Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today.Learn More
· Sign-up Now
|Welcome to DORKUS MALORKUS. We hope you enjoy your visit.|
You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.
Join our community!
If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:
DOLOHOV, ANJA MARYNA, 23 | civilian
|anja maryna dolohov
| ANJA MARYNA DOLOHOV draw out the timid wild one
and convince her it’s alright ( ANJA MARYNA DOLOHOV . TWENTY-THREE . BALLERINA/BEACON OF NAÏVETÉ . CIVILIAN ) WHAT GOES ON INSIDE THAT PRETTY HEAD OF YOURS?
To most people, when they are asked what they do for fun, what they did on their last birthday, and what they think about when they went home at night, their answer would not be: “I am not sure. I read quite a bit, and sometimes I think about doing laundry, only to remember that father insisted that I have house elves to do that for me. So, I suppose I read, mostly, and attempt to learn other languages, bake, research...”
Without a shadow of a doubt, while growing up Anja was always the dutiful daughter who always did what she was told, without questions asked or even crossing her mind. Her waif-like persona, especially at a young age, allowed her to be walked all over and she adopted the perception that, no matter what, conflict would have to be nullified in order to obtain comfort. She watched her brothers push each other around, grab at each other like feral wolves and challenge each other to garner more attention, but she never felt the deep-seeded need to have all eyes on her, which, converse to what she intended, made people cock their heads to the side and notice her more. Not to be confused with a hermit, it was simply that in Anja’s youth she was much more comfortable watching others getting in trouble, getting their hands dirty, while she watched from her perch with hawk eyes. She learned by watching her brothers the behavior that was acceptable, and those that weren’t; however, there were double standards within her household and as it were, her brothers were able to get away with more than the average individual because they were charming with their dark eyes and large smiles. As much as she hated to admit it, Anja was afraid that if she stepped out that would be when the bridge would collapse and she would fall victim to the vicious jaws of society. Her parents, namely her father as her mother failed to understand just how Anja’s mind functioned, coddled her with an over-protective grip when he realized this anxiety and the sheltered environment only fostered the crippling naïveté that still persists and lives within her bones.
Thankfully, she inherited both of her parent’s drive and thirst for perfection and accomplishment. She throws herself into everything she does, including relationships (read: friendships, one cannot consider her barren wasteland of a dating life to culminate into anything that could be considered a “relationship”); in hopes that if she put a piece of herself into everything, it will work out in the end. That sort of optimism that brings a smile to your face, only for you to realize that if they are taken advantage of, if that part that has been given away becomes twisted, it will forever destroy and ruin the romanticized glory. Once set on a goal she becomes immersed completely within the means to achieve it. Of course, she had heard and has read that one should not give their whole beings into a relationship, lest they be burned and maimed beyond repair in the end (the largest supporters of this being within the upper tier of the Wizarding realm) which creates an apprehension, a crippling fear of the future and the unknown. Inevitably, her curiosity wins over the doubtful and dark voice in her mind and she dips her feet within the twirling pools of exhilaration, only to test the waters, of course, because that is as far as she has gone.
As for anger, while it is a rare site to see Anja severely angry, or even annoyed, under the surface she silently seethes whenever someone she trusts does something that offends her; often her anger needs to be recalibrated to a constant seethe rate—often leading to her snapping when she is away from the fire and a small inconsistency ruins the circadian rhythm of her day and thus breaking the string that tied the irritancies up in a nice pretty package. Those closest to her can see when her jaw clenches in anger, when her eyes become dotted with unshed tears when in a fit of frustration, and the way she narrows her eyes slightly when she mentally insults you. When offended she draws back from the conversation and reverts back to small answers that many would just take as her shy demeanor resurfacing, when in reality she is plotting a course out of the room, away from the conflict, and back to her safety net where she won’t lose her temper. Assuming one does get to the point where Anja makes it vocally known that she was offended, she picks and critiques the said person to a ridiculous degree, pointing out all of their flaws in order to make herself feel as if she is not inferior to them and that the offensive comment has not hit her hard. She tries her best to be accommodating.
Anja can, and will, seem like the most innocent person in the circle of acquaintances, as one often forgets that she has grown up in a household of dark magic and went to a school that specializes within the Dark Arts. While she does not practice it and thinks that her father is the head member of a peaceful organization that saves puppies from the clutches of evil (or something rather close, as she believes he is involved in charity work that has him “changing the world,” which is not a complete lie), she is surprisingly well versed in the Dark Arts and was well known for her spell casting and dueling during her school years. This would be very surprising if not for the fact that Anja is all about self-preservation and safety, down to her very core. This could mean solely for herself, or if she is feeling her normal sense of altruism, safety for the ones she loves. Self-preservation is what drives Anja’s trait to be accommodating to everything that comes her way, which has thus created her incredible super power to be patient in any situation, at least any situation she has lived through thus far. Just like her rage, she has to recalibrate her scales to make sure that she can handle the situation at hand, which makes her an adapt listener to issues that her friends may ask her to listen to, and an observer of her surroundings to the point of anal retention. Although she has never toted herself as an advice giver many have said that because of her wonderful listening ability she is one of the best counselors.
In another act of unconscious self-preservation, she will do anything she is asked off, susceptible to do deceitful acts if there is a convincing reasoning behind it. She only wants to make people happy, and if that means doing something she’d initially hesitate to do, then so be it. Anja is extremely susceptible to manipulation and lying, which causes her to be used left and right for ulterior motives—without her realizing it until it is too late. There have been a few instances in which she felt that a friend had her best interests in mind, just like she always has theirs, only to be sorely mistaken and left alone in the end. Whether she likes it or not, she’s used to the feeling and to a certain degree expects it.
This vulnerability, combined with her lust for perfection in what she does, leads her to be tremendously critical of herself. While the perfectionist qualities supply her with the attributes of being efficient, organized and intelligent on more levels than average, when she fails or realizes that she is not where she wants to be or fails to rise to the expectation that has been set, a whirlwind of self-pity begins to traverse the once-safe passages of her mind. Irrational ideas combine with impossible standards to create a tidal wave of stress and anxiety that crack her beneath the surface but fail to disturb the veneer. Those that have the ability to glide between situations, to be impulsive or seductive, those who are everything she is not, make her jealous and make her want to retreat back into her shell where she can preen and make herself up to be just as good as them, even if it is not feasible. That is not to say that Anja dislikes who she is as a person, because really, she quite likes being precisely who she is, she cannot hide the envy she feels when she looks at individuals who can stop thinking and simply live—that has never been an option for her, and she lacks the ability to shut down and be, to her knowledge.
The romanticism that she has in regards to her love life is often neglected with the fast-paced and one track mind of the world population. As a proposed staunch virgin, she has never been exposed to anything excessively intimate and doesn’t know how she would handle the situation, even if, contrary to popular belief, she is not opposed to having sex before marriage and actually finds the idea of intimacy very intriguing, if not completely and utterly intimidating. The idea thrills her, to be able to take part in something so carnal that you simply lose yourself, where you can simply be instead of having a racing mind, yet the spike of fear she obtains when the unknown is waved in front of her makes her back away from doing something remotely risky—especially when something is so intimate. After all, she could end up being bad at it and the thought of ridicule is another driving reason behind her prudish ways (even if that fails to stop the curiosity in the back of her mind). Although Anja is naïve, she is extremely loving. She loves acts of affection such as tight hugging and kisses on the cheek, and when she gets drunk or remotely tipsy the behavior is only magnified. Her intimate actions are always chaste, and they never are done to lead the men she knows on because if she is placed into a situation where she feels the atmosphere has turned sexual or sensual, she automatically becomes awkward and mentally converts the situation into a place where she can no longer act on instincts and must plot out her actions, lest something goes terribly wrong. That all being said, she loves reading dynamic stories and gets lost within tall tales of love. She dreams every day that in the future a man will make a plan to love her and hopes that it is sometime soon.
The close friends she has are few, but she has many casual friends that she tends to hang out with, even if she would rather not go to loud clubs, ostentatious gatherings, and drunken mounds of people her age letting out their hormonal rages upon each other. Upon first meeting one would think that she is shy and without personality, yet she has an enigmatic charm that draws people in.
Also, her baked goods bring all the boys to the yard, and they’re like “we love carbs!” Although, many of those boys are friends of her brothers who are just using her for a place to stay until they remember their address and sleep off the drunk haze in their mind, but shh, don’t tell her that.
INTERESTING AND WHAT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY LIFE?
Anja was born into a well-bred, wealthy and well-rounded household of purebloods that have a lineage that spans generations upon generations. While the Russian and Eastern-European bloodlines are readily avoided in the society where British purebloods rule, her family has made a mark and harbors a reputation that still causes men and women to hush one-another while whispering in the streets. Her grandfather, Antonin Dolohov, was a strict and firm believer in the preaching of Voldemort, and although Voldemort was disposed of so many years ago, Antonin avoided captivity through connections and ran into the hills of Russia to preen his feathers and begin anew with his nearly-inappropriately younger wife. Antonin gave birth to Dimitri Dolohov at an older age after lamenting the loss of his older son that was lost at the Battle of Hogwarts, which turned into a blessing worth more than all of the wealth stored in the banks protected by ghastly gnome-ish creatures, but harbored a price that could not be paid with the aforementioned treasures.YOUR NAME
Antonin provided his son with a strong family name, a reputation for blood lust, wealth and status, and a known trajectory that would take him to success. The inability to make a name for himself, as a separate entity, as Dimitri and not “the other Dolohov,” would have hindered him more except for the drowning force that was his father. Instead of seeing the curse, he thrived on the boiling blood, cold calculations and knowledge that he would one day rule and command with such force, as well. It was not a path chosen through derision, but of knowing that when he slinked up the stairs to his future wife with the contentment of a cat that had just lapped blood instead of milk he would have a profound sense of awe at how defined his world was. He would live the life his father set out for him, twist it and mold it in his strong hands, cultivate his sneer, his public-friendly laugh, the sardonic sense of humor and the way to make mere mortals dance upon his fingertips like they were the municipal bits of pocket-clutter they were, and perfect the lifestyle to a dangerous tee. Dimitri breathed the incandescent infamy and began his own.
By the time he met his wife Sonia, the charmingly intoxicating presence that was created drowned those who miss-stepped into the currents. His fathomless eyes and smooth drawl caught the cockles of her heart and twisted them around his fingers until she bucked and danced beneath his gaze; she had come from a reasonably respectable family in St. Petersburg, yet her iced attitude that was only matched by the Russian winters themselves, and had a tendency to push away more suitors than draw them in—not that anyone had the chops to make it within four steps of her, anyway. She was six years younger than Dimitri, and only seventeen herself at the time, but found the way he turned up his nose and scoffed at the runts who begged and pleaded at his feet for money, respect, or the courtesy of friendship, irresistible. At any rate, she was “on the market,” after the “tragic death” of her betrothed that was some unknown Polish boy who had a hooked nose and sweaty hands that often attempted to touch her when no one was looking. She tried to find it in herself to be upset when she heard of his passing, but one had to understand it was so difficult when Dimitri was there with his pockets filled with gifts for her and promises of inappropriate pleasures in her childhood bedroom. Of course, she was careful to ignore the nasty rumors about the bodies that surrounded him (living and dead), or that he would have done anything to the Polish boy to eradicate the competition—even if the later was so flattering.
How could she say no when he asked her to marry him? It was not as if “no, thank you,” was ever a viable option. When Dimitri Dolohov had his eyes set on something, his mind set on someone, there was little more than death that would make him change his mind from that perspective.
Seven months after the night of their ceremonial vows, Sonia announced her pregnancy. A healthy baby boy was born and was promptly named Konstantín though if it was for irony, foreshadowing or after a distant relative was never really known. Konstantín was not yet one year old when there was another announcement of pregnancy, a near scandal in its approach as the couple was going to be having their second child so close to the first, and Sonia’s slightly ailed health (and hushed rumors of depression after Konstantín’s birth) brought about whispered words about a potentially unhealthy child. Dimitri laughed off the rumors, and who were others to think him to lie? His life was perfection incarnate, some fussy little thing like a crying baby was hardly going to dent the pristine shine of his manicured feathers.
Eight and a half-months later, a few weeks premature, came a baby girl; she was named after Dimitri’s great-mother, Anastasia, but with the pestering of Sonia to make it more fair, to have some of her input as well, it was decided that her name would be Anja. “It is less of a mouthful, and it sort of sounds like my name, and if I was going to be raising a little girl, I would have to see as much of myself in it as I did her father. It was fair.” She would go onto say at public gatherings, a post-birth smirk on her face at the knowledge that her baby girl was beautiful, fair, and genetically better than most. Dimitri played the part of a dutiful pureblooded father, and although he was never seen holding his child, much like when Konstantín was an infant, if one squinted and turned their head to the side they could see his eyes soften whenever he looked at his little girl. It was difficult not to, with her cupid’s bow-shaped lips and half lidded eyes that made her seem as if she were eternally sleepy, not to mention her easily placated temperament that made him relaxed as Konstantín had a tendency to be fussy.
Aleksander, known to those who mattered as Sasha or to his family specifically, Alexéi, was just as quick to pop out, so it seemed, and before Dimitri knew it his house was filled with screaming babies, keening relatives, and eye-rolling congratulation cards about his beautiful family. He swore off any more children, even if Sonia was happy to have more, no definitely meant “no.” At Alexander’s first birthday, Konstantín was older than three and Anja was in the middle at the age of two. It was not until the screaming babies manifested themselves into toddlers, when they stopped crying because it was a new sensation and began to have cognitive thoughts such as “when the house is sleeping I will not wake up the said household with obnoxious, soul-destroying cries” that Dimitri began to pay a healthy amount of attention to his children and even made himself out to be the kind of father you would buy a mug imprinted with “DAD OF THE DECADE!” in bold letters. Sonia was also a good mother, ever doting, ever making sure they had the absolute best, and always assuring other mothers that they simply were not as wonderful as she.
The coming years were squandered with fights between the two boys (of which Sasha had a tendency to win because of his ability to use brute strength better than his brother), the forced dress-up teaparty games that Anja used her pretty smile and wavy curls to entice them with cookies and a promise to not tell, and the doting of a mother and a father that would put many to shame. Konstantín had a tendency to always be outspoken, especially as a child, and where many children had the unique and blatant optimism that only comes with lack of age and lack of experience, his favorite word was “I” and there was little he would not do to make himself out to be just like his father. Even when he was five, he was combing his hair in just the way Dimitri did it—he wanted to always be just like his father. Sasha was slightly different in his approach. He did not have the wit or the coiffed atmosphere that his brother had, and turned to being loud and somewhat abrasive, taking after his mother in grace (read: not having much of any in terms of tact or regards for feelings) and always fought for the limelight against his brother, sometimes with brute strength.
Anja, oh Anja, was a different case entirely.
It was never a question of whether or not she had a personality, whether she was an empty shell or a human, or if she would take after the cold and calculated women of society or turn out to be completely and utterly genuine. She was empathetic, good-natured to a fault, and thought that being a bad person was encompassed within the idea of taking a cookie that belonged to her brother and not her. She would hide behind the legs of her father when her brothers ran out to greet the extended family with open arms and extended palms for the gifts that they brought. They were convincing, always convincing, her to do things like step out of her shell because they noticed her cripplingly bashful nature and did not understand why she cried when she was pushed down when they just got back up and tackled the other person. Yet, they did not alienate her because when she smiled, they smiled, when she laughed, they couldn’t help but do the same, and in the familial bond that only children siblings can truly understand, when they held her hand they felt like they were doing the world a service by showing her around. Sonia enrolled her in ballet in an attempt to get her little girl to break through the shell she created, and while her daughter took to it faster than the teacher had seen, it seemed as if she was irrevocably internalized in her own safety and there was little she could do but dress her up, do her hair, and present her like a perfect child and pray that no one realized that she spent the nights of parties biting her lip and blushing at forced introductions and the meetings of other children her age.
This general theme persisted throughout her childhood and into her early adulthood. Where she was too shy to make an impact and stayed behind the broad shoulders of the men in her life, partially by choice but mainly because her father protected her like a prized possession and her brothers worked along the same path. Anja never minded that, though, because for all she knew the world was precisely how they painted it, through the protective lenses they gave her, the way they overshadowed the banal activities within her schooling was something she could simply write off because she was boring and it was safe in her pretty little nest. Her mother would heckle her about how she was not going to get married because her presence went unknown and she was wholly unremarkable in her representation of the family, but Anja never felt the need to make an ostentatious display and had a tendency to hide behind her books, her artistic passions, and become immersed in what she felt the most safe in.
It was not until she graduated from Durmstrang with top marks, the congratulations of her parents on a job well done, a handful of friends to be accounted for, and the populous’ inability to remember what she kind of looked like, that Anja began to realize that she needed to spread her wings, just a little bit, if she was ever going to start to realize who she was as a person. After all, it was just not normal to go through schooling without more than holding the hands of a guy and then writing it off as a fluke because he was drunk and she was leading him back to his dormitory, and it was less of a holding of his hand and a more of a leading, impersonal linking of the arms in an attempt to make sure he would not fall or puke on her. Yes, it was pleasant that she was a member of a notorious family with a background from a school that was known for their extensive teachings of the dark arts in ways that made old women hush and shake their heads, but that hardly stoked the fires of a social life. Not to mention the fact that she had never met a muggle-born in her adult life and the idea of doing anything on her own, without the reassuring nods of her safety nets, was a brand new and foreign concept.
Especially when, during school, you were only known as the sister of two brothers, or the “daddy’s girl. But not the normal kind of daddy’s girl. Dimitri Dolohov’s little girl. Which means it is ten times more frightening because that son of a bitch is always watching. Always.”
As it was, Anja convinced her father to let her get an apartment away from the family, approximately one month after her graduation. That apartment soon turned into a house, and he insisted on paying for it out of pocket; why she needed four bedrooms (one of which was promptly converted into a library), a master suit, a bathroom in each of those rooms, a reception hall, cloakroom, a large fireplace (for using floopowder to see them at the drop of a hat, no doubt) and sitting room for one person, she was not sure. Still, he insisted and Anja knew that once her father was convinced of anything it was impossible to change his mind. Thus, began the new chapter in her life.
In recent years, the Wizarding World has been investing in art and the cathartic, empathetic release of frustration through the viewing or listening to said dances, paintings, music or whatever other medium had captured their heart. This was great news for the Dolohov children (all artistically gifted), but especially wonderful for Anja, who took ballet to heart. Besides books, her collection was extensive, the rhythmic dance became a love in her life. As if it were her calling all along (at least until she finds a more lucrative career, perhaps involved with antique books or something equally as fulfilling), Anja began her professional ballet dancing career and finally began to feel an overwhelming sense of understanding. When she stepped out on stage as a character outside of herself, she began realizing that when they clapped for her performance, threw roses in her direction at the end of the show, and congratulated her on a beautiful recital, they all began to have a real understanding, a slightly cemented appreciation of who she really was. When she danced, she felt the music run through her until it seeped out of her pores and into the ridged pads of her fingertips and when someone gave that much of themselves, into every performance, an audience began to know them on a level that she could not fully communicate on a vocal level.
Thankfully, that also began to develop the more time she lived on her own. There began to be an inner radiance that formed within her and brought out the sparkle in her smile and made her seem entirely more approachable. No, people did not begin flocking towards her, but Anja took solace in the knowledge that she was morphing into something greater than she thought possible, and that the world outside of her parents house was filled with just as many colors as she dreamed about. Without the men in her family there to guide her, she’s had to take the time to stand on her own two feet, and although she was never strictly dependant, her new ability to avoid indecisive behavior has made her life substantially different. That being said, Anja would not change her life for one-thousand limitless wishes. She was born and bred to be her father’s pride and joy, nestled between the affectionate kisses on her temple and the cool but meaningful way he mentioned her in conversation.
Although Anja is a twenty-one year old pureblood, she has yet to marry someone which may make her seem as if she is an old maid, or that there is something inherently wrong with her—but that isn’t the case. She is betrothed, but she does not know much about him and it has only been recently that he has become aggressive in his pursuit of her, which is good, because whether she likes it or not there are wedding bells in the distance. The motives are unknown, but she has been betrothed to him for fifteen years and knows that her parents had her welfare in mind when they made the decision.
my name is Shan(non) and I have a dolohov fetish.EXPERIENCE
too long for you youngins.’CONTACT
see alana lestrange.ROLEPLAY EXAMPLE
|see alana lestrange.|
DORKUS MALORKUS ?!
Member No.: 1
Joined: 12-May 09
ACCEPTED !congratulations, your profile has been looked over and
approved by an admin. welcome to dorkus malorkus! remember to
sign up for face claim.
Accepted, obviously. Because you're made of win. And so is Anja.