un. independent rachel olmstead ( bullet ) of amc's the killing, diverging from canon after 3.07. deux. this blog is for writing and entertainment purposes only.
material.
un. my writing will, at times, be trigger heavy. i'd advise you not to follow if you're sensitive to topics such as rape and assault, violence, etc. deux. some things will be tagged, others won't. if you need something tagged, contact me. i tag triggers with ' trigger / ' or ' trigger mention / '.
muse.
un. bullet is not an easy character to get along with. she's abrasive and confrontational, hot - headed, and has lived on the streets for upwards of two years. i won't water down her scrappy personality for anyone's benefit. deux. if her attitude becomes an issue during our thread, we can always plot something else out.
shipping.
un. the muse is canonically homosexual and presumably homoromantic, so there will be no f/m ships unless they're platonic. deux. given that bullet is fifteen ( and a victim of recent violent sexual assault, ) smut is unlikely.
following.
un. i'm very cautious with who i follow on this blog because i prefer to have a quiet dash. if you don't have any writing on your blog, i won't follow you back. deux.if you're writing with users who make me uncomfortable, i'll immediately and quietly unfollow, or refrain from following period. these users are blocked and blacklisted for a reason. i don't want them on my dash. trois. i won't follow purple prosers because i can't understand what's being written half the time.
verses.
un. multi - verse and crossover friendly. deux. current timeline takes place during her recovery after being beaten and left for dead in the trunk of a car. she sustained severe physical trauma, flatlining three times in the twenty-four hours that followed before slipping into comatose for nearly three months. details are still a work in progress.
❛ I GOT MORE BALLS THAN YOU!
name. rachel olmstead. aka. bullet. age. fifteen going on sixteen. gender. cis female, she/her pronouns. date of birth. october twenty-eighth. residence. seattle, wa.
appearance. slightly malnourished, weight fluctuating due to living on the streets for nearly three years. stands at five feet, three inches ( on a good day. ) sports jet black hair with a streak of dark blue in the front, often looking greasy and dirty, with the sides and back shaved close. wears men's clothing. always looks on the brink of catching a cold.
( previous ) living conditions. squalor. she hung around skid row during the day, and squatted wherever she could at night, mostly in abandoned buildings or at beacon when beds were available. maintained at least a semblance of personal hygiene, but her stained smile told a different tale. clothes rarely saw the inside of a washing machine.
current timeline. parents are currently fighting against child protective services, but because of their negligence and abandonment ( knowingly allowing their child to leave home and live on the streets ), have been stripped of legal custody. after being discharged from the hospital, detective stephen holder was granted temporary guardianship of bullet until she's well enough to be put in the foster - care system.
bullet has every intention of getting the hell out of dodge as soon as possible to avoid this happening. accustomed to the lifestyle of living on the streets, she would sooner die than let an adult have authority over her. despite her extensive injuries, she can still be found roaming skid row, attempting to regain the trust her affiliation with the police shattered.
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tyrell heaves out a sigh and steps around her, inside, making a beeline for the coffee machine. irritably, he stabs at some buttons, leans against the counter while he’s waiting for it to heat up. ‘ i’m elliot’s boyfriend. i’m assuming he didn’t tell you about me. ’
he didn’t. she doesn’t even try to be conscientious about the look she’s serving him. skepticism with a dash of good old fashioned, childish contempt. “ didn’t come up. probably ‘cause you’re a real fuckin’ prick. ”
fair enough. there’s that urge again to confiscate the booze : and, again, he doesn’t follow through. smokes in slow, practiced drags, shoulders twitching in a shrug.
‘ lawyers ain’t free, bullet. ’
but he leaves it at that. leaves out the part about hourly rates and flat fees and how easy it would be to rack up a solid thirty - five grand in debts. caroline doesn’t work family court, as far as he knows ; the best she might be able to offer is a recommendation. he doesn’t have that kind of money.
‘ — look, you don’t gotta worry about all that. i’m takin’ care of it, alright ? you know how we do. ’
she’s almost polished it off. a couple more swallows and the bottle will be empty. surprised he hasn’t taken it from her yet. willing to bet he’s barely holding himself back.
somehow, that makes her feel better. takes another swig before setting the king cobra down between her feet. one arm secures around the front of her abdomen, the opposite elbow perched on her knee. resists asking how much it’ll cost because she doesn’t particularly need to know how much of a goddamn inconvenience she is, monetarily.
“ i ain’t worried. ” mockingly. “ you ain’t havin’ second thoughts about this ? ‘cause i would be. taking in some street rat like me ––– that ain’t self - pity either, ‘fore you get it twisted. i’m just sayin’. ”
‘ yo, whatever — i got mad respect for them catfishin’ kings ! ain’t no better way to kick back than with some high quality noodlin’. ’ she’s still on probation for recording over an episode with my cat from hell. ‘ oh, don’t even. i look like i’m try’na get hitched anytime soon ? if homegirl wants another round, she’s got my number. ’
“ high quality, my ass !nothin’ about that TV is high quality ! ‘n i can think of seven different ways right off the top of my head t’ kick back ‘n relax that ain’t got shit t’ do with noodlin’. ” scoffs, brow arched as she sizes him up. “ doubt it. you’re probably all talk when it comes down to puttin’ yo’ money where yo’ mouth is. ”
it scraped its brittle hair back because it kept sticking to their shoulders. wet, wet october day, october kind of weather, the kind of cold that made a newscaster on fox say that global warming is a myth. it wrings the edge of its shirt out over elliot alderson’s sink and twists to look back over its shoulder.
‘ where did ‘bullet’ come from? ’
it’s who she is. and a lot more fitting than rachel. coined from the bullet hanging off a chain around her neck that reminds her of what she stands for, and against. she has a story. ( everyone does. ) she passes a glance before continuing to ferret around for a light.
“ … –– just a name, yo. gotta let these punk pussy bitches know who they’re messin’ with, you feel me ? ”
less reminder, more suggestion — he won’t tell her that she has to talk to them, but he knows they won’t stop calling until she does. calling his phone, no less, and usually while he’s on the clock. ‘ i ain’t worried. ’ half - truth. if she keeps this up, keeps trying to numb herself into another comatose stupor, court is going to be the least of their problems.
not that he doesn’t relate to the compulsion, because he does. more than he’d like to. ( this isn’t fucking NA. they’re not swapping war stories. )
‘ i gotta swing by the DA’s office mañana, see if we can do this thing pro bono. save me dippin’ into that 401k to cover all them legal fees ‘n whatnot. ’
she wants numb. but also wants normal. normal as in no more nightmares and no more paranoia and no more looking over your shoulder. tight chest and cold lungs and spotted vision and the inability to escape your own skin.
if she keeps this up, maybe it won’t happen as bad or as often and maybe everyone will stop trying to help someone that isn’t willing to accept it. “ bullshit. you wouldn’t be here otherwise. ” she takes another pull. exhales and swallows a mouthful of cobra. fights down the second wave of nausea threatening to pitch it back up.
bullshit. but if she doesn’t want to get into it, he’s not about to push her. at least she’s not scheduled to meet with her PO today. he lights a cigarette, hesitates before he gives her one. ‘ — your pops called twice yesterday. says you ain’t been pickin’ up, wants to know how you’re doin’, blah, blah. you know you gotta talk to ‘em sometime if you’re gonna file that petition. ’
eyes the cigarette he offers like she doesn’t know what to do with it at first, then takes it from him. lights up, inhaling poison, partly wishing it’d kill her faster, partly wishing it wouldn’t kill her at all. “ –– … ” she told him not to do that. “ you ain’t gotta remind me. i’ll talk to him when i talk to him. don’t worry. haven’t forgotten my whole fuckin’ life’s in the court’s grubby hands. ”
‘ damn, bullet. the hell you been watchin’ when i ain’t around ? out here talkin’ ‘bout maid outfits ‘n tight spaces — don’t make me cut off that cable, li’l man, i ain’t breakin’ the bank just so you can get your freak on. ’ anyone listening in might actually think he was being serious. ‘ and i hate to deconstruct your, uh, your fantasy there, but blondie was a one - time thing anyway. ’
❛ whatever the hell i want ! better than watchin’ some fool get elbow - deep in a catfish. ❜ has her reservations but never said she wouldn’t look twice if someone like holder’s nameless blonde one - night - stand walked past in a sleazy costume. ❛ uh - huh. who you try’na convince ? ‘cause it smells like bullshit from where i’m standing. you’re too old t’ hit it ‘n quit it, yo ! ❜
‘ yeah, no shit. ’ there’s no way to predict the kind of state she’ll be in from one day to the next ; he’s still coming to terms with that. ( has to resist snatching the bottle out of her hands and pitching it against the fucking pavement. ) ‘ ‘cause i ain’t in the mood to give one. somethin’ happen i should know about ? ’
scoffs, turning up the bottle for another swallow of malt and then shaking her head. ❛ not a thing. ❜ nausea makes her vision warp and when she hiccups, what comes up is foul. booze and stomach acid. spits the taste out of her mouth and wipes it with the sleeve of her jacket. isn’t interested in holding conversation.
she’s two - thirds in ( this bottled piss she’s been drinking, bottom shelf king cobra) and can’t taste it anymore. her nose is red and her hands are cold as ice but she can’t feel it. ❛ … ain’t in the mood for one of yo’ speeches. ❜ // @originalgrilla
‘ oh, so you the hygiene expert now ? as a matter of fact, what with all this free time you got, i think it’s your turn to work a li’l magic — get’cha that comet ‘n some rubber gloves, son, ‘cause it is on. ’
❛ free time ? nah ! i got places t’ be, yo ! shit t’ do. ❜ talking with her mouth full. one of those bad habits her parents could never break her of. ❛ get blondie t’ do it. bet she’s got a maid outfit. yo, i’ll even do you a solid ‘n stick around, make sure she’s gettin’ in all them tight spaces. ❜