#this is not a sane or rational man he is unstable and angry

[greencarnation]

eleven is fascinating to me because he came right off the back of tens horrible traumatic breakdown after he lost everything and he immediately tried to establish himself as the opposite of that. he is funny and goofy and almost childlike, and he bulldozes on in his adventures with amy like nothing happened at all. but then something happens and his masks slips and it's like oh! the core of this man is still anger. he is so so angry all of the time and this façade is the only thing stopping him from being consumed by it. he isn't over any of it and he hasn't moved on. he is wearing a fez and laughing but under that all that exists is age old anger and grief and it is going to consume him

[carcosuh]

❀ *ﾟ lucy hale. female. she/her. ⇝ hey, isn’t that carcosa lusk? i think that the twenty-five year old from breaux bridge, louisiana works as a bartender, but outside of that they spend a lot of time at henderson. i hear they are self-critical + blunt, but they are also known to be independent + adaptable. consider giving them a visit at their home in desert oasis apartments and get to know why they’re called the phoenix. 

hey, sugar plums !! you can call me ari and i’m very excited to be here ! i can’t wait to read about all of your wonderful muses, as well as introduce you to my three precious hot messes. if you’re interested in plotting with carcosa, please feel free to hit that heart button or slide into my dms at any time !

just a quick heads up: carcosa’s intro is probably gonna be the longest because her backstory is the only one i’ve ever fully written out in great detail, so apologies in advance for the length !!

stats

full name: carcosa odette lusk

nicknames: cars, cosa

height: 5′0

occupation: bartender

relationship status: taken ( in a relationship with CYREK PALLAS-DEXICOS )

date of birth: december 29th

zodiac: capricorn

mbti: infj

ennegram: type one ( the reformer )

alignment: lawful neutral

temperament: melancholic 

positive traits: independent, wise, rational, focused, adaptable

negative traits: self-critical, anxious, blunt, stubborn, misguided

biography

tw for brief mentions of domestic abuse

carcosa was born to norma and marty lusk, a dysfunctional couple that knew more about ripping out each other’s throats than raising a kid. most said norma came out of the womb untamed and vicious; a love for drugs and a terrible temper some of her most memorable traits. marty was just as unpredictable and angry, a devoted member of a feared mc who always seemed to have more redeemable qualities than his wife. they had her young; only keeping her because “abortions were too damn expensive,” as norma would kindly put it. her parents had always been attracted to the outlaw lifestyle, never cut out for the role of law-abiding citizens. breaking the law was more fun than following it, and while marty at least gave some sort of half-assed attempt at cleaning his act up when their little bundle of joy came along, norma didn’t bother. poppin’ the kid out meant going back to business as usual, as far as she was concerned.

by the time carcosa was three, slamming doors and screeching tires were a routine in her home, as well as the occasional visit from law enforcement whenever her parents’ spats pissed off the neighbors. she grew up used to one parent or the other taking off for days at a time after their nastier bouts, always telling herself that they’d come back eventually. though she quickly found herself thankful for the days when it was her mother that had stormed off, realizing how much easier things were when she and her father were left to their own devices. she’d always ask her father why he and norma were still together if all they did was fight, her question always met with a chuckle and something about lawyers costing more than they were worth.

once carcosa hit five, temper tantrums became a common thing whenever it was her father’s turn to leave. she’d wail and sob, begging marty to stay, or at the very least, take her with him. norma despised this, hurt and furious that her own daughter would favor and cling to him. when carcosa spat her first “i hate you” at the age of thirteen, the insult was met with an empty beer bottle to the head, leaving her with a scar just above her right temple. a painful and bitter reminder to never speak those word again. marty took the child for a few days after flying into a rage, promising norma that he’d kill her if she ever touched his kid again. after that, marty did his best to keep carcosa close to him. he took her along wherever and whenever he could, giving her little glimpses into his life with the club. the young teen was fascinated by the rough and tough lifestyle, finding some sort of comfort amongst the leather and rumble of harleys. it was better than being home, and the days when marty left her behind always caused  a riff in their relationship, carcosa left to wrestle with the idea that even still, there were times where her father would pick the boys over her.

at sixteen, carcosa did everything in her power to ensure the fact that she’d be home as little as possible. if she wasn’t out and about or working, then she was with her father or burying her nose between the pages of a book. crime novels and mysteries were her only method of escape when she couldn’t leave the four walls of the lusk home, giving her some sort of solace from the constant battles. it was also at this age that carcosa began to find so much wrong with the life she’d once been so captivated by. she didn’t believe in that “white power” horseshit, didn’t have the same morals (or lack thereof) that some of the members seemed to carry. rolling with an mc was nothing like in her books or movies, but rather a slippery and dangerous slope. she still loved her father and the men he called his brothers, understood that in their line of work you did what you had to do. but by the time eighteen rolled around, carcosa had it sealed in her mind that she wanted better than the lives her parents lead – something that she could be proud of.

life took a turn for the worst at twenty-one. marty lusk had turned himself over to local law enforcement, confessing to several weapons charges, including the trafficking of firearms. carcosa shattered, knowing that the charges stacked against her father ( plus his prior convictions ) meant that it’d be quite some time before she could see him without a wall of glass separating them. she demanded to know why he’d do such a thing. why he’d just give himself up – why he’d leave her, though some small part of her already knew the reason. “i did it for the boys,” was his dignified answer. she was heartbroken and confused, wondering why he’d throw everything away for a god damn club. how could he protect them, but leave her in the dust? perhaps it was never meant that way, but the damage had already been done. just like that, her father had been ripped away from her, leaving her with a junkie for a mother and feeling as if once again, she was only second best when it came to the club.

it’s taken some time, but as of current day, carcosa’s mostly worked through her misplaced anger towards the mc. she forces down the twinge of bitterness, reminding herself that whether she likes it or not, they lost marty too. besides, who has time for resentment when you’re constantly chasing after and cleaning up the messes left behind by your addict of a mother? currently, carcosa works as a bartender in order to make ends meet. despite norma’s blatant disapproval ( and some of her own buried resentment ), she still finds the time to call and visit her father whenever the chance arises. she’d never have the heart to completely cut the old man off, their talks and his occasional words of wisdom sometimes being the only thing that keeps her sane. however, there are times when he asks his daughter for not so small favors pertaining to the club, his loyalty never faltering from behind bars. with reluctance, carcosa finds herself carrying out these deeds, if only to ensure her family stays in the mc’s good graces and marty remains protected while serving out his sentence. but each time she’s asked to get her hands dirty, carcosa runs the risk of ruining the better life she’s so desperately trying to build for herself.

bonus information

after marty’s incarceration, carcosa inherited his old beater of a pickup truck. she may or may not have to sit on something in order to see over the steering wheel, but it’s probably best not to mention it.

she LOVES mystery and true crime novels.

her favorite artist of all time is johnny cash. 

she originally wanted to major in criminal justice or forensic sciences, but with her unstable home life and the majority of the financial responsibilities falling onto her shoulders after her father’s arrest, dreams of community college eventually faded into the background.

i’m dumb and forgot to mention it in her bio, but carcosa and her family moved to nevada when she was twelve. they left the swamps of louisiana and headed for the deserts of nevada so that her father’s mc could build a new charter, with marty’s help of course.

wanted connections

literally any and all connections are welcome for this sweet baby ?? i’ll probably update this later with a few loose ideas on some connections i’d love for her to have, but if something specific popped into your head while reading that MONSTER of a bio, please don’t hesitate to shoot me a message !

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

The Fallen, 15/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 15/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 15:

It wasn’t until hours later, until the end of the afternoon, that Maxence was allowed to go to bed in the bedroom he used to sleep in when he was younger, and when he came back after his two years of disappearance. Today, it was just because he was too exhausted to go back home through buses and Tegan had work to do in his surgery. They would both sleep there that night and go back to the flat the next morning. The argument had been rough, and Maxence was done justifying himself. It had been easier to convince Anna Lewis that he was sane than to convince his mother and brother that he hadn’t carved these words in his self. Well, Joanne was keener to believe him when Tegan was refusing any of this non-sense. They both knew something Maxence didn’t, and it had been confirmed when he got angry and bit back. It seemed clear to him that they both hiding things from him, things he might have said when he was under drugs or heavily alcoholised. As soon as they were home, Joanne ripped the bandages off his arm to see what was under. The letters R.U.N. were clear on his skin, surrounded and covered by dried and fresh blood, stinking hospital disinfectant. She had observed the letters. At first, she had looked sad. Then, she got angry like he had thought she would. This doctor had told them he didn’t self-harm but looked like self-harming. He was totally unable to tell her why these letters, why this word, how it had appeared on his skin. He just woke up and it was there. She didn’t believe him at first, but something in her facial expressions showed him that it was a cover, that a part of her did believe his non-sense and she was just acting this why to protect him. Tegan however has vehemently been telling him that he believed none of this bullshit and that he wouldn’t leave him alone ever again despite the instructions of the doctor Lewis. If this woman couldn’t recognise self-harming when she saw it, how could she have become a therapist this famous around here? How could they accept her to take care of his brother knowing that? Joanne had met the woman and decided that she was trustworthy, and she spelt it out to her second son. It wasn’t only Maxence’s decision but also hers. Tegan could only shut up on that one, but he refused to let Maxence have the last word on the matter. ‘Words don’t appear suddenly on one’s skin,’ had he declared furiously before accusing him of having taken something while he was alone. To which Maxence answered by peeing in an empty mug left on the coffee table and giving it to him for analysis. His behaviour obviously infuriated them more and the fact they refused to believe him was making him internally explode. His rage was climbing step by step, like a spark thrown in a forest ground: the dry twigs were producing smoke as the first flame was burning bright and spreading fast to the other twigs and fallen leaves, to the green foam licking the foot of trees and climbing along the trunks, reaching the branches, slipping on the bright green leaves, jumping to the next tree and spreading until the whole forest was on fire; or like a calm sea quietly retiring, preparing its revenge on the world of Humans before submerging it with the violence of a volcano spitting fire. At that moment, he had been that tiny spark burning the forest, that sea crashing on the land to destroy it all, that volcano erupting. He had clenched his fists, contracted his jaw and barked… No, it wasn’t a word that had come out of his throat but more something like a loud growl as if a feral beast was sleeping in him and was awoken by the fury he felt. Time had slowed down and for a second, for a terribly long second, he was tempted to grab their throat and crush them until their face turned red then blue, until blood filled the white in their eyes. The rage was overwhelming him blinding him. He was distancing himself from his corporeal envelope, watching the scene from someone else’s point of view, but through his own eyes. His mother and his brother had stepped back, terror written all over their face, and he had realised that he had lunged forward. He couldn’t control his body. And then, he had been in control again, had moved back brutally, and fallen on the ground. The shock had brought him back to his senses, but he hadn’t gotten up and no one had come to help him. A few minutes later, the front door was slammed and his mother’s face had appeared before him. She had helped him up, checked him for any wound and sent him to the kitchen where she had silently redone the bandage around his arm, given him food and told him to go to bed. The only relief of this day. He didn’t fall asleep immediately asleep despite his exhaustion after over a day without sleeping. His mind was blank. He was staring at the cracked paint of the ceiling until he drifted off. That night, he didn’t dream, or he did but couldn’t remember. He didn’t wake up of all night, of all morning. Apparently, surviving “self-harm” and rage rising to the point of almost hurting his family was draining enough to sleep until late in the afternoon. His mother was sat at the foot of his bed, watching over him. She probably had spent all night here to be sure he wouldn’t run away or hurt himself again. The first option had happened before, when the withdrawal was too hard to handle and a dose was necessary. None of his plans ever worked: his mother and brother had thought about it all. “Tell me you haven’t done it.” “I haven’t,” he mumbled sleepily. “Tegan doesn’t believe it, and he’s qualified for this kind of things.” “Tegan’s wrong. He’s rational. This,” he pointed to his arm, “is not rational. I have troubles believing it myself. But this is the truth. These three letters carved themselves in my skin. I saw it with my own eyes.” Maxence had nothing to hide, no reason to lie. He was clean and sober. He hadn’t had the time to drink or take anything, and he had even refused painkillers when he was at the hospital. It was a real proof of sobriety and courage and will. On one hand, it was hard to believe him: words just didn’t appear on one’s skin. On the other hand, Maxence hadn’t given them a reason to doubt him in the last six months. He had been a real model of virtue since his last journey in rehab and there was no sign of him ever falling back in his bad habits. The idea that he could die if he was falling back in his demons seemed to have brought him back to his senses. Which was relieving to Joanne. But she hated siding with one of her sons and leaving the other aside. Especially when the other one was someone who always felt like his side was never taken because he wasn’t blood-related to her. “I want to believe you, Maxence. But you have to understand why we’re doubting.” “I refused to believe it too, but that’s the truth.” And Joanne had to admit that he was right. He refused to go back to the flat for a few days. He was still mad at Tegan for being so harsh on him and pushing him so far when he was so unstable. It was the night after his appointment with the Dr Anna Lewis. He woke up once with that stinging pain once again. It was on his right side this time. Another word. A longer word. ‘DOCTOR’. It comforted him in his choices of studies and convinced his mother that he had been saying the truth since the beginning. She saw the letters form themselves on his skin with her own eyes. She didn’t take him to the hospital. She took care of him herself. If they showed up to the hospital with another proof that he had “self-harmed” – which he hadn’t, Joanne was sure of it now – they would have him locked away and she certainly wasn’t gonna allow that. He continued on seeing the doctor Lewis. This woman had seen something in him, or he had told her something that had convinced her he was mentally sane despite everything strange happening around him. Once a week, he was going to the hospital, always accompanied by his mother, and was spending an hour in her office. He felt much better when he was walking out of this office but never talked about what they were telling each other. Joanne never asked questions either. She wanted to know, but if he needed someone from the outside to speak, it was because he couldn’t manage to say it to her, or was afraid to. Whatever it was, she was just glad that her son could talk to someone and feel better. It wasn’t an easy victory after the last few years they had been through. He was making an extraordinary recovery. What Joanne didn’t know was that Anna had found some things about Maxence that could possibly explain his strange behaviour and the sudden appearance of these words on his skin. After her rehab, after her own therapy – that she was still going to along with the AA and anonymous junkies meetings – she had been given files, made her researches on the patients. She also had made her researches on Maxence, this man she had met when she was in her depravity. She had found a confidential file on her desk once. No one was able to tell her how it had arrived there, but she soon understood why. It had been dropped on her desk because she knew Maxence and could help him since she had been through a similar experience. The words on his skin were familiar to her, she had the same on her own skin. They had appeared shortly after meeting Maxence, but she knew what they meant. She just couldn’t tell him. It was written in red and bold in his file. “A new word appeared last week. The night that followed our last appointment.” “In the middle of the night again?” “Yeah. I was at my mom’s. She saw it with her own eyes. She believes me now, even if neither of us understand how it’s even possible. And she knows for sure that I’m sober.” “What’s the new word?” Maxence stood up and carefully lifted up his jacket and T-shirt to show her the red swollen letters underneath. It wasn’t bleeding anymore but it was sensitive and painful. It could totally be healed by the end of the day too though. His body seemed to have a fast healing power he never was aware of before. It was coming in quite handy with this new ‘sickness’ of his. He wished it could make the words disappear totally, but it was impossible so he was hiding them under his clothes. “‘Doctor’? Does it mean anything to you?” “Not at all?” He shook his head, tucked his shirt back in his pants and sat back down with a sigh. Two words and none of them had a meaning to him, nor do they mean anything at all when he tried to combine them. His body and mind were sending him a reminder, or a warning and he didn’t have the faintest idea of what it could be. “I have this word too,” Anna softly admitted. She slowly got up and showed him the pale skin of her side where the healed letters were. It was the same words, with the same writing, on the same spot, but on two different persons. It couldn’t be a coincidence. There had to be a link to all of this. Something to explain why the words were appearing on the both of them. “Do you know the doctor Nash Grieve?” the doctor Lewis asked, sitting back in her chair. > Once again, Maxence shook his head. Yet, his brow was furrowed. He was certain not to know the doctor Nash Grieve but the name was kind of familiar to his ears. As if he was supposed to know this man… or woman but couldn’t remember it. Something was pushing against the walls of the void in his mind. All the answers he needed were hidden there. He was convinced of it. Anna told him that the doctor Nash Grieve was a therapist specialised in ‘supernatural’ sickness like the one they were both suffering from. However, when Anna had wanted to ask for her help when her words appeared, she was nowhere to be found. When she had looked for her after reading Maxence’s file – who had been registered with her a while ago but couldn’t remember it – she hadn’t been able to find her either. No one knew where or who she was. It was like she had disappeared from Earth. Or been eliminated. After all, quitting Quiston was punished with the death sentence if you were found…

To be continued...

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