#Amy's new outfit is my personal favorite I like how she looks in it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

domingoanoite · 2 years

Text

This is a Q&A that I answered on this blog when I was 24. I decided to revisit it 6 years later and update some of the answers, even though most of them remain the same (guess I’m consistent) Some truths about myself:

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? -More milk than cereal 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? -Kind of (nowadays I would say no coz it also freezes my nose and ears lol) 3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? -Anything close to me; pencils, post-its, my phone, etc 4: how do you take your coffee/tea? -Sugar is essential 5: are you self-conscious of your smile? -Yes 6: do you keep plants? -No, they are boring (and I kill all of them) 7: do you name your plants? -Lol 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? -I'm very bad at expressing them, actually I normally keep my feelings to myself 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? -Oh yes 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? -All of them 11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? -There are so many! All very retarded, of course 12: what's your favorite planet? -Saturn (I changed to Venus, I guess) 13: what's something that made you smile today? -Vines of dogs (OMG vines! nowadays it’s more accurate to say tiktoks of cats) 14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? -Like a nerd palace; full of games and food everywhere (I live with my best friend now, and our house is lowkey nerdy yes) 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! -The Earth’s rotation is gradually slowing. This deceleration is happening almost imperceptibly, at approximately 17 milliseconds per hundred years. (oh my!) (also, a full nasa space suit costs 12 million dollars.) 16: what's your favorite pasta dish? -Lasagne! (nice answer girl) 17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? -Purple or pink; my mum never let me dye my hair, so now I'm 24 and I've been craving for it (I managed to dye it pink 3 years ago!!!!) 18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. -Once I made a birthday cake for my friend with four legs and a square on top; like a chair. It was hideous, and they never let me forget it 19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? -Nope. Never had one because I'm afraid people would read it (I just started scrapbooking now) 20: what's your favorite eye color? -Gray, like Amy Lee's 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. -I have this tetris themed backpack for so many years and it's still brand new; I love it (still have it, still looks brand new) 22: are you a morning person? -Noooo 23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? -Play games on the pc; omg I just love it 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? -Yes, my group of friends from school are still the best creatures I've ever met (plus, today I would say also my husband) 25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? -I don't think I've ever broken into a nice place :( 26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? -a pair of oxford shoes with a gorgeous pattern of lines and curves, kind of victorian style; it's falling apart but I love it (still have it, but it’s back in Brazil and I dont wear it because I want to preserve that beauty) 27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? -Strawberry of tutti-frutti 28: sunrise or sunset? -Sunset; I'm never awake to see the sunrise lol 29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? -I have this Charlotte friend here in Bournemouth that has the cutest laugh ever (she just had a lovely baby girl :)) 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? -Of course 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. -Socks are amazing. I love socks. I wanted to glue socks on my feet forever. I love weird socks with different themes and colours, and I rarely wear white ones. It's mandatory for me to sleep with socks, even in a hot night. I'm wearing socks right now (I couldn’t have answered this better) 32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. -Nothing good happens after 3AM. If I'm awake at this time, I'm possibly drunk, so you can imagine (bitch nowadays I’m only awake at 3am if I’m at the hospital with SOMEONE WHO IS ABOUT TO DIE) 33: what's your fave pastry? -Birthday cake, especially strawberry 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? -I have this cute polar bear with a pink dress that is still in my room; it has a boyfriend too, a polar bear with a christmas outfit but his head is almost falling from the body HAHAHA (I hope my mum didn’t get rid of it at this point, idk) 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? -I used to have loads as a teenager, with different colours and such. Nowadays I don't really care about pens, and most of them are stolen 36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? -Muse, forever and always (always! <3) 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? -Clean and messy. Clean above all 38: tell us about your pet peeves! -I'm obssessed about cleaning; the fizzy drink bottles must ALWAYS be closed with their lids, my hair must be perfect at all times and I can't stand being without a bra (I think at the time I really didn’t know what a pet peeve was; to answer this better, I would say when people chew with their mouth open) 39: what color do you wear the most? -Blue (only dark and sober tbh) 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? -I have this gorgeous pearl ring that my grandma gave me, and her grandma gave it to her. It's the most precious material thing I own (also wedding rings now but I dont really wear them) 41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? -The green mile by Stephen King (oof! more recently, song of achiles by madeline miller and alias grace by margaret atwood) 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! -not really 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? -I don't normally gaze at the stars lol 44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? -I feel it all the time 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? -Yes (not really, liar, you ignore them and than feel stupid. I’m trying to listen to it more!!!!) 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. -How do you make the number one disappear? Add the letter G and it's "gone" (lady walks into the shop and orders 12 bees. guy gives her 13. she says: but thats too many bees! he says: one of them is a freebie) 47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? -Olives and any spicy food aaaaaargh 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? -Darkness; I slept with the lights on until I was 17. Today I'm not scared of it anymore 49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? -Nope hehe last one I bought was in 2002 (spotify bitch, hello) 50: what's an odd thing you collect? -I don't collect anything 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? -My boyfriend Brendan; No Diggity by Chet Faker (Bren is my husband now!) 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? -I'm Brazilian, so I would say "o meme da senhora" (the memes about the Queen’s death this year were brilliant) 53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? _I've only watched pulp fiction; I thought it was meh (still true, I also watched rocky horror and it’s very weird. the rest are yet to be seen) 54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? -This picture of a pug on a calendar 55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? -LOL I was playing goat simulator with Brendan and I told him not to go to this certain place. He went and got fucked. I screamed for 5 minutes WHY DON'T YOU BELIEVE ME? DAAAM IT! (I dont remember doing this xD) 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? -When they react to animals; when they make funny voices and faces and when they share stories from their childhood 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? -It always makes me sing along in the most dramatic way possible 58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? -Oh my god LOL I don't know how to answer this question 59: what's your favorite myth? -I love the Deathly Hallows heh (I love myths, give me more myths!) 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? -Nah, poetry is lame 61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? -I gave a bunch of condoms to my friend that was turning 18; once I received clothes 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? -Only at certain weekends when my mum makes me orange juice (nobody makes me juice nowadays) 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? -I have an ebook that is really precious and I take it everywhere. The physical ones are meticulously organized. I don't care about my music lol I can listen to anything on Youtube (spotify!!! youtube became annoying with all the ads) 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? -Light blue with a lot of clouds (gray, it could rain) 65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? -MY DOOOGS (I’ve seen them last week <3) 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? -I don't care about flowers lol but I like roses 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? -Makes me wanna read dark stories 68: what's winter like where you live? -In Brazil it's hot as summer (here in London it’s cold, nothing else to add.) 69: what are your favorite board games? -Monopoly and scrabble 70: have you ever used a ouija board? -Nope 71: what's your favorite kind of tea? -I prefer hot chocolate (or chai latte) 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? -Not really (my memory is worse now tho) 73: what are some of your worst habits? -Touching my hair all the time (Bren would say my clapping) 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. -It is one of my best friends since we were eleven. It loves nature and travelling, looks like a free, delicate bird that smiles all the time and I feel we can spend years without talking to each other, but when we meet again, nothing changes really 75: tell us about your pets! -I'M SO GLAD THIS QUESTION ARRIVED I'M INSANELY IN LOVE WITH ANIMALS AND I LOVE MY TWO PUGS SO MUCH I CAN'T EVEN. Cacau is a black princess and Zik is fawn, they are so lovely and I miss them with all my heart (I still love them babies, but here in London I also have a cat now, she is a Calico named Zelda and she is so soft and cute!) 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? -My final Masters project (there is always something to clean) 77: pink or yellow lemonade? -Yellow (pink) 78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? -I'm indifferent to them (hate club) 79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? -My friend De Hong hid Aladdin on my pc and made a treasure hunt on my archives so I could find it (<3) 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? -They are white, but one wall has a beautiful pink wallpaper with flowers on it. My mum chose it to be honest but I love it (all my walls are cream now but I can’t change them coz the house ain’t mine) 81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. -Brendan's eyes are green with a yellow circle in the middle; damn it I said it directly 82: are/were you good in school? -Yes 83: what's some of your favorite album art? Muse's "Absolution" 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? -I already have three and don't plan to make more (lol I made another. I have 4 now but I’m removing one of them with laser, so will be back to 3 and I don’t plan to make more) 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? -Not really 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? -Nah 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? -Finding nemo lol and Forrest Gump (idk about those anymore haha) 88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? -The Romanticism at the 18th and 19th centuries 89: are you close to your parents? -Very 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. -I love my hometown Brasilia. It's very quiet, with beautiful architecture and open spaces. It's not touristic at all and it doesn't have anything to do, but I love it 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? -Back to Brazil for a few weeks and hopefully Belgium (went to both this year lol, no more travels tho because of work, but I also went to Madeira) 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? -I DEMAND MORE CHEESE 93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? -I leave it natural and free (a bun because of fucking work) 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? -Michael Worrall like two days ago (Charlotte I guess) 95: what are your plans for this weekend? -Work work work (work work work) 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? -Procrastination ftw 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? -What the fuck is a myer briggs type? I'm a capricorn and hufflepuff 98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? -During Easter I did it in Ibiza with my coursemate Allison, it was amazing (i don’t remember it being that amazing...the town was dead. but last hiking I did was with Bren at the new forest, then we went to Bmouth to visit Prz, it was nice :)) 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. -When you were young by The killers and Good enough by Evanescence (like a stone by audioslave) 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? -I prefer to stay in the present. I wouldn't change anything in the past and I don't want to miss five years of my life

0 notes

leossmoonn · 4 years

Text

Dear Y/n

masterlist

pairing - carl gallagher x fem!reader

type - fluff

note / request - “OMFG FINALLY SOMEONE WRITES FOR RECENT CARL GALLAGHER. Can we get one where the reader is Kev and V’s daughter so they grew up together. And maybe Carl is her secret admirer” so i made debbie and you seniors and carl a junior since he is technically a year younger than debbie. so let’s pretend that debbie stayed in school and carl never went to military school lol, just for the sake of this imagine. enjoy!

summary - you find a note in your locker from a secret admirer and try to figure it out who is your secret admirer

warnings - language

————

*gif isn't mine*

“Hey, girl!” Debbie exclaimed. You looked up from your phone, smiling as you spotted your friend.

“Hey,” you smiled while walking up to her. Your attention when to Franny, who was sitting in her stroller. You crouched down and smiled at the baby.

“Hi, baby. How are you? Do you like going to school with Mommy? You know, some day you’ll be going to school. I’ll be an adult and with kids, too!” You babbled to the baby. Franny squealed and held her hands up to you. You giggled, bopping her nose before going up back to talk to Debbie.

“You’re really good with her,” Debbie complimented.

“Thanks, kids kinda like me,” you giggled.

Debbie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, we know. Anyways, can we hang at your house?”

You two started walking to your guys’s lockers. “Sure. I have to babysit Jems and Ames, though. Mom and Dad don’t get off work until like, midnight.”

Debbie nodded. “Franny can play with them.”

“Sounds good,” you nodded. You unlocked your locker, a piece of paper falling out.

“What’s that?” Debbie asked.

“I don't know,” you muttered, furrowing your brows. You picked up the paper, unfolding it. Your eyes widened as you saw its contents. It read:

Dear Y/n,

I thought your outfit looked really good. Not that your outfits don’t always look good, but today’s my favorite. I really like your jeans and your red shirt. Red really looks good with your eyes.

From,

Secret Admirer

Debbie read the note with you, laughing as she got to the end. “You have a secret admirer!”

You smiled, “Yeah. This is cute. I wonder who it’s from.”

“Maybe it’s from Dean Kepner,” Debbie said, nudging your shoulder teasingly.

You rolled your eyes, “That is the funniest shit I have ever heard.”

“Well, what if it is! I noticed him staring at your shirt today,” Debbie said.

You scoffed, “Yeah, more like staring at my tits. This note said nothing about my tits. It’s probably not him. Plus, I’m pretty sure Dean can’t make compound sentences. He’s worse at speaking than Ames and Jems, and they’re 3 years old.

Debbie chuckled, “True. Well, we should try to figure it out.”

“Eh. It's probably some jackass who wants to get in my head, and then embarrass me because I thought someone liked me,” you said.

“Be more optimistic!” Debbie exclaimed.

“Hm, I will if I get a second note. Let’s go, Jems and Ames are expecting me to pick them up from daycare,” you said. You grabbed a few textbooks and shut your locker. “Is Carl coming home with us?” You asked.

“I think so,” Debbie said. “Alright. Where is he?” You asked.

“Probably making out with some slut in the bathrooms,” Debbie said.

“Probably,” you snorted.

You and Debbie walked to the nearest bathroom, peeking behind the corner to see if you could hear any noise. Surprisingly, it was quiet.

“What are you guys doing?”

You both jumped, turning around and seeing a confused Carl behind you.

Carl was Debbie’s little brother. They were both Gallagher’s. They were children of the alcoholic and drug addict Frank and Monica. They lived on the South Side of Chicago, which was where you also lived.

You were Y/n Ball. Daughter of Veronica Fisher and Kevin Ball. You had lived next to the Gallagher’s all your life. You were their best friend. Well, their only best friend, really. Your mom and their older sister, Fiona, had been friends since forever. You had been born around the same time as Debbie, who was the third oldest out of the 6 Gallagher children, so you two have been basically best friends since birth. Carl was also one of the Gallagher kids you were also the close with, too, him being just a year younger than you. You three had basically grown up together, so being best friends was pretty natural.

“We were seeing if you were fucking anyone,” Debbie answered.

Carl scrunched his face up in disgust. “I don’t do that.”

You laughed, “Sure you don’t. C’mon, C-Dog, I gotta pick up the little missies.”

“Alright, Y/n/n,” Carl smiled at the nickname you had given him ever since you two had gotten closer.

You two hadn’t always been close before. Debbie and you were by far the closest, with being in the same grade and all. You and Carl hung out a lot, but it wasn’t really until he started high school when you two actually hung out one-on-one. He had come to you for relationship advice when he was dating this one girl, Dominique, who turned out to be a horrible person. You two have since bonded about your past, failed relationships, and how shitty life is.

Since getting closer with him, you had kind of developed a little crush on him. He had always been cute, but when puberty hit him, he became really hot, really quick. You never showed any other feelings for him than platonic, though. You didn’t want to deal with all the drama that it would bring between you and your families.

“Stop eye-fucking each other, please,” Debbie groaned, walking away from you two.

You rolled your eyes, “Like you should talk. Every guy you meet you imagine sleeping with them.”

“Not true!” Debbie defended herself.

“Yeah, right. That’s why you have a baby,” Carl joked.

“You guys are so mean,” Debbie muttered.

“That one was pretty mean, but at least it didn’t come from me,” you smiled.

“Yeah, it came from the asshole who got circumcised for a girl,” Debbie laughed.

You laughed with her, Carl rolling his eyes and blushing. He looked to you and noticed a piece of paper peeking out from your jeans.

“What's that?” He asked and pointed.

“Oh, it’s a note that someone gave me,” you said. You took it out and gave it to Carl. He opened it and read it.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cute,” you agreed. He handed you the note back. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, honestly. I’m kind of thinking it’s a joke, so I wanna wait till I get another one,” you said, folding it back into your pocket.

“I think it’s Dean Kepner,” Debbie stated. You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, you're the only one.”

“Is that the popular football guy? In your grade?” Carl asked.

“Yep. He’s so hot,” Debbie sighed dreamily.

“I don’t think so,” you stated.

Carl looked at you and nodded. “Yeah, I heard he does hard drugs.”

“Yeah, another reason why I don’t fuck with him. I mean, I have a beer every other night, but never am I gonna do drugs. That shit messes you up,” you sighed.

“Yeah, we know. We had Monica as our mother,” Debbie said.

You chuckled, walking over to your car. You got in the driver seat, Carl sitting in the passengers. Debbie usually sat there, but since she has a baby, you told her it wasn’t safe to put Franny in the passenger seat, especially since if the even of an accident, the airbag goes off and hurts Franny.

You drove to daycare, humming songs from the radio while doing so. While you were driving, Carl couldn’t help but stare between your face and the note in your pocket. You didn’t know, but the person who wrote you the note was him.

Carl was usually pretty confident and outgoing. All of his family like that. You had to do that to survive the South Side. But when it came to you, he was like jello. He didn’t know how to act, speak, whether he could look at you two seconds longer than normal. You never noticed his behaviour change, though. To you, he was always quiet and low-key. He was thankful that he never questioned why he was so quiet around you, especially since he was a loud, annoying kid when he was younger.

With these notes, he would be able to say what he was afraid to say to your face. He didn’t want to face rejection, especially by the pretty senior girl that had lived next to him since the day he was born. It would be awkward if you did reject him, so he just kept quiet until maybe he worked up the courage to ask you out depending on wether you liked the notes or not.

You parked in a handicap parking spot. “Alright, one of you wanna go and help me get Ames and Jems?” You asked.

“Carl, can you do it, I wanna stay with Franny,” Debbie said.

“Yeah, sure,” Carl nodded. He got out of the car with you, walking into the daycare.

You walked up to front desk. “Hi, I’m here for Amy and Jemma Ball. I'm their older sister, Y/n,” you said.

“Alright, can I see ID?” The woman asked.

You nodded and got your wallet out of your back pocket. You handed her your ID. She handed it back to you.

“Alright, go ahead and head in,” she said.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

She hummed a ‘you’re welcome’ as you and Carl went into the play room.

“Why do you have to give her your ID?” Carl asked.

“I think it’s because she’s new, and also I didn’t drop them off this morning. They wanna make sure no one kidnaps children,” you explained.

Carl nodded. “Ah, makes sense.”

“Yeah, the usual woman here, Julie, moved to Florida. She always gave me and the girls a mint when we left, and never asked for my ID,” you said.

“Wow, she sounds cool,” Carl said.

“Yep, she was,” you smiled.

You walked into the room, spotting Jemma and Amy immediately. They spotted you two, smiling and running up to you.

“Hi, babes!” You exclaimed, crouching down and catching them in your arms.

“Hi, Y/n!” They both squealed.

“Ready to go home?” You asked.

They both nodded.

“Alright. Let me go get your stuff, hang out with Uncle Carl for a few minutes, okay?” You said.

“Okay,” Jemma said.

You walked over to their cubby, grabbing their baby bags. You went back over to Carl, taking a hold of both of the girls’s hands.

“Let’s go, babes,” you said.

“I’m hungry!” Amy exclaimed.

“I’ll get you a snack when we get home, alright?” You asked.

Amy nodded, smiling excitedly. You smiled at her, looking up to see Carl opening the door for you.

“Thanks,” you smiled at him.

“No problem,” he nodded and followed behind you. You put the girls in the backseat with Debbie, unloading their bags in the trunk. You got in the front seat, starting the car.

“Do you want to be dropped off at your house or stay with us at my place?” You asked Carl.

“I'll hang with you guys,” Carl said.

You nodded, “Sounds good.”

You drove back home, parking the car on the side. You unlocked the front door, immediately dropping all the bags you had. You slumped on the couch, taking a breather.

“Can we have a snack?” Jemma asked.

“Oh, yeah, right,” you said, getting up. “You guys want some fruit snacks?” “Yeah!” Amy exclaimed.

You nodded, going to the pantry and getting two packs of fruit snacks for each of them. You led them back to the couch, turning on the tv.

“Watch TV with Franny, okay? Sissy has to do homework,” you said.

The twins nodded, looking at Paw Patrol, which was what was playing. You went to the kitchen table, unloading your backpack.

“You’re really good at taking care of them,” Carl said, sitting next to you.

You smiled, “Thanks. Mom and Dad do a lot, but since they are a little older and so am I, they let me have more responsibility. They have to work and stuff to make sure we can afford everything. I’d like to say I’m an expert at taking care of Amy and Jemma.”

Carl chuckled, “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine taking care of a kid.”

“Well, you have been taking care of Liam since he was born, right?” You asked.

Carl shrugged, “I guess.”

“Taking care of kids is easy if you like them,” you shrugged.

“Makes sense,” he said.

You hummed.

“So, are you waiting for another note?” Carl asked.

“Hm, kind of, yeah. I would be lying if I didn’t say I hoped this will turn into some cute, romantic love story with someone,” you chuckled.

Carl blushed a little, focusing on his own homework. “Yeah, that’d be nice.

————

“Yeah, Mom, I got it. No problem, see you later,” you said, hanging up the call. You sighed, walking slowly to your locker.

Your mom had just called you to come to the Alibi to help out since business was buzzing. Word was, Frank was up to one of his schemes again and got the Alibi full and drunk. You couldn’t wait to deal with perky, 50 year-old men catcalling you. You were wearing a sweatshirt, too, which you knew would make it worse since the men always would try to have you take it off, and never stopped pushing. Luckily, you had pepper spray with you at all times so if someone ever got too much, you wouldn’t hesitate to spray them.

You opened your locker, putting away a few binders when you noticed another note. You grabbed it, unfolding it with a hint of excitement. You would be lying if you said you hadn't been looking forward to this all day.

You opened the note, smiling widely as its contents.

Dear Y/n,

Your makeup looks amazing today. You’re really talented with the eyeliner and stuff. Oh, and your lipstick matches really well with your outfit, too.

From, Secret Admirer

“Another note, huh?” Debbie said, approaching you.

You smiled and nodded. “Yep.”

“What's that?” Carl asked.

“Another note from Y/n’s admirer,” Debbie smiled.

Carl flushed a little. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I hope this is for real. I want to meet this person.”

“Maybe you will,” Carl said. You looked to him, a worried expression settling on your face.

“You okay, C-Dog?” You asked.

“Yeah. I’m gonna catch the bus. See you guys later,” he said, walking off quickly.

You furrowed your brows. “What's got his dick in a twist?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he likes you,” Debbie smirked.

Your heart fluttered a little at the thought of him liking you. Debbie knew you liked Carl, so maybe she was fucking with you, but you had to ask to be sure.

“Does he?”

“I think,” Debbie said.

“Oh,” you muttered. “Cool,” you smiled.

You weren’t going to confront him just yet, but you prayed to God your secret admirer was Carl.

————

“Hey, there’s something for you in the mail,” Veronica said.

You furrowed your brows. “Who’s it from?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Veronica said, hanging you an envelope. “It just has your name on it.”

“Huh,” you said, taking the envelope. You tore it open, your eyes widening as you saw another note it in.

“What is it?” Kevin asked.

“A note,” you said. “From my secret admirer.”

“You have a secret admirer! Wow,” Kevin said.

“Yeah,” you chuckled. You sat on the couch, opening the note.

Dear Y/n,

I thought you looked really pretty today. I hope you don’t find it weird I mailed this to your house, I actually live close to you, so I saw you crossing the street today. Anyways, I just thought I would let you know you look pretty.

From,

Secret Admirer

You found yourself giggling, setting the note down. Even though you were flattered, you found it a little weird this person knew where you lived, even if they supposedly lived near. You didn’t know why they couldn’t just tell you all these things in person.

“What does it say?” Veronica asked.

“The note calls me pretty,” you said, putting it back in its envelope.

“Hm, well, whoever this is isn’t wrong,” Veronica grinned. “Do you have any idea who it is?”

You sighed, “Nope. It says they live close to me, though.”

“Maybe it’s one of the Gallagher’s,” Kevin suggested.

Your eyes went wide, remembering what Debbie had said to a few days ago when you got the second note. You shook your head, though. Carl was out with his friends right now, you had just left his house, too, and there was no sign of him.

“Nah, no offence to them, none of them are this romantic or anything. Well, except Ian, but he’s gay,” you said.

“Maybe ask about it, though? All of our other neighbours are old men, and that does not look like old man handwriting,” Veronica said.

“Maybe I will. I mean, Debbie said Carl liked me, and when I got the second note, Carl was acting all weird and shit,” you said.

Veronica eyes widened. “Carl?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t care if it's him, though, it'd be kind of weird.”

Veronica sat down on the couch next to you. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Kind of,” you said sheepishly.

“Well, I think you should ask him about it. If he says no, then don’t mention your feelings for him. If he says yes the notes are from him, then confess,” Veronica said.

“Should I do that?” You asked.

“I think so, baby. Carl’s a good kid, especially with you around. I wouldn’t have a problem with you two dating.”

You smiled, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll go to his place tomorrow.”

“My baby is about to get a boyfriend!” Kevin whooped. “If he hurts you, I will kill him.”

You chuckled, “Thanks, Dad.”

————

You walked into the Gallagher’s house, spotting Fiona in the kitchen.

“Hey, Fi,” you smiled.

“Hey, Y/n! Are you here fo Debbie? She went out,” Fiona said.

“No, actually. I’m here for Carl,” you said.

“Oh, okay. Well, he’s upstairs,” Fiona said.

“Thanks, Fi,” you smiled and made your way up to Carl’s room. You saw that the door was wide open.

You went in, not seeing Carl anywhere.

Where is he? You thought.

You went around his room, walking around the room. His room was ridiculously messy. Clothes everywhere, food and plates all over the dresser, weird liquid on the floor. You chuckled to yourself as you had to step over the puddle.

“Boys are horrific,” you muttered to yourself.

You went to the desk, sitting down in the desk chair. You looked around on the desk, seeing court date papers, old homework, and cigarette boxes. As you looked more to your right, something had caught your eye. There was a paper with your name on it on the back.

You picked it up hesitantly, slowly unfolding it. Your eyes widened as you saw the words “Dear Y/n”. You knew you shouldn't, but you went ahead and read it anyways. You just wanted to make sure you were correct of your suspicions.

Dear Y/n,

After these few weeks, I have decided to try and be brave and go up to ask you out. I think you’re really pretty and you’re so funny and nice. I’ve liked you since I started high school, and even if I get rejected, I know I would regret not trying to ask you out. So, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date?

From,

Secret Admirer, aka Carl (Gallagher)

“Y/n?” You snapped your head back, seeing Carl in a towel. Your eyes quickly ran past his chest, seeing the toned muscles in his arms and stomach. You eyes went up to his face, lingering on his lips. You then went up to his eyes, seeing them wide and filled with wonder.

“Sorry, I’ll, uh, go,” you muttered and stood up, leaving the note on the desk.

“What?” Carl asked. He was beyond confused, but when he saw you and the note, he put the pieces together. As you went to walk out of his room, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back gently so you two were face-to-face.

“Did read the note?” He asked.

You looked up at him sheepishly, “Yeah, I’m sorry for invading your privacy.”

Carl sighed, “It’s alright. I’m, uh, sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting or anything. I know I’m probably not the person you like or anything, but I just wanted to try and see if you liked me. Ian and Lip said that was a cute idea, the notes.”

Your eyes lit up with he voiced his concerns. Your lips upturned into a smile, your eyes staring into his.

“Carl, I like you, too,” you said.

Carl’s eyes widened. “Wha-what?”

You took his hands in yours. “It was a cute idea. And I’ve liked you for the last 3 years, too. I was hoping it was you, actually.”

Carl blushed, a big smile appearing on his face. “Really?” “Yep,” you nodded.

“Awesome!” Carl chuckled. “So, do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” you smiled.

“Cool,” he smiled. “Well, I need to get dressed. You can stay and watch if you want,” he smirked.

You giggled at his words. “Don’t mind if I do.”

————

this was trash i am sorry

Like and Reblog !

taglist form

@kaitieskidmore1

#carl gallagher x reader #carl gallagher imagine #carl gallagher x reader smut #carl gallagher #shameless

2K notes · View notes

chasingpj · 3 years

Text

𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

pairing: leo valdez x child of iris!reader

requested?: yes!

translation: full of color

warnings: uhh, mentions of mental health and ?? maybe some typos lmao

category: headcanons, fluff, best friends to lovers

pre-relationship

though, leo saw you around camp often, you caught interest in him before he caught interest in you

i mean, he literally couldn't miss you because your outfits were always bright, whether it was a combination of colors or monochromatic

you and your siblings actually look like a rainbow threw up on you guys, and it's honestly iconic

no one at camp can not notice the children of iris, especially when they're in a herd

one day, you were sitting alone at a picnic table near the lake, and you found yourself drawing him in your sketchbook

you sketched a portrait of him while he spoke to piper at a table nearby

you've always found the floppy curls and how his brightest smiles always look a little manic to be adorable

when you sketched his portrait in your notebook, you didn’t intend for him ever to see it

until a couple of weeks later in the arts and crafts center, leo passed by and caught sight of a new project you were working on

he stopped in his tracks to compliment your drawing

since you were nowhere near done with it, you couldn’t admire the piece as much as he was

but his enthusiasm was so endearing

he politely asked if he could see more, and you didn’t hesitate to slide over your sketchbook

he noticed a lot of your drawings were scenery and people at camp; especially your siblings

he stumbled across a detailed sketch of a woman and her child sitting in a bus

“wow… who’s this?”

“oh, I don’t know. It was just a little girl I saw on the train with her mother.”

“so you just drew her?”

you never realized how weird your habit of drawing random people was until he had asked

you giggled nervously, quick to explain yourself, “I tend to draw people or things that I find beautiful. I wanted to capture how calm and happy she was with her child ‘cause at the time, I was stressed and angry. Watching and drawing her made me calm.”

leo nodded, a faint smile on his lips before looking back down at the drawing. “that’s really cool,” he complimented, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly shy.

And then it hit you

you were so willing to show leo all your works that you had completely forgotten that his portrait was in that book

your pulse thumped loud in your ears, mind racing to figure out a way to take away your sketchbook before he could see it

you ended up spending so long thinking of what to do that he arrived on the page in no time

right before he could see the drawing in its entirety, you slammed the book closed and snatched it

leo’s startled expression turned into a mischievous smirk

“was that me?”

you froze in your place; a squeaky sound escaped your throat in your embarrassment

leo’s brown eyes sparkled as he leaned into you, your gaze fixed on his, “y/n, you think I’m beautiful?”

AHHHH!

^^ that was you in your head btw

leo laughed, amused at your attempt to deny it

“then why did you snatch it away?” he raises an eyebrow before reaching over quickly to grab the sketchbook back

you didn't pull it out of his reach fast enough, leo getting a grip on one side

the two of you pull it back and forth, leo laughing at you as you continued to deny what he saw

though you were incredibly embarrassed, you couldn't contain the laughter bubbling in your chest

gods, of course, this would happen to me, you thought

he got it out of your grip, and you sighed in defeat, watching him flip to the page of him and piper

he was quiet, studying the picture for a second before giving you that playful smirk

“you think I’m beautiful?” he asked again

you playfully rolled your eyes, “it was more piper than you.”

your tone was sarcastic, only fueling leo’s banter with you

“oh really?” he chuckled to himself, “but i’m the only one colored in.”

you were silent at his observation before scoffing, “whatever.”

leo only laughed as you take the book away from him

“don’t you have somewhere to be, fire boy?” you asked and nudged his shoulder

the glint in your eyes made him smile, and he shrugged, “i guess i do. i'll see you around."

you nodded, too shy to do anything else, and he walked off

after that, leo took it upon himself to talk to you every day

leo teased you about the drawing all the time, and he found the way you would play along to be funny

before you both fell in love, you were close friends

you had such an optimistic point of view about life, and it was pretty contagious

somehow when leo was in the dumps about something, you always knew what to say

you were just so easy to talk to, and because of this, your friendship just grew naturally

your first kiss was towards the end of summer

leo invited you to hang out with him in bunker nine at, specifically, 6 pm

you teasingly asked if it was a date, and you remember the way he tensed up a bit

with a mumble, he asked, "what if it is?"

from the tone in his voice, you knew he wasn’t joking

in fact, his tone was hesitant, a part of him was expecting you to reject him

then the heavy pit in his stomach turned light when you smiled and said, "then I'm down."

the grin leo gave you made your heart flutter like crazy

your first date consisted of eating snacks and watching a movie on one of those portable DVD players

You picked up on the tension between you and him, and noticed the opportunities for a kiss kept passing

it was until Leo walked you to your cabin that night did you have a moment of boldness and asked, "so are you going to kiss me or?"

leo's eyes widen in surprise before his face broke out in the familiar smirk he gives when he flirts with you

you rolled your eyes playfully and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into you

your first kiss was sweet and soft; a little awkward

his hands hovered over your sides for a second, not sure what to do with them until he decided to rest them on your waist

it was the perfect way to mark the beginning of your relationship

relationship

since you guys are both broke teenagers, you got creative with date nights

you came up with the idea of paint splattering with him

you guys got canvases, covered the walls and floors with plastic to make sure you didn't dirty them

then you filled water balloons with paint and just threw them

despite you guys singing and dancing around in the midst of it, the canvases came out so good

and to commemorate the beginning of your relationship, you hung them up side by side in bunker nine, and when you guys get a place together, you hang them up in the hallway of your apartment

leo is a huge gift giver; as i’ve said before in my “how he shows he loves you” headcanons

he’s made you a lot of things; canvases, jewelry, little trinkets with scrap metal

one of your favorite gifts from him is a suncatcher with rainbow quartz

you fell in love with it and when you move in together, you make sure to hang it up in the kitchen with the bunch of other suncatchers that he’s made you

i love the idea that you would attempt to bring more color in his wardrobe

a lot of his clothes are muted in color; you don’t mind it but you were interested to see what he’d look like in a colorful outfit like yours

To say the least, he was not that enthusiastic and maybe, you shouldn’t have put him in a monochromatic orange outfit but… you still thought he looked cute

leo thought he looked like a traffic cone though so it didn’t stick

it’s okay because you like him the way he is anyways

another thing is that you guys are super supportive of each other and leo loves just how you manage to lift his mood

once leo was having a bad mental health week

you guys were sitting under a tree, looking out at the water

his head laid on your shoulder and small sniffles came from the other

it hurt to see him like this and you wished you could do more to make him feel better

then you had the greatest idea to make a rainbow for him

so you did

leo was so stunned when he saw the rainbow form over the lake

he looked at you surprised and when you admitted to making the rainbow for him, the emotion on his face was indescribable

and then you laughed and held him when he started crying because he said it was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him

another time, you insisted that meditation would be good for him

he literally sat down for like 3 minutes with his eyes closed before he was itching to get up and do something

even when he was sitting down, he was still bouncing his legs and fidgeting

so that fell through too but you still helped him in other ways and he’s so grateful for your optimism and bubbly personality

leo always says that you bring color to everything; literally and figuratively

one of the things you bring color to is his life

and he’s constantly reminding you of this; that his world just feels brighter now that you’re around

and it’s literal too

since you painted the walls of bunker nine a bright orange

he asked you why orange, and you told him because orange encourages productivity, creativity, and most importantly, optimism

it may have also reminded you of the orange outfit you put him into

anyways, you told him that it hurt you to see him get down in the dumps, and you insisted there was no way he could be sad in a bright orange room

needless to say, you were kinda right

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky @anything-forourmoony @loverstyless @yelenabel0vaswife @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @hamdehlesmis @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @sol-the-salmon

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

#leo x reader #leo valdez fanfiction #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez #leo valdez timestamp #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez headcanon #my writing

180 notes · View notes

letsperaltiago · 4 years

Text

right next to the right one

Nothing special but here is a small, 100% fluff moment from very early Peraltiago. I imagined it taking place somewhere in between ‘New Captain’ and ‘The funeral’. Enjoy 💕

Read on AO3

It’s their first night together – or, more like, the first night they go to bed together without ripping each other’s clothes off in the heat and heaviness caused by four drinks.

They’re at Amy’s place this time. Jake is nervously fiddling around her bedroom trying to get ready for bed without interrupting or getting in the way of whatever punctual night routine Amy Santiago must have. They did just have their first date a few days ago, and maybe there are a lot of sides to her that he hasn’t met yet; although it doesn’t take a genius to know that surely Amy has some kind of step-by-step pattern she walks through before heading to bed.

Or that’s what he thinks. Suddenly she reemerges from the bathroom, only five minutes after first leaving the bedroom, and looks completely calm and ready for bed. Not freaked out because she’s running behind schedule or missing steps. No kind of ritual seems to be playing out and Jake has to admit to himself: he’s slightly confused.

“That was fast?” Jake quizzes from where he’s standing by the foot of her bed still dressed like he’s about to leave and Amy frowns. Both because of the statement, which sounds more like a question, but also because she thought he too would be ready for bed by now.

“You sound confused? I just removed my makeup and brushed my teeth – it doesn’t take that long.” She cocks her eyebrows telling him that no, not all women spend an hour in the bathroom… Jake feels bad for questioning her, and all women out there, but is quickly interrupted by her picking up on him being far from ready for bed.

“But why are you still dressed? Get in bed, silly!” She chuckles and gets into bed on what he assumes is her usual side. He secretly hopes that one day the other side will become his. Too soon, he thinks and shakes it off. One step at a time.

Jake contemplates whether or not he should explain himself but quickly figures that it doesn’t matter. Her lack of strict routine just tells him that she’s relaxed in her own home, around him, and that he likes - a lot. Also, Amy looks really cute in nothing but an oversized NYPD-shirt and panties.

“Oh, yeah sorry. Just didn’t know where to put my stuff and I didn’t want to like…” he shuffles nervously to the free side of the bed, probably looking stupid, and he hates that he’s so nervous. By no means does he want her to notice; maybe think she’s the one making him nervous. Actually he just likes her so stupid much that he’d rather stand there and look stupid than mess up her room or do something else that’ll give him away; do something that’ll let her know he isn’t the one for her. “… I didn’t want to Jake up your room.”

She’s just gotten under the covers, sitting against the headboard with her current book in her lap, but seems to forget about it and suddenly freeze on the spot with her eyes on him. Not in an accusing way or with an expression that lets him know he needs to leave; rather a look of warmth and appreciation… Maybe even a hint of amusement. Then she crawls across the bed to his side and stands on her knees.

“Jake…” she grabs him by the hoodie and pulls him in so that he stands as close to her as the edge of the bed will allow. Everything she says comes out with a special warmth radiating from her lips and eyes, something he’s only ever seen in her. “I appreciate the thought, but… You’ve already Jake’d up my life so a little Jake’ing up my bedroom won’t hurt me. Okay?”

The way the words fall from her lips, full of calmness and serenity, has him pacified without delay. The soft peck to his lips radiates a welcoming feeling Jake can’t deny. Confidence slowly seeps back into him, and he finally feels as if he can answer her searching, soft brown eyes.

“Okay,” he’s finally able to let down his shoulders, his overall guard, and return her smile with a matching radiation of serenity and calmness.

It’s so stupid how much he likes her, he thinks. It partially scares him although never enough to chase him away. Before he even has the time to realize it, as if it’s second nature to him, he rids himself of his clothes. Few minutes later his outfit is, somewhat, neatly hanging on a chair nearby. He smiles sheepishly and Amy chuckles, nodding in approval: perhaps he’s not too bad at this after all, he thinks and falls into Amy Santiago’s bed.

Everything is so brand new to the both of them yet quickly falls into a rhythm that feels normal: everything from Amy reading her book by his side to the way the Jake’s late night cartoon’s flicker in the background without bothering her.

Amy feels it too. The normality of the new them. For the past few days they’ve been together, Amy’s already wondered many times: how? She puts down her book and lies down on her side to get a better look at his side profile.

She can’t tell if the cartoons that deserve credit for calming him down, causing him to zone out of reality, but Amy enjoys this side of Jake. The Jake that is just… there. With her.

She wonders, after going through what they both went through to get to each other, how she got so lucky? Suddenly, very out of nowhere, she finds herself fully focused on the mand beside her and something feels just a tad different. All night she’d felt so nonchalant, so easy going about him being around, that it didn’t occur to her just how lucky she is and now she can’t stop wondering, over and over, how? How is he here after all their ups and down, exes, friend zones and whatnot?

“Hey.”

It falls out of her before she can comprehend it or try to stop it, and as soon as his head calmly turns to look at her Amy knows she has to carry through with this. The shifting colorful light from the TV casts a warm shadow on the side of his face that is turned away from it, and Amy halts for a second taking in the sight in front of her. The man by her side is so gently, so easily tuned in to her and the flickering lights enhances all of her favorite facial features. Features she can kiss now, whether she believes it or not, and features she gets to run her hands and fingers along if she wishes to.

“Hey,” he answers with a soft smile inviting her to speak her mind, because of all people, Amy Santiago alwayshas an agenda. Jake knows.

In contrast to how ready she felt just seconds ago, she all of the sudden, now that the first word is out and the attention is on her, feels so shy. Probably has furiously blushing cheeks too. Knowing Jake, he’s probably already noticed.

“What’s up?” he tries.

Amy considers not speaking her mind, instead just joke it off like they often do. Most of the time that’s a fine solution… But this moment, for some reason, feels more important. Like it’s not supposed to be brushed off. Amy genuinely has some things on her mind.

“I just,” she cuts herself off nervously biting down on her bottom lip. “I just can’t believe we’re here… Like, together.”

If her blush wasn’t very evident before then it definitely is now, and she has to look away from him just to keep calm. His eyes, especially with the soft look he has right now, all of the sudden seems so overwhelming. In the good way. The scary way too. Just a year ago she would’ve never believed anyone telling her that Jake Peralta would come to make her feel this way.

“I know.” Jake chuckles and Amy dares to look back at him. He’s looking straight ahead again but this time not at the TV, she can tell. He looks deep in thought, smiling, and Amy feels less scared. If the man of a thousand issues is smiling at the thought of them (she hopes) then everything is probably alright.

“Like even after everything that’s come between us, constantly demotivating the process like… wrong timing, being undercover, Sophia, Teddy…” she trails off realizing just how many odds have been against them for the past two years or so.

He slowly nods in agreement still staring into air with a small smile on his face as if he’s seeing something she isn’t.

“Yeah… To me, the whole thing with Teddy was never that demotivating though. On the contrary.”

Amy’s eyebrows dip into a confused frown.

“Really.” Jake finally turns his head to look at her and the flickering lights make him look that more handsome, like in a movie scene, all over again. She loves when he looks at her, even if it’s just been a few days. If Jake was the last person to ever look at her, just like he is right now, she would die happy. Somehow it feels like he’s done it for longer – maybe he has and she just hasn’t noticed?

“This is going to sound super dumb, but every time I saw you with him I was bummed out, yes, but it also made me even more sure: I wanted to be the one to be with you. I wanted all the small moments he got with you… Like siting at Shaw’s making you smile and laugh while drinking beer; competing with you about dumb stuff that only we care about and everyone rolls their eyes at us; picking you up from work – even though we literally sit across from each other, I now realize as I’m saying it out loud.”

They both chuckle in unison but on the inside they both feel their hearts burst with joy at this small confession. Silence, a comfortable one, takes over. Amy sees his face switch to the one he always put on when he’s being serious and genuine. Her heart skips yet another beat.

”I guess I kinda always knew I wanted be where he was standing, you know? Next to you. Holding your hand even, if I was really lucky.” He chuckles but so softly that Amy can tell he’s still being serious.

Amy nods, entranced, and if it wasn’t for what said next then the moment definitely would’ve been a fully and completely soft moment - alike nothing she’d ever witnessed Jake Peralta in before. The man beside her is nervously fiddling with his fingers and she can tell Jake has crossed some emotional boundaries with this confession tonight. Which is also why she doesn’t comment on it when he flees the intensity of the romantic moment with a joking remark.

“And if that isn’t motivation for ya then I don’t know what is.” His voice switches to the goofy tone he speaks in most of the time and soft Jake slowly fades away, into fun Jake with his still tall walls up. Although Amy knows he means every word he’s just said. That is enough for her; enough to keep her cheeks blushing and lips in the shape of a moved smile. Enough to keep her around for what feels like will be a long time.

“Well…” she scoots over to his side of the bed and pulls his head down to press a playful kiss to his cheek, like a schoolgirl would to her crush, and it’s Jake’s turn to blush. She pulls back but stays close, turns his head with her hand bringing them nose to nose. She’s still blushing but she doesn’t care. He can see her colors - all of them.

“Here you are, Peralta. And it feels so much better having you here.”

#peraltiago #jake and amy #jake x amy #amy santiago #jake peralta #peralta #sanitago #fluff #b99 #brooklyn nine-nine #Brooklyn nine nine #fanfic #oneshot #fanfiction

81 notes · View notes

thecrownnet · 4 years

Link

*Amy Roberts is nominated for an Emmy in Outstanding Period Costumes for episode 10 Cri de Coeur.

The third season of The Crown, Netflix’s lavish, semi-fictionalized series about Queen Elizabeth II and her family, sees the monarch, Prince Philip and Princess Margaret entering middle age. Claire Foy hands off the role of Elizabeth to Olivia Colman, with Helena Bonham-Carter and Tobias Menzies joining the cast as her sister and husband. Kicking off in 1964 with a Soviet spy scandal ripped from the headlines and ending with the Queen’s 1977 Silver Jubilee, this season of The Crown also covers events some viewers will remember firsthand. Though paparazzi activity hints that the show’s fans are ardently awaiting Princess Diana’s season four entry (and luckily for them, filming wrapped about a week before coronavirus lockdowns were instated), season three is a nuanced historical and personal portrait of the family making their way through a politically pivotal era, from Margaret’s charming of President Lyndon B. Johnson to Prince Charles’s investiture in Wales.

The season also spans one of the 20th century’s most distinct time periods in terms of fashion. Working with a team that can number from 45 people up to 130 on the biggest shooting days, costume designer Amy Roberts joined The Crown for seasons three and four, taking over from Jane Petrie and previously, Michele Clapton. Roberts balances the royal family’s distinctly staid aesthetic with glimpses of the styles of the era, seen on younger characters like Princess Anne (Erin Doherty) and Roddy Llewellyn (Harry Treadaway), Margaret’s youthful, long-term affair.

Queen Elizabeth, however, is still at the crux of every episode, and for the monarch, Roberts embraces an early version of the vivid colors and matching ensembles that have come to dominate her personal style. We spoke with the costume designer about building imagined looks versus hewing to history, her personal style favorites from the season, and the new hues that set the tone for the Queen’s next half-century of outfits.

How do you decide whether to put together new looks or look to history for costuming major, well-documented events, like the Queen’s Jubilee, Prince Charles’s investiture, or the tragedy of Aberfan?

I think it’s an emotional decision. And those big events, particularly Aberfan, it doesn’t make sense to veer away from it. Often, some generations remember it very clearly, and it would seem arrogant of me to even think, oh, I’m going to change history. That’s my strong feeling. Those are a few very key, important moments, but there is so much on The Crown where you don’t know what they wore, you don’t know what they said, you don’t know what went on, so there are plenty of other times when you can let your imagination run free or be more filmic. That’s the joy of The Crown.

Queen Elizabeth has such an interesting style legacy because you have people who think she’s the most fashionable woman in the world, as well as a camp that finds her rather dowdy. What’s your opinion, and what guides you as you’re designing for her?

Well, I was one of those people who thought the Queen’s dress-sense-look-style was not of great interest or groundbreaking. But the more I looked at her, not just my period of time — the 60s through the early 90s, up through season four — you realize she’s actually amazing. You can see where a lot of designers have drawn inspiration, whether it’s Dolce and Gabbana or Vivienne Westwood. So I was really surprised. And the color choices, they’re absolutely extraordinary, even in the present day. I know she dresses to be seen in vivid colors, but she owns it. You see her privately at Balmoral, maybe in her kilt and her twin set and some scarves, and she looks amazing, with a Burberry mac on. There are some really weird ones, like the investiture, but they’re always interesting.

The royal family has an aesthetic unto itself, which isn’t necessarily representative of the era. There are so many fashion hallmarks of the 1960s and 70s in particular, which are not things the Queen would ever wear. Was it difficult to conceive of costumes that illustrate the time period while still being accurate to the family?

The first two seasons, which are absolutely beautiful, had the aesthetic of the 30s, 40s, and 50s color palette. I suppose in a way what opened the door for us in this era was color. We have a huge wall in our studio where we put up lots of images, each member of the royal family’s journey, in a huge chart. And I think what everybody realized was it’s the color — those sugar pinks, lemon, tangerines, and turquoises — suddenly you’ve got that, which you hadn’t got before. I think Jane [Petrie] slightly touched on it towards the end of season two, but we could really go for that, those more synthetic tones that heralded in the 60s and 70s, those post-war colors and patterns.

And as we get closer to modernity, can you buy and rent costumes for supporting characters, or is everything purpose-built?

All the principals are designed and made, but what we could start to do in this era was introduce a little bit of buying, for Princess Anne and some of the important smaller parts. The budget’s fantastic, but you can’t afford to make everyone, nor do you have the time. It’s got to be the best quality, obviously, but you can source the 60s and 70s clothes pretty easily. We didn’t do that at all for the Queen — maybe an old Burberry mac, actually — but for Princess Anne, we introduced a few buys, some knitwear, and we found some fantastic jeans. And obviously, for the crowd, that is all sourced and hired from costume houses in England, a little bit in Spain, and we used a fantastic place in Paris.

The real royals wear fur. How do you deal with that for the show?

Quite rightly, Netflix and Left Bank have a policy of no fresh fur. But you can use, and we would use, fur from the late 50s. Margaret and the Queen do occasionally wear fur coats, much to the horror particularly of Olivia Colman. They [Colman and Bonham-Carter] don’t love it at all. I have to stress that: there’s no enjoyment to them wearing fur coats. But you might be thinking about Charles’s investiture robe. There’s a good story there. That had to be made from scratch. The lining of that cloak is ermine. That was problematic because we could only use old ermine. They came from all over, the color had to be matched, they had to be cleaned and stretched by a furrier, and there aren’t many furriers anymore. But they had to be a certain date, none of it was fresh fur. It’s absolutely forbidden. So that took a long time to source, do it properly, and within strict guidelines. And it’s hard for actors, sometimes. They want a sign saying “this isn’t me, I don’t approve!” We only used fur coats when it was absolutely needed, and the odd fur stoles, but we steered away from it as much as possible.

Did you have a favorite character to dress in season three?

I always say this, but I loved doing Princess Alice of Greece, Prince Philip’s mother, the nun [Jane Lapotaire]. Because suddenly, after all that pomp, silk, and patterns and color, you do something completely different, and pure and simple. I don’t know, I just loved that beacon in the midst of it all. And I loved doing Wallis Simpson; her clothes and style were just very modern. The palette we went for was a personal favorite of mine. So Princess Alice and Wallis Simpson — two extremes, really, both as women and as looks.

#olivia colman #tobias menzies #helena bonham carter #the crown #ben daniels #josh o'connor #erin doherty #jane lapotaire #geraldine chaplin #charles edwards #jason watkins #costume design #the crown netflix

17 notes · View notes

another-sonic-blog · 5 years

Text

10 Things About You

ShadAmy (One-Shot/ Valentine’s Special)

2K500

Shadow always had everything under control. Ever since he discovered his past, he decided to always have control in every aspect of his life.

That was until Amy Rose appeared.

He disliked her and a lot. Her happy go lucky attitude, her idealistic ideologies, and the way she always saw something good in everyone. Even in him.

Shadow hated that. He didn't need anyone to tell him he was good but unconsciously he found himself waiting for her approval.

He hated that everything in his life was going the way he wanted ... but her.

"Hey Shads, I am leaving already."

Rouge walked down the stairs, looking more sexy than usual. She was wearing a short black skirt that showed her toned legs and a matching tank top that accentuated her flat stomach. Rouge was about to tease the guy for staring but the thought went away the moment his eyes diverted back to the TV.

Of course, he already had a pink hedgehog on his mind just like she had a red echidna on hers.

But that didn't mean she couldn't tease him in other ways.

"You will have the place for yourself. Omega is getting reparations at G.U.N. I won't be coming back home so feel free to bring someone to ... spend the night with."

"Didn't you say that you were leaving already?" Shadow said sarcastically, his eyes still glued to the TV.

"You know, if you were nicer maybe you could have gotten yourself a Valentine."

Shadow turned his head around as he looked up and down at Rouge; it was judging look that could make anyone feel less. "So I can make myself look like a clown? No, thank you."

Rouge wasn't affected much by this. She was used to Shadow's horrible personality and attitude, but that still doesn't mean she wasn't going to fight back.

"Well, maybe you should start looking for a costume and makeup..." Rouge walked towards the door, ready to leave. "Because as far as I know, Amy has a thing for clowns."

SLAM!

Goddamit, Rouge. Shadow wished for her to get married to the red one already so she can leave the shared apartment.

Shadow thought he was good at hiding how much he hates the pink one but it seemed Rouge caught into that.

But once again, he would make it pretty obvious sometimes.

"Shadow stop pulling my hair!"

"Shadow stop eating my food!"

"Shadow give me back my pen!"

"Shadow stop with the pranks!

Shadow! Shadow! Shadow!

"Come on Shadow, give me my notebook back!" Amy jumped constantly as she tried to grasp her favorite black notebook. Shadow was holding with his right hand, he was enjoying too much watching Amy trying to get it.

"I don't think so, this is my favorite new notebook."

Amy stopped jumping and she looked directly at Shadow's eyes. "Do you like my notebook?"

It caught Shadow off guard, and seeing that he wasn't responding, Amy added;

"Alright then, you can keep it."

That memory always hit him back at random moments, and he was embarrassed to admit that he still had that black notebook. It was brand new and nothing was written on it, which made Shadow wonder why Amy always held it as if her life depended on it.

But that was some time ago already and the display of hate Shadow showed her had caught Rouge's attention.

"You are like a little kid who doesn't know how to tell his crush he likes her so he bullies her instead to get her attention."

Or so he remembers Rouge saying when she confronted him about the issue.

How stupid of her, to think that the Ultimate Life Form could ever have such feelings for a plain hedgehog.

Shadow switched the channels of his TV and as he expected, every single one of the commercials had to do with Valentine's Day. Couples walking hand by hand, kissing, hugging, Shadow didn't want anything but to this day to be over.

His mind went back to the pink one as he saw a commercial of a shy girl confessing to her crush.

Would Amy do something like this for Sonic? Not like it matter, Sonic wouldn't look at her twice.

Shadow focused his attention once again to the commercial. After a lot of failed attempts of confessing, the shy girl was successful at her task and her crush accepted her.

If Amy tried confessing today, would Sonic change his mind?

Something light up the moment Shadow thought about it. Yes, he would tease Amy whenever he had the chance. However, Amy's reaction to his teasings is completely different from when Sonic teases her.

He had seen it before. Her distracted eyes looking from side to side; how she played with her hands, the light red tint in her cheeks.

No matter how much Shadow tried, he couldn't get her to be like that with him.

Another thing he couldn't control.

How he hated that; how much he hates Amy Rose.

But another thought crossed his mind. If he shows Amy how much he hates her; would she accept that? Would her reaction be the same as when she is with Sonic?

Shadow shook his head; no, there was no way he was going to.

He changed TV channels again and again. Valentine's Day plastered all over the commercials and shows.

Shadow sighed in defeat.

"Well, I was planning on giving back that notebook anyways."

It has been two hours already and Shadow was trying to give Amy her notebook back. He couldn't just give it like that, that would be too rude. So he passed by the store to get a small bag. He picked up a red one with white polka dots on it. He put it back immediately, it was just a notebook. So, maybe a simple carton bag is fine? No that's too simple. A white bag? No that's lame.

And that's how Shadow spend two hours trying to pick the perfect bag.

He took the red bag with white polka dots at the end. It reminded him of Amy in a sense, that should be good.

However, all confidence went away when he saw her leave her apartment building. He immediately took the notebook out of the bag and threw the bag away.

He was starting to panic, maybe today wasn't the best day to give it back, she looked like in a rush.

Wait not, fuck that. It wasn't when she wanted, it was when he wanted.

Shadow saw Amy walking towards him and he immediately began to walk away, slowly, very casual. Good thing that he was wearing all black clothes so he could blend in perfectly with the night.

"Hey, Shadow!"

Fuck. How did she find out it was me?

Shadow stopped midtrack as he heard her voice. Forgetting the fact that he was wearing his G.U.N jacket and that his name was written on the back with bold white letters.

He pretended not to hear her and kept walking.

"Is that my old notebook you are holding?"

FUCK ... AGAIN.

Shadow was holding the black notebook behind his back, yes it was stupid of him. This pink girl always made him do stupid things and that's why he hates her.

He turned around to face her, knowing that it would be impossible to escape now.

Damn. How much he hates her.

She was wearing a long red coat that reached to her knees. A white turtle neck blouse with a pink and purple striped skirt that was above her knees. Black thighs covered her legs and small black heels accentuated her legs. She was holding a small red bag to complete her outfit.

Shadow hates how Amu=y wasn't even wearing anything provocative but he was still having unwanted feelings about the way she presented herself.

That was one part of him. One of desire.

His other part focused on her face, she was wearing light makeup but he could still see the under circles in her eyes. The small breakouts in her skin, the way her eyes glowed like the pole light next to them. Her messy hair was tied into a ponytail but her bags moved softly with the air.

This part of him told him that he must care for the pink one, he doesn't know why ... and he hates it.

But the third and last part of him was the worst.

"I can't believe you still have it, were you planning on giving it back?" Amy smiled and Shadow grew angrier by the second.

The worst part was her personality ... and he hates how much control that part of her had over him.

"Yes, it was taking too much space in my room. So instead of throwing it away, I decided to give it back."

"How considerate of you, but I can't accept it."

This is what he gets for being nice. He made a mental note to never do this again in his life.

"Fine," Shadow added, "I'll just throw this in the fucking trash-"

"No, please don't."

Amy touched Shadow's hand and he immediately flinched, pulling his hand away. Amy saw his reaction and she spoke immediately.

"I mean, today is Valentine's and well, usually is the girl who gives a gift or chocolate to the guy." Amy felt her cheeks feel hot as she looked in her bag. She took out a small elongated pink box with a ribbon attached to it. " I have this for you ... and this won't work unless you have the notebook. So please accept my gift and if you don't want it then wait until White Day to give it back."

Fuck Amy Rose and this power she had over him. If it was anyone else, he would have laughed it off and deny the gift but when it was her ...

Well, let's just say that Shadow had never run so fast to his apartment to open his gift.

He sat down on the couch again and with a 'pop' he opened his gift.

It was a plastic pen.

Shadow took it in his hand, he was perplexed that Amy had given him such a cheap item in a very elegant box. He analyzed the pen, up and down. It was pink and small and on the side, it had a small button. He pressed it and a purple light came out of the top.

Shadow perfectly knew that this was. It was an invisible ink pen with UV light.

Was Amy out of her mind? Why in the world would she-

"I have this for you ... and this won't work unless you have the notebook."

Shadow connected the dots, he was fast to get the black notebook. He flipped through the pages, all of them blank.

He went back to the first page and he grabbed the pen. He pointed the end of the pen towards the paper and pressed the button. The purple light came out of the pen, revealing letters on what used to be blank pages.

And Shadow began to read.

Dear diary #1:

I am happy today because I got this notebook at the store. It came with an invisible ink pen with UV light so no one can read you. Only me!"

Dear diary #2:

I tried confessing to Sonic and he rejected me .. again. It's ok tho, I'll keep trying until he loves me!"

Dear diary #3:

I hate Shadow! He is so mean to me! I don't understand why I always try to be nice to him. I hope he stops teasing me so much.

Dear diary #4:

Rouge told me that Shadow might like me. That's so gross! I don't believe it, just the idea makes me want to throw up. I can only love Sonic anyways.

Dear diary #5:

It was a strange day today. During the meeting, I commented that I would love to have a crepe with whip cream. A few hours later, I went to the Resistance's kitchen and I found Shadow secretly baking something. I left him alone and went back to my room. A few hours later someone knocked on my door and when I went to open it, I found an overcooked crepe with too much whip cream outside my room.

Was it ... Shadow?

Dear diary #6:

Today, I found Shadow beating up some guys in the city. It wouldn't be a weird sight if it wasn't because those were the exact guys who told me bad stuff at the Resistance a few days ago.

Dear diary #7:

It was my birthday today and I received a beautiful arrangement of flowers. I thought Shadow was smart. The flowers had a tag in which it had the name of a flower shop. I went there and they told me that a black with red stripes hedgehog was the one who sent the flowers.

Does that mean that Shadow ... likes me?

Dear diary #8:

Shadow says he hates me but he looks at me all the time during the meetings. He looks angry whenever I am talking to other male agents. He looks hurt whenever I am with Sonic.

I think ... I think Shadow really likes me.

Dear diary #9:

The more I pay attention to Shadow, the more I find myself intrigued. In battle, he is brave. Although he doesn't show it, he is kind and cares for all agents at the Resistance. He might act cold, but he actually has a really soft personality.

Now, I find myself looking at him the most and our eyes meet more often.

Dear diary #10:

I don't even think Shadow is aware that he likes me. I honestly don't want to be the one breaking it to him. He enjoys teasing me and the attention I give him. And if teasing me makes Shadow happy, then I am happy too. I'll keep up the act just to see Shadow happy.

He makes me happy ... because ... because I really like him.

I like Shadow.

He closed the notebook and put the pen on top of it as he placed it next to him on the couch. An overwhelming amount of feelings overtook him. Shadow knew that Amy wasn't one to lie, especially when it came to a personal diary like this. He tried to think again, but whenever he thought he had come up with a result, he denied it. He was confused and angry but he also had some content in his heart.

He hates how he can't understand his feelings.

He hates how he is incapable of understanding his feelings.

And he hates how Amy Rose is the only one to blame.

And even so, he couldn't bring himself to hate her completely. She was there in his best and his worst moments. In his moments of intimacy, in his moments of rage and his moments of confusion. She was there.

And although he hates her, Shadow had to admit that he loved the way he didn't feel lonely when he was with her.

Shadow was unsure about his feelings but he was confident about one thing ...

He needed to give Amy a present for White Day.

A/N: Happy Belated Valentine's Day! Something short and no related to my other stories, but I hope you enjoy it! The idea came when I used to live in Japan and I had to give tomo-choco to my friends and for White Day, I received gifts or chocolate back lol. Also, I may have another chapter of 'Stages' done by today, so keep looking forward to that, I see you again soon!

#shadamy #shadow and amy #shadowxamy #shadow the hedgehog #shadow x amy #shadow #Amy Rose #amyrose #valentines #sonic fanfiction #sonic fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #amy

87 notes · View notes

clan-sayeed-fic · 5 years

Text

Let me earn your trust (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Previous chapter: 1

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they're the property of Pixelberry Studios as well) Warnings: angst, harassing at work Rating: Mature Author's note: I'm not a native English speaker, I'm sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

I hope that you'll like it, and prepare yourself for the slow burn throughout the story. ~ 1400 words -----------------

Chapter 2

Amy's heart almost dropped when she found herself surrounded by more monsters.

Each one of them was securing the only ways of an escape from the room. They were looking like some ordinary people, security men. Probably that was all that they were for everyone in this room, but Amy knew better. She had this feeling in her stomach.

Remarkably cold feeling.

Waitresses and waiters were told to stand in line while Priya was approaching them individually. Amy was looking forward, her whole body tensed. She could feel fear in the air. No one was acknowledging what they were getting themself into. No one could leave either, some power was holding them all in line, silent.

Amy tucked her hair behind the ear slowly enough to not cause too much attention. Thanks to this gesture, she could hear what Priya was talking to the first waiter. Since Amy was the last one, she would know how to prepare.

"Hi, handsome," Amy could hear Priya's seductive voice, "I am sure that you will serve well my besties sitting near the bar." Her voice suddenly became sharper, "you will obey my commands tonight. You are going to follow me without hesitation and a sign of fear, even if I make you do dangerous and frightening things." She added calmly, "I hope, that we all want my guests to enjoy the event, right?", Amy stiffened up at the sudden change of tone.

Next, Priya moved to the young girl, probably around sixteen, that might have been her first work. The girl was shaking, tears flowing down her cheeks as Priya got closer to her with a smirk. She took away a long, brown-ish, curly hair from her face.

"Come on," Priya said with the obvious objection, "this is not a kindergarten," she laughed loudly, the sound piercing through Amy's mind.

Amy turned her head slightly to see Priya harassing a girl. Her hand moved from the girl's wrist, up to her shoulder. At this point, the waitress was weeping, paralyzed with fear.

Anger was building up in Amy's body. She tried to calm herself by clenching a fist. Amy could already feel a small spark in her eyes, so she shut them quickly and opened again when they came back to normal. Right on time to hear the girl choking and see Priya's hand on her throat.

"Let her go," Amy left the line without much thinking.

Priya's eyebrows raised with surprise. Her gaze traveled over Amy's body, hand still tightened on strangers' throat.

"I almost forgot about you," she licked her lips, adding," probably because of your terrible style," she referred to Amy's outfit, the waitress kept on choking.

"I said, LET HER GO!" Amy was done playing nice. She wasn't even scared of her eyes changing anymore, she had total control over her body.

Her order worked, Priya let go of the girl and told her to run away from the restaurant. She did it without hesitation, sending Amy a small thank you before disappearing outside.

The monster approached Amy immediately, lifting her chin with one hand. Amy tried to step back, but the woman's hold was too strong. She talked in this weird, intoxicating voice again. Amy remembered the emptiness that filled the eyes of the first waiter. She tried to imitate that with her own.

"You are going to be my personal puppet for tonight," Priya's words echoed in Amy's ears, "you will obey my every order with a sweet smile on your face." Amy thought that she stopped, but then Priya added, "and you will flirt with me all night," she smiled. "I can't wait to see grandma's face when she meets you."

After those words, Priya let go of Amy's arm and turned her attention to the rest workers staying in the line.

Great, Amy thought, I'm about to pretend with this crazy woman for the whole night.

Her mind traveled to Lily. Amy considered calling her for a moment, but she gave up this idea quickly. She wouldn't put her best friend in such danger.

Amy had to handle the situation on her own.

And she was ready to do this.

As long as her mind was clear of affection for Priya's compulsion, she had to play this game smart enough to make it out of there alive.

***

Kamilah Sayeed, Adrian Raines, Jax Matsuo, all three were waiting for their host at the same table.

"You can't possibly believe that this is for real some sort of 'please, forgive me' party going on here, right?" Jax looked around the restaurant with his brown eyes unsurely.

Usually, he would have his Katana close, but because of older vampires' orders, he had to leave it behind. That made him feel especially troubled. He scratched his neck near his short, black hair. What he didn't give up was his usual outfit: maroon leather jacket over a black tank top.

"We need to give her a chance," Adrian said, as always hopeful. He wore a new suit which he bought for this event. His black hair perfectly arranged, "Kamilah and I are here for a reason, Jax. We're not naive."

"Like we didn't have nothing more urgent to do with our lives," Kamilah said, sitting with her arms crossed. She was wearing her favorite burgundy suit. Her ancient necklace was shining in the darkness.

After a moment, Priya arrived at their table with a huge smile, looking like she was proud of herself.

"I'm sorry for making you wait," Priya said, pretending to care.

"You invited us here for a reason," Kamilah wanted to get over with this situation.

"Ah, Jax, I'm utterly sorry for harassing one of your Clanless toys," she sent him a wink denying her own words.

Jax sighed loudly about to lose his temper, but he let Adrian spoke out.

"I want to remind you that they're not Clanless anymore. Jax is one of us and a leader of his Clan Matsuo," he knew that Priya was about to argue again.

Kamilah was sitting there quietly, not occupied. Priya was getting ready to defend herself when her waitress appeared, distracting her from the topic.

"Amy, there you are," she said aloud. Amy took a quick look at the people sitting by the table. She could sense evilness in every each of them. Her hands threatened to tremble uncontrollably. Trying not to cause too much attention, Amy smiled lovely at the guests, serving them their drinks.

"Gin for Ms. Sayeed, beer for Mr. Matsuo," she kept smiling, feeling more nervous, her heartbeat sped up, "white wine for Mr. Raines, and red wine for Ms. Lacroix."

She could feel how everyone stared at her, especially the woman in a burgundy suit whose gaze she tried to avoid the most, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

"What is this mortal doing here?" The woman spoke, eyes never leaving Amy's body.

"She is my puppet for tonight," Priya's hand touched Amy's wrist lightly.

Amy tried to follow her lead and took the woman's palm to her mouth, leaving a little kiss on her skin.

"We have rules," Adrian said, clearly uncomfortable.

"I arranged this party to your joy," Priya tried to defend her intentions, "and this girl impressed me by making me lose one of my waitresses."

"Did she?" Kamilah smirked.

For a moment, Amy maintained with her a visual contact. Long enough to drown in her chestnut eyes, she looked so confident, so perfect. Amy lost herself in thoughts, suddenly feeling spark growing in her own eyes. She closed them instantly, regaining control.

"Don't be shy, gorgeous," Priya said, her voice like a knife cutting through Amy's thoughts.

Amy opened her eyes, paying all attention to the host of the event. She got up the effort and smiled as sexy as she could under those circumstances.

"I'm not shy," she started, with her husky voice, "and I wanted all your attention for tonight, that's why I got rid of the teenager."

She wanted them desperately to believe that she was under compulsion. She reached out to Priya's face, wanting to caress her cheek, but then in a split second woman caught her wrist, inflicting unbearable pain. Amy stopped a whine because of discomfort.

"Oh, you're going to be so much fun," Priya said, her eyes slowly becoming red'ish.

Amy saw out of the corner of her eye that both men moved insignificantly, but did nothing. Then, she heard Kamilah, who was still sitting calmly, but her voice showed that she was losing patience for Priya's games.

"Let go of the human, Priya," she sighed with irritation.

"And you, on the other hand, are no fun at all," Priya said, reducing the pressure on Amy's wrist before finally letting the girl go.

She made Amy go to the kitchen while they were discussing some business topics.

Amy breathed a sigh of relief after closing the doors behind her.

But the night wasn't over yet.

Next chapter: 3

#kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #kamilah #bloodbound kamilah #bb kamilah #adrian raines #priya lacroix #jax matsuo #bloodbound #choices bloodbound #bloodbound choices #choices bb #choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #choices fic #slow burn #angst

68 notes · View notes

writtenbyhappynerds · 4 years

Text

Unit 3: Face Claims, Please Stop Using Emily Rudd

Ok. So now lets look at face claims. Face claims are a broader topic to character creation and OCs as a whole. I like face claims. They’re great, because they allow you the writer to get in your head what the main character looks like and how they fit in with the cast and the world. I have nothing against face claims, I use them myself because I like to visualize what I’m working with. However, as we’ve seen in Unit 2, it’s on the writer to convey what the character looks like. As we’ve seen in Unit 1, the character should be cohesive with the rules of the universe. Face claims and characterization can apply the first two units very easily.

Reference images are for your eyes only, so that you can see what the character looks like. When describing a character, pull details from your reference image to explain what they look like. You do not have to be overly specific. Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way is a prime example of being overly specific, given the first paragraph of her fanfiction My Immortal is:

“Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that’s how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don’t know who she is get da hell out of here!). I’m not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I’m in the seventh year (I’m seventeen). I’m a goth (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eyeshadow.”

Never do this. I will find you and we will have a very nice conversation about how to improve your writing. Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way breaks the three big rules of characterization and character description: She drops the face claim directly in the narrative (Amy Lee, lead singer of Evanescence), she describes every characterizing feature about her (vampire teeth, ebony black hair), and she describes her complete outfit. To give a better standard of describing characters, we are going to fix Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.

Young Adult novels very often stick to height, hair color, eye color, and body shape. This is something you as an author should think about, but sticking just to this blueprint can be pretty generic. When you look at other people, those aren’t the only things you notice, right? Those aren’t even things you necessarily need! A big example of going against the grain of the standard is found in The Great Gatsby. Despite having loads of color imagery, we never learn what Daisy’s hair color or eye color is. But somehow, we don’t need them because we are supplemented with, “Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it. Bright eyes and a bright, passionate mouth.” Fitzgerald focuses on how his characters carry themselves and their facial expressions. These give descriptions of their personalities. When he does describe hair color or eye color, he does it in a way that fits with the style and vibe of his writing, and you as a writer can do the same.

In my own personal opinion, eye color does not need to be described immediately. You can save small descriptions of your characters and sprinkle them in throughout the story, rather than dumping an appearance in one paragraph. In one instance you can describe what a character’s wearing, and in another later on, describe their hair as they pull it away from their face. Describe it as it changes from the normal. Jeremy Scott’s The Ables is a great example of character description and characterization. The main character is blind, which means that the cast gets by on contrasting personalities. We don’t know the ethnicity of many of the characters until we’re halfway through the book, and the main character only learns his basic appearance because it’s been described to him by his parents. Things like eye color and hair color and how tall someone is don’t matter as a whole. What matters is how it can be applied and further the story and the personality of the character. A character having curly brown hair? Don’t necessarily need that. A character who takes the time to curl her brown hair every morning? That tells me something about that character. Small moments, and giving descriptors through details can really help you avoid the paragraph dump.

Character Bios are the bane of my existence. Do not put character bios in the beginning of your fanfiction. All you’re doing is giving me a paragraph I’m not going to read. Character bios are lazy writing. It’s low-hanging fruit to mention them as something to not do. There are so many ways to incorporate detail into a story. By putting in a character bio, you tell the reader that you either: don’t know how to incorporate these facts, are too lazy to incorporate these facts, or don’t care enough about what you’re writing to incorporate this information that we must know immediately about your character. In addition, we don’t need to know your character’s favorite color and the music they like on page one, so why do that to yourself? Not caring about your work can ruin a fanfiction. If you don’t care about what you’re putting out there, how can you expect your audience to care enough to read it.

Another important aspect of characterization is show-don’t-tell. Which we’ve all heard, but I’ve rarely seen it used. When used effectively you can draw the reader in, and allow them to use context clues to draw their own conclusions. A good rule of thumb, and the Show Don’t Tell 101 is that you show emotions, and tell feelings. You don’t need to tell me how the floor swayed under someone’s feet and they felt as if they were underwater. You can just say they felt tired that morning. However you can show emotion, and show the full range of anger and pain when someone’s upset to convey properly how that character is feeling. This is something that requires a light touch. It ties in with context clues and foreshadowing. I shouldn’t know from the third line of dialogue of a Shane Dawson fanfiction that the OC has an eating disorder. I shouldn’t know when exactly two characters are going to end up together, or when two characters are going to split apart. It should come as a surprise. An example I can give is a story I have of two spies who fall in love. From the first chapter, it’s obvious to the reader how this world is a game to them, and how they click and exist on that same wavelength. Chemistry can be obvious. Banter can be a fun way to express chemistry. What wasn’t obvious in this story, was that one of the spies would be killed by his own organization. What wasn’t obvious was how this would shape the other spy, who became the main villain of later works. If you make the narrative obvious I want you to then surprise the reader. Because you yourself will get bored. That’s why you see a lot of fanfics get dropped after three chapters- the writer has it all planned out how something will happen, and this plan becomes boring, but they don’t try to change the plot to make it more exciting. Throw in a wrench. Shoot someone. Spice it up my dudes.

We titled this chapter Please Stop Using Emily Rudd because one, we see Emily Rudd, as well as other girls who will be in an imgur album at the end of this chapter, way too often as the main OCs in fanfiction, and two, they represent a saturation and an insecurity in the market of main characters. We as writers don’t need to rely on these girls, and we actually keyhole and limit ourselves when we stick to stereotypical goth/emo girls (ex: Eugenia Cooney, Aly Antorcha, and Taylor Momsen face claims), or pale girl with dark hair and green eyes (Emily Rudd) same thing different descriptor for Nina Dobrev, or that red haired girl with green eyes who I couldn’t find a name for but she’s in almost every Harry Potter and/or Weasley sibling fanfic so you know who I’m talking about.

These girls should not be the standard of OCs. On top of that, not every OC has to be “strikingly beautiful” some of these OCs are like, 11-12 at the start of the fanfic. It’s ok to not describe how pretty they are. On top of that, not all of the world looks “strikingly beautiful” and that shouldn’t be a character descriptor. When one fanfiction I read had the love interest describe the OC as, “nothing to look at,” they contrasted everything else I’d read before because they made the beauty in that character not about what she looked like but her actions and who she was as a person. She became more beautiful as the fanfiction went on because of her personality, and by the end of it, it made sense that the love interest fell in love with her because he loved her as a person, not as an object. That’s what it boils down to. These girls don’t have to be pretty thin models and celebrities to be good face claims. Spending less time on the appearance, and more time on the personality makes for a character more beautiful and more believable than if you used some model. Don’t feed the manic pixie dream girl trend.

Moving on. Your character should not fill a hole or replace a member of the cast. They should bring a new perspective and add, not take conflict from the original work. For example, if you are writing Harry Potter fanfic, the character should not be composed of all the attitude Harry and Ron didn’t get in the movies. If you write Sherlock fanfiction, the character should not be the voice of reason to apologize for Sherlock’s antics while still doing the same things as him. In my own Psycho-Pass fanfiction, my character should not be a manifestation of Shogo Makishima’s soul. All these things do are fill holes in the story without adding to the narrative. If they were removed the story wouldn’t know they’re gone. If you can add conflict or alternative plots to the narrative, making the characters and the cast go through something they didn’t go through otherwise, you make the OC matter more. There used to be a beautiful Harry Potter fanfic that got deleted, where the OC went on full fledged adventures without the cast. She did her own thing, hanging out in the Harry Potter universe. This fanfic worked because the OC was the star of her own narrative. She wasn’t hanging on to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco. They did their thing, and she did hers. It made for a great fanfic that I’m very sad to have seen the end of. Try and give your character something to do that doesn’t involve the cast. Think of it like fanfiction’s version of the Bechdel Test: Can your OC go through a chapter of fanfiction without relying on the cast.

Let’s revisit our darling, dearest, dead, Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Ravenway. Using what we’ve discussed in the previous paragraphs, I am going to attempt to fix the introduction given by our dear Enoby in Chapter One of My Immortal. Pray for me.

By Year 7 at Hogwarts, I had given up on the uniform. I’ve been at this school for too long to keep wearing the same damn thing, and as soon as I’m done I can bow out of button-ups and itchy sweaters. Professor McGonagall had a fit when I walked in last year with purple and red streaks in my hair. I smile as I imagine her face when she sees my miniskirt and corset. I sloughed in front of my mirror, carefully winging out my eyeliner and dabbling my lids with red eyeshadow. I popped on a black lip, blew myself a kiss, and felt stupid for doing so.

McGonagall didn’t even let me make the Great Hall. She marched me back, and forced me to change into the school uniform. I added pink fishnets and combat boots, and rolled my skirt up before heading back down to the Great Hall. My classmates gave me a wide berth. As I walked past a cluster of Slytherins I could hear them whisper.

“Fangy bitch.”

“Say that again?” I said setting my sights on them. “Do you really want to insult me now? I haven’t even had breakfast yet, though I could make an exception.” They scurried off. I flipped them the bird as they went, and carried on downstairs. Remus Lupin was the best thing to ever happen to this school. Yeah, he was a werewolf, but I felt a little less alone. At least there was more than one monster running around here.

Next week we will be discussing names. Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way will make a return, as well as some other names that are uncomfortable and cringy to read. This is your warning now, that in 2 weeks we will have our first exam for Fanfiction 101. I did say in the introduction that there would be an exam, and it’s on its way. We will give you more information next week when we see you to discuss Nameberry.com.

Supplemental Instruction: The aforementioned imgur album of overused face claims and OCs. Think of this like a newly minted banned book list.

https://imgur.com/gallery/SpIGZhF

#ff101 #fanfic #fanfiction101 #writing #fandom #Harry Potter #DC #Marvel #Victorious #Addams Family #Supernatural #Twilight #Sherlock #Original Works #OC #percy jackon and the olympians #Percy Jackson #Avengers #self-insert

25 notes · View notes

mw-draws · 5 years

Note

*prepare yourself*: who is your favorite new who doctor, if you have one? I can't pick between Nine and Thirteen. Twelve is my second favorite

I can never answer this one cause I can't choose either. for me, it's between 11, 12 and 13.

the way 11 is so excitable and happy, but shows so much sadness and age. he's weird and socially awkward, but can make an army run away at the mention of his name. the way he's relived so much pain with the Time War and even then, as I saw someone point out, the Doctor didn't want him to exist. 10 was all like "I don't wanna go" and you can always see that self hatred. Especially with Amy's Choice where his sled hatred is manifested and taunts him for everhthing he does, just, yes.

I love 12 because he's born out of war. 11 had just relived the events of the Time War and then sat and protected a town from war for 300 years and then inevitably ended up fighting in it, so obviously, 12 is gonna be grumpy and old and tired. I loved 12's sense of humour as well, it's so crass and sarcastic, it's incredible. and then on top of all of this, his character development is beautiful. he learns to be kind and even helps the master become a good person and you can see that he really wants to become good friends again. he starts out "against hugging" and he ends with hugging his companions just as they disappear from his grasp and that always makes me sad. I also love his funky space Grandad thing he's got going on.

I love 13 for her complexity. the 13th Doctor is a very complex character. like, it wasn't obvious in series 11, but that complexity is there, you just have to dig a little to see it. she is hopeful and happy, always looking for the most positive outcome. she's a beacon of hope, she dresses in bright colours, cause that's who she is, bright and happy. the rainbows and brightness of her outfit jsut represents the 13th Doctor, bright and hopeful. but there's darkness underneath, a darkness, I think, she tries to outshine. it's a lot more obvious in series 11 that 13 hides a lot from her companions. she never properly confronts the enemy in front of them, always while they're away in another room. she's got that darkness and anger hidden really well. the way she talks down to her enemies, giving them a menacing grin, a look of "don't threaten me, I could do so much damage, you wouldn't ever understand.", she never shows this in front of her companions and I love it. I also adore her hypocrisy. I don't think it's accidental or "bad writing" it's all intentional. 13 is all about the "no guns" but finds a more inhumane and darker way of killing. with the spiders episode, she gets mad at trump 2.0 for shooting the spider, but was planning on letting it suffocate to death in a room where all the oxygen will be used up in hours just because of how many giant spiders were in there. I think shooting the spider is a lot more merciful than letting the spiders just, suffocate. another flat out obvious one is with Tim Shaw. she tells Graham that he'd be no better than Tim Shaw if he kills him, but then proceeds to launch a dalek into a fucking supernova a couple of weeks later. and now series 12 is happening and we are diving even further into her character and its incredible. its amazing just to see how desperate she is to hide her past from her companions to the point where she reluctantly told them the basics. and even five episodes in, she still isn't telling them anything. the hypocrisy and lies are going through the roof, her complete switch from "you still have a chance to change!" to "no. you had your chance to change, but you were too stupid to take it. when you die, there'll be nothing but a trial of blood and other people's brilliance. no one will even know you existed." is fucking incredible. it's becoming obvious that the mask that she's put up is breaking. she still tires to be happy and hopeful, but the cracks in her mask are bigger than ever and a lot is falling out.

okay, holy fuck, I think it's becoming obvious who's my favourite Doctor now. like, I could write about 13 forever because she's that interesting and complex and I love it. I can't help but just fucking write screeds and screeds of waffle about her character. so, I think 13 is my favourite Doctor. but I think you can see a theme here with my top 3 favourite doctor's and that character development and complexity, I can't just write a simple answer about why I love them, I have to write fucking loads just to fully explain why I love them.

#I didn't realise how much I wrote until I went back to read OVE rit and jesus fucking christ #*over it #fuck going back and ching it in the tag

30 notes · View notes

god-save-the-keen · 5 years

Text

At plain sight - P.1

Book: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Amy)

Summary: Amy invites Adrian to a Halloween party and things turn out in a fun and hot night.

Warning: This first part it more relaxed, so none, mostly fluff

Words: 2.042

Note: like I said this is more a introduction of the second part, coming out 10/31! Hope you like it and, as always, English it's not my first language, so don't doubt to tell me if is something wrong o wired here!

Tag list: @blackcatkita @darley1101 @adrianrainesworld @alesana45 @choicesfannatalie @itscassandraleigh @desiree-0816 @mattrodriguezmylife @marycarrillo21

"Come on Adrian! Please?" Amy pouted at him while kneeling in bed beside him. She looked adorable and sexy at the same time with her big brown eyes, her hair falling in her shoulders and chest, wearing only her panties and his shirt, with just only a few buttons on. "It's going to be fun, I promise!"

He loved Amy like he haven't love anything in decades. But going to a Halloween party with her ex classmates of college, was a new whole level of love sacrifice.

"I'm not going to wear a costume"

"You are no fun sometimes" She looked at him reproachfully, thinking for a few moments. "How about as a modern Dracula? It's not far for the reality" she grinned at him.

"You want me to dress like Vlad?" He said trying to maintain his voice even "You like him? His style, I mean"

"Well… I wasn't thinking about him but… Yeah! Maybe we can use him as inspiration! How do you feel about wearing the Eye? And a silk tight shirt? Your chest would look amazing on it!" She said at him, smiling, observing his expression. He frowned and his mouth was a thin line. How could she asked that to him? He not only hated Vlad because his treason working with the Orden but also cause he tried so blatantly to seduce Amy in front of him, he even had the courage to took her to his bedroom, she said nothing happens there and he trusted her, but his blood always boiled at the mention of Vlad. Before he could say something, she started to laugh. "I'm kidding Adrian! I can't believe your reaction! You are so jealous! I love it" She kissed his cheek, still giggling, stand up and started to walk to the bathroom stretching her back a little. "I was thinking something more like your black suit with a few gothic accessories and a black cape. You can use your own red eyes" She winked at him before enter and turn on the shower.

They were waking up in the guest penthouse of Raine's Corporate, after a very long day and even longer night that left them without energy to go anywhere else, when she received the invitation for this party. A Halloween party in some exclusive club in Manhattan… With costume. Since he was turned he found out that Halloween's was exactly the opposite of what it used to be for him, it was hilarious. Mortals have so many wrong concepts about supernatural, they expected vampires wear clothes like 1600, ridiculous hair, sleep in sarcophagus and, the ones he found more amused about, vampire could turn into bats or sparkle at sunlight. Only god knows at this point how much damage had made Twilight to their image. 'And before you ask… No, I don't sparkle'. He chuckled softly at that memory.

He stand up, picked his phone and started to check his mail to found out that the meeting with an important NGO with base in London was delayed again. However, his thoughts returned to Amy and the party, he started to think every occasion she was beside him and decide that one night with her friends wouldn't be so bad. She went out of the bathroom, in her underwear, putting some product to her hair and looking for something.

"Fine. I'll go, but you take care of the costumes" He said, looking at her. Amy didn't say anything, jump into his arms and kiss him.

"Really?" She asked with a wide smile.

"Yes, really." He couldn't content his own smile, holding her raised and near. She always made him happier."And no silk tight shirts"

"Thank you!" She said kissing differents spots of his face. She smelled like jasmine, probably her shampoo or soap, and he loved it. "I promise, no silk tight shirts… for you at least" she said with a playful smile

"I just don't understand why you want to go with me instead go with Lily, surely you would have more fun with her"

"Maybe but you are my boyfriend and I love doing things with you, Adrian. Also, I just want we have a normal date where I can show you off to my friends without anything trying to kills us or turn us in ferals" Still holding her up, he kissed her in the lips slowly. He loved having her like that, on top of him, with her legs in his waist. Vampire super strength definitely worth it just to hold her this close all the time he wanted.

"We have to change, I have the first meeting in 40 minutes." Adrian said with his lips almost touching hers.

"Fair." She said pressing their mouths together. "Any news from London?" Her lips returning to his, continuing the kiss like there was no interruption. Kissing him was one of her favorites things and she always took advantage of it.

"They delayed it"

"What?!" She separated her lips from his. "They delayed it? Again?" He nod "God! It's unbelievable, we are trying to make this meeting since a month ago! I'm going give Marissa a piece of my mind!.. Perhaps, you need to travel and have it personally" She stood there, in silence and serious with an angry expression on her face, tapping her fingers in his shoulder absently, obviously thinking what way take.

"Amy?" He said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Mmh?" She said completely spaced out, looking at him and noticing that she was still on top of him. "Oh! Sorry Adrian! But there's a tiny little problem"

"Which is?"

"I don't want to let you go yet" She said starting to kiss his neck. He chuckled carrying her to the bed, making her laugh when he dropped her softly in the middle of the mattress. His mouth went to her belly and his hands in her hips, playing with the waist of her underwear.

"You are such a teaser" She said caressing his hair.

"And you love it" He said climbing on top of her, kissing her deeply. Amy's phone started to rang in the nightstand. "Ignore it". They keep kissing more harder with her legs snaking around his waist once more. His phone started to rang this time and he sigh softly in her shoulder. With one last kiss he stand up and took it while Amy went to get changed.

Since things had calmed, she was more involved in the company and Adrian started to wondering if maybe she would be a good VP. After Nicole's er... departure and all the employees he losted, Amy seems the best fitting. She was not only capable in business but also knew in detail his another agenda with the Council and the vampire world, or what was left of it. He haven't take the decision or told her yet his plans but every day he was more convinced that it would be a good choice for the company and himself.

She dress up in a very professional and provocative dark red dress tight enough to show all her curves, it was long until her knees with a close neckline but with a long cut in the back that ended half way in her thighs, her make up was simple as always and she finished her look with a high heels.

"What do you think? I don't know if I like it but it was the only one I have here… I didn't want to use the same outfit as yesterday, I know we are officially dating and everybody knows but..." She said looking herself in the mirror, frowning.

"You look so beautiful that I'm wondering how important this first meeting is" Adrian response, kissing her hard.

"Flattered" She said giggling. "Looking sharp, Mr. Raines". Amy said after look at him, with a little mischievous smile. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers and head to the elevator before his determination to assist to that meeting were off.

When they arrive, Amy went to her desk and Adrian continued to his office. After a while Adrian heard her through the door.

"No! You listen to me, Marissa! Mr. Raines was more the patient with this! I don't care what bureaucratic bullshit you handle, this is unexceptable. If we don't make this meeting for the end of the week, you'll have to explain to him why, personally!"

He could hear how angry she was while talking to Marissa and smile to himself. It was nice hear her mad for a simple meeting and no for some more dark reason.

Sha came to his office, with her cheeks still red after the call. "Lunch with me? I need fresh air".

"Okay, but first…" he closed the door and hugged her softly, kissing her forehead and caressing her back. He could feel how her palpitations down to a more normal pace and she sighed in his neck, hugging him by the shoulders. "Better?"

"A lot" she smiled at him. "Thank you" she planted a kiss in his lips.

During lunch, they agreed to go to the guest penthouse at six to get ready for the party, she said he would love the costumes she buy online. He really was hoping it wasn't nothing too much.

His day was long, having lots of meetings with PR and HR about the new candidates, a phone call with the CEO of a huge company of Sydney, some legal stuff, a visit of Kamilah about what way take with the council (he chuckled when Amy said to her 'Trick or treat?' and 'I hate Halloween' was Kamilah's answer) and way too much mails for answer. When he noticed what time was, he was 20 minutes late.

He took the elevator, Amy desk was already empty, and went to the penthouse.

"Amy?... You here?" He walked to the bedroom and saw a note on top of a bag.

'I didn't wanted to disturb you so I already change. Hope you like it, see you in the lobby. Love, A.'

He puts the note in his pocket, smiling, and opened the bag. Of course she would pick up a vampire costume, he thought with a chuckle and shaking his head, his first Halloween party in decades and he was going dressed as vampire. But to be honest, it wasn't bad. She had chosen a black pair of pants, with a leather detail in the sides, a vest and shirt also black with some chains in the front and a pair of silver twins shaped as skulls. She also added a surprisingly good velvet black cape and some plastic teeth. Sweet irony. He took a quick shower, changed and hurried to the lobby.

She was sitting on one stool, checking her phone, with her legs crossed and looking hotter than ever before. She was wearing a black tight leather skirt, short, a simple tight black shirt with enough detached buttons to create a deep neckline, in her neck she had two "holes" like a vampire bite with a little bit of fake blood, her hair in a high ponytail and deep red matte lips. Those beautiful lips. To this point, he never have saw her using red lipstick but he was completely bewitched by them, he would do anything she wants and he was desiring kiss her rough enough to make a mess with it.

He walked through her and a smile appears in her face when she saw him.

"Oh wow! Look at you! So handsome! I love how looks on you! What do you think?" She said standing up and kissing his cheek.

"Honestly, looks pretty great. But Amy, you are… you look... amazing! Incredible!"

"That good, huh?" She said spinning for him while his eyes roam her body with a hungry look that he didn't need to hide since they were alone. "You really like it?"

"I love it." He pushed her against a table behind her and kissed hard with his hands in her hips almost touching her butt. " Although, I like more the real ones" Adrian said nodding to the fake teeths in the table.

She smiled and her fangs descended on her bloody lips while her eyes turned red.

❣️

#choices bloodbound #choices blog #choices adrian #adrian raines x mc #adrian x mc #adrian raines #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #halloween fic #halloween #adrian x amy #at plain sight

66 notes · View notes

irnhero · 4 years

Text

tag game

tagged by @yobucky - thank you!!

1. name 4 fictional characters who showcase your personality the best, with explanations if you want.

tony stark (shocking, i know). i relate to his disaster bi energy, anxiety, particular brand of daddy issues, and desire to do the right thing even though he can’t always definitively figure out what that is

april from parks and rec. she’s weird and pretends to hate everything and that’s what i was like all the time until ~age 17 and still am sometimes now

amy from little women. this one came as a shock cause anyone who knows me would say i’m 100% jo, but i deeply understand and respect amy’s desire to live a comfortable life and her willingness to kind of play the system and the hand she was dealt to get that life for her and her family

geralt from the witcher. he’s so grumpy and gruff but he actually cares so much even though the world/humanity keeps disappointing him (also we’re both in love with yennefer) ((and jaskier, i said what i said))

2. aesthetic

libraries with wooden shelves, thunder storms, cold/temperate weather, pretty day planners, half-full sketchbooks, 10 open docs tabs, weeping willows, long walks in the woods

3. favorite musical/play? (If you’ve never seen a musical or play, one you’d be interested in seeing?)

either hairspray or hamilton

4. what is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

when i do my makeup, i do really sharp, dramatic winged eyeliner and i’m pretty good at it so i get compliments about it almost every time and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside

5. how many times have you been in love?

once

6. embarrassing story or fact about yourself that makes you laugh now?

when i was in middle school, i did my hair in a ponytail with a tiny braid hanging down the side of my face and it looked absolutely ridiculous

7. favorite disney/pixar movie?

yikes that’s a hard one. i really really really liked the live action cinderella, like so much that i watched it 3 times in 2 days once so maybe that

8. favorite flower or plant?

peonies

9. what’s your favorite holiday?

christmas

10. name three things that made you laugh or smile this past week.

someone was inspired by the protests i lead in my hometown to do one of their own and it was awesome

suberbat fanfiction

my mom bought us a bottle of wine to share while we watched netflix (i may or may not have drank basically the whole thing)

11. what song would you play to introduce yourself to someone?

into the unknown from frozen - the panic! at the disco version

12. name something that truly makes you feel peaceful even at your most stressed moments.

there’s this trail by my house and at the end there’s a bench under a willow that overlooks a few miles of farmland. most peaceful place in the world, i could sit there for hours

13. what do you, did you, or would you study at college?

i’m a political science major with minors in english and history

14. this is kind of a weird one, but which outfit of yours makes you feel most like yourself?

jeans/leggings and sweaters

15. what is a quote you live by?

“you don't need to apologize. it's a fucked-up female habit. you don't need to be sorry for anything, ever.” said by blake lively’s character in the movie ‘a simple favor’. it seriously alerted me to how often women and girls apologize for existing and i am determined to end that for myself

16. name the funniest playlist name you have.

*magic ball emoji* Feral Bard Music *magic ball emoji*

alternatively, me and my friends have a new years party every year and we always name the playlist “fuck you [insert ending year]”

17. make a reference to an inside joke you have with someone you love with zero context.

i’m boy, fuck you

18. what is a message you would give your younger self if given the chance?

you don’t have to plan every minute of the next 10 years of your life. all you’re doing is stressing yourself out and not 1 of your plans will stand the test of time anyway. calm. down.

19. who is your favorite family member? (If you have no good blood family members, feel free to mention someone in your found family)

my mom

20. what’s a secret dream of yours?

i want to be wealthy. not ‘10 cars’ wealthy, but ‘nice apartment with a small library plus a secret cottage in the woods’ wealthy

tagging: @phalloutklaine, @natasharxmanov, and @severelytinyeagle

#if yall dont want to do this one i get it its long #but fun!#tag game

5 notes · View notes

sunnytumbies · 5 years

Text

just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)

Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read!

A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that! Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men

The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.

Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.

He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.

The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.

So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.

The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”

“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired.

He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.

Alicia cares, he thinks.

He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders.

“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.

Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.

He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.

“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.”

“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.

Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.

It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.

So what the fuck, you know?

“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.

“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.

Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”

And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.

“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”

Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”

“Cal.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.

Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara:

I figured out his name!!

Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????

Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently.

Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3

Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is.

Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him.

Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?

Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.)

Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))

Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please, making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar.

Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know.

“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool.

“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”

“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.

“I’m...I’m sorry?”

Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”

It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?

Well.

“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”

And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.

“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”

“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”

“In the ignition.”

Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.

Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?

He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.

When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.

“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”

Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”

“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”

“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.

“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.

“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.

Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.

To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”

Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.

“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”

Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really?

Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.

Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all. “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”

“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.” Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird.

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”

Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”

Okay then.

Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.

“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles.

“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!”

Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.”

“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!”

Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?”

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well.

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril.

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it. “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest.

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s texting Zara as he speaks.

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?"

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?"

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

"Wow I hate this conversation."

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard. "Senior, too. Pre-med."

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.

Fuck. God fucking damn it.

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck. All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support.

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once.

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.”

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?”

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?”

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly.

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.

So, fuck.

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.”

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy. He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly.

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally.

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach?

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses.

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm.

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor.

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…"

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?”

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.”

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.”

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing.

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...”

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—”

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned?

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject.

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath.

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom.

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline? Cal thinks about his dad all the time.

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.

And he can't even remember it.

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.

I get it. I get it. I get it.

Yellow's an awfully pretty color.

#timeline #Cal #Zara #Quincy #Amy #okay yeah i forgot to write a bio for zara we'll get to that later #i. did not proofread this #belly rubs #spot the myx shoutout :P

16 notes · View notes

roslinadama-sinequanon · 5 years

Text

Saying Good-Bye to Yesterday-Chapter 11

So, yes it’s been forever and day. I haven’t dropped off the planet or quit writing for Shandy. It just got difficult for a while.

You can find the chapter here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13004092/11/Saying-Good-Bye-to-Yesterday and here https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321687/chapters/53083987 and here

****

"Hey, hon." Andy paused in buttoning his shirt at the greeting, his lips curving into a smile when he took in Sharon's disheveled appearance as she entered their bedroom, fresh from a workout, spandex shorts clinging to her long toned thighs, loose tendrils of hair slipping out of her high ponytail.

"How was the Barre class?" He asked.

"It wasn't Barre. It was Spin." Over the past few months, Amy had convinced her to start taking spin classes with her, adding to her usual regimen of Body Barre, Pilates, and Yoga.

"Well, how was Spin?"

"Ugh." She pulled the sweaty racerback tank over her head. "Jelly legs."

"Gorgeous legs," he corrected.

"Yes, well, that takes work, darling." Though she ate healthily, for the most part, was supple, naturally active, and thanks to genetics and a great metabolism, didn't have to fight hard to maintain her slender figure, she exercised to keep toned and fit. In addition to the classes she attended when her schedule allowed, she swam laps almost every day, did some light weights at the PD gym, and also got out to Malibu to a riding stable as often as she could. When she first mentioned her horseback riding to Andy as a full-body workout, he gave her a typical Andy quip, "for the horse, right? " She'd ignored the comment until she could prove her point. One afternoon she'd taken him on what he referred to as a "ball crushing" ride, and he'd sheepishly eaten his words. Later still, when they'd become intimate and he'd felt those "thighs of steel" around his waist, he'd come to an even greater appreciation of that "full-body" exercise.

"Well, I'm pretty gross right now, so I'm going to hop in the shower." She pulled off her sports bra and wiped at the sweat under her breasts before dropping it in the hamper and disappearing into the bathroom. When she emerged 15 minutes later, she had one towel wrapped around her torso, the other turban-style around her head.

"Don't forget, I have book club tonight," she said.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hit a meeting."

She glanced up sharply from her dresser, a pair of rose-colored panties dangling from her fingertips. "Everything okay?"

Though her tone remained neutral, Andy picked up the tiny inflection of worry. It wasn't his usual meeting night. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assured her. "I had to skip last week because of our case, and I haven't gotten the chance to talk to Isaac."

"About us?"

"Yes."

Once in her fresh panties, Sharon shimmied on a pair of black leggings that she paired with a long, slouchy v-neck cashmere sweater in a soft shade of blush. To finish off the casual outfit, she slipped on a pair of two-tone quilted Chanel ballet flats, big silver hoop earrings, and a silver cuff bracelet. Andy continued to watch her dress. Watching her shed her professional persona for her personal one was kind of a ritual for him. At work, she was all fitted, classic, sleek lines. Understated and sophisticated. At home, her wardrobe was softer and a little more eclectic. Even her jewelry was different. At work, simple diamond studs in her ears and her watch, no bracelets, no necklaces, no dangling earrings. At home, she often wore pretty bracelets, hoops or dangling earrings, and a variety of necklaces, including the crucifix she never wore to work. Separation of church and state and all. He asked her once why she stopped wearing necklaces when she took over Major Crimes. After expressing surprise that he had actually noticed that, she told him that Brenda had warned her that wearing a necklace when interviewing suspects was dangerous because they could use it to try to strangle her. Given the violent animosity their former Chief seemed to bring out in suspects, he figured she was speaking from experience. Probably a good idea that he wore his sobriety necklace tucked in under his shirt. He was pretty sure there were hundreds of suspects over the years who would have loved nothing more than to strangle him.

A half-hour later, with her hair blown dry and her make up re-applied, Sharon came out of the bedroom to see Andy slipping on his jean jacket as he prepared to head out. Rusty was sitting on the couch on his laptop.

"You boys are on your own for supper tonight," she reminded the two.

"Okay. " Rusty glanced up. "What do you want to do, Andy?"

"I have a meeting, so I thought I could pick something up for us on my way home. Want a pizza from Palermo's?"

"Just make sure my half isn't loaded down with veggies."

Andy rolled his eyes. "No veggies. Got it."

Sharon smiled and started to reach for the Trader Joes bag she'd left on the table.

"I've got that, babe." Andy took the heavy bag and followed her out the door. Not so long ago, she might have bristled at the move and argued that she could carry the bag herself, but Andy knew that. It was simply a gentlemanly act of kindness, and she no longer looked for any sort of underlying misogynistic meaning to his kind gestures.

******

The strong smell of flowers hit Sharon just outside the storefront, and she glanced up at the pretty awning hanging over the doorway. "Lotions and Potions," her friend Summer's bath and body shop in Mar Vista. She opened the door, and the floral and spicy scents grew more pronounced. Taking a few steps in, she scanned the room, looking past the displays of soaps, bath salts, body creams, and lotions to see Summer with a customer over in the incense and essential oil section. The little bell that jangled at her entry drew Summer's attention, and when she glanced over and saw who it was, she gave Sharon a smile and a hand gesture indicating that she would be with her in a minute. Sharon nodded and began browsing, lifting and examining the vintage apothecary jars Summer used to carry her product. The old-fashioned jars and antique-looking sepia labels with their intricate designs and calligraphy lettering harkened back to another era as if she was stepping back in time.

Several years ago, this had been a New Age jewelry and clothing store where Summer worked as a clerk. Summer fit right in with today's millenials, often flitting from job to job, but for as long as Sharon had known her, she grew herbs and made homemade soaps and lotions in her house, selling her creations on the weekends at craft fairs and farmer's markets. Then Anabel, the storeowner, allowed her to put a few samples out for sale at the store, and they were a big hit. Soon she had a whole product line for sale. When Anabel decided to sell the store, the first person she approached was Summer, which had taken Summer completely by surprise. She was an artist, after all, not a businesswoman. I mean sure, she practically managed the store, but what did she know about running a business? At least that's what she said to Sharon when they were talking out the pros and cons. It was a moot point, anyway. Summer didn't have the kind of money needed to start a business.

But Sharon did. When her grandparents died, she was bequeathed quite a large inheritance. Some of the money was in a trust, but she had more than enough to lend Summer for the start-up costs. Summer hadn't seen it that way. It had been a battle royal for Sharon to get her best friend to agree to the loan. The very idea of it terrified Summer. What if she didn't succeed? What if she couldn't pay Sharon back? Sharon had gone through hell digging out of the mess Jack created for her financially, and she didn't want to see her have to deal with anything like that again. And most of all, she didn't want the money coming between them. Their friendship was too important. But Sharon prevailed. They worked it all out, with Sharon as an investor, and then they worked together to make Summer's vision become a reality.

The quirky little store was a reflection of its quirky little owner, and it was a hit. Situated only a few miles from both Venice Beach and Santa Monica, it drew in both the unconventional crowd and the well-to-do. Summer paid Sharon back several years ago, but Sharon still took pride in all that she had helped her friend accomplish here.

Grabbing a bottle of her favorite vanilla/jasmine body cream, Sharon glanced back around to see that Summer was still engrossed in conversation with her customer, her light brown curls bouncing on her shoulders with every enthusiastic nod of her head. Rather than stand around waiting, she decided to make her way to Summer's office in the back of the store. She pushed aside the beads that hung in the doorway, in lieu of an actual door, giving a loud sigh at the chaos. As usual, Summer's desk was filled with clutter: folders, papers, coffee mugs, and a bunch of opened boxes. No way could she ever work surrounded by such a mess. In fact, she could already feel the prickles of anxiety at the very idea. She started to move things around to make a spot to set her bag down when an item in one of the boxes caught her eye. Reaching in, she pulled it out, eyes widening with both surprise and curiosity.

"Find anything you like?"

Sharon jumped, nearly dropping the glass object. "Dammit, Summer! "

Summer's wide grin grew even wider. "Gotcha. Either you're losing your cop instincts, or that object holds more than a little interest for you."

"What is it?"

"If I have to tell you, Andy has a real problem."

Sharon flushed. "I know what it is; I just mean why do you have boxes of this stuff?"

"That stuff, as you call it, is luxury personal care products. "

One elegant brow rose skeptically. "Luxury? They're…"

"Glass dildos."

"And again, you have boxes of these, why?"

"I had a distributor come in for a meeting today. She wants me to try selling her line here."

"You're going to sell sex toys? Here? At Lotions and Potions?" Sharon looked so appalled that Summer had to giggle.

"No, I am possibly going to sell luxury personal care items. I told her I would think about it. It's a big and pretty lucrative business right now. Look at them, Sharon, they're works of art."

Sharon looked again at the item in her hand, eyeing it critically. Blown glass with swirls of color, graceful lines. She had to admit, it really did look like a piece of art.

"Much more attractive than the real thing. Am I right?"

Sharon gave a little snort-laugh. "Oh my God, you're right. It is. Though we better not let the guys hear us say that."

"God, no. Men do love their penises, don't they?"

"Mmm…" Sharon hummed affirmatively.

"Almost as much as they love our boobs."

Sharon shook her head with amused affection and another little snort-laugh. She never quite knew what was going to come out of Summer's mouth. In that respect, and in so many more, they were as different as night and day. Oil and water. Chalk and cheese.

Summer was as outgoing and irreverent as Sharon was private and respectful. As unconventional and flighty as Sharon was traditional and responsible. As loud and boisterous, as Sharon was soft-spoken and reserved.

Summer was thrift store boho gauzy tops, flowing skirts, Birkenstocks, and arms covered in bangle bracelets. Sharon was Neiman Marcus pencil skirts, Armani suits, killer heels, and diamond earrings. Summer lifted her arms in worship to the winter solstice while Sharon knelt in reverent prayer at midnight mass. Summer was homeschooling and a childhood spent on a commune. Sharon was private Catholic schools and summers on Nantucket. Summer was Stevie Nicks to Sharon's Grace Kelly.

And yet, they clicked. For 26 years, they had been best friends. From the day that Sharon and Jack moved into their new home in Mar Vista and a bossy little child knocked on their door stating, "I'm five. Do you have any little girls my age I can play with?" With baby Ricky on her hip, Sharon smiled at the little ragamuffin with Popsicle lips and a mop of brown curls and then introduced her to a bashful four-year-old Emily. Within seconds, a harried woman in a tank top and an Indian wrap skirt straight out of the 1970s followed. Since she shared the same wild head of curls with the little moppet now dragging Emily along by the hand, Sharon assumed she was her mother. Indeed, the woman said she was looking for her daughter and, like Sharon, she too had a diapered little boy resting against her shoulder. Sharon introduced herself then invited the gypsy looking woman in for a cup of coffee. It was the beginning of three very important friendships: Sharon and Summer, Emily and Jade, and Ricky and Cody.

Despite their differences in background, personality, and temperament, the two young women easily found common ground. Their kids were the same age, they both loved the arts, and they were both in difficult marriages. Their bond was quick and strong. They spent their days off from work building sandcastles with their kids at the beach, pushing swings at the park, or attending children's reading circles at the library. They babysat for each other, swapped books, and on those rare occasions when they had time for themselves, browsed through art galleries, bookstores, and museums together. Most importantly, since neither had extended family in Los Angeles, they created a much-needed support system for each other. And that was something that became increasingly important, because, within a few years, they were both on their own. Single parents.

Summer came across as flaky, but she was everything Sharon needed in a friend: supportive, warm, honest, and a strong shoulder to cry on-one of a very select group of people whom Sharon allowed to see her vulnerability. They had journeyed together through all the difficulties and heartaches life threw at them, helping each other raise their children, bucking each other up when things seemed bleak, and sharing in each other's joy as they each found success in their professions and new love. From breast-feeding to hot flashes, they had seen each other through it all.

"So, " Summer continued. "Go ahead and take whatever you like. I know you're not a prude. Try one out and let me know what you think."

"I'm good." Sharon placed the item back in the box with a little quirk of her lips. "I've got the real thing now."

"Yeah, well what about these? Could be fun." Summer dangled a pair of handcuffs.

"Again, I've got the real thing."

"Pfff… Those things would hurt. These are love cuffs. Nice and soft. See." Sharon admired the plush cuffs Summer thrust in her face, faux fur with little tiny bows, definitely not standard LAPD gear, but shook her head negatively. "I'm all set." She glanced down at her watch. "Come on, Sum. We really have to get going or we're going to be late."

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to be late."

Sharon rolled her eyes, ignoring the sarcasm. Fate had surrounded her with smart asses. "No, we wouldn't. So, let's go."

"Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a wad. Just promise me you'll think about it."

Sharon blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, I'll think about it, now let's go."

*****

Sitting in the back corner of the bookstore, Sharon found herself center stage, surrounded by a group of women gushing with excitement over the diamond on her finger, grabbing her hand to look at it and pumping her for all the details of the proposal.

"It's so beautiful, Sharon. " Aggie's eyes went dreamy, her hands in a prayer triangle under her chin, lost in the fairytale of Sharon's proposal. "And how romantic. I can just picture it…A winter wonderland. A romantic sleigh ride through the woods and Andy down on one knee professing his undying love for you-" She broke off, swiftly coming back to reality when everyone burst into laughter. "What?" She defended herself. "I love romance."

"As if we didn't know," Marina scoffed. Whenever it was Aggie's turn to pick their monthly book, it was invariably a romance of some sort.

"Hey, I thought Russians were supposed to have romantic souls." Aggie's protest was made in the soft New Orleans drawl she hadn't lost despite having lived in LA for the past 20 years.

"I had one of those…Four husbands ago." Marina, a ballerina, had defected to the United States in the late seventies and had later opened a ballet studio in LA after retiring from the stage. Sharon met her when she signed Emily up for lessons at her studio after her young daughter had become more serious about studying dance and outgrown her instructor. It was Marina who had seen the talent and drive in Emily and helped her become the principal ballerina she was today. Marina was also cynical and pragmatic and went through men, mostly younger men, the way Andy used to go through younger women.

"Don't listen to her," Sharon said. "You're right, Aggie, Andy couldn't have picked a more romantic way to propose. Hard to believe I found a man whose sense of occasion can actually rival mine. It's certainly a night I will never forget."

"I still can't believe Andy took Gavin to help pick out your ring and not me," Summer sulked. The room went silent, all the women turning to her with wide eyes before erupting in giggles. "What?" She held her hand's open palms up and shrugged in a "what the hell" gesture.

Rachel, a pretty blonde, responded. "Come on, Sum, when it comes to style, there is nobody, other than maybe Roz here, who is more opposite from Sharon than you."

"I'd take exception to that if it weren't 100% true," was Roz's good-natured response. A writer for a comedy sitcom, Roz was notoriously sloppy in her dress, preferring the sweatpants, t-shirts and Converse sneakers she was wearing right now to any other attire. When she was forced to wear something nice, she chose boxy male suits and would never be caught dead in a "girlie" skirt or dress.

"I don't think we're that opposite." Summer's protest drew more peals of laughter.

"Summer…" Rachel lifted her friend's skirt, smirking when she exposed plastic clogs. "You are wearing Crocs. Need I say more?"

"There's nothing wrong with Crocs. They're comfortable." Summer pushed her skirt back over her shoes.

"No offense, I love you to pieces, but they're fugly and Sharon wouldn't be caught dead out in public in them." With her sleek dark blonde bob and stylish clothes, Rachel Garner had far more in common when shopping with Sharon than Summer. Like Andrea, Rachel was a lawyer, now an advisor to Mayor Garcetti. She and Sharon had become friends back when Sharon was promoted to the LAPD's Women's Coordinator position and they had worked together on numerous cases.

"What I don't understand is why you want to get married in the first place. I mean you just got out of a bad marriage, why jump right back in?" The room went silent, this time with tension, not humor. Roz sat back, arms crossed over her chest, seemingly unconcerned by the group's collective disapproval.

"What the hell are you talking about?" It was Summer who quickly jumped to Sharon's defense. "Just out of a bad marriage? She's been done with that ungrateful, immature, disloyal prick for 23 freaking years! Just because she only formally divorced him a couple of years ago doesn't mean-"

"Summer," Sharon tugged on her friend's arm. "It's okay, calm down."

"It's not okay; she has no right to say that. You," she pointed a finger at Roz, "have no idea what she went through. You've known her for what? Four years? You have no right to question her choices. And just because you hate men doesn't mean she has to feel the same."

"Okay, okay, whoa. I didn't mean to start World War III." Roz held her hands up in defeat. "And for the record, I don't hate men. Well, all men anyway. I'm just saying, she doesn't need a man…a husband."

"Roz is right." Sharon agreed, taking a sip of her wine.

"What?" Summer turned to her with confusion.

"She's right. I don't need a man. But I can want one without needing him. And you know what? That makes this the purest relationship I have ever been in, ever. I don't need Andy's money, I don't need his security, I don't need his protection, I don't need him to provide shelter for me, I'm not looking for a father for my children. I am with Andy for one reason only. I love him. It's as easy and as simple as that. I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And yes, I want the formal commitment of marriage. I know I don't need it, but I want it. And that's my choice." She tapped her fingers on her chest, stressing the point. "I am at a place in my life right now where I can do what I want to do, not what I need to do, and you have no idea how much freedom there is in that for me."

"And we're thrilled for you." Summer's narrowed eyes shot daggers at Roz, causing Sharon to suppress a smile. Summer was about as laid back a person as she knew, however, one thing they did have in common was that you didn't mess with the people they love.

"Yes, we are." Patrice set a gentle hand on Sharon's knee. "Andy is a great guy, and he loves you to the moon and back." As Andy's caregiver while he was recovering from his surgery, Patrice had gotten to know the man and the way he felt about Sharon better than any of them.

Andrea nodded in agreement. "You all know how I feel about marriage, but hell, if I had a guy who looked at me the way Flynn looks at Sharon, who knows?"

Aggie, who had gone off to pilfer through the shelves, returned and flopped down in an oversized chair. She opened the small book she'd been looking for and began reading. "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

"That's C.S Lewis, isn't it? " Sharon recognized the passage from having read a lot of Lewis's work.

Aggie nodded. "From The Four Loves."

"Well, he sums it up rather nicely, doesn't he? " Sharon poured a little more wine in her glass, then sat back. "Loving someone is a risk, no doubt about it, but I will always believe that it is a risk worth taking." She was well aware of how easy it would have been to encase her heart in one of those caskets after Jack, to allow herself to become unreachable. But that just wasn't in her DNA. Barriers, yes, she had certainly erected some of those, but closed off completely? No. She simply had too much love inside her to shut down like that. She knew people often thought she was cold, aloof, unemotional. They never knew it was all a façade, a shield meant to hide the fact that she actually felt things very deeply. She'd had to learn how to contain those emotions, to hide her feelings, but they were there, they were always there. And, had she entombed her heart, she never would have been able to let Rusty in, nor been able to embrace the man who had become the love of her life. Vulnerable? Yes, love made you vulnerable, but the rewards far outweighed any risk.

"I agree, we all need to remain open to love. Now, who's hungry?" Helen, the owner of the bookstore, set to restore order to their opinionated little group. "We'll eat, then dive into the book."

Sharon shot the older woman a grateful look. They might all be friends, but she had never really been comfortable with people dissecting her life.

The food was potluck. Each member of the club took a turn hosting the meeting, but it was always potluck so no one was stuck having to feed the whole group. At the end of each meeting, they drew out of a hat to see if they would be bringing the beverages, an appetizer, or an entrée to the next meeting. Though it wasn't a rule, they often tried to base whatever food they brought on the setting of their book. The only part of the meal they did not draw for was dessert. Mary Agnes Boudreaux McCormack, Aggie, always brought dessert. Twenty years ago, Aggie had moved to Los Angeles after Craig McCormack walked into her bakery in New Orleans and swept the 37-year-old widow off her feet, taking her home with him to California. Aggie opened a pretty little bed and breakfast near Venice Beach and brought with her the French and Creole delicacies of her former home, including the to-die-for beignets she brought to each meeting, regardless of the setting. No one was willing to forgo those beignets.

This month's book was set in Mexico, so there were cheesy nachos with garlic guacamole, sweet potato and black bean taquitos, a creamy taco soup, Mexican chicken and rice, and fish tacos. Sharon had drawn beverages at their last meeting, so, along with a case of seltzer water, she'd brought a few bottles of a Baja Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend along with the makings for Mojitos.

"And these," she drew out two large bottles of champagne. "Because we can't celebrate 10 years without a little bubbly. I still can't believe we've been doing this for 10 years." She poured the champagne and passed the glasses around to the ten incredible women sprawled over the sitting area. Ranging in age from their late forties to early sixties, with most in their fifties like Sharon, black, white, and mixed heritage, native Californians and transplants, gay and straight, single and married, they were a diverse group who had come together to bond over a shared love of books. And somewhere along the way, they had become friends. Friends that had seen each other through infidelity, divorce, infertility, empty nests, cancer, adoptions, menopause, job losses, promotions, and new loves gained and lost.

The book club had come about rather organically not long after Helen and her business partner, Jenny, opened "The Book Nook", a combination bookstore/café a little over 10 years ago. Helen's husband, Christopher, had accepted the position of visiting professor at USC, and the British couple fell in love with the climate and laid back lifestyle of Southern California. So, when a permanent position became available, they decided to leave the gray skies and rain of England behind and settle in the land of sunshine and surfers. At the time, Jenny was a stay at home mom whose marriage had fallen apart after her battle with breast cancer. Divorced, her children in college, and cancer-free, she was ready to embrace a new life when Helen became a patron of the coffeehouse where she was working as a barista. Soon they were discussing a joint venture. A few years later, their bookstore/cafe became reality, and Sharon, Summer, and Rachel became some of their first customers. Recommendations of authors and long chats over coffee regarding the books they read or were interested in reading had Jenny suggesting the idea of starting a book club.

For Sharon, it was perfect timing. Ricky had just gone off to Stanford, and with Emily across the country at NYU, she was reeling from the effects of her empty nest. For 21 years, her life had revolved around her children and their needs, car-pooling, cooking, laundry, helping with homework, getting them to practices, cheering them on at games and recitals, and most recently visiting college campuses in preparation for their futures. And then suddenly they were just…gone. The house was too quiet, too empty, too filled with memories. And, with her children gone, the fact that she did not have a love life only became more pronounced, her bed suddenly emptier, colder to the touch. And it didn't help that she was starting to feel like she was in a rut at the PSB. Melancholy enveloped her in its insidious web, eating away at her, telling her that her best days were now in the past.

Later, she would find that she actually enjoyed the peace and solitude of being on her own, the freedom of not having to organize anyone but herself. But in the beginning, the loneliness was crushing. Both Rachel and Summer commiserated with her because they were going through the same thing. It was Marina who encouraged her to use that time to focus on herself and do some of the things she'd wanted to do but hadn't had time for in the past.

For many years, Sharon had helped out a few nights a month at St. Joseph's soup kitchen, bringing Emily and Ricky along with her, which was how she'd gotten to know Aggie. Now, she began volunteering at the church's domestic violence shelter, counseling the women on their rights, teaching them how to defend themselves, and helping them to find jobs. She coached them through the interview process and helped them select outfits from donated clothes-including her own-that would help them look professional. Eventually, she ended up on the board of directors. She also became the LAPD's liaison with "The Sunshine Kids Foundation" helping kids with cancer, worked with Rachel to raise money for "Emily's List", sold her house and bought the condo, and then she joined the book club.

It was the perfect hobby and helped her to expand her group of friends. Other than Gavin, Summer, and Rachel, she didn't really have any close friends, confidantes. It wasn't that she was anti-social, she had many friendly acquaintances: Marina, Aggie, a few women and men at work. But, the truth was, she had never had the time to cultivate deep friendships. As a single mom, she was usually either working or taking care of her kids. And where most people made friends on the job, her work within the PSB made that impossible. Barriers were essential in her position, and that had not been easy, especially in the beginning. Even though she'd always been a bit reserved, she was not a naturally unfriendly person, so having to close off that side of her had taken time and effort. But she'd become good at it. Maybe too good. Once her walls were built, it was hard to let people back in.

The book club started out small, and though it had not been intentional, they were all women: Helen, Sharon, Summer, Rachel, Jenny, Marina, and Aggie. Roz, Patrice, and Andrea were later additions. Once the only women thing was established, they decided to keep it that way, which pleased Sharon. She was surrounded by men all day long, worked in a profession dominated by men, and she didn't have a problem with that. For the most part, she liked working with men, liked their direct ways, and had always felt that the best teams had a combination of women and men. On the other hand, it was nice to spend time with her women friends and immerse herself in the female perspective. It was also easier to be herself and let her hair down without the male/female dynamic, without feeling like she had to prove that she was tough enough, strong enough, smart enough, the way she did at work, every… single… day. Around these women, she could express her emotions, and frankly, her sexuality, without being embarrassed or viewed as weak.

"To ten years!" Helen raised her glass of champagne.

"To ten years!" The group chorused.

TBC

#shandy #sharon raydor #andy flynn #Major Crimes #shandy fanfic

22 notes · View notes

ffamranxii · 5 years

Text

I draw a manga/write a light novel series based on that manga, which is essentially an amalgamation of my favorite series and giving some of my favorite characters, who I feel were shafted in their source material, a better ending. That series is called C’est la Vie 5, because it originally featured five fandoms that I LOVED enough to have created an original character for.

Now, like many people, I’ve created a fuckton of OCs for a fuckton of series. However, unlike, say, Dragonball Z and Pokemon (RIP to Son Mei and Cissy the Eevee breeder), I still use these characters. I am still active in these fandoms. Some of these characters are nearly as old as I am. Some have gone through so many iterations that they’re nearly unrecognizable from their original forms (looking at you, Haruhi, Suzuka, and Kinoko). But they have ALWAYS been there.

C5 the way it is now started as a fun little project in college to help me memorize my Japanese vocabularly. It was a series of one shot or 4koma doodles in the margins of my notebooks, featuring PGSM+Hina. Then the doodles got mutated. I replaced Makoto with an original character named Sun Hwa, who then was replaced with Ayumi Yamada from Honey and Clover. I added in Hagumi Hanamoto from H&C too. Ami was renamed Moeco, and her appearance changed. I ended up splitting Ami in two, because I loved her Dark Mercury arc so much, and ended up with Moeco and Akumi. I added Mio Kuroki but called her Arisa Kuroki, because my Usagi at the time was called Mio. I added Mikasa from Attack on Titan. Misa Amane (named Erika after her actress in the live action). And it spiraled from there. C5 went through a TON of iterations as well over the past ten years. There was a character called Haruhi, but she was from the Haruhi Suzumiya series.

Now it’s pretty ironed out. The cast is so big I’ve split the series into a set of volumes into one big volume, so it doesn’t become Naruto. Each volume has a set of plots, two of which are contained within that volume. It’s pretty easy and I like it.

HINA is a mishmash of three fandoms (two if you count PGSM and Sailor Moon as one fandom). I fell in love with Boys Over Flowers (the Korean version) after discovering the live action Sailor Moon, and had a complete fit the entire time that Jandi chose Junpyo. (WHY, Jandi. WHY. Jihoo was BETTER for you. BETTER!) I had a Korean friend in my Japanese class, and it was at this period that my Makoto doodle was replaced with Sun Hwa (another Korean) and that Hina Kusaka (who is exclusive to PGSM, and whose name I stole for my OC) became Hina Ku (after the actress who played Jandi, not Goo Junpyo). Hina and Sun Hwa had small side conversations in Korean that my friend taught me, while the group as a whole reinforced my Japanese lessons. C5 has plenty of Boys Over Flowers characters (a mix of the Korean, 2019 Chinese, and Japanese versions), but I never made an OC for the series. Hina filled both roles. In PGSM and Sailor Moon I kept her name as Kusaka, but in C5 it’s Ku, and she is a zainichi - Korean-descended. Hina also plays a different role depending on which series I’m using her in. In PGSM, I used her as Sailor Sun. Sailor Sun has been a character I’ve had since I was five years old. She’s changed style and looks considerably over the years, but she’s always been there. In every other iteration of Sailor Moon, I prefer the theory that Naru and Unazuki are Sailors Earth and Sun, and Hina is one of Usagi’s many friends. In the pre-C5 era, she, Usagi, and Erika were part of the 3 Bakas, for their bad grades.

AKIHO is my newest OC and holy shiiiiit I have cleaved to the Persona series hardcore. Rather than create a new OC for each entry in the series (though I may change my mind when Person 6 comes out), Akiho’s look, style, and role in the story changes (I reconcile this to be something akin to Clara Oswald in Doctor Who). In P5, which she was created for, she’s a Phantom Thief. The idea came to me when I learned there has never been a playable character of the Temperance arcana, Hifumi was supposed to be a PT, and the general consensus that Mishima and Shiho should have been PTs. Akiho has been through several iterations herself but her general look is based on Tae Takemi from @scruffyturtles ‘s Adult Confidant AU. Her personality seems very calm and serene, but she is a secret metal head and a huge fan of Eikichi Mishina’s band Gas Chamber. Her PT mask is based off a butterfly. Her role in C5 is a shrine maiden, where she gets along with Rei (Sailor Moon), is the sister of Akira Kurusu (who is a separate person from Ren Amamiya), and the daughter of a pair of mobsters.

KINOKO is my second oldest OC, having been around since I was twelve. Her original name was Cherry (like every other Tokyo Mew Mew OC) and her original animal is lost to the sands of time. Luckily, my favorite animal is a red data animal, so she can be fused with that now! Kinoko has been through so many iterations it isn’t funny. In the TMM world, her hair is an auburn, a dark brown with red undertones, mimicking how some mushrooms (where her name comes from) appear. (It’s a callback to her original name). Her Mew outfit has also changed considerably and I still haven’t settled on it completely. The Mew Mews are not a unit in C5. Zakuro is a model with Ann and dating Minto, Ringo (LOVE Ringo) is a middle schooler who hangs out at an arcade and is best friends with Bu-Ling, Ichigo is a waitress with Berii, Retasu works with Ryou. And Kinoko works at a karaoke bar, chasing troublemakers like Bu-Ling out. She also interacts with the new Au Lait boys.

SUZUKA is also an old OC, her name having originally been Meiling. She’s from Fushigi Yuugi, which I was obsessed with as a child. She’s nearly as old as Kinoko - I was introduced to the series at around the same time. Suzuka’s original role as Meiling was Miaka’s attendant and general Mary Sue, and she was one of my first attempts at exploring fanfiction (along with Kagami the cat demon and Teiten the Thunder Sister from Inuyashs, RIP), because I couldn’t decide which of the original Suzaku warriors I loved most. Everyone had such a wonderfully tragic, lovely backstory, and I needed to give them all blankets and hugs, and Miaka was just a dumbass, okay? (I think I settled on Tasuki. Love me some Tasuki.) Anyway. Suzuka eventually morphed into the Priestess of Kouryuu once I learned that Fushigi Yuugi was based on real Chinese legends, and one legend sometimes included Koryuu, the Yellow Dragon of the Center. (Fun fact: There’s a video game that explores this option, but in it, Kouryuu, is treated as a false god.) In my OC world, Kouryuu is the Great Unifier, only able to be summoned once the first four priestesses have summoned Suzaku, Seiryuu, Byakko, and Genbu, and it is he that will stop the war that threatens the four countries of the Book of the Universe of the Four Gods. In C5, Suzuka works at a bookstore owned by Hifumi Togo that specializes in rare books.

HARUHI is the last old OC, but she’s also new? Haruhi was, for the longest time, existant in a stage of limbo. Fruits Basket was introduced to me as a teenager, when I was about thirteen or fourteen, and I didn’t quiiiite embrace the message, behind it. I couldn’t get past the art style (I was very picky about what I visually consumed back then), I couldn’t get into the anime for the same reason, and I couldn’t quite get past the whole “it’s called Fruits Basket wtf and also they turn into animals? And it’s not a magical girl anime? What in the actual fuck?” But like many things I of course loved the characters, I adored my baby Kyo, and I of course made an OC specifically for him, because I back then did not ship Kyoru (sacriligious, I know). I don’t even remember what Haruhi’s original name was. I just decided that she was a Sohma and the rooster, because the curse of the original rooster was broken, and broke a long time ago, so it was entirely possible for Kyo to have a love interest who was a Sohma and the rooster who was around his age (in my teenage mind). That old Sohma OC, is of course, RIP. I can’t even. And recently, I discovered Fruits Basket Another, and I somewhat resurrected that OC in the form of Haruhi, but as the child of the OG cast. Sawa needs more friends, more protectors, and there’s no tsundere besides Hajime. It always bothered me that Kagura never got any canon love interest or story wrap up after she let go of Kyo, and then in Another she doesn’t have children. :( I love Kagura, so Haruhi is hers! I’m also sad that no one in Another dresses in kimonos when so many in Furuba did (Ritsu, Akito, Shigure, Kazuma, Kunimitsu), so Haruhi dresses in them when she isn’t in school.

KEIKO is special. Not only is she the newest, but she is also the only character exclusive to C5. While the other characters in C5 are based on characters from other fandoms and have their personalities and such shaped by the new series, Keiko is entirely unique. Her name is a combination of the two things that birthed the series: Sailor Moon and Persona 5. Keiko is for Keiko Kitagawa, the actress who played Sailor Mars in PGSM; and Makigami is for Kazuya Makigami, a major character in Persona 5 the Daybreakers. Kazuya is also Keiko’s brother in C5 and he is... not a great person lol. Neither is Keiko. Her appearance is based on how I wear my hair irl and the clothing of Jim Hawking from Outlaw Star, my favorite anime of all time. (I sadly never made an OC for that series. I tried but I am not good at space opera.)

None of the OCs ever cross paths in C5. It would create a temporal paradox and probably result in one of them fainting or dying lol. Since they’re all essentially the same person. Fun fact: I, Ffamran (known in-universe as Bideru the author) also occasionally make cameos, and I also cannot cross paths with the OCs. Luckily Tokyo, where C5 is set, is a very big place.

If you stuck with me through this very long post about OCs, thank you! I just really wanted to go off about them since I’ve been in a writing mood and I’m on volume 2 of C’est la Vie 5 now.

#original characters #bideru #c'est la vie 5 #c'est la vie 5 by bideru #ffamran shares personal projects #fandom stuff #fushigi yuugi #sailor moon #persona 5 #persona #tokyo mew mew #fruits basket #fruits basket another #furuba #furubana

14 notes · View notes