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riddlecrux · 3 years

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Miserable together, happy apart: a dive into Elain and Lucien's relationship

This meta is based solely on textual pieces of evidence that can be found through the whole ACTOAR series written by SJM. My observations come from the text and what was given to us, the audience, by the author of the book. Due to the fact that this topic is connected with a raging shipping war, I would like to make an important note at the beginning of this (probably) long comparison post. This meta will be touching subjects such as trauma, forced and unhealthy relationships, being uncomfortable around the other person, and enforced feeling of duty. On that note, it's anti Elain and Lucien relationship.

The starting point of the whole relationship and mating bond begins in ACOMAF, when Lucien contributes to Archeron sisters being kidnapped - leading to them being Made. I'm very concerned with the way how this fandom seems to collectively forget about the trauma that Elain went through when she was pushed inside the Cauldron. After ACOSF we are left with the idea that being Made wasn't pleasant - on the contrary, it was horrible and scary, it left Nesta with psychological scars and mental barriers. So why are people forgetting that, in fact, it was Elain who undergone the same terrifying experience first? SJM had described this whole situation very vividly and painfully detailed. It was there to show us that both Elain and Nesta went through something disturbing and traumatizing. That's why I would like to start with a notion of TRAUMA:

"Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing."

Feyre is there to witness her sisters being shoved into Cauldron and one can only imagine how terrifying it was to observe such a thing. However, there is no amount of words to describe how utterly frightening it was for Elain to be pushed into the unknown. She was the first one, an experiment for everyone to see.

"More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare."

Elain was a proper lady. She was the one who went along with the prevailing etiquette and rules. Feyre notices Elain's bare skin and how she doesn't even remember when was the last time she saw so much of it in the broad daylight. Elain was modest, she followed the social obligations and we as readers are presented with the fact that all her principles are being violated in front of these strangers and people she knew from before.

"Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered."

She was let out in the open after such a traumatizing event. Just after being Made, the first thing she experiences is another form of trauma. She is involuntary stripped bare in front of males, her proper upbringing and modesty ruined as they openly laugh at her nakedness. It's another traumatic event, not even a moment after her whole human life was taken away from her.

"As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—"

It's not surprising that she acted that way. He is yet another male who appears out of nowhere, comes at her when she is in a very vulnerable position. Not to mention, that he is connected to the fact that she and Nesta were kidnapped and used as hostages. He plays a role in her trauma, a trauma that is still happening around her. Elain is subjected to watch her older sister going through the same thing she went through.

"Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”"

I would say that it wasn't a good thing to say at that moment. It's yet another brick in the wall of traumas that Elain just went through. She lost her human life, she was Made, she lost her human fiance, was kidnapped and used as an experiment, ridiculed due to her nakedness and vulnerability, watched her sister being shoved into the Cauldron. Now she is presented with the fact that she was stripped off of her free will, and she still doesn't have freedom of choice. The lack of choice is evident, she just doesn't let it fall upon her as the trauma she had just endured was too great to even imagine how that declaration could shake her already broken heart.

“From my sister’s stories. Her friend.” “Yes.” But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say. “You betrayed us.”

Elain is aware of the fact that he was a part of her trauma. He was there when she got kidnapped and watched her being Made. She acknowledges the fact that he is partially responsible for what has happened to her and her sister. Not only Elain but Lucien as well. Lucien is also very much aware of the fact that he had contributed to her pain and hardship. Those feelings are also very prominent in the way he approaches her and behaves around her. The knowledge that she is that way because of his mistake.

FORCED RELATIONSHIP:

Both Elain and Lucien find themselves forced to "be" together. It wasn't a natural thing that happened between them, not a healthy type of bond snapping in its place. They were put together because of the Cauldron's decision.

She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into. She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her. She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.

Even Lucien, who had loved and lost his previous lover acknowledges the fact that it is something that both of them didn't want. Their bond essentially stripped both of them of their free will. They hadn't chosen each other, they were just put together in a fickle decision of The Cauldron. His previous love story signalizes that Lucien also wants to be chosen, wants to be loved by someone who decided that he is the man that the other person wants to love and spend their life with him.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing.

Lucien has also his own issues - family feud, the fact that his friend betrayed him and in the end, it was him who did the same. He has troubles on his mind that are concerning. He's self-conscious in front of Elain because as Lucien is a reminder of her trauma - she is a reminder of his biggest mistake and another painful ending on his part. She's a living proof of his betrayal, how he went against his common sense and stabbed his friend, Feyre, in the back by bringing her sister into the scene.

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.” She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

He is aware of the fact that Elain doesn't feel anything for him, that she was promised to another and she had planned her life with that person. Just like him in the past - it was his choice to love, want, and need Jesminda. As he's trying to keep his composure the feelings of the bond swirl around, yet Lucien still understands that both of them ended up with something they didn't want.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Even though they were "blessed" with this bond, the thread of it is weak and very unlike the other ones in SJM universe. As if it wasn't working properly - they both do not complete each other. Few pages before Elain says that she can hear Feyre's and Nesta's heartbeat and yet her mate can't hear hers? How is that possible? Also Lucien doesn't understand Elain - he sees her as someone who is devastated by her ruined human life, which is true, but right we as readers know by now that Elain was suffering because nobody seemed to realize what was wrong with her. Their first meeting doesn't spark hope for their future. It only showcases how wrong they both are for each other, two wounds plastered against each other.

BEING UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER: Sadly both Elain and Lucien are pushed together by Feyre and her little meddling - which isn't something that they both want to undergo.

It was the most uncomfortable thirty minutes I could recall. (...) Pretending, while Lucien and Elain sat in stilted silence by the dim fireplace, an untouched tea service between them.

Even Feyre admits that a previously arranged get-together was a mistake. Because Lucien and Elain are wary of their presence around each other, they constantly remind each other's traumas and painful memories. Elain can barely stand his presence and Lucien is aware of that fact - the only thing that keeps him trying to break that barrier is their bond.

She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” Mor put a hand on my knee to keep me from rising, too. “It—it was a tug. On the bond.”

Even their mating bond isn't a thing of comfort. They can't navigate through it, both of them uncomfortable because of their proximity. Lucien feels as if he has to repay his debt towards Elain, however, neither of them wants to close the distance. Their wounds are still fresh, both of them not entirely healed. They are constantly rubbing their hurt on each other, meeting after meeting.

“Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry“.

He feels guilty all the time he's around her. He can't navigate through the mating bond as it doesn't work properly. It's uncomfortable, hurtful, and tense. Just like the relationship between them, it is not a good thing. They are basically strangers thrown at each other after seeing the other person at their lowest. It's not a coincidence that the bond between them is a mirror to their rough, strained relation.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Even with the bond, Lucien can't understand what Elain needs. They are basically strangers, yet the bond doesn't do anything to him in regards to helping her. They are constantly uncomfortable around each other, they try to avoid each other throughout the series because of the fact that they both don't want to be in this forced relationship. Lucien feels obliged to keep persuading her due to the bond, whereas Elain wants nothing to do with the said bond. They are in a maze of constant avoidance and unbearable proximity, which is very soundly described in the text and I would like to present some very important passages:

He hadn’t mentioned Elain, or his proximity to her. Elain had not asked him to stay or to go. And whether she cared about the bruises on his face, she certainly hadn’t let on.

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle.

No, as Elain took a step back, hand falling away from the doorknob, she revealed Lucien smiling tightly at us both. “Happy Solstice,” was all he said.

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. “Both of you.” Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” I said, since Elain certainly wasn’t going to. Lucien lowered his hands into his lap and leaned back in the armchair. “Thank you, but I have other plans.” I prayed he didn’t catch the slightly relieved glimmer on Elain’s face.

My sister rose to her feet. “I should get refreshments.” Lucien rose as well. “No need to trouble yourself. I’m—” But she was already out of the room.

I would love to bring attention to the fact that Lucien understands and realizes that their relationships will never work. He acknowledges it in the text, with his own words!

"Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?”

“Spend time with her.” “I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.” His jaw worked as he studied the fire.

He shook off my grip and headed for the door. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

ELAIN'S AGENCY: Throughout ACOWAR, ACOFAS and ACOSF Elain tries to get away from the bond and in conclusion also from Lucien himself. She doesn't acknowledge their bond and time after time she runs away from the fact that they are bound to each other. The thing is, Elain, probably doesn't know how to break their bond - we as readers are reminded in Azriel's POV how important their mating bond is for the Night Court, which makes her a sort of political pawn. It is yet another thing that is taken away from her, which to be honest is a kind of a hypocritical thing coming from Rhys and Feyre. We know that Elain is timid, however after slowly recovering from her trauma she started to voice out her discomfort connected to Lucien and their forced relationship.

I knew I wasn’t truly angry with her, not angry with anyone but myself, but I said, “You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter. “He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

Lucien still makes her uncomfortable, he is a constant reminder of her trauma and lost life. Another thing is that Lucien doesn't even know her, doesn't see her which is something that is very important to her. Everything he does is based on the fact that he is connected to her via mating bond, not by his own free choice. Which, again, is presented to us in her own words in the text:

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

It doesn't help that the one who pushes her forward into this spiral of unbearable proximity with someone she hadn't chosen and don't want to be around, is her own sister. Yet, she stands her ground and sets boundaries. She is her own person and she wants to get to chose. ELAIN AROUND LUCIEN:

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain had picked up the teacup, and now sipped from it without so much as looking toward him.

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded away as she shook her head, blinking twice (...).

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap.

Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then.

He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions.

Their gazes locked and held. But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

As you can see Elain feels: - uncomfortable - on edge - withdrawn - wary - closed off - silenced (she always loses the will to speak around Lucien, going deeper inside of her) - melancholic (she watches as kettle boil without flinching as if she wandered in the maze of her mind). Elain loses her comfort and courage around Lucien, which is problematic and utterly sad to witness. He is a constant reminder for her of violation against her own free will, but also a living proof of her own trauma. LUCIEN AROUND ELAIN:

Lucien surveyed it all with cool indifference. What he felt about Elain, what he planned to do … I didn’t want to ask.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet.

He didn’t expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from this chair and leave.

Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once.

He wished she’d shoved him out the window behind her.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien silently slid into one of the chairs, before the window, that metal eye whirring as it roved over my sister.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye —the longing and sadness.

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

Lucien feels: - uncomfortable - guilty - uneasy - confused (especially in the moments where Elain is having visions and he doesn't understand what's happening with her) - apologetic (he is constantly saying sorry to her) - tense

The guilt eats him every time he is around Elain, he is constantly apologizing while battling his inner problems such as remembering his true love. He was stripped off of his choice and even if the mating bond is there, he isn't happy. He is in constant pain just like Elain because both of them are each other wounds, each other reminder of trauma. They can't heal together because they are only happy when they are apart - Elain blooms in the Night Court, as we have read in ACOSF she is coming up with terms of Fae life and her own powers, adjusting her life to the notion of immortality. She is content and courageous and yet everything vanishes when Lucien is around. The same thing goes for Lucien. Lucien was struggling with her around him - he didn't know her, he didn't know what was happening to her as well. They were both strangers thrown at each other without their own say in this whole situation. Not to mention that their meetings were always arranged and supervised by others. When he sets on the journey to find Vassa he finds freedom and belonging - which was something he was battling in ACOWAR, after betraying his friends and his court, after being at odds in Night Court, and after being uncomfortable around his mate. He didn't have that sense of belonging in any of those things.

Elain and Lucien aren't compatible nor perfect for each other. They are constant reminders of traumas they experienced. They will never work out because they make each other miserable while being together, and they feel free and content apart. Their happiness lies with free choice, free will both of them were looking for in their lives. They are bound together against their own, and the only key for them being happy in this farce is setting themselves free. A choice of freedom. I strongly believe that after their rejection of the bond both of them could, perhaps, form a friendship. It would have been some sort of catharsis - to dwell upon the fact that they overcame that obstacle. That they chose to be happy apart, and not be shackled by this miserable bond.

#anti elucien #pro elain #pro elain archeron #elain archeron #acotar #i mean technically this is pro elriel #elriel #anti forced bond #elain and lucien as friends #not mates #also pls be civil in the comments

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wolf-555-writer · 4 years

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Target On My Back Part 7

This one’s kinda long xd. Oops. Enjoy, enjoy.

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow x Reader

Summary: After confessing your feelings, Natasha and you are now together. But will it last? Working as SHIELD Agents together seems to be going perfectly, but how about your personal life? The past still seems to haunt you in the nights, but will it only stay in your dreams? Can it all be fixed, or is it way too late for that?

Word Count: 5,523

Tossing and turning. Trying to escape. Trying to run away. Far, far away. A sharp inhale of air, followed by a contraction of all the muscles in your feverish body, you scare awake. Wrapped up in the sheets and the slightly oversized T-shirt sticking to your clammy back. A trembling sigh leaves your mouth, now slightly relaxing. You check your left and your eyes shift over a small picture frame on the wooden bedside table. It holds an old photo, one edge torn off and wrinkled, portraying two people in love - beyond a doubt - who both were stupidly unaware of that at the time. Eventually locking your sleepy eyes on the alarm clock next to the frame. The illuminated numbers read 3:41.

Great… Another restless night. Rubbing your sweat-stained face with your hands in desperation when a calm voice eases, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just a stupid nightmare”, you answer the woman who was peacefully asleep beside you but woken up by some troubled movements. Or was it a memory? You wonder. Natasha sits upright in bed and runs a hand through her messy, red hair before gently placing it on your shoulder. “Was it about…”, she strokes your back softly, “you getting shot? Like the last time?”. She hesitates a bit with the question, knowing the tension it brings. “No it wasn’t”, you grunt, making it sound more resentful than anticipated. Now that your eyes have fully adjusted to the dark room, you’re able to see her upset expression clearly, without a doubt caused by your last comment.

“If it were possible I would take it all back, but I can’t, okay”. Meanwhile the redhead had let go of you, her warm touch replaced by a cold sensation. “I have to live with the choices I made. All the things I did”. Lying down on the mattress again, she has turned her back towards you and pulls on the sheets to cover herself completely. She keeps her secrets, especially about the time in the Red Room. It’s a difficult subject for her. No surprise, judging by the information SHIELD has on the KGB-owned Academy. But you’re hoping that one day she’ll let you in. Under her breath Natasha mutters, “It’s all easy for you”, which was meant to remain inside, but managed to slip out. Unfortunately, a little too loud.

You scoff. “What is that supposed to mean?”. With a quick roll - and heavy sigh - Natasha turns to face you. “Like I said, I have to live with my choices. With all the scars I can’t erase. All you have left are the physical ones. The only reminder. But with a clear, carefree mind, pretending like it never happened”.

“Pretending?! So you think it’s all rainbows and sunshine for me huh? No horrible things haunting my mind?”, you snap. She’s got a point there though. It’s not a contest, but if it was, she would be by far the winner. All the trauma she needs to cope with. And mostly on her own. You're not the only one who has restless nights.

“Okay, just- forget about it. Forget about what I said. I’m sorry”, you sigh tiredly and let your body plump down on the mattress next to the one you’re sharing this bed with. “I’m sorry, Nat”. Caressing your cheek with the back of her index finger as she whispers, “It’s okay”, causing a small smile to form at your features. A second attempt. “But, the bad dream. I think it was about... when I was younger. Like really young, when I was just a kid. I felt grief and-”, taking a deep breath in, “and anger. A lot of anger. A rage inside of me”.

I can clearly see that ‘rage’, Natasha thinks. Maybe a good thing she didn’t say that out loud. You look at Natasha, expecting an answer, a memory you don’t have anymore. But she turns away, deliberately breaking eye contact, and murmurs, “Just go back to sleep, it’s late”. “Are you kidding me?”. “It’s complicated”. “Complicated? Is that all?”. Oh no, here we go again…

“Well, what do you want me to say, huh? Recruited by the KGB when we were only innocent kids. Raised, trained and forced to kill in the Red Room, and after the mandatory graduation ceremony operatives at that same KGB, doing the most unspeakable things, no questions asked. Do you want to hear that?! Is that it?!”

You remain remarkably quiet, a bit blown away by Natasha’s sudden outburst of words, who in the meantime sat upright in bed again. “We’re both broken. You as much as I am. Don’t you dare deny that”. With that final statement she lays down, facing the wall and not you, tucking herself in tightly. This time there’s no turning around.

After a few minutes Natasha's breathing has become slower and more rhythmic, telling you she's asleep again. Twenty minutes of mindlessly staring at the white ceiling later, you climb out of bed and feel the coldness hit the bare skin on your legs. You really stepped out of line tonight. Did you just assume you both could pick up where you left off? Obviously forgetting about the trying-to-kill-each-other part for a moment... A splash of cold water hits your face, now in the bathroom you stare into the mirror at your own reflection, wide awake. “It’s complicated”, you mutter faintly and scoff. “No. We are complicated...”.

A true balance - that’s the key. It’s not a weakness. In fact, it even makes you a better SHIELD Agent. But you gotta admit, sometimes emotions and feelings can be damn difficult. Like right now.

“On my way back. All the intel acquired”, you report over the communication device in your ear. “Almost at the rendezvous point, Coulson”. After a not-so-well-rested night, and plenty of coffee, a new assignment for Agent Romanoff and you was waiting in the morning. With a strictly professional attitude you managed to get through the briefing. Or so you thought, because as always you were not that good at hiding your emotions. Keeping that so-called true balance is easier said than done. Fortunately, it was a pretty standard op, also where the two of you conveniently needed to go separate ways. Maybe we’re not meant to be, thinking back to last night's heated discussion still occupying your mind. Maybe it’s better if we’d go our separate ways, because, like Nat said, we’re both broken. Some things just can’t be fixed...

Too caught up in thoughts, you almost didn’t realize you reached the intersection. Agent Romanoff is not there yet. She’s probably right behind you, as she had to cover a greater distance to get here. After 15 minutes of waiting you’re certain she missed the agreed upon meeting place. However, she can take care of herself, so the question to wait for her or to continue the mission is easily answered. You carry on. And besides, you’ll see her at Headquarters for the debriefing anyway. Right?

“Agent (Y/L/N), how many minutes out till pickup?”, you receive in your earpiece. “Don’t wait up for me”, you inform calmly, though anyone could hear that you’re slightly out of breath.

“Excuse me? What do you think you're doing?”

“I took a small detour. Might be a little later”. Well aware you’re disobeying a direct order, but it’s not the first time. And above all, it’s for a specific reason. You would do it again in a heartbeat, because something doesn’t feel right. She should’ve given an update about her status. “I tried her comm, but I couldn’t reach her”, you explain. Whatever goes on in your personal life can’t affect you in the field. Both of you know how to be professionals during work. She knows that. You know that. And that’s why you’re worried. It stays silent on the other end, meaning they already knew her communication device is not working. You continue, “Coulson, could you give me her last known location”. Again, total silence. “I know you can hear me. I’m going after her either way, you can’t stop me. So if you could give me the location of Agent Romanoff it would save a lot of time and the faster I’ll be- no, we will be back”. You recalled Romanoff's route from the briefing this morning, but technically she could be anywhere. A sigh is heard through the static crackling, followed by a definitive answer, “... Okay. I couldn’t change your mind anyway. Before the comm went dark she was last seen near a parking garage, 0.5 kilometers south, in the direction you’re now heading”. “Thank you, sir”.

Your gut-feeling was right, because what you encounter on the ground level is nothing good. Nothing good at all. A rush of adrenaline is taking over all of your senses as you spot them. Bodies. Scattered around. Dead. Bullet holes in concrete pillars and in parked cars that their owners safely left behind, unknowing what would happen today. But no Natasha. You’re starting to regret that fight last night more and more. Out of instinct you grab your gun from the holster and proceed with caution, following the path of destruction. You know she can take care of herself, pretty good actually, but that doesn’t mean the situation hasn’t gotten you worried. “Coulson, something has happened here. I don’t know what, but I’m gonna find out”.

How did they find me? Natasha ponders while landing a brutal elbow on a guy’s temple who thought he could easily take her. That was his first mistake, the same all the others before him made. When the ex-spy turns around, leaving the knocked-out idiot behind her, a gun is pointed at her head. “Never turn your back on enemy, makes you easy target”, he mocks with a thick accent. Then a shot is fired. The guy with accent releases his finger from the trigger and leans forward, landing face-first on the cold cement. A dark red hole in the back of his head. Natasha looks up. Standing in the distance, behind a red station wagon she spots a familiar SHIELD Agent.

“I got your back Nat. Always”. She sends a loving smile your way and starts filling you in. “I got ambushed on my way to you and lost signal on my comm, my guess they’re jamming it, so I decided to take cover here. Not so exposed and easier to conceal myself than out there in the street”. “Copy that. I figured, ran into the same problem with my comm too. And good thinking. How many and who are-”

The conversation is cut short, caused by the sound of metal colliding with metal. No time to talk. Both take a stealth position behind the red coloured vehicle and use hand gestures to make a strategic plan. At Natasha signalling ‘Go’ you both dash to a different side, Glock ready, and shoot until you’ve reached the next parked car.

You listen to their ongoing discussion as they’ve taken cover too. Who are these people? And what do they want? They appear to be talking in a foreign language. Could it be... Russian? You fire a couple of shots and take a quick peek. Your suspicion is confirmed when you identify one of their weapons. Definitely Russian-made.

3… 2… 1, now! Natasha jumps up and slides over the hood smoothly, kicking the approaching goon in the neck without breaking a sweat. You’ve also jumped up at the rear and deliver a precise hook on your attacker's nose, hearing it crack, and follow up with a powerful uppercut on the chin, launching him backwards. Simultaneously grabbing your own guns, Romanoff and you hit the others in sight until both mags are empty. Words such as 'get that traitor' and 'who’s the other one' are echoing through the large, concrete structure accompanied by multiple footsteps. Guess your Russian remained somewhere in your brain after all. Nice. But first things first, considering you're outnumbered judging by the amount of voices, you both have to get the hell out of here. Squatted and leaning against a blue sedan, out of sight for now, you slide in a new magazine when Romanoff says, “We’ve got to do something before they pin us down”. Several rounds pierce the metal of the sedan and the windows above the two of you explode into tiny glass splinters. As a reaction you lift your arm to protect the face and slam your eyes shut. “Totally agree with you, Nat”, you shout back over the loud gunfire. “Good. Cover me”.

“I got you”, you return and steady your gun to fire multiple rounds at a shiny new BMW where the attack originates from. Romanoff runs as fast as she can and you prevent her from getting shot. Although, you can’t prevent the weapons from being fired and bullets start to snap off the concrete. Luckily, she’s able to evade those meant for her and slides the last couple of meters over the rough floor to her desired spot. Lying on her side on the ground, now shielded by a bulky, black SUV, she observes the four targets along the underside of the vehicle, positive she can hit them. And she does. Eliminating every last one of them, till her final bullet.

It’s gone silent. All the lifeless bodies, not making a single sound anymore. Struck by at least one bullet, but most of them by more. In the meantime you jogged to Natasha and she asks, “I'm out of ammo, you got any?”. “Nope, this one’s empty too”. You make a small wave-motion with your Glock and suddenly spot movement in the corner of your eye. A gun, gripped by a short guy appears from behind a concrete pillar close to the shiny, now heavily damaged car where the others came from seconds ago. Patiently waiting for his perfect moment to strike. Unexpected. Both you and Natasha dive to the ground, desperately searching for cover, knowing damn well there isn’t any. Natasha is faster though, as always, but instead reaches for your ankle, followed by two short pops and a thud, resembling a body hitting the ground. “How did you know I carry a spare gun with me?”. She gives a brief glance. Your past. Have you become too predictable? Or predictable to just Natasha? Maybe that's why you two are such a good team. As long as she doesn’t betray you that is. She has done it before, turning her back on you. No, stop it. She won’t do that. Not again, I know her. Right?

“All clear?”, Natasha sort of asks, snapping you out of thought as she sweeps the surroundings with your spare gun. “Let’s not find out and get away from ‘this’ here”. With the coast clear for the moment, you both go searching for a vehicle - one without a flat tire - and decide to split up. Unfortunately, there are not many cars in the parking lot, so you go a level higher, but abruptly come to a halt.

“Wait! (Y/N), just-”. Natasha pauses. “What’s up?”. Is there something she wants to tell you? Something she should’ve told earlier?

“Be careful okay”. You look at her confused. Not what you expected. You can handle yourself too, she knows that. Then a smile forms. “You know I always look over my shoulder, right”. Yet your answer doesn’t seem to ease her mind. The expression she has, you've never seen before. The worry in her eyes, it’s as if she’s scared. For what? “Fine, I’ll be careful. But for you the same”. She gives a small nod but still doesn’t look convinced. “Let’s see who can score us a ride the fastest”, you challenge and sprint away.

The SHIELD Agent has found a possible getaway vehicle and smashes the window on the driver side to pieces. No car-alarm, that’s why she chose this one. Jump-starting the old pick-up truck that she is about to borrow and without making too much noise Natasha speeds away in your direction. Or so she thought. After searching for what seems to be the entire parking garage multiple times, there’s no sign of you. Only the engine sound of the truck can be heard, nothing else. No Russian-talking, no gunshots, no screams. Everybody is gone. And so are you.

I won't turn my back on you (Y/N). Not again. Never again, she pledges, clutching the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles have turned white. Already blaming herself for not warning you enough. She only wanted to protect you. Yet, this wouldn’t have happened if she had just told you the truth. Right?

Natasha closes the door behind her with a loud bang followed by a muffled grunt. Thinking back to the conversation that just went down, if it were to be called a conversation. A lot of shouting and wide arm gestures were involved. And anger. “Are you questioning my ability? Or my loyalty?”, is what she’d said to Director Fury. Yet getting the same response back as before. No. SHIELD won’t send a team, stand down Agent Romanoff. Another grunt manages to escape. “So we are all just expendable operatives to you?”, was her last comment before the Director showed her the door.

“So, that didn't go very well I guess?”, a voice eases. “You guessed right”. She marches away, almost so fast that Barton can’t keep up. “Talk to me Nat, who were those guys again?”. “Some people I knew”. “Ah, old buddies of yours”. “That's one way to describe them”. “Not so friendly, got it”, Clint states, barely able to follow Natasha’s pace. “I need to find Coulson”, she eventually speaks. She doesn’t care about losing her job. All she cares about is getting you back. Whatever it takes.

Something in his features tells Natasha that he already knows. “Is this what I think it is?”, he asks the former spy. “Unresolved family issues”, she answers the SHIELD Agent. Maybe it's a good thing (Y/N) can't remember, she reckons while listening to Barton’s astonishment. “Wait- family?”. “It's complicated”, Natasha responds curtly and turns to Coulson again. “You know there’s nothing I can do Romanoff”, he says. “If the Director won’t approve a rescue mission, then my hands are tied too”. Natasha is about to walk away, constructing what seems to be Plan E at the moment - hijacking a quinjet and hacking every possible camera, database or whatever needed to find your position - when Coulson’s words catch her attention and make her stop in her tracks.

“Off the record, I may have the location of Agent (Y/L/N)”. “What do you mean?”. “You have to understand, we had to take the necessary precautions because of your past”. Natasha finishes his explanation, because she understands what is implied here. “A tracker”. The silent nod of Agent Coulson confirms her statement. “Great. So we both got a tracker. Just great. I’m guessing somewhere underneath our skin, around our ear maybe. Undetectable. Am I close, Phil?”. The tone in her voice is close to blame. It cuts deep. It feels like betrayal. Loyal to SHIELD, but is SHIELD loyal to you? No time to dwell on that however. Maybe even give the guy a bit of credit, now she’s at least able to find you. “I care too, you know. Very much actually. Please, just- bring (Y/N) home, okay”, Coulson says with a low tone, feeling as if he failed to protect his own Agent. His responsibility. “Good luck, Agent Romanoff”.

“Count me in”, Barton offers as he managed to track Natasha’s sprint towards the elevator. “What?”. “Let's save (Y/N). I’m in”. “But I thought that you guys weren’t speaking, that you hate each-”. “Keep up Nat, we had some beers and what’s in the past is in the past”, Clint interjects. She stares at her friend for a moment, “...Okay”, and accepts. “Then let’s go”. The doors open and both get in. “We’ll get (Y/L/N) back”, Clint reassures as he places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder while waiting inside the elevator. “I just- I can’t lose…”. She doesn’t finish her sentence, preventing a trembling voice from being heard. “I know, Nat. Me too. But you do have a plan, right?”. “Of course I do. Plan H. Let’s pay my old pals an unexpected visit they won’t ever forget”.

Waking up. Disoriented. A sharp pain originates from the back of your neck when you try to lift your head up. Earpiece gone. Weapons gone. And hands zip-tied against the back of a firm, metal chair. Ankles secured too. Very, very tight. They’re thorough, you have to give them that. You carefully look around, a dimly lit, chilly, abandoned warehouse. The windows covering the high ceiling are barely providing any sunlight to pass through, coated by layers of filth. Seriously in need of a proper cleaning. Which basically applies to this entire grimy place. Long overdue. It’s better to just demolish the ghost property into a pile of useless bricks - with your abductors still in it. Well, one can wish. A cold shiver passes through your spine. Why not some central heated motel room of sorts? Guess that’s not how the KGB does things. Counting three grumpy, square-shouldered guards watching over you. Maybe more behind, you don’t know, they’re out of your field of vision. The eyes of the three in sight are burning right through you, definitely not thinking friendly thoughts. What do they want with me? Are they after SHIELD intel? Or do they want to settle an old score? Meaning, I’m dead.

Someone enters. An officer it seems, judging by the uniform. He appears overly confident. Full of himself. Someone who uses others to do the dirty work for him. Because he can. Though, he seems more than capable of committing horrible acts to a human being without even feeling a pinch of remorse. At the sight of him your heart starts beating faster, throbbing against your chest. A wave of pure rage flows over you. Why? Maybe it's his attitude that you don’t like, seeing that the other men are afraid of him. Or simply because he's the reason that you're here.

“Tying off loose ends? Shouldn’t have gone through all that trouble”, you mock, sitting straight up and squaring your shoulders, meanwhile trying to find a way to break free from those zip-ties that are eagerly digging into your skin. He laughs. “Kill you?”. With a small wave of his hand the now less crouchy, more anxious-looking guards lower their guns which were cravingly pointed at you this whole time. “That’s what you guys do with traitors right?”. He laughs again and a stern expression surfaces. “It hurts you’d ever think I would do such a thing to you”. To me? What the hell does that mean? You stop moving your arms. It seems as if he recognizes you, as the other men around also seem to. Not that strange considering you’ve been a KGB operative once, but you obviously don’t recognize them. Not even your own dad.

“I'm certain (Y/N) is still alive”. “How so?”. “You really want to know Barton?”, she requests over the loud mechanical humming, giving him a choice before there’s no turning back. A positive nod from Barton made Romanoff begin. As clear and concise as possible she explains her past, starting in the Red Room. “One day a new ‘recruit’ arrived, only a few years older than the rest of us girls. An outsider. Everybody would think twice before engaging. But I didn’t. We stuck together through it all, trying to survive, and became inseparable”. Clint notices the pain in her eyes. She continues and tells that after spending time together, you began to trust each other. You’d told her about the life before, because you, apart from the others, remembered. That your dad was a fierce man working for the KGB, probably the reason why everyone avoided you. Afraid of you, but especially for your dad. “I suspect that (Y/N)’s mother is the reason why she turned on the KGB later on, knowing all too well what the consequences were”. “Why?”, Barton asks, who until now hasn’t spoken a word and is listening attentively. “Well, the KGB officer didn’t deserve the-father-of-the-year award by a long shot. He was an abusive man. A monster. So one night they ran away, (Y/N) and her mom, who was a real angel in living form”. Natasha clearly has respect for the woman, yet she hadn’t had a chance to meet her. “But it didn’t last and he caught up to them. Taking (Y/N) to the Red Room Academy to fuel all the anger coiled up inside, to turn it into something they could exploit”. “Anger? What anger? You just told me (Y/N)’s mother raised her well, good conscience and everything”. “Because-”. Natasha pauses and swallows the lump that has formed in her throat. “Because the father shot her loving mom for taking his child away. Killed, in cold-blood, right in front of the poor kid”, she says as her voice cracks. “And now he learned that his lost child is somehow very much alive and well. So I doubt he’d kill (Y/N), who by the way doesn't have a clue”, she points out ashamed and thereby wrapping up the story. Clint probably has more questions, which Natasha won’t answer, not at this moment anyway. She looks outside through the small, square window. “Besides, it's me who they want to kill. At least, he wants that”. “Wh- And you're telling me this now?! The moment we're about to storm the place, just the two of us?!”, Barton shouts out. “Told you it was complicated”. Romanoff secures the harness she’s wearing and slides the door open. “It's time”.

The uncleaned glass ceiling breaks into a hundred pieces and scatters on the dirty ground below, finally letting the bright warm sunlight in. Eyes closed for protection, you hear the whirring of a helicopter. Something drops down through the roof, guns entering first, secured to a rope and accompanied by multiple shots. Well, that sure as hell is one way to make an entrance.

After mowing down the guards - of which there were apparently six of - she makes a perfect landing on the metal chair located in the middle of the room where you happen to be sitting on and unhooks the rope. Staring into a pair of green eyes you tease, “Took you long enough”. The redhead grins and moves even closer which sends a ripple of pure energy through you. “Sit still for me”, she whispers in your ear and cuts all the zip-ties with her knife in three, quick movements, freeing you. “Oh, for the record, I had it totally under control over here”, you confidently state while rubbing the red, painful skin on your wrists. “Is that your way of thanking me?”, she returns with raised eyebrows and rests her arms on your shoulders while you put yours around her waist firmly. “Nah, I actually had something else in mind”. “Hmm, that sounds more like it”. Both leaning forward, about to properly thank your rescuer, but seem to have forgotten you're not in complete privacy. “Care to do this some other time?”, Barton interrupts flatly, throwing a Glock your way as the two of you quickly got up from the chair - saving it for later. “Thanks for being here”, you say, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Don’t mention it. You would do the same for me”. He hands you something else. “This might come in handy too”, something he and Natasha already slipped on as an extra precaution, “you already got enough scars, no need for more”. “You know Barton, I heard ex-assassins dig scars”, you reply while connecting the velcro straps of the bulletproof vest he gave you to protect your torso. Natasha grins. “Real cute”, then replaces that mesmerizing grin for a serious expression.

“I won’t ever turn my back on you. Never again, you hear me”, Natasha voices just before the action’s about to start. You send her a quick hand kiss and silently mouth, I know, while aiming at the rusty doors that are about to open.

More KGB assholes start to flood the old warehouse space from two entrances thrown open with force, alerted by the sound of broken glass and gunshots. What they don’t know is that the SHIELD Agents have taken cover, hitting the handful by surprise. A shoot-out goes down until the first men are able to reach your hiding ground. Barton and you start to throw brutal punches while Romanoff uses her widow bites, jamming her charged fists into the attackers.

“I’ll go sweep the rest of the warehouse”, Barton states after picking up a rifle from someone who doesn’t need it anymore as the three of you are currently the only people not unconscious, or dead, in this part of the building. “I’ll join and take that way”, you state and grab a new weapon too, whereas Natasha answers, “I’ll find us a vehicle. Be sure to meet me this time okay”. You grin. “I’ll do my best, Nat”.

After searching half of the unconscious, or dead men on the ground, she’s about to hit the jackpot. A set of car-keys. But before she can get a hold of it, she hears a sound. She's not alone anymore. “Natalia, so nice of you to join”, someone says, “or should I say, Black Widow?”, accompanied by a set of footsteps becoming louder. Without turning around she speaks, “Yeah I wish it were under different circumstances, like you six feet under with me holding the shovel”. He laughs. “How thoughtful of you”. “Guess your men weren’t that thoughtful, they might have underestimated me”. Still her back turned towards the person speaking to her, continuing her search meticulously. “I know they underestimated you. Something I would never do, Natalia”. The sound of a gun close to her loading up for its next shot made her spin around. Car-keys in one hand, her Glock in the other.

Someone is pointing a weapon, but hesitates to pull the trigger. Like she also had, merely one time before. “Why aren’t you doing something?!”, you shout at the KGB officer in anger, a steady grip on the gun handle. He isn’t even defending himself. The three of you positioned in a triangle, you look at the man claiming to be your dad and then to the person you love who stares at you with worried eyes. “It’s okay (Y/N). You don’t have to do this”, Natasha eases, but it doesn’t calm you down. She sees the hatred burning in your dark, dilated pupils. It’s strange, you don’t know who this man is, or what he did, but he makes every fiber in your body scream. There's so much pent-up rage. And yet, nothing happens. The trigger isn’t moving. “So? What are you waiting for?! Do something!”, you shout again, noticing the gun quivering in your hands. He shakes his head. “You’d always let emotions get the best of you. It’s weak. But I wouldn't kill my own child, you know that”, he answers calmly, looking at you. “And what about the mother of your own child?”, Natasha says accusingly. “What? My… mom?”, you speak softly, even more confused, and meet Natasha's sorrowful eyes.

He laughs once more. The evilness in it makes Natasha shiver. “Love is for children. It's pathetic. And traitors…”, in a flash of a second he grabs his pistol, “we all know what happens to a traitor”, and aims. It's not a regular weapon. Not like the ones his men were using. He probably kept the best for himself. Selfish bastard. Regardless if you remember him or not, he isn't aiming at his own child. No. Following the barrel’s trajectory your eyes stop at the sight of another barrel. A Glock held by a beautiful redhead now less than two meters away. Oh shit...

Two shots are fired, and two people hit the cracked, cemented floor. It all happened so fast. One of them deserved it a long time ago. The KGB officer, your cruel father. Dead. And the other one… Meanwhile Barton made his way back, having cleared the whole building but freezes when he enters. With an open mouth he stares, speechless, and his eyes getting watery. It wouldn't have been a problem and led to this outcome if the now dead officer had used any of the other guns here present. Yet, the rounds from his pistol were not standard. These were able to pierce one’s body armor. Your body armor.

“Don't leave me. No... Not again. Not now. I just got you back…”, Natasha says hoarsely, fighting back tears and holding you in her arms. Her recently fired gun now next to her on the cold ground. A tear rolls down her cheek and she presses her soft lips on your forehead. After the delicate kiss she whispers,

“I love you. Till next time, (Y/N)...”

PART 8

Tags: @5aftermidnight, @ohfuckno

114 notes · View notes

hystericalweenie · 4 years

Text

Just Another Day at the Office Series - New On the Job

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Two: The Invitation

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n was job searching, looking for a new place to work as an escape to her, then, current job; she’d been denied every pitch she had, yet she worked her ass off with zero recognition. Writing was her passion and her dream job laid in the hands of a magazine company in the city. Will the combination of her sexual frustration and her competitive nature cause her to risk her biggest dream for a blue eyed coworker?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! I imagine Y/n’s roommate, Bree, as Florence Pugh, so feel free to do the same!! If not, Bree’s portrayal is open to the imagination :)

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s some sexual! tension! up! in! here! Mention of vomiting as well as alcohol consumption and drug use.

“So, you want to fuck him?”

I gasped at my roommate, playfully hitting her as we sat facing each other on the sofa in our apartment.

“No! I just-”

“How long has it been?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

She sighed, squinting her eyes at me.

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

I froze; I thought back to my last relationship, which occurred during college. I had been twenty-two when we broke up, therefore it had been two years since I’d last had sex and it certainly felt like two years. I never wanted to admit how deprived I was of sex and how much I craved it at times. I never found myself relieving myself often either, given the fact that I had a roommate.

“It’s been two years,” I admitted with a huff, sinking into the couch and pulling my knees up to my chest.

She scoffed.

“Two years? How the fuck are you alive, Y/n?”

“I don’t know, Bree,” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not comfortable having one night stands like you are.”

“You’re not comfortable doing anything,” she grumbled, kicking my foot with her own. “You need to get over whatever trauma that asshole put you through in the past, and get yourself out there.”

My heart sank to my stomach as I thought about my ex-boyfriend. The relationship ended with a classic cheating move on his end, which left me with some deep self-image issues. I was over it, completely out of love with him, but I wasn't completely comfortable and happy with myself yet.

“I know,” I sighed, staring down at the floor of our apartment, avoiding eye contact with her.

“You keep saying ‘I know’, but nothing ever changes,” she complained, using her fingers as air quotations. “That’s it! If you don’t have sex soon, I’m buying you a vibrator.”

My eyes widened causing her to laugh at my reaction. I playfully pushed her off of the sofa, laughing in triumph as she hit the floor. But before I knew it, she grabbed my arm, pulling me down with her. I fell down with a thump, my bum hitting the hardwood floor. I couldn’t help but laugh with her, as we sat on the floor in pain.

“I’m going to move on,” I started, resuming the previous serious conversation. “I have to.”

“Was he even good at sex?” she asked, moving closer to me.

I shook my head slowly, cheeks turning pink.

“He never finished me off,” I confessed, bringing my bottom lip in between my teeth to chew nervously.

“He never made you cum?!” she exclaimed, standing up from the floor in shock.

“No!” I hid my face in my hands.

“Not even when he ate you out?” she queried, making me gasp.

“Bree!” I scolded.

“Well, did he?”

“No!” I ran my fingers through my hair, recalling the horrible memories. “He was so bad at it!”

She grabbed my shoulders and frowned.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. You’re missing out on so much.”

My eyebrows knitted together in frustration.

“What if no one can make me orgasm?” I babbled worriedly.

“Have you ever made yourself cum?” she questioned.

I nodded. I’d never had trouble making myself orgasm, I just wasn’t able to do it with my ex boyfriend. And every time I’d be close during sex, he’d finish before I could and didn’t bother finishing me off.

“Do you think that this George you talked about would be good at sex?” she proposed. My cheeks heated up as I heard the words “George” and “sex” in the same sentence.

“I-I’m not sure,” I admitted honestly. “And I can’t have sex with him anyway, I work with him!”

“I could hook you up with one of my friends,” she offered.

Last time Bree had offered to set me up with one of her friends, he got too drunk at the bar we went to and we had to call him an Uber home. When he was getting in the car, he also puked on my, then favorite, pair of shoes. Since then, I didn’t let her set me up with anyone else ever again, completely scarred from that experience.

“I don’t need a repeat of what happened last time,” I grumbled, still able to smell the horrible tequila from his breath that night. I shuddered, forcing myself to think about something else.

“Then, continue to thirst after your coworker and let some other girl get to him before you do,” she warned, slowly walking away into her bedroom. “A little office romance never hurt anybody! Take Jim and Pam, for an example!” she called before closing her door behind her.

I allowed myself to absorb her words before shaking my head and heading into the shower.

The next few days had gone by a lot more quickly than I’d expected, despite the long hours of note taking I’d been doing everyday. When Friday rolled around, I decided on wearing a dainty sundress with a cardigan and wedges due to the nice weather that surprised everyone in New York that morning.

“You look hot,” Bree commented, as she sat criss-cross on the sofa, watching the news.

I blushed, walking over to the closest mirror. “Really?”

“Yeah, your tits and your legs look great,” she gawked, stuffing her mouth with a spoonful of off brand Cocoa Puffs.

“Do I look unprofessional?” I worried, fixing the dress to cover more of my chest.

“No! You’re the perfect ratio of sexy and professional right now,” she reassured, stuffing her mouth with more cereal.

“Let’s hope my boss thinks so too,” I muttered, grabbing my purse and exiting the apartment.

Heading into the office, I made my way to my desk like usual, greeting the brunette editor across from me.

“Morning, Dean,” I said, watching as he leant over to look at me, his eyes widening at me.

I furrowed my eyebrows at his reaction. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he quickly sipped his coffee, before returning his gaze to his computer. “I’ve just been getting so distracted this morning, classic Friday,” he mumbled.

I nodded, signing into my computer and opening my document and some articles, readying myself for note taking.

“Hey,” Dean began, leaning over to look at me again. “A few people from the office and I are going to this bar later tonight, and you’re welcome to join if you’d like.”

I smiled. “That sounds great!”

He returned his classic giddy smile, making me grin even more.

“Great! I’ll email you the details,” he confirmed, turning to face his computer again.

Selfishly, I immediately wondered if George would be there. I wondered what he’d look like in normal day-to-day clothes, contrasting his regular button up and slacks. During lunch, I texted Bree immediately to notify her of my new plans for that night. My phone buzzed on my desk, making me put my sandwich down in curiosity of her response. Oooo u gonna fuck George? ;) I rolled my eyes and typed back quickly. No!!! I was hoping you could come with me?? I don’t wanna go to this bar by myself. She responded within seconds. YES. I have the perfect plan. I chewed my lip nervously, knowing she was always unpredictable. Oh jeez. Not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing. The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. It appeared again, before revealing her response. You’ll find out... ;)

I found it extremely difficult to focus on my work, nervous for that night and nervous for the unknown “plan” that Bree had up her sleeve. When the end of the day rolled around, I hadn’t gotten as much work done as I’d hoped, but nonetheless I rushed home to get ready.

I started with a shower, as I waited for Bree to return from work as well. I took time to shave my body before I got out and blowdried my hair, knowing I’d probably end up styling it. I went to my bedroom and pulled as many clothes as I could from my closet, not sure what to wear. As soon as I heard the door open, I called Bree to my room. She ended up picking out a pair of skinny jeans and a cute top that showed just enough cleavage. We got dressed and did our makeup together, blasting our favorite songs and singing along in attempt to calm our nerves my nerves.

She helped me style my hair in soft waves, while I braided her blond hair. When we were both finally content with how we looked, we stopped the music and got our things together.

“So, what ‘plan’ did you have in mind, exactly?” I asked, referring to her text message from earlier.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” She ran out of the living room to her bedroom, making me raise in eyebrow. She jogged back, smirking at me before lifting up a ziplock bag. I grasped the bag, noticing that there was marijuana inside of it. My eyes widened and I immediately started shaking my head.

“No, no, no! We are not smoking weed before I go see my coworkers!” I exclaimed, staring at my roommate as if she had three heads.

“So what?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “I bet they’re all going to get toasted tonight anyway.”

“Still,” I cautioned. “It’s not a good idea.”

“It’ll take the edge off, Y/n! I guarantee you once you see George, you’re going to be shitting your pants.”

I chewed on the skin of my lip, as I tried to think this through. She technically had a point, knowing that it would calm my nerves. In the past few times I’d used the drug, I simply used it to help me fall asleep, so I’d forgotten what the effects of being high while awake were like.

“We can arrive later when everyone's already drunk, so no one will even notice,” she added.

I looked at her, the bag of marijuana, and back to her, chewing the skin of my bottom lip until it bled. I sighed, bringing my y/e/c eyes to meet her hazel ones.

“How do you suppose we smoke it?”

She grinned from ear to ear, raising an eyebrow.

After fits of coughing to the point of nearly gagging, I looked down at Bree, who was struggling to get her shoes on. Within seconds, everything began to slow down; as my eyes scanned the room, my vision had trouble keeping up with where I was looking and every movement I made felt like slow-motion.

“Bree,” I wailed, watching as she finally got her shoes tied. “I think we got too high.”

“I think we did too,” she agreed, her bloodshot eyes meeting mine.

My eyes felt extremely heavy and my throat felt extremely dry.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, hands grabbing at her face. “Do my eyes look that bad too?”

She giggled, grabbing my face between her palms as well.

“I can’t wait to meet your coworkers.”

Oh shit.

“Fuck, I forgot we were doing that,” I groaned.

“It’ll be fine, just don’t panic,” she warned.

We grabbed our purses before heading out the door and thankfully remembering to lock it behind us. We were able to get a taxi to the bar, as we sat in the backseat staring at the moving buildings that passed.

“Do you think they’ll have food there?” I moaned, feeling an empty-like feeling in my throat.

“I hope so,” she voiced, putting her hands over her stomach, signifying that she was hungry as well.

The taxi ride felt like forever before he stopped in front of the bar. We stumbled out of the car and made our way inside. At this point, I’d forgotten again why we were there, being so obliterated from the drug. As we swayed toward the bar, I immediately saw the familiar brunette from work, reminding me why I was there. My eyelids felt even heavier as I walked over to him, tapping on his shoulder. He turned around, eyes brightening at my presence.

“Y/n! You made it!” He pulled me into a hug, causing me to lean into him a bit more than I normally would have.

“Hey! I brought my friend,” I gestured to the blond on my right. “This is my roommate, Bree.”

“I’m Dean!” Dean cheerfully introduced himself to the small blond. Her eyes widened at him.

“You’re fucking British, holy shit,” she muttered, her bloodshot eyes in awe, making him laugh.

“I want some shots,” I nagged, hitting Bree’s arm with the back of my hand.

“Let’s do it!”

We went up to the bartender and ordered two vodka shots each. We slurped them down, feeling the burning sensation stinging our throats and stomachs much more than usual. We both settled on vodka sodas to sip on before returning back to my coworkers. I spotted Dean sitting down at the other end of the bar, conversing with someone. Bree split from me after getting into a conversation with one of the bartenders, leaving me alone, feeling as if I was walking in slow-motion. I made my way to Dean, before realizing that it was George he was talking to. I let out a big breath, taking a big gulp of my vodka soda, before walking up to the boys.

“Hey guys,” I greeted, as they both turned to face me, smiling immediately at my presence.

“Hey! Take a seat,” Dean offered.

For some odd reason, probably my cross-faded-caused impulsiveness, I decided to take the empty seat next to George instead, and as soon as I looked at him, my eyes couldn’t fucking peel away. He wore a maroon long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans; his biceps and pecs were visible just enough under the fabric that I could feel the heat between my legs begin to pulsate. His hair looked softer than ever and the crinkles beside his eyes were visible as he smiled. I was close enough to him that I could notice the individual freckles sprinkled across his nose. He looked so relaxed in the sexiest way possible.

“We were just telling a story about how someone in the office a few years ago sent a sext to Lauren’s email by accident,” Dean laughed, before retelling the story for me to hear.

Dean’s voice faded, as I returned my attention back on George. Being this close to him, I took my time absorbing all of the small features I’d never been able to notice before. All of his visits to Dean’s desk throughout the week, his simple “hello”s when he saw me briefly in the hallway or the cafeteria; they were nothing compared to this moment. I didn’t care that I was becoming more and more obliterated with every sip of alcohol on my empty stomach and my already-high system, I didn’t care that he was my coworker. I just wanted him, and he was right there.

His facial structure matched that of a statue, looking immaculate in the upmost inhumane ways. The way his eyebrows furrowed when he was concentrated or frustrated, the way his nostrils flared. I was noticing all of these things suddenly, opening my eyes to how truly attractive this man was. I saw his eyes glance to his side, toward me, noticing my stare. But, I didn’t care. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, not having any control over my actions at this point.

“I’m going to get another beer, George, you want one?”

“I’m good, thanks mate.” George’s tone was different this time. It sounded, almost confused?

Dean got up from his seat, leaving George and I to ourselves. I grabbed my glass and downed the rest of the vodka soda in the glass, slamming the empty glass down on the bar and turning my body to face him.

“Hi George,” I smiled, resting my chin on the palm of my hand, my elbow resting on the table.

He turned to me, his lips curling into a smile.

“Hi, Y/n.”

I giggled, smiling blissfully at the beautiful man next to me.

“George,” I began, batting my eyelashes as I looked up at him. “You’re so great.”

His eyebrows knitted together, an entertained smile evident on his lips as he looked down at me.

“And why is that?” He took a swig from his beer bottle as I began my slurring.

“Becaaauuuse, you’re a fucking art director, which is, like, crazy,” my bloodshot eyes bore into his bright, piercing blue ones. “And you’re, like, crazy handsome.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me, smirking as my eyelids hung heavy, my eyes barely visible as I smiled. My face was red, as my cheeks had always heated up when I was drunk.

“You think so, love?”

I nodded, attempting to take a swig out of my glass as the empty cup poured nothingness into my mouth, reminding me that I’d finished off the drink minutes ago.

“You’re obliterated,” he observed.

“Want to know a secret?” I asked him in a sing-song voice. “I smoked weed before I got here, because my roommate told me it’d make me less anxious,” I whispered, giggling between words.

He raised his eyebrows, his jaw dropping before he started laughing.

“Jesus, Y/n, I didn’t know you were so reckless,” he gasped.

“Well, I didn’t waaannnnt to do it, but if I hadn’t done it, I’d probably be standing in the corner, too nervous to talk to you,” I admitted.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Why would you be nervous to talk to me?”

I gave out a big sigh.

“You’re sooooo hot,” I moaned. “I kind of want to fuck you, but I don’t want to lose my job,” I admitted, licking my vodka-tasting lips before continuing. “And also, I got, like, cheated on big time in my last relationship and it left me with some crazy trust issues and self esteem issues. And, I haven’t had sex since then! It’s been two years, George, can you believe that?!”

There was a moment of silence between us, a moment of unspoken words before his hand was brought up to my cheek, his thumb swiping tears I hadn’t realized were rolling down my warm, scarlet cheeks.

“I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth, or if you’re just really fucking drunk,” he confessed, his voice almost as quiet as a whisper.

My eyebrows knitted together as my eyes scanned his entire face, absorbing his facial features once again. His eyebrows were furrowed, his nostrils flaring, his plump lips forming a frown. More tears rolled down my face as I leant my cheek into his hand, closing my eyes and savoring the moment.

But before I knew it, the moment was ruined with a lump in my throat and a grumble of my stomach. Oh, God, no.

“I’m going to throw up,” I croaked, my hand flying to my mouth as I scurried outside.

As soon as I opened the doors, vomit escaped my mouth. I bent over, hands on me knees, retching on the sidewalk before I felt someone pull my hair out of my face. I turned my head to see none other than George himself, who must have followed me outside. He gave me a sad smile, using his other hand to rub my back as I vomited until I felt like I had nothing else left in my stomach to release.

“Did you get my purse?” I groaned with a sniffle.

“Yes, love.”

Love. My stomach flipped, making me dry heave.

“T-text Bree and tell h-her to m-meet me outside,” I whimpered, sniffling again and wiping the fallen tears off of my cheeks and chin.

I heard him unzip my purse and fumble with the the many useless items I had stored in there before finding my phone. There was a moment of silence before he spoke.

“She texted you an hour ago telling you that she brought a man back to the apartment,” he mumbled, handing me the phone. I stood up straight, wiping my mouth with my arm before grabbing the device and reading the text.

“Fuck,” I cursed, wiping the tears that had fallen whilst retching. “I don’t know what to do.”

He continued to rub my back. “Do you want me to get you to your flat?”

I shook my head.

“No, she doesn’t want me there,” I grumbled, staring at the dark streets of New York in front of me, everything still looking distorted.

“You can crash at my place,” he offered. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

I looked at him, teary eyes staring into his concerned ones.

“Really?” my voice cracked.

He nodded. “Of course. Let’s get a taxi and get out of here.”

He stroked my hair, as I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his torso and crying into him.

“I’m sorry for being such a burden,” I croaked, my fingers gripping onto his shirt.

“Shhh,” he whispered softly, massaging the nape of my scalp with his fingers. “You’re not a burden, Y/n.”

I pulled away from him to look him directly in the eyes.

“Are you going to take advantage of me?”

Something flashed in his eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was anger, or shock, or both. His nostrils flared and his gaze became intense.

“I would never take advantage of you. Or anyone, for that matter.” His eyes didn’t leave mine until I pushed him closer to me, hugging the fabric of his shirt, devouring his scent.

I drowned myself in the scent of his cologne, noticing how close I was to the skin underneath his shirt. I sighed, some more drunken tears rolling down my face as I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to move, I didn’t want to go anywhere. All I wanted was to stay there with George, his steady heartbeat like music in my ear, as I rested my head against him. This was more than anything I could have ever wanted with him.

I woke up to sunlight blinding my eyes, making me bury my face into my pillow and groan. I breathed into the pillow, realizing it smelt unfamiliar, smelling of sandalwood and vanilla. I sat up immediately, my eyes widening as I took in my surroundings. I was in a much bigger bed compared to the full size mattress in my bedroom, the walls were a dark gray, the large windows lining one of the walls making the room appear brighter. I looked under the covers, noticing I was still in the clothes I had gone to the bar in, though my shoes and purse sat on the hardwood floor beside the bed.

With my heart pounding through my chest, and a confusing massive headache, I got out of the bed and grabbed my shoes and purse. I walked quietly on the floor in my socks, coming face to face to a hallway. I noticed a set of stairs, so I decided to walk down them. The house was quiet, eerily quiet. The stairs led me to a living room, my heart racing as I noticed a sleeping form on the sofa. With a big knitted blanket covering their body, their blond disheveled hair was exposed from the blanket, including their face– is that George?

Slowly, I walked closer to the sleeping form, confirming it was George, from work. My jaw dropped and I found myself unsure of what to do, though my head was full of thoughts. What the fuck happened last night? What the fuck was I doing at George from work’s apartment? Did George take me to his apartment without my consent? Wouldn’t have Bree noticed that I was gone? Bree.

I pulled my phone out of my purse, noticing that it was 7 am. I opened my texts with Bree, raising my eyebrows at the messages.

11:04 pm, Bree: Left the bar with this hot ass guy. Bringing him to the apartment.. :/

12:49 am, Me: Goinnh to Georhe’s apaetment. Just threws up on sifewalk lol

1:05 am, Me: At hjis aprtment, hed rich as fuckkjj

1:06 am, Me: Hea sleepong on coucj tryinh not to male me uncomfgortable. Want to habe sex time witj him si bad thougj

1:07 am, Me: Goung to sleepgy times now goonifht bitchhhgh

With the text messages, I was able to conclude that George most likely didn’t assault me, Bree had a guy over which was most likely why I was crashing at George’s, and lastly, I threw up on a sidewalk. Flashbacks to smoking before the bar flooded my head, but I wasn’t able to remember a single thing after leaving the house. I groaned in frustration, bringing my palms to my face.

Suddenly, a soft moan came from the couch, making me jump as I realized I’d woken him up. He slowly fluttered his blond eyelashes open, his bright blue eyes landing on me immediately. His lips curled into a gentle smile, his eyes softening as he took in my form.

“Good morning.” His raspy English voice made my legs weak and I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Morning,” I replied, my fingers coming up to my temples in attempt to calm my pounding headache.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” he asked, sitting up and pulling the blanket off of him.

“Well,” I started, looking down at my phone. “According to my drunken texts, I threw up on a sidewalk, and that’s pretty much all I really know for sure.”

George rubbed his eyes before returning his gaze to me with a frown.

“You got very drunk at the bar last night, which resulted in you throwing up outside,” he confirmed. “Your friend texted you that she’d brought someone to your flat with her, so I offered to take you to mine so you could crash somewhere.”

I cringed, putting my face into my hands at the thought of being drunk in front of George. I mentally cursed myself for getting so obliterated and possibly embarrassing myself in front of the man.

“God, I hope I didn’t say anything stupid,” I moaned, still cringing.

He laughed, making me even more uneasy.

“You didn’t say anything stupid,” he reassured me.

My shoulders fell out of relief, hoping that maybe my high-self had made my drunk-self a little more normal.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I mentioned, looking around his apartment. “You didn’t have to sleep on the couch, though.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

I smiled gratefully at the gentleman in front of me.

“Besides, it would’ve been a little weird waking up next to me with no context,” he pointed out.

I laughed, imagining the extreme confusion I’d feel waking up next to George, from work.

“Hey, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Would you want to stay for breakfast? I could make some eggs and French toast, or anything you like, really.”

“I should probably get home and shower. I can’t imagine how I look right now,” I babbled, knowing there was probably makeup all over my face and I most likely smelt of vomit. “But, thank you, George, really.”

He nodded. “Yeah, after getting sick last night, a shower’s probably a good idea,” he agreed.

I gave him a sheepish smile, clutching my purse before stopping in my tracks. What the hell did you just do? Did you just decline George MacKay for breakfast? After everything he did for you last night? I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose in attempt to calm me before doing something I’d possibly regret.

It’s now or never.

“Unless, I could use your shower?”

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #x reader fic #dean charles chapman #1917 #fanfic

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purple-scarf-mistress · 4 years

Text

Dark Truths

A Criminal Minds FanFic.

Chapter 5

Summary: Jamie has been missing for a year, subjected to horrible torture. Her friends/team/family aka the BAU team scramble to find her. Once she is found it will be a challenge to help her get back to her normal life.

Master List (Multi Chapter)

Pairing: ReidxJamie (OC)

Warnings: This story is explicit and deals with s*xual assault and psychological torture. I will add notes for where to skip and pick back up to for those who want to read this but avoid the warning content as best I can.

There are two flashback chapters before this one that can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction.net. They are explicit flashbacks of Jamie’s first days after being taken. Due to the nature I decided to keep them off tumblr. You do not need to read them to follow the story though.

The plane shook as it touched down, scaring Jamie awake. She was used to being scared and not making a sound or a movement.

Spencer noticed her muscles tighten in preparation for fight or flight, or perhaps an incoming blow. “Jamie? Jamie, Sweetheart, it’s okay. We are back in Virginia alright?” He scooped her up carrying her off the plane. “I am going to take you home, okay?”

Jamie didn't answer, instead she looked around as Reid carried her from the plane to the SUV. She thought she would never see this stupid ariport again. This airport that always carried them to the darkest places of someone's life, but she loved that it meant she was going to help someone. She just never appreciated the tarmac itself until this moment.

Morgan opened the door for him and Spencer set her in the car gently, buckling her into the seat. She felt like everything was in slow motion. Reid got in next to her letting her rest on him once more. He actually wondered if he needed to be holding her more than she needed to be held by him.

“Hey Kid, we're going with you. First shift.” Morgan's voice was affirmative leaving Reid no room for arguments

It took them about 30 minutes to get to Reid's apartment and inside. Ried watched Jamie in his arms as they brought her inside.

“S-Star Trek... “ she mumbled to herself remembering the last time she was over with Reid and what they had been watching.

“Yea, we watched that before,” Spencer cleared his throat, “the last time you came to visit.”

Jamie nodded remembering. She felt safer, but the more and more safe she felt the more worried she was that this could all be ripped away again.

JJ walked in with Morgan watching Spencer set Jamie down on his couch.

“I think we should get her some food. Maybe a hot bath? Lots of rest.” JJ said concerned.

“I hear that. We should all eat. I’ll take care of it” Morgan stepped into the hallway of the apartment calling up his favorite late night eatery.

JJ slowly walked over, kneeling down next to her friends, “Jamie, do you want to take a bath? Or anything?”

Jamie looked quickly to Spencer for guidance. Not sure how to answer, “Sweetheart, it’s your call, if you want to we can set it up for you.”

Jamie's mind raced. Showers had not been a particularly good experience she reached her hand up to rub her neck, the bruises from the choke collar the night before clearly visible around her skin.

“Y-Yes?” She said nervously.

JJ nodded, going to get the cast wrap to protect Jamie's leg. Reid got up and went to his bathroom running warm water into the tub. Jamie sat there watching her friends fuss over her. She wasn't sure what to do.

Morgan came back inside and stayed out of the way. He was worried too many people swirling around Jamie would set her off. He watched as Reid carried Jamie into the bathroom in his room and JJ followed behind him. He sat her on the counter, and nodded to JJ.

“I’m going to let JJ help you okay? I will be right outside.” Spencer brushed a strand of hair from her face tucking it behind her ear.

Jamie didn’t want him to go. She was worried he would go and she wouldn't see him again but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t respond. She watched him walk out the door.

JJ gently walked over to Jamie, “Do you need help getting out of these clothes?”

Jamie nodded, letting JJ help her out of them and get into the tub. Placing her leg on the edge.

“There we go. Water okay?”

Jamie nodded. She was glad JJ was here. Over the last year men had hurt her in the shower, she didn’t think JJ would, she really didn’t think Spencer would either. JJ nodded, “I’ll be right outside the door. Call if you need anything”

Jamie nodded watching her go before starting to wash up. Her mind felt all over the place. She wanted desperately to be the happy woman she had been before all this happened but she didn’t even know if that girl existed inside her anymore. She was more scared than brave, more sad than happy, more confused than certain. She was nothing like her old self.

She looked at her body as she washed herself, looking over the marks on her skin, some scars some healing. Her mind went blank wanting to avoid all the memories, her body felt numb too. She sat there. Staring at the facet.

Part of her mind tried to objectively diagnose her. Much like Reid she was a genius, her mind a trap for memories, it was easier to fracture her thinking and internally talk to herself as a different person to overcome all this.

PTSD - most likely, acute stress disorder - probably. Stockholm syndrome? Not showing signs of yet. Please don’t get that one Jamie. Great, you're talking to yourself. Fragmentation/ dissociation of thoughts, Check. Diagnosing yourself. We’ve lost it. Doctorates and all - you’ve gone off the deep end haven't you.

Her mind was like several voices but all of them were here. The part of her that was hopeful, the numb, and the part of her that believed Quinn.

Jamie didn’t hear JJ knocking on the door. She only saw her when JJ sat right next to her on the tub edge. “Can I wash your hair for you Jamie?”

She nodded blankly, not really processing what she asked. She felt JJ tilt her head back, a cup full of warm water was poured over her careful to not get on her face. Then came the gentle massage of finger rubbing shampoo in her hair.

You can’t even take care of yourself now. Can’t make decisions, or answer questions. You're absolutely useless, it’s only a matter of time before they realize it. Stop Stop, you know what this is Jamie, its just the trauma. You know this. Stupid.

As JJ rinsed the shampoo out of Jamie’s hair she saw the tears start falling down her cheeks.

“We’re all done Jamie, ” JJ pulled the drain, “shhh it’s alright” she got a towel ready to cover her once the water was gone. Jamie didn’t respond, she didn't realize that she was shivering now that the warm water was gone.

Jamie looked up seeing Reid kneeling next to the tub not sure when he got there. He quickly scooped her up keeping the towel wrapped snugly around her tiny body.

He rocked her in his arms, “I’ve got ya, shhh it’s okay”

Why are you crying?! Do you even know! Stop, stop it right now before they realize they should have never come back for you. Reid wouldn’t ever think that… would he?

Spencer paced back and forth in his room rocking Jamie in his arms. He watched her face intently waiting for her to break out of her thoughts and be present.

“S-Sorry,” Jamie said at a volume that was barely audible.

“Nothing to be sorry for Jamie,” he sat her down gently on the edge of his bed and grabbed his CalTech hoodie from his dresser. He had let her borrow it a couple of times when they were on a case or hanging out. He loved it when she wore it because she looked so cute swallowed up in his clothes. Jamie being 5 foot 4 inches and him standing just over 6 feet, and also because then it smelled like her light perfume.

“I think this will be comfortable for you to wear until we get some more clothes,” helping her into it gently than grabbing a pair of his pajama bottoms. He slid the pants over her cast and helped her stand enough to slip them all the way on. They were way too long even with the legs folded up.

“Morgan ordered dinner. Hungry?” Spencer smiled seeing the small nod carrying her out of the bedroom.

She glanced over at Morgan, it was the first time she had really looked at anyone besides Reid’s face. His face was so serious, like he was worried and angry - his im going to solve this case face. It quickly softened when he realized she was looking at him.

“Hey Little Red” he smiled. Morgan always had a nickname for her related to her fiery red hair.

“H-Hi” She smiled before looking at Reid to make sure that was okay.

Reid was aware she was deferring to him and didn’t want her to feel like he controlled her. He sat her down at the table sitting close to her, “Jamie, you can do and say whatever you want okay? You don’t need permission. Not from me, not from anyone. Okay?”

“S-s-sorry… I I will try to do b-better”

“Oh sweetheart that- that's not what I meant.” Reid took a deep breath then grabbed the chicken soup Morgan ordered for Jamie and brought it closer to her.

You're not allowed to eat at a table, remember. This is a trick. No it’s not, Spence hasn’t done anything to make it seem like this is a trick.

Reid frowned, picked up the spoon and took a bite of the soup, “ it's safe to eat Jamie. See?” She nodded but still didn’t know what to do.

JJ and Morgan looked at each other than at Reid not sure what to do next.

“You must be hungry Jamie,” JJ said softly.

Morgan saw the confused look on the small woman's face, “What is it little red?”

Jamie swallowed, not sure what to do, she decided answering him was the best bet, “I’m not allowed to eat until everyone else is done, and I am really not allowed to eat at the table, “She said quickly, looking down to the floor.

“Those rules don't matter anymore” Morgan was furious not at Jamie but at the people who had taught her that.

“What Morgan means is that it was good that you followed the rules. You did what you had to to survive so we could find you and bring you home. But now that you are home you can make your own rules, like you can eat at the table, or on the couch or in bed. Where do you want to eat?” Spencer asked, wanting to see if she had a preference.

“H-here is good.” Jamie picked up the spoon and took her first bite. She kept her head down eating in silence for a while. She didn’t eat much but it was more than she had eaten in weeks.

Jamie was exhausted. She could feel her body starting to withdraw from the drugs. She didn’t want to live that nightmare but she was going to have too. If anyone knew what that was like it was Spencer. She started to fall asleep sitting there as her mind thought through what she knew of withdrawal.

JJ carefully moved the bowl of food away from Jamie so she wouldn't fall face first into it. Reid gently picked her up, “Let's get you to bed sweetheart.”

He carried her into his room laying her down on the bed. Jamie warped her arms around Reids neck, “D-Don't leave me. P-Please?”

“Are you okay if I lay down in the bed with you?”

“Y-yes”

“Okay, but you tell me if you want me to get out okay? Any time.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. “K-Keep the light on too?”

“I am scared of the dark too, Jamie, I’ll keep it on for the both of us,” He pet her hair gently hoping she would fall asleep feeling safe. Once she was asleep he grabbed his phone and texted the other two that he wouldn’t be out for a while and to put his food in the fridge for later.

He pet her hair over and over again, hoping that she would know she was safe in her dreams. Only he wasn't only doing it for her, he needed to remind himself that she was really here with him. His eyes began to water as he realized he had the love of his life back home safe.

Jamie startled awake from her nightmare only to see Spencer laying next to her asleep with his arms wrapped snugly around her. She felt the tears fall down her face as she griped Spencers shirt in her hand weekly not wanting to let go of him for fear that this could all get ripped away from her.

Her stomach felt awful. Her head hurt. Her body was weak and the worst of the withdrawal symptoms had yet to come but nothing was worse than the idea that this could get taken away from her again. Her chest heaved as she choked out another sob. She felt the slender arms around her body pull her closer and begin to cradle her.

“It’s okay Jamie, Go ahead and cry. It will make you feel better if you let it all out.” Spencer’s voice was raspy as he woke up. She had every right to cry for days on end if she wanted too, but he also knew that crying was a withdrawal symptom as well.

She couldn’t stop crying. Her sobs became more forceful and louder. Her head throbbed with her heart beat and her stomach had taken to doing back flips. She tried to focus on the soft circles being rubbed onto her back and the gentle rocking side to side distract her from the fear, from the memories, from the sickness she felt in her body.

Hey eyes finally stopped dropping tears down her face and her breathing slowed. She felt like she had been crying for an eternity. Spence’s t-shirt was soaked through where she had her face pressed against him.

She swallowed hard, “I-Im Sorry.”

“Don’t be sweetheart.” he petted her hair gently, looking up when his door pushed open more seeing JJ peak her head in.

“I brought you some water. Thirsty?” JJ asked gently, holding the glass out to her.

Jamie took it in both hands nodding and took a sip. She kept sipping slowly until all the water was gone. Handing the cup back to JJ. “Thanks”

“Is there anything I can get you sweetheart?”

Why did he have to ask that. YES! Get me a shot! Please. You can beat this you do not need a shot. You do not need to be high. Yes we do! Yes I would do anything Quinn asked right now for it, and you know you would too.

“Drugs” Jamie blurted out impulsively, eyes widening that she actually said that.

JJ and Spencer shared a concerned look, not sure what to say.

“Jamie, I know how hard this is but you don’t want that. I know you don’t” Spencer said calmly

Oh so now he knows what we want? What I want?! Who does he think he is. SHUT UP! He is taking care of us and I am a handful enough as it is! Don’t ruin this or we will have to go back to Quinn. We would get drugs then so thats a bonus.

“Jamie, you need to calm down. You are hyperventilating.” Spencer watched her chest rise and fall in rapid desperate heaves.

“I can’t breathe.” Jamie sputtered. “I don't, I don't know what's, what’s wrong with me!” “Nothing is wrong with you Jamie,” JJ said soothingly kneeling down by the bed.

Liar.

Jamie saw the room start spinning, she felt like her body was floating, until she felt the hardness of Reids chest pressed up against her back. She didn’t realize he had moved them to a chair.

“Jamie, sweetheart, try to match my breaths okay? Nice and slow. You are safe, and you have a family to help you through this. Just breathe.” Spencer kept his voice low and even, he took long deep breaths and paid close attention to hers. He watched as her breathing started to slow little by little.

“That’s it Jamie.” Reid took her wrist gently in his grasp, finding her pulse. Still high but slowing down as her breathing stabilized. “I’ve got you. You are safe. Just focus on my breathing okay?” Jamie nodded her head slowly. She still felt light headed resting her head back against him, eyes shut gently. .

Morgan stepped into the room quietly.

Spencer gently mouthed a “shhh” so Morgan knew to be quiet and not startle her. He took a place in front of Reid’s dresser, standing still and watching Jamie slowly calm down. JJ looked worried. She had no idea what sent Jamie into a panic and the fact she had asked for drugs showed her how difficult a healing process would be. She wondered if they could really pull her though this.

Once Jamie had calmed down again she felt embarrassed. She truly didn’t want to feel anymore. Every inch of her being felt like a raw nerve. “Want to watch a movie Jamie? We can move to the couch and put something on that you love and you can watch or sleep? Does that sound nice?” Spencer asked gently petting her hair smiling softly at the slow gentle nod against his chest. He carried her gently to his living room sitting her down on the couch next to him. “What do you....” he saw her face panic at the idea of having to choose, “I think we should watch Tangled. I know how much you love that movie and it’s super cute.”

Jamie nodded smiling slightly. She had forgotten all about the things she liked and It was nice to be reminded by someone who clearly noticed.

Spencer clicked it on and looked over at Morgan and JJ who just looked exhausted and out of place not really having much to do, “Go home you two. I know you guys all insisted but I will call if we need anything for the rest of the night, and you can stop in again tomorrow.” Morgan shook his head no, but then thought about it, “Spencer. I mean it. You call if you need anything.” “I know I know” said the genius as he rolled his eyes slightly.

JJ looked at Jamie worried about her feeling uncomfortable without another woman around but knew that she clearly felt the safest with Spencer. It was so plain the way she clinged to him like he was her life line.

“Alright, goodnight Jamie, night Spencer,” the other agents made their way out of the apartment.

Spencer looked down at the red headed girl watching the screen, eyes drooping slightly, snuggled up to him with her head pressed right against his heart. He kept his arms around her as they watched the movie in silence.

Jamie felt so drained by everything. She could feel herself falling asleep but she didn't want to. She fought it so hard.

Spencer watched her eyes shut and then snap back open and repeat. He adjusted the way he was sitting careful not to disturb her too much and rested his head gently on top of hers.

When her breathing deepened and her eyes no longer forced their way open he couldn't help but say what he had wished he had said a long time ago. Barely anova a whisper in the dark quiet living room Spencer whispered, “I love you Jamie.” He drifted off to sleep again with her in his arms.

Quinn paced the floor of the apartment he was in. She had been out of his grasp for far too long while they laid low and waited for the Boss’ orders. He was scheming how he would take her again and how exactly he would make her suffer for her poor decision of going with them. He hoped he planted enough distrust in her team members, the main one being her stupid “adopted” father. He smiled remembering how she would call out for him to save her and the stroke of pure evil that had ensued when he told her he was the one behind all this. From that point on anyone he talked to on the phone about her he referred to as Hotch, it was great when he knew he was talking to her biological dad, and would tell him about how she begged for him knowing full well what he was doing to her. He wanted to make her so broken and so afraid that she would struggle to find the life she once knew even if she was able to return to it.

“I am tired of waiting. I want my pet back” her grumbled to himself looking out the window at the dark sky of DC.

~Can also be read on AO3 and Fanfic by anonymouslymine ~

#dark truths #Reid x Jamie #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fan #dr spencer reid #spencerxjamie #dr reid #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction.net #triggering content #trigger warning

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

Text

“There are worse things I could do,

Than go with a boy or two.”

Everyone looked very confused when three deps came onstage after the MegaSix and took away Maggie, Joan, and Bessie’s instruments. The show was over- what were they doing? What were they thinking?

But that wasn’t even the weirdest part! No, that’s reserved for when Bessie is handed a mic and she starts singing.

“Even though the neighborhood thinks I'm trashy,

And no good,”

Honey-slicked words glide smoothly from her lips as she began to sing. Her accent adds a majestic hum to the words that roll right off her tongue with practiced ease. Everyone has turned to stare.

“I suppose it could be true,

But there are worse things I could do.”

Maria quickly steps down from her spot and stood behind Bessie, who is swaying slightly. When she grabs the zipper of the costume, she can feel how tight and tense the bassist’s back muscles were, but she knew what she had to be done.

“I could...”

The audience gasps and shouts when the costume is unzipped and pulled down to Bessie’s hips.

“...flirt with all the guys,

Smile at them and bat my eyes.”

After the long sleeves are tied around Bessie’s waist like a jacket, she lopes off of the platform in the black tank top she wears beneath the band outfit. The air feels nice on her skin, but the bright, unforgiving stage lights quickly tore away any chill she may feel, replacing it with heat.

She knows some of her scars can probably be seen, she knows her breasts are on display more than she would have liked, she knows this is not what these people paid for to see, but Bessie goes on, even with the painful feeling wrenching in her stomach. The terror hits hard, threatening to make her crumble beneath it, but she holds strong. While in front of all these prying eyes, she couldn’t act like prey.

For just a little while longer, she could endure.

“Press against them when we dance,”

Bessie glides over to Anna, who is blushing madly. She pressed against the queen, drawing their faces in close. Her hands slide down the other woman’s body and she kneels down with them, still musing.

“Make them think they stand a chance,”

After standing, her hand strokes across Anna’s cheek before she turns away. A smirk is on her lips, but she has the sudden urge to apologize to her old mistress after this is all over. (She knew she should have asked permission first.)

“Then refuse to see it through.

That's a thing I'd never do.”

She snorts lightly. Memories flash through her mind, but she shoves them down deeper and deeper. She refused to let the panic attack swallow her up- not onstage, she seemed to tell the unrelenting trauma, not onstage. Wait until the light is gone.

It settles. For now.

“I could stay home every night,”

Her pitch shifts and she successfully belts the word, earning a few impressed murmurs from the crowd, who weren’t aware the ladies in waiting could sing. She praised herself internally, too, because she had been starting to worry that she wouldn’t have been able to hit that note. Her voice was definitely shaking, but it didn’t seem like anyone noticed.

“Wait around for Mr. Right.

Take cold showers every day,

And throw my life away,”

The memories return with more force. Bessie stumbles for a moment, but grits her teeth through the pain when her ankle twists in a very uncomfortable way. She side-steps, trying to play it off, and feels strings of fire shoot up her leg.

The beast within her mind rears its ugly head, roaring a horrible roar that rings madly in her ears. Bessie’s voice falters and she lowers volume on that last lyric, becoming audibly and visibly more somber. Her eyes reflect great pain, and the spotlights only makes that more apparent for everyone in the theater.

“On a dream that won't come true.”

Her tongue feels swollen and numb, almost like lead, when she sings that part. Hard reality shatters through her skull like a sledgehammer and beats directly into her brain.

But of course she already knew that! Isn’t that why she’s doing this? To not only prove some kind of morbid point, but to also finally face those memories and overcome them for once.

However, it’s a lot harder than she expected. She feels hands all over her body.

Her walls were strong, but only to some extent and she realizes that they have crumbled around her feet. The mass attention on her right now helps that.

(What will headlines say the next day?)

Still, she pushes on.

“I could hurt someone like me,”

Bessie whirls around, causing her ankle to throb is disagreement, but disperses the hands from where they had been caressing her stomach. She stares at Aragon, who is still at the other end of the stage.

“Out of spite or jealousy.”

She spits those words out, voice faltering once again, but somehow fitting in the tune. Her eyes roll, but they display an emotion that doesn’t really match the action.

A lot of things she does is like that, really. She has this persona of sorts. The strong, cool, calm, collected Bessie wasn’t her- not really. Beneath all of the thorns and grime and gore was a scared little girl. And she was the one staring out of those glistening blue eyes.

“I don’t steal and I don’t lie,”

Bessie’s lungs strain slightly. It wasn’t even that long of a note, she knows she could hold more harder ones, but that panic attack from earlier is rising in her chest. Iron bands clamp around her lungs, seemingly testing how long she could keep this up as they slowly add more and more pressure.

“But I can feel and I can cry.”

She wasn’t going to, she wasn’t going to, she wasn’t going to-

“A fact I'll bet you never knew.”

Bessie strides straight towards Aragon and stops right in front of her. She had to stand up on her toes as she sings that line in the woman’s face, but she knows she gets her point across.

She pulls back, ignoring the pain shooting up her leg and the impossible tightness in her chest, and avows,

“But to cry in front of you,”

Bessie’s eyes glisten and she doesn’t meet Aragon’s gaze. She doesn’t dare look at anyone as she concludes the song, only now realizing this was actually some sort of self destructive punishment she has set up for herself.

Did she do this to face her fears or to cement the truth about what she really was?

“That's the worst thing I could do.”

#six the musical #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six concept #bessie on the bass #catherine of aragon #anne bonny #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #maria on the drums #joan on the keys #maggie on the guitar

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jay-zoetic · 5 years

Text

Life doesn’t happen as fluidly as a memory. Rather it bounces back and forth in relativity. A moment in time linked to another. This is the start of me telling my story, as best I know how. As honestly and as transparently as I can muster so that maybe one day someone can read the words that follow and know, like I did from the many readings of others who were brave enough to share, that they too are not alone. There is always hope.

The Beginning of Knowing:

(A reflection of my slow awakening to my true-self)

Picture this for a moment, 13-year-old me, sitting in a recliner at my Aunt’s house watching “Boys Don’t Cry” for the first time.

The graphic content on the screen making my cheeks flush bright red, so much so I thought the heat would permeate across the room in my aunt’s direction. So naturally, I reached for a blanket as my only barrier to shield her from viewing my reaction to the screen.

-Two years prior my big brother, David whom I idolized was killed in a tragic accident that kick-started the beginning of my world turning away from any sense of normalcy. That kind of trauma as you could imagine, difficult at any age, was especially difficult for an eleven year old. I carried a great guilt for my brother’s death. I didn’t understand how two weeks prior he could leave a voicemail begging my father to come back home and telling him that he’d be a better son, a better big brother to me, and then never having the chance to see him again.

There are moments with David that will never leave me.

My brother was not the kind of kid you could brag about. He had his demons and we were always at odds. I felt invisible at his side, but we couldn’t get a-long well enough for him to stay at our home without my father fearing for my safety in his presence. He moved in with our father and my step-mother around the time I was seven. We had a trial run on weekends and holidays the year prior, but both being only children for most of our lives we didn’t much like to share. Our home was a small double-wide trailer that sat on 8 acres of land. Too small to house the two of everything that David and I were gifted to keep the peace. The two trampolines, basketball hoops, a dog pen for each of our dogs, mine, Lady and his, named Yellow.

I didn’t care much for the newly acquired chores of washing the dishes and folding the laundry while my brother took up helping our dad with the yard work, my old job prior to his arrival. I felt like he had taken my father from me and he felt as if I always had my father in his absence, naturally we fought for his love an interaction on equal fronts because my dad spent most of his days working three jobs to feed and provide for two children.

One day, a short five years after my brother had lived with us, he ripped a sling blade from the palm of my hand. He couldn’t have known how sharp the blade was even in its rusted state, but as the blood trickled down my wrist, I watched my brother panic. It was too late, my father then reacted in a state of rage that I am not proud to admit ended the course of our sibling interaction under the same roof and that night he was asked to pack his belongings.

It was incredibly quiet the year that my only brother, my terrorizor, my hardest lesson and first in loss, left. I felt half of a void in his absence, not the blood half, but the souls renching grasp of absence half and when I listened to that voicemail a part of me truly believed he had indeed changed. We could try again. We could be a whole family, again.

We went to visit him that weekend at the local skating rink where he, my brothe, practiced for the skate team. I’ll never forget those tight spandex shorts clinging to his thighs and my father calling him, ‘wolf boy” due to the hair state of his exposed legs protrouding from their grip. We spent hours playing Mortal Kombat in the arcade. Side by side exchanging quarters and the last few precious moments of peace and bonding time I’d ever have with him. Before leaving my father told my brother to, “hug your little sister, “she” loves you David and looks up to you.” We both grimaced and with all the hesitation that my brother could muster he finally wrapped me up into those dangling arms one last time. I can still feel the mutters the “ew” and “gross” leaving my lips. It didn’t help much with convincing our parents we’d be fine, but it was a promising start.

In the parking lot I noticed my brother had grown at least three inches since I’d seen him last. I reached down for a moment to feel the scar on my palm and felt that it was still there, then back up at him to realize that their were no skates on his feet to propel him to the horizon, that was just all puberty taking its course. Time passing and quickly. In that same moment while he exchanged playful punches with my father, I saw him stand toe-to-toe with the man that he feared, just months prior. A glimpse of the man he was destined to become and peering from the backseat window of our family car I saw a slight mist in both of their eyes as they hugged goodbye for the last time. I can still remember my brother’s goofy grin and waver as we pulled out of the parking lot without him and then the moment he turned away, I imagine a little sad that he could not yet come home. That was the last time I ever saw my brother. It was the last time my father ever held his first-born son with his spirit and body intact.

At David’s wake, I was able to kiss his forehead for the first and last time. I didn’t understand why he was wearing make-up and foundation. His hair looked different too, but I didn’t grimace over this strange version of him. I just wanted him to open his eyes. I wanted him to tell me that this was just another one of his pranks. I wanted the crying around me to stop and for his laughter to fill the room instead. The rest his body was covered with as many letters, photos, and tokens from the people that knew and loved him well as his casket could hold. I remember that being my first experience seeing a dead body and how funny it sounded as I sounded that thought out in my head. I remember overhearing the story of that day differently from what I was told through the mutters and whispers of the hundreds of people in the room paying their respects and visiting with the family. I needed to know that it was real, so I reached into his casket one last time to feel his chest, carefully fixing his tie, and I felt it. The absence of structure on his left side. I imagine a vehicle could have done more damage at 55 mph, but aside from the con caved portion of his rib-cage, he looked perfect, but it was enough to know that the following day I had to say the hardest goodbye of my life. I could never again race my brother in go-carts and win. We could never again fight over the Sega genesis games or hockey card and comic book collections. No more stealing his socks because I hated the ones my parents bought for me. He was never coming home again and all that I had left of him was the one thing that sent him away, still itching from time to time on my right palm. What developed after were many changes in my life and at a rapid pace. It was my first real loss and significant heartbreak. My parents were grieving and going through the process of a long and nasty divorce, I was significantly depressed, hormonal & still very much trying to cope with the loss of my brother. When David died a part of me died with him. I lost the one person I identified with close to me and I didn’t cry about it or want to talk about it until years later. This year, I celebrate the man my brother would have become and I am slowly learning how hard it is to become, “that man” in a world that continues to remind me, I am one chromosome away from him & all of the other men I have looked up to in the process of chipping away at 32 years in the wrong body-

As I sat in that recliner, my soccerdelic t-shirt and green umbro soccer shorts I had begged for in the Belks Junior section (my grandmother’s favorite place to shop for me twice a year. Once prior to school starting and once for Summer) were hugging my rage and hormone filled body. I began feeling flushed as I watched a scene that I now identify as my, "awakening”.

The characters in the film felt so familiar to me; especially Brandon Tina, formerly known as Tina Brandon.

I was terrified with shame. When the surge of lightening coursed through my veins, I gripped the blanket tighter, hid my face, and pretended to sleep.

I had just enough light to continue watching through the tiny weaving of the blanket material. My synapses firing all at once, my heart racing, feeling uncomfortable and confused as to why I never knew these things ever existed. Bewildered by the confrontation now settling weight upon my conscience. Questioning how much sin was within me and how much sin had been inside of me, unwillingly.

Then it happened. The Big Bang effect that would ripple through my life as a warning and another “awakening” as Brandon Teena is pulled from the backseat of a vehicle, bound, and then violated in the most horrific way imaginable. In that moment, I felt dead inside. The life I had experienced in my short 13 years had already been unkind and I was learning the difference between normal and abnormal from a TV screen and it looked and sounded a lot like Brandon Teena’s experience.

I felt my chest tighten, my breathing heavy, and my eyes begin to flood with so much hurt and confusion that I was sure my Aunt could feel it from across the room. I wept quietly for the first time since my brother’s death. I wept for Brandon and I cried for what I though then to be -the bleak existence of my future.

What I learned was something that would haunt me for years to come and I felt something that I couldn’t share with anyone. Horrible things. I felt completely and totally alone in it.

I learned that those things that were called “love” could look a lot like someone you know and that rape doesn’t just happen in dark deserted parking lots, it doesn’t just happen to the pretty girls, or the ones who were out too late, it could even happen without someone identifying as a girl, it could happen out of hate for who you are and for who you are not. I learned that I was not alone in my experience, but I also learned that I was not “normal” and to vocalize any of this would surely be my death sentence. I’d witnessed my parents grieve once and in that moment I chose silence, I chose to burden myself with the responsibility of being the constant to keep them from suffering more and that would mean never speaking of these things to keep me alive and should I ever be brave enough to change; don’t.

Fast Forward 2 years>>>

I was a sophomore in high school, a new one since moving in with my father. A small victory came at the age 15 years old when I decided to go by “Jessy” instead of Jessica-Renee. Like most teens, I used my creativity in high school to set myself apart as an individual. I was incredibly naive, but it was the first time I ever felt like I had a voice or a choice in my life to be or identify with that quieted version of myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my name. It was beautiful, but it did not fit me. I would reply to my given name, but out of habit. I loved being named after my dad’s sister, Renee. She was strong, beautiful, and everything I wanted to be growing up. She made life cultured for me when I didn’t have the option to know anything other than the sheltered experiences of my home-life. She understood hustle and hard work and she saw the challenges I was put up against, but never made me feel like I was smaller than them. She pushed me to be better.

The world had already taught me a harsh lesson in what being a woman meant. I had to harness a different kind of strength & beauty to achieve that, but I never could relate to them. I felt as if I were chasing a ghost. A version of someone who didn’t exist within me. I felt like a liar and a cheat, but I became so good at switching the mask.

Everything about being around girls/women felt foreign and I tried to mimic those strong women in my life because I at least knew that meant safety. But in the dark moments when the burden of surviving overwhelmed me I turned to coping in unhealthy ways. I created a cycle of chaos in my relationships with others and damaged my body to punish myself for all of the things that I couldn’t control. I could control that. I honestly felt as though I deserved it. So I didn’t reach for more. I just kind of stagnated until the next thing came along.

In the mean-time I’d fantasize about what my life would be like once I graduated. I’d write lists of what my male name would be, hidden under the title of, “baby boy names” for when I was married to, “said guy” and have the ideal life that my parents would have wanted for me.

I’d think about how I want to sound as strong as my Brother, David or my Father, Brian. Could I convince others to call me something different one day? Would there ever be a moment in my life I could “figure out” what this meant for me?

There are moments that I’m reminded of the sound of my Nana, Grandma, and aunt’s voices calling out for me. The deliberate nature of their voices trailing out from a room separate from me in my life. The women that sheltered me. The women that tried so hard to teach me my place in the world. I felt so much guilt for my part in their inability to contain the fire that burned within me. They often let me figure it out on my own after many attempts at, “getting through” my stubborn ways. Those moments seem so special now in my transition. I’ve tucked them into a safe corner in my mind because truthfully, I will always cherrish the way my name would sound bellowing from their bellies and echoing through their respective homes. Each time felt like love vibrating through the walls and down the hallways I’d learn to walk, first from a crawl, then to a run, and eventually wearing those foreign stilts that my feet felt cramped in. The first blisters on my heels the night of prom when I double-stacked bandaids and smiled at the flashes to match theirs on the other side of the lens. Inside I was clawing at the seams of my costume. The cost of being a woman was a price that weighed too heavy, but there was always a comfort in their firm southern drawl. It deafened the voice that told me I couldn’t be loved, but it also came with a price.

-JESS-KUH RENEE!

-You go GIRL!

These are the moments I’ll keep. I’m learning that I don’t have to wish them away.

You see, like many, I grew up in a tough environment for any child, let alone a growing young lady. The men in my life also made me tough. They knew and saw my curiosity/love of adventure. It was always confusing when the women in my life tried to shelter me from all of that. Collectively they instilled in me a complex & resiliency. It was a tough balance.

There were fights on Sunday about the donning of dresses. There were arguments made about the use/sharing of toys between my brother and I prior to his passing. My barbies were gifted to the back yard then met by the blades of my father’s riding lawn mower.

I buried all of my secrets in the ground of that 8 acres I grew up on in the country on notebook paper. I understood soon enough that writing them down felt more important than having anyone to tell them to.

I prayed beneath cotton candy colored skies at sunsets as my parents yelled so loudly the neighbor’s would take notice and step outside to see me, that quirky kid sitting on a partially deflated basketball holding a pen and paper in my lap.

I prayed that I’d wake up in another world and in the right body, with the perfect family. I prayed for my parents to find peace before my own.

When my breast started to grow, I remember the embarrassment of finding and wearing my first cotton training bra. My grandmother and step-mother took me shopping; at Belks, of course. They were thrilled about this “achievement” of simply waking up to new growth. I was mortified. It was more garment to fight with at the start of my daily routine. Another reason to hate getting dressed in the mornings. I envied my brother who’d walk around the house with a bare chest. His ego a mile wide.

I’d hide in the bathroom trying to figure out why my skin felt like sandpaper against my under garments. My body hair grew from places that he showed so carelessly. I felt ashamed. For wanting it to grow, but also embarrassed at school in gym because other girls my age were already shaving their armpits and apparently that was just another right of passage in womanhood. Once my brother’s girlfriend told me that I should just “shave it off.” I asked my parents if this were possible, but they firmly instructed me to never shave above my knees and to only use an electric razor in shaving below my knees. I found this strange. My brother, who knew this offered to shave my legs for me. I also found this strange, but I agreed and halfway through the process I chickened out. I realized later, with my one shaved calf that this was a set-up. It dawned on me when riding in my father’s truck later that day when he looked down at me trying to cover my left leg and asked why only one leg had hair on it?!

I stammered to explained to him that David shaved it for me. My father’s face looked confused by the admission. He knew David would have never tried to touch me with a razor out of pure discourse for wanting to be near me, let alone without first; trying to harm me with it. Automatically, it sounded like a farce. His face reddened, then the yelling came, where he forbids me to ever shave again.

When I returned to school the in the following weeks, I was relentlessly teased for my hairy legs by my peers. Both boys and girls. I felt trapped in my body by perceptions again and I refused to wear shorts for the fear of being teased again.

I was 15 the year I caved to the societal pressures for what being a woman meant. Remember that night of my first prom? My parents had this glow about them when they saw me. I had by then, grew my hair out, shaved my legs, and started wearing makeup. I felt like a fraud, but the teasing slowed and I began to make friends.

For Amy:

I spent the first few weeks at my new school sophomore year trying to re-establish myself in a new setting. I felt the warmth of possibility. The first attempt came the first day of classes and I was excited to try out my, “new name.”

First period, History class and a name roll-call later I found myself penning down the spelling variations of Jessy, Jessi, Jesse, Jeci over the blue lined notebook paper in front of me. Trying to shield it from others as the teacher, a very round bellied man, grasped his belt and began to ask for our preferred names following the announcing of our “birth-names”. I had a choice here! Finally, I settled on Jessy. So, when I heard the name Jessica, my ears perked and before I could get that final choice uttered, he said their last name…Biggs. The crushing moment that followed was her introduction to her preferred name and spelling…”JESSY”. I didn’t have time to recover before my name was called Immediately following hers. I uttered out a simple, “here”. To my new friends I introduced myself with my preferred name. I didn’t make a fuss about the spelling. I did however have to meet this Jessy.

Jessy walked the halls that day with a similar looking girl, with similar looking hair. The only real difference between the two was a sleeve of tattoos that covered the other girl down to her hands. I knew they were both upper class-men. I’d heard it from Jessy who introduced herself as a junior and later that day I’d catch a brief moment of loving affection shown between her and the girl with similar looking hair while sitting on a bench outside of the lunchroom. I didn’t feel like sitting alone among so many people whose grown-up together so, I casually walked to the end of the hall adjacent to where they sat. I noticed that the tattooed girl, didn’t very much resemble a girl to me at all. This peaked my interest further, but I was too shy to introduce myself and also aware that there was a reason they sat outside of the lunchroom. It was safety.

4th period, Algebra I noticed the girl with similar hair sitting behind me. I needed an excuse to talk to her and learn her name. She felt familiar. She also felt like knowing her would be terrifying for me. I faked reaching for a pencil and then turned empty handed to ask her if I could have one from her. I felt the entire room shift as I spoke. The other students seemed completely surprised that I, long curly headed new-girl would even speak to her. Then, A response, “you can BORROW one.” I laughed nervously and said, “of course, my name is Jessy, in case you need to hunt me down for it later.” She seemed perplexed, but responded, “I’m Amy, thanks.” I couldn’t leave well enough alone and asked to see her tattooed hands and made some lame remark like, “cool tats, that must have hurt.”

I’d get to know Jessy and Amy more over time that year. They introduced me to Nikki and later Nikki would introduce me to Jaimie…who became my very best friend. Another girl, who didn’t look very much like a girl that I crushed on from afar until we met. I would watch and listened to Jaimie and Amy carefully. Constantly in awe of their presence and their bravery to dress in the ways that I allow longed to. But when the moments that occurred from others throwing shame or hatred their way, I cowered. We hung out after school, but in the halls, I started to avoid them to protect my new image from being tarnished along with theirs for standing with them.

Eventually, I couldn’t run from it and started to embrace our friendship more. I would come to learn that Amy identified as transgender. It became my second “awakening” and when she graduated that year, I was sad to know I no longer had her stories or comfort around whenever I needed them. He never knew my internal struggle or how much I relied on her strength to feed mine because four years later when I was ready to reveal that long-held secret, Amy and his girlfriend were killed by a drunken driver while walking home from dinner.

Years 16-17: Independence.

Bouncing between two homes is a terrible experience when your parents carry different parenting styles, but it’s much easier when you finally get your first set of wheels.

I had been working since I was old enough to get my work permit, but the back and forth nature of things made it tough to acquire my learners permit for driving. I finished the course at my old high school, but my parents didn’t have the money to invest in car insurance and a vehicle safe enough to put me in.

My grandmother and grandfather saw a need and stepped in. They did most of the shuttling me around and eventually, they took me in for my driver’s test to achieve that limited learner’s permit prior to getting my license.

May 5th, 2003

I had the permit for almost a week. I was only allowed to drive with a licensed driver over the age of 25. After school one day my grandmother and aunt picked me up in my aunt’s candy-apple red Jeep Cherokee. At the time it was my dream vehicle. I had hopes that she’d retire it to me once I got my full license. I begged them to let me drive the last few miles home from a nearby Burger King because I was hungry and wanted to experience my first time driving unassisted. I was met with hesitation, but eventually found myself behind the wheel grinning from ear to ear while they gripped the, “oh shit! handles” and white knuckles it until we reached my grandmother’s driveway.

I hopped out of the Jeep beaming. I was proud of myself and couldn’t wait to tell my grandfather the good news! He always invested in my successes. Although he was a timid man, he was packed full of charm. His tumbling booms of laughter and joy were all I wanted to hear coming through her door. Usually, he’d greet me with…” where’s my girl?! Come here so I can get a bite of those cheeks!” Then he’s followed with a hug so tight and so warm it could melt the coldest of hearts, mine included.

However, his carefully chosen dialogue and calming nature where not what greeted us as I stormed through the sun-room door and ran towards his chair in the den…empty.

My grandmother’s voice belted from the kitchen, “GUY! GET UP!” My stomach turned and I ran to the kitchen. The fear in her voice was as thick as the swallow of air I fought hard to take into my lungs and release. His feet protruded from the side of the kitchen table. One shoe half on, the other hugging the wall with a tiny trail of his blood dried to the wallpaper. A plate of food still on the table half eaten. That moment felt like an eternity. My brain trying to understand what and how this had happened. A million questions took the backseat as I jumped into action. First trying to wake him. His face pale and upon reaching for his face I felt the cool moisture of his sweat roll down my wrist. Instinctively I reached into his mouth and removed the partial bits left inside blocking his airway. My grandmother in shock started lifting his legs to get him to, “wake up.” Me yelling at her not to move him and then yelling for my aunt to call an ambulance. Moments later he awoke. Only able to try and move his right arm and speak in distorted language. Something in me said, “this is a stroke” When the paramedics arrived, they loaded him into what I had defined as a coffin since my brother’s last trip in that metal box of doom. I didn’t know if I’d ever get those cheek bites again and I felt a terrible guilt for insisting I drove home, making us arrive home later than usual, to find him like that.

He spent the night in Urgent Care and I spent the night trying to avoid the inevitable. Life as I knew it always came in pairs of heartache. The fear of losing g my grandfather was first, the second, losing my sense of peace and safety once I returned home. The second happened that night, for the first time in the one place I called home, but not the “first time”. My safe place. just a few feet away from the kitchen, just a few feet away from my grandfather’s recliner the only man in my life big enough or worthy enough to fill it with love and compassion. This time was different. I put up a fight, tried my damnedest to avoid what I knew could happen, naive enough to think that maybe, some compassion would be bestowed upon me due to the circumstances of what I had been through earlier in my day, but it wasn’t enough to save me from the rest of the attack on body. It wasn’t enough to save me from him.

I missed school the next day, I would have rather gone. In fact, I begged my parents. Anything to keep me away from seeing HIS face, my father’s face when I returned to his house later that afternoon when, HIM, aka “asshole” dropped me off and shook my father’s hand. Anything to keep me pre-occupied from the only other fear in my life at that moment. Losing my grandfather.

I sat on the floor talking to my first girlfriend on the phone. I remember when the line cut in that another call was coming through. I answered to find my grandmother’s voice. A little light shining through that dark time. It was good news. My grandfather had a stroke, but they anticipated another surgery to put in a feeding tube and all should be well. I hung up with relief. In a matter of hours, another call came. This time my step-mother’s voice. This time, my grandfather didn’t make it through the surgery. His body went into shock after the feeding tube was placed. He was gone and I was shattered.

The months that followed were bleak. My mind kind of tapped out on knowing what I needed to feel better. I started caving to peer pressure more and more. I fell away from my principles and morals. I lied to my family, a lot. Mostly because I needed to be away, at any expense. For safety. For healing.

The highlight finally came the day that my grandmother announced she’d help me get my first vehicle. I was just days shy of my 17th birthday. I was so relieved that she’d agreed to help that I nearly ignored “asshole” picking me up from her house later that evening following family supper in my new car. Donning that devilish smile as he existed the car, he questioned,

“Well? What are you waiting for? it’s not going to drive itself?”

I reluctantly climbed into the driver seat. My grandmother motioned for my to, “start her up!” And I obeyed. As we left the driveway the mixture of emotions in my body conflicted with all that I should have been feeling In that moment. The thought of having any sort independence killed with one statement, “there are rules…as you could imagine. You break them and there will be consequences and if you try anything funny, you will lose, every time.” I knew it wasn’t about the car. It wasn’t about my competence in driving or safety on the road. This was a challenge to losing access to me. In that moment my eyes fixated on the tree line, my head went back to that prison, and the only thing keeping my tires between the yellow and white lines was the voice inside of me yelling back, “NOT YET!”

18: The beginning of the end.

Senior year was a tremendous year of growth. I had friends, many of them identified like me. They came from troubled homes, struggled with their sexuality, fitting into a mold placed upon them while living in a southern small town. We did naturally, what most teens do…we rebelled. There were many nights I’d stay out late partying at friends’ houses. I went to swim practices, school, work, then home to do it all over again. I fell away from things that kept me surrounded by my family only because I tried to avoid, “Him”.

I signed my paper for the military and in my waiting to leave that Summer, I practiced my freedom

more than ever. My friends and I started watching a show called, “The L Word.” It felt like the world was turning in my favor and I could start talking about my attraction to women more. So that outing came quicker than expected by a note one of my other step-mom’s found at my dad’s house, only second to him learning from a girl at school that I was, “Bi-sexual.” To this day I’m not quite sure what provoked her to approach my father with that news, but it happened and I was angry for several reasons. The first being that I did NOT identify as Bi-sexual. The second and major reason, I was joining the military and at that time, there was a strict, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy in place that could have jeopardized my career and true-freedom before it ever happened for me.

That didn’t stop my exploration of finding myself, but I was more careful in my approaches. A few weeks prior to leaving for the military I spent a lot of time with my friends. My father asked me to leave the house upon learning I liked women and I was too ashamed to tell my grandmother. On weekends I would stay with her and during the week I’d crash on my friends couches.

I spent a lot of time with Jaimie and Amy that Summer. Amy started hormone therapy and I was blown away at the changes to her voice. I would try on Jaimie’s clothing and too poor or either too scared to buy my own men’s clothing I’d opt to wear hers. That is until my first Walmart purchase at 1am after a work shift when Jaimie, Karla, and I adventure through the men’s section to find what was my very first men’s outfit. It consisted of a striped polo, cargo khaki colored shorts, and finally a sports bra and boxer briefs!

Uncle Sam: (Death of the Femme)

Basic training could have gone smoother had I not opted to wear those new boxers the first night.

They lined us up against the wall lockers and screamed for all articles of clothing to come off. I, like many others stripped down to just my sports bra and boxers. Exposed in more than one way I instantly regretted my choice of underwear. That is until the screaming symphony of TIs shocked me out of that thought and back into action and I began pulling the remaining articles of clothing from my body as fast as I could. Completely naked and bare to strangers we filed into a single line. My body, the last to join the other-foreign bodies, who all seemed to remember the most important part. Pack shower shoes. I ruffled through my bag desperately trying to find a solution. I imagine the comedic relief to the others as I was made to wear the only pair of sneakers/shoes I had with me into the rotation of 8 scorching hot shower heads. If I didn’t want to stand out, I surely had a way of making it happen. I wore those squishy tennis shoes everywhere I went for the remainder of the week until we were allowed to visit the commentary. Which only had the size up from what I needed, but it was better than the tennis shoes and showers became a little more bearable.

I envied my brother flight’s experience. They didn’t have to live with 49 other women all on their periods, (which I started for the second time the second week of basic because, well biology.) They didn’t have to get fitted for the ankle length dress blues skirt or hear screaming at one another over the use of someone’s hair gel, or for someone’s hair falling out of their mildewing hair bun roll while doing push-ups and earning a demerit for the entire flight for it. I’m sure they had their own struggles, but I welcomed them more than my own.

Upon graduation I ended up getting stationed at Travis AFB in California. I spent many nights in my dorm room watching movies and listening to music until I met others to spend time with that I could relate to. I met friends, women who also liked women, but I didn’t feel like I fit with them either. It was a start. In my new sense of freedom, I purchased more men’s clothing. I obtained more guy friends and started living my life as best a I could to avoid the inner turmoil that still existed within me.

One night at the base gas station I came across a film about a trans woman’s experience in life. I felt sick. I had a hatred brewing against anything that felt too close for comfort or served as a reminder that I was trapped in a world that could never allow me; serving my country for freedoms I could not partake in for fear of losing everything I’d worked so hard for. To be labeled unfit or abnormal. Not only in my military career where I’d landed on my false identity as a “butch lesbian” because it was somehow safer than my own understanding of gender identity norms at the time, but also in my personal relationships with those I’d share intimacy.

Did you know that within the Queer Community there are many definitions to what it means to be a lesbian, gay man, etc? Did you also know that there exists a bias toward the Transgender community? A lot of us experience this bias as a betrayal...I certainly did and sometimes, still do encounter it.

Vocabulary and Syntax are funny things, especially when they are weaponized just as you start to feel safe in a community that is supposed to embrace and celebrate differences. Never-the-less, I pushed forward. I found comfort in things that were not comfortable after their effects wore off.

My escapes into bars and nightclubs were riddled with hypocrisy and fear. Choosing to go out with friends, which friends were safe to take along or how I’d explain myself should I happen to be in one of those taboo places by a fellow airman or worse, “OSI” Office of Special Investigation. My sole task was blending in, but I wanted nothing more than to scream out

-I don’t belong here!?

-I don’t feel safe here?!

2008(May the truth set you on fire before they burn you down)

The orders came that I would deploy at a very inconvenient moment in my career/personal a struggle. I began coming to terms with the fact that my absence could be a saving grace but before I left I had this urgent need to tell my family everything I’d been sorting through in therapy relating to my past trauma. With some family members I expected anger, but when that didn’t happen I felt reassured that if they couldn't handle the worst kind of ugly by being supportive, how would they ever support the other secrets I’d locked away that were killing me? It was rough. The time I spent deployed was the most awakening.

The quiet was loud in my head yet; I found comfort in knowing that the things that had hurt me most were thousands of miles away. I felt hope in knowing that if I were not to make it home at least my story didn’t die with me. Only, not a full comfort because I was still locking the rest within the barrel of my chest. I felt relief in knowing that coming home any other way would be disgraceful and truly felt as though I had purpose.

Some days I’d wish for peace in the form

The crisis I was going through with my gender identity paled in comparison with the haunting nature of my past. Suddenly, all of those bad and dark things started affecting me more than they had ever before because my knowledge of their abnormalities and exposure to other cultures and customs made me realize that I finally had to start talking about them to get through them and over them, to heal. I knew that I had to fix those things first and felt like maybe in fixing them, I too, could make the male parts of my brain and the longing for them go away.

To be continued…

In case you wanted to know the reasoning behind my choice or are interested: Follow along…

Jayce (Hebrew, same as my prior name) “healer” or “the Lord is salvation”. Includes my favorite aspects of my prior name.

Bodie ( Bodie is a former gold-mining town and State Historic Park in California’s Bodie Hills, near the Nevada border.)

The boy's name Bodie \b(o)-die\ is a variant of Boden (Scandinavian, Old French), and the meaning of Bodie is "shelter; one who brings news". Same as my grandmother’s name Evangeline.

"Awakened" or "Enlightenment" The Buddhist concept of Bodhi is spiritual awakening and freedom from the cycle of life. Bodhi is also the name of the sacred ficus tree (ficus religiosa) under which Lord Buddha sat and obtained his enlightenment.

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elenaescribe · 5 years

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Shame: A Brief History of Self-Harm

Two years ago, I found myself digging through old writings and personal essays. In a certain piece from 2013, I found a quote that sparked a lot of interest in me:

“I can promise now that everything I write is honest… or at least correct through the eyes of my imagination”

This applies perfectly to the subject I will be tackling today. Why? Because pain and trauma can severely alter the clarity with which we view our memories.

***

It must be some time around 9:15am. I know this because I am rushing to the bathroom, putting on my contact lenses with a deep sense of desperation, scrambling to get ready for the first day of my second year in college. My body aches like if someone had brutally beaten it with a baseball bat. I am not myself nor am I anywhere near being fully present in the moment. Enraged, I race to my parents’ room and vomit all the words chewing me up from the inside out: “I cannot go to class; I am afraid, tired and lonely; I feel out of control; I need to feel numb; I want to gulp down a handful of Xanax; I hate you; I hate myself and the person I’ve recently become” Gasping for air, I continue. “Why aren’t you helping me? Why can’t you see how dead I am? Why are you judging me? Why am I going insane? Help me! Help me! Help me!”

My parents try to calm me down through softened voices. They reach for my wavering arms to try to hug me; my mother’s eyes fill with tears. The hurricane inside roars and off I go to my room, throwing the door and locking it immediately. Hunched over and with my fists curled into trembling spheres, I search for an item- a weapon. Something sharp enough to kill the beast standing over me, breathing hot air against my neck and hissing demonic sentences in my ear. It tells me to reach for the glass cup on my desk. It encourages me to stare at it wildly and imagine a life without my own shadow in it. I can feel the smooth surface against my fingers, a fast solution to temporarily end everything. The beast places its claws over my hand and, together, we throw the cup against the wooden floor.

The glass shatters like thunder against the ground, clear fragments surrounding my bare feet. My eyes widen at the sight of the numerous opportunities of agony beneath me. Without thinking about it twice, I step over the ridged pieces, making my way to the sharpest one my eyes can spot. A loud thump marks the moment in which I fall to my knees, pull down my pajama bottoms and reveal my legs. They feel hollow like the inside of a large trunk. My fingers grip the glass and begin to devour my skin with it; blood pools in new wounds and slowly drips to the floor. I attack my thighs once, twice, three then four then five then six times. There are too many gashes to count. Imagine squeezing a bottle of red food coloring over a crumpled piece of play-dough, that is what my legs look like.

As I release the jagged piece of broken glass, loud voices begin to flood my brain- it’s my parents, banging on the door and begging me to open it. I hadn’t even realized that they’d been there the entire time. My mom’s voice shakes as it tells me to stay calm down and not hurt myself; her tears are somehow visible through the walls of my room. By this point, I’m wailing, and it doesn’t seem possible to move my body. The surface of my skin stings like hell, but I know that the slashes bring me much more relief than pain. My father manages to unlock the door, he sees the mess and lets out a worried sigh. Offering me a hand, he stares at the crimson stains on my thighs.

The first time I self-harmed was in the fifth grade. A boy in class expressed his disgust after learning I had a crush on him. “Her? Gross!” he snarled to a friend. That exclamation was enough to send me down a spiral of self-hatred and despair. Before I knew it, I was on my way to the girls’ bathroom. That year I´d been mercilessly bullied, so I was perfectly used to hiding there when things felt unsafe. Bursting through the door, I glared intensely at my reflection in the mirror: a small girl with hair slicked back into an awkward pony tail, wearing a pair of brown glasses caging her two very disappointed eyes. She looked as if she were drowning in the middle of the ocean, hopeless and terribly afraid.

I angrily kicked one of the stalls open. Young and ignorant, I rolled up my sleeves and began to scratch at my left wrist until it became raw. The skin peeled up to reveal a tender, strawberry-colored layer of flesh. The sight and feel of this should’ve scared me, it should’ve warned me of the consequences of being impulsive. Instead, it made me feel curious and strangely powerful- like if I had just discovered a new way to survive. In a matter of months, I became the girl with bandages around her wrists. The other children murmured and whispered; rumors spread about me being insane. The next year they were about me being in the hospital with tubes going into various points of my body… like a horror villain. A science experiment. An unknown creature to healthy kids.

The scratching continued for three more years. It followed me from one school to the other and became a solid part of my identity. I understood it was a horrible habit; my parents were growing increasingly worried and various therapists threatened to hospitalize me if my tendency persisted. Occasionally, I would vow to stop clawing at myself and spend months without needing to cover up any scars. Redemption would feel so incredibly close. Then came the eighth grade, the year I decided to stop eating and start justifying my self-harm with delusional mantras: cutting myself makes me stronger, I’m beautiful when I bleed, hunger is equivalent to success, being healthy is boring.

Wearing tight, black leggings and a huge thrifted sweater, I’d lie down in an empty bathtub and expose my ribcage. Under the pull of a sharp object (a small knife, scissors, etc.) my skin cried as new scratches appeared all over. The pain was practically unbearable. I didn’t mind, though, I´d expertly tricked myself into appreciating it. Every streak of the knife was falsely loved and thought of as the graceful movement of a paint brush, creating fascinatingly disturbed images on a blank canvas. How elegant to be sick, how wonderful to waste life, how amazing to punish instead of investing time in self-love and forgiveness. This is how I functioned for a very long time, this is how I dealt with things that were in and out of my control; this is how I finally died before having to snap out of it and rescue what was left of me.

Zoom in to the future, I’m twenty-one and getting back on my feet. Film school tore me down, blowing fire into my face with its hostile and heart-breaking environment. I needed to take shelter for a while so, in the end, I dropped out. My mother later confessed that she believed I’d eventually die if I kept going to college. After a few months of desolation and thinking I had ruined my future, it became obvious that leaving school was the remedy to my hysteria. I needed to clean my surroundings in order to restore my sanity. The beast still haunted me for a while, creating the largest and most profound wounds on my body. I guess it felt exasperated, frustrated by the lack of chaos, and had decided to beat me for it. It has now been five and a half months since I last self-harmed; I’m looking into studying journalism and focusing on my passion for writing rather than suffocating in toxicity. This is my accomplishment, my pride, my triumph: not indulging in tendencies that bring me nothing but suffering and shame.

#writing #female writers #personal essay #selfharm #healing #mental health #writers on tumblr

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nhlhoser · 6 years

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On The Rocks - 26

Part 25 Masterlist

3816 WC

Swearing and emotions

Getting out of bed was easier yet still hard with my lack of energy and still sore body.

Deciding to yield Noahs instructions to get out of the room and try to get breakfast, I head to the bathroom to shower first and wash some of this sick off my skin and get a fresh start but also tame my horribly gross hair.

Gingerly I heave myself off the bed on shaky legs and sore muscles.

My legs don't give out on me but it's a damn near thing when my bare feet are shocked by the change from carpet to cold tile. My movements are stiff as I maneuver around the bathroom, arranging the towels to be easy to grab when I come out and one on the floor so I don't create a puddle.

Stepping into the shower the hot water is almost too hot but feels amazing on my skin and my tight muscles. Stretching my arms above my head a series of pops rattle down my spine and through my shoulders, releasing tension as the hot water works on melting the rest.

Working on my hair is rough with my lack of mobility but I eventually am able to free the knots from my gross hair with the products I recognize from the shower I had at Austons over the weekend. He must have snuck them in here before he accidentally woke me up.

Standing under the water for a couple moments longer, I don't want to get out yet because as much as I want to believe that I am relaxed right now, I know I am not as the weight of the water hitting my shoulders, chest, and face is heavier than it is in reality.

My ever-present anxiety is growing larger than it's been in a long time as I usually have a better handle on it but the energy I am executing just by being sick- makes it impossible to ignore the nagging pain in my chest that could only be explained by my anxiety and illness.

My energy level makes me just want to lay in bed for the rest of the forsee-able future and avoid life all together but I can' exactly do that right now being that : I am not even in my own country, I'm ill and have to leave my room for it to be cleaned but also I have to get on another plane in the next day or two too go home and maybe then I will be able to wallow in my own self-pity and get my emotion in order.

I have to get myself under control before I lose it again but HOW? I could call my brother or maybe my dad but that would stir even more stress and drama as my dad would hope on the next flight and throttle the entire Leafs management staff and probably anyone that may try and stop him.

Even then I don't usually involve anyone in my own problems I kinda just deal with them or accept that they are there but right now it's too prominent to ignore. Maybe, I should involve someone that is already aware of some of what is going on?

Noah? He'll probably think of the medical aspect rather than the emotional side and may not understand.

Any of the guys are just out of question because of playoffs and thats just a lot on their plate already plus they barely know me.

You've started to let Auston in already.......

A small voice whispers temptingly more aware than I am.

But he has hockey to worry about I reason with my own inner thought.

yes, but he there's already something he wants to say, we don't have to really say much. What he wants to talk about could ease us enough to get us back to Toronto. If not we have Ricky who we could rant to because he cares you know. We need to let someone in before we break.

Whatever part of my brain this is, it is really sad.

I'm your heart, you need to listen to me more.

Maybe.

Shutting off the water I stand in the tub a moment longer staring at my hands still holding onto the tap. Purple and yellow bruising from boxing the day before last and the scars from the years gone by resembling how my heart might look if ripped from my chest- something I'm scared someone might just actually do if I let them in.

Stepping out it's much easier to move and faster thankfully because the air is cold against my damp skin as I wrap a towel around my middle and twist my hair into another. Catching myself in the mirror I definitely look as sick as I feel, my complexion pale but my cheeks flushed slightly pink from the fever and my eyes slightly sunken with dark bags beneath them.

Sliding into a pair of my new leggings and Austons shirt, I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling again, my energy almost spent just from the shower. My mind still overworked by the panic attack earlier with Noah, the urge to scream wrapped around my neck like a cord again but this time producing fat tears and a gasp for breath that pulled on my sore diaphragm as more tears leak from eyes and down to my ears. (A/N: if you've ever cried well laying on your back this is a chilling experience)

The memory is nothing new but it hasn't been brought up in a long time and it still scares me just as much the first time when I thought it was just some nightmare my brain had conjured up due to trauma but when I told my dad about it he sorrowfully correct that even though I don't even to this day understand it completely it was something that did happen.

The memory is the last of my mother but also it was the last of a couple month period after my 16th birthday due to an injury that I have no memory or details of. With the help of the little family I had around me and a patient-therapist I was about to mend a life for myself

A swift knock on the door startles me from my trance and back into reality, still staring at the ceiling now dry-eyed.

"Who is it?" My voice sounded hoarse with the edge of being broken on the inside.

"Auston," came barely audible through the door. "Can I come in?" followed only this time a little bit louder..

"Do you still have a key?" I move to be sitting on the edge of the bed, my face in my faces as I work on wiping away the tears with my palms.

"Uhm..Yeah?" He sounded almost sheepish

"Come in," My voice still hoarse and ragged. My heart rate spikes as the sound of Auston unlocking the door registered in my brain that someone is going to see me like this.

In a last stitch effort for whatever composure I can must I run my hands through my damp hair, dragging the strands from my face with a deep breath as the door opens revealing Auston- a loaded shopping bag in hand.

"Gatorade and- you're up?" Auston's step stuttered a little bit as his eyes landed on my freshly showered hair instead of the mess he last saw.

"Up is a bit of an over-exaggeration," I mumbled laying back down in a huff, watching Auston continue into the room a small frown on his lips.

"How are you? Now?" Setting the bag on the floor Auston sits and lays on the bed parallel to me and turns his head to face me.

"Honestly?" My voice cracks under the emotion I've pent up as I turn my face to look him the eye, they're soft and full of concern.

"Fucking shit," a sarcastic laugh follows my brief confession with a small tear falling down my cheek before I could wipe it away Auston's rough thumb swipes it away for me and continues to my right cheek with his left hand tenderly.

The sheer tenderness of the moment and the level of vulnerability oozing from both of us causes a rough sob to wrack through my chest, my eyes squeezing closed in an attempt to hold back the floodgates a little bit longer.

This prompts something in Auston to move from just holding my face to wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest, holding me with a strong yet soft force. His hand starts to work through my hair slowly in a calming manner trying to soothe me, as a painful hiccup jars my extremely sore diaphragm.

Whimpering at the pain Auston pulls me in tighter and continues to run his hands through my hair and over the pulse on my neck to cradle my head his large hand as he pulls back to examine my face. Opening my eyes I am met with his searching eyes as they scan over my face, his eyebrows draw in creating a crease to form on his forehead.

"From being sick?" Auston's tone suggested that he knew that it might be more than just the flu I've been dealing with causing my meltdown.

"No," I sniffled.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not yet,"

"Okay. I'll wait," Auston pulled me in so my ear rested on his chest again.

The sound of his heartbeat lulling me back in peace and almost sleep if the fact I need to get out of the room for a bit popped back in my head and that Auston started to speak.

"I'm sorry for withdrawing before leaving.It's just the playoff's made me feel a new level of nervous that scared the absolute shit out of me. I needed to get my mind in order and that caused some casualties on the way," His voice vibrated through his chest as he laughs nervously. "You know who shined the light in my eyes?" he added.

"Mitch?"

"Well, he definitely was part of it but I was talking to mom after you left that night and I might have been ignoring her also and she was not having it and she tore me a couple news one but when she calmed down she asked me about you,"

"Me?" I pull up surprised that Ema Matthews even knew i existed. "why?"

"You made that dinner that I could heat up and have them over instead of going out - which totally shocked them- but anyways she knew it wasn't me that made the food and it couldn't have been ordered because it was made in the dishes she bought for me-"

"She also knows you can't cook for shit," I added interrupting him.

"Rude but I told her about how you had agreed to make me hot dinners and when she called to rip me a new and was civil again she asked what I had to eat and when I told her I just had dinner you made for me- she told me to thank you for her and I realized I didn't even thank you," The volume of Auston's voice drops through the story as he starts to sound awkward and sheepish.

"Then Mitch text me saying 'Fix it' with zero contexts but followed up with the information you just got home and were withdrawn," Auston kind of nervous laughing now,

"So, this is me fixing it. I really didn't mean to be a dick,"

"It's okay Auston but let's go down a get breakfast and hope Noah doesn't catch you in here and scold you because you might catch this," I reminded the boy with a fake sternness in my voice.

"You never told me to leave," Auston whispered in my hair sounding sleepy.

"I know," I signed relaxing into his arms even further as the sound of his heartbeat and soft breathing started to coax my eyes into closing. Breathing in the scent of detergent, cologne and generally, the smell didn't help either.

"Auston," I whispered earning a soft groan to rumble in his chest. "Let's goooo" I whined as I dragged my body off of his regretfully and standing in front of his legs still dangling off the bed. I press my knees to his and push with some force.

"Aus, Come one," I grab his wrists I tug and he finally opens his eyes and sits up staring up at me with a look in his eyes I can't place but it feels meaningful. Slowly he circles his arms around me again and presses the palm of his hands into my back pulling me into an embrace so his face is nestled against my collarbone and neck sort of.

My breath hitches slightly as a knot tyes in the back of my throat at the sudden rush of emotions from being held so tenderly. A small gasp escapes me as Auston's arms tighten as if he can sense the sudden rush of my emotions.

He probably heard the spike in my heart rate from where his ear is resting.

Returning the embrace my arms rest on his shoulders and my hands going into his hair as I held his head against me, resting my forehead on the top of his hair like he had done earlier.

Pulling his head back slightly my hands drifted to rest on the nape of his neck and slightly under his jaw as his eyes hold mine in what feels like a loaded moment to only have it interrupted by a knock on the door of my room.

"Who is it?" I instinctively put my hand over Auston's mouth even though he hasn't made a sound.

"It's Noah," My eyes widen slightly then glared into Austons "I didn't see downstairs and wanted to make sure you were alright,"

"I'm fine. I just got of the shower, I just need to get dressed and I'll be down," Implying that I'm naked got a rise out of Auston as his shoulders shook slightly and he raised a questioning brow at me.

"Oh-Okay see you down there then," Noah soundly sheepish as his footsteps could be heard walking away from the door and down the hall.

Pulling my hand away from Auston's grinning mouth he shakes his head at me with the same brow raised.

"You have to go down first because we can't show up at the same time," I said as I stepped back giving the still grinning Auston Room to stand to his full height.

"What?" I questioned when he just kept giving me that look as I grabbed my sweater and pulled it over Auston's long sleeve to stop the chill on my skin.

"He totally just thought of you naked," I pulled the rest of the hoodie over my head quickly as I stared at Auston wide-eyed.

"He did not," stuffing my keycard and phone in my pockets I grab a Gatorade and wait for Auston at the door. "Come on breakfast," I signaled Auston through the door.

"I'm a guy I know for a fact that he did," He commented passing into the hall before me with a smug smirk. "Because I know I would of," He stated just as smug.

"Go eat," I waved him off as my feverish face turns even redder. Auston walks away laughing, I close the door again and rest my heated face against the cool surface to get composure back.

"He's the worst," I groan into the door with mild bitch fit before I school my breathing and feature to calm and collect before re-opening the door and leaving the room stuffing the Gatorade in my hoodie pocket.

Walking into the slightly crowded restaurant despite the fact food service just started, the scent of food assaults my senses and instantly causes a split reaction in my stomach; Hunger and nausea. A shiver runs down my spine as I fight the urge to gag and end up coughing instead.

Shaking it off, I walk towards the food with a grimace as the smell gets stronger making me breathe through my mouth rather than my nose to stop the smell from connecting to my sore stomach. I view the different foods in awe and sadness as they all look so delicious but I can't stomach much or any of it yet.

Drifting passed all the warm yummy foods, I end up grabbing a banana, plain toast, and a mint tea.

The other food just too harsh for my recovering stomach and throat.

"Amelia," the ginger goalie appeared to my left quietly. "How are you? Auston practically describes that you were dead," Freddie gently threw an arm around my shoulders and rubbed my arm soothingly with a teasing smile on his face. Cleary seeing that I am not dead

"I feel like it thats for sure," The rasp in my voice visibly hits Freddie's ears as he winced and chirped that I sounded like it too, his arms still around me as he guilds me to the same table as yesterday where Auston is residing with plate a of half eaten food and a mug of what I'd guess to be coffee.

Settling in the same seat as yesterday, I arrange to face the boys with my back against the wall taking my Gatorade out of pocket and cracking the deal and taking a test sip of the sweet drink. My stomach doesn't react prompting another but still small sip, the cool fluid providing relief for my sore throat.

Setting the bottle on the table with a sigh both of the hockey players are staring with pitiful eyes and a grimace, Sticking my tongue out at them they look away with small smirks and continue to eat.

The banana goes down without resistance as does a little bit of tea but my stomach starts to have a fit when I go to pick up the toast. The smells stopped bothering my stomach so didn't try and push what little comfort I achieve as I sip my tea absorbed in whatever conversation is happening around me.

Couple more bodies had joined us with plates overflowing with nutrient foods and some chirps about me not being in as bad of a state as Auston had described to which Auston would defend if they'd been there and I saying that I sure as hell still felt like death.

My body was still remarkably sore especially my diaphragm that is putting a damper on my breathing because it hurts. My body shifts between hot and cold about six times in a minute that doesn't go unnoticed when my cheeks get really red then I start shivering.

Matt was watching me from the end of the table with worried eyes but I waved him off which brought the curious eyes of Mitch and Wiliam as my cheeks started to flare again then to cuddle into my layers.

The conversation was steady and light currently on the subject of Auston's ripped jeans and shoe collection being bigger than some of their girlfriends but Auston just rolls his eyes at them.

Resting the back of my head against the wall, my eyes start to droop with the need to sleep again and the comfortable feel of safety the guys surrounding me provide with their slightly intimidating size even Mitch.

"Noah hooked her up to banana bag and saline last night," Austons voice was soft as he whispered to the table. "She was puking all night," There was a deep layer of concern in his voice.

"Poor girl, Shouldn't she be in bed?" Matt's mature side coming out as he joined the whispering and some sounds of approval with i'd guess nodding along.

"Noah advised for her to get out of the room so the cleaning service could come through and for her to try to get some food or fluid," Auston's sparknote version of what I told him earlier. The conversation lulled as only typing on phone could be heard.

"It says here, Banana, Rice, Applesauce, and Toast are the most recommend things for someone with the flu to eat," Mitch recited smartly.

"I think she already knew that," William whispered.

"I did," I added not opening my eyes and getting comfortable in my little corner and preparing to actually sleep this time. "At least wait for me to actually fall asleep before you start talking about me, " A tired smile pulled lamely at the edges of my lips as I pull the hood up over my head and ended over my eyes.

I do actually end up falling asleep this time with my head resting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of me knocking someone's ankles, and the neck of the sweater pulled over my nose.

That lasted until Freddie tapped me on my shoulder saying they had to go get their act together for the morning skate. I sleepily nodded and followed behind the group of athletes with my Gatorade into the elevator.

If i could i would have tossed my body into the freshly made bed but I carefully crawled under the covers and cuddled up into dreamland for some more precious sleep.

Noah comes back around to check on me around 1 pm checking temperature, breath sounds, lymphoid and throat. My temperature was high but coming down and he only made a small face well inspecting my throat with his pen light.

"Well you're not worse which is good at least you're stable," He started packing up for the 3rd time today and was out with the same 'call me' stick.

I shed a layer of clothing by removing the hoodie and socks, a sign i was really tired because I never can sleep with socks. I grab a water and gatorade from the fridge and crawl back into bed with the tv remote trying to find something to make the room less dead.

Settling on a what looks like comedy by the appearance of Adam Sandler yelling at a kid - a good sign.

I fall back asleep quickly.

A weight on the side of my bed alerts me to the presence of someone. Instinctively I roll over giving said weight room to lay down instead of being sprawled in the middle.

"What time is it?" I mumbled being roused awake.

"1:30 pm," Came the deep voice I expect.

"Isn't it time for your pre-game name?" I rolled over to face him.

"What do you think I'm doing," with that the covers lift and he settles in.

"Hmm," I barely hum snuggling into the pillows and blankets.

Strong arms circle around my waist and Auston snuggle me with a sigh.

#auston matthews imagine #auston matthews #on the rocks

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addledconsciousness · 4 years

Text

The Beginning part 2

As I said earlier, there’s not a whole lot of my early childhood I remember, so in order to understand why you need to understand my family dynamic and most of all need to understand who my father is.

(TW and CW ahead for domestic violence, child abuse and bodily harm)

My mother married my father when she was 18 because her mother fell ill and didn’t think she was going to make it. She wanted to make sure my mother was taken care of so pressured her into marrying her high school boyfriend. My grandmother never ended up dying, and she’s still kicking to this day, but the deed was done and my mom had her first child shortly after.

My brother was the first male grandson for my father’s side of the family. Coming from a traditional Italian Roman Catholic family this was a huge deal. He was like the second coming. He would continue the bloodline, the family name was secured and he would take over the family trade after my father and his father before him. The family trade being cattle ranching, more on that later. Then I came along 18 months later. From what I was told my brother could not be more upset. He wasn’t getting the attention he was used to anymore, and I was (by everyone’s account) not a great baby. Constantly sick, screaming and never sleeping. He once asked my parents to take me back where ever they got me, but who could blame him really, I was a terror to the whole family.I eventually got older and traded the screaming for shy silence, still sick a lot (probably mostly stemming from the kidney issues in the previous post) but I was quiet now. Three years after me came my sister who ended up being the exact opposite. My brother and I found our groove together eventually but this other girl threw a wrench in our system and I treated her much like my brother treated me at first. We both had a history of pushing each other off things (this is late 80′s early 90′s so not a whole like of child protected anything going on there) but we all came out relatively unscathed. At least from each other.

Mark, (not my brother’s real name) and I had a past time of playing Nintendo together. He usually kicked my ass at everything as he was a little older and better coordinated; but I remember competing to see who could get to the highest level in Mario, him beating me in every game of Tecmo bowl (which I still refuse to play to this day because of it) and some other ones. I also remember sitting on my dad’s back when he would take over and play himself and I would just sit and watch him. I remember he would come home from work and would take a nap on the couch and I would sit behind his legs and watch TV with my brother and sister.

My mom was always around the house as my dad preferred she didn’t have a job. After all, who would watch the kids and make dinner and clean the house if she was at work? So I never liked leaving her side if we ever had to go anywhere. The only person who could hold me without my immediately starting to cry was her and my grandma. So I was a stage 5 leg clinger from an early age. Since we didn’t have anyone around other than family, going anywhere with any sort of crowd made me nervous. I’d rather stay home and play outside than go into town to run errands.My siblings and I played a lot outside, my mother insisted on it. We we’re allowed to even come in the house most of the time because she didn’t want us watching TV or spend all our time playing video games. So we ran around like crazy wild children on our property.

Growing up on acres of land with no one else around definitely gets the creative side going in kids, at least it did in us. There wasn’t a whole lot around so we made up games to play with each other. There was this hill behind our house that we used to jump down and climb back up for hours. In the winter since we didn’t have central heating or air (I know right), we had a wood burning stove instead. So my dad would go out and cut wood and bring it home and that was our source of heat when it was cold. We’ll all those coals and ashes needed to be cleaned out of the stove every so often and dad would throw the old ashes off to the side of the yard. One day when we were playing out back I fell down the hill in the backyard like I had done so many times before, but this time there was an added element, hot burning coals.

Now maybe my dad thought they were out or maybe he just didn’t care (because who throws themselves into a pile of ashes), but needless to say, I threw myself into a pile of hot ashes. One bloody scream and a trip to the hospital (mind you was at least an hour and a half away) I had burned my arm from my wrist to my elbow to the third degree. The doctor told my my mom they removed most of the burned skin and wrapped in some kind of burn aid that needed to be on for a few days and to come back in a week but to expect a high amount of scarring and tissue damage. Dunno how it happened but when I came back for my follow up appointment and they removed my bandages it was like nothing even happened. They honestly couldn’t explain what happened. They took pictures to document and everything because there should have at least been some scarring. My arm was perfectly healed. Not sure how I got away with that, but I’m grateful.

Back to the story at hand though. So stay at home mom, with three young children and a dad who I guess at the time was starting to get irritated with his lot in life, and his wife, abuse the verbal and physical abuse started shortly after that. My dad isn’t the best of guys on a normal day and knows exactly what to say to tear you down when he’s sober, so when he was drunk (which was more often then not) he’d just get mean and violent. Anything we did to piss him off would mean being yelled at an belittled. He used to call my brother all sorts of names and tell him he was stupid. He would do the same to my mom in front of us and my brother after he got a little older (maybe 6 or 7) would try and stop him. This of course only enraged my dad and couldn’t let a little kid stand up to him so he had to put him in his place. He used his hands mostly, but if belts and electrical cords were handy those were convenient to used too. Which of course would send my mom into bear mode trying to protect her kids and she would get the worst of it. Me being the tiny emaciated kid I was didn’t stand a chance. So i’d let him yell at me and berate me and say all kinds of horrible things because it was better than being hit. I still have a scar on the back of my head from when I caught the buckle on a belt. Living in constant fear and panic because I never knew what was going to rub him the wrong way on a day to day basis made me an extremely cautious kid. I spent a lot of my time figuring out the right things to say and do in order to avoid being punished. Mind you, this is all before the first grade.

So that is were my journey with trauma started, this is where my brain started making neural connections in my flight or fight response to survive and be on alert at all times instead of appropriate times. This is where I started leaning on my mind and trying to out think a grown man to get the desired outcome of not being beaten instead of getting to be a kid. It’s also where I started forming the distinct mindset of survival at all costs. I didn’t know until recently that my childhood trauma was the basis for most of my mental illness today (figured people grew out of that and now that I am no longer in those situations that It didn’t effect me anymore). I also didn’t know that living in that state for years and years and years actually mapped my brain for fear and anxiety to be the baseline for how my brain and body worked.

All that is to say, that is one of the reasons I am doing this. To help get my thoughts straight, to confront my memories on my own terms and to work through them with techniques taught to me by my therapist in a safe environment that I can control. It’s not reliving my trauma but identifying what happened to me and learning to accept and let go.

That’s enough for now, but I’m feeling pretty good about this so far. I’m not as freaked out as I thought I would be airing out things so far, maybe it’s because it was the oldest abuse and I’m far removed from it, or maybe that part of it was so normalized that It doesn’t hit me too hard to talk about it. At any rate, i’ll be ending it here tonight.

#trigger warning #TW #CW #Content warning #Domestic violence #Child Abuse #Bodily harm #Fire related injury

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ganymedesclock · 7 years

Note

I'm definitely in agreement with you about the whole "Galra are evil and Alteans are good" bullshit. Because the show has not even pitched that idea at all? I'm so confused by it, because the showrunners have given us a rather large handful of good guys who are Galra and an Altean who is definitely one of the bad guys. Not to mention the fact that it's maybe a little hinted that Alfor did some questionable things that led to Zarkon becoming what he is now.

I mean, that all said, I do hesitate to lump suspicions on Alfor, mostly because almost everything we see of the Paladins of Old suggests that Zarkon and Alfor were incredibly close.

Consider that Alfor was the original architect of the Lions. Now, consider the Black Lion- her terrifying capabilities, her integral position to Voltron. All of the Lions are formidable but the Black Lion- she’s the leader of the pack in every conceivable way.

And Zarkon was who Alfor had in mind as paladin the entire time. This was the Lion he built out of the meteorite that struck Zarkon’s planet, working with the galra.

In comparison, the Yellow Lion does not really stand out from his peers. Like any of the Lions, he’s unique, and has great aptitude, but his role- that of the nurturing pillar of support, the ‘steadying’ leg of Voltron- suggests that even though Voltron was Alfor’s creation, Alfor put himself and his own Lion very firmly subordinate to Zarkon. He chose to be a leg to stand on to support Zarkon, the head.

We don’t know how much of this was specifically Alfor’s choice, and how much of the Lions and how they operate was already hardcoded into the meteor, but, that Alfor was on board with it at all would suggest that Alfor put no small amount of trust in Zarkon.

Let’s consider that Allura, Alfor’s beloved daughter, was very familiar with Zarkon and took his betrayal intensely personally.

Consider it was very likely Allura knew Zarkon as practically a surrogate uncle her entire life. The royal lines of Altea and the Galra were very close.

That hardly tells me Alfor turned on Zarkon just for the hell of it or vice versa.

We know that Zarkon seems to hold Alfor uniquely responsible for what happened. After all, Zarkon leveled Altea, wiped out its people, and then went on to annihilate every planet in Altea’s solar system, and we don’t know if those planets were occupied or if Zarkon’s rage was just that bad. Conversely, it’s very likely Pidge’s predecessor as Green Paladin was an Olkari- but Olkarion and its people still exist, and had only relatively recently come under the attention of the empire.

We know, however, that the other paladins of old stood with Alfor, against Zarkon, their leader. That the Red, Green, and Blue paladins abandoned their armor and weapons and sent the Lions away, seemingly to die far from their homes.

We know that Alfor didn’t seek shelter with his daughter or Coran but went out to face Zarkon, without his paladin armor or bayard, and the presence of his AI and Coran’s comments on it tell us that Alfor basically went knowingly to his death.

We know that Zarkon didn’t have a scar on his face in the past, with the paladins together, and he didn’t have those glowing eyes that showed he was prolonging his life with quintessence, either.

But he had both during the fall of Altea. And Zarkon happens to be the obvious narrative parallel of Shiro, who, in Shiro’s arc, the appearance of his facial scar correlated with an intense and lengthy traumatic experience that’s still messing him up rather substantially- when much of Zarkon’s behavior heavily suggests old, unmanaged trauma.

And we know that something is out there causing an “unnatural death” of entire planets, and that this:

was not a physical location they visited, so Black was showing Shiro that devastation from her memory- possibly, from Zarkon’s memory.

There’s a lot of pieces we don’t have yet. We don’t know what happened to Zarkon. We don’t know what role the other paladins played. We don’t know what Allura refers to as the “Dark history of the paladins” and it’s likely Allura herself doesn’t know all of it given she was utterly blindsided by Haggar. We don’t know what enemies the paladins of old were fighting, and we don’t know where the meteorites the Lions were created out of came from.

But the implications appear that this is partially a love story:

and partially, a story of some kind of betrayal, real or perceived.

That Alfor’s Lion is the archetypal protector and supporter of Voltron, that both Zarkon and his home planet appear to have been so decimated, and that Zarkon held Alfor uniquely responsible for whatever perceived transgression occurred, is suspicious to me. That Alfor, a cautious person, would go under-armed into a fight with someone he knows the capabilities of, not expecting to survive, and passing up a perfectly good opportunity to flee onboard either Yellow or his own castle, is suspicious to me.

That Haggar would hold her own kind in such contempt, and attempt to kill Allura to the point that she will completely ignore Voltron to do so, and yet, for all her callousness and cruelty, is genuinely loyal to Zarkon and unafraid to endanger her own life in his service, and deeply troubled by his injuries, is suspicious.

These things seem related.

To me, I think the implication is that Alfor didn’t hurt Zarkon- as much as something may have happened to force Alfor, the protector of the team, to pick who to save- and may have turned his back on Zarkon and his planet without fully realizing what would happen if he did. That he was so willing to face Zarkon not expecting to survive hardly suggests, to me, he had a clean conscience or didn’t care about the fate of one of his longstanding allies, especially one he clearly thought so highly of.

Something, something went horribly wrong with these people and none of them walked away all right.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Alfor #Zarkon #Haggar #readmore #Anonymous

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txskax · 6 years

Note

All interview questions for Eliseo

Eliseo replies and turns to his mun with concern.

- What is your Full name? Include any maiden names, aliases, or nicknames. Eliseo Matteo Lee, I usually go by Eli for close friends and family members

- When is your birthday? Do you know where you were born and at what time? April 17, 1982, I was born in Italy, province Bari.

- What is your star sign? Do you know your Chinese Zodiac too? I believe that I am an Aries and my Chinese Zodiac is the dog

- What is your earliest memory that you can remember? I remembered the summer of 1986 in Bari my father taught me how to catch my first fish, best summer day spent that year.

- Where was your childhood home? Was it more urban or rural? With the buildings and such, it was kind of a cross in between, but it is more urban than it would be rural. We had not much land and hour home was like a townhouse type of deal, but it was beautifully set cliff side to look over the ocean

- How was your childhood in general? Did your parents treat you well? Did you have a lot of friends? I had a very fulfilling childhood until I reached the year of our accident, my parents were the most loving and understanding couple you could meet, they would always greet you with open arms and warmth. I did have some friends but they all left my side when I became blind and then I ended up moving to Korea and basically no one befriends me, perhaps because they can only pity me so much.

- How was/is school? What is your favorite and least favorite subjects? What were your grades on average? School was a blast in the elementary years, then high school and university was just a horrible freak show, I never thought that the smallest thing on this earth would be human kindness but what else could I expect. Least favorite subject were the sciences and my most favorite was mathematics. My grades are above average, not exceptional.

- Did you have a best friend growing up? What was their name? Are you still in touch? I had a friend named Dario, he was close to me for a very long while but when we moved on to grade 11 he had moved to another province in Italy. In general I have lost contact with him.

- Were you in any cliques? No.

- Best childhood memory you can recall? Being told that was going to be a big brother, when my mother was pregnant with her third child.

- Worst childhood memory you can recall? I do not know what was worse, being told that my eye sight will get worse and possibly permanently gone or the fact that my mother died in the accident along with my sibling inside of her. Both had me devastated.

- Name an event in your childhood that has shaped you into the person you are today. I became a spokesperson for people against drunk driving due to my accident. I am the outcome of this circumstance, but due to this I learn there are many more values in life that we must cherish, and these things are crucial. Things cannot be taken for granted and that with whatever is happening around us, do not forget to be thankful for everything we have already.

- What is the dumbest thing you have ever done to impress someone? Were they impressed or was it all for naught?I have never shown off or have done anything to get people to fancy me. I don’t work that way.

- Did you ever have any sweethearts or lovers? Do you have a boy/girlfriend? I liked a girl back in grade 5 but I was a naive kid, what did I know about love? But no, I have never dated anyone, I have never held hands with anyone in that romantic manner either.

- Are you a virgin? Considerably yes? (to be discussed lol)

- Do you ever plan on getting married in your life? Do you want kids? Oh yes I am growing older, I do want to settle very much and I would love to have kids, I just adore them.. but I fear of being a burden t my spouse and my children so I distance myself a lot

- Would you rather have your own kids or adopt? How many kids would you want? Adopt or not they will be loved and cherished as my kids, and they will have the highest quality of life. I would prefer one girl and one boy, but if nature happens, it happens.

- Do you think you'd be a protective parent or a relaxed parent? I think I am a good healthy in between, I do not like spoiled kids but I do not believe emotionally scarred kids are good either, I like to balance out my love and my discipline for the.

- How would you prefer to pass away? Surrounded by loved ones and at peace, or while doing something heroic? I would prefer to die with loved ones around me but dying at least feeling I did my best for the world around me.

- Generally, how healthy are you? Do you get sick or injured easily or are you fit? I have physiotherapy to help me, I am not healthy 100% but I am not too ill, I have respiratory issues and sometimes my legs could give out but I am doing my best on working out

- Have you ever been badly injured before? Yes.

- What is the worst injury you have ever gotten? What was it and how did it happen? Were you ever close to death? Like I said my blindness is part of my injuries, alongside with broken ribs and slight internal trauma. A drunk truck driver has slammed into our family car, my mother passed, my father fell unconscious I sparred my sister with her only having a broken arm and I have suffered head trauma and such.

- How many times have you been to the hospital/doctor's? I cannot count but I have kept all of my paperwork

- Have you ever had a concussion or brain injury? Have you ever had amnesia? -- please read the other info

- What was the worst illness you ever contacted? Do you know what it was? How long were you sick? stitching infection? after they patched up my chest the stitching had a slight infection and I have gotten the worst fever ever experienced.

- Ever had any extended hospital stays? What for? Yes.

- Have you ever had to give yourself or someone else emergency first aid? What happened? Yes, that is disclosed information.

- Are you employed? Where do you work and who do you work for? What do you do? I am a professional artist and commissioner. I am self employed with my own studio and gallery/store, I can take commission requests from clients or sell my current art works to the public.

- Are you happy with your current job? Yes

- Did you have any previous jobs? What were they and what did you do? None

- Most dangerous thing you have ever done? Tried to cross the street during traffic just to kill myself

- Do you consider yourself a more active person or a more relaxed person? Perhaps more relaxed

- What is your dream come true? How about your worst nightmare? Well I had a dream to be the greatest artist and that is a come true for sure. My worst nightmare is not being able to help my father and sister.

- What is the biggest and most important goal you have set for yourself? Find good quality happiness and keep it. Do not settle for anything less than happy.

- How persistent would you say you are? How much does it take to get you to give up on a task? I will push as mush as I can to get the results I want, I am not rude about it but i don’t believe in early give ups. To get me to stop early is to pretty much hurt me with you saying no.

- Would you surrender yourself to your enemies or fight to the very end? Fight to the very end

- When do you usually do your shopping? What is currently on your shopping list? I usually stand to hold the cart my sister determines what to buy but I usually request pepero to be first

- Top three things on your wishlist? nothing as of now

- Currently, what is something you want but do not need? A lover hahahaha

- Do you like shopping? What is your favorite thing to shop for? Honestly, I can’t see things to be desiring materialistic things. But I do like art supply shopping, its a guilty pleasure

- What is the most expensive thing you have purchased? Was it worth it? Specialized paints with braille, and YES

- What would you do if you were suddenly given one billion dollars out of the blue? I will donate half to charities I like, and the rest will be to my family. I keep nothing.

- What would you describe your style of clothing as? I am mostly painting through the day so something dark and simple so it is easy to clean or dispose.

- Do you have any hobbies? Name all of them if you can. Painting, singing, reading, swim?

- Do you like and appreciate art? What is your favorite piece of artwork? YES of course!! Jean - Michel Basquiat, his works are controversial, meaningful, despite its raw and childish form he is a man with proper anatomy and art education that uses his form of art style to convey a rather complex yet simple message to the viewer. I also have a major crush on him too from when i was young

- Do you like music? What is your favorite style of music? I listen to classical music mostly, I like myself some Chopin, or if I want opera-esque then probably I will go for Georgy Sviridov

- Have you ever seen any musicals? What is your favorite?Eh no

- What are your top three favorite animals? What would you say your "Patronus" or "Spirit Animal" is? Dogs, deers, BEARS. And I am not sure, maybe a bear

- What are your top three favorite colors? Reds, Beiges/neutrals, and Pink

- What is your favorite season? Do you prefer hotter or colder weather? Do you like snow at all? I love autumn, the time that is not too chilly or not too hot, the beautiful colors and smells of fresh spices and rain.

- What kind of flavors do you prefer: Sweet, Sour, Bitter, Spicy, Dry, or Umami (savory meat taste)? I like sweet or sour things

- Can you cook at all? I can but not recommended for my to do things alone

- What is your favorite dish? Can you prepare it? Do you have the recipe handy? I like all types of soups, I can make congee yes and I definitely don’t need a recipe for it

- What is your favorite fruit and vegetable? I like peaches and squash

- What is your favorite dessert? What is your favorite type of candy/treat? I love Ice cream, a cooling sweet treat that I love to eat any time of the year

- What is the best thing you have ever had the opportunity to eat? What is the worst? I fell in love with sushi but I regret goat meat, that stuff stinks

- Do you like to drink tea or coffee? Any favorite flavors? Both and I like my coffee plain as a dark brew but tea my favorite is Green tea

- Describe your sense of humor. Dry and basically dark, or considerably no sense

- What is one thing you are justly proud of? My sister, like she is thriving and living happily, I am very happy to be her older brother

- Do you have any religious beliefs? If not, have you ever been to a church service? I am catholic by birth, I had beliefs but now I thinks its all bologna and just stupid

- What would you say is the worst thing someone has done to you? What is the meanest thing someone has ever said to you? Lie to me about their feelings towards me? like my hopes were brought up really high when I hear that someone is interested in me but just the next day it waivers.

- What is the worst thing you have done to someone? What is the meanest thing you have said to anyone? Reciprocate feelings? I would never do anything physically to hurt someone but sometimes my words and thoughts can be harsh

- Share the latest entry in your diary/journal. That.. is confidential

- What is the most precious thing you own? Is it valuable at all? A pendant left by my mother, the only thing of her that I have brought with me from the beginning and now until my end.

- Talk about someone you know. It can be someone you either like or dislike. My mother, I can start that she is the most beautiful woman I had in my life (besides my sister) and I an not talking about just her visuals, her heart was like a bucket of warm gold, she worked hard and shared every moment she had with those around her. Despite her not having enough things for herself she always made sure her neighbors would always have a share too. My mother is intelligent, strong, courageous. She may not be the prettiest of women to some people but she is my mom.. and no one else could replace her from my heart and mind.

#eli;rp #replies #((mun is out of breaf))#Anonymous

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dovah-kiin · 5 years

Text

Character Basics - Part Two

Physical Appearance

Height: 5’4

Weight: 125 pounds

Eye color: Silver, almost crystal clear. Her eyes contrast dramatically against her dark skin, and are the only color of eyes acclaimed in her family lineage. Her parents were taken back at her birth, mistaking Juniper for being born blind.

Skin color: Very dark skinned

Shape of face: Round, yet distinguished.

Distinguishing features: Her body is scattered with various scars and dark sun spots. An ugly, prominent scar resides over Juniper’s right eye, a parting gift given to her from her father. It starts right above her eyebrow and trails down, ending on her cheekbone.

Build of body: Juniper’s body mass is mostly muscle, making her very toned and fit. She’s flat chested, but carries a more womanly figure below.

Hair color: Ebony black

Hair style: Long dreads that reaches past her buttocks when down, usually adorned with a few scattered pieces of silver jewelry. Juniper often changes the style, preferring to keep her hair up in a messy bun most of the time with stray pieces falling from the side or back.

Complexion: Aside from the very prominent scar and sun spots, Juniper’s complexion is clear.

Posture: Juniper usually slouches when sitting, though stands tall with her shoulders back.

Piercings: Only one: A simple, silver stud placed right above her cupid’s bow.

Typical clothing: Juniper’s clothing is very cloth based. Bandages cover her chest, arms, and legs, following down to the heels of her feet. She wears a black Choli, a midriff-baring blouse that stops short right above her navel, and usually has a dark robe, along with her scarf, to cover over her frame. Zouave pants help Juniper move quickly, along with the simple, black leather boots she wears.

Other outfits: (like disguises or P.J’s.): In the harsher regions of Skyrim, Juniper will acquire more robes to keep her warm, even animal furs. She finds the animal pelt blankets to be suffocating and often sleeps in just her Choli and underwear.

Personality

Good Traits/Habits: Juniper is a very patient woman and carries a good heart, even under her sometimes rough exterior and bloody past. The exile from her homeland changed Juni in more ways than one; she found humility, humbled herself, and even gives most of the money she earns from the guild jobs to those less fortunate in Riften, keeping only enough to get by. Juniper makes a point to completely change herself, to repent for her horrible actions, and ultimately follows a more pacifist lifestyle, refusing to have another person die by her hands ever again.

Bad Traits/Habits: Back in Hammerfell, Juniper indulged in the blood money she received from her father and his coterie, never bothering to question their innocence or prerogative. She carried out heinous deaths against her father’s enemies; he commanded, and she obliged. Juniper only stopped and fought back when the life of her fiancé was on the line; she only questioned her actions when her own life and happiness was at stake. Juniper was selfish, self-absorbed and privileged, willing to do what she had to do to please her father and continue her lifestyle.

Education: Juniper was homeschooled by her mother and hired scholars, ensuring she was given a knowledge based education, along with the physical training she went through as well.

Fears: Though Juniper hides most of her turmoil’s, she fears a lot. She is reluctant to get close to people only to lose them again, as she did her fiancé. She fears failure, and most of all, herself.

Personal goals: Starting off in Skyrim, Juniper lived day by day, healing herself from the emotional and physical trauma her father left behind, while also facing the crippling guilt of her actions. She had no personal goal in the beginning; Juni only wanted to exist, and on some days, she didn’t even want that. After the Call of the Greybeards is heard and she heeds their yells, Juniper finally accepts her role as the Dragonborn with the goal to not only save Skyrim, but also reach out and understand the dragons as well.

Introvert/Extrovert: Introverted.

Quirks: Juniper has a habit of blankly staring at people, her near creepy eyes making most uncomfortable when she does. Her hands are hardly ever idle; whether she’s trailing her fingers around the brim of a tankard, or whittling a piece of wood around a campfire, Juni can’t help but fidget. She often twirls her staff around out of boredom.

Method of Handling Anger or Rage (Repress, throw things, etc): Repression. Anger is something that comes easily to Juniper, and yet it hardly ever shows. The most she’ll let slide is a slight agitation. When pushed far enough, and it takes a lot, Juniper is a force to be reckoned with.

Ever Been Arrested?: Ironically, no.

What Are They Like Inebriated?: It’s a coin toss. Most of the time, Juniper becomes melancholy, quietly staring down the bottom of the bottle, lost in her memories. Though on certain occasions, in the right company, Juniper chippers up, enjoying the life she often forgets about.

#about;

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populationzero · 7 years

Photo

"People were dying before this, people will die tomorrow. The only person you can stop from dying is yourself, and even that’s not true."

- Lidea Burton

General Information

Name: Lidea Su Burton

Pronunciation: [lid-ee-uh] [soo] [ber-tun]

Name Meaning: Lydia is a feminine first name of Greek origin (Greek: Λυδία, Ludía, from λυδία (ludía; "beautiful one", "noble one". Lidea sounds like Lydia, but it stands for Life and Death. 肃 (Sù) meaning "respectful" (Respect the Dead) The name Burton is an English baby name. In English the meaning of the name Burton is: From the fortified town.

Name Origin: Greek, Chinese, English

Other Names: “The Ghost”, Cinna

Gender: Female

Titles: none

Birth Name: Lidea Su Burton

Birth Date: December 2nd, 2094

Birth Length: 45cm

Birth Weight: 5.2 lbs

Birth Place: Somewhere in NJ

Manner of Birth: Natural in a brothel

First Word(s): Ma, Mum

Death Date: N/A

Death Place: N/A

Manner of Death: N/A

Resting Place: N/A

Last Words: N/A

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous

Astrological Sign: Sagittarius

Catchphrase: “Fuck it.”

Autograph:

Handwriting:

ID Number/SSN: 23709 (Birth Identification)

License Plate Number:N/A

Appearance

Picture:

Height: 5′9′’

Weight: 130 lbs

Species: Chimera

Race: Mutant

Blood Type: Curvy but fit

Symbol:

Skin Color: Caramel, Pale Patches, Freckled

Birthmarks: None

Extra Anatomy:None

Somatotype: Mesomorph

Locomotion: Fluid

Hair Color: Half platinum, half black

Hair Length: 30 inches

Hair Type: Thick, textured

Hair Style: Locks

Widow's Peak: Yes

Ear Shape: Rounded

Ear Type: Human

Eye Color: Complete Heterochromia - (R) Blue (L) Brown

Eye Type: Human

Eyebrows: Groomed, arched.

Nose Color: Pale, heavily freckled

Nose Shape: Wide, rounded, pointed down slightly.

Teeth: Healthy, none missing.

Face Shape: Oval

Complexion: Mixed, caramel, asian pale, freckled.

Facial Hair: None

Hat Size: Large (because of hair)

Shirt Size: Medium

Waist Size: 36 inches

Shoe Size: 7 1/2 Wide Toe

Fur Color: N/A

Fur Designs: N/A

Fur Length: N/A

Fur Type: N/A

Tail Color: N/A

Tail Design: N/A

Tail Girth: N/A

Tail Length: N/A

Tail Type: N/A

Alternative Appearances: None

Health and Image

Diet: Mostly vegetation, meat only if she can find it.

Exercise: Running from the dead and mutants.

Fitness: High

Maximum Load: 35lbs

Running Speed: 25mph

Posture: Poised

Dexterity: Admirable

Reflexes: Extraordinary

Abnormalities: None

Vulnerabilities: As human as anyone else.

Handicaps: Sunlight bother’s her skin

Aids: None

Medication: None

Augmentations:None

Allergies: Seasonal

Diseases: None

Illnesses: None currently

Disorders: Depression, Anxiety, Paranoia,

Imperfections: Scar on bottom lip, C-section scar

Broken Bones: None currently, has broken her arm before, and a few toes/fingers

Reason for Health: She’s careful

Wardrobe: (Pictured Above)

Accessories: Necklace with her child’s ashes.

Equipment: GPS with downloaded maps on her arm.

Musical Instruments: Ukulele

Amulets: N/A

Piercings: Nose, Septum, Both ears 4 times plus 2 gauges

Hygiene: It’s the apocalypse, but she has places she can wash herself.

Makeup: Hardly any anymore

Perfume / Cologne: None

Scent: Natural

Scars: Few bullet wounds (Shoulder, leg, back)

Tattoos:

Voice

Accent / Dialect: American

Voice: Husky/Rasp

Pitch: Contralto

Range: Contralto, Range: E3 – F5

Volume: Loud

Laughter: Rasp, hardly heard.

Impediments: N/A

Psychology

IQ: 125

Languages: English, Spanish, Chinese

Vocabulary: High

Memory: Decent

Temperament: Easily agitated

Learning Style: Learn by doing herself.

Emotional Stability: Strong

Mental Health: Manageable

Instincts: 8/10 Right

Bodily-Kinesthetic: Controllable, only conveys what she wants to be known. Being an ex-harlot gave her those skills.

Interpersonal: Strong

Intrapersonal: Medium (Her Instincts and Anxiety battle each other)

Linguistic: High

Logical-Mathematical:Good

Musical:High

Naturalistic:No

Spatial: N/A

Existential: N/A

Perception

Audition: Great

Gustation: High

Olfaction: Heightened

Tactition: Good

Vision: Good

Intuition: Very On point when Anxiety doesn't get in the way

Synesthesia: Yes, Sounds into Taste

Philosophy

Religion: Spiritual

Devotion: Divination

Superstitions: Not heeding her cards

Spirit Animal: Panther

Deathwish: Will do anything for Ensu

Allegiance: Harlots Code

Political Party: None

Political Awareness: High

Morality:She tries to do good but she will do what she has to to survive.

Etiquette: LOL

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Attitude: Often referred to as a bitch.

Outlook on Life: Don’t trust anyone.

Perception: Grim

Philosophy / Motto: “Don’t do anything for free. Even if you're not good at whatever it is you're being asked to do.“

Taboos: Talking about dead children.

Vices: Drinking

Virtues: Honesty

Character

Primary Objective: Keeping Ensu safe

Secondary Objectives: Keeping her freedom

Priorities: Survival

Motivation: Undead, Bad people

Self Confidence: High

Self Control: Medium

Self Esteem: Decent, depending on the day.

Quirks: She fidgets a lot when bored. When she doesn’t fidget is when shes lying or holding back. She messes with her septum

Hobbies: Reading, shes crazy about books and her favorite places to lay low are abandoned libraries. Making beads for her locks.

Closet Hobbies: Knitting

Guilty Pleasures: Weed

Habits: Writes in her journal every morning. Interpreting dreams is a form of entertainment to her.

Desires: Mason - an ex lover (she got kicked out of the town they live in. Mason couldn’t leave because of his son.)

Wishes: To have a child

Lures: Bacon. If she smells it she will steal it.

Manias: bibliomania, wanderlust

Afflictions: none

Traumas: Who doesn't have trauma?

Worries: About Ensu and how she grows up.

Nervous Tics: People crowding her

Instigators: Referring to as if she’s still a whore.

Soothers: Music, books, killing zombies

Savvies: Making clothing to hide Ensu’s strange form.

Ineptities: Technology (whats left)

Soft Spots: Anthony (Mason’s son)

Cruel Streaks: Told the man she loves that he and his child meant nothing to her (So they'd stay in the town and be safe)

Accomplishments: Famed harlot.

Greatest Achievement: First harlot to buy her freedom.

Failures: Cant make coffee to save her life.

Biggest Failure: Got her best friend killed while trying to escape.

Obituary: N/A

Favorite Dream:She has this dream where she lives in the Before World with Mason, Anthony, Ensu, and her baby that she lost.

Worst Nightmare: Her daughters incineration.

Earliest Memory: Her mother giving her to her Madam Lady.

Fondest Memory: Meeting Mason.

Worst Memory: Losing Lilo (Life, Love) her baby daughter.

Funniest Moment: Ensu learning about the outside world.

Happiest Moment: The day Mason introduced Anthony to her.

Saddest Moment: Her best friends funeral pyre

Most Prized Possession: Lilo’s Ashes

Most Valuable Possession: The gold chain for her daughters ash-charm

Collections: Books, Yarn, drawing pads,

Embarrassments: They’re all horrible and sexual-related.

Mannerisms: Sways her hips when shes worried.

Humor: Morbid, Dry, Ironic

Regrets: Regrets beating up the Mayor’s son. (Why she got kicked out of where Mason and Anthony are)

Secrets: --

Darkest Secret: --

Pet Peeves: Hates people wanting to touch her hair

Phobias: Something crawling in her ear while she sleeps. So she sleeps with cotton in, but they don’t block her hearing.

Greatest Fear: Becoming the undead.

Confidence: In her abilities

Creativity: She has a creative mind set, and time to learn things she find’s hard.

Generosity: She is VERY particular about who she graces with her generosity. There have only been been a few adults. Children she’s softer on but even that is dangerous.

Honesty: She believes in being honest unless its a danger to her life.

Loyalty: She’s loyal without fault to those who actually deserve it.

Insecurities: She use to be more insecure about her skin, but she only worries that it gives her away as a mutant.

Patience: She has almost like no patience with people.

Predictability: She can be predictable, if shes comfortable with someone but she can be chaos to an enemy.

Reliability: If she respects you, you can rely on her for anything.

Respect: It’s very very hard to earn.

Responsibility: She hates them but is growing to handle it better.

Trustworthiness: Oh don't trust her if you are not 100% positive she’s your friend.

Common...

Compliments: “Smelling nice today, ______!”

Insults: “You smell so bad you couldn’t pay a harlot to touch you.”

Expletives: Fuck. Cunt. Asshole. Douche.

Farewells: “Ta-ta bitch.”

Greetings: “Hey, fuck you!”

Mood: Need Coffee. or. Need Liquor.

Words: Cào - means Fuck in Chinese. (Not to many people left who know that language.)

Emotional Status: Forever doesn’t give a fuck.

Preferences

Likes: Cherry over Strawberry, Lime over Lemon

Dislikes: Mint (forced on her as a harlot because men like it)

Favorites: Miss Lady’s Weed-Pops, Deer Meat.

Least Favorites: Eating dogs. It’s makes her heart sad.

Combat

Ability: Quicker than most.

Element: N/A

Martial Arts: Wing Chun, Qigong (Meditative)

Immunities: N/A

Resistances: N/A

Strengths: Street Brawling

Weaknesses: Lower abdominal

Futilities: N/A

Restrictions: N/A

Origin: Chinese

Source: Her teacher is her father

Specialty: Striking, Grappling, Misleading

Signature Move: Throat Jab

Special Attack: Eye Gouge

Courage: High, she’s rather fearless.

Home, Work, and Education

Abode: Home is where Mason and Anthony are (Cin-City). Other than that she has plenty of hideouts.

Hometown: Cincinnati

Citizenship: American

Culture: Harlot

Traditions: Chinese

Routine: Wake, Water, Breakfast (If applicable), Move, Fight the Dead, Lunch, Move, Fight the Dead, Shelter by Sundown, Rest, Dinner, Security Check, Sleep.

Sleep Patterns: Not well, but people have evolved to doing well on that.

Eating Habits: She has ways of keeping herself well fed.

Pets: A playful fox lives in one of her common hide-outs. They get along, but being on the road makes a pet a meal usually.

Employer: None finally. Madam Lady still wishes she had her.

Job Title: Freelance.

Experience: She was a Harlot, so she learned everything she needed to know by talking to her men.

Community Service: She’s done her 18 years of serving. Which isn't much compared to women who have been harlots their whole life and still don't see an end to their debt.

Rank: People know shes worth more than her weight in gold - for anything.

Supervisor: HA. Ensu is the only person who bugs her about what to do.

Hours: Her own.

Work Ethic: If it’s important or paying well - she will get it done.

Transportation: Whatever she can find, but mostly she has a motorcycle she likes to upkeep.

Criminal Record: Who doesn’t have one? Harlot alone is a crime outside of Cin-City, Thievery, Assault, Blackmail,

Dream Job: She’d like to own her own shop in a town, but being a mutant doesn’t allow that.

Income / Salary: $1400 / Week

Net Worth: $72800 / Year

Budget: $600 supplies, $300 for play, $500 for savings

Debt: Nothing money - she refused to have it.

Savings: $78000 (Over 3 years)

Dependents: One, 10 year old Ensu

Splurges: Book, Music, whatever she can’t find on her own.

Elementary School: Home schooled by harlots.

Middle School: Same as above

High School: Same as above

Colleges: Same as above

Special Education: Shooting, knife work, medical

Extracurricular Activities: Yoga (Cloth), Dance, Guitar

Graduating Year: She bought her freedom at 18 years old.

Study Habits: If she’s focused, she’s unstoppable.

Grades: N/A

Degrees: N/A

Social

Mother: Fāng Su Wong

Father: Wallace Burton

Guardians: Madam Lady (Head of all Harlots) Lady Silver and Lady Gold

Siblings: None that shes aware.

Children: Lilo - deceased.

Close Relatives: Her father - Wallace.

Distant Relatives: Her mother - Fāng , Aunt - Lin

Ancestors: The original survivor in her family was Ada Wong. (Don’t judge me)

Best Friend: Vanilla, Chocolate (Harlots)

Close Friends: Most Harlots

Confidantes: Harlots, Ex-Culls

Friends: Ohio Leader - Joseph

Allies: (Your Characters)

Acquaintances: Loads.

Followers: You mean stalkers?

Subordinates: none

Rivals: Cherry (Harlot, not so much one anymore because she beat her)

Enemies: The people she rescued Ensu from.

Inspirations: People who make it to old age.

Role Models: Lady Silver, Lady Gold.

Heroes: Her father

Mentors: Lady Silver and Lady Gold

Family Dynamics: She has like zero contact with her mother. Her father she sees from time to time and is the only person she trusts to protect Ensu if it came down to it.

Communication: She trains and uses pigeons.

Discriminations: None

Reputation: She’s known as the “Ghost” for the way she can blend in and get her target. She’s never failed.

Dominance: She’s definitely not submissive.

Expression: Tends to have resting bitch face.

Cooperation: She doesn’t play exactly well with others unless its in her best interest.

Sociability: She is no longer required to be polite. One must pay for her politeness.

Status: Single, but taken in her heart.

Class: Higher because she travels the Wastelands.

Livelihood: She takes on odd jobs.

Memberships: Harlot’s Sancuary

Community: Cin-City people are her people.

Romance

First Love: Nick - Was killed in the Wastes building a new town.

Love Interests: Mason

Marital Status: Single

Orientation: She likes whatever she likes.

Significant Other: None currently.

Love Style: Let’s just say she knows her shit.

Flirtiness: Master

Turnons: Be a decent human being, because its so rare.

Turnoffs:So many things.

Fetishes: Single dads.

Virginity: PFF.

Story Information

Verse:

Archetype:

Enneagram: Reformer(7), Leader(6), Thinker(5), Arist - Generalist - Peacemaker (4), Thinker(5), Skeptic (2), Helper(1)

Flaws: Can be very dismissive.

Tropes: Slow Clap is her favorite

Clichés: “I’ll be right back!”

Role: Freelance work for hire and guardian of Ensu.

Fulfillment: To see someone die and not come back as a monster.

Significance: Harlots look up to her bravery.

Advice: “No one’s hands are clean so don’t feel bad”

Analogue: N/A

Inspiration: Sunrises, they give her hope for something new and better.

Voice Actor: Charlize Theron

One Word: Fearless

Tagline: “It’s the dead’s world, were just living in it.”

Theme Song: R.E.M. - It's The End Of The World

Soundtrack: THE WALL: Pink Floyd

Date of Creation: February 2nd, 2017

First Appearance (Date, Location, Event): N/A

Earliest Appearance (Date, Location, Event): N/A

Last Appearance (Date, Location, Event): N/A

Latest Appearance (Date, Location, Event): N/A

Centric Stories: N/A

Centric Episodes: N/A

Episode Count: N/A

Reactions

Angry: “Fuck off”

Anxious: “Fuck me”

Conflicted: “Fucking bullshit”

Criticized: “Go fuck your mother”

Depressed: “Fuck.”

Embarrassed: “Shut the fuck up”

Excited: “Fuck yes!”

Frightened: “Shit.”

Guilty: “Frick”

Happy: “WOO!”

Mistaken: “My fucking bad. Stupid me.”

Nervous: “Well aren’t I just a fucking bundle of nerves right now!”

Offended: “Someone wants to get punched in the fucking face.”

Praised: “You love me”

Rejected: “Fuck you very much”

Sad: “Let me fucking be”

Stressed: “Just let me figure this the fuck out.”

Thoughtful: “I saw this and it made me think of you.”

Impressions

First: Usually bad, sometimes shes awesome.

Self: She thinks shes pretty cool.

Family: Her father loves her dearly. Her mother couldn't give two shits.

Lover: He thinks shes beautiful, no matter what shes doing.

Friends: see her as strong and amazing.

Associates: They see her as pushy and cruel.

Authority: They know better than to mess with her.

Strangers: She never seems as dangerous as she really is.

Enemies: They fucking hate her.

Post Mortem: N/A

Creator: Allison

Personality

MBTI Personality Type: INFJ

Anima: Panther

Personas: Harlot, Survivor, Big Sister, Girlfriend - all totally different.

Idiosyncrasies: She has to be the first to try new things. (protective trait)

Biography

Infancy (0-3): When she was born her mother traded her for room, board, and supplies once she was well from Madam Lady (Lady Black). She was given to the Harlots for her exotic beauty.

Childhood (4-12): She was a servant, seeing sex from a young age. Men tried to have her but she was protected under Lady Silver and Lady Gold. She learned to defend herself at an early age. She began training during this time to become a harlot.

Adolescence (13-19): She continued training to be a harlot and pay back her debt to Lady Black. She paid it back by 18 because she played her life very minimalist, nothing special. At 19 is when she rescued Ensu.

Adulthood (20-54):19-23 shes been living on the road with Ensu, escaping the people who want her.

Seniority (55+): N/A

Development

Personal: She learned to be strong from the women she grew up with.

Social: Realistically she hates being social, but her harlot skills give her very decent social skills

Physical:She’s always taken very good care of herself, and started training at 12 to fight.

Spiritual: Everything she believes is from her own personal experience.

Miscellaneous

Defining Moment: N/A

Other Information: None at this time.

#lideaburton character populationzero roleplay zombie

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