walder-138

[walder-138]

Goosey!!!!!!!!

I know we talked about Zach and Steph meeting in therapy after their traumas- but I don’t think we really discussed how exactly their feelings developed for each other- so I had this vision.

Zach never spoke during the first week or two of therapy. He was dead silent, not even a ‘hello’ to the therapist as they were trying to be polite. He’d hold the door open for people and get any papers the therapist needed from like the printer or whatever, but most of the time he was just nose deep in his sketchbook.

Psychosis can sometimes cause mutism, that was kinda what was happening with Zach. He struggled to talk with groups of people, whereas one on one he was fine.

Steph was quiet, she never tried to speak to him, comment on the fact he never spoke, treated him like a child, or looked at him like he was crazy, unlike the therapist and their peers. He thought she was beautiful, but couldn’t express that.

So, yet again, he’s buried into his sketchbook, hiding what he’s draw from Steph and, as always, ‘ignoring’ the people around him. At the end of the session, he approaches Steph, and hands the drawing to her.

“I think you’re pretty, so I drew you.” He’d say simply, handing it to her without any context. Before she could reply, he already made his exit.

It’s very detailed; he made sure to capture all of her features, and in the corner it has his number.

What would Steph think?

It probably went something like that. If I’m honest, I think Steph would have just nodded, stared at his hand with the outstretched paper and then panicked. Listen, flirting, the art of getting to know another person or even admit how she feels has her bashful and flustered; for him to openly say he thinks she’s pretty would catch her off guard but in a good way.

She’d then take the drawing quietly, utter a thank you before rushing away.

Catch her smiling like a goofball at the artwork, though, and next time she sees him in the group, she sits next to him. Again, not being pushy about anything, just… close, in case he wants to talk.

After that session, she probably says that she really appreciated the drawing and would apologise for running off.

After any dates they have, when she eventually lets him come over, he might spot that it’s framed and hung on her wall.

[walder-138]

OC POST!! :3

Jack Boshaw(left, belongs to @walder-138 ) Cristina Calabrese(right, belongs to me)

I decided to draw a scene where Cristina was removed from her position as the deputy director of the CIA by Fia Graves. This happens somewhere earlier than 1991, the events of Black ops 6 :3

Also here’s a better doodle of these two! When they were younger^_^

[walder-138]

I bring a real "many female characters also have these traits you love male characters for" and "many of your fave male characters have done the same things you hate female characters for" vibe to the conversation they female character haters don't enjoy

[walder-138]

I firmly believe in an uncanny valley Bell. A Bell who's vibes are off just in the right way to trigger that part of your brain that keeps a look out for things that look like people but aren't. A walking fugue state who can quote off all the lines they've been fed but never truly make it seem natural. Bell's head swiveling like a dog's does when he hears something and wants to triangulate it better. A Bell who lingers far to long for comfort in the periphery of peoples visions. When there's nothing to keep Bell's mind on track in the few rare moments of downtime they have Bell could buffer, a dreaming while walking state that should make anyone nervous to shake them out of it lest Bell turn all of their barely muzzled aggression and subconscious rage onto them. In general, I like it when Bell's general aura is that of a taut bowstring waiting to snap.

[walder-138]

Im about to hit you with the most diabolical ask.

"I know you better than you know yourself." for Keith and Jodie 👀

August, 1984

Jodie had just managed to put Ashley to bed, after the poor eleven month old had woken up screaming. It didn't take long for her to calm, as Jodie came rushing in, eyes still adjusting to wakefulness, and her arms were outstretched to scoop up the baby into a hug.

But now, while Jodie stared at the wall-mounted clock in the living room, she wondered if she would ever be able to fall back into restful sleep. The clock read 03:00AM and she was wide awake, ears pricked for any small sound from her daughter, just in case she needed to run back in to comfort her again.

Then, something strange happened. Something that had Jodie growing tense, as that sickly feeling of dread pooled in the bottom of her stomach.

The phone was ringing.

It could have been anything. It could have been Frank, as he was on a mission. But, then her mind would jump straight to the worst; what if she had lost him.

The phone rang three times before she plucked it up and placed it against her left ear. There was silence on the end, if only for a second, and then a voice caused her blood to run cold with ice.

"Hello, little lady."

Her face was a grimace, the bridge of her nose creasing with disgust.

His voice continued, "bet you thought you'd heard the last of me, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint."

In response, her voice was low, clipped, and dripping with hatred, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

He tutted on the other side and she could just imagine the look he was giving her and it made her blood boil, "c'mon now, little lady, that's no way to speak to a dear friend, is it? I remember we were so close."

A chuckle sounded and she remained quiet.

"Heard you've found yourself someone new," he said, heaving a sigh, "sounds like you downgraded, if I'm honest."

"You and honest don't go in the same sentence, Wells," she replied, fighting internally about whether she should slam the phone straight back into the receiver, ending the call.

But, she didn't.

"You're hurting my feelings, little lady," he said, "don't let your little girl hear, you don't want her growing up with an attitude."

"What do you want?" Jodie snapped, her grip growing tighter on the phone. Her knuckles were turning white.

"Ooooh," he drawled out, a smile in his static tones, "I want you."

Tears were forming in her eyes, as she stared at the same spot on the wall, unblinkingly. The building emotions in her chest were like fire, burning white hot and the flames were licking at her skin. She wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and tear out his throat.

"Come to me, Nadežda," he said, "and maybe I won't hurt your family."

Through a shaking voice, Jodie was barely able to recognise the name she once had and fought to keep her tone level, "and if I don't?"

"You will," he breathed, "I know you better than you know yourself."

Then, the line went dead.

[walder-138]

I’m glad this is the reaction a post about Keith gets @walder-138

[walder-138]

Holidays at the Mason Home - Chapter 6: Pep Talk

Fandom: Call of Duty: Cold War

Word Count: 2044

Characters: Frank Woods, Alex Mason

Summary: Woods and Mason talk and shoot some shit.

There was a distant thunk as a bullet careened past its intended target before becoming lodged in a nearby tree trunk. If the can had been human, sweat would be beading down its forehead at the closeness of the projectile, to then be swallowed by an audible gulp of relief. Beside the shooter, Alex Mason stood, eyes squinting slightly as he focused his attention on noting the shot. 

With a shake of his head, a bemused look on his face, Alex uttered, “you’re missing your target.” 

Frank chewed his bottom lip for a single second, as though to stop a certain set of words from flying out of his mouth automatically. Instead, he repositioned himself and loaded up another round, heaving the deepest sigh Alex had seen him take to date.

 Alex probed, “something on your mind?” 

“No.” Was all Frank said, spoken like David when having a tantrum. Alex folded his arms over his chest, tilted his head as he scrutinised the other. By the way he was acting, the slight fidgeting of his fingers, the restlessness in his legs, Alex knew something was stuck in his head and Frank had no clue how to cope with it. 

“Bullshit.” Alex retorted, eventually, as he then thrust his hand toward the other and wiggled his fingers for the rifle. Frank handed it over, before straightening out his back and stretching to relieve any stiffness that had clung to his muscles. 

Frank didn’t retaliate; he remained quiet. 

It was in that short bout of silence that Alex set himself up to take a shot at the can Frank had missed just moments earlier. It was centred between two higher tree stumps, weathered away with age and bare of the previous can and bottle targets. 

They had been taken down by Alex. 

That meant Frank was now losing two to five.

Clearing his mind, Alex took in a deep breath, as sharply chilled air raced along the inside of his throat. He levelled the weapon, the sights focusing on his target. 

Breathe in. 

Out. 

In. 

Lose half a breath, steady, steady. 

Alex took the shot and a satisfying clunk of metal penetrating metal sounded further down, followed by the can springing upwards before toppling down and away.  

“I believe that makes it two to six,” he chuckled, nudging Frank’s shoulder in jest. When the other didn’t respond, he frowned, words forming on his tongue to try and snap him out of whatever stupor currently grasped onto Frank. 

Frank, on the other hand, leant against a large tree, frost coating his back and seemingly oblivious to Alex’s additional win. His arms were crossed, lips pursed and heavy blue eyes settled fiercely on his boots. 

“Hey, are you good?” the younger man asked, as his hand snuck up to tug the lip of Frank’s woollen hat over his eyes. 

“Knock it off, will ya?” Frank huffed, erring more on the side of good natured than truly bothered by the action, and looked directly at Alex even though he hadn’t attempted to pull the hat back up. When he did, he sighed again. 

It had been a while since Alex had last seen Frank look so… troubled; that was saying something. Not much ever seemed to really get under his skin, not enough that he would spare it any more thought that was absolutely necessary. 

Whatever was haunting the inside of his head had done what many had tried and failed to do. 

It was bothering him. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Frank eventually grumbled in reply to Alex’s earlier question, rolling his neck to release any tension he might have missed from his previous stretch. He seemed to wince, but not in pain, more in thought, as his tongue danced behind his teeth. 

He was contemplating whether he could be bothered to air his grievance. 

“Well, you don’t look fine.” This was pointed out with a disgruntled look and Frank supposed he was asking for too much that Alex leave it well alone. He could tell the other was settling in for a conversation, the kind of heart-to-heart reserved for men like them. 

To the point and no bullshit. 

Hugging the rifle to his stomach, Alex shifted his weight onto one foot, then levelled an expectant stare at his friend. He eyed him with slightly pursed lips and a questioning glint to his dark eyes. They were slightly shadowed by the woollen hat that clung to his head, the even, cautious look a little more hard than what Alex had intended. Under his friend’s gaze, though, Frank found that he had been holding his breath, signalled by his lungs desperately howling for some oxygen. When he took in a deep breath, he accompanied it by tearing off his own woollen hat and ran a calloused hand through his hair haphazardly. Those light narrow eyes were staring off at the targets down the way with a tight-lipped grimace sinking his features. 

 He then stated, with some frustration, “it’s Bell- Jodie.” 

“What about her?” Alex replied.  

He faltered, somewhat, unsure exactly of what was frustrating him the most. 

There were many things, ranging from the lingering warmth of hers he swears he could still feel on his skin from their closeness in the bar. The memory of how her hands felt rested against him, how her eyes lit up and her smile was wide. Part of him wished to relish in that closeness again, take in her scent of cigarette smoke and lavender. 

It was always lavender with her, was it her shampoo? Her perfume? 

It wasn’t just that, it couldn’t be, not when there was a deep sense of feeling robbed of the trust they had once had. It hadn’t been perfect, rushed into effect given their circumstances, but Jodie Hall had been someone he’d started to know. 

Now it was like he was starting all over again. 

“So?” Alex brought Frank back to his senses.

“Just… feel like she still doesn’t trust us,” was what he ended up saying, which was quite a few words short of what he truly felt. 

As he said this, he scrunched his nose up at the memory of how she grew tense upon realising that he had been hovering at the edges of the room, the way her fists had balled up, knuckles whitened with anxiety. She had looked so comfortable with the kid, the hardened exterior had melted away and the second she had realised he was in the room with her, whatever slither of Jodie he had seen as retreated into the recesses of her mind and Bell returned to the surface. 

Frank continued, “with David, she looked happy. Genuinely fucking happy. Then I turned up and she was back to being…” 

He couldn’t find the word, so he made a vague gesture with his hand, before it balled into a tight fist. He gave it a slight shake before the tension left his hand and then he let it hand at his side. 

“Back to being Bell?” Alex offered, head tilted slightly as he regarded what was being said with a steady mind. 

“Yeah.” Frank urged, “instantly on the defensive, like I was about to attack her.”

A few nights ago she was holding on to him, acting like they were fucking married, he thought, was he just imagining a connection where there wasn’t one? Had she not trusted him the entire time? 

“Are you sure it’s just that?” Alex asked, frowning slightly, “didn’t think you’d be bothered by a little distrust. We work with it most of the time.”

“It’s not the same with her,” Frank said gruffly, with a sense of urgency attached to his words. He hadn’t meant for them to come out so quickly, but his mouth had moved before his mind to get him to calmly respond. He then began to wring his hands, something to settle his mind.

Alex watched Frank quietly, before his eyes flickered downward to their feet as he hummed in response. His mind travelled back to the bar, to other interactions he had witnessed between the two whilst working together. He revisited everything in a fleeting moment of realisation. Jodie meant something more, which is why her distrust stung Frank. 

“You know, I had a thought the other night. The way the both of you were with each other.” 

“What about it?” 

“You weren’t pretending,” Alex stated, waiting on the other’s reaction, “were you?” 

For a moment, Frank stood and stared at his friend. There was a flash of horror that briefly overtook his features, though quickly overturned by a faded attempt of incredulity; his mouth was slightly agape, however, as words clung to the back of his throat and choked him. There was a disconnect between his feelings and his thoughts, whether his logic or his emotion wanted to win out over the other and instead had Frank on his knees at a stalemate. There was the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, and he wasn’t so sure if he felt embarrassed that he had appeared so obvious or angry that he had only just realised that to be the case. 

As his friend struggled in silence, Alex had set himself up for another shot, levelling the rifle, and took out another can.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever known you to be quiet,” Alex teased, “she really has a hold on you, doesn’t she?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Frank eventually managed, forcing a face-saving scoff as he shook his head and looked away. 

“Maybe you should do something about it.” Alex perched against a tree and leaned against its frosted bark. He could feel the cold seep through his plaid coat, to his skin, and though it wasn’t biting, it was growing uncomfortable. 

Another, softer scoff left Frank this time, as he muttered, “about what, there’s nothing there.” 

“There was back in Berlin.” 

“Well we’re not in Berlin anymore.” 

“No, we’re not,” Alex prepared himself to take out an unsuspecting bottle, after pushing himself from the tree he’d been slowly sticking to, the frost clinging to his coat, “Bell doesn’t have Adler breathing down her neck every two minutes, she’s free to do what she wants.” 

“And what she wants is to keep everyone around her at arm’s length.” Frank huffed, a little defeated, “whatever was going on in Berlin, it ain’t there anymore. Not for her.” 

“If I’m honest, Frank, that night at the bar.” 

A shot rang out and a bottle was hit. 

Alex continued, “I don’t think she was pretending either.” 

The other contemplated the words, chewing on them as though they were something tangible in need of inspection. He didn’t look convinced, but a small glint of hope seemed alight in his eyes. But it was dampened by the memory of how she had reacted to him, when they were alone. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to start again,” Frank admitted, almost through gritted teeth. 

“Take her out for a drink or something,” Alex offered, shrugging slightly with the movement accompanied by a chuckle, “just you two. Talk to her.There’s the diner not too far, you could take her there?” 

“That’s sounding too much like a date, Mason.” the other warned, cautious about diving too deep into a shallow end; he couldn’t risk pushing Jodie further away. 

“It doesn’t have to be one. Go as friends, then see where things go.” 

A beat. 

Alex was right, it didn’t have to be a date; friends could go out for drinks, something to eat. 

And that’s what he and Jodie were, what they’d probably only ever be; comrades, soldiers, friends. That’s it. 

That’s all they were.

It stung slightly to think about, to reminisce on what they almost had and face the possibility that they would never reach that point again. Maybe he was just being impatient, wishing for her to reach the five steps ahead and match the pace he was walking. A pace she had walked with him not too long ago, until Adler fucked things up. 

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” Frank eventually said, “now hurry and miss, will ya, I’m getting bored and freezing my ass off.” 

With a laugh, Alex took another shot, but missed this time. 

Perhaps on purpose.  

[walder-138]

VIGGO MORTENSEN as EDDIE SAWYER LEATHERFACE: THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE III (1990)

[walder-138]

OC LORE SHITPOSTS

New OCs. Their deals are that they’re just chill guys that lowkey don’t give a fuck.

TRIGGER WARNING: JACK BOSHAW

[walder-138]

[walder-138]

Does your oc have any phobias?

[walder-138]

i hope im not just a mutual to you but also a really annoying stranger who is somehow always going through something

[walder-138]

EVEN THE IRON STILL FEARS THE ROT.

ch. 1 ; As Mick joins the team, he’s met with apprehensive glances and thinly veiled judgment, particularly from Adler, whose cold authority immediately seems to clash with Mick’s street smart, cocky nature.

w. count: to be added.

The Kansas air used to taste like freedom, thick with the scent of cut hay and the kind of hope that clings to an unbound soul. Now, the stale, recycled air of Langley’s briefing rooms sat heavy in Mick’s chest, choking out what little fight he had left, if he even had some to spare.

“ Gore, ” a sharp voice cut through the oppressive quiet, snapping Mick out of his reminiscing. He turned his head slowly, green eyes narrowing at the man addressing him. Broad shoulders, stiff posture, and that all-too-familiar military bark—Mick knew the type. The ones who talked like orders were gospel itself.

“ Follow me. ” No name, no pleasantries. Just simple commands.

Mick had adjusted his worn leather jacket, the faded material brushing against the cold steel of his sidearm, pressed against his hip securely. With a sigh, he followed, converses scuffing along the linoleum floors. The corridors twisted and turned, each one a little more sterile looking than the last, like a damn hospital. Every step echoed, bouncing off walls painted with all the charm of a prison cell.

Prison or the CIA. His father’s ultimatum rattled in the back of his skull. Damn it all. At least in Kansas, he could hear the crickets at night and the stars above his head.

The man finally stopped in front of a door, his expression sharp as a blade. A silent order. Mick quirked an eyebrow before stepping inside.

The room was small, crowded with faces that all screamed judgment. Stares cut into him—some skeptical, some downright dismissive. It wasn’t the first time Mick felt like a stranger in a room full of soldiers. Hell, it wouldn’t be the last either.

“ Gore, huh? ” A voice broke the silence, low and deliberate, like it could crack concrete if it tried. Russell Adler. Mick’s eyes locked onto him. Steel met steel. The kind of stare that stripped you bare, leaving nothing but raw nerve endings.

“ my name a problem? ” Mick leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, voice lazy, but his teeth were already baring themselves in his grin.

“ We’ll see. ” Adler didn’t flinch, and damn it if Mick didn’t hate how it felt like the guy could see straight through him.

From across the room, a woman with sharp features and an even sharper voice spoke up. “ A bit green, aren’t you? ” Her British accent sliced through the tension like a KA-BAR.

“ Don’t worry, ” Mick shot back, cocky as ever, “ I won’t slow you down. ”

A snort sounded from one of the others—Lazar, Mick remembered from the file he’d skimmed, though it had barely managed to keep his attention. “ Cocky. This’ll be fun, ” Lazar muttered, grin lazy albeit sharp at the edges.

Mick didn’t give a damn about earning respect. He wasn’t here to make friends, and his slouched posture and worn out shoes made it clear enough. What did bother him, though, was Adler. The man’s gaze burned like a brand on a stallions thigh, burn lingering longer than Mick was comfortable with.

The briefing started—maps, intel, mission outlines all thrown onto the table like cards in a losing hand. Mick absorbed just enough to keep up, the rest sliding off his brain like water off a windshield. His mind wandered, drifting back to Kansas, to bar fights, jail cells, and the heavy chains of an old man’s expectations.

“ Gore. ” Adler’s voice snapped him back. A whip crack, sharp and precise.

“ Yeah? ” Mick’s grin twitched, just enough to provoke.

Adler’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, twitching in apparent irritation. “ Pay attention. This isn’t some backwoods brawl—this is the big leagues. ”

“ Noted, ” Mick drawled, smirk firmly in place.

Adler didn’t push further. He didn’t have to. The warning in his gaze said everything.

As the meeting broke up, Mick lingered, his sharp eyes scanning the room. This was his team now, whether he liked it or not. Adler stayed by the table, shuffling through papers with a kind of deliberate precision that made Mick’s skin itch.

For a moment, Mick thought about saying something—maybe cracking a joke, maybe testing the waters—but his throat tightened, and the words stayed locked up.

Instead, he turned and walked out, the weight of mistrust pressing against his shoulders like a goddamn yoke. He wasn’t here to prove anything, to anyone. This was survival, plain and simple.

Still, as he left the room, Mick couldn’t shake the feeling of Adler’s eyes on him. Heavy, unyielding. He hated the tension, hated how it wrapped around his ribs like barbed wire. And yet, deep down, some part of him wanted to see just how far it could stretch before it snapped.

and here we go !! first chap. of Even Iron all done and I’m excited to be able to even share this !!

Here comes Micks entrance into the team too, and clearly him and Russ are already a lil passive aggressive lol, but that changes a little while sooner !! do lmk if anyone would like to be tagged within future chapters :) !!

[walder-138]

📼 — SOMETIMES YOU MAKE ME WANNA PUT MY FUCKING HEAD THROUGH THE WALL

(or ‘Adler uses Mick’s crippling daddy issues against him’)

(they make me wanna puke, I love them sm but I also hate Adler bc he’s a bitch towards mick)

when that hand reached out, grabbing him by the nape like some wild animal — jaws snapping, meek prey who’s survival instincts had suddenly been awakened by the suddenness of a predator. Mick’s breath hitched, and his teeth grit — barring themselves lightly towards Russell, who only seemed to grin. “ there’s my boy. ” his words sounded so mocking, but they just seemed to soften Mick, the younger man relaxing in his grip.

“ Hey Russ. ” Mick uttered, eyes stuck to his boots for a moment before a gentle touch had nudged his attention back up to the blonde, “ need a favor, baby, ” Russell told him, slipping a folded— almost crumbled — piece of a cryptograph into the younger male’s pocket, “ need that decrypted, and I’d ask Bell, but he’s with Woods. even then, you’re number one. “ there it was, there was that charm: same charm Mick had fallen victim to when he’d joined this damn task force.

“ can’t. ” Mick replied, shaking his head, shoving his slim fingers into his pocket to retrieve the note before he’d held it back out to Russell, “ what do you mean ‘can’t’?? ” Adler questioned, stoicism still present as always yet there was that undertone of irritation. “ Last time I looked, you’re not busy. “ the blonde motioned to the almost emptiness of Mick’s little corner, only riddled by the few boxes of machinery or electronics that he’d spontaneously bought.

“ look, Russ, ain’t that I’m busy. Just.. “ Mick trailed off, shrugging, “ just can’t. ” he’d awkwardly rub the back of his neck, leaning back against the table he’d set up, Mick’s eyes hesitantly glancing back down, already feeling Russell glowering down at him.

Though, Mick’s breath hitched as he felt that same rough hand grip his jaw, pushing him harshly against the table - digging into Mick’s lower back. “ Russ? ” Mick’s voice cut through the silence, wavering ever so slightly. “ you don’t wanna disappoint your old man, don’t you? “ Russell’s questioned, jaw clenching, creaking beneath the pressure.

“ Wha— I, What the fuck, Russ, I.. ” Mick grit his teeth lightly, squirming beneath the other’s hold, yet Adler’s grip seemed to tighten — a faint twitch of his lips letting Mick know that Adler was absolutely pissed. “ You don’t wanna disappoint your old man, don’t you, Micheal? “ Adler’s voice was close to a growl, yet scarily calm. sounding damn near threatening as he stared down the younger male. Mick took in a sharp breath, gulping thickly as his eyes fell down once more.

“ No, I, I don’t. ” Mick stammered, sighing deeply, keeping his eyes stuck down. He couldn’t look him in the eyes, he just couldn’t. “ There’s my boy, my favorite boy. “ and now, Adler’s voice just seemed more condescending, speaking like Mick was some dumb kid, a kid who didn’t even know what he was getting into.

“ I’ll be back later, baby. “ Adler told him, then, he was gone. the faint clacks in Mick’s ears and the ache in his jaw being the only evidence that Adler had ever decided to pay a visit to his corner, especially for help. normally they’d left all that to Bell.

Shit.

Mick frowned, glancing down at the piece of paper, thumb drawing over it — tracing it as his brows pinched, and he’d crumble it beneath his palm. “Fucking Adler.” Mick grumbled, blinking away the sudden tears, the little tremble in his lips. He was never the emotional type. but by Adler’s game, anything was possible at this fucking point.

Mick didn’t even know why he stuck around this long.

tags // @walder-138 🌝

[walder-138]

Theresa "Tessa" Grey

Face Claim -> Florence Pugh

Gender: Female

Role: Forsaken Rebel

Origin: United Kingdom

Overview

Tessa has always been an outcast, fending for herself in the dark times of her life. It has taken her time to appreciate the help of others, to work as a team, but in the back of her mind she always expects to fall back on old habits. There will be times ahead when she can only rely on herself, as she always has. 

Tessa Grey is a small-time musician who has fought for everything she has and she’s not about to stop fighting now.

Her personal perks are Rebel Yell, Self Reliant and Runaway, giving focus on speedy escapes from the clutches of evil. 

You will find that Tessa’s time in the fog is spent mostly by herself, walking alone with a tune on her tongue.

Lore

Tessa Grey was a child raised with the belief that her parents had abandoned her to the social services, placed in care as an unwanted trick they hadn’t wanted to endure. Her start to life was riddled with ever-changing homes and faces, as foster carers came and went, with no stable place to call home ever being something she knew. Friendships were also far and few, difficult to obtain in the face of rampant bullying in her younger years of education, which labelled her an outcast; she became self-reliant at a young age, seeking no help from others and believing that she could only ever trust herself.

In her teen years, Tessa grew hostile towards her living arrangements, fleeing to the streets again and again in an attempt to escape her current life. This was fuelled by getting in with the wrong crowds, becoming known to Police and living as a rebellious delinquent. This meant her time at school was becoming less and less, often a flight risk and causing hassle for teachers.

Tessa taught herself acoustic guitar and focused a lot of her time on songwriting and singing, as this was a passion of hers; she had always dreamed of making it big, having money and getting far, far away from where she was. She dreamt of performing to people, hearing them chant her name, that they loved her. So she started to focus on her skills and aim for that dream.

At the age of 18, Tessa was released from care and out onto the street. With nowhere to go, no job, nothing to her name other than the guitar on her back and a small bag of clothes, Tessa remained homeless for years. Busking often got her enough money to eat and she frequented homeless shelters, but she held onto her dream of becoming a musician.

Eventually, someone notices her talent, a man named Brett, and the two start working together. Brett and Tessa become good friends after years of working together, he gets her off the streets, cleans her up, and helps her to get her talent out there, noticeable. Through years of struggle, Tessa does manage to write and record a couple of songs that become popular amongst a niche audience. Small venues are filling out with fans and she is beginning to see her fanbase grow.

By the time she is 27, Tessa has enough people that love her music that she has sold out a large venue and it’s the first gig of hers where she feels like a true musician. There’s a stage waiting for her, people are chanting her name. But, before she’s to start, she heads outside into the secluded alley to spark up a cigarette. As she stands there, the end of the alley seems eerily dark. Something seems to be calling to her, begging her to step closer, as wispy dark tendrils of smoke begin to crawl across the concrete.

When she’s close enough, she is completely engulfed by this fog.

Tessa Grey was never seen again and many conspiracies claim that she became part of the 27 club, like many aspiring musicians had before her.

Loadout

Rebel Yell 

Your voice has always caused your fans to go crazy, rallying them to you on the stage.  When you are hooked by the killer, all survivors within 15 metres will be granted a +25/35/45% Haste status effect and suppress Scratch Marks.  When unhooked by a survivor, the +25/35/45% Haste status effect and suppressed Scratch Marks lasts for 6 seconds after the unhook. “You’ve never heard of Billy Idol?” - Tessa Grey

Self Reliant

In the end, you always end up on your own.  If you are the last survivor, when you are injured all grunts of pain are suppressed making it difficult for the killer to locate you.  You can also Self Heal at a rate of 25/30/35% of the normal healing rate without the need for a med-kit. “I’m the only one left, good luck fucking finding me.” - Tessa Grey

Runaway

You have spent your whole life running, you’ve gotten pretty good at it.  While being chased by a killer, successfully stunning them with a pallet causes you the +50% Haste status effect for 5 seconds.  Runaway causes the Exhaustion status effect for 60/50/40 seconds.  “Catch me now, arsehole.” - Tessa Grey

Prestiging Tessa will automatically add Tier I of her Unique Perks to the inventories of all other Survivors and unlock the ability for their higher-tiered versions to spawn in their Bloodweb.

Prestige Tessa twice more to automatically add Tier II and Tier III respectively into the other Survivors' inventories.

Dividers by adornedwithlight

[walder-138]

My body is a machine that turns tea into piss

[walder-138]

Thank you for the tag!

ANNIKA VORONOVA

patron saint of horror

you're the patron saint of the dawning moment of realization. the patron saint of comprehension, maybe. the patron saint of understanding. the patron saint of knowing exactly what's going to happen. of seeing clearly. of not being able to look away.

ABBEY JUNE FOSTER

patron saint of relics

patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

JACK BOSHAW (🤢)

patron saint of houses

but not of homes. only the shells of what keeps us enclosed. houses can be decorated or well-built or crumbling or haunted but only a home can truly be warm; you are the patron saint of that lack.

OZ CLANCY

patron saint of bones

patron saint of frameworks. of structures. of solidity. patron saint of things that break. patron saint of things that are left behind. the bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest has gone? what do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? who holds the bones?

MADELINE FOSTER

patron saint of silence

you are the patron saint of empty spaces, cavernous rooms, moments that last for days. for some people, the emptiness is horrible, something that they need to fill: you, its patron, try to search within it for peace. there is nothing there. there is never anything there. even the emptiness is not a presence of its own. the only thing there is you.

ZACHARY “WAR PIG” WILDE

patron saint of martyrs

the patron saint of those who died to be like you. maybe you died to be like them too: but at the end of it, you weren't like them. patron saint of tragedy. saint of saints. it's you who holds the hands of the holy dead, and you who has to answer: what do they do if they regretted it?

ESTER ‘BULLET’ WILDE

patron saint of lost faith

patron saint of leaving it by the roadside. patron saint of it slipping out of your fingers. patron saint of searching and searching. patron saint of yearning for it back. patron saint of scraping your fingers down to the bone trying to hold onto it. patron saint of losing it anyway. saint of lost faith. not the saint of getting it back.

LINDSAY ADESINA

patron saint of heartbreak

not of comfort. not of condolences. there is a heart and there is a fissure, a fracture, something that starts to splinter and break open. you're the patron saint of the way a heart is rent open. the way it tears itself apart. patron saint of the rift. patron saint of the gash. when they say to "open your heart" to somebody, you are the patron saint of bleeding out.

SAINT TRICHE (🤢)

patron saint of obsession

patron saint of devotion. of dedication. of passion. of everything you won't call it, in the spaces between. patron saint of holding tight to it until it bleeds. patron saint of pushing it too far. patron saint of staring into the sun until you're blind. patron saint of gazing onto beauty until you can't see anything anymore.

Tagging: @cynicvice (im gonna touch you), @imagoddamnonionmason @alypink @eccentrcks @agentredops @justasmolbard and anyone else who wants to do it!

making my ocs the patron saints of something | link tagged by: @lilywatt & @cloudofbutterflies92

patron saint of heartbreak - not of comfort. not of condolences. there is a heart and there is a fissure, a fracture, something that starts to splinter and break open. you're the patron saint of the way a heart is rent open. the way it tears itself apart. patron saint of the rift. patron saint of the gash. when they say to "open your heart" to somebody, you are the patron saint of bleeding out.

patron saint of creation - patron saint of explosions. patron saint of More. patron saint of something new entirely, something unfamiliar, something you can't recognize. was frankenstein's monster an abomination or had his like just never been seen before? you're the patron saint of all those new, beautiful things. you're the patron saint of the monsters, too.

tag list (in/out): @cloudofbutterflies92 @florbelles @sweet-samnang @killerspinal @inafieldofdaisies @la-grosse-patate @justasmolbard @deeptrashwitch @socially-awkward-skeleton @alypink @pathologictwo @imogenkol @strafethesesinners @mutantthedark @starcrossedspirit @josephseedismyfather @sirensmaw @thosewhowrite @adelaidedrubman @walder-138 @carlosoliveiraa @theelderhazelnut @shallow-gravy @jackiesarch @simplegenius042 @devil-kindred @nightwingshero @aceghosts @d-esmond @thedeadthree @cassietrn @voidika @auricfog @katsigian