prodigal daughter

they say you better be honest, but you gotta be overly cautious, so you lie to yourself, you say, "the high road is the longest". so you go all the way down and leave it all at the bottom. when you got nothing left to give that's when you feel your body walking. now I'm making a living, baby, I'm out of prison. flip the pillow to the cool side. love, magic, feminism, I don't need superstition. laying naked on the pool side. baby, I'm back.

[tizirisadaoui]

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄'𝙢 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙙𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙮."

𝗮𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰 | 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗼𝗻 | 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 | 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 | 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹𝘀

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙, 𝙄 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙙𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣."

basics;

background; full name: tiziri sadaoui.

gender & pronouns: cisfemale & she/her.

age & date of birth: 38 & April 3rd, 1984.

where do they live: the ranchlands.

time living in roswell: 1 month, previously 18 years.

occupation: former mixed martial artist & actress.

positive traits: adaptable, determined, intellectual.

negative traits: argumentative, fickle, withdrawn.

background;

TW: parental loss, addiction, child neglect, near death experience, traumatic brain injury.

Born in Algeria, Tiziri’s world changed when she lost her father at the mere age of five and was uprooted to Roswell with her mother.

In a desperate attempt to numb the pain she felt from her loss, her mother quickly became addicted to drugs, becoming neglectful of both herself and her child.

Tiziri had no option but to take care of herself, including defending herself, earning her first suspension for fighting at the young age of nine.

Fighting very quickly became a staple of Tiziri’s life, transforming from self defense to a way to make money, bets at local bars turning into illegal underground fights before she was eventually before offered a place in the UFC.

Tiziri disappeared from Roswell without a word at the age of twenty-three, pursuing a career that blossomed, even landing her in a few action films and making her a household name.

Seven months ago, she had on set incident that resulted in a traumatic brain injury and put her out of almost everything so she quietly returned home.

biography;

TW: parental loss, addiction, child neglect, near death experience, traumatic brain injury.

Fatima Sadaoui had been the epitome of a woman destined to be a mother, something she only solidified in the spring of 1984 when she welcomed her first and only child into the world. The beginning years of Tiziri’s life were warm and beautiful, filled with family dinners and weekend adventures, hearing fantastical stories before she was tucked in at night by her parents. Yet, in an instant, things changed drastically for the Sadaoui family when a stroke took Tiziri’s father without warning. It was less than a month’s time before a whole new world had embraced the five year old; her father was gone, the only friends and surroundings she had ever known were replaced by the lonely chill of Roswell, their cozy family home exchanged for a trailer that seemed it could fall apart in an instant. It was an attempt at a better life, at the best life Fatima thought she could offer her daughter; but the weight of being an immigrant and a single mother whilst trying desperately to ignore the weight of the love she had lost turned her into a mere shell of the woman she had once been, the mother she had once been. The drugs that crept into her life kept her numb to the pain but also to everything around her, including her own daughter.

All at once, Tiziri was on her own in a world that offered her little; setting alarms for herself and her mother, finding her own clothes, making the trek to and from school, cleaning house, preparing meals and as time marched on - finding her own food and even the means to acquire it. But issues extended even beyond the door of their trailer, the criticism that came with her striking appearance and accent painfully clear even from a young age. It was something the once timid girl had tried to ignore, but when the statement of a teacher who hadn’t realized she was listening struck her ears, remarking on how a boy would simply fight it out, Tiziri clung to the words perhaps too tightly. The next time she was tormented, the girl retaliated with her fists, earning her first suspension for fighting at age nine. It was far from stopping there, however, and as the years progressed, so too did Tiziri’s skills for knowing how to not only throw a hit but take one. What had started as a defense mechanism turned into a way to make money; placing bets against unassuming men became illegal fights in nearby cities, quickly earning her the attention it took to progress into amateur fights before suddenly, she was signing to the MMA at only twenty-three. Within years, Tiziri Sadaoui became a known name, even to those not engrossed in the world. She held a number of records and for it, became first female fighter inducted into the UFC Hall of Fame and garnering enough attention to land a handful of movie roles. Acting had never been something that she considered, yet Tiziri couldn’t bring herself to turn down the opportunity for something new and exciting, the roles focusing on and allowing her exciting fight scenes and stunt work, something that would bring about an unexpected downfall.

Nearly seven months ago, during her most recent project, a stunt scene went terribly wrong. Unknown to Tiziri, while she lay concussed in her hospital bed, news outlets initially falsely reported that she had passed away due to the incident, a statement that was only corrected days after the fact. What was true, however, was that her injuries had been life threatening, the worst of which being a traumatic brain injury that left her in a minimally conscious state for nearly three weeks. Even once she was back to a more stable state, it was another six months before the hospital allowed her to leave, though only still with the guarantee that she would have daily check ins and rehabilitation at home. What no one expected was for Tiziri to silently buy a property in Roswell and return home, as without warning as she had done when she had left fifteen years prior. Her management was sure was a mistake, one to be blamed on unclear thinking, but the truth was that the world she was so desperate to conquer hadn’t provided her with an ounce of the happiness she had been seeking. In a strange way, the incident was a blessing, providing the perfect out from a world she had long ago grown bored of. So she’s returning to her roots, in search of peace and familiarity while she heals and perhaps, even the happiness she’s been seeking this whole time.

headcanons;

was definitely a babysitter around town for a bit, kids is her one soft spot and especially those on the south side, she was definitely looking out for those her age/younger than her when she could, helping with money or food or clothes. possibly even threw hands on someone’s parent at some point bc she’s got a little bit of mama bird syndrome. think like bee from the babysitter without the devil stuff.

she’s honestly just kind of a deeply unhappy person? it’s definitely due to unresolved personal issues/trauma but why would we talk about that? instead she just kept pushing herself in fighting and then in hollywood waiting for the moment that she was fulfilled but plot twist, it never actually came.

pretty damn closed off, like you pry don’t know about her past unless you were there for it and you pry never will. she tends to present outwardly very different than what is really going on internally. you definitely only ever get the tip of the iceberg, if that.

definitively had her farm house in roswell built like years ago because she was tempted to come back but it just sat for a while? maybe even let someone else live there briefly at some point so it was getting use out of it? but that’s also a secret she pry has no intentions of ever disclosing because why be open and vulnerable?

her career is inspired by ronda rousey? as far as how she did in fights and how well known she became and then moving on to do some movies, just nix the wwe part.

has had her horse aafra for the past thirteen years and that’s her baby/best friend honestly. if anything happened to her horse it’d devastate her far worse than anything happening to herself. like was definitely was harassing people about taking care of her horse while she was in and out of consciousness after her incident.

still has a long road of recovery ahead of her and is affected by a range of symptoms still; headaches, sensitivity to light and sound, fatigue, dizziness, confusion. it’s also unfortunately left an impact on her emotions, not only heightening anxiety but making her much more sensitive and emotional than those that knew her in the past would be used to/those who have seen her on tv would expect. it’s all things she’s working through/trying to improve so she may be very back and forth in her interactions.

wanted connections;

neighbor: maybe they get along or one of them annoys the other, maybe even someone who checks in on her be it with or against her wishes.

friendships: could be from any point in having grown up in roswell (5-23) or if they were in the world of hollywood, could have possibly known her from there? positive influence, negative influence, drinking buddy, smoking buddy, anything.

(fr)enemies: honestly give me someone tiziri didn’t fuck with back in the day but is now too tired to care? or someone who bullied her when they were younger but has tried to apologize either as they got older or just now that she’s back? honestly could make that second one extra spicy and throw in some ex(es)/intimacy after the fact???

ex(es)/intimate: one night stand, friends with benefits, hook up, flirtationship, boyfriend/girlfriend, someone she was engaged to? could be past or more present? could have ended civil or straight up disastrous. honestly up for anything here, we’d just have to flesh out details but like...*grabby hands*

literally anything: i am so open to any other ideas/thoughts anyone may have, please do not hesitate to hit me up with whatever you may be thinking.

[mickmilkovich]

[thebabysitter]

[imagesofcelebrities]

Sofia Boutella

[tizirisadaoui]

strikercannon​:

well , striker hadn’t been expecting such a welcome . he had received the call as he was reclined on one of those cheap picnic chairs that were permanently tethered to the browned grass outside the trailer . the hospital attendant had fumbled over his name as if it was a practical joke , only to advise him that he was tiziri’s emergency contact after all that time . despite the half-guzzled beer in his hand he had lurched to stand , stuffing himself into the driver’s side of his pickup , hurrying to roswell community medical — not before ‘ borrowing ’ a bouquet from the gift shop . a sickness had spread in his stomach as he traced those corridors , asked at desks for the name that had been burned into his brain , navigated those harsh lights that let his blood run cold . the man still hated hospitals , a reason why broken bones in childhood had set crookedly , why his wounds seemed to scar deep or never heal at all . “ charmin’ . ” the cowboy grinned , setting the huge bundle of roses , peonies and tulips on the nightstand and taking position on a flimsy visitors chair . “ i got a call sayin’ you weren’t feelin’ too hot . thought i should show up , give you a ride home when they let you outta here . ” it was the least he could do since , only a few weeks ago , tiziri had nursed his wounds , allowed his dirty body to fully rest beneath perfumed sheets . he thought back to froggy scolding him for his forgiveness , for wondering why the hell striker’s heart still beat for tiziri and tiziri alone ; perhaps he’d never have an answer , even if she kept shooting him down like a clay pigeon from the sky . his farm-roughed hand rested against the linen of clean hospital bedding , an inch away from her hand , the closest he could get to holding her as though tiziri was a skittish stray . “ how you feelin’ ?? ”

It had been her own fault, or perhaps the fault of a defective mind, that when removing those from whom she had cut off connection from her emergency contacts, she’d forgotten to examine who that had left, had failed to remember the name she had put down so long ago, when only one person could be trusted should something happen to her. His arrival is the perfect excuse for the security guard to free himself of the room’s confines, though he makes note that he’ll only be in the hall, a warning that he’d return should she once again attempt peeling the equipment from her skin. The male’s are a strike contrast from one another, one who’s grown tired of her in mere hours and the other who refused to despite the years and torment she’d inflicted upon him. He was just as charming as always; a bouquet in hand, a smile painted onto his face, greeting her as if she was a more welcoming face to see. In reality, she’s sinking into the thin layer of blankets that’s been offered up to her, the best disappearing act she could muster since the bed wouldn’t swallow her whole the way she desired. “I’m fine.” It's a lie for more reasons than the apparent of her current position. Tiziri had always been a dainty thing; not quite reaching five and a half feet, limbs that would and had earned the remarks that she needed to eat more, but those limbs had always been toned, had been able to defend her. It was as if she had gotten even smaller, as if she was sick and sinking in on herself, more apparent in the hospital gown than it had been in her own wardrobe. “Please go.”

[tizirisadaoui]

frcggy·:

it would be easy to put blame on the faulty bottle or the servers who neglect to keep them full , if only froggy cared enough about upsetting anybody . fingers licked with grease drop the dressed patty back down on the plate in exchange for a scratchy , white serviette . “ a pleasure , i’m sure , right ?? “ the question rhetorical as studied gaze matches the opposing one . despite seconds ago , seeming as if he ate as if this was his first meal in weeks , froggy abandons his burger in favour of sliding into her booth unwelcome . calloused fingers drum against the table , dancing between tomato sauce splatters . “ whatcha doing out so late … or early ?? “ minds less than curious of the answer but not bright enough in the moment to think of anything more than small talk .

It’s with seeming annoyance that she turns back around in her booth, gaze casting back to the plate before her. In reality, it’s something much deeper than annoyance, a discomfort she wouldn’t be able to explain had she wanted to. How was one meant to face the people they’d abandoned? Froggy hadn’t even crossed the threshold to legal adulthood when last she’d seen him and now? Well, it certainly wasn’t the baby faced teenager she remembered that was sliding into her booth. It’s forcing her to face him, a fair play given the fact that she wouldn’t do so out of choice, her own shame and guilt too bitter a taste to swallow. “Same thing as everyone else in this diner.” Her hand gestures dramatically to the plate before her, as if the barely touched food actually worked as an example to her words. “Eating.” 

[tizirisadaoui]

enderbaptista​:

in a completely different vein to tiziri , ender was the touchy sort . she was the type to hold onto the arms of her friends , to kiss them goodbye , to take them hand in hand to get rid of creeps at the bar that wouldn’t take no as a no . it was alien to think not everybody was like that but , then again , she required constant reminders that not everybody’s life was exactly like hers . she had grown up in paris , one of the most beautiful cities in the world , with a face and body to match — on the surface tiziri appeared to have experienced the same . ender couldn’t have been more mistaken . “ well , no , i don’t , “ responded the woman , their fingers remaining knitted , “ i tried my best but you weren’t letting me get any information out of you other than you’re unlovable , that you’re mysterious , and that you’re not interested in me . what more is there to learn ?? “ there was a slight bitterness in her tone . ender had tried , had offered the same warmth , had shown a sisterly affection and kindness towards the stranger ; it was like pulling teeth trying to get that same tone reciprocated . how was she to know that tiziri’s heart had been closed for business for decades despite the endless softness , understanding and tenderness of one of roswell’s cowboys . maybe if she had known she would have been more sensitive but , from where ender was standing , she was wondering why she — as the most beautiful girl in the state ( unbiased , of course ) — had been point-blank rejected . “ do you even want to spend the evening with me , or are you gonna spend it all being mysterious ?? “ 

Dark orbs roll in an almost theatrical fashion, an action that likely only goes unnoticed due to the clubs poor lighting and the back that’s turned on her. Though, be it due to the alcohol she shouldn’t have consumed or the femme before her’s relentless determination, it’s with more amusement than annoyance that it parades it’s way across her features. The girl before her is a fiery one, a truth there’s no way of dancing around, a fact it seems that she wasn’t soon to let anyone question. “What do you want to know?” It’s called out with the openness that said she would answer but even Tiziri’s not sure how much she’d be willing to say, a closed off person swayed by a character that reminded her so much of her younger self. “People only think they want to know other people until they actually do.” What they really wanted was to be verified in their thinking that the person before them is who they’ve assumed them to be. They wanted the picture they had painted, not the original artwork. “No one actually wants the ugly truth and when they get it, they’re either disgusted or look at you like you’re an abused puppy and...I fucking hate that look.” Tiziri would rather see the disgust, to see people look at her as if she was some rotten piece of meat that they needed to keep their distance from. It was somehow much easier to face than the looks she’d gotten in rehab or the hospital, sad eyes that said I’m sorry before their mouth could produce the words. “It makes me want to punch people in the face and I really, really have no desire to punch you in the face.”

[natehackett]

"SORRY, sorry. i just thought it was called fight choreography. you know, when they choreograph fight scenes in, like, john wick or even kingsman," he backed away a bit, his eyes shifting down towards the tile floor of the diner. nate felt like a child who had just been scolded for taking a piece of candy when he shouldn't have. to him, she seemed cruel like her characters, but he would rather have a celebrity who was brutally honest about their ego than someone who was overly sweet to his face and a dick behind his back. he had met people in sci-fi franchises and some of the marvel actors at comic cons. some of them had been harsh as well, but he got the picture and the memory of meeting the person behind a favorite character. so what if the interaction was bitter? he could still watch their movies without feeling too pressed about it. "you don't like your own movies?" he asked, his head cocking to the side.

[tizirisadaoui]

"The fighting you see in the octagon and the fighting you see in movies are strikingly different things." Quite literally. "I can break someone's jaw in the octagon but nine times out of ten you're barely making contact during a movie." It was a fact that likely didn't need to be clarified, rehearsal footage that had been released not only for some of her own films but countless others that painted such a picture clearly. "They're movies." Words offered with a shrug, a mere thing no more noteworthy to her than the napkin holder resting on her table. "It's just another device for people to sink their teeth into and convince themselves there's some sort of meaning to their or any life rather than having to face reality." Was it a childhood that hadn't granted her the enjoyment of losing oneself in a fantasy that left her so opposed to it now? Or something much trickier to pinpoint? To tend to? "Like religion."

[tizirisadaoui]

Closed Starter; @strikercannon​. Closed Location; Roswell Community Medical.

For Tiziri, there’s nothing worse than this — trapped once more to the blinding, four white walls of a hospital room, cords and sensors running from her skin to the humming machinery, trying to diagnose if she was okay. She wasn’t. A truth that she still refused to admit to the staff was that the last few hours had been a blur; she remembered being inside the sports complex, using the rowing machine and then, somewhere in the midst, things seem to go hazy. It was if she wore glasses that had slipped from her face, affecting not only her vision but every sense; noises weren’t quite right, her body tingling and then everything was black until this. There’d already been two fights with medical staff, despite the look of exhaustion that had consumed her, Tiziri was by all means a fighter and it had resorted in the towering male seated at the opposite end of the room. A security guard who looked even more annoyed with her than she did with him, though if asked, she would blame such on her less than collected state. Were she completely together, she was convinced she would have already made her way past him. It’s a reminder not just of her incident but of it’s lingering affects, of how weak she’s become and she’s never felt tinier than in the instant that he walks through the door. Her head shakes almost violently but instead of rage, she’s on the brink of tears, dark eyes welling with the plea of a child. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” She repeats the word as if it’ll make the visual of him vanish, as if this is just her mind toying with her again. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He wasn’t supposed to see her like this, he wasn’t supposed to have to worry about it, to know just how much of a wreck she was.

[sharmans]

[samcarpnter]

[coochie-intervention]

[tizirisadaoui]

frcggy​:

location: crashdown cafe open:to all

the sight’s less than ideal for anyone trying to enjoy a meal . froggy hunched in a booth quasimodo style , jaw unhinged around a burger .  the bun’s squished in order to get at least half of it in his gob in one single bite . you’d swear he was starved , and truthfully he probably was . manners cease to exist in his world , and certainly so at three in the morning after a shift . distracted by the particular dryness of the patty , he hastily reaches for the bottle of ketchup . god this place was stingy — the glass bottle nearly on empty . it takes a few hard thwacks against the back of his palm and ketchup as it covers his plate and more than a few globs of the condiment fly over his table and across to the one in front of him . a nonchalant “ oops , “ slips out between chews . hardly sounding the least bit apologetic as the back of his hand mops a dribble of grease from his chin .

A woman already notorious for not being the most amiable of people, Tiziri’s currently even more unpleasant. She should be in the sanctity of her home, tucked into bed and immersed in slumber — instead, for what is not the first time, her mind has refused to allow such relief. Thanks to the late hour and the lack of anything appetizing within her own kitchen, she was left with only one option. Still, despite the journey and the grasp she currently had on a fry, there’s little more than a few bites missing from her plate, poking around as if something more appealing might appear. What she gets is the opposite, a splatter of ketchup flying from behind in order to decorate her table. Irritation is etched onto her features as she spins around, faltering when her dark orbs land on the culprit. Just her luck. Her gaze seems calculated as it takes him in; the way the years have shifted his features, the aspects that have changed and those that have not, her words offering no glimpse into the reality of her mind. “Charming.” 

[tizirisadaoui]

kaitogabriel​:

where: an elevator, anywhere you want when: around 10 a.m. on monday with: open

He is not sure what possessed him to pick up a call from his uncle, especially at ten in the morning — it could be sleep deprivation or the fact that he believed he’d blocked this exact number — yet it becomes clear that he hadn’t as soon as he picks up the phone. 

Gabriel sighs the moment he puts his ear to the cell, and his mind begins running: twelve, four, six… It’s 3 a.m. in Sydney right now. It’s not surprising, of course, he has a talent of hearing the hours in his voice. “I told you to leave me alone,” there’s no anger or infuriantion in his voice – only disappointment and weariness. He receives these phone calls every six months, regular as clockwork – he should’ve expected it. “You need to call someone else. I can’t help you,” Gabriel doesn’t allow for a pause to hear the answer before he ends the conversation.

For a short moment, he had forgotten he’s not alone. He throws them a pointed look at the person next to him and raises his eyebrows, as if asking a silent question of “Why are you staring?”. At the exact moment, just because it was the luckiest day of all, he hears the elevator creak and stop. He attentively looks at the buttons, now all unlit, as if there’s a chance he could fix it. “You must be fucking kidding me,” he whispers to himself.

It’s his face that first strikes her as familiar, something in Tiziri’s mind registering the fact that she knows the features, and while her thoughts attempt to dismiss this with the knowledge that she’s in Roswell and familiar faces are bound to plague her even when she doesn’t want to see them, there’s a nagging that such is not the case this time around. It doesn’t come together til she hears the voice, til her damaged mind allows a memory to click into place. Brilliant. For all the trouble her injury seemed to have given her, it was convenient that the memories that fell by the wayside weren’t the ones she most wanted to forget.

It wasn’t even her intent to stare, actions taken without meaning to, glaring at the male as if he was a mere memory and that she could cause him to evaporate. It’s only when he turns and shoots her a look that she realizes her gaze is trained upon him and before she even has the chance to react, the floor beneath them jolts in an unpleasant manner, not the usual loll of an elevator landing on the chosen floor. Her dark orbs flicker to the buttons overhead, none of which are glowing the way they should and she’s granted yet another reason to hate hospitals.

“Fucking brilliant.”

[natehackett]

if nate had been born only a few years later, he would definitely be on twitter posting fanboy tweets such as, "i wish [insert celebrity here] would drag me on the floor then spit in my mouth." luckily for the rest of the world, his early experience with fandom had been on forums and at comic cons. he had some restraint, the active word here being some. "do you do that often when shooting action films? looking at past fight choreography?" he asked, eyes wide like a full moon. now that he had her signature on his drawing, he could die happy. there were few encounters with celebrities that would have made him as ecstatic as this moment. nate doesn't even miss a beat laughing at the porn-watching comment. "you're funny, too? dude, this is crazy. who would've thought... huh? look at us!"

[tizirisadaoui]

"Choreography?" It's not as if her demeanor had been pleasant to begin with, but mild annoyance seemed to shift into something worse with the question. "It's not the WWE, غبي. There's no stupid fucking plotline or choreography, it's a legitimate sport and it's dangerous." It wasn't as if Tiziri neglected to acknowledge the hazards that came with the other, that incidents could and did happen, that the people involved presented a dedication and skill all their own. It didn't change the fact that it was a world apart from what she had spent her life doing, her time in the octagon actually the safest of the years she had spent making money with her fists. "I'm glad you're entertained." It was a common occurrence for those that met Tiziri to better understand the expression 'you should never meet your heroes' and yet she wasn't sure the same could be said for the male before her, his joyous demeanor exuding the energy that she could break his nose and the male would merely rejoice in the interaction.

[tizirisadaoui]

enderbaptista·:

ender was no stranger to the technique , to brushing off potential suitors by blaming herself rather than them , and yet that didn’t make it sting any less . her rouged lips twisted as she listened to the woman speak ; slowly , though , her defences fell , and she returned to her default position of supporting women’s rights and women’s wrongs . there had been many a time where her own legs had been closed for business . ender , although enjoying a mindless hookup on occasion , liked to be intellectually stimulated as much as she did sexually , and found that wasn’t always an easy box to tick . especially when it came to the alien-obsessed roswell natives . “ i can appreciate a woman who knows her worth . “ was her response once her shoulders fell and she relaxed . the temptation of somewhere else , of something shinier , was all too much to bear , and so with a quick swig ender’s drink was consumed and she hopped off the barstool , taking her only opportunity to take ahold of tiziri’s hand to be lead from the fluorescence of the establishment . “ there are many better ways to spend an evening , but even if we can’t run off into a bathroom stall and get to know each other’s bodies , i’m intrigued to know your mind a little more . tell me , what kind of man — or woman — could’ve stolen your heart tonight ?? “ for herself , she would have settled for very little . with celebrity crushes like halsey and michael b jordan the woman’s standards were sky-high ; roswell’s letchers didn’t stand a chance . “ you must have pretty high standards if even i can’t break though the walls . i mean , i’m a solid ten . “ confidence had never been in short supply when it came to ender baptista . 

Despite the flirtation and offer for a pleasant end to their evening, not to mention the fact that she’d asked the other where else they might spend their time, the sudden sensation of fingers wrapping around her own is thoroughly unexpected. It’s an unusual event that someone is daring enough to lay a hand on her, an action that could come with dire consequences should it be undesired contact - as it usually was. It also came with the realization that Tiziri couldn’t recall the last time she’d experienced true physical contact, a warm touch that wasn’t the skilled hands of the brave doctors and nurses who had tended to her injuries despite her arguments. It’s an odd sensation, made only stranger by the smooth and unblemished skin of the younger woman, a stark contrast to hands worn and scarred from time spent truly earning her pay. It’s only her voice that draws Tiziri out of her trance, brings a breathy laughter rolling from her lips. It was no surprise, given Ender’s appearance and demeanor, that she would have no idea who the woman was, but the words only made it more apparent. “I’m afraid you don’t know me well enough, habiba. I have no heart to steal.” A statement that could easily be an act for the cameras, were there any around. Any who had gotten to see a behind the scenes of Tiziri Sadaoui became privy to the fact that theatrics were not a part of who she was, that the coldness displayed for the cameras and the fans was simply who she was, perhaps what made her so good at what she did. “Consider it a sabbatical from evenings of pleasure.” Perhaps the closest they’d get to the truth, a leave that’s reasoning's were kept under careful lock and key. 

[tizirisadaoui]

strikercannon·:

perhaps it would have been easier for him to curl up beneath the stars and welcome his fate . being in the room with her , watching those eyes he had once gazed into fight against meeting his own , ached more than any broken bone . he would have thrown himself off of ten bulls if it meant the heartache could stop , just for a moment . striker’s nose scrunched and his lips parted , stumbling over his thickly-accented words before countering : “ i ain’t doin’ nothing . “ and in his words there was a newfound sharpness . it wasn’t just that he was innocent then , but he had always been innocent — he had done nothing to turn tiziri away beyond loving her ; when had that ever been a crime ?? the oldest cannon had never been one to shy away from committing an offence ( he wore his sheriff office bookings as badges of pride ) but he would hold his hands up and claim his innocence on this occasion . “ i don’t want better . i want you . an’ i only came here so i didn’t bleed the hell out in my car . i ain’t tryin’ to do nothing an’ i ain’t done nothin’ . “ all he wanted , now , was to sleep , to tangle his broken body in those sheets that harboured the aroma of home . once the painkiller had been crunched into his belly he flopped back onto the bed , rolling his dirt-caked body in the covers like a puppy shaking mud across the room from a walk in the rain . striker had never cared about tiziri’s shortcomings , about her co-morbidities on paper , about her past — the male had his own plethora of missed diagnoses and trauma that followed alongside him like a lost stray . he , himself , was a lost stray , clinging to the leg of the woman who had fallen in love with a decade ago , and hadn’t been able to shake loose since . realising that tiziri had turned his back on him after nights of unspoken declarations had left his chest empty , had torn his guts from his stomach in ribbons — and yet he was the one at fault in her eyes for being gentle , for being sweet , for loving . the cotton was shrouded over his back to shield his mottled scars . he was welcomed into the softness that he harboured within himself , finally rewarded for those years of sweetness , of bitten lips and torn tongues . a heap of comfort on the bed , his blanket-muffled voice then broke : “ you don’t gotta stay with me , but i need t’ sleep . “ heavy lids finally fell shut and a stillness overcame the cowboy . from nights of forcing rest in open-air barns , in the back of his truck and on bales , he had the rare skill of falling asleep practically anywhere ( standing up , if necessary ) . soon deep snores erupted from the white shroud and filled the room . 

It’s not clear if he misunderstands the intent of her words or merely acknowledges the fact that she has no right to ask anything of him — what is apparent is the coldness, as if, if only for a moment, his mind had sobered itself to just how profoundly she had wronged him, of just how much disdain he should hold for her. How did she tell him that it wasn’t just concerning but terrifying to see the ease with which he threw back the pill? Even if he didn’t know what her past fifteen years had looked like, he knew of her mother and where that fear had started to grow. It was just another weight she’d be unjustly placing upon his shoulders. There’s barely time for her mind to process it all when his next words send her into a different spiral. After everything, he was still showing up on her doorstep, albeit under the influence and in need of medical attention, saying he wanted her. As if his state alone wasn’t enough a warning sign to run, to let her go. Dark orbs are quick to expel themselves, lips drawn into a hard line, a stone front that kept everyone out the way that it always had. Tiziri isn’t sure if it’s something he’s noted or is too far gone to pay attention to, either way, thankfully he’s drifting away from her, like an animal that had slipped in the front door, making it’s place at home in her expensive sheets. It was apparent how little they meant to her, much like the rest of the house and it’s decor that could be swept away at any time and would leave her with nothing outside of the annoyance that she would have to go through another consultation. In fact, the loss or destruction of everything she owned would have been far less damaging than having to see Striker like this — perhaps, having to see him at all. As her eyes drift back to his sunken form, she wonders if she’d been entirely foolish to think she would be able to save him by leaving, if she had been wrong in assuming he could find something someone better. Was she to blame for what lay before her? Or had he, much like herself, buried himself in his own devices? There’s a sick feeling twisting her insides, making her nauseous, sure that her body is going to reject whatever contents were within her stomach. Guilt; weighty and exigent. It’s far too easy for her mind to wander back to the bathroom, to the pill bottle, a scene unfolding in her mind like replaying a favorite movie scene, only shattered by his broken words. She isn’t granted the time to answer before a stillness overtakes him, exhaustion finally swallowing him whole. For the first time since his arrival, the room goes still, tension dissipating. It does nothing to calm the screaming inside of her. There’s a moment where she remains frozen, able only to sit and stare, to watch him in the rare moment of peace before finally she rises; hands grip and tug the throw blanket out from beneath his legs, draping it over him lest cold overtake him at some point in the night. “Goodnight, pretty boy...” And with that she retreats to the comfort of her couch, to the spot that she’s spent many a sleepless night, something she was sure tonight was going to hold.