desislava will take inspo from the xenomorphs,, with her already quiet fighting style and dark colors. alien (1979) is her favorite old earth movie btw
desislava's type of humor is playing one last breath by creed as they jump out from the pelican and it's the "hold me now, im six feet from the edge and im thinking maybe six ain't so far down"
methinks im scrapping the idea of des being totally blind and instead keeping her one eye blind,,
ONI wanted to scrap her after that so they reassigned her for a few months but blue team was pissed and so she had to prove her worth again from brutal training before she was allowed to fight in combat again.
im finally working on her doc before work so im hoping to get that done by like next week
during desislava's kidnapping, she managed to hide from and sneak up on at least 2 UNSC soldiers and kill them before being found by a third.
desislava and her brother (who is unnamed atm) were both taken. her brother is a Spartan, although he is not in Blue Team and is in a different one. the two of them do not get along.
you can tell what mood desislava is in because of what she plays when going into combat. when she's in a decently good mood, she'll play something like the smiths. she plays divorced dad rock when she's angry and that's pretty much it.
ignoring the mini john next to his wife, here is desislava danajski.
- let me know what you guys think of her!!
desislava danajski, aka desislava-007, was apart of the SPARTAN project. she was abducted at six years old from the human colony of europa from her parents, a mother who spoke the bulgarian and czech language, and from a father who spoke polish.
in the SPARTAN project, desislava was trained in stealth and became a skilled assassin. grouped into the blue team, she was often considered the black sheep of their small family. due to her skills, she was later nicknamed as the "grim reaper".
(ignore all the writing and mistakes please, thanks) the following are designs of the assassin marking, which may change in later designs.
during a mission where she accompanied the ODSTs in her mid to late 20s, she was injured and her left eye was severely wounded by grenade shrapnel. this was later removed, and she was left with one eye. she was removed from her specialized force (the assassins) due to changed depth perception, and was ordered to fight in normal combat with the rest of blue team after being re-trained. desislava would serve for several more months before she was rendered blind in her remaining eye.
during the surgery of removing her wounded eye, the surgery caused an infection which turned into chronic endopthalmitis. medical treatment for her eye pain and light sensitivity (which was also a side effect from her augmentations, which often was deemed as normal and was overlooked) was postponed due to a deployment that called for her being away for months, and later caused her blindess while out on the field.
after this, she was honorably discharged and reassigned to a desk job.
desislava refuses to acknowledge her veteran status, believing her status as veteran isn't correct because she did not die in combat or was severely injured in an attempt to save humanity. she views her discharge as dishonorable, and is often ashamed of her disability.
she and john are married sometime before it, and their union was not celebrated. the union isn't public knowledge, and only high staff and blue team know of it.
their marriage was something like "we would like our files to be changed to being spouses." and the files were just changed and nothing more.
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"I'M beginning to forget what you look like, John." Her voice is quiet, it's been that quiet since she had lost her vision. Like her vision somehow affected how loud she could be.
Her arm is across his chest while they lay in their shared quarters, together in bed after he had gotten back from a long deployment. It was never over, it seemed. He'd have to go back in a day's time, probably.
"You never had much to look at," He murmurs. His voice is deep, she had always liked his voice.
"I did. You're handsome. Scars and all."
John didn't understand how to respond to compliments. None of them did, actually. These big war machines and they could barely function when given the slightest feeling of love and familiarity.
John can't think of anything else to say, so he begins to rub her back. Her own body is littered with scars and healed bullet wounds, and their cot probably struggled with holding both of their heavy weight. It hadn't broken yet, so there wasn't much to worry about. He hears her sigh, and he looks up at the ceiling of their quarters.
He knew her heart had been so heavy since her reassignment. He had always felt bad about it for her, in his own sympathetic way. It was her programming, to return to the field and kill and protect. He understood that.
pairing: bob gray x dessislava dudzinski (darren) ; oc x cc
word count: 3.0k
warnings: bob might be a little ooc, pre-martial sex is implied, some female anatomy is mentioned (nothing smutty imo), cigarettes are involved, age gap (four years!!), oc is involved :(, first time publishing fanfic!! sorry if it sucks
extras: i was listening to k. by cigarettes after sex and thought of dessie and bob,,, from bob's pov!! this is NOT set in IT: Welcome to Derry, but before. this may NOT be used to train AI.
SMOKE curls in the small trailer, the candle light offering a warm but soft glow, illuminating the interior of the trailer. It’s not very big, a decent size. The door is in the center of the wall opposite to them, just a few several feet from the foot of his bed. A curtain that’s held up on a rail on the ceiling offers the most privacy that they’ll probably get in his trailer. It’s drawn shut, giving them the sense of being in a cocoon.
The curtains are a dark purple in color with gold tassels and trimming. Hanging in the right corner is his costume, ensuring that it would remain smooth and unwrinkled. Below is an cushioned chair, turned slightly to fit into the corner while not getting in the way of the curtain. On the chair is an article of clothing, which belongs to her. It appears to have been removed in a rush. Laying on the floor in front of the chair is his own clothes, discarded in a similar fashion to hers. Next to the chair is a dresser, although it’s gone mainly used in the last few months. There’s various objects on the top of it, his tobacco tin and pipe, her hair brush, a glass cup that remains empty, and a book she had been reading. There’s a few other things that remain hidden in the darkness, and will probably remain there like that, hidden and safe. His vanity is next, against the same wall the head of his bed is against as well. The mirror on it is small, and there’s various containers of face paint that are scattered about on the vanity’s desk, his handkerchief resting next to a bowl of water that was cloudy from the removed makeup from a few hours ago. His wig cap is on a mannequin head.
He owns nothing nice, nothing scented well except for his tobacco that’s unpacked in the tin. Candles remain unscented—they would for a long time afterward. The trailer has a faint smell of tobacco smoke to it, although under the smoke he can smell her. It smells of vanilla and something else, maybe a hint of lavender that she might’ve added when making her lotion.
Dessislava is eighteen years old, laying next to him as bare as the day she was born. Robert would be twenty-two soon, but at the moment he remains twenty-one. She lays on her back, hair splayed out onto the pillow under her head. He’s laying on his side, reaching up to crush his dying cigarette in the ashtray. His shadow covers her slightly, although when he settles back down to her, he finally takes the moment to study her next to him. The candle doesn’t provide ample light—it was never enough. Not in the daytime when he’d still see her clearly, or at eventide, when the sunlight would capture her eyes just long enough to allow him to see the shades of green and how her pupils contract, allowing more darkness to adjust for the newfound brightness. Not at her performances, when the stage lights are all on her, lighting her like she was a new angel that God had banished from Heaven. Especially not then. Especially not now, with her laid out all but bare before him, and she has that momentary look of guilt—probably from her sin—in her face before he makes it disappear, as he has done so for the last several nights this month.
Her face is flushed slightly, her hair is in a tangle, although he hadn’t noticed that before. One leg rests slightly raised, while the other lays on the bed. He notices her hipbone when she exhales, and his eyes trail up to watch her breasts raise and fall with each breath. When his eyes finally meet hers, her pupils are dilated. There’s something akin to love in her eyes—perhaps it is love—and in a wave of sudden guilt and confusion, he wants to tell her to stop. To look at the man before her, see his faults, to get dressed and to atone for the sins she has found happiness in committing. Robert doesn’t, although it’s at the forefront of his mind.
“Why you look at me like that?” Dessislava’s voice breaks the silence, it’s quiet and sweet. It was hard to believe that only minutes ago, he was granted the ability to pull whines and gasps from those lips. Her english is broken, and although he’s learned quite a bit of her mother tongue to communicate with her, she still uses english. “Just lookin’ at you,” He says. His english is a bit better than hers, although his Danish accent is still heavy on the words. She smiles at him, eyes moving all about his face. Dessislava says something in her mother tongue that he hasn’t exactly been able to understand yet, but her face has that soft look that he doesn’t need to speak to understand.
There’s a flash of lightning and then a distant sound of thunder. A storm was coming. “It’ll rain soon,” he comments and she nods, giving him a small “tak” while she pushes her head further into the pillow to tilt it back, eyes on the window. It exposes her neck, and he thinks for a moment before he settles down next to her, lips finding the soft skin of her throat. He ghosts the skin with kisses, trailing down until he reaches her sternum. “It late,” She mutters above him, but she makes no attempts to get up and get dressed, or to push him away and tell him that she’d see him tomorrow. He gives her a small “uh-huh” while he gives her sternum one final kiss before raising his head, resting his chin on the bone. His blue eyes look into her dilated ones, his body resting halfway onto hers, the rest of him on the mattress next to her. The blanket is pushed down to their feet, and would offer a slight warmth if not for the heat from their bodies.
He hasn’t said it yet, neither has she. His hand has found it’s home on the side of her body, just next to her breast. It trails down to her stomach, finding her hands crossed over one another and he gently pulls them apart. His free hand holds her wrist gently, pressing kisses to the pads of her fingers before his lips find her palm. His other trails down, finding her hip first. His fingertips graze her love handles next, the extra fat on her body soft under his touch. Robert’s hands then find her thighs, indenting the skin with his fingers as he grasps at the skin. He didn’t need to say the words to convey the message: he’d worship the very ground she walked on if it meant that he’d be able to see her like this one last time. His hand trails down further, gently coaxing her plush thighs open as his lips press another kiss to her pulse point before letting go of her arm.
Robert finds her again in the morning after she had left his trailer to get dressed into something more appropriate for the day. Normally she didn’t spend the night with him, or if she did, then she always left before he would wake up. He’s gotten himself dressed, a striped button up, black pants with faint grey stripes that are being held up by suspenders, and then his vest. He has his normal shoes on, hands in his pockets when he finally approaches Dessislava.
She’s standing with a few of her friends—other women in the circus that spoke Polish. They were either in the circus with their families, or were family friends that hadn’t been able to part when their friends had departed on their journey. He can tell their gossiping because of how some of them laugh after another one says something.
“Słyszałem, że Marie spotyka się z tym zaklinaczem węży. Tym nowym.”
“Naprawdę? Myślałem, że Marie powiedziała, że na jakiś czas skończyła z mężczyznami. Po tym Włochu.”
“Nie! Są dla siebie bardzo mili. To naprawdę miłe.”
“A co z tobą, Dessie?”
“A co ze mną?”
“Ty i Robert! On się w tobie podkochuje. O, patrz, tam jest.”¹
He sees her turn around to look at him, and he offers a smile while he approaches. They all speak a bit of English, and he gives a nod in greeting. They give him a smile back, gently giving Dessislava a bit of a nudge. He watches her glance back before looking back to him. “Morning, ladies.” He greets, and he’s greeted back with “hello”s or “dzien dobry”s. “Mind if I steal Dessie off you?” He asks, and they shake their heads immediately. “Nie, nie. Not at all. Take her, proszę. Proszę.” The oldest one, Tomsia, says as she motions to Dessislava.
Dessislava is wearing a white button up blouse that’s tucked into her skirt, and her hair is in a braid that’s pulled to the side. He’s a bit nervous, although he’s not really sure why. “Herrmann asked me to go to the market. Was wonderin’ if you’d like to join,” he offers. Robert did his best to spend time with her, even if it meant sacrificing any free time he would have with himself. She was worth the sacrifice, always would be. Robert doesn’t think she’ll accept, and he’s a bit surprised when she agrees. Robert assumes it shows on his face because he hears her say, “Dlaczego miałbym tego nie zrobić?”² while she goes to grab her satchel to take with her. Robert has noticed that she takes her satchel almost everywhere, and usually collects things. They’re harmless things, a few weeks before it had been some of the shells from the beach. She had collected a few from the shores of Italy, and now she was moving on to France. Dessislava had a small collection of shells already, and some books she had in her possession told her about them.
Books were a hassle for her because she would take her time to translate them to her mother tongue, with the help of Tomsia, who had been raised with French and Polish at her disposal.
The market was a busy place, especially around ten o’clock. It was mid-morning, and although it wasn’t late in the year to get cold, the rain from the night before had cooled down a lot of the city and there was a nice breeze that gave enough chill to use a shawl. Robert had parked the wagon by one of the general stores, climbing down the wheel of the wagon before he helps her down her side of the wagon, his hand gentle on her forearm while he leads her down before letting go when she’s standing next to him. They agree to meet back by the wagon around noon, and go on their separate ways. Robert isn’t very sure on what she was planning to do, but to avoid thinking about her, he starts on his way to finish up the errands that he’s been given responsibility over.
Meeting back up around noon, he offers to take her to eat. There’s a few good restaurants that are in the city. They don’t usually have much time to really appreciate the cities they travel. The circus they were apart of would stay on the outskirts of the city, and most of their time was spend setting the circus and stages up, then performing, and then eventually pulling everything down within a few weeks time. Robert would like to be able to have more moments like this—alone with her, appreciating the presence she gives—even if there’s still a part of him that’d rather spend most of this time alone. Robert was falling for this girl, and it made him nervous. This wasn’t something that he usually dealt with, especially not with a girl like her. He could tell that at least some of it was requited, he didn’t know how deep it went for her. Robert noticed how she always seemed to look for him if she was performing and he wasn’t, or how sometimes her girlfriends would have to gather her attention from him whenever he’d be nearby. How her pupils were blown wide whenever she laid in his bed or even looked at him. He saw it now, sitting across from her in the restaurant.
“What’s on that mind?” He asks, glancing over at her while he packs his pipe. She’s next to him in bed, a book in her lap but she’s not reading it. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas—English edition—rests in her lap, unopened while her eyes stare at the cover, willing it to open with just her mind. He can tell there is something else bothering her, it’s easy to tell because of the way she holds herself. Shoulders raised slightly, brows raised and furrowed just enough to rid her of her stare, the corners of her lips pulled down into a slight frown. Hands intertwined, resting on her stomach, raising slightly and then falling with her breathing. Her bottom lip protrudes slightly, like a child’s does when they pout.
“Huh?” He hears her ask, looking up at him with raised brows and she doesn’t have a frown anymore. “You’re thinkin’. What about?” He asks, striking a match to light his pipe. He shakes it out when the tobacco is lit, taking a few puffs of it, the smoke leaving his mouth. “Oh. Nothing important,” She says with a shake of her head, her eyes following every move he makes before her head turns to look back at the book in her lap. “Gotta be, if it got you lookin’ like that,” He says after taking a drag of the pipe, holding it in his hand as he exhales the smoke. Robert looks over at her, watching her sit next to him. She doesn’t address his question, and he knows that it’s unlikely that he’ll get answer from her at the moment. He knew that she could be stubborn when it meant being vulnerable, not that he could blame her much. All the stories he had ever been told from her always seemed to make her aloofness justified.
Instead, she settles on telling him about her day. Robert doesn’t protest—he enjoys hearing about her day. First she tells him of the drama that she’s acquired from Tomsia, and he listens attentively. Robert was not a man who cared much for drama or gossip, but he cared for her day and wanted her to know that he cared about what she had to say. Unlike her now dead suitor, Robert adored the girl next to him. Adored. He replaced the word with adored, because it was less heavy than the four lettered word that seemed forbidden to say. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she would look at him, and he only hoped that she could see it in his own eyes as well.
Robert is hearing, but he’s not listening. His mind has wandered off to imagine what it’d be like to ask her to marry him, to what it would be like to call her his wife. Dessislava might protest on the sole point of being a sinner, of being tainted, and he would remind her that he was the sinner and she, his sin. That he did not care that she had been ‘tainted’—whatever that word meant now. Had he not been the one to tempt her soul into the domain of the Damned? Had he not been the one to claim her as his first, even though her hands remain bare of any ring that would show that she belonged to him? How beautiful would it be to get to hold her every night, to pull her body close without the scrutinising eye of God above them, to watch her body change with age and to see the fruit of their shared labor morph into a child that would be half sinner and half saint? How sacred.
Later that night, after she has lit the candle near the bed and has once again found her place in his bed, he holds her from behind. Robert’s arms envelop Dessislava’s smaller frame, holding her against him while they share the blanket that provides warmth. Neither is asleep, and he can tell by the sound of her breathing. One arm is under her pillow, the other rests just below her chest, and his head resting on the crook of her neck. Whatever she was thinking about earlier has nestled it’s way back into her mind, which he can tell by how her brows furrow again.
“You got that look again.”
“What?”
“That look. You’re thinkin’. What of?”
He sees her hesitate. Robert gives her collarbone a small kiss before his head finds its place back on the crook of her neck, “You can tell me. Hardly talk to anyone in this place.” His thumb gently strokes the fabric of her nightgown. Dessislava remains quite under him before she speaks again. “Do I deserve this?” She asks. Robert’s brows furrow, and he shifts slightly while she moves onto her back. She doesn’t say anything but she motions between the two of them. He understands, and he gives a slight frown while shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Do you want it?” He asks, hand splayed out against her right ribcage. Dessislava’s eyes—darker from the shadows and the candlelight—look over his face and are already giving him the answer before she nods her head.
The memories are everlasting, forever locked away into his mind for only him to know. Robert does not wish for others to know of these memories, and he knows that it is inherently selfish but cannot bring himself to care. His memories of her are irreplaceable, indescribable to someone that he knows will not understand.
Indelible.
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1- "I heard that Marie is seeing that snake handler. The new one." "Oh, really! I thought Marie said she was done with men for a little while. After that Italian man." "No! They're very sweet on one another. It's nice, actually." "What about you, Dessie?" "What about me?" "You and Robert! He's sweet on you. Oh look, there he is."
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