dimitri:

         they were always so dramatic.  the programs, the secrecy, even the fucking names. all of it was all just for a grand show. that was what they were, weren’t they? simply cast members, dying to get the role of a lifetime. the widow, the wolf, the wailer, the lion, the mantis. all of them were just parts to be played. gears to a machine that should never stop. they had to run it for the rest of their lives ,that was the meaning to their lives.  the chance to shine, showcase their talents. they weren’t any better than the people that played on stage and pretended to be characters of fantasy.  they were just– they were just– 

       “ l live fine. i live knowing that my choices are mine. that what happens end, i can only blame myself if it’s wrong, and i can be happy when it’s right. how can you live your life blindly following people that don’t deserve you, anna?! you deserve to be able to make your choices, to have what you want, that’s what me and lottie always wanted for you. we wanted you to be happy. we wanted you to be–free.” 

        liar. you wanted her to be more than just free.  you wanted her to be happy. you wanted her to be able to live her life without looking over her shoulder. you wanted to give back the life that he helped take away. guilt swelling in his chest, he looked away from her. he couldn’t stand the look in her eyes. she looked so lost. so broken. at least back there, back in the cold, she knew who she was. she knew that she was a weapon, but here–they expected her to be a princess and a weapon. a role she was not trained to play, a role she didn’t even know was hers to begin with. 

        hissing as her nails dug into his skin, drawing blood, he glared at her. and could see the fine cracks on her armor. the hairline fractures that were underneath the surface, waiting to crack bigger and bigger. they were killing her. they didn’t realize what they were doing, or maybe they did and they just didn’t care. but he did. he cared. he cared and he didn’t need to know why. he just did. he looked at her, gripping at her hands. he wasn’t going to lose her a second time. “is it, anna? IS IT? is it your wish to live in a golden room with silk dresses. is it your future to be sold off like cattle? by men that don’t even care about anything except to use you as a they please? are you gonna let them rape you, physically, mentally, emotionally? how much more are you gonna let them take from you?! your dignity? your morals? how much more do you have to sell your soul before you realize that you never had to begin with!? what are you fighting for that you’re willing to do this!? letting that phillip take you and use you!? when are you gonna see that you deserve better than all of this!? better than the family that abandoned you long ago. better than this institution that only sees you as a weapon? better than me, who left you behind, believing in lies that were fed to me?! when are you gonna realize that you’re not the villain. that you deserve a happy story too!?” 

                 ^{DEATH, MY DEAREST FRIEND ;  DEATH, MY CLOSEST COMPANION.   she has caused the deaths of hundreds, of thousands, but it doesn’t come for her. it never comes for her.   in the old world, there is an old story about a man who can not die. it is said that he tricked death a thousand times, and guarded it cunningly and jealously.  in the old world, there is an old story that immortality is possible —– anna ivanova, the great widow, chased immortality. she wanted it bad enough. she regrets it now.   DEATH, MY DEAREST FRIEND —- WHERE IS YOUR STING?} 

                  ^{would anyone weep for her death? would it cause anyone pain, harm, sadness? would it —– she remembers the look in ALEXEI’S face, no more than a week ago. ivanova? what are you —–   she wanted to say she was sorry. did anyone mourn him? could anyone mourn any of them?   WHY IS SHE THINKING OF THIS.  she is deathless, deathless, deathless.}      

           ^{YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT YOUR BELIEFS.  a little girl stands tall, red lips, red heart, red hands. everything that she touches is RED, the flag of her country — red, red, red.  YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN ANYTHING WITHOUT YOUR BELIEFS. she feels so small now, with her head bowed down at every circumstance, with her body bleeding at the slightest cut. she feels so small now — WEAK & FEEBLE & PATHETIC. if only there was a deity compassionate enough to KILL her.} 

          ^{OH, HOW SHE HATES. OH, HOW SHE LOATHES.  it eats her up on the inside, hot and red and boiling. she feels as if she could CRY  —-   how long has it been since that happened?  (  not TOO long. they drowned you, remember?  there are things that is better to FORGET  ). she clicks her tongue, and takes in a deep breath.  could she kill him? she could. perhaps not with her body like this —- she could seduce him, like last time. she could kiss him, like last time. she could wrap her fingers around his neck and just…. crack.   HOW POINTLESS WOULD IT ALL BECOME.        ❛      SHUT UP, DIMITRI. shut up, shut up, shut up. you’ve always talked and talked and talked about things that you will NEVER understand, so shut up.    ❜    she can feel it in the back of her throat, words coming up and up and up, regurgitating inside of her. she takes a step back, and a deep breath. she looks down. perhaps there is another way, perhaps —– what are you fighting for?     ❛    do you wanna know, what i’m fighting for, comrade?     ❜    words come out of her lips with mockery, with hatred, with   h u r t.      ❛    you.   ❜}                     

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:                         

                     perfect perfect perfect. but not natural. was that not her signature, how they created her to become like? they wanted her to be perfect. they wanted her to hit every note perfectly, they wanted to make sure that her everything about her was changed. they wanted to remold her into their perfect marble masterpiece.  “who unites the workers, anna? it’s all a bunch of bullshit in the end. all of this. all of this is just a mask, every government cares only about one thing and that’s about keeping the order. someone is always going to lose.” 

                    { why do they call her the widow? } it was charlotte who asked as she moved her hair to all fall to her left side. her bare back staring at him, the little moles on them before he sat upon the bed and raised a brow. he wondered why she brought that up, she was always asking questions about anna { and he should have been the one asking them. he should have voiced his curiosity before charlotte showed up. } trailing a finger down her back, he recalled just shrugging and looking up at the white ceiling. { they just give us the name of the program. the title that we won.  } 

                 { that’s silly. } she said before giving him a soft smile, looking at him with those big brown eyes of her, still so full of light, so full of hope, so good. they should call her a swan, not a widow. and that’s when it changed, didn’t it? that’s when he started to look at her not as a spider but as a bird. { she was caged there, she was caged here. } she was a bird that was flying too close to the sun. { and he didn’t want her to be like icarus. to fall and for him to only watch helplessly. } but was she simply a burning phoenix? ready to die, ready to burn up to save the world, ready to become nothing. { but phoenixes get reborn, don’t they? } he thought as she aimed for his head yet again. { not if they don’t want to. } he thought as he looked at the demented almost smile on her lips. as if she was smiling through the pain. 

              survival was overrated. it wasn’t enough for him anymore. it was never going to be good enough. he wanted to live. he had a taste of it when they created that stupid little world of theirs. { you knew it wasn’t going to last .you knew it was going to be ruined one day. but oh you hoped to prolong it forever. you hoped for it to never end. because it became home. a home you had thought was long gone. } he looked at her as she gritted her teeth and struggling against him. 

             KEEPING HIM WHAT?!  what sort of demon was she fighting so he could sleep at night? he didn’t ask for her to be his white knight. he didn’t ask for her to do anything for him. he doesn’t deserve it. not after all the shit he put her through. “what!? finish your damn sentences, anna! don’t be a coward! stop pulling your punches! i’m keeping what? THE PEACE? are you keeping me in check!? WHAT ARE YOU KEEPING TO YOURSELF!?” he asked through the burning in his throat. he asked through the pain he felt as she told him let her go. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. he won’t.  “i won’t let you go. not this time. i won’t make the same mistake twice. “ 

             ^{DO YOU KNOW WHY THIS IS THE BLACK WIDOW PROGRAM?   he asked ; no one answered. they weren’t supposed to answer, only to hear and to nod. they dared not to give the  WRONG  response. a little girl clicks her tongue. spiders.   THE BLACK WIDOW LURES ITS MATE AND KILLS IT. THAT IS WHAT YOU WILL DO.  lure them in, with your beauty, and kill them, with your skills. LEGS, LEGS, LEGS. SHARP  &  DANGEROUS  &  VENOMOUS. that is what you are. that is all that you will ever be  —– they did not know, then, that five years later they would be praising the CROWNED BLACK WIDOW for giving them a web of relations larger than they could have ever dreamed of, through   SEX  &   BLOOD. isn’t it what spiders are supposed to do?  a little girl clicks her tongue —- a LITTLE GIRL no more :  a WIDOW, through and through.} 

                ^{❛   HOW DO YOU LIVE LIKE THAT?   ❜    she asks through gritted teeth. how does one live without BELIEVING in something?  ideas that enter the mind under fire remain there securely and forever.   COULD SHE HAVE SURVIVED, WITHOUT THE BLIND FAITH IN THE MOTHERLAND? no, no, no. she would have killed herself sooner were she not doing it for a greater cause, were she not doing it to bring the world the equality it deserved. HOW MANY TIMES DID SHE READ THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO?  she has forgotten. a spectre is haunting europe.   SHE BELIEVES IN IT AS SHE BELIEVES IN ANYTHING ELSE —- it keeps  (  it kept  )  her heart beating, it made her the best, the best, the best. it PERFECTED her — sheer, utter and unwavering LOYALTY. oh, what a treacherous monster you have become now.     ❛   how do you live with yourself?   ❜}   

                ^{SHE TRIED TO CHANGE, ONCE. tried to be softer, kinder, less sharp, with rounded edges and a tongue that was not made of silver. she tried to change, once, but it did not work and it would not work —– YOU CAN USE A SPEAR AS A WALKING STICK, BUT IT WILL NOT CHANGE ITS NATURE. she was born to kill, born to take, born for an unsung glory — like ACHILLES, though they’d never see her wrath and her rage as something worthy of songs   (  like MEDEA, then  —- she’s a murderess, too  ).   she BURNS  –  bright and strong and beautiful.   it’s  SELF DESTRUCTIVE, she knows, somewhere deep within her soul she knows —- a little girl believes in nothing, a little girl has nothing left to live for   (  except for them  ) .}

               ^{STUPID LITTLE GIRL, spoke too much, spoke too fucking much. she digs her nails into his skin, knowing that it will hurt, knowing that it will BLEED.  he has to let her go. she has to be alone, where no one will see her CRACK, where she will tend to her wounds. alone, alone, alone — as she has always been. A BLACK WIDOW KILLS ITS MATES.  a widow should have no feelings, should have nothing but instinct  —-   perhaps she is no widow. perhaps she is but a little girl   (  she can’t, she can’t, she can’t.  )  . she bites the inside of her tongue, looking into his eyes, anger burning on her own. she wants him to FEEL it. her hatred, her hurt, her SACRIFICE. perhaps, then, he’d be grateful. perhaps, then, he’d know better.    ❛   there’s nothing you can do to change the PAST, volkov. my future is my own.   ❜    no. your future belongs to the LEFURGEY —- you will never be one of them.} 

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

                    what was the first lesson they learned? that they were so small and that they were so insignificant without the duty that they held so close to their hearts. that they became reborn the moment they stepped foot into that blood stained arena. that when their young eyes stared around the cages, that they were being put into the fire–waiting to be reborn into something great. they were forged from their steel bones and bronze knuckles. they were created as weapons, they will die as weapons. 

                    he looked at the way she ran towards him, she’s going to favor her left side. he thought as he dodged the kick, blocked a punch. swung his body under her arm and moved to the other side. what is the purpose of living if the motherland falls? what is the purpose of living if they are no longer sharp, if they were no longer the weapons that they were created to be. they would be ordinary. they would be useless. they would be–soft. grimacing as she hit him once, running her nails down his skin. that’s going to leave a mark. he thought before he grabbed her wrist, and spun her around so he could move to the other side. he wasn’t as quick as she was. he’d never be as quick as she was. and hell, this match may have been over ; he may have pulled harder hits–if she wasn’t bleeding out. 

                  he glared at the video camera he had disabled before he got to the room. he had seen what they saw. they that dared to call themselves family. they just saw her as a way to gain more more more. they all just wanted more. they were so greedy, like leeches sucking their victims dry. they just wanted power. the power to simply oppress those that were deemed weak. that’s all they wanted. that’s all they would ever want . they grew fat as they lusted for more, gluttonous americans. “are you getting tired, ivanov?” he said with an almost jolly tone. it was mocking as he jumped away and grabbed hold of the metal cage, before quickly dodging yet another kick. “don’t tell me you forgot that wearing the opponent down is the first way to get them to fall.” 

                THAT HURT. that stung. that dug deep like a knife. ( like the knife she had taken from him; he wondered whatever happened to that blade.) “you knew my beliefs didn’t stem with the so called motherland, anna. i’m not a nationalist. you know what they did to my parents. all in the name of the motherland. you knew why i went into that system in the first place. i simply–” but you had a reason to stay. he thought. and he was staring right at the reason. you could have stayed for her. but he didn’t know. he thought what he had with charlotte, what he had with anna–that it was gone. that their perfect little world was shattered. “ worthless. that’s where you’re wrong. after all, i distracted you from killing henry, right? but you’re right about one thing. i am a traitor to dear mother.“ he said with a dark tone before he grabbed hold of her flying fist and pulled her so that they were only centimeters apart. he stared into those blue eyes. “ i’m an anarchist that would gladly watch the world burn if that meant protecting what i deemed as more important than some fucking state.” he whispered in a low voice, their breathings heavy and almost in sync with one another. “ that look in your eyes–” 

               he stared and he stared and he stared. and he couldn’t see it. the look that she had when they first brought her in. he wouldn’t tell her he stole a glance when he wasn’t suppose to. that he saw them break her, drown her., made her scream. took away her innocence. that was the same look though. the same look that was the reason why he even took interest in the widow program. why he even took interest in the girl that everyone thought would die. she wouldn’t die. he thought as he watched her first fight, cuts and bruises on his own face from his own fight. it was the look of someone who even death couldn’t drag away from a fight. it was a girl that had survived so much. burned so bright and yet–no one noticed that she was still human. he didn’t think that such a split personality could exist. and yet there she stood; a look of pure fire. 

            and when he looked into the blue eyes, angry, red from the tears of suppressing all the pain. his hand gripping her hand as he stared, and he didn’t know how much time had passed cause it all seemed so slow.  he looked into those eyes and saw nothing, he saw someone that wanted to die, he saw someone who was just so tired. he saw someone who had given up.  he was going to murder that american boy. he was going to murder phillip lefurgey. he was going to murder every single person that ever hurt her ( but wouldn’t that mean you’d have to off yourself, dimitri? because she wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. }  “that look in your eyes.” was he fucking crying? was that a tear running down his face? of course it was. guilt, grief, and just–he was so guilty.  she wouldn’t be here suffering if it wasn’t for you. more importantly. she wouldn’t have had to have suffered alone–( but she could have told the truth ) “–i hate it. it drives me fucking crazy to see that look in your eyes. like you’ve just accepted what they’ve given you. YOU DESERVE BETTER THAN THEM ANNA.” he yelled, his voice crack as he looked at her with a desperation that he had not felt since he had last yelled at her, believing that she killed charlotte, believing that she truly didn’t have a heart when it was so big that it was breaking her. “WHY do you let them do this to you?! didn’t you suffer enough? why do you let them RAPE you like this?!” 

          ^{(   YOU DANCE LIKE YOU FIGHT.      alexei told her once, after she trained for three hours straight.    wrong,  she replied, putting her hair into a ponytail and wrapping her hands to train   ,  i fight like i dance.   IT IS DIFFERENT, you see. she learned how to dance before she ever learned how to fight. her   FLEXIBILITY  came along with it, as well as her    DISCIPLINE.  you can not be the best if you are not disciplined — she knew that from day one.   )}

          ^{it is as if it is a dance —- she moves from right to left, arms barely moving but legs doing all of its job. ONE, TWO, THREE   —-   disciplined, trained,  PERFECTED.   CUT FROM MARBLE,  FORGED FROM STEEL.   ❛    you’ve only ever been loyal to YOURSELF.  ❜    words can be like knife.  words can cut you open and leave you to bleed out.    (   perhaps she is still BLEEDING .   )   when he pulls her arms she wants to curse. HERSELF, HIM, THE ENTIRE WORLD.  stupid, stupid, stupid.  VOLATILE  &  WRONG.  if only she had payed attention, if only —–   ❛  рабочие всего мира, объединяйтесь  ❜      she says.} 

        ^{LOYAL TO THE BONE, EVEN NOW.  heart too big for her body, beating on and on and on. ALL THAT SHE HAS EVER DONE, has been for the MOTHERLAND. for lenin, for TROTSKY   (  they punished her, she remembers.  what of trotsky ,  a little girl asks, after watching a documentary.   they dragged her through her hair and starved her for five days. she never spoke of his name again.   ),  for the people, for the W O R L D.  perhaps she won’t live to see it, but someone else will. EQUALITY.} 

           ^{she stares into his eyes   (  blue, blue, blue  ).  she remembers every single time they stared into each other’s eyes. ONE, his body pressed against hers, her back pressed against the floor. hands wrapped around his neck. it’s the first time they ever saw one another, first time she saw him. they were angry, and it showed.   TWO,  in the cafeteria. she sat alone  (  always  alone  ), bruises scattered through her body, busted lips and purple eyes. she rebelled. they all knew it  —- she  could hear the whispers, the laughters.  the perfect little daughter, tsc tsc tsc.   their eyes met as he walked past her. she didn’t know why he was looking at her, and couldn’t tell what the look in his eyes meant. she forced herself to forget it.  THREE, every time they fought.  FOUR, every time they fucked.  FIVE, then, when he left. she thought that would be the last time she ever saw him. all that she saw in his eyes was hatred and hurt and disgust. perhaps that’s how he always looked at her. perhaps she just fooled herself.} 

           ^{ANNA WON’T CRY.   she won’t let those treacherous tears fall from her eyes, won’t let herself break.  she’s BROKEN  before, and she remembers what happened.   (   his tears are like a punch in her gut.  STOP CRYING – she wants to say.  STOP CRYING – weak, pathetic, atrocious.  STOP CRYING.  )  .   she swallows her tears  (  ignores that her eyes  burn  ) , and smiles.  SHARP  &  FORCED  &  TERRIFYING.     ❛   i’m doing what i’ve always done. i’m  SURVIVING. i’m keeping you —–    ❜     DON’T SAY ANYTHING. no one will be safe if you open your mouth.   she pulls her arms away from him, but his grip is too STRONG.   he’s always been stronger than her.  she has always hated that.   ❛   you’ll RUIN everything.  let me go.  ❜}                               

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

         what was the hardest thing about all of this? was it the fact that he felt helpless, hopeless, and like he was in hell? no. that wasn’t the worst part. it should have been. it should have been the reason why he offed himself the moment he saw the chaos in her once clear blue eyes. he should have died a long time ago. and this was just what happens after you live long enough. after you live long enough, he ruins it. he fucks it up and he can’t help but look at his hands and know it was his doing. 

        { all you cause is pain, all you bring is ruination. } he recalled that was what his uncle had told him. uncle, he didn’t even know if that man was family, but he was the closest thing he had left. he was stained in the blood of his parents’ murderer. the man he had prolonged his edge to death. he had made sure he SUFFERED. he didn’t want him to see hell too early, he wanted him to beg for death. this was madness. maybe he was just insane. stuck in a world where he knew too much and knew too little. maybe he was in hell. { isn’t it ironic. now that you are in his position, at the brink of death, so close to eternal sleep. and yet–you’re still here. } “ you’re not choosing anything! “ he yelled loudly, angry. why was she so insistent on suffering alone. why was she so insistent on dying alone? why couldn’t she just let him jump with her. 

       why couldn’t they have had the soft story that some people had. why did they have to have the story that no one wanted. the one that was damned.  the one that was ruined and broken and imperfect in so many ways. why were they ones destined to suffer?  who told them that they were like atlas, strong enough to hold the burden of the world on our shoulders. to fight for every breath they wanted to take.why was it that this was the way they first met. why did they have to be the ones to be called monsters, weapons, inhuman.  where was god when this was the moment when their fates were sealed { they had seen this room before. they had walked this floor before. } groaning as she kicked him away, he stared at the bloody footprint and glanced up at her. their poses, their tired bodies, the blood dripping from their body. all of it.  it was all too familiar for it was how they got their names. their identities, the one thing they got to keep for the rest of their lives. 

      { the widow and the wolf. } the legends could never die. no matter who tried to bury it. they would go down in history books. they would be–ghost stories.  but how do ghost stories start? a tragedy, they are born from tragedy and horror. this was almost too familiar. he thought again and again as she pulled her hair up. { it almost mimicked their graduation fight. } last one standing.he thought almost sadly before he got up on his feet slowly and looked at her. he wouldn’t fight her. he thought as he looked at her taking ragged breaths, trying to keep her eyes open. TRYING to PRETEND that she wasn’t in pain. the grimace in her blue eyes, the way she grasped for breath as she finished her sentence. he wouldn’t fight her. not like this. he closed his eyes before opening them, emotionless and cold. just like how he was trained to be. but–that was all a lie, wasn’t it? { you are not emotionless, you feel so much it hurts. you look at her want nothing more than to run away. you look at her and feel GUILT and wish there was something you could do. you look at her and you are not cold. you wish it was that easy.  no. you feel a burning within your chest. as if you will be consumed from the inside out from EVERYTHING you are feeling } 

      “ i didn’t betray my beliefs. i didn’t let them win and use me. i don’t sleep in gold shit and wear silk dresses to talk to old men with green money draping their shoulders.” he said in an almost mocking tone. he wouldn’t fight her, he wouldn’t hurt her. there are too many that are doing that to her. he’ll just try to stop her. he’ll try to be someone his mother could be proud of. he’ll try to be her–something. 

        ^{(    THEY TOLD HER SHE WAS HOLY ONCE.  none of them believed in the old religion, but they told her anyway, as she held the folder from the french embassy. NIKOLAI ran his hand through her face, taking a strand of her  ( too long  ) hair — YOU, ANGEL OF DEATH, YOU ARE HOLY.    the little was always his favorite:  COLD  &  EMPTY  &  LOYAL.  the loyalest of them all. she lives and breathes for the MOTHERLAND, for the ideal, for   S U P R E M A C Y.   a fool, the little girl was :  she did it all for a blind and stubborn BELIEF.   working men of all countries, unite!     )}    

            ^{she looks at the trail of blood left by her foot, and doesn’t have to think twice. she rips the edges of her shirt off in one swift movement, wrapping it around her bleeding foot. it PULLS, but she does not even twitch.   YOU ARE A SOLDIER – YOU HAVE BEEN THROUGH WORSE THAN THIS. SHE KNOWS THAT THE SCAR IS SHOWING. brand new, poorly stitched, a knife made. it starts on her thigh and makes its way up, up, up, until it ends near her belly button   (  his voice calling her  S C A R   has never been more fitting — could it be that they knew, before she was even born, that her body would be MARKED  &   BEATEN?  )} 

     ^{ROTTEN TO THE CORE   &   she feels it deep inside of her bones. every move, every kick — one to the arm, one to the leg, one to the hip  — is a newly found COMPLAINT,  a yearn for it to stop, stop, stop. BUT SHE DOESN’T STOP  &  SHE NEVER WILL.  she may not be holy but she is still made of marble, and she still stands  TALL  &  PROUD.  flawed they are, raised on blood and hurt and bones. flawed they are, broken and hurt and lone. her movements become quicker, harder, angrier. KICK, PUNCH, HIT, KICK, HIT, PUNCH. PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH. KICK. KICK. KICK.      ❛   HIT ME   ❜    she screams, raw and rough and angry.   ❛  FIGHT ME, YOU FUCKING COWARD. FIGHT ME.  ❜   PUNCH, HIT, KICK. PUNCH, HIT. she drags her nail through his arm.}        

            ^{I DIDN’T BETRAY MY BELIEFS.   it is as if the whole world stops. she can feel her body FREEZING in place, hands shaking, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.  SHE WAS THE LOYALEST OF THEM ALL. she was their favorite, she was, she —– can feel the inside of her body dying.  NOT FAIR, NOT TRUE.  LOYAL TO THE CORE, BUT NOT TO THE MOTHERLAND, no, no, no. she messed it up, didn’t she? she allowed them inside of her. she ——–  ❛   REMIND ME, once more, who it was that left on his own FREE WILL, and who was taken.  ❜     punch, kick, hit. angry, volatile, wrong.   ❛  REMIND ME AGAIN who it was that aided them on TAKING ME.   ❜     kick, punch, hit. kick, punch. kick kick kick.  FRUSTRATION   takes over her bloodstream.    ❛   this is WORTHLESS.   ❜   she spits, and turns around.  it is pointless, too.} 

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

             { was she always this way? } he recalled charlo–melody asking him one day as she sat the edge of her bed and he was catering to the marks on her back. her voice had been soft, the kind of softness that didn’t last long here in the cold. no, it would freeze and die like the rest of all the good things that entered through those concrete doors. she had asked him if she was always this cold. and he couldn’t answer her. for he did not know. they had been in different groups. he had volunteered to join while she was taken from some far off land. he was known to be a prodigy. she was thought to be the first body to fall.  they were never meant to interact, they were never suppose to entangled like this. { he suppose he has lottie to thank for that. sorry it’s melody. } 

             he couldn’t answer when the first impression he had of her was that she was small. she was small and she had this weird look in her eyes. that her dark blue eyes seemed to be both confident and scared. when they first fought, it was a lot like this one, except back then, she wasn’t careless. she wasn’t practically asking for him to break her arms. { maybe if he did, they would stop sending her on missions. it was tempting. } 

            no. but you need me. he thought as she hissed at him, angry at him, wanting to snap his neck. that was better than the shell of a woman she had become. she wasn’t suppose to be an old bullet casing, no. she wasn’t suppose to be something that was once lethal but now tamed. she wasn’t some sort of thing that they could control. they had no right.  they had no power over her. he wouldn’t let them. “к сожалению, товарищ, это не до вас .” he whispered in a low voice, not threatening, rather–he didn’t want unwanted ears to listen. 

         and that’s when he stopped, that’s when his grip weakened. scarlett. his eye twitched, he felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. that name. it was what they gave her . after the put her in a pretty dress and proclaimed her as the prodigal daughter. he wanted to puke. they were all smiles and fake sobs. if they really cared. if they really wanted to find her, they would have all those years ago. they had enough resources, they had enough power. but that was the thing, they tried to the same thing as they did with charlo–FUCK, melody.  they had tried to play her off as some lost princess when anna was never a princess. she was–just anna. “ ivanov. you look pathetic right now. i thought we taught you how to lie better than that.” 

            ^{(   THERE IS NO ONE QUITE LIKE YOU, IS THERE, ANNA?   they told her once, right after she snapped  IRINA’S  neck.  she was the only one standing in the way of   ANNA  and the prized TITLE, and no amount of intimacy could keep her away from it   —-   they knew each other from age SEVEN. eleven years had passed and only the coldness had stayed. it takes and it takes and it takes. later that night, after being reminded that she, too, can be REPLACED, she ate steaks and golden potatoes. she couldn’t remember the last time such thing had happened, but she slept better than ever before. EVERYTHING GOES ; ONLY THE COLD STAYS.  )} 

        ^{❛  мы в Америке, наш выбор это все, что у нас есть.  ❜    she SPITS, teeth showing like fangs — BLOODTHIRSTY  &  HATE FILLED.  his tone is soft — too soft — and she can’t help but to look into his eyes, even if for a second. ONCE, somewhere, she found comfort and solace in them. somewhere, she made a home to herself, but that was but a ILLUSION.   a sickening stupidity of a FOOLISH mind, drunk on the idea that it could be anything but a monster. it can’t. it never could.} 

           ^{(   THEY NEVER TOLD HER HIS NAME ; THEY TALKED OF THE MOONLIGHT AND ASKED THEM TO FIGURE IT OUT.  she had heard tales of him — the WOLF, sharp  &  better than anyone, anyone, anyone. she knew before any of the girls  — VIPER  &   DEATHSTALKER  &   HONEY BEE. she asked nina, that night, in a low voice, how he was. she knew what she meant then. she told her of his neck. she didn’t forget it then, and she never will. he beat every single one of them until she was the last one standing —- & THE REST IS HISTORY.   )}

           ^{ANNA NOTICES IT RIGHT AWAY.   call it years of practice or only instinct, but she sees a chance   &  takes it. as soon as his grip is looser, she kicks him on the legs, before yanking her arms away from his touch. she hits his head against his, not caring about how much it may hurt, how much it may BLEED.   she has never cared about her physical appearance   (  somewhere, from a corner of the room, she feels his eyes burning a hole through her. he cares about it.  )  .   she rolls her body away from him, tying her hair with a band on her wrist.       ❛    you should take a look at YOURSELF, volkov. you’re the one who looks pathetic.  ❜}   

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

             { whoever said that it was better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all i A FUCKING LIAR. } looking at the crimson lips, whether that be from the remaining makeup or from her blood, it stained. it stained in such a haunting way that burned in his mind. that color, so bright, so artificial. when he looked at her, when he looked at the feral look in her eyes. the way she looked scared out of her mind. she was shattering, she was breaking, she was collapsing in on herself like some sort of dying star. 

              hand clenching as he held her arms, his kneed digging into her spine. he knew it hurt, he knew it was painful, but she had to stop. and it seemed like the only one that wanted her to stop was him. lifting his head, he glared at the scared americans, the pigs that thought they can just destroy everything they touch. that human life could be dignified with a dollar sign. was it not america that caused hiroshima? “ LEAVE. “ was it not america that caused the death of millions? sure, his own motherland was not innocent { he had seen the reports in regards to the ukraine. } but at least they didn’t pretend to be the heroes.  they were not the heroes. that wasn’t what they were created to be. no. they were never the heroes, they were simply the dark horses, the angels of death. weapons of mass destruction. they never pretended to be the good guys. 

            every step makes him think that he’s closer. but somehow, he never arrived. he looked at the anger in her eyes and he couldn’t help but feel some relief. she was feeling something. let him be the scapegoat. it would be a way to pay for his sins. for leaving her in the first place.  “я не знаю.” he hissed. { he had become quite good at lying. hadn’t he? } and his blue eyes stared into her dark orbs and couldn’t help but feel guilt rush through his body. he caused that to happen. he made her this way. he left her alone, to fend for herself. of course she was in pain. one can only be alone for so long. he thought as tried his best to keep his hands from trembling. “Я сделал это один раз . Я не могу сделать это снова .” his voice was soft, as if he was praying; maybe he was in confession. maybe he was admitting his transgressions. wouldn’t his mother be proud of him? would she be proud of him?  { don’t forget that religion is just the opium of the masses } he thought and glared at her. “stop letting them win. stop playing their games. you’re not a pawn, anna.” 

            ^{(   YOU HAVE NO MOTHER NOW. SHE IS MOTHER TO US ALL.  a little girl cries out for her mother, for her father, for some deity who won’t answer —- she learns that, soon enough. YOU HAVE NO MOTHER NOW. SHE IS MOTHER TO US ALL. she has no mother, no father, no brother, no lover. she has the  MOTHERLAND  and the motherland is the only deity she serves ; there is no point on anything else. she’s beaten and trapped and drowned and BLEEDS and trains and perfects herself. YOU ARE MADE OF MARBLE ; YOU WILL NEVER BREAK.  cold to the touch until that day, when FIRE consumed her entire being, when hatred and a insurmountable will to  W I N  possessed her  BODY  &  SOUL  .  she should have known, then, not to let it get close. YOU HAVE NO MOTHER NOW. SHE IS MOTHER TO US ALL.  a little girl cries out in the middle of the night, empty  &  broken and a little girl no more — a MONSTER, through and through  ).}               

          ^{she tilts her head to the side, looking as the SPECTATORS left, pressing her lips together as her nails dig into the floor.  ❛  COWARDS   ❜   she hisses, venom flowing through her parted lips. she hates them, every single one of them, every single one looking, waiting, PRAYING that she makes a mistake, that she falls on the wrong foot — anything. praying to have something to TORMENT, some kind of leverage. she won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her break. YOU ARE MADE OF MARBLE ; YOU WILL NEVER BREAK. then why is that she is cracking? why is it that her entire body feels FEEBLE, WEAK, MEEK. death, perhaps, would be kinder than this.} 

           ^{RUSSIAN sounds like a prayer in her head.  how long has it been since she’s heard her language, heard the sound of it ringing on her head? she loves —- IT SOUNDS TOO CLOSE TO HOME, too close to something that she will never have back.  ❛   я не забочусь. я не хочу, чтобы ты здесь.   ❜   she spits, though in her voice there is more agony than hatred.  SHE CAN NOT MOVE — though she may want to, though she may be able to find a way — she feels trapped, frozen in place, eyes looking at his, lips parted, (  something too close to tears filling her eyes  ).    ❛   my name is SCARLETT.   ❜    she has never been as hateful as she is now.}       

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

                  he felt pathetic. he felt pathetic as he stood behind the cage as he heard the jeers. the ugly words. she pretends as if she doesn’t hear. he can see it in her eyes, those dark blue eyes of hers that would flicker as soon as she heard another comment. he could see the way she gripped and choked the american that taunted her. he could see her trembling hands, as if she was in pain. as if she was just so tired of all the noise and just wanted silence. she just wanted to be left alone. but he won’t leave her. not this time. no. this time he’ll set things right. he won’t leave her behind for the lions to grab hold of her. he won’t leave her behind to suffer alone. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. not this time. this time–he’ll make sure she–

             he wanted to scream. yell. until his voice went raw. that was what he wanted. he wanted nothing more than to scream out in anguish, in frustration, in sorrow. he wanted to mess his hair, pull at the strands. HE WAS SUFFOCATING. he felt the walls closing in as he looked at her helplessly try to win, helplessly try to claw out all the invisible strings that seemed to be attached to her. he could hear the click of the tranquilizer gun. turning around, he grabbed hold of it before he threw it across the room.  NO ONE TOUCHES HER. no one makes her suffer. she had already been suffering with all the weight on her shoulders. the weight she wouldn’t allow him or lottie to help her with. she wanted to die a fucking martyr.   the realization made his eyes widen before he pushed aside the guard and entered the cage and grabbed hold of her hand, ready to attack again, this time, for the kill. 

         “you’re selfish.” he hissed as he pulled her off the man and held her down onto the floor. a trembling hand as he held her. trying not to hurt her more than she was already hurt. her arms were always her weak point. he thought as he held her down by her arms. not looking at her face and shaking his head. she’s still pulling punches. if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t act the way they expect her to. she would resist the urge to be exactly what they want from her. “stop fucking around ivanov! you’re done! you could hardly walk. you know the best strategy now is to let that bastard go. so what are you doing? WHY ARE YOU LETTING THEM WIN!?” 

                 ^{THERE’S SATISFACTION IN MURDER.  she watches with a certain delight as life is choked out of his body, eyes on his, watching as his face changes, one by one by one  —- it’s PHILLIP and AUDREY and MICHAEL and GEORGE and THOMAS. every person keeping her hostage, every person turning her into a WRETCHED TOY. she growls, FEARY  &  BEASTLY, changing her hand in order to choke him with her right when she feels it. SHE KNOWS HIM FROM TOUCH ALONE — feels as he takes her body off, and she HATES.} 

                ^{she GROWLS, showing her teeth like a proper MONSTER, attempting to scratch him anywhere, attempting to get out, attempting to finish the mission   (   her entire body hurts, bones aching with every movement that she makes  ) .  dimitri holds her down — YOU’RE SELFISH. perhaps, out of all the things he has said to her tonight, that is the one that enrages her the most. SHE IS COVERED IN WRATH ; SHE IS WRATH ITSELF. he doesn’t know anything, he has never known anything —- UNGRATEFUL  &  FOOLISH  &  STRONGER.   ❛   you’re USELESS.   ❜   she spits back, tilting her head backwards, neck exposed.} 

              ^{SHE FEELS TRAPPED, like the world is closing on her. she feels every wound three times more, feels the cuts underneath her clothes aching and burning and throbbing. she feels as if she could die, in that very moment —- life would not be as kind as to allow that. she knows she’s not going to die. she knows she’s going to live. she knows that, deep in her bones, more than she has ever known anything.   ❛   какое тебе дело?   ❜     she hisses,  RUSSIAN  slipping through her bruised lips.   ❛  LET ME GO.   ❜    she ought to be alone.}               

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

                 he was a guard once, he was a trainer once, he was one of them once. god it seemed like ages ago. like another lifetime ago. to be someone cold enough to mold another innocent life into something so broken. feeding them lies of how they would make them into gods when in reality they were simply pawns. false promises that relied on nothing more than the success of the mission.  so he was quick to pick up on the signs of a shattering agents. he knew when to spot them on the verge of collapse. when they were compromised. he looked at anna and saw it. the lack of appetite, the desire for completing a mission ( no matter how dangerous ), reckless behavior that was borderline dangerous. he saw the way she didn’t care for herself–she had limited time if he didn’t step in. that fire that made her so strong was dying. she was dying. and he felt hopeless when all he could do was just watch.  

              “if you have time to talk, then you aren’t doing it right.” he said like he used to. like they were back at square one. he was the trainer, the elite, the one above her. and he was simply one of the soldiers.  it was like before they knew the deepest scars that they held. NO. it was worse. it was much worse. because now, they knew what it was like to feel safe in their vulnerability. and now they were back being fed to the dogs. “you’re getting sloppy. but i guess that can’t be helped when you’re just working with people that don’t challenge you.  it’s easy to fight those that don’t know your weak spots.” he said with a low growl, hand gripping the cage and looking at her, angry that she let them push her around. that she let them invade her space, that she wasn’t fighting back. white knuckles as he saw her struggle to even do her signature move–she was getting sloppy. sloppy meant that she was putting her life at risk. he won’t let her lose. he won’t lose her again. “STOP PULLING YOUR PUNCHES, IVANOV!” 

              ^{SHE WAS ONCE  A LITTLE GIRL. she doesn’t remember that, but she knows she once was —- she was ripped from the inside out, transformed, trained to exhaustion, wrecked and molded and beaten until she was no more. this is how she has lived. this is the only way she knows to live.    (  a LIE. they let she keep the happy moments, they let she keep the warmth. they let her know love only for it to be ripped away, too. you are nothing but a monster. i always knew this is what you were. she doesn’t forget, though she may want to. ) . YOU WERE THE ONE WHO USED TO TALK, she wanted to say, felt the words heavy on the tip of her tongue, knew that they held TRUTH. she was always the centered one. he was a talker. she hated that about him. she looks at him again, opening her mouth to give a reply when she feels her head hit the floor —– there’s a BLISSFULNESS to it, one that she can’t help but loathe. it feels wrong, somehow. it feels right, too.} 

             ^{SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP. she wants to say, wants to tell herself to FOCUS, wants to remind herself who is in control  —  not you, not you, not you. it has never been you, and it will never be. she wants him to be QUIET, wants him to leave, wants to be able to focus on the FIGHT and not on the way that her heart beats, and not on the way that she can feel him, crawling underneath her skin. OH, HOW SHE HATES. OH, HOW SHE LOATHES. her entire body hurts — she wants to stop fighting, wants it all to end, wants to sleep, but it has never been an option, and it is not an option now. it’s not offered to the lots of YOU people. she can hear HIS voice echoing on her head, too. she digs her nails into the american’s face, watching with a sickening delight as surprise colored his features. SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA PLAY DIRTY. she runs her nails down, down, down, watching as they open a brand new cut on his loathsome skin. it is when the american tries to hold her hand that she regains control, wrapping her free hand on his neck. this is a battle she can win.}  

             ^{STOP PULLING YOUR PUNCHES, IVANOV. it is as if the whole world stops, and she can not help put look at him, brows furrowed and lips pressed together. stop pulling your punches // don’t hold back. she can feel the words on the tip of her tongue, can feel the air leaving her lungs. it’s not fair. YOU ARE MADE OF MARBLE. YOU HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS. YOU HAVE NO TIME FOR HIM.  she can’t take his eyes off him.   ❛   I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP, VOLKOV. i never had, and i never will.   ❜   she SPITS the words, tightening her grip on the american’s neck, flipping them once again. she has never felt dirtier in her life.} 

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

dimitri:

                 he should have just stayed in his room. he shouldn’t have cared when lottie said it was an emergency. that it was about anna. that was the thing. he wished he didn’t care about her. he wished he didn’t. then he could have moved on, he could have probably stolen lottie away from adam. he was charming enough. but there was anna. burning her place in his mind. and now there she was in front of him in all her glory, hovering over some poor american. he looked at the way her feet bled  ( who treated her? who told her to take a break? did she even listen to them? )  

               he stared and stared and stared before he just couldn’t take it. he couldn’t take the yells of the men, cheering her on and booing her. treating her like some animal. he couldn’t stand the way they looked at her. the way HE looked at her. he hated how much they underestimated her. how much they saw her as simply a machine. she was still human. “ it’s not checkmate until his heart stops beating. “ he said in a cool tone, his blue eyes staring at her as if he was searching for the woman he knew. not this doll that HE insisted on her pretending to be. “ and look at her anyways, sh won’t take the final punch. she hardly has the strength to stand up on her own. “he was taunting her, riling her up–cause that was what he was. he was the gasoline to her fire. the one that made her burn so bright. 

             ^{HER ENTIRE BODY HURTS. she could see the trail of blood that dripped from her feet  (  she spent too long dancing last night —- it soothes her, somehow  )  &  from the inside of her thigh  (  a poorly stitched cut — she didn’t care enough to stitch it properly. perhaps she wanted it to bleed out.  ) . she is surrounded by SHARKS, all coming round and round and round, longing for a TASTE of it. she won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose. not now, NOT EVER. she’s leaning in closer to the american, lips curved into a WICKED SMIRK when she hears his voice —- she’d know it anywhere, anytime, would recognize it throughout the centuries. somehow, she has always known.  ANNA  feels her blood boiling inside of her, running through her veins and burning all of its path. OH, HOW SHE HATES. OH, HOW SHE LOATHES.}  

            ^{she spares him but a glance — QUICK, but enough for him to know, for him to UNDERSTAND: shut up, shut up, shut up. i hate you. what are you doing here. i hate you. leave.   (  i don’t want you to see this, i don’t want you to see me like this, not like this. please, please, please.  ) .    she feels the american’s leg kick her ankles before flipping them, his hands wrapping against her neck. she can feel a SCREAM trapped inside of her throat, but she won’t let it out — you are made of MARBLE. you will never break.    ❛   SHUT UP, VOLKOV.   ❜  she says, words filled with hatred, words filled with longing.  anna wraps her legs around the american’s waist —– it is all too easy.}  

(Source: atercygnus, via volchnok)

                        _{O’ MY ENEMY, DO I TERRIFY? she stands tall, lips pressed together —– sharp, sharp, sharp. she’s all sharp edges: SHARP EYES, SHARP TEETH, SHARP SMILE. a beast through & through, inside a   R I N G   more so than ever. RED LIPS, red hands, blood still dropping from them, blood dried out inside of her fingernails. a BEAST, a MONSTER, a WEAPON. —— O’ MY ENEMY, DO I TERRIFY?            is her enemy the stranger inside the ring, or the familiar face on the corner, eyes burning through her scalp.                      ❛      DON’T BLINK, or you’ll lose.      ❜}