#Calina my beloved

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 3, Chapter 18

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 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 18

“I was under that control for most of my adult life, Matt. And I’ve seen what its like from the other side, as well. I won’t ever let it happen again. I won’t ever allow myself to become that…soulless killer again.

I’ll do whatever it takes to stop it. To…end it.”

Calina’s words from all those months ago echoed through Matt’s mind as the elevator made the excruciatingly slow ascent to the top of the building. His forehead rested against the panelled wall of the car, his hands braced either side, as he chanted a prayer under his breath:

“Please.”

“Please be alive.”

“Please.”

Her scent swirled around the small, enclosed space, proving his hunch had been correct - she’d taken this trip up to the roof. The familiar, beloved fragrance was layered with thick, suffocating adrenaline, and his heart ached for the terror she was experiencing right now.

“Please be alive.”

“Please.”

With a soft ‘ding’ the elevator stopped. Matt exploded off the side of the car and rammed his way through the barely opened doors. He sprinted onto the rooftop, yelling as loud as he could. “Calina!”

Nothing.

A soul-tearing, horrifying nothing was the response.

He darted around a corner, dodging the furniture and plant pots strewn about the sky high garden, as he searched for any sign of her. “Callie, answer me!”

Another corner. Her scent clung to the molecules in the air, but they swirled about in the eddies of the breeze, preventing him from pinpointing her direction. He kept searching, but he was quickly running out of ground to cover and there was still no sign of her. He kept his senses trained to the rooftop itself, purposefully ignoring the stone parapet around the edge. He didn’t want to have to look over the side, to the ground hundreds of feet below. He couldn’t bear that, he wasn’t strong enough-

He froze as a faint whimper reached his ears, almost drowned out by the sound of his own pounding heart. He forced his body under control, and strained to find the source of the noise. He crept around a large sofa, the furniture covered by a tarp that rustled and flapped in the wind…and there she was. Tucked in a ball, her head pressed against her bent knees as she rocked back and forth.

He crouched down in front of her. “Callie?” he called softly. This close he could taste the salt of her tears and could hear the hitch in her breath as she cried. He wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her tight to him, but he had a feeling that would be the wrong approach. There was something so…brittle…in the way she held herself. As if a sudden move could send her off the deep end.

So instead he reached out to gently stroke the top of her head. At his touch, she gasped and scooted backwards, trying to wedge herself further between the sofa and the brick parapet of the roof.

She didn’t fight. She didn’t try to attack. His strong, capable Callie was reduced to a cowering, sobbing wreck, and it nearly broke him.

“Sweetheart, its me. It’s Matt,” he crooned, his voice thick with emotion.

“No, no, no,” she whispered. “You can’t be here.”

He thought again of her greatest fear - the mind control serum. Of being forced to become a soulless killer again, a threat to him and the other people she cared about. “You won’t hurt me, Callie,” he said, trying to put her mind at ease. “You’re not under their control again. It’s just the fear pheromone. You got hit, baby, but you’re going to be okay.” He sat down beside her, careful not to touch her again, and continued his litany of reassuring words, praying that they were penetrating the fog of terror she was wrapped in.

“You’re okay. You’re you. You’re my Calina. You’re not under their control, do you hear me, sweetheart? You’re you, and you’re safe.”

———

Matt guided Calina through her apartment door and locked it behind them, exhaled with the relief of finally being home.

He’d spent over an hour up on that rooftop with her, talking her through the waning effects of the pheromone haze. At first there’d been no response - she’d just sat there in that protective ball, head tucked against her knees, quietly crying. Then at some point she’d lifted her head, wiped away her tears and turned to look at him. “Matt?” she'd asked in a whisper, her voice so tentative and scared.

He’d pressed a kiss against her damp cheek, lingered there to breathe in her scent. “Yes, I’m here. Are you back with me, sweetheart?”

She nodded, slowly. Then dropped her head against his shoulder, as if the strength to hold it up had deserted her.

He let her rest there for a few movements, before getting to his feet and pulling her up beside him. “Come on,” he told her. “You’ll freeze if you stay out here any longer. Let’s get you home.”

Now they were here, safe and sound. They hadn’t spoken during the taxi ride home - in fact she hadn’t said a single word after whispering his name on that rooftop. She’d just clutched his hand in a death grip and stayed close to his side.

She was still silent as he led her into the bedroom. He removed her jacket and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Wait here.”

He flicked the light switch for her small bathroom and started running the water for a bath. He found some flowery soapy stuff in the cupboard under the sink and dumped a load of it into the water then returned to Calina. She was standing exactly where he left her, and her silent, dazed demeanour caused a pang of unease deep in his gut.

He pushed it aside and helped her undress. All the while, he kept talking to her, using the same reassuring tone he’d deployed on the rooftop. “A bath should help you warm up - you were sitting on that cold concrete too long.” He gently pulled her sweater over her head and rubbed the chilled skin of her arms. Her camisole followed, then her jeans. He crouched down to tug the tight denim off her legs, and she rested a hand on his shoulder to balance. It was the first voluntary move she’d made in a while, and it gave him hope that she was coming around. He glanced up. “You doing okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” Her voice was scratchy from all the crying, but it was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard.

He tipped his head forward to rest briefly against her stomach, the relief making him weak. “Good. That’s good. Now let’s get you warm.” He led her into the bathroom, helped her out of her underwear and guided her into the bubbly, frothy water. She sank down with a sigh, once more sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees.

He knelt down by the side of the tub and used a sponge to squeeze some of the warm water over her shoulders. Steam filled the small room, and for several long minutes there was no sound but the dripping of the faucet and the gentle lap of water as Matt tenderly bathed her exposed skin. As he did so, she reached out to stroke her hand through his hair. He could feel a tiny tremor running through her fingers, and her movements were so hesitant - as if she feared he’d disappear beneath her touch.

He leaned into the caress, turning his head to press a kiss against her wrist. “I’m here,” he whispered.

She shook her head slowly. “But you weren’t,” she whispered back. Then she started crying again. She covered her face with both hands and cried silent, devastated tears.

He couldn’t bear it. He quickly got to his feet, stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the tub. He sank down behind her, his long legs encasing hers and his arms forming a cocoon around her. He held her against his chest as she weeped, pressing his lips against the side of her head, her neck - everywhere he could reach. “I’m here, baby,” he murmured between kisses. “I’m right here.”

When the tears eventually dried up, she sank back against him. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “It just hit me all again. Must be some residual effect from the pheromone.”

“What hit you?” he asked carefully. “What happened tonight?”

She took a deep breath and recounted the story. “I was sitting on the bench waiting for you, but there was a commotion further down the High Line. A man was running along the pathway and he collided with somebody else. He was carrying a briefcase and it went flying. When it hit the ground a load of canisters spilled out and I recognised them straightaway. He gathered them all up but as he was stuffing them back in his briefcase, he accidentally sprayed himself. I decided to follow him-”

Matt growled under his breath.

“What?” she asked, defiant. “You’d have done the same.”

“That’s different. You should have waited for me. Or called me.”

“I did call you. You never answered.”

Matt winced as he remembered his phone vibrating as he observed his target.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

He took a deep breath, then came clean. “I was following a lead. I scented the pheromone on someone, and I followed him. He had his own briefcase. My guess is, it was full of money and he was supposed to meet up with the guy with the briefcase full of the drugs and make an exchange.”

“So you did lie to me. I had a feeling the hot chocolate thing was bullshit.”

“If you suspected that, why did you let me go?”

“‘Let’ you? I’m not your keeper, Matt. I’m supposed to be your partner. And partners don’t lie to each other.”

He winced again. “I know. I’m sorry. I- I don’t know why I didn’t tell you the truth.”

He’d been cursing that very decision all night - from the moment he’d left Calina on that bench. And especially now, when he knew the full consequences of that choice. “I’m not used to this. To a true partnership,” he said, trying to explain. “When I was with Elektra, she wasn’t interested in my life as Matt Murdock. And when I dated Karen, she didn’t even know about my other life as Daredevil. I’ve never had this before, where I can be completely myself. And I guess I was still trying to compartmentalise.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way I saw it, I was on a date, with you, as Matt Murdock. It didn’t seem…right…to spoil that with Daredevil stuff. But I couldn’t ignore the pheromone scent either…” His voice trailed off, the justification seeming weak to his ears.

But it was the truth, as warped and strange as it sounded. He still felt the need to protect Calina from his other life, to shield her from the mess and the darkness and the complications of it. 

Calina took one of his hands and squeezed it. “I get it. We’re both still stumbling through this. Just…don’t do it again. Please. I never want you to think that I’d be angry or annoyed about you needing to be Daredevil. I’m in love with him, as much as I’m in love with Matt Murdock.”

He squeezed her hand in return, her words meaning more to him than she could ever know. “Thank you. And could you please…,” he struggled to find the right way to say what he wanted.

“What?”

“Could you try not to take risks with your life, like tonight.”

He felt her stiffen in her arms. “It wasn’t a risk. I was just following one inept courier.”

“Not so inept - he managed to spray you with the pheromone.”

“That wasn’t my fault - I was keeping my distance and being discreet. But the pheromone hit that he took must have made him paranoid. He kept running in and out of traffic as if he had the devil chasing him. I had to get closer to him to try to keep him alive - I knew we needed a new lead on the case-”

“It was too much of a risk!” He could feel his fear for her safety suddenly morph into anger.

“It was my risk to take! And yes, I misjudged - I didn’t know he had a spare canister in his hand - but you’re acting like I’m some clueless civilian when this isn’t even in the top 10 riskiest things I’ve done!”

“But why? Why did you willingly put yourself in danger like that? I thought you wanted out of this kind of life!”

She pulled out of his arms, and twisted her upper body around to face him. “I've only ever wanted the choice! I’d be happy to never fight again, but I saw something wrong and I chose to try to help.”

He could hear the faint squeak of her wet hands as she clenched the sides of the porcelain tub. He could hear her heart pounding, and her skin was flushed - from anger, as much as the heat of the room. And even though he was so relieved to see her back to her normal self, he hated that he’d made her mad, when all he wanted to do was comfort her.

He leaned forward and kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He ran his hands down her arms to free them from the death-grip she had on the tub. Then he eased her back against him, holding her tighter than before. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, pressing his lips to her temple.

She let out a shuddery breath, then nestled against him. “I guess we’re both feeling a bit on edge.”

He nodded, his head still pressed against the side of hers. He could feel the damp tendrils of her hair tickling his skin, and with every inhale and exhale her slick back moved a tiny bit against his chest. Her scent filled the room, warm and potent from the bath. His senses were stimulated by nothing but Calina, and he wanted to stay in this safe, closed room with her forever.

Where the outside world could never harm her again.

Although speaking of harm…he swallowed and asked the question he was dreading the answer to. “What did the drug do to you, sweetheart? What did it make you feel?”

It was her turn to swallow, the sound harsh and ragged to his ears. “It was…it was horrible. So overwhelming. So all encompassing. ”

“The fear?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t fear. It- it was grief.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if we’ve been looking at this pheromone from the wrong angle all along, or if this is some new formulation…but I didn’t feel scared or afraid. Instead, it just took my worst fear and made it real. It made me live through it. And I felt it, in every fibre of my body. Down to my bones.”

“I don’t understand. What did you feel?”

“Grief. For you.” She twisted around again, fully this time, until she was lying on top of him, her breasts pressed against his chest, and their hearts beating against each other. She reached up to stroke her fingers down his cheek. “You died, Matt. All of a sudden, I had this knowledge of your death, and the grief and pain of it hit me like a freight train.”

“I- I…” He didn’t know what to say. All this time he’d just been assuming her reaction on the roof was one of fear - fear of becoming a mind-controlled Widow again. He’d had no idea that she’d been feeling the pain of his loss.

“I could feel myself start to break down almost immediately,” she continued. “I started hyperventilating - panicking, really - and all I wanted to do was get to someplace quiet where I could fall apart. I ran into the nearest building and went up to the roof.”

“I was so scared you were going to jump,” Matt whispered, voicing the fear that had nearly paralysed him earlier.

She stroked his cheek again. “I wasn’t lucid enough to make that kind of plan. I just stumbled out onto the rooftop, found a small place to hide from the world and let the grief take me.”

He tightened his arms around her, securing her slender, fragile form against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder, and they were silent for a few minutes as they both processed what she’d been through.

He could barely imagine it - the pain of losing her. He’d come close, once before, when she was locked in that coma. But to actually lose her. To know that she’d died…that she was gone from his life forever…

The mere thought of it was too painful.

She traced a finger through the damp hair on his chest as she started speaking again, her voice a faint whisper. “When you found me up there, and I heard you call my name…it was like my mind was torturing me. I was convinced that you couldn’t be real. That you were just some figment. Like a- a ghost.”

He pressed his lips against her hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

The words felt inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say. So he just held her. Stroked his fingers up and down her back, as if to reassure her that he was real. That he was there.

That they were together.

And when the water turned cool, and they moved from the tub to the bed, he reassured her some more. He made love to her, slowly, gently, but thoroughly. He kissed and touched every inch of her skin and brought her to climax several times before finally sheathing himself inside her.

They moved against each other silently, words irrelevant in the moment, their bodies saying everything that needed to be said:

I’m here.

You’re safe.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

————–

Chapter 19 coming soon...(we're close to the end of Part 3 now!!)

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy @chezagnes

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

#daredevil #tabula rasa #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #matt murdock #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc #daredevil fandom

[georgesbestieboo]

Nightmares

Hello Love-bugs, I’ve decided to just keep doing Calina Romanoff x Bucky one-shots, I do have a book going but in order to help me get out my thoughts these One-Shots are helping wonders. As a reminder! The pairing you will read here is an original character of mine with Bucky. She is the biological sister of our beloved Natasha Romanoff, was also put in the red room but later than Nat since she is a couple years younger. Also, the timeline is the comic timeline just to make it a bit more interesting, meaning, Natasha was born in 1928 and Calina, (My OC) was born in 1934 but since the Widows carry their age VERY well Nat will remain the age she appears in the movies and Calina will appear to be 26. 

Also: Please leave one-shot recommendations in comments! X O X O 

Summary- Bucky stumbles to Calina’s bedroom in the middle of the night in need of reassurance TW: Truama and PTSD 

*************************************************

The eerie, burning sensation of eyes boring into her skin woke Delilah up with a start. Despite her room submitting to the overwhelming sense of the darkness, she could sense someone with her, and from the slight creak in the floorboards she could tell they were approaching her sleeping form as she analyzed her quickest game plan. 

Being careful to stay very still, she slowly inched her hand towards the dagger that was always kept under her pillow, closing her fingers around it as she allowed a deep breath to fill her lungs. As she exhaled, she sprung up in the dark, flinging herself from her comfy bed at the presence in her room, her free hand fisting in their shirt while the other pressed her weapon to the intruder's throat, a grunt escaping their lips. 

“I-I  was hoping I wouldn’t wake you” 

Calina relaxed instantly, recognizing that husky voice she had come to love after all these years not even needing to see his face to know it was him. “Shit Bucky,” She ran a hand through her bed teased hair, her scared fingers catching painfully at the knots. “What are you doing here? It's 2 am” Sighing as she checked the clock Calina moved to her nightstand and fumbled for the small lamp on her dresser. “You scared me, I thought you were someone from the red- Bucky?” As light sliced through the darkness she was finally able to make out the features of the man that stood in her room. 

The Sargent had tear tracks tracing down his flushed cheeks, fear clearly dancing through his crystalline eyes. She watched as he tried to keep his composure but as their eyes locked, Calina’s heart broke as she watched his facade drop and the tears flow freely from his already puffy eyes, silent sobs beginning to shake his body. 

Without hesitation, she grabbed towards him, pulling him down to her chest, without hesitation his hands wound in the back of her sweatshirt attempting to pull her closer. “Hey, hey, hey” She whispered “its okay, your safe, I’m safe” 

Calina mentally cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. There was one point in their lives where this had become a routine, and it crushed her every time she had to see him so torn. Despite being free of his life as the Winter Soldier the gruesome memories still haunted him, plaguing him with flashbacks every time his eyes fluttered closed and his head hit the pillow. Most of the time he was able to wake up from those nightmares and calm himself, not wanting to burden anyone, but there were certain nights, ones like now, where even conscious he couldn’t rid himself of the horrors. 

“I did-didn’t mean to wake you” He sniffled into her shoulder as she walked them back til her thighs hit the back of her bed, Bucky took notice of what she was doing and let go of her long enough to sit himself on the bed, hesitantly drawing her into his lap. One of her hands drew soothing circles into the part of his shoulder where flesh met metal, the other resting gently on his that sat on her thigh while Bucky's head nestled deep into her neck. Calina waited patiently for the tears to slow, murmurs of comfort leaving her lips every few hiccups. 

Eventually the flow of tears against her neck stopped, and Bucky's breathing slowed. “Do you want to talk about it, Dragul meu?” She whispered, pressing a fluttering kiss to his temple. 

A shaky breath left his chest, “We were…on a mission” He started slowly “Hydra was involved. Things went south and you got captured-” Bucky's voice broke, Calina just held him tighter. “I went to go find you, and-and I did. They had you strapped to the chair, the one they used for…me” Calina’s breath caught in her throat, she had heard many stories of said chair. She had a feeling she knew where this dream was going. 

“Bucky, Love,” Lifting his head from her shoulder she forced his eyes to meet hers. His bright blue eyes were tear clouded and even more read than before, lines of worry painfully tight across his forehead. “It’s okay-” 

“When I got to you, you were bleeding and bruised, I lost it. I didn't bother to check if there was anyone else with us. Of course, there was. They started saying the-the words. I didn't think they would work since we fixed it in wakanda…but Calina they did” tears began to fall again, the warm droplets trailing down the woman's collarbone. “My mission,” He gasped, this time his once gentle touch closed into fists around her. She knew he was too scared to realize what he was doing but she also knew those actions would leave bruises against her pale skin. “Was to kill you. I fought and fought it, but I couldn't refuse the order. I killed you Calina, I killed you. I pulled out of the trance right as you dropped dead, into my arms. Thats-thats when I woke up.” 

 Calina was at a loss for words but her hesitant response worried him even more and Bucky's breathing became erratic, his chest heaving with each painfully burdened breath. Releasing his grip on her, his hands found their way into his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head in an attempt to rid the horrible nightmare from his brain. 

“Bucky-” 

“I killed you!” His eyes snapped open, widening when he saw her in front of him. Tearing away from her he frantically stood, Calina falling from his lap with a start. “I need- I need to go, I cant- you cant be near me” Stumbling to the door his metal hand reached for the handle but Calina lept into action, slipping between him and the door. 

Bucky flinched. “Calina, please” He pleaded, his voice cracking in pain. “You can't be near me, what if he hurts you?” 

“James, my love, come here,” Smiling softly, the woman took his face in her cool hands. “I trust you. You wouldn't let him hurt me.” 

He pressed his forehead against hers. “But what if I do?”. Bucky wouldn't be able to live with himself if she died by his hands. He met Calina Romanoff many years ago back in the Red Room. She fell in love with his monstrous side. The only one to show him compassion and love, something he had not seen for many years till he saw her. They were the Red Room lovers. Whispers of their fairytale spread all throughout Europe, sadly those murmurs eventually reached the Red Room who forced the two apart. They fought them with everything they had but his spy was still ripped from his arms, their foolish fantasy coming to a naught end. Though He never stopped thinking of the beautiful and fierce girl he had come to love; no matter how many time’s his memory was wiped, her face still played repetitively in his  eyes. When they were reunited it was like he could see in color again, actual meaning flooded into his life when he saw her smile, he couldn't bear to lose her. 

“Listen to me James. We’ve been through so much, I’ve handed you my life on many occasions and I'm still here right?” She waited until he nodded “You’ve saved so many people since then Bucky, the shadow of a man you used to know is no longer here, and I swear on everything if he comes back I will stay right there with you til’ its all over, because it will end. You’re one of the strongest people I know, I have so much faith in you that will never fade. Do you understand that?” 

Peering through the dark she could faintly make out the movement of his lips but no words fell upon her ears. 

“What was that sergeant?” 

That caused a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Yes Ma’am” 

“Good,” Capturing his lips in a tender kiss she took his hands in hers, walking him back to her bed. “You can stay with me tonight” 

Falling back into routine, Calina crawled to the left side of the bed snuggling deep into the covers as Bucky did the same to her right. Once they were finally situated with their bodies turned towards each other Bucky spoke for a final time. “I don't deserve you,” He whispered admirably, tucking a strand of hair behind her freckled ears. “I never understood why you chose me” 

“Because this,” She brought his metal hand to rest on her heart, the slow thumping sending vibrations up throughout his body. “Belongs to you entirely”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky buchanan #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #buckybarnes #bucky fluff #bucky #winter soldier #winter solider fanfiction #redroom #redroomlovers #russianspy #natasha romanoff #romanoff #russia #sokovia accords #romania #marvel #marvel one shot #marvel imagine #MCU #MCU fic #MCU fanfiction #oneshot #OneShots #fanfiction #fandom #blackwidow #blackwidowprogram #phase 2 #phase4

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, MANDY! You’ve been accepted for the role of GONERIL. Admin Rosey: How long have we been clamoring for our beloved Goneril? Far too long, I think. But the wait was worth it because Mandy, you delivered us to her with a little bloodied bow on top. You gave us a taste of Goneril, and here we are, begging for more. The plots you laid out for her future captured her well, and the para sample you provided gave an insight to the narration of her thought and I absolutely adored it. But, what really sold it to me, was the very end of the application: “... I don’t think Grace has ever stopped long enough to get bored. Maybe that’s for the best though; I’m not sure the world could withstand a bored Grace Daly.” And honestly, I’m not sure I can withstand the Grace Daly you will be bringing to our stage either. But I can’t wait to try! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Mandy

Age | 18

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | For the next 3 weeks or so, I can probably post about 3-4 times a week. After that I start university, so maybe 1-2 posts per week?  

Timezone | BST

How did you find the rp?  |  I came across it a while ago (9/10 months?) so I can’t remember exactly how, but I figure I must’ve been looking for mob-related roleplays on tumblr.

Current/Past RP Accounts | This is actually my first-time roleplaying on tumblr so I don’t have any past accounts to show. I have been roleplaying for around ¾ years though, just on different forums. I can provide some samples of my writing if you want to make sure I’d fit in here.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Goneril aka Grace Daly! And I like her current faceclaim (Úrsula Corberó).

What drew you to this character? | What initially attracted me to Grace Daly was, in fact, another character; Calina Sokolova. Whilst writing out my application for Cleopatra herself, I noticed that I had a lot to say about wanting to explore her relationship with a character so primal and brutal as Grace Daly. And the more I wrote, the more I felt I understood Grace. At the same time, my infatuation for Calina’s character diminished, and I think that was because I realised that I didn’t actually understand her all that much. Then I read the application of the last successful writer for Calina, and I know that people can have different interpretations which are equally good, but it just made me realise that I had only scratched her surface with my own. I couldn’t do a character like Calina justice; at least, not yet. Not that I consider Grace to be any easier a character to write, or inferior in terms of depth, not at all; I just understand her much better. Turns out, Calina simply wasn’t my mystery to unravel, and so here it is, my application for Grace “Goneril” Daly.

What I love most about Grace Daly is that she remains true to her nature. The violence, the brutality, the chaos—it is her and she owns it. She does not run away, or attempt to hide her darkness, she doesn’t entertain any notions of herself as a ‘good guy’, nor does she fear or try to fight the darkness within her. Right and wrong are seen as abstract concepts, and even when she knows things are ‘wrong’, it makes no difference because she does not care. She would much rather be remembered as ‘great’ than ‘good’, anyway. What Olivander said about Voldemort comes to mind; “After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.” Terrible but great, could there be a better analogy for Grace Daly? The rest of the world might see her as rotten, having lost her humanity, but one couldn’t be more primal or truer to their human nature than her. She takes what she wants, when she wants it, no matter the cost. She is a queen waiting to rule, a tragedy waiting to happen, a whirlwind to be respected, but most importantly, feared. She will carve herself a throne, whether that be from gold or your bones.

Despite being known as Goneril, she could actually be likened to Regan, in my opinion. It might seem like the sisters are an interchangeable evil duo in King Lear, but I actually think Regan is the more brutal of the two. After all, it is her who gouges out Gloucester’s eyes and thrusts him out to “smell his way to Dover”. Goneril is driven by ambition too, but I don’t see that love of violence in her characterisation. Catherine spills blood apathetically, whereas Grace thirsts for it, much like the Regan of King Lear.

Pride and the grandiose sense of self-worth, rather psychopathic traits, are also rather important cornerstones of her character. Because she has never been humiliated, never needed to ask for help, never been denied, she has this kind of smugness about her, an air of superiority. She wants to be remembered as such, a glorious vision of power, ambition, bloodlust and savagery—a legacy if there ever was one. Grace has always wanted more – more things, more money, more power, more blood – but perhaps what she craves most is recognition. Not the cheap recognition her parents gave her for simply being their daughter, no, she wants to be known as something great, something invincible, supreme, garnering as much recognition from the beggars and vagabonds lining the streets of Verona as the kings and queens in their palaces. She wants to be feared and worshipped like a God.

Along with the need to be known and remembered, comes the fear of being forgotten. People might sing Catherine praises for her angelic-ness, but they will not remember her name when she has passed like so many saints before her. At least, that’s what Grace thinks. The oldest Daly girl has long forgotten to fear death, but to become a ghost of bygone times like so many others have done in the past and most continue to do? That is literally a fate worse than death. She craves to be different, and to be revered for that difference. Death or glory—these are her options.

Whilst her impulsiveness might be seen as a weakness or a flaw, I think it makes her even more dangerous, because you can’t ever really know what she’ll do. She’s so unpredictable—one can never know whether they’ll get the cold, calculating Grace, or the wild, reckless Grace, who’s far more likely to give into her base instincts, until it’s too late. It’s unnerving how quickly she will switch between the two, but perhaps what is most alarming is when she is both at the same time. You ask how one can be cold and reckless, calculating and wild, at once? Oh, you should watch our raven-haired angel of death in action. She will beat you within an inch of your life and enjoy every second, but an inch she will leave, an inch to tell the world of your most foolish mistake: attempting to withstand the supernova that is Grace Daly.

I’ve never written such a raw, unremorseful character. In fact, I’ve never even come across such a female character in any sort of literature, let alone roleplaying. When other characters will tip-toe on the borders of insanity, Grace will crash in there with a battering ram without flinching. That is why it would be a delight and an honour to write Verona’s resident bloodthirsty empress, not that the world ever remembers one who wasn’t.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. Maybe some sort of face-off between the sisters? I don’t mean the three of them get into a ring and fight to the death, I just want a reunion of some sort, I suppose. I don’t imagine it will be at a café over brunch to discuss their childhoods, but perhaps they all need to meet up to discuss some mob business? In my mind, Grace joined the Montagues to give people a reason to remember her, not out of loyalty to anyone in the Montagues. So, if she sees an opportunity to rise the ranks, and she thinks that can be achieved by ‘offing’ one of their own captains to free up a space, I think she would definitely go to her sisters. They are Capulets, after all, and I doubt they would pass the opportunity to get rid of a high-ranking Montague. Regina, if not Catherine, anyway. At the same time, Grace doesn’t really consider her sisters to be her equals, so she might not care to do something mutually beneficial to all of them. Instead, I think she’s more likely to deceive both parties, because she’s arrogant and thinks her sisters are too naïve to understand her true intentions. Maybe that goes badly for Grace, because they really aren’t as clueless as she treats them? I don’t know, it obviously doesn’t have to pan out this way exactly, but I would really like to see the three of them having some sort of heated altercation, or just circumstance which invariably forces them to spend time together.

2. Calina vs Grace? Okay, so I know a lot of my plotting for Grace involves ‘facing off’ against other characters, but what can I say, Grace is a fighting sorta gal. In Calina’s bio, it says that “So long as [Grace’s] teeth are bared in another direction, she won’t have to make her shut her mouth,” aka Calina is happy to let sleeping demons lie, but what if they stopped lying? For whatever reason, they step in each other’s path and BAM! Chaos! Pandemonium!

As for how it happens, I was thinking something like this: Calina’s alias is Cleopatra, right, and, historically, Cleopatra was the first pharaoh to get the support of both the Greek and Egyptian subjects she ruled. In this case, the Greeks and the Egyptians are of course, the Capulets and the Montagues, respectively. Perhaps, at some later date, they are attempting to broker peace between the two mobs, and Calina, being Cleopatra, is at the forefront of this? Peace and harmony don’t work for Grace, of course, and so she tries to throw a wrench or two into their plans. Or maybe even a grenade.

3. I’d really like to explore some fiendish kind of plot that she and Ivan have. They are both quite chaotic and brutal characters, but I’d say Ivan does it for the love of chaos, whereas chaos is a side-benefit for Grace. Her true love is power; unlimited, absolute, power. So, say she hatches a plan to move up in the ranks, and figures that she might need some help from the Capulets for that. The help would be unintentional or accidental if her sisters were involved (see Plot 1), but I think she would be fairly upfront about it if she went to Ivan. Though Capulet by name, I’d say that he is first and foremost an anarchist, and Grace knows this. So, if she wants to stir the pot a bit, and wants to have some fun in the meantime, why ever not get in touch with the platonic Clyde to her platonic Bonnie? He’s never said no to a bit of mayhem. It could also be that they both plan on betraying each other, y’know, for a little more drama? Grace knows that his love of ruin and destruction is a little too dangerous to have around if her plans for dominion are ever to come to fruition, and Ivan knows that he cannot tear the world apart if there are people who wish to maintain the social order, so that one can actually hold dominion. In the end, no matter how similar their methods might be, their endgame couldn’t be more different.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes, but I would really like a fitting death for her; ‘’all or nothing”, essentially. Either she goes out in a blaze of glory, doing what she loves, or it somehow becomes that she loses everything, and is at the lowest of lows, and is then killed. I’d rather she didn’t die in some random mugging sort of thing, y’know? Also, pleeease, nothing like how Goneril and Regan go out in King Lear—sure poison can be involved, just not the whole other “jealous, superficial, evil sisters kill themselves over some man/throw themselves at his feet” trope. Grace thirsts for blood and power, not men.

IN DEPTH

I would genuinely do both, but I really want to send this in time for Sunday acceptances and I don’t have very long left. So, in-character para sample it is!!

***

Naivete? No, that couldn’t possibly be it. They had survived too long, accomplished too much, to be naïve. No, what truly plagued her family, whether that was their parents, or her sisters, it was blindness—or lack of vision, to be more precise. They had grown too accustomed to their life, too comfortable in the plush armchairs in front of their warm hearth, to envy the jewel-encrusted palaces that their kings and queens resided in. They were happy to settle for something mildly better than mediocrity, content to be second best, good but not that good. The Daly’s were well-off, there was no two ways about that, but they were hardly mice next to the mammoth that were the Capulets.

It was disgraceful to her. Shameless, even. How dare they be so complacent?

The babe turned girl turned woman, who had always wanted more and more and more, could not fathom the meaning of leading such an unremarkable existence. What could possibly be the meaning of life if you didn’t keep fighting for more, until there was no one left to fight, until you were the most powerful person in the room?

Throughout history and mythology, there were always trinities. Hydra, the three-headed serpent, Cerberus, the three-headed hound, and she had held out hope that herself, Regina, and Catherine, would themselves be a trinity to behold one day. Her mother and father had resigned themselves to ‘the simple life’, but children did not have to repeat their parents’ mistakes. They could be better, the Daly girls.

And yet, it wasn’t to be. Regina had come as uninspiring as they did, and Catherine, well, all saintly Catherine wanted to do was be nice. For a time, she tried convincing them, inspiring them as the eldest, but even back then Grace had had little patience for lost causes. And lost causes they were, the whole lot of them.

If she was to be anything more, it would be alone. Her family would not, could not, help her, and that meant looking for another family. Perhaps one with a little more backbone.

Extras:

I’d say that the Grace I’ve envisioned is quite similar to Villanelle from Killing Eve. However, whilst Villanelle kills because she is bored, I don’t think Grace has ever stopped long enough to get bored. Maybe that’s for the best though; I’m not sure the world could withstand a bored Grace Daly.

#accepted #accepted: goneril

[georgesbestieboo]

Confessions Pt 1.

Hello my loves! few things before we get started! 

The pairing you will read here is an original character of mine with Bucky. She is the biological sister of our beloved Natasha Romanoff, was also put in the red room but later than Nat since she is a couple years younger. Also, the timeline is the comic timeline just to make it a bit more interesting, meaning, Natasha was born in 1928 and Calina, (My OC) was born in 1934 but since the Widows carry their age VERY well Nat will remain the age she appears in the movies and Calina will appear to be 26. 

Summary- Bucky and Calina have reunited years after they were the red room lovers, can they become lovers once more or will fear get in the way? 

Warnings- A bit about self doubt/disliking body, mentions of torture nothing explicit though, slight swearing, possible spelling and grammar errors (I did check but there are always those things that slip past you) 

Calina was not one to party, she would rather spend her Friday nights curled up in her bay window, a fuzzy blanket draped across her lap, a good book clutched tightly in her hands and a warm cup of chamomile tea steaming on her night table. But no. Being an Avenger meant getting dragged to all the famed, insane, and overwhelming parties of Tony Stark and to be honest she hated them. The earsplitting music, the drunk, sweaty bodies pressed together, the...the people, it scared her shitless. Alas, here she was getting dragged to the mall with her best friend and sister Natasha Romanoff in search of a party dress.   

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” The redhead promised, pouting her lip as she held open the department store door. 

“I don’t know Nat…” Calina trailed off eyeing the endless racks of sparkly dresses that certainly were not her. “You know this isn’t, me” The assassin’s eyes just about bugged out her head as she pulled a dress with such a plunged neck seeming like it was barely attached. Natasha instantly swatted the thin material away, taking her hand as she led her towards the back. 

“It used to be though,” She winked “Remember those days, Lina? Partying till dawn, drinking so much we’d see the stars, and-oh!” A short but joyous laugh escaped both lips as they thought about the nights they had spent after they had eventually both escaped the Red Room. 

Calina’s laughter soon died out and her face became serious, “Yes, but, that was then. This, this is now” 

“Oh don’t be such a sourpuss” 

“I am not a sourpuss, ew you sound like Alexi” 

Natasha shuddered. 

***

“Absolutely not” Calina declared the second she slipped the dress over her body. 

“Oh come on!” Nat sighed from the corner of the fitting room. They had been at this for almost 2 hours, every dress tried on ending up on the same, ever-growing pile of fabric on the floor. “This one looks good!” 

Calina shook her head hearing none of it. “Nope, nope, nope. It’s too…” Her fingers slid across the scratch rime stones. “Glittery” 

“Glitter is nice though!” 

“And it’s so…” Her eyes trailed over her exposed figure in the mirror, her hands coming up to cover the neckline dip that reached her stomach. “Low” 

“And that’s hot, so I don’t see the problem” 

Turning to face her sister Calina crossed her arms, “Why can’t I just wear one of your dresses?” She whined “You have like, a million” 

Natasha stood, scoffing. “One, you never wear a dress twice, and two, we need a dress that hugs your beautiful curves perfectly,” She pretended to make an hourglass outline of Calina’s body with her hands, the spy rolled her eyes. “I wanna make Barnes drool when he sees you” 

Ah, the truth comes out. 

“I knew that’s what you were trying to do!” Calina yelled, pumping her fist back. “I knew there was an ulterior motive!” The older woman smiled shyly, 

“You got me, but hey! In my defense you and Barnes flirting with each other all the time and neither of you doing anything is annoying, I just wanna give you two a small push” 

“We do not flirt all the time” 

“Yeah, yeah you do” 

“Молчи” Slipping out of the uncomfortable dress and breathing a sigh of relief she couldn’t help but groan, her eyes taking in all of the discarded clothes. “This isn’t going to work, Natalia, I look horrid in all of these” She squeezed her stomach as she stood before the mirror in her bra and underwear, her fingers pinching away at her skin, wishing it hugged her body tighter. Natasha’s heart clenched as she watched her sister doubt herself, something she had hated The Red Room for taking the idea of beauty from her mind. They had taught her that she would never be pretty, that she would never be enough, that she could never be loved. What hurt, even more, was knowing that her beloved sister still was haunted by those teachings. Those words constantly hiding in the shadows, waiting for a crack in her walls just to seep in and poison her mind. She slowly approached her sister, carefully pulling her hands away from her stomach and holding them tight.

“You are beautiful,” She whispered “Inside and out. Don’t let them control your head” Handing her the last dress they had left to try on she gave a small smile “Just try this last one on and if it doesn’t work, then I won’t make you go” 

“Fine” Slowly taking the dress from her sister’s hands she began to step into it, the silky material sliding snuggly up her body as she wriggled her hands through the thin straps. She heard Natasha gasp but she couldn’t bring herself to look in the mirror. 

“Look up младшая сестра, you look beautiful. This is the one” 

“Are you sure?” 

The woman chuckled, “Yes now hurry up and look” 

So she did. 

And my god did her heart flutter. 

She actually looked pretty. 

The dress was a deep sapphire blue, with cross material over her chest showing a bit of her stomach. The neckline dipped just enough to show the curve of her breasts but not too much as to make her uncomfortable. The dress was satin and tight, the shiny material clinging to each and every curve making her actually like her body for the time being. It stopped about mid-thigh a bit shorter than she preferred but everything else was perfect so she could let it slide for one night.

 “I like it” Her eyes were bright with excitement, something her sister had not seen in her the other in a while. “I think James will like it too” She added sheepishly attempting to hide the heat that went to her cheeks.

 “Ha! I knew it! You still like him!” Nat danced around the small dressing room triumphantly.

 “Okay, okay, don’t make such a big deal about it” Calina huffed. “Of course I still like him” Her mind wandered to the first time she had met Bucky, long ago in the Red Room, the soldier teaching her many ways to kill. Romantic, I know. But it was more than that, at the time he was The Winter Soldier, yes but he had a soft spot for the ballerina. Disobeying his strict orders to sneak in and see her during the night, spending it under the moon talking about everything and anything, sharing light kisses. It didn’t last long though, soon the authorities found out, ripping her soldier from her grasp. As the years went on she never forgot about the handsome, yet the broken man she met once upon a time. They didn’t meet again until the day on the bridge where he attacked everyone but her to find out later that he had recognized her instantly giving Hydra a run for its money as he tried to get back to her. 

Once they were reunited she knew she had her James back. While the road to trust and recovery was rough, she was by his side the entire time, holding his hand as they walked back from hell, getting through their ongoing trauma together. Calina’s feeling resurfaced, and the team knew his did too, but for two of the world, greatest trained assassins they were completely oblivious. 

“No shit” Natasha smirked, pulling Calina from her thoughts. “Now, let’s go max Tony’s credit card with this dress and then get finish getting ready at the tower. Sound good?” 

Finishing getting back into her street clothes that consisted of her over-sized jeans a sweatshirt of Bucky’s she had stolen months ago. Taking her sister’s outstretched hand a smile tugged at her lips. “Sounds good” 

***

Bucky groaned as a knock echoed throughout this floor. Shuffling to open it he was met by Sam who had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “I know something you don’t” He sung, pushing past the super soldier and plopping himself down in his living room. 

“I don’t remember inviting you in” Bucky deadpanned, holding his face in his hands. 

“-I just ran into Nat and Calina downstairs” 

“Cool do you want a metal?”  “Will you let me finish?! Goddamn” Sam snapped “Anyways, they’re getting ready for the party tonight. Keyword their, more than one, meaning Calina is actually attending tonight” 

Okay, that caught Buckys attention. “Lina’s coming? She never comes to the party’s?” He would know. Every time Tony threw a party, Bucky would always bring her up a plate of food, staying with her for dinner but eventually getting dragged back down to mingle by Steve even though he wanted nothing more than to stay with the girl. 

“I know, crazy right? You should totally make your move tonight, man!” The Sergeant glared at Sam. 

“Why would I do that?”

“You flirt with her all the time. You’re always touching her. You follow the woman around like a lost puppy-”

“Do not”

“-You guys have such strong chemistry anyone in the world could see it and-and! Not to mention, you guys dated before, right, in the Red Room?” 

He grit his teeth at the mention of that cruel place, thinking back to the torture they had to endure. “I’m not sure if you could call it dating, we didn’t do dating in the Red Room.”

 “But you loved her then?” 

“Of course I did” He sighed, running a tired hand through his unruly hair. Calina Romanova was his light, his steady, constant shining star. The person he fought for, the reason he even lasted as long as he did, the reason he never gave up because after all the memory wiping sessions, her smile was always in the back of his mind.

While he had forgotten everything, even himself, he never forgot the time they spent together, hoping, praying, he could hear her laugh one more time. And after 36 years, he finally could.The weight of all he had done lessened as she ran to him just before Steve had reached his apartment, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

 **Flashback**

She stood in his kitchen, the Widow suit he knew oh so well clinging to her skin as her fingers skimmed over his dusty table. “Hello James” She had whispered, her familiar accented voice standing up the hairs on his back. She stood to face him, her bright blue eyes boring into his as she smiled softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. You and I were...friends long ago I-I’m not sure if you remember me but-” 

He couldn’t believe it 

“Солнышко” The nickname he had not used in so long rolled off his tongue like he used it every day since they last parted. He couldn’t help but grin as the girl who danced around his dreams stood before him. Slowly, he approached her, his right arm reaching out to cup her face as if to check if she really was here and not just one of Hydra’s evil tricks. “Is it really you?” A tear slipped down her cheeks as a laugh bubbled throughout her chest. “You remember me” Bucky pulled her to his chest, the woman instantly responding by wrapping her arms around his torso tightly, afraid to ever let go. They held onto each other as if the world around them was crumbling down, after all these years they were finally able to hold one another again, tears stung in both of their eyes as they crushed each other into the embrace. “Of course I remember you, Calina” He murmured into her hair, breathing in the scent of Cherry Blossoms and crisp fall nights he had oh longed for. “I’ve missed you” He admitted.

“And I, you”

Then of course Steve Rogers had to burst in with the whole German Special Services on his ass, but ever since then, she hasn’t left his side. His soulmate was placed back into his life.

 **Flashback ended** 

 “Yo, Buck, you still with me” The man shook his head, attempting to shake away the memory seeping to the front of his mind. 

“Yeah, sorry” 

“It’s good, but you really should talk to Cal, its getting annoying watching you two make goo-goo eyes at each other and not do anything about it. So either you say something or I will” He warned, waving a finger as he dramatically excited the floor. “Oh, and you might wanna start getting ready!” He called from outside the door. Bucky rolled him but made his way to the dark blue suit he had laid out days before. 

“Here goes nothing”

~~Translations~~

Молчи- Shut up

младшая сестра- Younger sister

Солнышко- My sun

A/N Okay! I think that went well, let me know what you think and leave a heart if you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading, part two should be up soon but I’m on Vacation, although I will try my best to update quickly. feel free to leave recomondations! Lots of love and know I’m so proud of you! 

~Celeste 

#bucky barnes x oc #bucky buchanan #buckybarnes #40s!bucky #40s bucky #avenger #marvel one shot #oneshots #marvel #MCU fanfiction #MCU fic #natasha romanoff #blackwidow #sister #redroom #natasha romonova #original character #oc #twoshot #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #captian america #sam wilson #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tonystark #iron man

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ASH! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLEOPATRA. Admin Jen: I am someone who is completely enthralled by Cleopatra, both as a historical figure and a Shakespeare character. So I have to admit, I had big expectations but, Ash, you completely surpassed them! God, I can’t even express how over the moon I am about this application. Your take on Calina was thrilling to read and pick apart; from the intriguing comparisons you drew between her and her iconic historical counterpart, to the beautiful references to Cleopatra’s history and the poetic tragedy of her story, to the amazing character analysis you explored in the Extras section. These intricacies complimented your deep understanding of Calina, bringing your portrayal to life and making it wholly yours. Your passion for her really shines through and it was a beautiful sight to behold! We can’t wait to see the Queen on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Ash

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | Still a working gal, so I’m def still limited to nights and weekends. But y’all know I hardly leave Discord so I’m always about to plot.

Timezone | EST

Current/Past RP Accounts | Can I just… *slides tib’s account over* http://oftybalts.tumblr.com/

In Character

Character | Calina “CLEOPATRA” Sokolova.

What drew you to this character? | Cleopatra. What a woman. In both Shakespeare and in history – and while his name comes first in the play’s title, it is not Antony that gets remembered, is forever emblazoned in history, depicted in art, fashioned in costumes on halloween, celebrated as royalty, nor does he become the sole female symbol to a nation. It is her. The harlot. The seductress. The woman, who many thought did not deserve the crown to her own country.

But it is this kind of a woman that Calina is destined to become. Rising from the ashes of her past. Underestimated. Unbowed. And ultimately unbroken.

If so, the stars wouldn’t have written it that she be found in that alleyway by her adoptive mother. She wouldn’t have made it out of that brothel when she’d lost all else – her possessions, her pride, her hope. She wouldn’t have been found by Damiano and Faron and brought into the Montague fold. She was fated to be much more than a forgotten princess. She was fated to be the queen of an empire – and this is something she never allowed herself to forget again. It is this resilience that brings me to adore Calina so much. Where circumstance after circumstance forged against her was intended to make her wilt as well, she withstood. There’s a pain to that, a realness to that. These reasons make Calina not only a marvel, but an inspiration. As is her Shakespearean counterpart. When the Romans threatened to take the very empire that was her birthright, Cleopatra used the desire, she was so condemned for to create one of the most infamous political strongholds in history, to not only to save her crown but her country and her people as well. Has it not been said that the lily of the valley is the flower that blooms in spite of the darkness? There is no other soft-petaled thing that could depict Calina Sokolova more, though, it’s known she’d rather not be compared to such gentle ideals – she’s much more than that.

What also drew me to this character was the opportunity to find the balance between Cleopatra and Calina, identify the connections between their stories and personalities until they became one. What I love about Cleopatra as a person and a character manifested in Calina, is that she is the epitome of versatility. She is not so simple as to pigeonhole her into one category, one type of woman – as she is many – and she’d sooner sneer at anyone who thought her so one-dimensional. She is the prim scholar, the cultured savant, the coquettish minx, the charming socialite, the strategic tactician, the grateful soldier. There’s a quote I’ve come across and saved as inspiration – ““How many women are you,” he asked. “A legion,” I said” – and if I had to pick a sole defining string of words for my girl, it’d be this one. She’s willing to transform, adapt to whatever situation she might find herself in, an arsenal of personas at her disposal. It’s a skill that not many can master, but she does it with unfaltering grace and glamour as she’s traded her rags for foreign riches. She is every bit feline, perched high above the rest, tail swishing as she surveys and assesses before pouncing from her vantage point. A chessmaster, out-maneuvering and out-witting and out-strategizing the men in her midst, turning the tides into her favor. It is her femininity and willingness to utilize it that makes her underestimated, and perhaps that is her greatest weapon.

Lastly, what draws me to Calina is not only balancing her with Cleopatra, but sorting through the compiled contradictions that reside inside her head and heart. She knows what it is to love and be loved in return, but the beating bleeding thing in her chest is kept behind the gilded cage of her ribs now, as such loss and heartbreak cannot crack at her heart again, not when in the midst of war. Gentle things feel brittle against her skin, and yet brutality causes her to recoil in distaste. She despises those who lack loyalty, looks upon those of vicious tendency with suspicion, but cannot bring herself to be trustful of others as she wishes to observe such savagery and perhaps tailor a bit of it to suit her own purposes. She’s aligned herself with people who do despicable things all before breakfast, and yet she still has the energy to pettily turn up her nose at them all the same for it. She possesses an open mind, but tends to be unyielding and uncompromising when it comes to what she knows, casting her own judgements and aligning her logic only by her own side unless someone is in agreement with her. Hers is a superior intelligence, she knows, a quiet and sophisticated thing. She might be called shrewd or callous for the ruthless plans she might devise, the manipulations she’s deemed necessary, but it is important to note that Calina Sokolova is no more good than she is bad. Sure her origins are questionable, and her motives unknown by most, but she is not a villain – she is simply a woman trying to survive in the mess that men have so brutishly created and come out above it all. A woman trying to reclaim the second chance at life that she’d snatched from the Fates before they could sever it with cruel jagged scissors – because she deserved it. A woman trying to gain all the things she’d lost and then some. She hadn’t come to Verona seeking a throne or a crown, exactly, but if it fits…she’ll gladly rest it atop her head.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

BUT SHE MAKES HUNGRY, WHERE SHE MOST SATISFIES | “A woman’s authority spelled a man’s deception.” It’s a quote I’ve crossed multiple times when doing research and looking for inspiration for Cleopatra. It alluded to the Roman narrative that had deemed her an enchantress, condemned by the men around her for her tempting ‘magic’ leading to the eventual demise of their greatest leaders. If only they knew that love was the reason, that their desire for her far outweighed reason, that being so foolish to let heart lead over head was their true downfall. But through the years, through her observation and careful practice, Calina has seen just how powerful of a sin lust can be – it’s not one of the seven deadliest for no reason. Guilty of strategizing her sexuality, she has used such wiles to obtain things that she had no money or status to simply ask for. When faced with her greatest obstacles, the hailed Queen of the Nile utilized her tactical mind as her greatest weapon too, and with forming such advantageous alliances was able to reap benefits she would never have been able to so much as grasp if so stubborn to work alone. She utilized love to shackle Rome’s greatest leader, affections to keep the independence of her country and hold an army between her fingertips. I would love nothing more than for Calina to utilize the strategy of her namesake, forge alliances of the unlikely kind, relationships of mutual benefit. Perhaps a faithless Capulet willing to build a bridge that might support her plans, her goals. Maybe even higher ranking Montagues who sat closer to the throne she so wants to sit prettily upon. ( Bonus points if such an alliance is romantic in nature. )

ETERNITY WAS IN OUR LIPS AND EYES | In history, it was a known fact that Cleopatra was led by her mind, while betraying her heart and sacrificing being with her beloved for the sake of the bigger picture. I strongly believe that Calina mirrors Cleopatra in that very aspect, her logical, analytical mind pushing her heart to the side more often than not. I hope to explore the matters of Calina’s head and heart, as they are both such fickle vitals within her. As a woman who is often led by one while prone to befalling the whispers of the other, there’s often a lot of inner turmoil inside of her. Far more used to being desired, she’s almost lost sight of what actual love should look like – though, she’d be a liar if she said it wasn’t the kind of passion and all-consuming intensity she craved deep down, the thing of fiction novels and foreign films. But she knows love has no place in war, knows she’d sooner die than find something so true, as it is often a tool forged to destroy pawns and capitalize on cruelly as leverage. Life has taught her that to love greatly means even greater loss, and she doesn’t know if she’s ready to lose again after just grabbing the reins back on her life. So she knows in her quest for power, that she must ignore the affectionate leanings she’s so inclined towards to fill such a gapingly empty hole inside of her. She is not void of fondness and she is not without her feelings (as much as she’d like to be), but it’ll come down to it when she has to ask herself which one does she want more, which one is more important: love and meaningful connection or power. A tender heart or a gilded crown? Or will clever Cleopatra find a way to have both?

THE THRONE OF OUR QUEEN IS EMPTY | Aligning herself with those that will protect her, benefit her most is Calina’s modus operandi. Distrustful of many aside from herself, Calina, ever the cynic, knows that you must be vigilant as snakes reside in the very grass she stands in. She still waits for the day that Faron might decide to collect his debt that he’d used to free her from the proverbial chains that kept her shackled to that brothel. Still waits for Damiano to name his price for extracting her to Verona. Never the type to bite the hand that feeds her, Calina is a willing and dutiful soldier, knowing that this is a prized opportunity, that not many are so fortunate to be plucked from the gutter and reincarnated as a new deity, given a new form, a new life. But she knows what desperation is like, and it tastes like bile at the back of her tongue, a lingering flavor that she wishes if only to rid herself of forever. She knows now what the elite tastes like, sweet and decadent like caramel, what it feels like, soft and rich like cashmere, and she’d be damned if she goes back to the streets of Russia she’d been made to merely exist in. Clinging to her new status is what she values most, and so she wants to rise in the ranks, secure her place in Damiano’s eyes. He has heard the stories, the words whispered about her unmatched mind, and she wishes to show him just what she can do for the Montagues. Her eyes are on an Emissary title (for now), not too keen, and far too ambitious to resort to taking orders as a mere soldier for long. But she knows her time will come – she’ll make sure of it. (And I want to see just how much she’s willing to do to achieve it.)

SHOULD YOU EVER COMPARE CAESAR WITH ANTONY | I believe I’m most excited to develop Calina’s connection with Alexander. It interests me because now that I’ve gotten acquainted with Alexander, he carries himself like the warrior Antony was, but his mind is what I know will intrigue Calina most, as she isn’t impressed with a show of muscle and brute strength (though it is entirely nice to view). He’s cunning and as sharp as the knife-carved curve of his grin, and it is this intelligence and drive that shows me shadows of Caesar in him. It is written that Caesar was truly a well-match for Cleopatra as they were intellectual equals, a power couple of sorts as they were ruled by their ambitious minds and worked through their mutually beneficial alliance together. So I’d love to see what kind of pair Calina and Alexander might make, where her intrigue of him will take her.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | It would crush me to kill my queen, but of course, if to propel the plot forward, I approve her demise, and it must be as grand and as poetic and as ironic of a death that Cleopatra deserves. If we got some snakes, that’d be greaaaat.

In Depth

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona?

She can answer the negative to this question rather than the positive. But such is customary of the cynic, is it not? She sees herself seated across from a Capulet counterpart, and only prays to the gods above that her discomfort does not shine through the darkness of her eyes. She sees the velveteen interior, she sees the girls scantily clad and palms itching, she sees Verona’s elite, their fingers offering silver and gold and the lights that have dimmed from the girls’ eyes suddenly returns if for a moment. She can’t see that last bit, but she knows because there was once a time when that had been her. She too had been the girl, glad to serve clients if only to receive payment enough to bring her closer to repayment of her debts. The Dark Lady only reminds her of a past she not only wishes to leave in the tattered pages of her history, but it’s one that needs to remain there, something of the past, a scar that had healed over finally.

“The Capital Library, of course.” Her gaze had been down, examining the pastel shade she’s chosen for her manicured hand, only for that that same hand to make a sweeping gesture, urging the journalist to cast their eyes upon even the furthest corners of her sitting room.  Books, books and more books stacked neatly on shelves, perched precariously against the edges of tables, some lovingly dog-eared so she might not lose her page, others with delicate scribbles in the margins. Texts of new and old. Of the language Verona knows, and in tongues it does not. Her mind was a vast canvas, and reading is not only her solace, but the only way she might paint against it, knowledge of all kinds hanging themselves like masterpieces inside that pretty head of hers. So it’s only with a genuine spark in her tone that she continues, “There is hardly a scent I adore more than that of books.” A pause, a dainty tip of her head, the slightest tug to her lips, “Aside from medovik, of course…” She thinks then of Faron, who’d undoubtedly had a box with a slice of the delectable honey cake from their motherland left on her desk the other day. Once more, she can’t help as sentiment knocks at the door, awaiting answer, as he remembers details so minute, but she doesn’t let it in.

What does your typical day look like?

“Well–” Calina begins, eyes flitting up towards the ceiling in thought, one leg brought up to cross primly over the other, the gilded metallic G of her Gucci suede pumps catching in the afternoon light. “Waking up so horrendously early cannot seem to escape my routine.” She was forged into a creature of the night, nearly hissing as the sun’s rays would break through her curtains each morning. But she has since learned to become one with the day, after hating it for so long, detesting the sun for daring to rise when her world had descended into darkness. Nonetheless, she finds herself much preferring what happens before the sun goes down on this beautiful city. “But I do yoga, I have tea, I feed Si –” She begins her day with all things that relax her, as she knows it’ll only get more turbulent from there.

“I spend most of my day at the embassy more than I spend time here.” Cue the arrival of Osiris, her all black emperor of household, purring as he curls beneath her hand, starved from her affections as her day and night jobs keep her from their home far more than he appreciated. A jealous little thing, he was – not wanting to share his mum with anyone. “Much to this one’s displeasure,” she coos, picking up the cat, holding him tenderly to her chest. “Isn’t that right, darling?” A tinkling laugh slips past charming lips, mouth momentarily pressing to onyx fur to conceal the humor that curved her smile, “Though, I must say, my day only takes a turn for the boring from there. I meet with a few associates, and it’s instantly into interpreter mode.” She leans in then, as if sharing with them a hushed secret, “I’ll be lucky if I speak English for any amount of time.”  A sigh of feigned disappointment escapes her, only for her to continue, “–and then…I suppose I come back here. Have a little dinner, a little wine. Only to rest and do it all over again the next morning.” It all sounds so trivial, and that is with good reason. There is no need for the darling journalist to be brought out of his ignorance of her true purpose here in fair Verona.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

A cant of her head, a knowing smile, “Do I look like a woman who makes mistakes?”

Miscalculations were a rarity with someone as careful, as cautious and as well-thought as Calina. But even she is prone to human error – not that the man who was seated across from her needed to know such a thing. Know that she was something mortal and not entirely godly. So, her lips purse as she waits, a finger idly brushing across her cupid’s bow – whether it’s deliberate, is not something you have to ask, as she intends to draw the eye there to the inviting part of her lips.

He pauses, chest rising with an inhale, the words seemingly teetering on the edge of his tongue unable to fall out, but he musters a shake of his head at her inquiry. He doesn’t think so. “Smart boy,” is her coy response, a flash of a wink in accompaniment, so quick if you blinked you’d probably miss it.

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? (tw: illusions of sexual assault)

It wasn’t asked. That was the problem.

To be asked would mean she was being gifted courtesy wrapped in a bow. To be asked would mean she’d be granted choice, the ability to accept or decline, to return or exchange with a receipt. But no – the most difficult task for Calina Solokova to face was demanded of her. (If she wanted to eat, if she wanted somewhere to sleep, if she wanted to live.)

It happened in the shadows where no one could see, perhaps it was best that way so the crystalline tears that treaded down her cheeks would never be seen by the light of day. It’s a memory pushed so far to the recess of her mind, she almost cannot recall all the details these days. But she remembers her face had been stony, still, unmoving, unaffected. The man nameless, faceless as he pushes crimson silk from her lithe frame, as his calloused fingertips touched her without an ounce of knowledge as to what kind of jewel he was holding.

Her lips press together tightly, she feels the matte texture of her lipstick between them. She pauses so she might think, might craft the correct response. It’s then that she decides playing a part might suit her well here. A breath of a laugh, a feigned bashful tuck of her hair behind her ear, “My mind’s certainly drifted, hasn’t it. What was the question again?” A fluttering of lashes, a softened, apologetic smile – the journalist is gracious enough to skip this question, and she thanks him with a deliberate touch to the top of his palm, feather light and barely there.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“War,” she scoffs, the sound gentle but her disdain carrying loud and clear.  

Piercing eyes narrow, the winged tip of her kol liner sharpened like the point of an arrow. “It’d be just like men to start something so barbaric with no end in mind.” To her it was illogical, to waste time, resource and more importantly energy, on the maintenance of a petty feud. There is nothing worth fighting for, she’s realized, if not for love or for power. And she liked to think the Montagues and Capulets fought for neither. There were by far better things than to focus on – the creation of empires, the falling of others, she thinks.

“It’s primitive. Dated. If they want to continue on in this matter they might as well fight over Twitter about it.” Another pause. Her fingertips coming to her lips, as if the words had come out too soon before she could stop them, “But, you didn’t hear me say that either.”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

PINTEREST BOARD

QUOTES:

“How many women are you? he asked. A legion, I said.”

“BELLADONNA, n. In Italian a beautiful lady; in English a deadly poison. A striking example of the essential identity of the two tongues.” – Ambrose Bierce

“Men love me cause I’m pretty – and they’re always afraid of mental wickedness – and men love me cause I’m clever, and they’re always afraid of my prettiness – One or two have even loved me cause I’m lovable, and then, of course, I was acting. But you just do, darling –” – Zelda Fitzgerald

“She is her own heroine—capricious, exacting, exquisite, very learned, and beautifully dressed.” — Virginia Woolf

“She’s a very mysterious creature, with an open smile and a closed soul.” — Colette, from a letter to Madame Léopold Marchand

“She carries herself like a god. She is a composed ocean of waves that could become turbulent if you test her.”

HEADCANONS:

TV TROPES: Brainy Brunette, Silk Hiding Steel, Broken Bird, Femme Fatale, The Chessmaster, Passive-Aggressive Aggression, I Have Many Names, The Charmer, Ice Queen, Faux Affably Evil, All Girls Are Lustful, Honey Trap

CHARACTER INSPO: Catwoman / Selina Kyle (Batman), Hathor (Gods of Egypt), Commander Lexa (The 100)

AESTHETICS: She’s fur trimmed coats and heels as high as her standards. She’s a touch as warm as a crackling fire with a stare as icy as the country from which she hails. Chin tipped up proudly as she balances a gilded crown no one can see but knows is resting atop her head. Her voice is like honey, and her laughter like wisps of smoke, tendrils floating airily above ruby-painted lips. Piercing eyes assessing and calculating, who might she charm next with the knowledge carved into the walls of her mind like hieroglyphs? The answer is: everyone.

Her mother Tatiana Sokolova was a widow and school teacher. Her husband, Mischa, died long before she could conceive a child. It was his only wish, his only hope, that they’d grow their little family in Irkutsk, that one day he’d drive his truck route through the snow long enough for them to have enough money to move to St. Petersburg. It’s a dream he never got to see into fruition, God knows they tried their best, but Tatiana always felt that she’d failed him. It’s why she’d prayed so hard, why she’d wish upon every star, why she’d memorize the scriptures until she knew them by heart, because if she prayed to her gods and believed hard enough – miracles could happen. And when her little miracle did happen, Tatiana only wished that he was around to see Calina grow, see her excel – he would have been proud of her, the woman always said.

They say curiosity killed the cat, and despite knowing that fact, Calina grew up ever curious into her original background. While she never sought for her parents, she did seek answers about her heritage, her ancestry. Taking a test, she finds that her roots lie in the motherland of Africa’s tip and in the desert sands of the Middle East – it’s only logical then that she learn Arabic, that she research the customs of such drastically different cultures, if only to feel closer and more immersed into them. One of her many dreams: to visit both Egypt and Morocco one day.

Showing the early signs of a cerebral child, a gifted child, reading was always little Calina’s favorite thing to do, always by far more excited than her classmates to get the summer’s reading list. She was the type of child who would live in the library if she could, taking out stacks of books only to return them by the week’s end because she’d finished them all, and even went through a few of them twice. It’s a habit she could hardly shake well into adulthood, as the Montagues have now become accustomed to finding her beneath the ornate embellishments of headquarters if she is missing for any period of time. To her, there is no shortage of knowledge, only fools claim to know it all. (But let’s not mistake, she knows by far more than the rest do.)

Her mother showed her how to do everything, Calina acting as her permanent shadow as she trailed behind her. She knows how to cook the perfect solyanka because she’s hovered over her mother’s shoulder while she stood at the stove. She knows how to knit her own scarf, because her mother only seemed to have the energy to calmly knit as she got sicker and sicker, and she’d help her knit-one and pearl-two when her bony fingers couldn’t go on anymore. She knew how to tend to chamomile, if only to brew the delicate flowers into steaming soothing tea, because her mother watered and sang to her plants religiously at the windowsill, and she’d do the same. She learned Ukrainian because that was her mother’s second tongue, almost spoken in their home more than Russian.

Her interests are vast and varied – a modern Renaissance woman. Languages are only the beginning. She enjoyed mathematics, was fascinated by history and geography, and marveled constantly at art. Growing and learning, she couldn’t put a finger on her favorite subjects, as she only wished to consume as much knowledge as she could.

When she does make it to Novosibirsk, Calina goes straight into state university, with the hopes to secure a job once her certificate was in her hand. She studies Linguistics, with the hopes to become a translator, maybe one day able to work for government agencies in her country or across the globe – the United Nations was one dream, among many. But she soon learned that dreaming was for the naive. Due to the illness of her mother, and no one to care for her, she has no choice but to drop out of school, and uses the remaining funds from her tuition payments to take care of hospital bills, their rent, and an decidedly ornate urn when her mother eventually passes. Her ashes are floating through the depths of the Baltic Sea by now.

A brilliant linguist she becomes, with a talent for rapid language acquisition, Calina is skilled in six languages: her native Russian, English, Ukrainian, Bulgarian, Arabic and Italian most recently due to her new ‘business’ ventures.

She alludes some her knowledge to her lovers. Sometimes her customers were sweet, in the exchange for her affection they’d wish to bring her gifts – all she’d ask for was information. A new language to learn, a new book to absorb, a new code for her mind to crack. She learns Bulgarian from Stanislav, as he purred it her ear until she could purr it back. Dariya, her favorite, shows her that English is not as difficult as she thinks, leaving her poems from authors even greater than herself. Is brought hardcover books with gilded spines and Arabic lines from Adrik, and she’d lift his delicate round spectacles so she might press her lips to his eyelids. It was her little way of making better of the horrid situation she found herself trapped in.

It had become an inherent part of her, a subconscious thing for a girl like Calina, to analyze and categorize those she interacts with according to a specific criteria, especially so once she was inducted into the Montague ranks. When she encountered someone new, she’d ask herself a series of questions that would determine their suitability of her attention: What can I gain in this relationship? What can this person give me? Most importantly, will I be willing to part with them if need be?

Dependency is her greatest fear. To live in a world where she cannot save herself, where at every turn a man will be there to rescue her, is not one she can see herself existing in. Which is why she’s more than keen to learn how to better defend herself, how to better weaponize herself and stay protected. But she’s yet to voice such desires, waiting to see who she might best employ to assist her.

Currently, she calls the Verona embassy her second home, more time spent there than beneath the roof of her own apartment. She serves as a translator for foreign dignitaries, her charm and clear command of language makes her shine at meetings to discuss ranges of topics, from foreign policy and international trade to criminal justice and matters of Verona’s security. It’s a strategic move on Damiano’s part to place her there, to be the eyes, ears, and soothing guiding voice of influence that is necessary as far as local and international governments are concerned. It’s no secret her mind cannot be resisted, and it makes all the better for the Montagues to have friends in such high places.

ARCHETYPES:

45% INTELLECTUAL – Thriving on intellectual pursuit, with a defining grace of wisdom, the Intellectual is the ultimate dinner-party guest. Engaging questions and thoughtful debate are their trademarks. They are your sages – imparting their wise words only learned through time and experience. The Intellectuals can be your scientists – juggling a plethora of ideas in their minds, willing to listen and engage in conversation so long as it properly stimulates their intellect. They are your scholars, your polymaths – brimming with bright curiosity for all aspects of life, collecting knowledge in all its forms. But they can also be your judges – masterful arbitrators, sharp and impartial, slicing through the heart of matters to create balance.

35% PERFORMER – Center stage. In the spotlight. Entertaining and exuberant. Flourishing in the face of attention and applause. The Performers are your provocateurs – walking sirens, with charm and unabashed sensuality on their side. They can get anyone to do anything for them with just the right string of words, the right look, the right touch. They are the pretenders, the seducers – dishonesty is a language they speak well, using it to sway the foolish into giving them their hearts. Nothing is as it seems, as they keep you on your toes, teasing you with portions of themselves instead of the whole. But living on the shallow surface can only go so far when it comes to real relationships.

20% ROYAL – Driven by power. On a constant quest to bask in entitlement and luxury. The Royals are your networkers – with esteem, power, charm and more importantly hundreds of contacts at their disposal, they can work any room and cozy up to the power players in it with ease to help push their agendas. They are your queens – ultimate conveyors of grace and elegance, with the ability to lead as examples, empowering those around them (especially women) to succeed. But they can also be your politicians – people-oriented, excellent communicators, with an innate talent for leadership and influence, they firmly understand that their jobs would be nothing without the alliances they can make.

DARK CORE PERSONALITY TEST:

20.11% Darker than the Average Person

TOP DARK TRAITS

MACHIAVELLIANISM (87%) – “Manipulativeness, callous affect, and a strategic, calculating orientation.”

SELF-INTEREST (80%) – “The unprincipled pursuit of gains in socially valued domains, such as material goods, social status, recognition, achievement, and success.”

EGOISM (80%) – “Excessive concern with one’s own pleasure or advantage at the expense of community well-being.”

#accepted: cleopatra #accepted