THE REDBACK

THE REDBACK.

[redbek]

#REDBEK. A PRIVATE, INDEPENDENT, HEAVILY SELECTIVE ORIGINAL CHARACTER. BASED IN MARVEL COMICS.

THE REDBACK: deadly bite; striking gaze; known to cannibalise her siblings to ensure survival. there is nothing she won't do. — BY CARCASS, IT/ITS, TWENTY3.

AFFILIATES: tba ...

PROMPTS. BOARD. PLAYLIST. HCS.

[redbek]

missing aleks recently actually

[redbek]

thinking about how aleksandra never actually defected. how, if it were still active, she'd still be undyingly loyal. her loyalty to russia and the red room, by design, ran so deep that defection or betrayal had never once crossed her mind. no act she committed made her stop and think 'hey, this is fucked up' because she was doing it for something she held so much belief in. the only reason she stopped being a widow was because the red room was dissolved and the soviet union collapsed. though part of her still, and likely always will, considers herself to be one; even though the betrayal runs so deep it leaves a perpetual, simmering rage. after everything she did to keep russia in its glory she was discarded like she was nothing.

she goes on to hunt ex-operatives of the red room (handlers, trainers, supervisors etc) when she's a victim of an attempted assassination - courtesy of mcmasters ordering the death of all those who'd been a part of the black widow programme. even then, she still considers herself a widow. it's so deeply ingrained in her. it's all she's ever known, it's all she's ever been, and though she'll never admit it anything else terrifies her. it isn't even about revenge for what she was put through as a child when she begins to sniff them out, but revenge for their betrayal. she still doesn't see that her childhood was wrong: only that being tossed aside after everything she'd done for them was fucked up.

[redbek]

┊ REDBEK. indie. selective. black widow inspired original character by carcass.

[redbek]

aleksandra only has two recurring nightmares.

01. remorse was brainwashed out of her during her time in the red room. everything she did was for russia — she doesn't feel guilt for the lives she's taken, nor disgust for the brutality with which she executed those who posed a threat to the nation. screams of agony, desperate pleading through body wracking sobs, nor countless pairs of lifeless eyes plague her. she did what was necessary: even if she had been discarded like she meant nothing upon the dissolve of the red room and collapse of the soviet union. she doesn't know what emotions the nightmare elicits, and she hates it because — to her knowledge — she doesn't know any of the people present. it is one of the only things that can drag any sort of emotion out of her.

she doesn't know who it is in her nightmare. many of her memories as a child, before the red room, are gone — a little blurry at best. she doesn't know the man tied to the chair, missing limbs and surrounded by a pool of his own blood begging for them not to take his daughter, was her father. she doesn't know the screams of a little girl belong to her. that the desperate pleading to stop hurting him were coming from her.

she knows he was a traitor, because they made sure to remind her every day after she was brought to the red room. they treated her, five year old aleksandra, as though she were a traitor. as though she knew of her fathers plans and that she agreed with them. that is what kept the memory of him alive, even if she doesn't know its him or that it's an experience she's lived through.

02. this one is a little grim tw here for cannibalism.

it took a while for the trainers to fully break aleksandra in. the title of a traitor was one that followed her for years, up until she was a teenager. despite taking to the training well, succumbing to the brainwashing easily given her young age, she was disrespectful. listening to instructions wasn't her forte. she wanted to be perfect, to lose the title of a traitor, but she felt she couldn't do it following their rules. she knew better; knew her strengths, her weaknesses (or lack thereof, she'd claim). she hated working with other widows, believing they only dragged her down and dampened her abilities. she cussed, taunted opponents, lashed out. despite her skills, each year she seemed to only become more of a lost cause — and if the man who would later become her handler didn't vouch for her, claiming he saw potential in her, she would have been liquidated early in her training.

during a period of endurance training, widows were forced to fight for days on end. no food, no water, no sleep, to see how they fared with the deprivation of sustenance. how long they could go without basic human needs while still remaining functional. after days of endless fights, each one a victory, the training comes to a close. locked in the cold, windowless concrete room she was forced to fight in, she expects the body of the girl she'd killed to be collected: she expected to be freed.

nobody came. after a week of fighting she was exhausted, dehydrated, starving. desperation to survive, to prove herself worthy, to shed the skin of the traitor title, drove her to unfathomable lengths. when the door opened some hours later, aleks was knocked out asleep, curled up on the icy floor with blood coating her mouth and staining her fingers.

this was the moment her trainers knew they'd broken her in fully. she could've let herself die in that room. could have curled into a ball and passed away, and she'd be free: but she persevered. her dedication to the red room, to russia, was proven when she went to extreme lengths to ensure her survival so she could continue serving her country.

the nightmare is fuzzy whenever it comes, and despite all the brainwashing undergone during her training it makes her nauseous the first few minutes after waking up. though she convinces herself that it was necessary. that it was for the good of russia and its people, and the feeling fades soon after.

[redbek]

THE MORNING AFTER — @irnmade . . .

ALEKSANDRA DOESN'T LOOK UP FROM THE MUG CLASPED COMFORTABLY BETWEEN HER PALMS when she hears the approach of footsteps, nor when they halt in the threshold of the kitchen's door. the reflection gazing back at her in the inky black of her tea is still mussed from . . . previous activities, and despite the aching need for perfection in all that she does she makes the conscious effort to leave it as is. too pristine and one might find her suspicious.

" I DON'T THINK I CAUGHT YOUR NAME? "

head darts up, shoulders seize, eyes widen: a feigned display of startled guilt at being caught treating his place as though it were her own, before a hand raises to tuck unruly hair behind her ear. " robin. " another lie, as was the norm for the woman who's life was built on them. she should feel offended that he couldn't recall her name — ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING THE NIGHT THEY'D SPENT TOGETHER — but it elicits only a teasing roll of her eyes. " hope you don't mind. " muttered sheepishly she holds the still steaming mug up, smile quirking at the corner if her lips.

[gothamusings-deactivated2024032]

THE MORNING AFTER PROMPTS. a collection of memes derived from the morning after trope, for roleplaying purposes. feel free to edit as you see fit. do not steal (18+). send (reverse) along with any action prompts to swap the assigned roles.

i'm surprised that you stayed.

would you believe me if i said that i don't normally do this?

last night was incredible. i especially liked it when you did the thing.

how long have you been awake?

don't move. i'm comfortable.

what would you say to some breakfast?

i should really go.

i like waking up next to you.

you know, i could go another round. or three.

you look cute first thing in the morning.

i don't think i'm gonna be able to walk today.

what time is it?

i don't think i caught your name.

stop moving.

you talk in your sleep.

you have to leave, right now.

how did my shirt get there?

i'm trying so hard not to kiss you right now.

shut up, i'm trying to sleep.

your feet are cold.

i was worried last night had been a dream.

wanna order food and spoon for a while?

i thought you'd left.

come back to bed.

i didn't want to disturb you.

your phone was ringing.

last night didn't mean anything. you know that, right?

i've been waiting so long for this.

i love you.

kiss. for sender's muse to waken receiver's muse up with a kiss.

spoon. for sender's muse to pull receiver's muse flush against them, spooning them.

breakfast. for sender's muse to bring receiver's muse breakfast in bed.

morning. for our muses to have sleepy, morning sex.

shower. for our muses to shower together.

bathe. for our muses to bathe together.

kitchen. for our muses to prepare breakfast together.

trace. for sender's muse to trace the marks they left on receiver's body.

watch. for sender's muse to just silently watch the receiver's muse as they sleep.

display. for sender's muse to watch as receiver's muse begins to get dressed.

pin. for sender's muse to stop the receiver's muse from leaving the bed.

mouth. for sender's muse to initiate sleepy oral sex on receiver's muse.

[redbek]

like this and i'll shuffle my playlist and write a starter for our muses based on what is given. regarding either the song as a whole, or a specific lyric from it: because set prompts r nawt working for me right now </3

[redbek]

you’re sure this will work ?

A FINGER TAPS ONCE, TWICE, THRICE against frank's shoulder as she saunters behind him, circling around with slow steps until they're face to face and her stance mirrors his own — arms folded over her chest, chin raised, eyes narrowed, both dressed to the nines in a lethal array of weaponry. " what? you don't trust me? after all we've been through? " head cocks and lips quirk into a smile, sharp and sarcastic, as feigned offence laces her words.

' after all we've been through ' was a stretch, only the last handful of hours having been spent in one another's company — a shared goal discovered when they'd held guns to each others heads, threats spat between them in their ire with the interruption of their respective stake-outs. which entailed surveying a PARTICULARLY EVASIVE family of russian mobsters: at least, that's what they were to frank. a select few were a little more to aleksandra: instruments of torture who moulded her into what she is today. traitors believing themselves safe from the wrath they brought forth with their betrayal. traitors that believed themselves safe from her wretched thirst for revenge in their old age. TRAITORS SHE WANTED TO SEE SUFFERING IN THE THROES OF THE AGONY SHE CRAVES TO BESTOW UPON THEM.

" it'll work just fine, punisher. " she drawls playfully, amused gaze flickering over stone cold features. never had she been fond of team-ups, or any sense of camaraderie, and this was no different: BUT IT DID HELP THAT HE WAS EASY ON THE EYES: " don't you worry about a thing. "

[redbek]

like this and i'll shuffle my playlist and write a starter for our muses based on what is given. regarding either the song as a whole, or a specific lyric from it: because set prompts r nawt working for me right now </3

[rasputinaillyanna]

[redbek]

on one hand i think it would be fun to give aleks a redemption arc. she finally comes to terms with the betrayal that has left her reeling ever since it happened. realising she was nothing but a tool - russia didn't actually care for her, or respect her and what she did for them. finally making connections that mean something, despite how little that would likely be given how hard it'll be to stray from what she knows: and not many people would put up with her shit and all that baggage. learns there's more to life than killing and yearning for a time long since passed.

but also.... i love irredeemable women. she has no remorse because the capability to feel it has been brainwashed out of her. she doesn't feel, she doesn't care. she has no desire to make connections. she was made to be a tool and it's all she knows - and she enjoys it. she finds great pleasure in the familiarity of her sadistic violence.

but also..... scary woman all smitten w someone, feeling things she's never felt before.... whether it's platonic or not....

[redbek]

""" ' i'm supposed to take it on faith i'm on the right side of this? ' hi ;-; """ @zimwy

" the right side? " ALEKSANDRA DOESN'T FEEL IT NECESSARY TO UPHOLD HER CAREFULLY CURATED MIRAGE OF NORMALCY WITH THE WINTER SOLDIER — or whoever he was now. he knows what she was, she knows what he was. feigned smiles, fluttered lashes and sweet laughter served no purpose with him. the words are punctuated with only a raise of her brow and a click of her tongue. propping elbows onto the countertop, her forearms fold over one another as she leans her weight onto them.

" that depends on how you look at it. " shoulders raise and fall, answer vague while fingers begin to drum a rhythmless beat against the bare skin of her arm. gaze flickers from his face to metal that replaced flesh and bone, before landing on the FILE she'd slid to him just moments ago — still untouched. " they deserve it, so what's the harm? " whether they deserved it or not didn't influence her decision, BUT SHE THOUGHT IT MIGHT SWAY HIS OWN.

[redbek]

after the red room is dismantled and the soviet union collapses, aleksandra is lost. she'd devoted her entire life to russia; to the people who trained her to be who she is, to her handler, to politicians and to leaders. all to ensure russia retained its glory. people she had killed for, maimed for, survived for. when it ceases to exist, she has nothing. her whole purpose has been stripped away, and it's the first and only taste of betrayal she has ever had. a betrayal that she believed would never come, because her loyalties lay so deep that the thought of betraying them had never once crossed her mind. not even in passing.

the rage she feels is all encompassing, and it drives her into a brief period of psychosis. she convinced herself that this is all part of russia's plan; make themselves appear weak, like they're falling apart, and then turn the tables. she continues the notion of collecting information, ready for when her handler will contact her once more with a spot to meet and an assignment to complete. when it happens, the sense of relief she feels is almost agonising. she doesn't feel, she doesn't have emotions, except for when it comes to russia and her loyalty to it and its people.

when it turns out the meet up was an ambush, the intention to kill her and erase all evidence of what went on in the red room, she realises that it truly is over. russia isn't the great entity it once was. its loyalty to her paled in comparison to her loyalty for it. it's a hard pill to swallow, and even all these years later the rage of betrayal still simmers inside her. she killed them all as brutally as she could in the state she was in, working out emotions she had never felt before and couldn't quite put her finger on. but they ached in her chest and boiled her blood.

[redbek]

" shut up and let me help you. " @sladkiysolovey

FINGERS COATED IN VISCOUS CRIMSON remain steady despite the weeping gash marring the flesh of aleksandra's forearm. pain that would cripple others — OTHERS WHO HADN'T BEEN AUGMENTED: PUMPED FULL OF SERUMS AND CHEMICALS — feels more akin to a paper cut than that of a gaping wound inflicted by the jagged blade of a knife. yet despite the lack of tremors, sticky blood results in the needle slipping between her fingertips with every push intended to pierce skin and sew flesh back together.

" don't touch me. " hand lashes out and makes quick contact with the one extended to her in aid. AID SHE DIDN'T NEED, NOR WANT. katya's mere presence was an irritation. beneath a deteriorating mask of calm indifference aleksandra rages. she'd completed her mission — SLAUGHTERED HER TARGET IN A WAY THAT WOULD ENSURE NONE FOLLOW IN HIS FOOTSTEPS — but it had been moments away from going up in raging flames. the familiar flash of the others face boiled her blood. it was a reminder; of betrayal, of failure, of a once great russia that disregarded her as though she was NOTHING. " i am only in this situation because you couldn't keep your nose out of my business. "

[redbek]

okay so the whole premise for aleksandra is she's used to send messages. while some widows gather intel by implementing themselves into a select group of people, or assassinating assigned targets, things of that sort, she is used when warning's need to be extended.

when there are people who pose a threat to russia - a big threat, not something small - she's dispatched to eliminate the threat. her whole purpose is to make a show of it. make it painful, gruesome, messy. not enough to hit the media and trace any of it back to russia, but enough to frighten those who might think of following in that person's footsteps. a wordless 'this is what will happen' warning.