#A WHISPER IN THE DARK. ( JAMES DAE YOUNG. )

[ladyimaginarium]

Something I'm surprised that nobody ever talks about very often — if at all — is that James was part of The Whisperers, a primitivist, almost cultlike society that shunned civilization and humanity and everything it stood for. They don't even use their names and shun their previous identities. Because they view themselves as animals, the Whisperers see rape as a social construct, so women and girls ( and presumably other boys and men ) in the group are offered no protection from sexual assault and are instead expected to defend themselves. This is so ingrained in Whisperer society that, sometimes, not even victims of these sexual assaults consider it rape.

They're nomads, never staying in one place for more than a few days and are fiercely territorial and will normally attack intruders on sight if they deem them a threat. If the intruders don't seem like they're a part of a larger group, the Whisperers might try to recruit them, though they will still kill them if they refuse.

So, with all that said, with James once having been part of such a cultlike group from such a young age scarred him for the rest of his life and I don't think he'll ever really get over it, especially when it's entirely possible that Charlie, his longtime boyfriend, who stayed behind ... is dead.

I'd like to think that, since in my portrayal, he saves Clementine, AJ and Tenn's life, and reconsiders his philosophy, even though he's still afraid of reverting back to that mindset, he still understands that people need to defend themselves and their loved ones by killing walkers and other people if need be and he understands now that it was naive of him to think otherwise.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 29

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  Jamie’s missing Claire.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

The wind blew through the leaves of an enormous willow tree, making them pivot and dance like thousands of silver-green fish.   Jamie was resting with his back against the trunk, chewing contemplatively on a length of meadow grass and listening for trouble while Rupert slept.  So far, the only sounds were the hum of insects, the babble of a nearby burn, and the grumbling of his stomach.  Seven months under Cook’s generous care had accustomed him to regular and hearty meals, and he’d forgotten what it meant to always be hungry.  

Most days on the road he ventured out under the cover of dusk with his bow and managed to bag a rabbit or grouse, but as they moved southwards into more settled farmland he became increasingly cautious, not wanting to be arrested as a poacher.   The previous evening they’d had to be content with stale bread and hard cheese washed down with warm ale.

A branch broke nearby.  He snatched his pistol from his lap and aimed over his shoulder, nerves singing.   Rupert stepped out from behind the tree, rubbing sleep from his eyes with a grubby hand.

“Christ, Rupert!  I near blew yer heid off, ye daft oaf.  Could ye no’ announce yerself?” Jamie exhaled, pointing the pistol skyward.

“Yer verra crabbit, man.  Dae ye miss the mistress sae much ye canna stand the sight of anyone who’s no’ her?” Rupert teased, grabbing the flagon of ale and lowering himself into the dappled shade nearby.

“Bit of a curse and give me peace,” Jamie grumbled, moving away on aching limbs.

“May ye dream of bonnie lassies with round bellies and brown curls, and awake in fairer spirits,” Rupert called out as Jamie made his way to the wagon, where the bales of wool created a fair, if somewhat prickly, mattress.

He groaned as he arranged his long limbs over the wool and pulled his plaid over his shoulders.  Thus far they’d been blessed with mild, relatively dry weather, speeding their progress southwards.  In a few days’ time they would reach the outskirts of Edinburgh, where Rupert would leave Jamie to manage the rest of the journey alone.  He draped his sleeve over his face, trying to block out the persistent sunlight and find a few hours’ rest.

Rupert was right, he was missing Claire.  But more than longing for her physical presence, he missed the steady significance of his position by her side.  When he was with Claire, he knew his place in the world as certainly as a star in the firmament.  The greater the distance between them, the more he felt adrift.  He thought of their parting, lips curling wistfully.

“Come back to me, James Fraser,” she’d whispered, holding his skull between firm fingertips.

“Aye, as soon as I can,” he’d replied, and with one last lingering kiss and a soft caress for her swollen midsection, he’d mounted Donas and ridden away without a backwards glance.

Still smiling, he eased into sleep.

***

Rupert was a lad of pointed words and rounded body, but Jamie was sorry to see him go.  If nothing else, he was familiar with the ways of modern Scotland and a source of bottomless bawdy humour.  It was raining hard as they shook hands at a bridge over the Forth.  Neither were inclined to linger.

“God speed to ye, Master Jamie.  An’ ‘is blessings on the wee bairn.  Lallybroch will finally ‘ave a Scot fer a laird again, aye?”

“My thanks to ye, Rupert.  Come ‘ome safe, wher’er the road takes ye.”

Rupert gave him a shrewd look, each of them understanding what wasn’t being said.  The young man shifted his haversack higher on his shoulder, turned, and walked away towards the east.

Securing Donas’ reins to the wagon’s railing, Jamie climbed onto the seat and whistled to the plow horses.  If he made haste along the verge of secondary roads, he could travel by daylight and be in Galashiels two days hence.

A motorcar approached, much too close to the edge of the tarmac.  The angry mechanical bleat of its horn as it flew past startled Donas, who reared and nearly snapped his bridle.   Jamie swore prodigiously in Gaelic before jumping down to calm the spooked horse.  

It was going to be a long two days.

***

The closer he got to the border with England, the poorer Jamie’s luck became.   First it was the weather, which deteriorated into the windblown icy rain for which Scotland was famous.  He was used to being out-of-doors in all manner of clime, but it became difficult to light a fire to get warm or cook a meal.   Next, the dark bay gelding threw a shoe and they had to leave the route to find a blacksmith in a nearby village.

By the time he arrived in Galashiels, bedraggled and frozen, it was already April twentieth, three days later than he’d hoped.  The wagon rolled to a halt in a cobblestone courtyard surrounded by tidy brick buildings.  Jamie eased himself to the ground and mounted the steps to a black door over which was written “Stewart Brothers: Wool Brokers”.   Inside was a small office where a number of clerks worked behind wooden desks.  He approached the nearest of these and removed his leather cap.

“Good day tae ye, sir.  My name is James Fraser of Lallybroch, and I’m ‘ere tae sell wool tae the British Army.”

The thin man lifted his bald head and gave Jamie a thorough head-to-toe glance before snorting dismissively and gesturing vaguely towards a door to his left.  Without a word, he went back to his writing.

Knocking on the oaken door, Jamie heard a gruff English voice within say “Enter.”

The office was cluttered and dim.  A portly middle-aged man with a wide mustache rose as he entered.

“James Fraser, sir.” He extended his hand.

“Lloyd Stewart, at your service,” the man replied, shaking his hand firmly.  “What can I do for you today, Mr. Fraser?”   He gestured to a high-backed chair.

During the brief explanation of his journey and his purpose, Mr. Stewart’s expression changed from distracted civility to incredulity.

“Where did you say you were from, Mr. Fraser?”

“Lallybroch, sir.  Near Inverness.”

“That’s Captain Randall’s estate, is it not?   Do you work for him?”

Jamie drew a deep breath through his nostrils, quelling his urge to be insulted.

“Nay, I am master of the estate.  Captain Randall died in the war last fall.  His widow is now my wife.”

The merchant raised his bushy eyebrows high, casting a disdainful glance at the younger man’s filthy clothes and unkempt appearance, but saying nothing.

“Ye may… telephone… my wife, Claire Fraser, if yer doubting my claim.  Sir.”

He was bluffing.  Lallybroch had yet to install a telephone, mostly because neither he nor Claire could think of anyone they were interested in talking to who wasn’t willing to make the trip to speak in person.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Fraser.   If you could just validate some simple details for me…”  A heavy ledger sat on the corner of the desk, and Mr. Stewart opened it and paged backwards until finding the desired spot.   “Now, I see here that last spring our mill purchased some fine raw Cheviot from Lallybroch.  If you could simply confirm the number of bales your estate sold us, and who made the delivery, we’ll be right as rain.”

The man’s subtle sneer indicated he had every expectation Jamie would fail the test, and his next stop would be the local gaol, yet another Highlander imprisoned for theft.   Fortunately, the anger and righteousness coursing through the young man’s veins focused his mind, and he clearly remembered his conversation with Claire.

“Twas eleven bales, and brought tae ye by the Duke of Sandringham, who ‘as o’ersight of the estate, as ye likely ken.  In the future, t’will be I who brings ye the wool, if ye care tae mark that down in yer wee book, Mr. Stewart.  Master James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser of Lallybroch, if ye please.”

After a tense moment in which neither man blinked, Stewart sighed and began to open a heavy iron safe.   Five minutes later Jamie strode out of the building, eager to leave and begin his return journey.  There was six hundred-and-eleven pounds sterling hidden in the shafts of his boots.  The courtyard was empty save for his three horses and the wagon, already emptied of its shipment of wool.

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 8 ~The Confrontation~

Jamie swallowed hard and eyed the cleaver nervously. Christ, what did uncle Lamb ask again? Oh, aye ...he was asking how I know of Claire. 

"Joe is our mutual friend. Ye ken, Joe, aye?"

Quentin stopped what he was doing. "Yes. Joe is a family friend. While ye were away with my niece, he relayed everything that happened. Why did you go to so much trouble helping Claire?"

Whack!  Jamie jumped on his stool again. For fuck sake, what's wrong with me? I could tackle this git to the ground if I want to.  He ignored the feeling of unease and tried to remain calm. "Joe would have wanted me to help her and so would ye," he replied.   "Claire was desperate to run away. If I hadn't been there, she wouldn't have made it far. And from what I've heard, ye weren't overly keen on Frank marrying her. Surely, you must be elated that the wedding didn't go ahead."

Quentin ignored his last statement and went to the point. "Do you intend to ask her out?" he asked. 

Sweat broke out over his skin. Truth, Jamie lad!  "I like her a lot, and I would like to see her again."

"She's not like your girlfriends or the girls you go for. And if you ..."

"I've never had a girlfriend," Jamie interrupted, suddenly feeling annoyed. "And besides, seeing her doesnae mean there has to be something between us. As I said, Joe is our mutual friend, and I would like to be her friend too."

Quentin arched an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?"

His temper ratcheted up. "No. People will believe what they want to believe. Looks like you've made up your mind already."

"I wish to be enlightened. Tell me then, what is fallacious about the articles written about you?" Quentin asked, unperturbed by his outburst, throwing the hacked beef bones into the pot with loud clacks.

Jamie tunnelled his fingers through his hair and stared at the older man. He disliked talking about his public image. It was something he'd chosen to forget, hoping sports history will omit what the tabloids had written about him and solely focus on his contribution to rugby. A cold ball of misery fisted his gut. "I'm not a player if that's what you think. But I'm not a monk either. I've had consensual, brief affairs. Unfortunately, I've been photographed during an infamous walk of shame, and that stuck ever since. My life was strictly ruled by rugby ...until my accident. Most of the articles that were written about me that didn't pertain to sports are pure speculation. It stemmed from the public wanting to know all about my private life. And because I have nothing to show, tabloid writers made up stories. Every time I was photographed with a female during public functions, it was automatically dubbed as romance in the making. It's hard to fight it because fighting it only results in feeding the flame. I can't win either way. All I ever wanted was to play rugby and talk about the game."

"Is that all?"

Was that all?  He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the interrogation.  Why am I giving him my time of day?  Shaking his head, he let out a deep sigh of resignation. "Aye. One more thing. If something was to happen between Claire and me, it wouldn't work anyway."

"Oh! Why is that?" It was Quentin's turn to look surprised.

"I'm unstable, and I'm going through a phase. I have nae idea what I want to dae with my life. I had a call earlier from my agent. There is an opening for a rugby presenter on TV, and I was told I'd be great for the job since I know how to articulate the inner workings of the game. My only drawback is, I have a blemished reputation as a womaniser, and we're talking about representing a wholesome TV program where scandals are frowned upon by the board of directors. So I doubt I'll be given consideration. As for Claire, she needs to find herself. And if she's with me, the reporters will eat her alive. Furthermore, I dinna ken how to be in a relationship. My track record bears testimony to that."

"You honestly believe that about yourself? Unstable?"

Jamie didn't reply. A long silence settled in the kitchen and an odd calm over him. It felt good to verbalised the nagging voices in his head and share a part of him he'd concealed. Maybe it was for the best to quell any notions of Claire, finally accepting that they were both at a difficult point of their lives. In as much as he was physically attracted to her, a commitment right now would only complicate things.

"Well, son, we may have something in common then."

"Aye?" Jamie's brows knitted together and wondered what he was on about.

"You mentioned you don't know how to be in a relationship. Well, I don't know how to be a father, and to this day, I'm still figuring that out. I've raised Claire since she was five and yet, here I am, I'm still stumbling my way through parenthood. Like you, I had to deal with a life that I didn't ask for. It took a lot of heart and courage just to pull through. In the end, it was all worth it. Claire grew up to be a fine young woman, and I couldn't be more proud of her. Don't believe everything you tell yourself. They're just noises in your head. I learned from raising Claire, that love is strongest when you learn to trust the process despite the doubts." He stopped, coughed and looked at him directly in the eyes. "By the way, do you like brandy?"

"Huh?" Bewilderment swarmed his head. He hadn't been expecting a quick turnaround. "Ah, weel ...eh ...I prefer whisky, but I drink brandy once in a while."

"The snifter glasses and the brandy are on the far right cupboard. Pour us some if you please."

The request cut through his confusion, and he shot to his feet. "Aye, of course." He quickly prepared the brandy, half expecting to get whacked on the head with a cleaver, while Quentin washed his hands, 

Once the drinks were poured, Quentin took a glass and swirled it in his hand, before taking a whiff. Pleased with the aroma, he raised the snifter and gestured for him to do the same. "Here's to you and thank you for helping, my niece. I appreciate the lengths you went through in keeping her safe. How much do I owe you for the trouble?"

Jamie almost choked on his drink. "Ach, no! It was nae bother at all. I don't need the money."

"Very well." Quentin put his glass down and pointed at the bowl of vegetables. "Do you mind chopping those carrots and celery sticks for me?"

"No. I can dae that," Jamie answered, pondering what the older man will say or ask of him next. Uncle Lamb was proving to be an enigma and full of surprises, but he was beginning to worry about Claire.  How long have they been in the room?

As if reading his mind, Quentin smiled at him. "And when you're done, send Frank in, please and go and take Claire away from here. Frank and I need a heart to heart talk."

Grabbing a knife, Jamie bowed his head down and got to work, resisting the urge the smile. He wondered what uncle Lamb had to say to Frank, and if Frank will get the same meat-cleaver-treatment, he received.  Didn't Claire mention earlier that Frank had never visited Quentin? Was Frank trying to isolate Claire from her only relative too?

In no time, he completed the task. Just as he was about to go, Quentin stopped him. "Another thing. If you don't mind and if it's no trouble at all, may I please have a signed jersey from you? I'm actually a big fan of yours."

Jamie was stunned but kept his expression bland and bit his lip. He couldn't help doing a mock contemplation. It was good to know that behind the no-nonsense facade, Claire's uncle had a weakness. "Of course. I will have one sent as soon as possible. Maybe I'll throw in a ticket for the next home game in Murrayfield. A private VIP box perhaps?"

"That'll be grand," Quentin's face lit up. "And James?"

Ah, what now?  "Aye?"

"You have a lot of heart. I believe everything you told me."

"Thank ye, I appreciate that." To his surprise, a weight lifted off his shoulders and wondered why it mattered so much to have Claire's uncle's approval. He tamped down the urge to hug the older man. 

If only Quentin knew, how much those words meant after having difficulties in overcoming the stigma attached to his popularity. He could only hope Claire wouldn't judge him too harshly about his past.

..........

"Why did you leave me, Claire?" 

Frank had his back to her as he looked out the window. Hands shoved in his jeans and legs braced apart, an air of self-possession and authority emanated from his frame and carriage, his voice, rich and deep, just as she remembered them. 

It was a simple question which she had an answer to, but panic and dread welled up. She was ill-prepared for their confrontation.

As if sensing her trepidation, he turned around and approached her, his dark chocolate eyes that she once adored, never leaving her face. "Did I ever hurt you? I need answers, Claire. I need to understand what I've done wrong. Have I not told you often enough how much I love you?" he asked softly.

Her brain worked to form a logical reply, but simple utterances were proving difficult. "Ah, I ... I'm so sorry ...I ran away ...I couldn't ..." 

His face dissolved into understanding, and a hand reached out to stroke her hair. "I forgive you. You know I'll always forgive you. We're so good together. All I've ever done is love you, and everything I do is for you. For us."

"B-but ..."

"Sssh, no buts." Frank pulled her into his arms and whispered loving words into her ears. He kissed her cheek and stroke her hair. "It's my fault, my love. I was so busy at the hospital, and I thought all was well with us. I failed to see you were under a lot of pressure with work and with planning the wedding. It's me who should be asking for your forgiveness." A hand ran down her back with the expertise of an experienced lover, massaging and soothing the tautness in her muscle. Once it had been so easy to succumb to his display of tenderness and forget everything that had happened.

The conversation with Joe and Geillis popped in her mind, and her guts clenched. She had seen this side of Frank before. He knew what buttons to push and the words to say. How many times had she fallen for his promise of devotion and humbling plea for forgiveness, only for him to suddenly turn around so fast with a cutting remark or a cold look of objection that she thought she imagined the whole thing? He'd rewarded her with presents and gentle affection when she won his approval but punished her with hurtful words when she didn't live up to his expectations. 

Nausea slammed her with full force, and Claire stepped away from his hold. "Frank, I can't do this anymore. I've been unhappy for a long time, and I don't like the person I've become."

His brows furrowed, puzzlement evident in his eyes. "Claire, why are you speaking like that? I can understand you're confused because of the stress you're having, and you feel we've grown apart. It's normal to feel that way from time to time. Relationships cannot be likened to a walk in the park. It requires hard work. We'll have bad days sometimes, but that doesn't mean we don't love each other anymore. We're perfect together. Can't you see that? Everyone thinks so too."

She thought of Joe, Geillis and uncle Lamb, her towers of strength and the only thing consistent in her life. How many times had Frank excluded them from functions he'd arranged? It was almost like he was embarrassed by the company she kept. Geillis and Joe had tried their best to get along with him for her sake, but Frank never made it easy for them. And then she thought of her day-out in Cullen with Jamie. It was the first time in ages laughter had come easy, and there had been no expectations of her other than to be herself.  

"No, Frank, not everyone! My friends don't think we're perfect for one another. They believe you are keeping me away from them. You don't like them. You don't like me either. You're continuously telling me how to fix myself to make you happy. I'm so tired of living up to some standard. You want to change me, and that isn't what love is all about."

"What do you know of love?" he shot. He took a couple of steps forward, forcing her to back up against the wall. His calm demeanour was gone and in its place, a rage that she'd never seen on him before. Alarm seeped through, and she wanted to run, but fear froze her in place. "Do you even realise what you put me through? Imagine the humiliation I felt when I saw your picture on the newspaper this morning with that drunk former rugby player. The hospital is rife with gossip and everyone stares. Right now reporters are staking my home as well as my workplace. And did you even think of giving me a call? No, because you're so wrapped up in your own world and that James fucking Fraser. Mark my words, that man will use you Claire, and once he's done with you, he'll drop you like a hot potato. That's what he is, and that's what he does."

Anger bubbled up, and years of frustration found its voice. "What are you insinuating? I planned to run off with Jamie? I fell trying to escape through the window, and he caught me. If he hadn't been there, I'd be dead," she snapped, shoving him away from her. "And for your information, nothing happened between us. But by God, I was tempted. And you want to know why? Days before our wedding day, I kissed him in Lallybroch because I wanted to know if there was something wrong with me. You were always finding fault in our lovemaking, and I started to think something must be amiss. And guess what? You should have seen his face. I've never seen a man look at me the way he did. Desired and ..."

He flinched. "He's a player, Claire! 

"Do you think I care what he is, Frank?" she shouted. "The fact he made me feel whole and not broken and not undesirable was enough. I may lack experience when it comes to relationships, but I wasn't born in a bubble, and I'm not stupid. You treat me like a child ...like I can't think for myself. Give it a rest, Frank. Can't you see it? I'll never be enough for you, and you'll always find ways to change me."

The intimidation waned, and Frank's shoulders sagged. "Claire, the only reason why I asked more from you, is because I saw the potential in you. You are a brilliant doctor, and I didn't want you to settle. If I've caused you pain by pushing you, I'm so sorry. I'll change my ways. I can fix me. We can fix us together."

Guilt threatened to take hold, but she remembered how Frank treated her friends. "I'm so sorry, Frank. I don't want to fix us anymore. We're beyond repair. Let's not make this any more difficult than it is. It's over," she said softly. 

The unshed tears that glinted in his eyes nearly broke her heart, but she reminded herself to remain strong. "Please, Claire, give us some time. Take all the time you need. You're not thinking clearly right now. Don't throw away what we've built together."

Her body began to shake, so she wrapped her arms across her chest, to still the shiver skating over her body. "No, Frank. It will never work. We don't work anymore, and we haven't for ages. Just let me go. Please."

"We can work. I know that. But I won't push. You are understandably upset, and you need space." He reached out to touched her, but when she recoiled, he dropped his hand. "I will see you at the hospital next week, and we'll take it from there. I won't give up on us, Claire. I love you too much, and I know you feel the same way."

"No Frank, please don't do this ..." Her words trailed off when Jamie suddenly walked in.

She sucked in a breath as both men stilled and had a standoff staring at each other. She feared Frank might say something sharp and uncivil leading to a provocation. But to her relief, Jamie spoke first. "Uncle Lamb wishes to speak to you."

Frank nodded, glanced one more time at Claire and then left the room without another word.

Once they were alone, Jamie walked over to her and tilted her chin. "Ye alright, Sassenach?" 

"He won't let me go. I told him already it was over, but he won't listen."

"How about your things in his apartment?"

"I forgot to ask him. But I'll talk to him again next week when I go back to work, and I'll arrange a day to collect it."

"Joe and I will come with ye. Did Frank threaten ye?" He caressed her cheek, looking her over to check if she was harmed.

"N-no, nothing like that. It's Frank's mannerisms that is intimidating. He knows me too well. He plays on my guilt like a master, and his stubborn refusal to give up is making it all more difficult."

Jamie's face hardened, contradicting the gentleness of his touch. "Dinna fash, Sassenach. We'll talk more about it later. I need to get ye out of here. It's yer uncle's orders. By the way, yer uncle is not by any chance a murderer, is he?"

"Wot? Wot are you talking about?" Then a realisation hit her, and her eyes widened. "No! He didn't do the meat cleaver act on you, or did he?"

"Aye, he did." Jamie didn't look impressed, so she suppressed the laughter that was beginning to bubble up. "Weel, it will serve Frank right to get that treatment from yer uncle, intimidating ye like that. I nearly shat bricks when he was interrogating me." He tugged her hand and led her out of the apartment.

"That's why I didn't have boyfriends when I was the uni. He scared the hell out of them. How did you get away with it?"

Jamie glanced at her and winked. "I bribed him with a signed shirt from me. And a VIP pass for Murrayfield at the next rugby home game."

She stared at him in disbelief and saw the grudging smile trying to mar his handsome face. This time Claire let out the laughter, forgetting for a little while the heartache and worry Frank had caused and the problems that were yet to come.

[ladyimaginarium]

full name. James Dae Young.

aka.  Jam, JamJam, Jammy, Jamster, Whisperer, Dead Man Walking.

age. 0-19 ( CANON ; POST-THE FINAL SEASON ) ; 0-19 ( MODERN. )

gender & pronouns. Cisgender Male ; he/him.

orientation. Homoromantic Homosexual.

species. Human.

occupation. Student and Food Truck Assistant to his father’s food truck before the outbreak. A vagabond post-apocalypse turned Professor at The Enlightenment specializing in Theory, Music and Terrain Survival. In a Modern AU, he’s currently a singer of his own indie rock band called The Whisperers while on the side, he’s a local model and does horror themed SFX for a fee. He occasionally helps helps Clementine with her floral themed cat caf and has his own Youtube channel. He could very easily rise to stardom because of his voice but he chooses not to.

religion.  Agnostic but Clementine has him intrigued in witchcraft, though James usually does so as a hobby and intertwines Korean culture, folklore and mythology into it.

residence. Ericson’s Boarding School For Troubled Youth later renamed The Enlightenment, West Virginia ( CANON ; POST-THE FINAL SEASON ) ; Washington, D.C, but does sometimes travel to Virginia and West Virginia to see his friends depending on the occasion. ( MODERN. )

leader(s). Alpha ( formerly ) ; himself ; later Clementine Maria Jasmine Cree as Headmistress.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

hair. Straight, dark brown hair, often keeps his hair short or puts it up in a small ponytail. Has dyed it blue and later white in a Modern AU.

eyes. Hazel.

complexion. Light tan.

build. Strong, muscular, fit.

scars. Several over his belly, shoulders, thighs, arms and legs.

tattoos. N/A ( CANON ) ; A skull on his right shoulder.

piercings. N/A in canon. Gets his ears and tongue pierced at age seventeen in a modern verse.

Notable physical features. His mask of walker skin ( if he’s wearing it ), his eyes, his shy smiles.

etc. Will wear makeup on occasion in a Modern AU. Wears a pendant of the peace symbol that hangs down his neck in a Modern AU.

face claim(s). Won Jong Jin ; Jung Jaewon ( tentative. )

voice claims(s). Johnny Yong Bosch.

PERSONALITY

zodiac. Taurus.

alignment. True Neutral, will lean to the good side of the spectrum when the situation calls for it, however.

allegiance. The Enlightenment.

hogwarts. Hufflepuff.

positive traits. Assertive. Adventurous. Athletic. Alluring. Astute. Adaptable. Artistic. Adventurous. Bubbly. Beautiful. Brave, Capricious. Careful. Compassionate. Comforting. Confident. Considerate. Courageous. Courteous. Curious. Creative. Cunning. Clever. Determined. Dedicated. Diplomatic. Durable. Daring. Daydreamer. Decisive. Devoted. Empathetic. Efficient. Emotional. Erudite. Friendly. Forward. Fearless. Free-spirited. Flexible. Fun-loving. Generous. Gentle. Hard-working. Helpful. Honorable. Headstrong. Honest. Imaginative. Impressionable. Independent. Individualistic. Initiative. Intuitive. Insightful. Intelligent. Introverted. Kind. Loyal. Mature. Musical. Noble. Neurotic. Obstinate. Observant. Pacifistic. Patient. Passionate. Polite. Persistent. Percipient. Perceptive. Popular. Persuasive. Practical. Principled. Protective. Punctual. Quiet. Reliable. Rebellious. Resilient. Relaxed. Reserved. Responsible. Resourceful. Romantic. Solemn. Sincere. Sentimental. Selfless. Strong. Suave. Sympathetic. Tactical. Tender. Thoughtful. Tolerant. Versatile. Trustworthy. Tough. Unrelenting. Well-intentioned.

negative traits. Aggressive (when provoked one too many times). Anxious. Awkward. Good liar. Blunt. Delusional. Distant. Doubtful. Fierce temper. Eccentric. Exhausted. Fixated. Forceful. Idealist at heart. Impulsive. Insecure. Insomniac. Moody. Passive-aggressive. Ruthless. Sarcastic. Sardonic. Sassy. Satirical. Self-conscious. Stubborn. Sly. Is very accepting of enduring pain for another’s sake. Timid. Unpredictable. Wandering. Weary. Wry.

MEDICAL RECORD

mental. PTSD. Anxiety. Depression. ( canon ). Has spells of anxiety ( modern. )

physical. Very physically healthy.

phobias. Atychiphobia ( the fear of failure ; of never being good enough. ) ; Traumatophobia ( the fear of war ) ; Angrophobia ( fear of becoming angry ) ; Anthrophobia ( fear of people / society ) ; Dementophobia ( the fear of going insane ).

eyesight. Perfectly clear.

drug use. Delves into in adolescence, merely for stress relief, doesn’t use it often.

alcohol use. Has only drank on social occasions in his adolescence ; has gotten drunk.

diet. omnivore.

addictions. A hoarder.

BACKGROUND

birth place. Seoul, South Korea. ( canon. )

hometown.  Washington, D.C, United States of America. ( modern. )

ethnicity. Korean.

parents. Hyun Young ( father ) ; Jung Park ( mother )

significant other(s). Unattached, but is still devoted to his long time boyfriend, Charlie even years after they separated. ( canon. ) ; Charlie. ( default ; modern. )

siblings. N/A.

children. N/A.

pets. A Maine Coon named Sweets and a Shiba Inu named Kokoro before the outbreak. The American Bulldog Rosie. Luna, Hazel, Sol, Serena, Rai, Brynjar, Oreo, Pepper, and Stella - nine stray cats. Three stray yet friendly foxes also make their way around the school, a white fox, a black fox, and a red fox, to which Clementine and the group began naming Aurora, Agni and Aenar. ( canon. ) ; A Maine Coon, Sweets, and a Shiba Inu, Kokoro. ( modern. )

education. High, as he grew older in canon ; a University level student in a modern verse.

notable skills.  He’s very quick to learn new things. He’s bilingual, speaking both English and Korean. He’s an excellent fighter and survivor after spending much of his late childhood to adolescence among the Whisperers. Aside from being a very talented guitar player, he is an excellent storyteller but he will only tell you stories if he trusts you. He’s an excellent singer and at times of great inspiration, writes his own lyrics. Can very easily walk among the dead and can even guide them. ( canon. ) ; He is also a fantastic makeup artist. ( modern. ).

languages. Fluent in English and Korean.

passions. Nature, tending to stray animals, being with people he loves, drawing, painting, coloring, baking, helping people in need, horror videogames ( modern au ), horror sfx ( modern au ), playing the guitar, fawning over animals, observing flowers/nature, bird watching, cooking, singing, dancing, writing, cake decorating, gardening, swimming, astrology, traveling, reading, collecting flowers and trinkets, creating flower crowns.

biography.  James was born in Seoul, South Korea and moved to America with his family at the age of five. He went to school and during weekends, he would help his father and his food truck. He later met his future boyfriend, Charlie, one day when he was serving him food and they would grow into fast friends. As the years went on, they fell in love and only a few months after they began, the outbreak happened, James called his parents and told them goodnight before never hearing from them again. The two left the city together in a panic, never once looking back and soon, they were captured and initiated into a cult known as The Whisperers. The rest is history as the tales know it. After the events of The Final Season, he eventually reunites with Clementine in the autumn later that same year and joins the school. He eventually teaches the new generation on how to peacefully avoid walkers, how to avoid getting bit by walkers and how to walk among them. ( canon. ) ; Pretty much the same thing as canon except the apocalypse never happens, he sets up a local indie rock band called The Whisperers and he occasionally does makeup sfx as a side job and a hobby while living in an apartment with his boyfriend, Charlie. All is well. ( modern. )

AVAILABILITY. primary.

PORTRAYAL. canon compliant ( he saves Clementine and co. in the cave ) ; headcanon based.

SHIPPING. open - highly selective.