#for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the

[meatriarch]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

#[ ♡ ] ── * maria f. / 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦. #[ 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦. ] ── * queue. #[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * cold case. #[ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦. ] ── * no one saved you. #for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the #broadcasts sounded off her searches being called off. the only one who ensured she ate - was clothed - was looked after when she fell ill. #who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to #do things properly - protected her from others that'd be brought down below shack. honestly. her isolation in cc - only having any sort of #connection being with johnny for *months* before he trusted her enough to let her join him for longer periods - like its. complicated. #SO fucking complicated. youre seen as dead to literally everyone else in existence - *except for him*. he who sees you. who hears you. #who talks to you. looks after you. its hard not to find yourself becoming attached/devoted. to the only person who knows you still exist #like i mentioned for nosy its. theres lee there too now so its. a little different. it doesnt hit right away - the almost blind devotion. #but it still happens - over time - with the both of them. the last two people who for a time at least know you were even still living. #and its by the time ch2 rolls in for either cc/nosy its just. its so confusing to her. why they all bother returning then? #for cc its just. you all buried me in an empty box twenty years ago...you all moved on then. you accepted that. so why are you here now. #why are you re-opening wounds that shouldve been long buried - with that empty casket. why suddenly care now? #in nosy she suppresses it w. her bitterness but cc i feel it comes out more like... grief & hurt. all over again. because if you came back #20 yrs after the fact? then why DIDNT you return back then? why *now* and not then? at any point in the last two decades?

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

#for cc maria its just. theres literally no one else. the only constant has been johnny. hes the one who was there with her when the #broadcasts sounded off her searches being called off. the only one who ensured she ate - was clothed - was looked after when she fell ill. #who she could talk to. who in spite of all her escape attempts & all her attempts at trying to kill him kept her around - taught her how to #do things properly - protected her from others that'd be brought down below shack. honestly. her isolation in cc - only having any sort of #connection being with johnny for *months* before he trusted her enough to let her join him for longer periods - like its. complicated. #*so* fucking complicated. youre seen as dead to literally everyone else in existence - *except for him*. he who sees you. who hears you. #you speaks with you. looks after you. its hard not to find yourself becoming attached/devoted. to the only person who knows you still exist #like i mentioned for nosy its. theres lee there too now so its. a little different. it doesnt hit right away - the almost blind devotion. #but it still happens - over time - with the both of them. the last two people who for a time at least know you were even still living. #and its by the time ch2 rolls in for either cc/nosy its just. its so confusing to her. why they all bother returning then? #for cc its just. you all buried me in an empty box twenty years ago...you all moved on then. you accepted that. so why are you here now. #why are you re-opening wounds that shouldve been long buried - with that empty casket. why suddenly care now? #in nosy she suppresses it with her bitterness but cc i feel it comes out more like... grief & hurt. all over again. because if you came bac #20 yrs after the fact? then why DIDNT you return back then? why *now* and not then? #[ mf ] ── * 𝐇𝐂 / 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄. { maria. } #[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { cold case. } #[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { no one saved you. } #[ mf ] ── * 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄. { we saved us. }