the-trapper-talks

[the-trapper-talks]

//some face practice. not very happy with the 3/4 or side profile but its 3AM and i am so eepy

[the-trapper-talks]

you look so cool omg

[the-trapper-talks]

Short lore summary.

TW: Killing, mentally unstable man, not able to leave his job.

Angel was born to an unstable mother who left him with his two younger sisters with his father when he was 8. His father was not a good man and they lived their lives being housemaids for their father.

At 21 Angel realized fully that he was a man and not a woman, chopped his hair off, and ran as far as his legs would take him. Unfortunately when he found an old cabin to sleep in, it wasn’t as abandoned as he first thought.

After a group of people came and cut off his leg, the surge of adrenaline caused him to kill them all.

No longer being able to run, Angel stays at the cabin and makes himself a peg leg. He uses traps and weapons around the cabin to survive for over 20 years.

Now 37, a knock comes to his door to reveal no other than Miss Pauling who he almost kills at first. Her offer of a job surprises him, but he demands the proper treatment and surgery to look more masculine to be added into the contract.

As soon as he signs the contract, he’s knocked out. He wakes up a month or two later on the Medic’s surgery table, with gnarly scars over his chest from a very experimental top surgery. Also having been on testosterone for those two months, he’s more comfortable with himself now and willing to do whatever he’s asked.

But unfortunately his past still lingers in him, and the fighting only makes it worse. His paranoia goes from 0-10 very quickly and he begs to be let go from the job because he’s losing his mind. But he’s already too deep into the job and is unable to leave.

And that’s where he is now. Crazed, paranoid, and unable to leave a job that only makes him crazier.

[the-trapper-talks]

Meet The Trapper!!

// Welcome the Trapper. A semi-proper intro this time. @tf2occontest

[the-trapper-talks]

Meet The Trapper.

Blog Rules. || Trapper’s Info. || Lore. || Lore short & no triggers.

Trapper’s Playlist.

// block the "#tw everything" and "#triggering content" tags to filter out angsty and gorey stuff.

[the-trapper-talks]

Blog Rules and Info.

+ Ask blog for RED Trapper only. (For now.).

+ Asks/Mentions will be replied to usually with text. Mod's art is not frequent.

+ Will do short RP's. Mod is going to school and working often, I am not able to do very long RP's. Additionally, I might drop an RP if it is stressing me out, I apologize.

+ Friendships, romances, flirting, are allowed. NSFW/NSFT is not allowed. Don't be gross.

+ I will delete any asks I find inappropriate or weird without question.

+ Mod uses he/him and it/its pronouns, Trapper uses he/him strictly.

+ This blog will contain violence, angst, gore, and slight nudity. (Nothing too explicit, and stuff like this will be hidden under a cut.)

The Way of The Trapper.

+ Trapper "speaks like this."

+ Trapper's actions are written like this.

+ Trapper thinks like this.

+ Trapper "whispers/mumbles/mutters like this."

+ //Mod talks like this.

[the-trapper-talks]

Trapper's Information

Legal information,

+ Angel Reyes, was born on October 13th, 1931 (37 when TF2 takes place in 1968.) in El Banco, Colombia.

+ Did not change his birth name, was born as Angel Reyes. Dubbed "Trapper" after employment.

+ Biological parent names are unknown, and dead. Trapper had two younger sisters with current unknown whereabouts.

+ Dark brown eyes, black hair & greying at the roots. Very very hairy man. 5'3".

+ Strong build, soft stomach.

+ FTM Transgender, currently on testosterone (demanded Mann Co to supply him with it or else he wouldn't sign the contract.) and has very messy top surgery (done by Medic.).

+ Multiple (undiagnoised) mental illnesses. They are as listed: Paranoid Schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder, Autism, ADHD, OCD, PTSD, memory loss.

Other Factual Information,

+ (His) Left leg was amputated when he was 23. He wore a peg leg for years before employed. After employment he was given his current prosthetic by the Engineer. He still walks with a slight limp.

+ Sports 11 piercings. They are as listed: Earlobe gauges, septum, snakebites, dimples, (his) right anti-eyebrow, both eyebrows, (his) left clavicle.

+ Has a human bite mark tattooed on (his) left side of his throat. Snake bite tattoo tattooed on (his) right trap/junction where the neck and shoulder meet.

+ His past lifestyle kept him fit, but he eats like trash so he has softness around his chest, stomach, and thighs.

+ Hates eye contact, will never initiate it and will break it instantly.

+ Very jumpy. He hallucinates often and is easily spooked. But, has an incredibly fast reaction time. He's trigger happy.

+ Very unstable and prone to outbursts/panic attacks/anxiety attacks. His room walls are covered in bullet holes.

+ Lives at base. Doesn't have a home or family (that he knows of) outside of that.

+ Music soothes him, and loud music drowns out the hallucinations in the corners of his eyes. He doesn't have a hobby but he's very curious about everything. Will stand and watch others quietly.

+ Loves seafood. It's a childhood nostalgia sort of thing. Doesn't matter what sort of seafood it is, he'll eat it in less than two bites.

+ Quiet and soft spoken, but raspy voice due to smoking. The smell of cigarette smoke lingers on him. Doesn't outright speak very much, but mutters and mumbles to himself constantly.

+ Speaks with a Spanish accent (not Spain.), and tends to slur his words together or forget them completely. He stutters (repeating words, not letters.). Understands and can write very formal English, but can't speak it well. He gets tongue tied.

+ Terrible handwriting. Writes in Spanish too, so not many can understand it anyway.

+ Not very good at showing emotions. He's got an insane RBF and tone deaf. Doesn't understand cues very often and tucks his frustration away for the battlefield.

+ Very untrusting. Will talk to people, but don't expect him to be the nicest or most engaging.

+ On the contrary, is actually very caring towards anyone he does trust. He's still very quiet and keeps to himself, but will speak a lot kinder and show his affection and appreciation through quality time, physical touch, and gift giving.

[the-trapper-talks]

The Trapper's Past.

TW: This section contains the following. Transphobia, Homophobia, Racism, Sexism, SA, P3d0philia, Abuse in general, gore, amputation, loss of sanity, forced drugging.

Born on October 13th of 1931, Angel Reyes was the first of three sisters. He lived a good life with his mother, who was never quite right in the mind but always took care of him. He was a sweet girl, a momma's girl who loved the lullabies and silly faces his mother would make.

On an unfortunate day in 1939, Angel's biological father found where his mother and sisters had been hiding. During an argument, his father shot and killed his mother, taking him and his sisters away from El Banco and to the capital city, Bogota.

Here, Angel and his sisters were treated as nothing but maids for their father, who was quick to put Angel into the world of prostitution at the young age of 14. He was a young girl with big eyes and pretty long hair, and his father needed the money.

Years of this went by, of constant use and abuse from his own father and people he didn't know. During these years, Angel felt something was wrong with him. He didn't stare in the mirror when undressed, and frowned when looking at pale shaved skin molded into the hands of his father.

He didn't feel like the girl his father was putting out as a purchasable item. No, he felt like a boy. And that scared him.

He put off this feeling for years, until he was 21 and people started to become uniterested in a proper, adult woman. Angel sat alone in his rooms most days, just waiting for the next person to come in and do the same thing everyone else did.

He couldn't handle this. He couldn't handle the bitter term of "lady" and "girl" when people carded their fingers through his hair and smoothed their palms over his body.

He couldn't handle it anymore.

One night, sick and tired of this treatment, he grabbed the nearest pair of scissors and chopped off his hair. There, that was the look he liked. The short hair, and slightly stubbled cheeks that his father hated. That was him.

And so he ran. He ran as far as he could, wherever his legs would take him. And when he felt like he couldn't run anymore, he ran anyway.

Unfortunately along the way, while resting in a cabin he presumed belonged to no one in the middle of nowhere, a group of men came along.

Hours of torture ensured, tied up and gagged and drugged. And when they were done, they grabbed the axe laying against the wall. Angel's leg was hacked off, messy cuts and swings down into his thigh to sever his knee off from the rest of his bone.

And that's when it hit him. That sense of panic, of adrenaline in his body. Of sudden strength and numbness in his body as he screamed out.

Bodies laid all around him, blood smeared all over the wooden floor of the shed as Angel felt his body quiver and shake. He leaned against one of the walls, sliding down it. He tore a shirt from one of the bodies, pressing it into the protruding bone and flesh of his thigh and tying it with a dirty rope.

He couldn't run away anymore.

And so he stayed there, in that cabin that he now called home. He took the traps from the walls, learned how they worked, and used them to do his needed killing for him while he recovered from his amputation.

He lived in that cabin for almost two decades, now 37 years old and alone in the middle of the woods. Unfortunately, he was found by a strange woman in purple who questioned the now crazed man she had almost died to at the entry. And she did the one thing he'd never expect.

She offered him a job.

A job? He could use a job... a job was good. And after inquiring about the pay, he almost dropped the shotgun still tightly grasped in his hands. Angel couldn't believe what he was hearing. All he had to do was bring the traps he had used for years, and kill people with them? This was too easy.

Too easy indeed. Angel demanded for additional pay, in the form of a medication treatment he had heard of many years ago and a surgery to rid himself of the pesky fat on his chest. Surprisingly, the woman agreed.

They sat together a few weeks later, reading over a contract that he sloppily signed as soon as the last word was uttered. As his pen hit the table, his vision went black.

Angel was out for a month... or was it two? He awoke bare on a cold table, his body feeling strangely different with his heart pounding at his ears. An accented voice came from beside him, blabbering on almost psychotically as cold rubber-clad hands felt over his skin and patted his chest with an eerily wide smile.

Panicked, he quickly stood to get away, only to unfortunately fall onto cold concrete ground. This strange doctor paid his clumsiness no mind, still somehow talking as he was dragged over to a mirror and felt over his chest and face like some sort of classroom skeleton model.

But he didn't pull away this time. Not as he stared into the mirror. Jagged and ugly scars splattered over the underside of his... pectorals? A numb hand came up to his face, feeling the prickle of facial hair over his jaw and upper lip. This was incredible! He looked like a man! A real man! He couldn't give a damn if a certain part of biology wasn't between his legs. Hell, he looked like a man!

Another man was called in after he was dressed and a little more conscious, holding what seemed to be a leg made out of metal and wires. A prosthetic too? One fitted to his body exactly how it should be and strong enough that it would practically never be damaged? Hell, he was loving this job already!

And then... a cup full of pills. The strange doctor stated that it would help him with all those pesky thoughts in that little head of his. So, he took them, already having been gifted a new body he loved. Surely, this medication would be good for him too.

He was taken to a room he could call his own after taking his new medication, being allowed a week to get accustomed to this medication and walking properly before being put onto the battlefield with men he would meet as the week continued.

Angel didn't know when it happened, when the dark corners of his eyes began to take shape into shadowy figures and fast moving flashes. He didn't know when his heart had begun to start picking up it's pace, pumping unecessary blood into his brain and firing up his nerves and panic and adrenaline.

By the end of that week, he was too scared to even step outside his room without a shotgun or pistol in hand. Angel- no, the Trapper, quivered with every step, trying to ignore the whispers in his ears and figures in the corners of his eyes who followed him wherever he went.

And gods, how incredibly did that panic and paranoia have him acting on the field. Sure, he was scared out of him mind, on the verge of passing out as he fired round after round into people who looked an awful lot like his teammates. But he was doing exactly what that damn contract had asked of him.

He asked to quit, to take all this back and let him free.

But he had been given too much. Too much treatment, too much alteration. He was in their debt. And Mann Co wouldn't have it any other way.

// I got lazy on this I apologize if it's not the best written.