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#maksim rachkov
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freedom
no edits we post like men! written in the fifteen minutes before i’m supposed to open the store ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
he’s never tasted freedom like this.
the sea-salt air bites against his sunburnt skin, the callouses burn on his hands and on his feet, through the worn soles of old, pilfered, leather shoes.
“oi, maks,” the captain hollers, “get up in the nest - there’s something coming portside!”
his platoon leader’s orders made him bristle, but the sharp tone of anonai’s voice just strikes a chord of excitement inside his bitter heart.
“aye sir,” maks yells, abandoning the mop at the side of the ship. his arms, finally bearing muscle again, pull him up the net to the crow’s nest where he has to squint against the blinding sun. he opens the weathered spyglass from its position holstered at his hip, and looks out over the rolling seas.
freedom tastes of salt and adrenaline, of the respect of his captain and crew, and occasionally, the metallic tang of blood.
“ship portside,” he yells down, “flying a kind of green and yellow flag,”
“excellent job maks,” anonai calls, “crew, make ready to pursue.”
the cheer that erupts over the decks fills maks with anticipation. of all the plans for his life his mother had made, he’s sure she never saw this one coming.
a bittersweet emotion curls in his chest, and he banishes it as he swings down from the crows nest to collect his sword.
she may not approve but maksim knows this is where he’s meant to be.
“ready maksi?” ghorza asks, sharpening her blades as he pulls his cutlass from its scabbard by his hammock.
“you know ghorza,” he drawls, “i think i was born for this.”
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college au! gwendolyn and maksim/anonai, a birthday gift for @headcanonsfromanelfblossom
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au mash-up #6
12 roommate + 48 fake dating
prompted by @headcanonseverywhere ♥
There’s not much Maksim Rachkov wouldn’t do to prevent his mother from coming to visit.
He’s faked chicken pox, despite having it as a child. He told her a pipe burst in the building once. He’s even told her he was spontaneously out of the country, even though he had Bates over for a weeklong gaming session. 
But this - there may be no topping this. But this is what Elizaveta Rachkova gets for dropping by unannounced.
“You’re sleeping with your roommate?” his imperious mother asks, holding her designer bag close to her, appraising her son. 
Maks grins, wrapping his arms more firmly around Gwendolyn, who he can feel heating up with some kind of blush; he’s hoping she’s enjoying this and isn’t going to murder him at the first chance she gets.
Murder is beneath her, he knows, but there’s always the possibility she’ll change her mind.
“Dating,” he clarifies, with a kiss on Gwendolyn's temple. It’s helping his charade that Gwen’s wearing one of his borrowed shirts. He loves that she steals them out of the laundry. “I’m dating my roommate Mom. And it’s new, so if you don’t mind, we’d like some privacy.”
Gwendolyn slides her eyes to him, and he grins even wider, winking at her as his fingers play with the hem of her shirt.
“Very well,” his mother says, rolling hazel eyes behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. “I’ll send a car to pick you both up for dinner at 7. Your brothers are in town, and you can’t spend all day in bed Maksi.” 
“Maxi?” Gwendolyn repeats, without the Russian inflections, a small smile playing on her beautiful mouth.
Veta’s triumphant smile is enough to let Maks know he’s lost this time.
“I’ll see you both this evening. Good luck with the family Gwendolyn, you’ll need it,” she says, waving as she leaves the apartment.
“Maxi?” Gwendolyn says again, pulling away from him. “What exactly was all that?”
Maks frowns as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He shrugs his shoulders, watching her reaction.
“I needed an excuse to get out of spending time with my overbearing mother,” he says easily. 
“And now she thinks we’re dating,” she replies, crossing her arms. He nods. “And I have to go to dinner with your family.”
“You don’t have to,” Maks says quickly, “It’s believable enough that you’d dump me after meeting her like that.”
“I’m not so easily scared off,” Gwendolyn counters, lifting a hand to push a curl behind an ear. In his pocket, Maks’ hand twitches.
“You will be after tonight, meelaya,” he says darkly, brushing past her with a quick kiss to her cheek. “If you’re serious, we’ll have to be believable. Get our story straight. Out lovey-dove Stasi and her boyfriend, and convince Kat that I’ve reformed.”
Gwendolyn lifts her eyebrows, her cheeks flushing as she watches him flop on the couch.
“Then we’d better get our answers down.”
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au mash-up #4
21. dystopian + 50. arranged marriage
prompted by @2twinveggiesheadcanons ♥
The Rivers of the West aren’t a family to be trifled with, and Anya mutters a curse on her sister as the tent is opened to her. She keeps her head high, dressed in her sweltering finery as she glides forward. Her gown and hair coverings, heavy headpiece and veils are well suited to the North, but the lands of the West don’t seem to need quite so many layers. 
The nomads fill the tent, watching her curiously as she makes her way to the back of the tent to her brother, standing to the left of a large man seated on a throne of bone and furs. 
A scar covers the side of his head, and his gaze is clear and even, assessing her every movement. She assumes this is the leader, Ashley, that Yekaterina was meant to marry. At least before her foolish elder sister ran off with her lover.
She mutters another curse as she executes a flawless curtsy, as Maksim introduces her. She’d never had cause to learn the language of the Rivers like her siblings - Yekaterina was raised to marry this man, and Galina, Andrei, and Maksim were travelling ambassadors, well-learned and fluent in many languages of the Realm.
Not her. Not the youngest Rachkov princess.
“Anastasia, this is Lord Ashley of the Rivers, Protector of the West,” Maksim says in their own language, bowing and meeting her eyes. Their plan is dangerous, stupid even, but the only course of action they have.
“Lord Ashley, thank you for your hospitality,” she replies, holding her head high. “I assume my brother has informed you of my eldest sister’s decision. It is our hope that you will accept my hand in place of hers.”
Maksim translates her speech to the lord and the gathered Rivers, who begin to murmur amongst one another at the confirmation of Yekaterina’s defection. Anya sinks into a deep curtsy as the lord in the throne responds.
She catches her father’s name being dropped a few times, and Maksim translates quietly for her - Lord Ashley will not accept her hand, she who was not been raised to be a queen, and will not take this insult lightly.
Anya grits her teeth, rising from her curtsy to meet this man’s eyes. There is pride in his face, disdain, and something akin to disappointment.
“I accept your decision, my lord, but let us attempt to mend the bond our families have worked so hard to create,” she says, as Maksim translates. Ashley lifts an eyebrow, and she continues quickly. “I may not be suited to be your wife,” she says, clenching her hands into fists at her side, “But let us not abandon this alliance based on my sister’s foolhardy and selfish choice.”
Anya is not a politician. She may be a princess, but she is an alchemist. She can create something new out of two unrelated elements, is capable of creating gold, and of coloured flames and sparks for the celebrations of the Long Nights of the North. She watches Lord Ashley’s face, sees her appeal to his pride working in his thoughtful expression.
She will make this alliance work however she must.
Lord Ashley barks out what she assumes is a name, and a young man is shuffled from the far side of the tent to the lord’s right hand.
Anya stares as Maksim translates - the young man is called Lucas, and he will be her husband. He is not dressed as finely as the lord, his hair and beard shaggy, and his face is bright red. She tilts her chin up, turning back to Ashley, who is smiling smugly at her.
“Our alliance will be cemented in your marriage to young Lucas the hunter,” Maksim translates, as Ashley gestures for Lucas to approach. The boy - for he can’t be much older than 20, barely three years her junior - walks towards her with an awkward smile. She keeps her face neutral as Lucas takes her hand, at Ashley’s command. His hand is warm, a bit clammy, and shaking.
She squeezes his hand gently and turns to her brother, who nods.
“It is agreed.”
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some anonais/maks’s as requested by @romecanons
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bittersweet reunions
mobile, no cut, no edits! rachkov content!
—-
he drops to his knees when she rolls through the door of his home.
“sofiya,” he gasps, as she pushes her wheelchair into the foyer.
“sasha,” she says with a smile, their fathers dimple in her left cheek, “it is good to see you,” she says in russian, parking her chair and gesturing for him to come close.
alexei stands, coming to his younger sister as they kiss each other’s cheeks and embrace, him bent to hold her close.
“when i heard you were alive, i could hardly believe it,” sofiya says as they part, looking at him, and then around the foyer, “no word from you in nearly a century, and now, so much more family than we know what to do with!”
alexei laughs, guiding her into the living room of the town house and going to fix them both drinks.
“true, though it’s nice to be surrounded by family again,” he says wistfully, as his younger sister fiddles with the record player, selecting a vinyl from one of the shelves.
“indeed,” she says, dropping the needle. sofiya manoeuvres her chair to face his armchair and accepts the proffered glass of vodka.
“nastrovya,” they toast, clinking glasses together.
“so,” sofiya says, clearing her throat after the first sip, “where does your power lie, brother? in the grand tradition of the family of course. i assume you have a child placed in the white house?”
alexei frowns, setting his drink down. “sonya,” he says carefully, “i have lost many children. olesya, as you know, is here and as are some of her children, and my youngest two, maksim and anastasia are off in search of iliya. i have no child in place of power.”
his sister is clearly surprised, he can tell by the widening of her eyes and pursed lips.
“then why do you gather the family if not to consolidate our power?” she asks, narrowing her brows, “mama and papa let it fall through their grasp, as did others, failing to move into the future with the country. it is why we splintered in the first place.”
alexei sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “it is the modern day sonya, and i have no desire for power, not the way i did centuries ago.”
she sniffs, swirling the vodka in her glass.
“then you are weaker than i remember sasha,” she says disappointedly. “i for one, have taken what belongs to our line.”
his frown deepens, and he sinks back in the chair, lifting his glass to her.
“i congratulate you then sister, on your accomplishments.”
she smiles, unkindly he muses, and lifts her own glass.
“and i congratulate you on yours, brother.”
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veta vignettes
playlist
The blue and gold brocade gown is a century out of fashion, but fits like a dream after the tireless efforts of the estate’s seamstresses.
“A vision, my Elizaveta,” her father praises, kissing the crown of her head lightly before placing her deceased mother’s diadem on her head.
“Thank you Papa,” she says with a courtly smile, willing herself not to squint. Her vision may be poor but that doesn’t mean others need to know that.
Pasha circles her, nodding approvingly.
“The Rachkovs won’t be able to refuse you,” he says confidently, “You must convince Lady Olga at the masque that you will be an invaluable wife to her Alexei.”
Elizaveta nods demurely, as a servant hands her her mask, and she grips the handle delicately.
“The model wife and mother,” she intones, burying the ugly ambitions she has for herself deep down.
*
“Hello Mama,” Fyodor calls exuberantly, entering her private salon with a wide smile, “Katja, little sister, hello my star!”
Elizaveta rolls her eyes as her son - nearly 20 now, and appearing much the same age as her, despite her approaching forties - kisses her cheek in greeting before doing the same to his sister.
“Come to say your goodbyes?” Katja asks, looking up from her embroidery.
Fyodor gracefully falls onto the nearby setee with a nod, a servant scurrying forward with a brandy and tray of sandwiches.
“Indeed, I’m off to the front first thing tomorrow,” he says, selecting a sandwich after wiggling his fingers over the spread. “Don’t frown so Mama, you’ll wrinkle,” he teases, as Elizaveta watches him.
“I do hope you won’t be so cavalier on campaign,” she warns, her mouth pressing into a firm line.
“Mama, wrinkles,” Katja reminds her, as Fyodor laughs.
“Cavalier?” Fyodor gasps, pressing a hand to his heart, “Me?”
Katja catches her mother’s eyes with an eyeroll of her own.
“Do find Iliya before you go, or he’ll be put out,” she says mildly, returning to her needtlework.
“Of course star,” he replies cheerfully, downing the brandy. “I’ll write often,” he adds, kissing his mother’s cheek again on his way out of the parlour.
Elizaveta shakes her head a little bit as he leaves, curls bouncing aginst her neck.
“Our golden prince,” she says with a reserved smile.
*
His hand is warm in hers as they make their way down the high street of London, and she squeezes his small hand gently.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Maks?”
He smiles toothily up at her, his eyes keen, bright and blue, just like his father’s.
“Are we going to see Papa?” he asks, as they make their way down the street.
She nods, adjusting her spectacles with her free hand.
“We have a surprise for you Maks,” she says gently, as they pause in front of a music store.
After the loss of all her other children, and the horrors of two international wars, the hopeful smile of her son melts her heart a little.
“Really?” he asks, bouncing as she pushes the door open to the store. “What is it?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise,” Veta chides, and he nods, face falling slightly as he holds her hand a bit tighter.
“Is that my family?”
“Papa!”
Veta releases Maks’ hand as he runs to Alexei, standing by a piano with a grin. He allows Maksim a hug, ruffling his black curls, before embracing Veta with a quick kiss.
“Hello Liz,” he says softly, as Maks investigates the door, pressing a finger to the piano keys.
“All well with the sale, my love?” she asks, and he nods, gesturing for Maksim to come back to them.
“Mama said there was a surprise for me,” he says matter of factly, and Alexei laughs.
“Indeed there is a surprise for you my boy,” Alexei says, resting one hand on the small of Veta’s back, and the other on the piano. “This is for you.”
“A piano?” Maks asks, making a face.
“And lessons,” Veta supplies with a small smile. “It will be good for you.”
“I think I’d rather a pellet gun,” their son mutters, and Alexei frowns.
“What was that boy?”
“Nothing, sir,” Maks says, tilting his head up with an angelic smile. “Thank you for the piano.”
*
The day had worn on in meetings and red tape, and if she had the energy to be corporeal, Veta would slam her head against a wall.
200 years of manners and etiquette training would, of course, prevent her from actually doing that, but it is the thought that counts.
She sighs, looking at the clock above the door as it ticks closer and closer to 11. 
Time passes differently now that she’s dead - even when she is in meetings, but especially when she is alone. 
Footsteps deter her from her thoughts, the clock hands well past 11 now, and she floats to the door.
“Mixon?”
“You’re still here Veta?” he asks, raising a bushy eyebrow, “I’d have been gone hours ago, but they brought in new perps, and well, paperwork.”
“Of course,” she says tonelessly, “Could you set up a television for me in my office? I have to review some footage.”
Glenallen nods, heading down the hall to the AV room to wheel out a television and VHS machine. She tells him where to find a camcorder in her closet, and has him plug it in and set up the television to the correct settings.
“I can take it from here,” she says quietly as the picture flickers into focus on the screen. Glenallen nods, bids her a goodnight, and closes the door behind him.
Veta focuses enough to press play and turn up the volume two notches, before settling back into her chair.
The opening notes of the Dance of the Little Swans are cut off as the camera is adjusted, the curtain rising.
“There you are,” Alexei’s voice is quiet and muffled behind the camera as the dancers make their way onto the stage.
Veta presses her fingers together into a steeple, leaning forward as the camera zooms in and out to focus on the dark-haired dancer third from centre on the right.
“Perfect form,” she whispers approvingly as she watches Anastasia dance the choreography flawlessly. The technique is perfect, as it should be from hours of practice and lessons, as young Stasia performs her part alongside the other girls.
While Veta knows her youngest daughter isn’t as passionate about ballet the way Olesya had been, she certainly has talent.
Veta watches Anastasia finish the routine with the other girls in blurry focus, the camera zooming in on  nervous smile. Her bow is graceful and correct - worthy of the Imperial Court, Veta proudly thinks.
The girls leave the stage to applause as the next group prepares, and Veta floats through her desk. The footage is cut off anyway, but she focuses enough to hold down the rewind button to the beginning of the tape.
And then, she watches it over and over with pride until dawn.
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sometimes, you have siblings
neither of them ever had siblings growing up, but they discover they can quickly make up for lost time.
“i can’t believe you stole my earrings!”
“pirate, stasia,” anonai reminds her, admiring himself in the large hallway mirror of the rachkov townhouse.
“doesn’t mean you can help yourself to my things,” anya grouses, making a move to snatch the dangling gold earrings from his ears.
“ah, ah, dear sister dont get so riled up,” he teases, grabbing her wrist, “you’ll need all your composure and wits when we meet with the eldest and the storm today.”
anya rolls her eyes, wrenching her arm out of his grip, stomping away as their mother floats down the hall, an eyebrow raised.
“must you upset her so, maksim?” veta chides, as anonai’s expression turns to stone in the mirror.
“perhaps not, mother,” he finall replies with a smirk and a flippant wave of his hand, “but it definitely is fun.”
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some rachkovs!
alexei and veta, followed by fyodor, iliya, yekaterina, oleksandra, galina, andrei, maksim, and anastasia
and a bonus diana (great-granddaughter)
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picrew here
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rachkov siblings
anonai and anya become very close after they discover they’re siblings
it takes time but they both grew up as only children only hearing about their elder siblings - having your mom tell you about her favourite kids is definitely harsh and something they bond over
both of them harbour their own brand of resentment against their parents
anonai doesn’t enjoy being called maksim/maks. it’s an identity he’s abandoned and doesn’t appreciate when veta or alexei uses his birth name. anya exclusively calls him anonai, and alexei and veta both eventually come around (alexei sooner than veta)
no one in the rachkov family calls anya anya - they all call her some form of a proper diminutive of anastasia. anonai also calls her duchess / princess (derogatory), or stasi mostly
he is Delighted to be an uncle - will come and bring extravagant and potentially dangerous for the boys (and eventually ashley) and also takes them on character building trips to saventhia
anonai is extremely protective of anya and has confronted veta multiple times re: how she treats her
eventually anonai does open up to anya about what he’s done as a pirate / to survive and she listens with no judegement and just agrees that he did what he had to, but also therapy is an option. he refuses this option
he’s really excited to introduce her to beryl and jesse rex when they go to saventhia to find iliya - she is excited to meet his surrogate parents
both of them are very good at negotiating to get their way - they got that rachkov charm + big blue eyes + genuinely well reasoned arguments and evidence + relentless spirit
they both also become quite close with iliya, who didn’t know they existed. on the trip back to earth they all spend a lot of time (when iliya is awake and lucid) getting to know one another
iliya is so proud and grateful to them both. doesn’t endorse the piracy but thinks anonai is a savvy businessman and that anya is incredibly smart and perceptive
iliya and anya do spend more time together on earth while he’s recuperating - he eventually moves to california with some of his kids to get the sun and warmth to help with his health
drunk anonai and anya usually results in singing, increasingly challenging dares/one upping one another, and conversations dissolving into russian
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