system.”

“Has there been any progress on the new base?” Katya asked from her seat at the dining table. She was rigging up a set of trip-wire devices that would be planted in the garden outside.

“We’ve found a place to rent. The money’s been wired, we’re just waiting on confirmation from the broker. Its in Maine, so I hope everyone likes lobster.”

“We’ll finally be living the high life,” Katya joked - or tried to. There was too much tension in her voice to make it believable.

Calina powered up her phone, ready to receive Yelena’s check-ins. But it started ringing 30 seconds later.

Anya groaned. “You have to do something about that. Now.”

Calina nodded and slipped out the front door. She took a deep breath and hit the answer button. “Matt, you need to stop calling.”

“Calina? Thank God,” he breathed.

It had been less than 48 hours since she’d heard his voice, but she’d missed the deep rich sound so much. It made her long to be back in his apartment, sat in the armchair next to him as they talked about books and courtrooms and everything and nothing.

Was this what homesickness felt like?

She buried the feeling. And the grief at the knowledge that it would never be like that between them again. “Matthew,” she said firmly, her voice as cold as she could manage. “Please stop calling. I need this phone line open and I need radio silence for the next few hours.”

“What do you mean? What’s going on? Are you in danger?”

At that moment, Anya, Sofia and Inessa exited the front door. They jogged passed Calina, and Anya called out to her over her shoulder. “Calina, we need to go! Get your ass in the van.”

“I have to go,” she said to Matt. “Stop calling. I mean it.”

“Wait-”

She hung up. Then stared at the device. A part of her - a small, hopelessly hopeful part of her - wanted it to ring again. She wanted some proof that Matt would keep fighting for her. Some proof that his incessant calling had nothing to do with guilt, and everything to do with love.

But the phone stayed silent.

She ignored the irrational pang of hurt. All it meant was that he was respecting her wishes - especially since he thought she was in danger.

She slipped the phone into one of the pouches on her belt and joined her team mates. Inessa was their get-away driver. She looked ridiculously tiny behind the wheel of the large transit van but she backed out of the driveway and onto the main road with ease. Within minutes they were speeding down the highway towards Augusta.

They arrived at the clinic a few hours later, long after the staff had gone home for the night. Inessa parked a block away and the four of them scoped out the street, checking for CCTV cameras and assessing the level of foot traffic.

“Does anyone else feel guilty about stealing from a medical facility?” Inessa asked from the front seat. “People are gonna arrive for their treatments tomorrow and be turned away.” 

“The anonymous $100 000 donation I just made into the clinic’s checking account should lessen some of the pain,” Anya replied.

“Okay. That makes me feel better.”

Calina smiled. It made her feel better too. But she couldn’t help teasing Anya. “Shouldn’t you have waited until after we stole the machines? What if it goes wrong?”

Anya shrugged. “Then our last act as free women will have been one of charity.”

Anya’s off-hand remark went down like a lead balloon.

Free women.

None of them were really free. Even now, there was probably some lackey in Volkov’s ‘faction’ monitoring 4 green dots on a screen and wondering why they’d taken a detour across state lines. That monitoring - that subtle, distant form of control - meant that none of them were truly free.

Their lives would never be their own until they got rid of the tracking devices.

“Let’s get this done,” Sofia growled, echoing Calina’s thoughts. “I want these fucking things out of me as soon as humanly possible.”

The other three women nodded.

Then they went and got it done.

 ———

 At a few minutes after midnight, Anya took a seat next to one of the machines. She was the first one to undergo the procedure.

And she hadn’t volunteered.

None of them wanted to be first - and not because they doubted Sofia’s medical knowledge or were worried about the process. No one wanted to go first, because as soon as they were cleared of the nanites, they would have to leave the compound and start making their way to Maine. They would have to leave their sisters, while the threat of Volkov’s men descending on the mansion grew more and more imminent.

It was Yelena’s plan, and she wasn’t budging on it.

“Sofia says it is going to take 2-3 hours for each exchange of blood,” Yelena had explained to the group as they’d sat around the large dining table. “There are 15 of us in the compound. I don’t have nanites in my system, so that leaves 14 of you to be treated. Even using both the machines that we stole, its going to take more than half a day to treat everyone. Which means, we’re at real risk of not being finished before Volkov’s men arrive.”

“All the more reason why we should stay after we’re treated. Stay and fight,” Kira objected.

Sofia jumped into the debate. “There’s a risk of side effects from the procedure. Dizziness, nausea, low blood pressure, muscle spasms, and more. Not ideal for a combat situation.”

“We need to establish the new base,” Yelena continued. “Like I said to Calina earlier, we need Widows who are free of trackers who can come rescue the rest of us if the worst happens. If we all stay here and fight, we might all lose - especially if you guys aren’t in top form from the procedure.”

“But-” Katya began.

“No,” Yelena said firmly. “This isn’t up for a vote, or even a discussion. There’s no time.” She paused to look at the women around her, and Calina could have sworn there was a hint of tears in Yelena’s eyes. “I know you guys think I’m too controlling sometimes. And too bossy. But I care about each and every one of you. I want us to survive.” She met Calina’s eyes. “And I want us to thrive, and be happy. That can only happen when we’re truly free. This is the best way to get that freedom.”

She’d received several nods of agreement in response. But most of the women around the table just looked resigned, their tight lips and frowns expressing their displeasure. 

They’d pulled straws to determine the order of treatment, and that was how Anya - and another woman called Viktoria - found themselves being hooked up to the machines as the other widows watched.

Viktoria was done in just over two hours. Anya took a little longer - more plasma in her system, according to Sofia. But by 3am, the two of them were nanite-free and on the road heading north.

And another two Widows took their place by the machines.

This process repeated itself throughout the morning. As more and more Widows left, the mansion got quieter and quieter, and the tension felt by those left behind ratcheted up higher and higher. The clock on the wall of the make-shift med bay ticked louder and louder, the noise acting as a constant reminder of the passing of time.

Time they didn’t have.

By midday, there were only six widows left in the house, and each one of them was painfully aware that Volkov’s men could be battering down the doors at any moment.

Sofia calmly disconnected Inessa from one of the machines and helped her to her feet. The smaller woman swayed and clutched at Sofia.

“Are you okay?” Calina asked. She was next up in the chair, one of the last two Widows to be treated.

She’d drawn the shortest of straws, but she hadn’t complained. The Widows were a team - and they were all working towards the good of the whole group - not any one individual. It didn’t matter that she had people that she cared about back in New York - like Alma, her elderly neighbour. And Foggy and Karen.

And Matt.

It didn’t matter that she had more of a ‘life’ to save than the other Widows. She was just one of 15 today.

And it wasn’t like she was planning to return to that life anyway.

Inessa straightened up and waved off Calina’s concern. “Yeah, just a bit woozy.”

Calina nodded and took her seat. She’d already unzipped and pulled down the top half of her Widow suit, leaving her in a black tank top. She stuck her arm out and Sofia got to work inserting the cannula. The medic had gone through her own procedure hours ago but had stayed to make sure everyone else got treated properly.

Katya was sat next to her, finishing off her own plasma exchange. She gave Calina a smile. “Hey, Calina, how’s it going?” she asked, as if they were grabbing a drink at a cafe.

Calina laughed at Katya’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Not bad. You know, apart from having had only five hours sleep in the last three days.”

“And apart from finding out you have tracking robots in your blood,” Katya added.

Calina continued the game. “And apart from knowing that a strike team of Red Room operatives is about to descend upon us at any moment.”

“You guys are hilarious,” Yelena mumbled sarcastically. She’d been prowling from one side of the room to the other for hours, her head buried in a tablet which was linked to the security feeds from the exterior of the property. A stockpile of weapons was laid out on the table behind her, and every so often she would grab a gun and pace with it in her free hand.

She was wound tight. And obviously not in the mood for humour.   

Inessa laughed though, in between gulping down a litre of water. Evidently, plasmapheresis made you thirsty. Kira was the last of the six, and she was guarding Volkov while she waited for Katya to finish and free up her machine.

Volkov had recovered from his seizure but they hadn’t resumed his interrogation. Melina had advised against dosing him with any more of the serum, and between arranging the new base, securing the old one, and treating the Widows, none of them could spare time to torture answers out of him the old-fashioned way. The plan was to take him with them when they left, and resume his questioning on the road.

“You’re done,” Sofia announced to Katya half an hour later.

“Good,” Yelena said. “Katya, you and Inessa grab your things and get out of here.”

“Nope,” Katya said. She zipped up her suit and tightened the bands holding her tightly curled hair in place.

Yelena straightened up. “What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

“Inessa and I already discussed it. We’re not leaving the four of you here alone. You’re going to need firepower if Volkov’s men arrive in the next few hours, and even if they don’t, you’ll need help securing Volkov in the van.”

“Katya-”

“No, Yelena. You and Calina risked everything to get me out of Seoul and save me from the serum. I’m not going to leave you both behind.”

Calina could tell by the firm glint in Katya’s eyes that she wasn’t going to back down. Yelena could obviously see it too. “Fine,” she said, relenting. “Go down to the basement and relieve Kira. Tell her to get her ass up here stat - she’s the last one in the chair. Inessa, grab your weapons and take watch upstairs.” She passed an earpiece to each of the remaining Widows. “All of you, stay on comms and stay alert.”

“Got it, boss.” Inessa scampered out the room and Katya followed behind her.

Yelena glanced at the clock and checked the clip of the latest gun to have made it into her hands. Calina’s own weapon was in her lap, and she had to resist the urge to clench it in her hand like a scared child with a security blanket.

“It’s going to be alright,” Calina said.

Yelena scoffed. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“Okay, maybe not. But if the worst happens, just know that you tried your best, Yelena. You gave us a home, and kept us safe, as best you could.”

“Says the woman who abandoned that home the minute she could.”

Calina sighed. “I don’t want to fight about that again, Yelena.”

Yelena rubbed her forehead. “I know. I’m sorry - blame it on the stress. For what its worth…”

“What?” Calina prompted.

“For what its worth, I’m glad you got those few months of happiness. Even though it didn’t work out, I’m glad you got to try.”

Calina gave her a small, sad smile. “I’m glad too.”

The two women fell into silence…and watched the second hand of the clock tick and tick and tick.

 ———

 The warning came 90 minutes later.

Inessa’s voice crackled over the comm line. “Five blacked-out SUVs spotted on the coast road. They’re coming this way - fast!”

Yelena jerked upright. “Shit! Here we go. Sofia, where are we on the treatments?”

She checked the two machines. “Calina’s receiving the last of the plasma substitute. Kira…Kira still has two pints of blood left to clean.”

Yelena hooked a sniper rifle over her shoulder and barked out her orders to the three women in the room, as well as the two listening in on the comms. “Kira, you stay hooked up to that machine as long as you possibly can, you hear me? We’ll try to buy time. Sofia, as soon as Calina is done, disconnect her, then you stay with Kira. Inessa, head to the basement - help Katya get Volkov to the van. Calina will cover you when she’s able. I’ll be on the roof.”

“On it,” came Katya’s reply.

“Heading down now. ETA on the strike team is 2 minutes,” Inessa updated.

Yelena ran out of the room. The moment the door closed behind her, Calina started tugging off the tape holding her cannula in place. “Get this thing out of me,” she hissed to Sofia.

“No, you need to finish,” Sofia said firmly.

“Are the nanites out of my system?” she bit back.

“Yes, but you need the rest of the plasma transfusion. If you stop now, your blood volume will be low and your blood pressure could plummet.”

Yelena chimed in over the comms. “Listen to her, Calina.”

“No. I’ll take the risk. I need to be out there providing backup.”

When Sofia still didn’t move, Calina took matters into her own hands. She yanked out the cannula. The plasma substitute in the tubing started leaking on the floor but Calina ignored it. She got to her feet, bracing herself on the arm of the chair as her head swam.

Sofia curse under her breath and grabbed some gauze to stem the blood leaking from Calina’s arm. “Stubborn zhopa,” she muttered, as she taped it into place.

Calina slipped her arms into the top of her suit and zipped it closed. She primed the Widow’s bites on her wrists, slotted her gun in her thigh holster and grabbed one of the semi-automatic rifles from the weapons cache. Then she paused in the doorway. She looked back at the other two women in the room and gave them a tight nod. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” Kira replied.

“We’ll see you in the van,” Sofia said.

Calina nodded again then took off running. She could hear the distant crunch of gravel as the cars barrelled up the long driveway. Then a muffled pop-pop-pop, as Yelena fired on them from her sniper’s nest on the roof. She must have hit a tire, because there was the sound of a crash as a car spun and collided with something.

Five SUVs, with four-to-five men per vehicle, meant a strike team of at least 20. Possibly 25.

Not the worst case scenario. Six Widows could easily take them on.

But one of those six was still hooked up to a plasmapheresis machine. One was standing guard, and another two were securing an asset.

That left just Calina and Yelena.

Two Widows to stem the tide of two dozen aggressors.

Calina reached the second floor and used the butt of her rifle to smash out the glass from the small window at the front of the property. Then she crouched down, her sights fixed on the bend in the driveway - the bend the convoy would be rounding any second now.

She took a deep, calming breath, and tried to ignore the slight dizziness the action caused.

Two against 20.

Piece of cake.

 ———

 “KATYA, INESSA, ARE YOU IN THE VAN? DO YOU HAVE VOLKOV” Yelena’s shout was barely audible over the gun fire. She’d taken up a spot a few windows down from Calina after sniping the men fleeing from the crashed vehicle. They currently had the occupants of two of the other SUVs pinned down at the front of the mansion, but the whereabouts of the other two cars - and the teams of men inside - were unknown.

It was worrying Calina...but not as much as their immediate situation. There were eight men outside exchanging gun fire with them. At the moment they were trapped behind their cars - nowhere to go but into a spray of bullets.

But Calina and Yelena were running low on those.

“Negative!” Katya responded. “There are at least ten assailants in the house. They’re between us and the garage.”

Shit. The missing teams had infiltrated the mansion somehow.

This was bad. Very bad.

They needed to get out of there.

Now. 

“New objective,” Yelena yelled. “If you can’t extract Volkov safely, kill him. Your freedom is the top priority.”

“Got it.”

Yelena swapped her gun for the tablet and updated the other Widows on what the footage showed. “There are three men in the kitchen, two have entered the living room. Two are coming upstairs to us and the rest are heading towards the med bay.”

She tossed the tablet to the floor, holstered her gun, then called across the room to Calina. “Cover me. I’m going to deal with these assholes out front.”

“What?” Calina yelled. “How?”

Yelena hooked her leg out the window frame and winked at Calina, “Trust me.”

Then she disappeared. 

Calina laid down covering fire as Yelena hit the ground and rolled, but within seconds her rifle clicked empty. But it didn’t matter - the men weren’t firing on Yelena. They started chasing her instead as she bolted around the side of the house. They must have been under orders to retrieve rather than kill.

Calina threw down her rifle and prepared to follow Yelena out the window. But just as she grabbed the sides of the frame there was a massive explosion outside, and the blast wave rocked the house. The ceiling rained plaster and all the glassware in the ornate display cabinet to Calina’s left shattered.

“What the hell was that?” Calina shouted down the comms.

“Someone must have tripped the mines I planted,” Katya yelled. Then grunted. A thud sounded, then there was the familiar crackle of a Widow’s bites.

“It was me,” Yelena responded. She sounded slightly winded. “I led those idiots right through the tripwire. I’m on my way to the medbay.”

“I’m coming too,” Calina called. She jumped out the window and hit the gravel below. She absorbed the landing on bent legs and rolled to soften it, but she still felt a jolt through her recently injured knee.

“You’ll have to go through the house - the path around the side is nothing but flames now,” Yelena said.

“Understood.”

Calina unholstered her gun and slowly eased open the front door. She swung into the foyer, gun outstretched as she cleared the four corners of the room.

Empty.

She made her way - crouched and silent - through the next door and into the living space.

Not so empty.

Two men in black combat armour and grease paint were at the far end of the room. She shot the closest one in the head and he dropped to the ground in an instant. The other spun and fired at her. She dove to the ground behind the sofa. She felt a bite of pain in her side as she landed, but ignored it. She could hear the man stalking towards her so she detached one of the taser discs from her wristband and slid it across the oak floor into his path. Bolts of neon blue lighting erupted from the device and latched onto the mans right leg. He seized as the voltage pierced through his body.

Calina jumped to her feet and ran passed him, following the sound of gunfire deeper in the mansion.

“Katya and I made it to the garage,” Inessa said over the comms. “But we lost Volkov.”

“Shit,” Yelena responded.

“It gets worse. We heard him call in for reinforcements - apparently there’s a second wave of strike teams on standby just off the highway. They’re on their way, so you guys have to get out of the house NOW!”

Calina raced down the corridor and rounded the corner at the end - where she almost collided with another assailant. She ducked under his swinging arm and pounded her fist into his side. They exchanged a volley of hits and kicks in the narrow space, Calina falling to the ground after a brutal punch to the face. But she used it to her advantage - she grabbed the knife from her boot and struck upwards, impaling the man in the gap in his armour between his abdomen and thigh and puncturing his femoral artery.  He collapsed to his knees and she followed up with a stab to his neck. He hit the floor face first and she crawled passed him and staggered to her feet.

Her cheek was throbbing and her her knee was on fire. She was also getting more and more light-headed, and she assumed she was feeling the effects of her aborted plasma transfusion.

She staggered down the hallway just in time to see the last of three assailants crumple to the floor in a pile of his slain teammates. The sound of gunfire coming from the medbay in front of him stopped, then the yelling began.

“Kira, no!”

“Yes. You have to go!”

“What’s going on?” Calina asked, stepping over the bodies and into the room. Three women whipped around to face her. Sofia looked distraught. Yelena looked angry.

And Kira looked…sad. “Calina,” she said. “You have to get out of here. Take these two and RUN!”

She was still hooked up to the machine. Which meant the treatment hadn’t finished. Calina realised the implications straight away and she met Kira’s eyes with horror.

Kira nodded. “I still have the nanites in my system. If I go with you, they’ll track us. If I run on my own, they’ll find me.”

“We’ll come for you, you know we will,” Yelena pleaded. “We’ll-”

“No, Yelena. I won’t go back to them - even temporarily. I can’t do it. I won’t.”

Inessa’s voice came through the comms. “You guys have to leave NOW! We’re in the van on the coast road - head out back and down the hill and meet us there. The second wave are coming up the driveway. They’ll be there in seconds. MOVE!”

Kira unhooked herself from the machine and grabbed the belt of grenades from the table of weapons. She pulled the pin on the first one and held the trigger. “I’m letting go of this in 90 seconds, Yelena. You’re either in the house when that happens or not - you decide. But I’m not leaving.”

Yelena paused for a split second before nodding. She grabbed Kira around the neck and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Then she turned and ran. Sofia quickly followed.

Calina lingered for another moment, her eyes locked on Kira’s.

She didn’t know the other Widow well - they were different ages, and went through training at different times. But in this moment, she saw herself in the other Widow. She understood Kira’s decision, and recognised the conviction the other woman felt.

She too would rather die by her own hand, than risk being under someone’s control again.

She nodded to Kira, and received one in return.

Then she turned and fled.

She’d just made it out of the back door when she heard the sound of several cars pulling up to the front of the house.

And she’d just reached the bottom of the garden when the force of the blast wave from the explosion behind her lifted her off her feet.

She tumbled to the ground and rolled down the steep hill that led to the coast road. When she stopped, she heard someone shout her name, the syllables muffled as her ears struggled to recover from the sound of the detonation. She felt a set of hands grab her under the arms and pull her to her feet. “Calina, get up! Come on!”

It was Katya.

She staggered onto the road, held up by the other Widow. The van was idling on the deserted road, the back doors open. She clambered inside and collapsed onto the floor with a groan. The doors slammed shut and then they were moving, speeding away from what remained of their home.

“Is everyone okay?” Inessa called from the driver’s seat.

There was a chorus of positive replies from the three other women, but Calina couldn’t seem to find the strength to answer. She felt…strange…as if she was in a tunnel, the light around her slowly narrowing to a far off point.

“Calina,” Sofia called, panic suddenly in her voice. “You’re bleeding!”

“Wha-?” Calina whispered, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Sofia’s hands came down on Calina’s side and she pressed firmly.

Calina reared up as the shock of the pain jolted her from her daze. She looked down to see the right side of her suit was dark and wet with blood. It spilled from between Sofia’s fingers.

“What’s going on?” Yelena yelled from the front of the vehicle.

“Calina’s been shot,” Sofia answered.

She’d been shot.

She remembered the bite of pain as the man in the living room fired at her.

Then she remembered nothing at all…as the world went black.

———

CHAPTER 11 

@hollandorks @yanna-banana @stilldreaming666 @tearoseart-blog​ @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy​ @chezagnes

[wingedcatgirl]

🎩⚰️🦑 for the ask game (I already kinda know the answer to the third one but y'know)

🎩 — What would an Exceptional Story featuring this character be about?

Last time we floated the idea of something about Inessa's past as a Seeker, but if she's getting a second ES we'll want it to be something lighter. Maybe a story about juggling time between her many paramours. The obligatory multiple endings will decide whether she decides to thin the ranks, keep dating everyone, or seek out even more partners.

⚰️ — What's their most common cause of death?

For as blasé as she can be about the prospect, she really doesn't accidentally die all that often. She died eight times getting her weeping scars, and no other single cause of death has yet beaten that. Though if we add up all the times she's seen a chance to do something stupid that will definitely kill her and taken it just to prove she can, those might be a rival.

Lab accidents might also have come close, if not for the fact that the mere state of being heavily wounded is already interfering with science, thereby actually prompting her to do something about it before going to the slow boat.

🦑 — Would they kiss a Rubbery Man?

Well, she's already smooching one half-Rubbery 😘

She would have been more hesitant, before dating Ellesmere. Now, though, she's more familiar with the peculiarities of the Rubbery body. Though even before, she would have considered it.

(FL OC ask game)

[darke15]

CHAPTER 97: GENESIS OF A FIRESTORM

To all my live reactors,

Please, please, please, hide your reactions under a Read More cut. I don’t want any spoilers floating around. 

&

To all my Anonymous Avengers, 

If you want to react in my asks, feel free. However, I won’t be answering any of them until at least Wednesday if they contain spoilers. 

Thank you,

Darke

┍━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┑

Every other memory had come so clearly. When he pulled the trigger in Odessa and Inessa. When he trained soldiers and Widows in Siberia.

He could remember the cold in the chamber. The frost bursting and burning through his veins in the darkness.

But there was also heat.

Heat and sand and sun.

It was numbed heat and a blurred face and whispers of a voice that cracked and rasped.

He knew her once.

She knew him too.

They’d made him forget her.

It was too dangerous to remember.

So they made him forget.

They erased her.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t find her again.

┕━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┙

CHAPTER 97: GENESIS OF A FIRESTORM

✪ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ : Aғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

☞ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ: Oʀɪɢɪɴs

»Jᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇ sɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

TAGLIST BELOW

@thexbookxnerdx // @fadingbakeryfarmoperator // @rhymingtree // @itsmeatballworld // @kippykasey // @turtleedovee // @onewithnomightypowers // @pixviee // @riahmcq // @thequeenofthefallen // @jesuswasnotawhiteman // @fnnshelbys // @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul // @banbananas // @oikawasblueearbud // @itsarussian // @mrsbarnesinmyimagination // @oopsiedoopsie23 // @luhuhzy // @heyimjustlaura12 // @moonlightreader649 // @sighmurderbot // @useless-creature-213 // @xiyouchan // @bookfeen // @afraidofshrimp // @yjck121 // @born-a-sinner-die-a-martyr // @comfortzonequeen // @aftermatharchives

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

Razvedka Unit

The Razvedka Unit, a subsidiary of the Mirotvorets Agency of Sieveronia. A secret organization within a secret organization. One could consider the Razvedka Unit to be the garbage cleaners of the Tsardom.

However, their existence is highly debated.

Even within Russia, whether or not the Czarina employs the usage of spies goes debated. Many would see no need for such a unit, whilst others argue that such a unit would be the one keeping them safe against all means of threats.

Either way, the Razvedka Unit's status remains Unknown.

Marionetka

Age: Unknown

Pronouns: Unknown

Birthday: Unknown

Titles: The Marionetka of Sieveronia.

"A mysterious figure who seems to only answer the call of Her Czarina, Dijana. Their exact name or face isn't known, often obscured by a mask and magic that changes their voice. They are a fierce and dedicated leader."

Kisa Braulio Giraldo

Age: 22

Pronouns: He/Him

Birthday: December 3rd

Titles: The Windborne Warrior of Razvedka, Agent Giraldo.

"A felisine from Venezuela, Kisa is a long way from home. A master of fabric and aerokinesis, he's a well respected agent of the team. Upon a near death in the past, he claims to have seen a God who blessed him with a new understanding of the world at hand. One he fights for, one where no cost is too high."

Decord

Age: 25

Pronouns: He/Him

Birthday: October 30th

Titles: The Shadow of Sieveronia, The Shadow of Darkest Night, Agent Decord.

"A man torn by life and death, Decord commands control of shadows and water. His power is unique, allowing him to both exist and not. Supposedly French, he's come to find himself taking a deal. Make nothing of his life or work for Her Czarina in hopes of achieving the light he so sorely lacks."

Galin S Maher

Age: 18

Pronouns: They/Them

Birthday: June 1st

Titles: Crown Prince of Amune, Agent Maher.

"Once a royal born to great power, a child of human and deity. Now they work lugging bags across the frozen Russian landscape. A job they much prefer. Galin's cryomancy and incredible perception skills have landed them a duty they never expected to find themself in."

Sasha Dietrich

Age: 30

Pronouns: She/Her

Birthday: July 29th

Titles: The Rose Thorn of Goldbrück, Agent Dietrich.

"A young woman of German origins, Sasha was once known for being a well loved florist in Goldbrück. The people of the town aren't sure what happened leading up to her disappearance, but it has been some time since she was last seen. Now, she uses her chloromancy for much different purposes."

Inessa Tymancha

Age: 29

Pronouns: She/They

Birthday: December 24th

Titles: Second Lead of Razvedka, Commander Tymancha.

"Inessa hails from a small town in Northern Russia often marked by harsh winters and never ending cold. She dedicated herself to her job, earning a position within Razvedka as their second in command. Often preferring speaking to combat, her skills often go underestimated by those foolish enough to face her."

Adrik Daniil

Age: 28

Pronouns: He/Him

Birthday: January 12th

Titles: Chief Engineer of Mirotvorets, Agent Daniil.

"An expert in machinery, Adrik has found no need for magic. In fact, he vehemently opposes the unit relying so much on their magic users or inhuman abilities. Adrik is Her Czarina's chief engineer for both the military and her beloved unit, a position he takes seriously."

Maxim Volkov

Age: 46

Pronouns: He/Him

Birthday: December 23rd

Titles: Razvedka's Medical Specialist, Agent Volkov.

"The oldest member of the team, Maxim has been a member of Her Czarina's army for many years. Trained in medicine and various forms of combat, he makes an excellent knowledgeable addition to the unit. While he may be unassuming with his abilities, Maxim has proven himself a priceless asset."

Khristine Ranble

Age: 31

Pronouns: They/Them

Birthday: April 16th

Titles: The Alchemist of Lanying, Agent Ranble.

"Khris is an alchemical genius, unmatched through both of their prevailing nations. Easy to sway with the right amount of money, Khris found themself biting off more than they could chew. But no amount of intimidation will stop them from pursuing their science, even if they now work a job they loathe."

[imagineforeststudio]

Hello everyone.. A small announcement :

1.I'll start with the fact that my game will be published in February (The game is almost finished)..I can't wait to publish, because this is my first game, plus this is a small update

2.

Since I have to open the inbox again, you can ask not only me, but also my characters… And since new characters have appeared (Zara, Sunny, Inessa and Alice), then you can also ask them.

All questions about the game, about my characters, about au and other things - I will try to answer you

That's all

[eeldritchblast]

@ohmypawsandwhiskers tagged me in a writing WIP challenge to share the last sentence you wrote, and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence... but I don't tag others because of anxiety reasons so I'm only gonna do that first part, sorry! To make up for it, here's a whole piece of my WIP:

“Astarion!” someone called out in a shrill voice. “Astarion, you must introduce us to your guest!” A small group of humans and one dwarf waded through the crowd. “Inessa, how lovely that you could make it,” Astarion greeted the woman in the lead. “This is my partner, Cassius.” “A drow? How exotic,” one of the men with a leering smile. Then he asked Cassius, “Do you know the Orlith twins from Sharess’ Caress?” “No,” Cassius lied, despite being able to recall meeting them many moons ago. “How long have you two been together?” the one called Inessa questioned. “163 years now,” Astarion was quick to answer with pride. “Oh my! It’s dreadful only now we get to meet you,” Inessa addressed Cassius. “He is quite reclusive,” Astarion answered for him. The leering man then placed his hand on Cassius’s shoulder. “Might you spare a dance?” “Another time, perhaps,” Cassius replied with as much pleasantry as he could. But the man refused to take no for an answer. “Come now, surely Astarion wouldn’t mind,” he said with a lighthearted chuckle, before dread flooded his face when meeting the deathly stare from Astarion. “I can assure you I would,” Astarion grinned a tight-lipped smile, though the malice still stung in his eyes. The man’s hand fell back to his side. Everyone stood awkwardly still and silent for a moment, before Inessa clapped her hands. “Well then. Much mingling yet to be done! I do hope we can catch up later, dears. Until then!” she then waltzed away to find her next target for pointless chatter, with her entourage following close behind.

[oregano-writes]

Tartaglia's 5-Step Plan for Wooing Morax- Chapter 7: Morepesok

Childe dismissed the cart driver as he reached the outskirts of Morepesok. As he took his bags and began the long walk to his childhood home, he noticed how the forests never seemed to change, no matter how long he was gone. He couldn’t tell if it was comforting or not- on one hand, stability was not something easily accessed by Harbingers, but on the other, it felt like the town didn’t need him– like he was an unnecessary accessory, one that was pleasant while it was around but not missed when it was gone.

He paused his musings when he reached the door of the old house. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside, so he entered, taking off his coat and setting his bags down on the ground. He rummaged through the top one until he found what he was looking for– a small box containing the gifts he had brought for Anthon, Tonia and Teucer. He had been diligent about sending them presents every week or so, but his coming home was a special occasion, and as Teucer would remind him, ‘Special occasions require special gifts!’.

Childe– or rather, Ajax– smiled. Nobody knew he was coming home, so his family was undoubtedly going to be thrilled to see him. Well, his siblings would, at least– his parents were more wary of him. Everyone was civil for the most part, though– his brother Matvey being the one notable exception– and wouldn’t say anything in front of the younger ones.

Ajax heard talking outside the door, before it swung open, revealing his oldest sister, Inessa, and his three younger siblings.

“Anthon, for the last time, you can’t just skip class whenever you forget to do your– Ajax?

Ajax smiled. “Didn’t expect me to come back so soon?”

“Big brother!” Teucer ran at him, grabbing him in a bear hug. Tonia and Anthon joined in a moment later, Ajax getting crushed under a mountain of fluffy jackets and red hair. 

“It’s good to see you too,” Ajax laughed. “Inessa, anything happen while I was gone?”

She smiled. “Mira and I just got engaged, and moving out has been taking up a good bit of time. Luckily, these guys are more than happy to help,” she said, gesturing to Tonia, Anthon and Teucer.

“You too? Geez, at this rate, I’m going to be the only single one left in a few months. What, with you getting married, Lena’s new boyfriend, and Nikolai living in Fontaine, it’ll just be me and the little guys. And Matvey, I guess.”

Inessa looked a bit confused at that. “Nobody told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Matvey’s engaged to that baker girl, Sofia. He has been for months– you really didn’t know?”

Ajax smiled apologetically. “It must have slipped my mind.”

He didn’t even tell me about his engagement?

──────── ✧ ────────

He and Matvey were close when they were younger, Matvey being only a year older than Ajax himself. He had been one of Ajax’s only friends. They went fishing together, listened to adventure stories together, went playing in the woods together– his mother used to say they were practically joined at the hip.

That is, until one trip into the woods resulted in Ajax falling through a break in the land, disappearing for days.

When he finally escaped, collapsing on the doorstep of the house, battered and bloody, it had been Matvey who got him to a doctor, Matvey who stayed by his side while his wounds were painstakingly repaired.

Even then, Ajax knew the kindness wouldn’t last forever.

──────── ✧ ────────

Teucer and Anthon each had a million questions about Ajax’s time in Liyue– ‘What’s the food like?’ ‘Did you see any cool rock monsters?’ ‘Do the people eat rocks?’

‘Are the people made of rocks?’. There were a lot, and he struggled to answer them all, but it was Tonia who (unwittingly) decided to be mean to him that day.

“So, Ajax, did you meet anyone in Liyue?” The question was accompanied by over-the-top eyebrow wiggling.

“Uh–” Childe flushed slightly at the memory of Zhongli’s promise before he left– “I don’t– not like that?”

Tonia gave him a suspicious look. “So there was someone?”

“Um– no? Not really?”

“Aw, c’mon, you don’t have to be shy!” she exclaimed. “Just spit it out!”

“He didn’t– I mean, there was a guy, but nothing actually happened.”

“Oh? Do you mean that one consultant guy you mentioned in your letter? What’s he like?” she asked, eyes lighting up in interest.

Ajax sighed. “He was smart, pretty, and way out of my league, Tonia.” He accentuated this point by flicking her lightly on the nose. “Men like that are better left in fairytales.”

“You’re no fun!” Tonia pouted. “And besides, how could some dusty old academic be out of your league? You’re kind, and smart, and plus, it’s not like your toy seller job pays badly.”

Ajax glanced nervously towards his two younger brothers, but they had evidently been uninterested by talk of romance and had instead moved on to trying to guess what was in the box he had brought by shaking it from various angles. “Tonia, please be more careful,” he sighed.

Tonia rolled her eyes. “They’re going to figure out some time, Ajax.”

“Yeah.”

──────── ✧ ────────

When Ajax woke up, his side full of stitches and his head woozy from anesthetic, the first thing he noticed– besides the stark lack of Abyss surrounding him– was Matvey’s concerned expression as he started to get up.

“Ajax, sit back down. You’ll pop a stitch.”

Ajax rolled his eyes. “It barely hurts.”

Matvey gave him a horrified look. “Ajax, you almost bled out on the porch. What happened to you? Where were you?”

Ajax looked away. “It’s not important. What matters is that I’m back now, and I’m fine.”

“Ajax. Listen to me. Just tell me what happened. It’s been three days, Ajax.”

Ajax blinked. “Three months, you mean?”

Matvey’s expression morphed from concern to confusion. “What are you talking about? You disappeared three days ago. Not months.”

“I… oh. Alright.”

“Please, Ajax. Just tell me what happened.”

Ajax looked away. “You… you wouldn’t like it.”

“Ajax.”

He kept his eves trained on the ground.

“What did you do?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Like hell it isn’t! Do you have any idea how worried we were? I thought you were dead!”

Ajax froze.

“We’ve all seen that shiny new vision at your hip, Ajax. You really expect me to think that you got that doing nothing? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, I would never!”

Matvey looked at him, expression steeling over. “The old Ajax would have told me.” With that, he picked his coat off of its hanger, collecting his things. “The doctor says you should stay in bed for at least another two days. Hopefully, you’ll be able to tell everyone where you were when you get out.”

“Two days? Come on, can’t you cut a guy some slack?”

Matvey sighed. “Goodbye, Ajax.” He did not slam the door when he left– there were other patients in the building, of course– but he did shut it with a decidedly frustrated clunk.

──────── ✧ ────────

Later that night, after Ajax had given out his presents to the children (A ruin guard kite for Teucer, a Liyuean go set for Anthon, and a pair of earrings and matching bracelet for Tonia) and Inessa had gone home, the door opened again. This time, it was Lena coming home with his parents, the three of them laughing together, seemingly about the recent affairs of one of the locals Ajax hadn’t seen in years.

“Ajax?”

“In the flesh,” he replied with a smile.

Lena ran over to tackle-hug him, while his parents exchanged wary glances.

“It’s so good to see you! Anthon here was half afraid you would like Liyue too much and never come back!”

At the look Ajax sent him, Anthon looked at the ground and sighed. “I didn’t say it like that exactly. And besides, isn’t that what Nikolai did?”

Lena reached over to pat him on the head. “Well, Nikolai is a chronic homebody and even more chronic nerd. Our dear Ajax would never abandon us for plays and concerts, isn’t that right?”

“Of course. It would take at least a good restaurant or two to keep me from leaving.”

Lena punched him on the arm. “What Ajax means to say is that he would never abandon us like that.”

“Speaking of ditching us, where’s Matvey? I thought he was coming over today?” Tonia interjected.

Ajax had heard his footsteps when he entered through the back door. Even now, he avoided Ajax whenever he was home.

“I don’t know, Tonia.”

──────── ✧ ────────

Ajax did not end up staying at the hospital for the next two days. He left as soon as he had a moment away from the constant supervision of the doctors. Things with Matvey didn’t improve, but the situation didn’t really fall apart until Ajax got involved with the Fatui. He had finally snapped, getting into a fight with a group of local Fatui agents. However, when they called for backup, instead of being killed for his treason, he was recruited. When he told his family the news, the only one who wasn’t surprised was Matvey. He took Ajax aside right before the Fatui came to pick him up.

“I don’t know who you are,” he had said, “but you aren’t Ajax. Ajax never came back from the woods, did he?”

That was the last time Matvey ever called him by his real name. From then on, he was always Tartaglia– if Matvey spoke to him at all.

[pin-acolada]

not rhaena calling inessa a bastard like, girl.... you don't know what luke, jace are? inessa is a pureblood princess

She honestly thought she did something 😂

Note: if you want to be tagged on The Realms Angel for the next chapter, please let me know by messaging. For some odd reason I can’t answer your guys reply, and I keep trying to figure how to turn my replies on to like answer your questions. So by the meantime feel free to message me on here, and I will try to answer back.

xo pinacolada 🍍

[norabrice1701]

Falling - Pt. III

A Sam Neill!Vasily Borodin (The Hunt for Red October) x Fem!Reader Fic

Mini-Series Main List

Pt. III Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including frottage and unprotected sexual intercourse); strong language; infidelity; misogynistic, controlling and abusive (emotional and physical) behavior towards reader; self-worth issues; pregnancy and infertility; heartache and loss; canonical character death

Days later, your skin still crawls from where Mikhail grabbed you in front of Vasily. His guiding touches to steer and navigate you through party crowds are hardly anything new, but the force of his grip held a possessive edge that you’d never seen before. 

Had Mikhail somehow overheard your conversation? Had you truly been so absorbed with Vasily that you lost so much sight of your surroundings? Had every long forgotten emotion for your old love been so visible on your face? 

“Are you happy?”

The question haunts you for days and weeks, as does the memory of Vasily’s face in the question’s aftermath. How would he have answered? Would he have said that yes, he is happy, after a fashion? Or would he have said that yes, he was happy once? Or would he have declared his undying love for you and say that happiness was never an option once you left his life? 

None of the responses you conjure sit well with you, and honestly, what did you expect would happen if he did answer your question in the middle of that party? The most likely scenario probably would have resulted in your tears and admission of regret, admission of how you never stopped loving him and wanted him still…

And the realization upends your life. Every time you glance around your home with Mikhail, every night as you crawl into bed beside him, every night you take dinner in near silence with him - you realize that the happiness you thought you had was simply a cheap veneer to hide what you were powerless to change. That the one thing, the one person you wanted most in this life - and still do - is not yours to be had. 

You become quite adept at hiding silent tears in your pillow during the darkest hours. 

None of it is helped when the farewell reception for the Red October is announced. The final opportunity to wish her esteemed officers all the best for the maiden voyage, hosted at the Admiral’s lavish home. 

Upon arrival, it’s more of a mansion than a home. Upon entry, it’s more of a palace than a mansion. Marble and richly furnished interiors occupy the massive floorplan. Golden light spills from large, elegant chandeliers that glitter and glisten with countless crystals. String music floats from a quartet tucked in a corner, and the parade of black tie party officials, diamond-and-fur draped women, and dapper officers complete the spectacle. 

“Yes, I cannot believe that Anastasia will soon be a university graduate.” Madam Andreyeva laments despite the proud smile on her face. “We cannot be more thrilled about her future prospects. She’s currently seeing the grandson of one of the most senior party members - but I cannot say who, of course.” 

The other two women you’re standing with chuckle their amusement and approval. You match their smiles, offering your congratulations as you finish your glass of cloyingly sweet champagne. 

“I do wish my Inessa would settle down, sooner rather than later,” Madam Belova says, words tight with frustration as she glances around. “She needs to understand that the best role she can serve for our great country is to further its legacy by marrying the right man. If only she were able to attend tonight - there are so many eligible officers here.” 

Madam Andreyeva chuckles teasingly. “I do wonder if Captain Ramius would ever consider remarrying. The death of his wife was heartbreaking, but there’s no reason a man of his stature shouldn’t consider a future proposal.” 

“I think I would consider it myself, were circumstances different.” Madam Alexeeva agrees with a mischievous grin. “Though, if my daughter were old enough, I would set her sights on Ramius’ Executive Officer.” 

Your heart thumps against your rib cage as you try to keep your face pleasantly neutral. 

“Oh, yes.” Madam Belova says with a nod as she sips her champagne. “Not only does Captain Borodin have rising prospects for his future career - he’s also quite handsome!” 

“And charming!” Madam Alexeeva adds with a wink as she leans in closer. “There’s a quiet, almost naive wit about him - a quality that makes one wonder what he is truly like with the doors closed and the lights off!”

The door closed behind you and surely, in the silence of your dormitory room, he could hear the thundering of your heart. It wasn’t just that you snuck a non-student into the building, but you’ve never had a man in your bedroom before. Let alone one that you wanted so completely.

Your heart raced as you turned back around to face him with a suddenly nervous smile. He offered a reassuring smile in return, studying you with that keenly observant gaze of his. You exhaled another eager, anxious breath and looked down to toe off your shoes. “I’m sorry it’s not much,” you said. “But at least my roommate has gone home for the weekend. I guess they think students don’t need much space.” 

“I’d say our barracks are easily the size of your building, but without individual rooms.” He stooped to remove his own shoes. “One learns to live without privacy very quickly.” 

“Is that why you’re so fearless?” You glanced back over at him in the yellow light that filtered through the windows. “You just… have nothing to hide from anyone?” 

His mouth curled with that adorable, bashful edge that you’ve come to love - because, yes, after seven months… you did love this man. “I won’t say that I ever had anything to hide, but… humans are rather adept at exploiting discomfort, unfortunately.” He fixed you with an earnest look that pinned you in place. “And that is not my intention here tonight. Despite what you said outside, nothing more, or less, needs to happen here… if you don’t want to.” 

Your heart warmed with affection and desire, matched by the arousal curling at the base of your spine. Slowly, you shook your head as your heart lodged in your throat. “No…” You breathed as you stepped closer, fixing him with all the honesty you have. “I just… h-haven’t done this before - but don’t mistake that for not wanting to. With you.”   

His eyes softened with tender understanding even as they flashed with ravenous desire. You worked a swallow down your throat as you stepped up to him, resting a hand over his heart. A trembling breath left you to feel its strong, rising beat beneath your palm as you blinked up at him through your lashes. “Have you…? Done this before?” 

He offered a slow half-nod as he raised a hand to cover yours still pressed against his chest. “Some,” his voice dropped to a velvety tone that rippled down your spine, and he leaned his forehead against yours. “Just with hands and mouths, though. Not… not fully.”

You exhaled another heavy breath as the damp ache between your legs continued to heat up, fueled by the puffs of his hot breath against your skin. “Okay…” a smile curved your lips as you nuzzled his nose and felt his strong hand settle on your waist. “At least one of us should know what we’re doing…” 

“I don’t think I would go that far, but hopefully -” 

You didn’t let him finish as you leaned in, sealing your mouth to his. You’ve talked so much and now, finally, you were done talking. You wanted the promise held in each increasingly fervent goodnight kiss. You wanted the feel of his skin on yours and his ragged breathing in your ear. You wanted his fingers to bring you to the brink and to cry his name in ecstasy. 

You sighed into the kiss as you melted beneath the warm, soft press of his lips. The hand at your waist wrapped around to the small of your back, pressing you in close. Sparks shot through you as your bodies connected, and you slid your hand from his chest to curl around the back of his neck. A moan of approval rumbled low in his throat, and your lips parted to swallow it as the kiss deepened. 

The smooth strokes of his tongue took your breath away as you clung to him, wanting only to forget where you ended and he began. You whimpered with growing need as the world narrowed to everything he offered, and you’ve never felt more alive. Parting from the kiss with a gasp, you mouthed along his jawline, teasing the tender skin. The hiss that passed his lips bolted liquid heat straight to your core before his mouth found the column of your neck.

“Oh, Vasya…” You breathed as you tilted your head to grant him better access, rewarded when he groaned his appreciation. His hips rolled teasingly forward, and you went dizzy as the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against where you wanted him most. With your last thought, you rocked your hips into his, loving how he crushed you closer and slipped a hand down to the hem of your shirt. 

With slow movements and careful steps, your shirt and bra ended up somewhere on the floor. His button-up shirt gaped open, and you couldn’t get enough of the broad, bare planes of his chest. As your mouths fused together with heated passion and your bare breasts met his skin, you dissolved to a whimpering puddle in his arms. 

His belt clanked to the floor and you fumbled the clasp of his trousers open before pulling him down to your narrow bed. Your legs spread on instinct to accommodate the fit of his hips as his weight pushed you deliciously into the mattress. Even through the layers of fabric, the hard heat of his erection made your mouth water. But when he shrugged out of his shirt and gave his hips a solid thrust forward, you didn’t recognize the cry that came from your mouth. 

“Off, off…” You panted, reluctantly pulling your hands away from his addicting expanse of skin to paw at your trousers. “Want them both off.” 

He shuddered a deep exhale, as if fighting for a last vestige of control, but he managed to lift up and accommodate the shifting fabric. As you both kicked your trousers away, your hands landed on the rounded curve of his backside to drag him back down. Even through your underwear, the heat of him burned where you so desperately ached, and blind desire clouded your last thread of sanity. 

“Zhizn moya…” He moaned against your mouth as your hips rolled together in a primal rhythm fueled by instinct and need. You arched your back to get closer, to open yourself up more and wrap a leg around his pert backside. 

“Vasya,” you sighed, nibbling his earlobe as your body continued to run away with you. “I-I want you inside me. Want to be yours.”

His answering growl spoke straight to the dripping, needy ache that he could surely feel as his hips thrust sharply against yours. A pleasured cry tore from both of your throats, echoing above your wrecked, tandem breathing in the small room. 

“God, I want that, too… more than anything,” he breathed, mouthing along your earlobe. “But I can’t… won’t risk putting you in that position.” 

And despite every taut nerve that screamed for the release that only he could give, you understood exactly what he meant. You could so easily get pregnant, and unwed mothers were still heavily frowned upon. A wave of tender love rushed through you at his thoughtfulness, and you clutched him ever closer, finding his mouth to pour out your appreciation for everything about him.  

You slid a hand between the tight press of your bellies to trace the hardened outline of him, feeling your cheeks grow hotter to touch him so intimately. His blown-wide, sapphire eyes shone with loving desire as you continued to caress him with inexpert fingers. Tentatively, you squeezed the tip of him and delighted in the answering stutter of his hips. 

Again, you gave him another gentle squeeze before drifting up to the waistline of his underwear and teasing under the elastic with eager anticipation. “Then… tell me what I can do instead.”   

“Are you alright?” A gentle hand on your forearm drags you out of the sudden rush of memory, back to the surrounding women and Madam Andreyeva’s concerned expression. “You look so flushed, as though you might faint.” 

“No, I’m… I’m alright, thank you.” Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you look down at the empty champagne flute in your hand. “Maybe the champagne has just gone to my head… and yes, I’d say so.” You look among them, offering a hesitant, regretful smile. “If you’ll excuse me, please? I think I should go in search of some water.” 

Offering farewells, you turn from the group and exhale a deep sigh. As if the whole purpose of tonight’s party didn’t involve the one man you really didn’t want to think about, you didn’t need the conversation of gossiping hens to stir up heart-wrenching memories. Let alone to stir up thoughts about the possibility of Vasily marrying. Of Vasily taking a wife into his heart and his home and his bed… 

Your stomach rots with yearning envy even as you know it’s impossible. Divorce tarnishes both parties involved and just isn’t done. It would be far better to take a lover than suffer the shame of divorce, but there’s so much risk for a woman in your position. After all, it’s one thing for a man to take a discrete mistress, but completely another for a woman to take a lover. Even then, the thought of having Vasily in such a manner doesn’t sit well with you. He deserves so much better and so much more than that. He deserves… everything honorable and good and… 

The weight of your thoughts threatens to suffocate you, and maybe you can find Mikhail, feigning a dreadful headache. Yes, that’s exactly what you should do. If you’re able to leave now, then you won’t have to hear any more talk or risk any more heartbreaking encounters. Vasily will go to sea, and you can work to forget about him all over again. It worked once before, so why wouldn’t you be able to do it again? No matter how much the idea leaves a rotten ache in your stomach.

Abandoning your champagne flute, you move among the crowd, searching for the familiar face of your husband. But as you round a corner, you hear a hushed, familiar voice tucked against the wall.

“The chairman must understand my position.” Mikhail’s words hold a rushed, frustrated breath.

“And surely, you must understand the optics of the situation.” An unknown voice responds with caution.

“Don’t patronize me, Yuri.” Mikhail’s tone turns short and tight. “It’s well known that the chairman promotes men of stability and family, and it’s difficult to be a stable family man without a family.”

“If you want this step in your career, then you must act – sooner, rather than later.” Yuri counsels. “Have you considered taking further action?”

Mikhail sighs, heavy with irritation. “Many times. Divorce would put the nail in the coffin of my career faster than not getting this promotion, and taking a mistress is still dismissible –”

“But not unheard of.” Yuri agrees. “If a child were to come of that union, it would still bear your name – and your generosity towards both mother and child, while supporting your wife, would speak greatly to your character.”

Your stomach drops to your feet, horrified at what you’re hearing but unable to move away.

“With the right allies, of course,” Mikhail says, voice tight with the weight of consideration. “Vouching for both me and her, and making the extent of my failed marriage known despite all of my best efforts.”

Yuri hums in gentle agreement. “It does take two to make a marriage work, and if one partner is not committed, then…”

“Then, that settles it.” Mikhail sighs with the weight of a final decision made. “I’ll give her one more year to deliver – and I do mean that literally. The lack of generational legacy has held back my career for far too long now.”

Yuri chuckles salaciously. “Sounds like you’re going to have a busy next three months.”

“I will certainly give it my all even if I have to chain her to the bed and breed her like a mare. Then, even if she still fails to conceive - at least, my conscience will be clear.”

This time, Yuri’s chuckle dissolves into a low hum of agreement. “Then, you’ll know that you’ve done everything that you could.”

Mikhail hums in low agreement. “A tough job when you’re working with undisclosed, damaged goods.” He breaks off with a frustrated sigh. “For all the virtues that her parents extolled, they failed to disclose that she was poisoned – in both womb and heart.”

You throw a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasping sob. Tears burn your eyes and you have to leave, you have to get away immediately. You push through the crowd, desperately trying to hold your distress at bay until you’re alone, until you can breathe under the crushing weight in your chest.

If anyone notices you, you don’t notice them as your heels echo off the marble flooring in the grand entry hall. An opulent staircase curves towards the upper floor and a few partygoers linger along the broad railing, and you don’t hesitate. Gathering your skirt in your hand, your shoes sink into the plush carpeting as you flee upwards – someplace where Mikhail won’t find you, someplace where no one will.

An open door yields to a rich-wood paneled room lined with bookshelves. Plush furniture sits in front of a darkened fireplace and a large desk dominates the other half of the room. Perhaps it’s a study or maybe a small library, but it’s quiet and lit with a soft glow from the collection of ornate table lamps, and you close the door behind you.

The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing, and only then you notice the tears that dampen your cheeks. Wiping at them quickly, you feebly hope that your makeup isn’t beyond repair, but at this point, does it really matter? When Mikhail says such cruel things, when his colleagues spur him on, when he discusses your intimate life so… crudely and coldly. When he threatens to devalue everything about you as a person…

You draw another trembling breath, crossing your arms against your chest as you move further into the room. Whatever are you going to do? Do you have any legal recourse? Could you even secure a lawyer? Has life with Mikhail left you completely under his power?

Another tear slides down your cheek and soaks into the carpet. Maybe after so many years of not standing up for yourself or what you want, maybe this is what you deserve. Maybe this is just… the way that life is supposed to be. Your stomach twists with heartbreaking dejection at the thought.

The soft whisper of well-oiled hinges reaches your ears, and you dart wide, fearful eyes towards the door. Your last thread of resolve crumbles when you meet Vasily’s tender, concerned blue eyes, and you hang your head. Your shoulders shake from the force of your sobs as you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting him to see the utter failure that you’ve become. The rush of your breathing masks the sound of his sure stride, and strong, coaxing arms wrap around you. The uniform-clad plane of his chest fills your vision, and you’re powerless not to slump your forehead down to his offered shoulder.

He says nothing as he rocks you gently. No patronizing comments or false promises of a rosy outcome. He simply holds you as your tears continue to fall and your breath comes in hiccupping draws. It’s not elegant, it’s not pretty, and you should probably be humiliated by such a display, but in his arms… it’s the only safe place you’ve ever known to just be yourself.

Exhaustion sets in and your tears subside as your breathing settles out. Even then, he still just holds you comfortingly close as you breathe in his clean scent. Such a refreshing change from your cigar-smoke soaked husband. A stab of anxious unease cuts through you as you blink your eyes open against his shoulder, speaking softly. “You shouldn’t be here.”  

“And why not?” His voice is a low, whispered purr that warms you.

“If my husband finds us here… he would ruin your career.”

“How could I possibly care about that when you’re so upset?” His head shifts, resting against yours supportively as his breath brushes your hair. “I saw you leave with tears in your eyes, and I couldn’t stay away.”

Your heart clenches as you bite your lip. “Don’t… Vasya, please.” The diminutive slips out from memory as you draw your head away from his shoulder and fresh tears threaten. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His brow creases with sad concern. “How can you say that when each day is already torture? Each day that I see your undimmed beauty and tender heart just as I remember. Each day that I hear him disrespect you so publicly over private matters. Each day that I… know you’ll never be mine to love and cherish as you deserve.”

Tears wet the corners of your eyes and you quickly try to wipe them away. “We had our time together. I just… I don’t know what else to say.”

“I wanted to marry you, zhizn moya.” His mouth curves with a sad, almost sheepish smile that doesn’t fit the brave man in uniform. “And I would have if your parents hadn’t stolen you from me. Assuming you would have had me, that is.”

Your breathing trembles as your heart aches. “Of course, I would have.” You whisper the admission like it’s your last lifeline as you drown in the sea of his eyes. “And if I could today, I still would.”

His eyes brighten as he smiles with unburdened relief. He regards you with all the love that you’ve ever known from him, and if life were simple, you’d melt in his embrace under the bliss of his kiss. But an impossible chasm spans between you, and your wedding band constricts you.

“Don’t be so sad, zhizn moya.” He says softly, free from reproach or judgment. “Just knowing that’s how you still feel is… enough. I can live with that.” He sounds like a weight has lifted from his shoulders, resolved with some secret course of action as his gaze darts cautiously to the window. “Perhaps if we were free to choose our paths,” he whispers with a hint of wild conspiracy. “If this were the land of dreams, we could make it so… but that is not this place.”

It's treacherous, dangerous talk. If anyone overheard him, you would both be arrested and sentenced for treason without question. You shake your head quickly with an uneasy breath. “Don’t even think those things, Vasya.” You caution in a rushed whisper. “I can’t bear the thought of you being imprisoned or worse… I couldn’t live with that.”

“You needn’t waste your worry on me -”

“As you worry about me, so I worry about you.” You implore as he sighs and the corner of his mouth lifts. Your heart beats wildly with reckless abandon as his gaze re-connects with yours. “Isn’t that…,” you whisper, trailing off as your voice trembles. “Isn’t that what love is?”

His smile softens with fond affection. “It didn’t used to be. The first afternoon that I saw you, my only worry was that you would turn me away before I even had a chance. And when you didn’t – nothing seemed impossible.”

“Every day was something to look forward to.” You agree, your smile growing to match his. “I’ll never forget… the afternoon at the cinema, when I caught your eye in a quiet moment and you brought my hand to your lips for a kiss. The first time you kissed me, and you just… you know, I can’t even remember what film it was because I just remember how much I wanted to never stop.” Your cheeks flush – and goodness, you’re a married woman but you’re blushing like a young schoolgirl. “You’ve always been so brave to act, so unashamed to say what you want – but you never once pushed or asked for more than I was ready to give.”

A modest blush dances high on his cheeks. “It is part of the wedding vows to honor my wife, and I wanted… well, to prove that to you.”

That one night you shared with him in your dormitory still burns, and your cheeks flush from the heated memory as you slowly nod. “I remember.” Your voice drops as if anything louder would make the moment less real as heat pools, low and needy in your core. “God, I wanted you so desperately… and then… on my wedding night,” your words whisper through your increasingly heavy breaths. “I wanted it to be you.” A tear falls down your cheek as you blink up at him. “I’ve only ever wanted it to be you.” 

His hand raises to cup your jaw, thumb swiping at the fallen tear before his mouth finds yours. You melt into his kiss, more tears springing to life at the overwhelming relief, at the outpouring of love in the tender embrace. His lips are just as warm and sure as you remember, and your body blooms with long dormant desire. 

You raise a hand to cover his, nuzzling into his embrace as your head tilts. He sighs against your mouth, and your tongue finds his parted lips. Arousal electrifies you as your tongues tangle, lost to everything but the touch and taste of each other. Despite everything at stake - despite the damning evidence of the moment should you both be discovered like this - none of it tears you away from him as you step closer into his embrace. 

You find the edge of his high uniform collar, caressing his tender skin with fingers that have nearly forgotten the feel of him. A whimper pitches high in your throat as his hand slides down the slope of your neck to rest with a heady, tempting promise against the junction of your shoulder. You move to your hand down to his shoulder with an encouraging squeeze, and the breath pushes from your lungs as he sweeps you up. 

The desperate ache in your core ignites tenfold as the back of your knees bump against the cushy couch. You can’t touch him enough as your mouths feverishly reconnect, and the coarse wool of his dress uniform only makes you want bare skin all the more. But if you’re truly going to steal this moment for yourself, then that luxury will have to wait. 

You coax him down with you, spreading your legs and rucking up your dress to accommodate the press of his lean hips. He moans, long and delicious, as his fingers find the soaking wet heat of you, and you tear at the catch of his belt and trousers. Panting heavily against each other’s mouth through sloppy kisses, clothing shuffles out of the way and you brace against the couch cushions. Azure fire burns in his intoxicating gaze as the hard tip of him rests against your dripping entrance for the space between breaths. He eases forward, and the thick, perfect stretch of him brings tears to your eyes as your fingers card through his hair, holding his gaze even as your eyelids flutter from the overwhelming connection. 

He trembles as he settles against you, and you hook a leg around him as you adjust to the full length of him pressed so deep. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted - and God, how can you possibly live without it now? The thought is stolen away as he draws back and rocks forward, filling you to the hilt and coaxing a whimpered cry from your lips. 

“You are heaven, zhizn moya.” He pants against your neck, and you nuzzle what skin you can reach in return - but it’s nowhere near enough. Sliding a hand around to his front, you clumsily tear at the two topmost buttons of his uniform until you can bury your face against the warm, soft skin of his throat. His hand wraps around the small of your back for better leverage, and you gasp as he shifts inside you and sighs. “Absolute heaven…”

His name falls from your lips in a litany of passion as a rhythm builds between you. You muffle your gasping cries against his skin as he touches the deepest places inside you with each strong thrust. Pleasure consumes you, hurtling you towards the blissful abyss as it robs your mind of coherent thought. You clutch the board muscles of his back - still so fit after all the years of naval service - and his quiet, serrated moans are the only sounds you want to hear for the rest of your days. 

Every muscle tenses, desperate for release as the tempo increases. He drives you ever higher, and surely, your heart will explode first. You can’t breathe for the euphoria that strangles you, and your moans pitch higher as you finally just - there. Your nails dig into the fabric of his uniform and a long, wrecked cry wells in your chest as you launch into mindless bliss. His guttural groan of answering relief sounds over the rush of blood in your ears, and you welcome the heavy weight of him as he slumps against you. 

Tears sting your eyes as you hold him close, peppering his skin with lazy kisses. You nuzzle the light mole on his right cheek as your mind floats back down to rejoin your body, along with the crushing weight of reality. Loss and heartbreak consume you as you cling to him in desperation. “D-don’t leave me,” you plead in the vulnerable moment, burying your face in his shoulder. “I don’t want to live without you anymore. Especially now – I just… can’t… I won’t.”

He sighs with weighted conflict as he nuzzles your brow, kissing you softly. “But you can… you will.”

A whimpering sob escapes you, shaking your head as you crumble. “I love you too much to let you go again.”

Another heavy sigh leaves him as he cradles you close for another stolen moment.

You snuggle against him, committing everything about this moment to memory. The contentment humming in your body, the soap-clean scent of his skin tinged with exertion, the toned weight of him, the press of him softening inside you. You never want the moment to end, and you tremble as your hands flatten against his back to crush him imploringly close. “You have to come back – promise me.” You don’t care if it’s a fair request or not as your words continue to pour forth. “He’s going to ruin me, Vasya. One way or another… I heard him plotting tonight – he’s always plotting, and now… now, he's set his sights on me and I don’t know what -” Your voice catches on a hiccupping sob.

“Not if you ruin him first.” His words whisper right in your ear and punch you in the stomach.

You turn towards him with wide eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes hold a dark, subversive edge tinged with apprehension, and your brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t understand… how could I possibly…?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Let’s call it a parting gift, shall we?”

You shake your head, staring back at him incredulously. “No… Vasya, I still don’t – that doesn’t make sense.”

He leans in again, pressing another kiss to your brow. “It will, zhizn moya. The Red October will sail with the tide, and I must go with her…” Another almost regretful sigh passes his lips. “I cannot stay, and you cannot come with me… however much I wish for it. But if I have a chance at finding freedom, then so should you.”

You shake your head against another tender press of his lips. “I still don’t understand –”

A loud, muffled thump outside the door startles you both, and you’ve pressed your luck for too long. The intimate moment shatters as he withdraws, leaving you empty and bereft in so many ways. He turns to readjust his uniform and you wince at the sticky mess congealing between your legs. You lack anything to truly clean yourself up, and hopefully you can still salvage your underwear on a trip to the toilet. Pushing up from the couch, your muscles twinge with a pleasant ache that you hope will make the memory of this moment last for days.

A sad smile comes to your face as you watch him fasten the topmost button of his smart uniform before smoothing his hair back into place. Or, rather, attempting to. “Here…” you say softly, stepping over to him and reaching up to tame a wild lock. “It’s unfair how good you still look… and I’m not just talking about the years.” You run your eyes over the lines of his face and down the fit of his uniformed chest. “Not one disreputable wrinkle about you.” You raise your other hand, swiping at your cheek, dismayed to come away with a black streak on your fingertip. “I must look like an awful mess… God, there’ll be no hiding it.”

“You’ve been beautiful from the first moment I saw you,” he says softly. “And that hasn’t changed, even now.”

Flattered embarrassment tinges your cheeks. “No matter how charming that sounds, it won’t hide my streaked makeup. Fortunately, I think there’s enough pins and hairspray in my hair that it won’t move for another week.”

He reaches a hand up to gently wipe at your damp cheek. “Anyone who chooses to judge you will only assume that you are upset, which isn’t far from the truth. Given what you’ve told me and how I found you here…”

You sigh, troubled. “That will only put Mikhail in a foul mood. He deplores any display of weakness or vulnerability.”

“You’re only human. He can’t expect any more of you than that.”

“A human, yes, but…” you draw a trembling breath as the painful memory surfaces. “Poisoned, he said. Poisoned in both womb and heart.”

Rage flashes in Vasily’s eyes as he stares back at you in open shock. “He said that… to you?”

“No. He said it to someone else and he… didn’t know that I overhead him.”

He closes the distance, enveloping you in a comfortingly possessive embrace as your arms fold around him on instinct. His lips press against the shell of your ear as he whispers. “Then I will not feel guilty if my child grows within you.” 

A stab of anxiety shoots through you despite the warm security of his embrace. You haven’t even considered the possibility of falling pregnant with his child until now… it just… Well, if it already hasn’t happened with Mikhail, then why would it happen now? And yet... part of your heart bursts with hope.

“Let him see that not only are you not poisoned…” Vasily continues softly. “Let him also see what he will never have.” The conviction in his voice takes your breath away. “A wife who loves him.”

You turn your head to kiss him, full of the enduring love that you’ve always felt for him. He matches you with a passion that takes your breath away and breaks your heart in equal measure. There’s no hope for any sort of future with him, and the longer you stay in his arms, you can’t deny it’s the kiss of farewell. You wish you could freeze time and stay locked in this room with him… but as you part with the need to breathe, you recognize the futility of wishing for what you can never have.

You sigh with a sniffle. “We should go before we’re discovered here… we’ve taken so much time already.”

He smiles full of tender reassurance; always so brave to stay true to himself. “And even if your husband were to come through that door right now, I wouldn’t regret a minute of it.”

“Neither would I.”

He takes a long look at you, as if committing everything about you to memory as his arms fall away. “I love you, zhizn moya. No matter what happens, never doubt that.”

The air sucks out of the room as he steps away, and your stomach sours. You don’t dare let yourself watch him walk away for fear that the last thread of your strength will snap. The door whispers open and closes with a soft thud that brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

Sobs shake your shoulders, and you heave for breath as your chest tightens. The sting of loss strangles you as you wipe away more fallen tears and lose yourself in uncertainty.

Just where the hell do you go from here?

The next day, a letter arrives. You don’t recognize the return address of the thick envelope postmarked two days ago as you turn it over in your hands. Your heart quickens as you glance around your home, confirming that you’re alone before slicing it open.

Dearest zhizn moya,

The days number fewer and fewer until we sail, and your unanswered question stays with me.

Only with you have I ever found true happiness. That first afternoon that you allowed me to join you at your table in the teashop filled me with such fear and hope. Fear that I would misstep at any moment and turn you away; and hope that has only grown into the love I still feel for you today. While eight months was nowhere near long enough, I wouldn’t trade those days together - nor everyday without you since - for the cost of never having met you.

One way or another, I don’t expect to return from this mission. With any luck, I will have found my freedom in the land of dreams, and the thought of leaving you trapped here breaks my heart. Forgive me if this is too bold – but should you wish a chance at freedom for yourself, all you need to do is post the enclosed, sealed letter. For your own safety, the contents of the letter shall remain undisclosed, but posting it should yield some proof about the man deemed more suitable to marry you.

To this day, I still wish I had been given that honor. And while I like to think that at some point I will marry, I know that she will not be you. Life is what we make of it, so they say, and I wish only the best for you, zhizn moya. You deserve all that is good and loving in this world, and I do hope that you find it. If not with me, then whoever you decide is worthy.

All my enduring love,Vasya

Tears fill your eyes as you quickly re-read the words. With the postmark dated before the party, he couldn’t have known what would transpire that night and this… is this meant to be his goodbye in case you didn’t speak that night? Your heart breaks anew and you choke on a gasping sob. The pain of loss still aches like a raw wound in your chest, and you blink away tears as you look at the front of the sealed, mysterious envelope.

Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti

Your eyes widen, snapping out of your heartbreak as the gravity of what you hold sinks in. You don’t have the first clue what Vasily has enclosed in this letter to the KGB but, goodness… are you really ready to get involved with the KGB? Your stomach sours with anxious fear and you quickly refold his letter before taking the stairs up to your bedroom. Reaching to open the bottom drawer of your vanity, you pop the false bottom and hide it all away from the world.

Maybe someday you’ll be ready to send that letter, but too much sadness and uncertainty fills you right now to make a decision.

The corner of Vasily’s mouth lifts. “Let’s call it a parting gift, shall we?”

Is this letter what he meant? Does he have some evidence on your husband or did he uncover something unsavory? As much as your husband presents himself as a party loyalist, you wouldn’t be entirely surprised to learn that he has at least one skeleton in his closet. Don’t all politicians?

The words of Vasily’s letter continue to churn in the back of your mind, but they bring an odd sense of closure. Between everything whispered in the stolen moments of passion and written on paper in ink, you can’t ask any more of Vasily Borodin. As much as you love him and always have, your time together is well and truly over.

That doesn’t give you any further clarity in the passing days about what to do with Mikhail. Now sitting at the dinner table, you cast him a wary glance over your plates of food. He hasn’t made any reference to anything resembling the conversation that you overheard at last weekend’s party, but that doesn’t bring you any relief. If anything, you wait on baited breath for when he will act or give you an ultimatum, but so far… only silence.

“I heard something quite interesting.” He says softly, drawing you attention as he sets his knife and fork down. “The Red October sank today. Or, rather…” he pauses to dab the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “She was destroyed. By the Americans.”

Your fork clatters to your plate as your stomach plummets to your feet. A shocked gasp leaves you as your heart races. “… w-what? Why would they do that?”

“We asked them to help us sink her.” He continues with a calculated, casual air. “Captain Ramius sent a letter to Admiral Padorin, and within minutes of that letter being read, he issued orders to find and sink the Red October.”

The letters sitting your vanity upstairs flash in your mind as you work a swallow down your throat. “D-do you know what the letter said?”

Mikhail’s mouth tightens to a grim line. “They say Ramius sailed with every intention of deploying missiles and igniting World War III. But there are also far darker whispers of treason and defection.”

“I cannot stay, and you cannot come with me… however much I wish for it.” Vasily whispers against your brow. “But if I have a chance at finding freedom, then so should you.”

Tears burn your eyes, and a hand flies to your face as you choke on air. Is it true? Was Vasily sailing with his captain to start a life in the new world? Was he turning his back on the nation he so valiantly served? Or was he simply the victim of a madman? Either way, it hardly matters now if his grave is indeed at the bottom of the Atlantic.

With a shaking hand, you reach for your napkin to wipe at fallen tears as your heart rips open. Saying goodbye a second time was hard enough, but this… knowing that there was never even another possibility to see him again…? You sniffle to hide a sob as you turn away from Mikhail’s increasingly judgmental gaze.

“Why are you crying?” He asks pointedly, tone heavy with displeasure. “If that madman – or worse, a traitor – is lying dead at the bottom of the ocean, that’s the best place for him.”

“What about everyone else on board?” You choke out, again wiping at your eyes. “What about all those other innocent souls?”

A tense silence falls in the room as Mikhail’s gaze narrows with cold suspicion. “Wait, this… is this about him? That petty executive officer – what was his name…? Borodin?”

A pang shoots through your chest and you fight to keep your face from betraying your true feelings. “No – yes, just… the newest ship in the fleet and all those souls aboard, just lost so suddenly….”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He spits in plain disgust. “Borodin – what was he to you? Tell me.”

Your heart hammers as you struggle to breathe. “He - he wasn’t… at least, not anymore - ”

A loud slap against the table rattles the dishes and startles your attention. Mikhail’s eyes blaze with rage as he glares at you, hand clenching against the tabletop. “I said. Tell. Me.”

Your spine stiffens even as your voice shrinks. “I… loved him. Before marrying you.” A tear slides down your cheek as you blink. “I-it was 12 years ago, and I haven’t seen him since –”

“Then why does the news of his death upset you so?” He shrugs carelessly. “People die every day. There’s a war happening for fuck’s sake, and he was a goddamn soldier. Expendable.”

Nausea cramps your stomach. “None of the men on that vessel or in any theater of war are expendable! They all have people who love them and care about them!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” He seethes. “After everything I’ve given you – my name, wealth, prominence. What do you think Borodin could have given you, hmm? A sad, small apartment where you just wait for him to make you a destitute widow?”

“Happiness, Mikhail! He may spend more time at sea than on land, but together, there would be happiness. And love! Unconditional love… not just dependent on whether or not he could get me pregnant.”

His nostrils flare with indignation. “So, you’re saying that it’s my fault, hm? My fault that you remain a motherless failure?”

A wave of shame washes over you, crippling you as more tears fall. You’ve never felt like you should be a failure in that regard, but yet… You draw a trembling breath. “That’s all you’ve ever done,” you grit through clenched teeth and sniffles. “You… devalue everything about me, like I’m no better than your plaything, your puppet, who exists just to make you look good!”

“That’s exactly what you are! Don’t you understand how this game works?!” He pushes to his feet, shaking the table from the force of his motion. He drops his face to his hand with deep concern. “How much did you interact with him, hmm? Would anyone have seen you? Would anyone have any reason to suspect a scandal?”

The abrupt shift in conversation stuns you. You gape up at him. “Is that really all that you can think about right now? Is that really all that you can say?!”

“It was obvious from the first moment you two saw each other that something was there.” He waves a dismissive hand as he starts to pace in deep thought. “If I noticed it, then surely others did, too. And I will have to answer for it if anyone asks –”

“And if I told you that he made love to me in the admiral’s upstairs study –”

Mikhail storms across the room, backhanding you across the face before you can finish. Pain blooms across your cheek as you hiss through the momentary disorientation.

“Never lie to me like that again.” He snarls, eyes furious. “Even in jest, it won’t end well for you.”  He draws a deep breath as a tense silence descends.

You refuse to look up at him and you can’t find words. You hadn’t exactly meant to blurt out the truth, but he didn’t believe you anyway. No matter what you say, you come to the sinking realization that you cannot win. You will never win.

Not with Mikhail.

He glowers down at you. “We should each take some time, yes? Time to think and… calm down.” He wipes a hand across his brow. “Once we’ve both done that, we can figure out how to solve this rotten mess that you’ve created.”

His footsteps thunder through the dining room before the door to his office slams shut.

You remain frozen in your chair as your cheek stings, and you sniffle unshed tears.

Vasily’s letters burn in the forefront of your mind, and your course of action is clear.

Two days later, you feel no remorse when you cross the city to deposit the sealed envelope in a postbox.

One week later, you receive word that your husband has been arrested on suspicion of high treason. 

But your world completely upends two weeks afterwards when tender pain forms in your breasts and morning nausea begins to manifest.

Fin

[shivershill]

So I might need some class help. I made an excel spreadsheet with everything, but I am not sure about the classes. The house leaders Coenrad, Ayla and Inessa all have unique Advanced and Master classes. Aylas Master is her fathers Advanced.

Coenrads Advanced and Master class is a combination of his parents classes, his sister does not have these classes(for now).

Inessa is also a special case. She stays on a Wyvern from her advanced class on, but I wanted to combine Lance, faith and Wyvern, so I made Wyvern Mage and Wyvern Bishop. I first thought of Wyvern Gremory, but that would also require reason, which is her weakness.

I am also not sure that exactly Ingrid is considered after the war. Noble or Commoner, because Marilou needs it. What Dedue/Annette is, I also have no fucking clue, so I kept these empty.

I am still planing everyones weaknesses etc and also, around what time exactly starts the school year? I played the game multiple times, but I think I am to stupid to remember that.

If you have any questions, I will answer.

[rcox808]

FAITH IS...

... reliance on the certainty that God has a pattern for my life when everything seems meaningless

... remembering I am God's priceless treasure when I feel utterly useless

... depending on the fact that God is Love - not on my ability to figure out

the why's in the midst of smashed hopes, reversal, and tragedy

... keeping on when I am dog tired, discouraged, disillusioned, deserted, dusty and dry

and I cast on His strength alone

... realizing that I am useful to God, not in spite of my scars, but because of them

... confidence that God is acting for my highest good when He answers "No" to my prayers

... accepting the truth that, in spite of the wreckage and grief I've caused,

God who has wiped the slate clean and delights in me

... recognizing that God is the Lord of time when my idea of timing doesn't agree with his

... not a vague hope of a happy here after but an assurance of Heaven based on

my trust in Christ's death as payment for my sins

... remembering that, though my way is dark as night to me,

God can see and guides me unerringly

... doing the right thing regardless of the consequences knowing God will turn

the ultimate effect to good

... the conviction the Promiser keeps His promises.

(author unknown)

Artist: Michael and Inessa Garmash

Art source:http://ipaintingsforsale.com/painting/Garmash/sunny_day-9755.html

[someotherdog]

inessa was a survivor. inessa was tougher than terezija, and it felt like she was never not reminded of this fact. she knew the only reason she survived so long was due to inessa's protection. terezija stuck onto her like a barnacle and she hoped that survival mindset would rub off on herself. it hadn't. she wished the world would go back to the way it was before. she wished she wasn't so weak. in body and in mind. biting the inside of her cheek, she tried to focus on that little bit of pain so she wouldn't cry. don't get emotional about it. easier said than done, she thought. inessa was right, though. it wasn't going to get any better, only worse. which begged the question of why they even tried to keep going. terezija didn't know the answer. she didn't want to. "i can't shut my emotions off like you can." terezija finally retorted, but picked up her backpack off the ground and fitted back over her shoulders. god forbid she be sad about death and destruction. "but i'll work on it. let's just get out of here before we're next."

Sometimes Inessa had to wonder if it was worth traveling with Terezija. Would it be easier if she was alone? If she didn't have to worry about another person and just focus on herself? But she knew there would be downfalls to being alone. Safety being one, but they'd both seen how people's humanity seem to wither away and disappear once alone. With how unaffected she was in comparison though, maybe she did have to consider how much humanity she had to begin with. She let out a sigh, stopping the irritated frown from forming over her lips. "Yeah, well, I doubt it's going to get any better, Terezija. I don't plan on hoping we won't see something horrible like that again, because I know we will." Hell, there was the chance it would be worse the next time. "You're just better off not getting emotional about it to save yourself the stress."