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maybankiara · 3 years

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PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

18: MR. WHITE CLAW

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 4.4k

a/n: long one! sorry about it. i promise it won’t happen a lot. also, if i catch one of yous hating on holden you’re gonna catch these hands. <3

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Me | 6:42pm I swear it’s fate that you’re coming back today because you know what Me | 6:42pm MARIANNE IS MAKING GOULASH TOMORROW Me | 6:43pm surprisingly unrelated to you coming back but hey!!

Drew | 6:45pm no way! Drew | 6:45pm Does she make good goulash?

Me | 6:46pm I’d be able to tell if she ever made it before lmao Me | 6:46pm it’s her first time Me | 6:47pm but she’s a pretty good cook overall so!! I wouldn’t expect like a masterpiece or whatever but a decent meal??? Me | 6:47pm f yeah

Drew | 6:48pm I’m inviting myself over Drew | 6:50pm what time should I come by?

Me | 6:57pm if you think for one (1) second that this wasn’t an invitation Me | 6:57pm you are terribly wrong, mr. white claw man

Drew | 7:01pm ok but WHEN SHOULD I COME OVER

Me | 7:02pm oh right

Drew | 7:05pm ???

Me | 7:05pm Marianne says goulash will be around 6 but you can come over at like 4 or 5 so we can catch up!! Me | 7:06pm I still need to show you the album!! I developed some photos I took since we hung out

Drew | 7:07pm 4 sounds great, can’t wait!! Drew | 7:07pm I’ll make sure to bring some White Claw Drew | 7:07pm What does Marianne drink?

Me | 7:08pm Vodka Me | 7:08pm Tequilla Me | 7:09pm jk you don’t have to bring anything, we have enough alcohol in the fridge

Drew | 7:10pm Still bringing beer

Me | 7:10pm And good vibes

Drew | 7:10pm And good vibes, of course

Me | 7:10pm Gonna be good 😄

◇

The bell rings shortly past four o’clock, and Addie buzzes their guest in with a smile on her face. Marianne peeks from the kitchen, leaning over the corner, strands of her hair falling from underneath the headband-bun combo she’s sporting for the cooking.

‘Is it the celebrity judge?’

‘Sure is a judge,’ Addie says, unlocking the door. ‘Not so sure he’d like the celebrity title.’

The door opens and reveals a smiling Drew, in his usual attire – a simple grey tee with a Queen logo on it, black jeans, and a baseball cap. Greetings are exchanged, and then Drew’s taking his shoes off as Addie warns him that maybe Marianne might be a bit much today. There’s a casual whiff of cologne that Addie catches – it’s similar to Holden’s minty one, but simpler.

‘You ready to munch on some British-French-American-Hungarian goulash?’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Is anyone ever ready for that?’

‘Nope. But Marianne has just called you the celebrity judge of her nonexistent cooking show, so you’ve got no choice but to be ready.’

‘Fair,’ he says, just as Marianne shouts from the kitchen, ‘I’ll have my cooking show soon!’

The self-proclaimed chef pops out of the kitchen, wielding a spatula covered in a dark red, thick liquid. Her red-and-white apron is tied haphazardly around her waist; both the apron and the sweatpants have already become victims to her cooking, and the bun seems to be getting looser by the minute. Marianne flashes the two a massive grin, one finger pointed at Drew.

‘Drew!’

‘Marianne!’

Her grin widens so much Addie’s worried it’ll rip her cheeks. She wiggles her finger, then, in a come here motion. ‘I need your goulash expertise, stat.’

‘Give the man a moment to breathe,’ says Addie. Next to her, Drew chuckles.

‘Do you want to enjoy the goulash?’

‘Yes?’

‘Then let the ones who can make it good do it and stay out of it.’ Marianne crosses her arms over her chest, and a drop of liquid falls off the spatula. She doesn’t even notice. ‘Drew?’

‘Coming right up, boss.’

With a pat on the back from Addie, Drew departs into the kitchen. Marianne is already listing off all the things that she’s put in the goulash, how she’s done it so far, and how the internet has told her needs to be done from now on. Addie tunes most of it out – while she thinks Marianne is one of the best cooks she’s ever met, after living with her for over a year, some things you can’t help but get used to and eventually, get a little bit tired of. She’s happy there’s Drew, though, because he’s either very interested in Marianne’s process and amused by her telling of it, or very good at pretending to be so.

Addie grabs a rather small box with a pink bow on it out of the hallway drawer, right next to a grey envelope, then makes her way to the stack of French books lying underneath the TV. The newest copy of a first-edition of The Unbearable Lightness of Being in French is lying on top of a photo album, the same one that Addie told Drew stories from the last time he was over here. She tucks it under her arm and brings it to the kitchen, which has a prominent smell of Marianne’s cooking – a lot of spices, some of them even scattered around with powder spilling out at the edges, and wine that’s both a part of the dish and accompanying Marianne and whoever’s keeping her company. This time it’s Drew, so instead of wine, there’s a can of White Claw in his hands. Addie chuckles to herself.

Marianne, huddled over the steaming pot, motions for Addie to come closer without looking. ‘How does this smell?’

‘I don’t know how a goulash is supposed to smell.’

‘Like that,’ Drew answers. ‘Stop worrying so much.’

‘If it can be better, I’ll make it better,’ replies Marianne, then asks him to contribute with some spices and then stir it. ‘If it goes badly, you made it. If it’s great, I made it.’

Drew laughed. It was a big kind of laugh, the one that fills out the entire room. Taking a seat at their modest dining table, Addie realised it’s been a while since anyone other than the two of them laughed so freely in this place. (That just made her miserable; she needs to stop focusing so much on work and her studies if she wants to retain a semblance of a social life.) She puts the album down, and places the box right underneath it – just enough to be noticeable.

‘Addie, you didn’t tell me your roommate is basically the female equivalent to Gordon Ramsay.’ Drew’s leaning against one of the cupboards, sipping his drink with a smile. Marianne elbows him in the shoulder, frowning.

‘The kids one, maybe. I don’t swear, that’s Addie’s job. She’s the sailor.’

‘Bitch,’ says Addie under her breath, feeling warmth creeping up into her cheeks as she smiles. ‘Calling me out like that.’

Marianne doesn’t look at her, but Addie hears her quiet giggle. ‘That’s a quarter.’

Addie sighs, and Drew lets out a chuckle that sounds a lot like oh. He probably figured out what the jar filled up with quarters is, and Addie thinks he’s finding it a little too amusing, so she says, ‘Don’t laugh.’

Of course, it doesn’t work.

‘That’s kind of funny, you’ve got to admit.’

‘No.’

He raises his eyebrows at her, not even trying to hide the smile. Addie calls him to look at the albums, after she places a quarter in the jar, because she can feel Marianne is about to side with him and go on a tirade where she makes fun of Addie’s bad habit – not that she minds, really, but she’d much rather see what Drew thinks of the photographs and his birthday present.

It ends up taking him a long time to notice it, which starts driving Addie nuts, but she wants him to be the one to notice it, because… Well. She doesn’t really have a reason.

They go through the photographs and Marianne is hovering over Drew’s shoulder, nearly dripping the goulash a few times onto the album, until Addie tells her that her goulash is burning (it isn’t) and she finally leaves the spatula where it belongs, before coming back to look. She likes the photos, and so does Drew – Addie had most of them developed, both from Waystone and the park they were in. Most of them were of the places, but there were a few of Drew. They weren’t the best quality, but his face was relaxed in them, and he was smiling with a playful glint in his eyes, and Addie liked them more than the ones where he looked like he was posing. (She developed those, too, but still hasn’t quite figured out where to put them. She’ll probably give them to him.) Good memories were made that day, and friendships cemented, too.

When he finally notices the box, his eyebrows shoot up. ‘Is this the present?’

Addie just nods and waits. She’s thankful that Marianne is humming along to the music while she stirs the pot, because it means that there’s no awkward silence while he carefully unwraps the bow, as if it would break if he tugged on it too hard. He opens it, finally, and laughs – Addie feels like he’s been laughing a lot more recently.

He holds the present in his hand, shaking his head. ‘A phone case. Really?’

‘Yep.’ Addie grins so hard she bites a little on the inside of her lip; what if he doesn’t like it? She pushes the thought away. ‘Can’t have us swapping our phones again.’

‘True. Although, it did end up in a pretty good thing.’

‘I guess it did, yeah.’

There’s a moment where they’re just staring at the phone case, as if it is about to start talking. Addie kind of wishes it would, and once again feels thankful for Marianne’s music. She doesn’t want to start reminiscing, but that’s where her brain is going, and suddenly she finds herself thinking about that summer morning where she was hungover and half-asleep when she met him and it feels weird that it’s been nearly six months since that. It feels like it was yesterday, but it feels like Drew’s always been around.

‘Mr. White Claw,’ he reads off the back of the matt case, amused. Addie’s pretty proud of herself for that one.

‘Nothing describes you better than that, basic white bitch.’ She smiles at him, and kicks him under the table so he’d look at her. ‘Happy birthday, dude.’

‘Thanks.’ He raises his can and waits until she raises hers, then says, ‘To swapping phones.’

Addie clinks the can against his. ‘And making friends.’

‘And putting another quarter in the jar. Don’t think I didn’t hear that.’

‘Marianne.’

‘Nu-uh.’ Marianne snaps her fingers, pointing first at Addie as she speaks, then Drew. ‘You, quarter in the jar, and now that the ceremony’s over, I need you back at the cooking station. The goulash ain’t gonna cook itself, mec.’

As Marianne says, the other two do. Addie is honestly just grateful she doesn’t have to be the one helping out in the kitchen, because as much as she enjoys cooking, Marianne’ demands get on her nerves sometimes. That, and Drew is actually enjoying helping her out. Addie gets to sit back and relax, listen to her friends make food and bond over the dishes they can make—turns out Drew is incredible at making his mum’s casserole recipe, and promises to bring it over someday—and she feels like she’s come a long way from being holed up in her room, studying and working. Even if sometimes it feels like nothing’s changed.

In between helping Marianne, Drew puts the phone case in its rightful place. It’s a bit cheesy, but Addie likes the thought that there’ll be a reminder of their friendship with him at all times, if he likes it as much as she thinks he does. It’s a bit silly, too. Addie likes giving and receiving presents that are more silly than useful, which is probably not the savvy and mature way to approach life.

Time wears on, and Addie includes herself every now and then, mostly just chilling on her phone as the two work towards what they claim is going to be a masterpiece. She highly doubts it, and it’s amusing whenever she voices her opinion and they try to argue otherwise. She likes to see them getting along – she’d never admit it, but as much as she knows and loves Marianne, a part of her was still scared he’d get the celebrity treatment. Now, she watches as Marianne threatens to throw goulash if he doesn’t cut the pepper faster, and she can only laugh.

Her phone chimes and there’s a text message displayed over Holden and Addie’s faces – a picture taken barely a week ago. They look happy together, and seeing it brings a smile to her face. As Addie texts back, Marianne ushers Drew away from the pot, finally taking over. Drew joins her at the table with a can of White Claw and a can of Heineken.

She puts her phone down and takes the Heineken with thanks. ‘Cooking time over?’

Drew nods. ‘The chef fired me. I think.’

‘Yeah,’ Addie laughs, ‘the chef tends to do that.’

To prove a point, Marianne gives them the finger, and says a whole sentence in French out of which Addie can only understand ‘merde’, and that is mostly because she turns around for that word, glaring at the two. Drew nearly chokes on his drink, and Addie just shrugs, because it’s Marianne, and no one can really understand Marianne. A conversation starts about photography and how Drew did mean to bring the camera, but he left it with Chase and Madelyn when he was visiting, and he ends up telling them stories from all the sets he’s been on.

When the bell chimes again, he’s the first one to notice, as he’s sitting not even a foot from the entrance into the kitchen. ‘Someone ringing?’

‘Oh, god, I forgot— Thanks!’

Addie makes a beeline for the hallway, giving her friends a quick ‘one moment!’ in lieu of an explanation. She’s at the front door within seconds and opens it with a smile, greeting her boyfriend with a hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

Holden chuckles, and then he’s giving her a brief kiss on the lips before they part. ‘Hello there. You had a bit to drink?’

‘A little,’ Addie says, feeling the heat in her cheeks. ‘I’m glad you stopped by.’

‘Me too.’ His hand falls from her waist and he takes a step back, looking around. ‘You’ve got the papers?’

Addie reaches into the drawer and takes the grey folder out of it, but doesn’t give it to him just yet. ‘I know you’re in a hurry, but Marianne is making enough goulash for a whole village, and Drew’s here, and I want to introduce you.’

‘He’s here?’ he asks, just at the same time as Marianne shouts from the kitchen, ‘WHO IS IT?’

In her defense, she thought it would’ve been a nice surprise for Holden to stop by and stick around for a little bit once he got what he came here for, and maybe chat to her friends for a few minutes. The idea might’ve been fine, but hearing Holden’s little sigh at the realisation and a guaranteed confusion from the two in the kitchen, it might’ve not been a fine surprise. This paired with Holden only meeting Marianne of her friends so far...

‘C’mon,’ she tells him, hoping to reassure herself just as much, and takes hold of his hand. ‘They don’t bite.’

Back in the kitchen, Marianne and Drew are leaning on the cupboards, both of them silent and waiting. Addie walkins into the kitchen first, and she watches their eyes follow her hand – the one which drags Holden in behind her. Marianne shouts his name and nearly leaps to hug him, while Drew remains at his spot, gnacing between the two having a quick catch-up and Addie, who tries to tell him not to worry in the form of a smile.

His eyes keep dropping back to their hands, intertwined, and she can see barely-concealed confusion on his face.

‘This is Holden,’ she says, now that Marianne isn’t hogging him anymore. ‘My boyfriend. Holden, this is Drew.’

They shake hands and exchange the ‘nice to meet you’s without anyone feeling the need to prove themselves to be the Alpha male, so Addie counts it as a win. Not that she thought either of them would do that – she just hasn’t seen Drew interact with anyone who wasn’t her or Marianne, and Drew is, after Marianne, the first person from Addie’s life Holden has gotten to meet.

The more she thinks of it, the more she realises how risky it was.

‘You’re the actor Drew, right?’

For a moment, Addie just watches Drew – his hands are crossed on his chest and he looks a little menacing, now that she tries to see him from Holden’s perspective. Tall and pretty attractive, pretty relaxed in a place he’s barely been to, and with the reputation of a successful actor – and to top it all off, a resting bitch face.

Addie’s heart skips a beat.

Drew laughs and she feels relief wash over her, instead. ‘Is that how she presents me to people?’

‘Drew, it’s literally how we met,’ she says, rolling her eyes at him from across the room. ‘How else am I supposed to explain how I know you?’

‘Fair.’

There’s a moment where the sizzling of the goulash is all that can be heard, but Addie doesn’t think it’s one of those heavy silences, where every person seems like they’re holding their breath. She takes it as a good sign.

Holden pats his thigh, then, and he has an apologetic face when he says, ‘I’ve got to go. Work won’t wait forever.’ He flashes Drew a smile. ‘Nice meeting you, Drew.’

‘You too.’

Addie sighs. ‘You just got here.’

He opens his mouth to say something, but Marianne is quicker: ‘You try this goulash, look me in the eye, and say you don’t want more of it.’ There’s no and then you can go, because Addie has a feeling Marianne knows pretty well just how good the goulash is.

She commands the room as she approaches Holden with the tiniest bit of goulash steaming from the spatula over her hand. Her eyes are determined and there’s a crook in the corner of her lips – the sly kind of smile when she knows she’s already won. Holden doesn’t get a chance to protest, because the spatula is headed for him, and he’s got nothing to do but take it.

The room holds a breath. Even Drew is looking at Holden in expectation, chin resting on the palm of his hand.

For a bit, Holden just coughs and complains about the hotness (Marianne argued he had to have been blind to not see that it was steaming). Once he’s finally back to normal breathing and side-eyeing Addie for giggling at him, he tells Marianne it’s one of the best things he’s ever tasted.

Addie could swear she could see pride and self-satisfaction through Marianne’s eyes.

‘Now that Holden is staying,’ says Addie, ‘can the rest of us have some, too?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ replies Marianne, with a newfound spring in her step, grace in the way she moves. Drew laughs at her, quietly, and Addie finds herself laughing with him.

Marianne brings out the goulash and Addie helps pour it into the bowls, handing each of them one. The chef ends up taking Addie’s chair, on Addie’s insistence, because what does she deserve after all these hours other than enjoying her efforts in peace? So Addie leans on the counter, ignoring Marianne’s protests that it’s dirty (‘These shorts need to go into the wash anyway’) and savours the food. It’s unbelievably good – Drew even comments at one point that it’s as good as the one his Hungarian neighbour made, if not better. Marianne glows after each compliment, so Addie doesn’t really stop giving them. Even as the conversation goes on, and Holden stays a little longer than planned, they keep sprinkling in nice comments about the goulash whenever they can.

Addie’s glad Holden and Drew are here for this, however unplanned it was.

Holden slaps his thigh again, in the very same manner with the very same look on his face and this time, Addie catches herself right before she laughs. ‘I’ve really got to go now,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘Work calls.’

He walks up to Addie and she smiles at him, elbowing him gently in the ribs. ‘That’s okay, Mr. Workaholic. We understand.’

She thinks maybe she’s pushing it, but Holden smiles and reaches the other side of her waist, tickling just enough so that she groans for him to stop. ‘You’ve got it just as bad as I do,’ he tells her, and she can’t argue.

‘Wait, Holden.’ Marianne twirls her spoon in front of her space, brow furrowed, and a distant look on her face. ‘Can I ask you lot a personal question?’

‘Marianne—’

‘Don’t worry about it, Addie. I won’t bother them too much.’

Marianne does give her a reassuring smile, or what’s meant to be one, because Addie doesn’t feel particularly reassured. The girl, for all the love Addie holds for her, really has a thing for pushing the limits and boundaries without meaning to. Addie sinks into herself, arms crossed on her chest with Holden’s hand still resting on her waist, and hopes Marianne picks her approach carefully. Addie might know her well enough, but Drew and Holden don’t.

‘Sure,’ says Drew, leaning back in his chair. ‘What is it?’

Instead of responding, he looks at Holden until he agrees to it, too. She takes a deep breath, then, and gives them the shaky kind of confident smile as her fingers fix up her bun. ‘How important are romantic things in a relationship to guys?’

Addie resists dropping her head in her hands. She just sighs. Glares a little.

Lets it all unfold.

The hand on Addie’s waist moves a little, with no purpose. She can hear Holden breathe more deeply, as he always does when he’s trying to crack a problem. Drew, on the other hand, frowns; his eyes stare out of the window, the distance noticeable in them. Part of Addie wishes the question was never asked – part of it is as glad that it wasn’t bad as it is honest that maybe, Addie is curious about the answers, too.

‘Probably shouldn’t ask Holden that while Addie’s around,’ jokes Drew.

‘Ha-ha. Very funny.’

Drew looks at her and shrugs, a smile peeking through. (Addie found it a little bit funny and he can see it.) He sighs a little and scratches the place above his eyebrow, glancing at Marianne. ‘What kind of romantic things are we talking about?’

‘I don’t know.’ Marianne waves her hand in a vague motion, then lets it go back to fiddling with the bun. ‘Um, dates, quality time together, gifts or flowers or whatever, that romantic sappy kind of shite.’

‘It depends, then,’ Holden says, voice deep and laced in thought, just as Drew speaks with confidence, ‘Very important.’

Drew chuckles and Holden smiles, too, but Marianne doesn’t look very reassured, so Drew leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on the table with his hands crossed. ‘Look, it depends on the guy, yeah, but most guys like the romantic stuff. Going on dates, getting flowers and chocolates, candlelit dinners and just spending quality time together is a big deal. Not having that is just kind of… I don’t know.’

Marianne nods. She’s looking at Drew as if she were soaking his words like a sponge, and not one that likes them.

‘I don’t really agree,’ says Holden, after letting out a little ‘hmmm’ sound. ‘I mean, it really depends on the guy, but also the partner. Look at Addie and I – we spend most of our time together at work, or doing work, and it’s something we love doing so the time we spend together doing that is what we’d consider quality time, right? And you don’t— We don’t need all that romantic stuff. If you know someone likes you, there’s no need to constantly show it. If it works already.’

Addie just stares at the ground. All eyes are on her, now, even if not physically – she can just feel the attention on her. Does she agree? Yes, for the most part, and it’s not her Marianne is asking this time. They’ve already spoken about this. Marianne knows Addie enjoys the approach she and Holden have with the relationship.

When she finally looks up, she catches Drew’s eyes for a moment, and then they’re gone before she can read them. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I guess it depends on your relationship and your boyfriend, then.’

‘My friend’s.’ Marianne nods with a smile that looks like it’s about to slip off. ‘I’m asking for a friend.’

Drew leans back. ‘Sure, yeah. I hope your friend manages to sort it out.’

Marianne thanks him, then makes a joke about the goulash being finger-licking, and within moments everything’s as if there wasn’t just a serious conversation. A little later, Addie walks Holden out, receiving a gentle kiss on the lips before he leaves. Drew sticks around for a little while longer and when Marianne invites Drew to their group’s annual Fourth of July party (very exclusive), Addie feels like it’s another unpredictable-Marianne moment she should’ve foreseen.

For better or worse, though, Drew shakes his head with a little sigh. ‘Thanks for the invitation, but I’ve already booked a flight home.’

‘Oh.’ Marianne nods, not even trying to hide her disappointment. ‘Shame. We throw the best parties around Atlanta.’

Drew chuckles, tugging his jacket sleeves over his arms. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second. I’ll catch one of them, at some point.’

‘Yeah. You should.’

Addie is leaning against the wall, watching them talk about their plans for the Fourth of July, and realises she’s happy that Holden’s met Drew. She’s happy he’s integrating into her friend group, at least bit by bit. It kind of makes everything more real; more permanent. Later, she finds out from Marianne that Drew messaged her, thanking her for the goulash experience. When she’s lying in bed, thinking about all the work she needs to do tomorrow because she slacked off today, a thought pops up: Marianne’s birthday is going to be soon, and that is bound to be a wholesome party.

Addie falls asleep with a smile on her face.

◇

19: THANKFUL

tagging. (let me know if you want to be tagged!) @jjmaybanksbaby @ofpinkfizz @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129 @starlightstories @rafecameron

#phone swap series #drew starkey #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey fic #outer banks #obx

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celest1all · 4 years

Text

arkham's finest • prologue

pairing: jerome valeska x f!reader

chapter summary: jerome is encapsulated by the woman on the tv

warnings: mentions of physical abuse (no graphic detail), swearing, talk about murder, let me know if I've missed anything

requested by: @rott3nheart

author's note: this is going to be a series I have decided lmao

series masterlist | main masterlist | next ->

The sound of her manic laugh rang out through his trailer and filled the void. He never understood why they were interviewing someone like her, but he also didn't understand why he was watching the interview. Every damn time she came on, he would sit on the couch, elbows resting on his knees and he would wait until the face he had gotten so used to would come on.

It was like clock work, every Thursday, [Y/N] would come on and sit there staring into the camera like she was made for it whilst Jerome stared back, curious as to how someone so innocent-looking could commit such a heinous crime.

“So [Y/N], judging by the new attire, you got transferred from Blackgate to Arkham Asylum, yes?” The reporter who had the duty of interviewing [Y/N] pointed the microphone towards the woman, awaiting her response.

“A woman of many talents I see.” She replied with sarcasm lacing her tone, causing Jerome to let out a kind of snort. “Yes I got transferred. It was just a matter of time, let's be honest.” [Y/N] leant back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest whilst kicking her legs up on the table.

“About that, can you explain to me, and everyone else for that matter, why you did these things?” The poor reporter once again aimed the microphone towards her, the shakiness in her hand giving away just how scared and nervous she was.

“I’m sure you all knew Mommy Dearest,” the reporter nodded, “then I’m sure you all know just how great of a woman she was.” She nodded once again. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Jerome’s ears perked up slightly, wanting to hear this part of the story? if he could even call it that.

“Yes. Wrong.” [Y/N] swivelled in her chair so that her legs were no longer on the table, but now firmly placed on the ground and facing the reporter. Her hands were clasped firmly on the table and Jerome wondered slightly why she wasn’t in handcuffs. Surely a psychotic murderer would've been in handcuffs?

“Let’s elaborate, shall we? So, as you know, Penny [L/N] was well known in Gotham for getting criminal’s off or managing to lower their sentence. Gotham being filled to the brim with criminals and overall assholes, everyone loved her--”

“If she was so nice, then why did you murder her?”

[Y/N] clenched her jaw and stared daggers at the reporter, causing Jerome to smirk at the sudden change in attitude. “Don’t interrupt me.”

The reporter visibly paled and shut up immediately. [Y/N] smiled widely, “Thank you. Anywho, back to my trip down memory lane. Since Penny was never at home because she was always on a case, it was just my dad and I. And boy was that a shit show. Dad was a drunk, a mean drunk. He wasn’t nice at the best of times. But if you got that man drunk, then, ” she whistled, “he would be a complete asshole. I’m sure you can fill in the rest.”

Jerome could fill in the rest, it was something he had also came accustomed to. Not by his father, since...his father died on at sea or whatever but by his Uncle especially. He understood. He understood her anger.

“[Y/N],” the reporter asked, trying to see if she was able to ask a question or not.

“You’ve got questions, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Then shoot.”

“If it was your father who was physically abusing you, then why didn't you just kill him, not both?” [Y/N] nodded her head in understanding, knowing that this question would've come to light sooner or later.

“Ah, I forgot to tell you how Penny wasn’t as nice as everyone once thought, didnt I? Well, on the off chance she did come home, she would see my sad excuse for a father beating the crap outta me and she did nothing.” Jerome saw [Y/N]’s eyes fill with a sort of fire he hadn't seen in any of the other interviews. “She watched! My own fucking mother watched the man she married beating their daughter close to death and did nothingl!” The anger was soon replaced by the familiar sound of [Y/N]’s laughter rang througour Jerome’s trailer for the second time that night, “The bitch got what she deserved. Him? Not so much.”

“What do you mean by that, [Y/N]?” The reporter asked lightly, still scared that she might make her blow up again.

“I didn’t make it hurt nearly as much as I should’ve…” The manic sound rang out for the third time before Jerome grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. She sparked something in him, something that had been simmering for so fucking long. She was the catalyst for what was to come. He knew what he was going to do.

“See you soon, [Y/N].” He said to the now turned off television, his manic laughter replacing what was once hers.

#jerome valeska #jerome valeska gotham #jerome valeska one shots #jerome valeska x you #jerome valeska imagines #jerome valeska x reader #jerome gotham #jerome valeska series #arkham's finest fanfic #gotham x you #gotham x reader #gotham one shots #gotham imagines #gotham

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flydotnet · 3 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

Like blood on a patch of fresh snow.

I'm not sure of where this fic went, but... oh well. I don't want to look at it for much longer, so here y'all go, 1.9K words of whatever this is. I really wanted to write more NaomiLG because I love them, but I realize I'm really not their best writer, so I need to hone my skills. Take this weird-ass oneshot with a very specific and picturesque prompt as an attempt to nail them. It was fun to imagine all of the red-on-white imagery, at least. Title comes from a Rammstein song because it played while I was writing this and I figured, y'know, it means "red rose", so why not make it the title? It at least sounds epic to someone like me who knows shit about German. No correlation to the lyrics, though, far from it lmao.

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Rosenrot

Summary: Naomi's past catches up to her in a street as someone else's blood spills for her.

Fandom: Trauma Team (spoilers for TC:SO and TT) Ship: Naomi/Little Guy

Wordcount: 1.9K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Like a widow who had lost her spouse, Naomi started wearing black after losing her ability to save lives. Back then, she didn’t really know why, probably to remind her of the sins she still had to expiate. It felt weird to her to wear white again, since it kept reminding her of the life she had to leave behind, that of a lifesaver whom people trusted with literally all they had left.

Even now, even as her life has gone back on track (she has a stable job, a daughter and friends who hold her in great esteem – things she thought she’d never have until a year ago), she continues wearing black because it feels more comfortable to be able to fade back into the shadows would she ever need to slip back into the night. She can’t ever live in the broad daylight, not anymore she knows this; but, as long as Alyssa doesn’t mind, then she doesn’t have a reason to complain. The cold and silence have their perks.

Wearing black, at first, was to hide stains when she was working with Delphi. God knows there was little hygiene there, so blood could easily show on clothing when they weren’t careful. Wearing black robes (or whatever outfit they had given her that looked very little like a robe) allowed them to conceal the dark reds and rusts more easily without having to think about it too much. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.

On the other hand, blood is too visible on white. Of course, it is the point of wearing it for surgical procedures, since it’s easier to disinfect – it’s still too visible for people like Delphi or, in a way, her. Even to this day, seeing reddish stains on white fabric makes her uneasy, reminding her of things she’d much rather never think about again. She’s like the black-clad widow staring at the radiant bride with a wine stain on her dress: she knows what she lost and has the feeling of seeing a bad omen.

There is this one thing about Delphi she has stopped minding, and it’s Little Guy, or whatever his real identity was supposed to be. If he reminded her of their dark past not too long ago, he now represents what they could become: atoners, working for “the right side” for once, working in the shadows to help the living move on like they’ve had to. Unlike her, he didn’t let himself dwell on the past, preferring to get moving.

The moment she understood it the most when he started to wear white more than black, renouncing to the colour she was always used to see him dress. It felt weird, at first, but he knew how to pull it off, and she got used to the new habits. Never dwell on the past, let herself get swiped away by the changing winds. Moreover, Alyssa really liked it whenever he’d drop by the house after driving her home after work or getting Alyssa from school when she couldn’t.

But now, the past has caught back to them. Ex-Delphi members have found them again, motivated by the recent rise (and fall, but they forgot about that second time) of Adam’s nephew trying to bring the virus back right as PGS cases flare up across the USA. They’re not running away, this time: she did that enough when going to seek amnesty in Europe, so now, she better prepare herself to strike. Little Guy already cocks his FBI-licenced gun out, intending to strike judging by the little tremors in his fingers.

It goes in a flash: a couple bangs, blood spilling on the ground, dirt and smoke and iron fill the air of an urban cul-de-sac. The commotion is such that it’s difficult to follow anything until the stench of violence lifts up and so does the smog it created. For a moment, she believes they may have both gotten killed, and that she’s already passing into the afterlife, in denial of everything, not ready to face death nor discover if there is, indeed, something on the “other side” that isn’t roaming around this world and calling the “voodoo hotline”.

One thing quickly becomes clear: she is still alive. In fact, everyone is somehow still alive, because she sees their three assailants with their weapons on the floor and wounds in their legs: they were only harmed to disarm them. She pats her own clothes and body to check if she hasn’t been injured, remembering reflexes she had thought long gone coming back to her in a moment’s notice. To her fortune, she seems okay, as she only feels dirt, dry clothing and skin under her fingers’ touch.

Seeing the men lie on the ground in pain, she already grabs her phone and calls for help, going into not too many details for everyone’s safety and privacy.

“Little Guy,” she starts calling to her partner so they can get away from this place before being brought into this, her finger about to swipe the call off, “let’s go.”

His response is delayed.

“Sure… Sure thing.”

His voice sounds strangled and hesitant, drier than her clothes, and it prompts her to turn around. As soon as she does, however, her own breath gets caught in her throat as her entire body tenses up. Her mind, which was until now fixated on running as far as possible from the scene before they were going to be questioned about the bullets in their pursuers’ limbs, immediately switches to the same sort of panic she felt in Caduceus Europe all those years ago when she witnessed a fellow surgeon collapse in pain.

Little Guy!

He’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall that cornered them until now, a hand loosely holding onto his gun, the other barely holding onto a striking red stain on his clear, monochrome attire. It’s expanding moment after moment, replacing the immaculate white of his shirt and suit jacket with a much darker colour. If it was only the bloodstained clothes, it’d have been fine, no matter how much this man frets over such things – but it’s not what is scaring her so much about this.

“Little Guy, what happened?!”

As he struggles to get an answer out, she takes his pulse: there, obviously, since he’s breathing, but weakening. His breathing is quick but shuddering, as if fragile like glass.

“One… one of them was armed,” he replies, swallowing every few words. “One bullet hit… my flank, I think?”

Not caring for the nail polish Alyssa put on her fingers last night, Naomi digs under the bloodstained jacket and where the incriminated wound must be. There, she confirms Navel’s suspicions: it’s indeed in his flank.

“If my assumption is correct, it shouldn’t have hurt an organ,” she says, a little bit of relief pulsing through her. “We need to get you into a hospital asap, though, you’re bleeding profusely.”

She grabs back her phone, which she previously slipped into her pocket, and adds the information on a fourth wounded. She gives more information on their location and the circumstances, merely forgetting to mention this is all because of Delphi’s doings and their smothered shady pasts, and stays on the line, putting the phone in speaker mode so she doesn’t miss crucial information.

“You should go, Dr Kimishima,” Navel whispers, eyes getting glassy and unfocused, the speed at which this happens prompting her to check the wound again. The blood has spread even further, making the fabric stick to the wound. “Don’t… let them catch up to you.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m leaving you for dead. Plus, I’d rather have to search for amnesty again than get pursued for not helping someone in critical need.”

It’s the pragmatic way to say she’d never handle having his blood on her hands and his death on her conscience. He, however, doesn’t reply, letting uncomfortable silence install itself as they wait for assistance to arrive.

When they do, the sirens’ shrills muffle Navel’s breathing, lights almost covering the blood stains on his suit and her fingers, slipping under her nails, drying out already.

It could, however, never erase the image from her mind.

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Naomi waits in this bedroom, all alone and in silence, for a little while. She doesn’t know how long exactly (probably around half an hour, although it feels like more than that), all she knows is that the chair she’s sitting on isn’t very comfortable and that she needs to remember when to pick Alyssa from school; two things that, for the moment being, don’t matter much.

The weather is beautiful, today. Even earlier, when they were outside, there was a gentle breeze blowing through their hair. She merely forgot about it due to thinking about literally anything else under the sun, mostly her colleague whom she found out wasn’t just randomly hit during the kerfuffle. To be fair, she should’ve guessed that was what had happened when she suddenly found herself on the ground rather than standing, but…

She suddenly hears Little Guy stirring and, finally, opening an eye. His injuries were fortunately not as grievous as she was afraid they’d be, even if he’s clearly landed himself for at least a week in the hospital. What an idiot.

“Doc… Doctor Kimishima…?”

“Go back to sleep, Little Guy, you still sound like you’ve pulled a week-long all-nighter.”

As if obeying her (but most likely because losing this much blood tends to leave you weak, and his corpulence isn’t exactly one that’d take kindly to blood loss), his eyelids flutter; but he doesn’t go back to sleep. At least, not yet.

“Are you okay…?” He asks, voice recovering some clarity, even if it’s unlike his usual swagger.

“I’m pretty sure I should be the one asking you that, you know; but I’m okay. Better off than you, that’s for sure.”

He chuckles once before groaning in pain.

“Urgh, I forgot how sore post-surgery was…”

“You’ll get used to it. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sure you do, Dr Kimishima.”

She drops the playful banter for something else altogether.

“Oh, and, Little Guy?”

“Yes…?”

“Never do that again. I don’t want to see you covered in your own blood again.”

His face, which is slowly regaining more colour, distorts a little.

“Even if…”

“Even if it means saving my life.”

He looks aside, in silence. She guesses he’s unable to honestly give her the answer she wants to hear, so he instead prefers not to say anything. Well, that’s something she expected would happen: people have told her he was wrapped around her little finger. Too bad that this man got infatuated with someone like her whom death and misfortune follow her every step. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, considering the number of close calls he found himself in when he was by her side. You sometimes have to wonder what other people even think…

“I’ll… I’ll try,” he eventually replies.

Naomi can’t stay upset about it forever, especially when she sees how dishevelled and vulnerable he looks with his hair askew, dark rings under his eyes and hospital gown, so far from the sharply-dressed bachelor she’s come to appreciate.

“Good. Just be careful and we’ll be clear.”

“Sure thing, ma’am.”

As long as he doesn’t mind being so close to death, she’ll make sure he doesn’t meet it.

#bad things happen bingo #trauma center #trauma team #naomi kimishima #little guy navel #how do you even tag this dude #bthb #bloodstained clothes #my writing

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

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@otumbalt

The message you sent was fanmail, I think! And as such, I couldn’t reply directly (tumblr confuses me sometimes and I couldn’t find a reply button. If y’all know better pls do let me know if I need to put my clown shoes on LMAO). Thank you for the kind words though!! I really appreciate it, and I’m looking forward to more complexity from Cybird, too!

That being said, I did want to touch on something you said because I’m still drowning in my feels and languishing. “the push and pull between comte’s rationality and his desire to love and be loved was something that I really enjoyed from his route” you. you get it. There’s nothing I love more than a man that’s self-aware, and it’s such a rare treat when it comes to fiction, at least in my experience.

Some spoilers for his MS beneath the cut to explain why this resonated so deeply with me, so no touchy if you’re waiting to read on your own! c:

Because that’s exactly it. At first he is 100% just trying to help her get situated. He’s being rational. Sure, he’s excited to have a guest--he likes meeting new people in general, learning what he can from them (can you feel my uwus). But it’s only when she debuts that he begins to realize that this isn’t just enjoying her company. He finds her dazzling, far beyond what constitutes friendly curiosity. If that sounds too convenient, I can confirm that he takes her to the venue of her debut, dressed in clothes he picked out (which he emphasizes is something that greatly pleases him, looks wonderful on her). And he begins to wonder if this is what it feels like to have a daughter, to look on with earnest fondness and want only the best for her.

But the sugar daddy act ends REAL quick.

There is an attending nobleman that comments on how lovely she is, insinuates a kind of desire to know if she’s single or not with his attraction. And he suddenly becomes quite incensed by that comment, feels genuine irritation. Combined with that is the moment in which MC becomes a little nervous, says that she’s unsure if she’s really worthy of this kind of attention. Comte, in his POV story, is shocked to hear that she’s anxious. She powered through lessons on decorum and dancing, never once complained about his days-long fussing. And he realizes that it’s not because she didn’t feel any discomfort, but because she chose to be strong--chose to keep trying. This is the moment in which he realizes that he cares for her deeply, and that she doesn’t see herself clearly. She’s beautiful in the conventional sense, absolutely--but it’s more than that for him. She’s beautiful because she’s always doing her best, always cares about the people around her enough to try to power through. And that’s what the people around her were truly responding to. Anybody can get dolled up, but to be admired or loved usually requires more substance.

And so he tells her that, caught in the moment of realization. “You’re beautiful...” And she replies that it’s all thanks to the attire he got her, the jewelry gleaming from every part of her. But he falters--tries to clarify, before the opportunity is lost and dies in his throat.

That was only the first step in his long and exponential descent into love for her. The thing that’s so moving about Comte is that he tries so very hard to contextualize with the knowledge he has. Remember, he keeps telling himself, she’s from the future. She has a place to return to. No matter how curious, no matter how attracted, he was never meant to enter that picture. They were two of a very different kind, irreconcilable in that regard too. Tainting her with his selfishness, with that desire for companionship that’s always been such a difficult obstacle for him, isn’t her responsibility. It’s his. He needed to put her first. And he had every intention to.

Until she saw the wavering parts of him, the fragile ones that only come out in glances--beyond his control, beyond his good sense. And she handled his worries with such care, such compassion that it strikes him to the very core. There’s a good number of chapters where he’s trying and utterly failing to stop her from doting on him, falls into her little gestures of kindness, of attention.

It takes Leonardo to stop and say that his attempts are pathetic. That it couldn’t be clearer that le Comte is hopelessly in love with her. His indictment forces Comte to backtrack, forces him to try and cut her off entirely. He’s mortified at himself, at his failing self-control. Four hundred years and he can’t manage to stop instigating feelings between himself and one woman in the space of one month? And more than anything, he truly is under the operating assumption that this is in her best interest; that he must stop if this if it is to end in anything other than tragedy. For him, it the ultimate culmination of his own failure to take responsibility, exercise foresight, and consider her feelings.

Needless to say, none of this goes to plan in the end.

Now, I’d like to clarify something. MC, this whole time, doesn’t really find any fault with all of that. She thinks it’s nice to see him let down his guard, doesn’t mind comforting him when he confides in her now and again. She just sees the man that chose to care about her first, and fell in love with his conscientious concern for people. She doesn’t see his vulnerability as a shortcoming, the way that he does. And that’s where the tension arises. Because Comte is literally staring at his hands internally screaming at himself, while MC is like “you know if we made out, that would be awesome. Can’t believe I might become the foster mom to nine weird genius vampires, but you never know what life brings amirite”

In that way, the route is almost funny, but mostly sad, in how ridiculously inaccurate Comte’s self-perception is. He thinks that asking for help, asking to be cared for, is fundamentally a breach of conduct. Not just...being a person that needs support from time to time?? (He does me a big concern ;-;)

Regardless, and maybe it’s just me, but there’s just something so moving about seeing him so affected? He truly does everything in his power to prove that he is unworthy, does everything in his power to believe that he’s unworthy. But MC won’t be swayed, no matter how scary or difficult things get--no matter how great the gulf of time or life is between them. No matter how many times being with him might result in her being threatened, she doesn’t care. Sure it’s scary, but she doesn’t deem it enough to divide them. She tried to distance herself “for own good” too, following his lead, and it just didn’t work for either of them.

Would you all like to know what it is that gets him to finally acquiesce? What it is that makes him raise the white flag, any defensiveness gone, only endless love and trust taking its place? The second where his desire to love and be loved wins out, all rationality scrapped?

They discuss the events of Vlad’s abduction, and Comte levels with her. Says that if what happened is enough to destroy whatever attraction for him that she had felt, he wouldn’t judge her. She was still more than free to go home, to live her life. When she protests, he pulls his trump card. He gets very serious, looks her in the eye, and asks what she thinks about turning. If he were to pose the question, what would be her response?

And MC, bless her heart, says that she hasn’t decided, because that is something for them to decide together. She certainly won’t force him to do it, but she wants to know what he feels about it before coming to any kind of concrete decision--or even temporary one. Because that’s the whole point. That’s what it means to be in love with someone. It means having someone by your side, someone that’s there to listen and put you first--just as they should be putting you first, too. It means that any course of action is made hand-in-hand, that we check in with each other first; that we hear and help each other out, no matter how confused or paralyzed or exhausted. That’s what makes Comte start laughing with relieved delight, any hesitations gone. That’s when their relationship is solidified, when Comte chooses to devote himself--no matter what hardships the future brings--to her. Because for the first time in his life, he knows he will never have to carry anything all alone anymore, and he is at ease.

In short, thanks Cybird I’m sobbing now and forever for one gold pixelated man pls don’t look at me

#rambles #ikevamp #ikevamp comte #ikevamp spoilers #comte propaganda #ik i need to stop but i physically and emotionally can't #i love him so much #every single day i cry comte where r u #like if cybird d i d n t want me to scream then they shouldnt have made him so ungodly irresistible #s m f h #anyhoot tysm @otumbalt for helping me further organized my love-scattered thoughts for comte #and your message was so sweet!!!!#you're always welcome here c:#and thanks to everyone that's been so supportive of my comte love yall make cry ;-;#i hope yall continue to enjoy my nonsensing

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abbaccha · 4 years

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khr oc partial bio!

how she ends up in varia is still being thought about :’)

(see the full images here: 01 | 02)

Basic Information

Name: Vitaliya Squalo Aliases/Nicknames: Vit, Liya, _22235 (10YL exclusive) Age: 16 Gender: F Date of Birth: September 17 Family: Vongola Famiglia Team/Title: Varia Reinforcement Squad Member

Weapons: Rifles and combat knives Box Animal: - (No flame gang)

Hobbies/Interests: Decluttering, watching GRWM videos online, growing indoor plants that don't need soil, and looking at pictures of empty apartments on Pinterest. There is something eerily calming about them. Basically she does nothing productive.

Favorite Food(s): Food at or below room temperature, small bites. Most stuff are fine as long as the texture is not gross. Her diet is made up of several small meals throughout the day. People notice and comment "you're always eating?".

Favorite Color(s): Earth tones in general, but it doesn't show in her wardrobe.

Least Favorite Food(s): Curry and taro. The latter one in particular? Absolutely ew.

Least Favorite Color(s): Colors are fine she has nothing against them.

Other Likes: Electro pop music, she pretends she's over it. Foundation (makeup) that smells subtly nice.

Other Dislikes: Shenanigans, having to come up with reactions during boring conversations just to show she's raised correctly, and the fact that high heels are visually pleasing but functionally impractical.

Theme Song: DRUGS by lil aaron suits Vitaliya if you ignore the lyrics. The melody is so lit?

Appearance

Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Silver Hair Length: Waist-length (sorry i really like the signature squalo look rip) Skin Tone: Fair with cool undertone Height: 168 cm Weight: 51 kg Wardrobe: "This is not a phase mom" attire, mostly black. (present timeline) High neckline, all shades of gray, high-waisted jeans. Comfort always comes first. (10YL)

Personality

Reserved, judgmental and a bit of a killjoy. She has an opinion of everyone but keeps it to herself, but it's not like she is vocal about anything else at all. Unless spoken to, she usually just minds her own business. But just by her sharp stares, you know she's judging something hard on the inside.

She has low social needs and is able to assertively say "no". Thus it is easy for her to act tough, while in reality she is definitely not fearless. For starters, full grown men in the mafia who can fight are pretty intimidating already.

When she was younger (before the age of 19), she was fairly nervous and uncertain but chose to mask it with silence. But as she gets more comfortable with being herself and the surroundings, she doesn't care that much? She can comfortably sit through a heated confrontation, as long as she's not involved.

Compared to the rest of the group, she's pretty tame since most of the time she can play by the rules just fine.

Over the years, she has built a comfort zone she's not quite willing to step out of. Sticking to the old familiar things is always better, she thinks.

One positive thing about her is her work ethic. She likes to end bullshit and get things done, no fun allowed at work.

In conclusion, she is distantly cold but has her shit together.

History

Still under development. But below are the basic ideas:

Vitaliya's family has a background in arms dealing. She was half Russian (father's side) and half Italian (mother's side). While her father was overseas doing business with not only governments, Vitaliya and her mother resided in the Italian countryside. Life was good and comfortable, Vitaliya was close to her mother's side of the family as they lived pretty close by.

Superbi Squalo is her cousin. They have an okay relationship. I think that something happened and prompted Vitaliya to adopt her mother’s maiden name.

She received gun training from a family friend/business partner.

Known for being very careful and tidy when it comes to finishing people off. Later was invited to join Varia.

Became a deep web hitman on the side, goes by the literally meaningless alias _22235. This happened a few years after the present timeline.

Friends

Old friends from school. Vitaliya still talks to them occassionally, not mentioning her current profession of course.

She's getting along with some Varia members (not the executives) who are also hateful bitches. Their "friendship" is based solely on the fact that they dislike the same things/people.

This is obviously self-indulgent but she's on good (or at least neutral) terms with the executives. Bel and Vitaliya formed some kind of odd bond through being the only two edgy teens. I imagine their friendship is not "intense" in a "we talk everyday we are bffs" way, they just keep each other company for they have the most in common. In the 10YL timeline, their interaction dynamic is Bel saying the outlandish stuff he always says and Vitaliya going "you're full of shit".

I would write a short paragraph about Superbi here, but saying a relative is your friend is kinda lame skjfh. Just know that they used to be close as kids(teens), so now they’re comfortable being relatives even in a professional environment.

(Decent) people she sees everyday on the deep web.

Enemies

No personal enemies.

Abilities and Weapons

She uses all sorts of guns like a normal person, nothing special about how she does her job. As a safety precaution, she keeps a combat knife on her person at all times. But of course she's not an expert on hand-to-hand combat.

When on mission, she can be extremely patient, preying on the target for as long as needed for the perfect chance to strike.

that’s about it for now! if you read through all of it, i THANK YOU :’’’D you’re the mvp. if there’s anything that doesn’t make sense, it’s probably because i haven’t touched the manga in years, please bear with me. i hope it’s canonically acceptable for people with no flame to join varia, if not i would be caught off guard... also english is not my first language, so the writing here is not the best lmao.

#khr oc #oc #varia #i should start tagging liya-related content #vitaliya #khr #also LMFAO i made a vine compilation mainly to show what liya is like #lemme know if you're interested in seeing it :O

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oc-rehab-centre · 5 years

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OC Design Basics #1 - Colour Palettes

Every part of an original character, fandom or non-fandom, humanoid or animalian, is important to the bigger picture. Your original character is like a mosaic or a puzzle, every piece is crucial to having a “good” character: personality, backstory, relationships, etc., you know the deal. But today we’re going to discuss: the importance of OC design, common mistakes and what you can do to fix them.

Now, this isn’t a post made only to talk about how OC fame/attention is linked to OC design… Which is really isn’t, and I hope that’s clear! This isn’t a tutorial on how to get famous either, but rather a collection of information and tips meant to help you! This is also geared towards a younger audience - so some things are pretty obvious.

Alrighty then, let’s get into this~

Importance of Design

We all know the idiom “don’t judge a book by its cover”: which discourages people to prejudge something’s overall worth from a mere first glance, positive or negative. However, when it comes to characters, you’ll often see the images before you see their biography or information and get to know the nitty-gritty information about them.

It’s pretty superficial, but first impressions can make or break your OC’s popularity and reception, but alas, that is just human nature. If you have a fandom OC; how well your OC’s design blends in with the existing cast, or how much they stand out against them can reel in an intrigued audience. Your OC’s design is just one of many factors which may bring you an audience, or leave you with just a small one - but shove aside that notion and let’s focus on what’s actually important.

A good OC is congruent, with all the little pieces working together naturally to tell your OC’s story and fit with aspects of their personality in a way that doesn’t feel forced. Their appearance should reflect things about them, and give the audience an idea as to what they are like from a first glance or two. It’s a challenge, but as you grow more experienced, it becomes easier. However, some help along the way is always nice, and that’s why we’re here!

In this tip & tutorial post, I’m mostly going to cover more natural colours and make your OC look more, well, “original”! Of course as always, these are just opinions, and you are just as entitled to your own as I am to mine! Also, I’ll be talking about more common mistakes I’ve seen several young artists and creators make, so if you’re new to OC creation, here’s some tips from someone whose been doing too much of this kinda thing!

I will not be covering facial features and shapes here, but perhaps I will in the near future??? This mostly focuses on colours!

For this tutorial, by the way, I used a colouring page found HERE. I’m not entirely sure if this is the original artist, nor is the original artist credited. If you ever find the source and wanna let us here at @oc-rehab-centre know, that’d be just dandy!

Common Mistake #1 - Hair Colours/Styles

If you’ve browsed the undiscovered page of DeviantART, you may find yourself browsing the work of younger creators. It is always wonderful to see young artists working to produce their own characters, but it’s a shame to say that most OC creators can determine or guess your age range and experience from the way you design characters, or perhaps an inability to credit base makers lmao.

What I see a lot on DeviantART when it comes down to hair colour is often… unstimulating. Hair colours like black and oversaturated colours are often used, perhaps due to a lack of understanding the colour wheel of infinite possibilities or how to make colours beyond what they can find in their box of 24 Crayola coloured pencils.

When it comes to OC design, you want to try your best to avoid black and bright, bright colours that are hard on the eyes unless absolutely necessary and essential to your character.

Black hair can easily be substituted for other dark and natural colours, like shades of brown or red. Heck, there are entire charts of natural hair colours online you can browse.

Blinding shades of red, green, blue, etc. can all be made easier on the eyes by simply mellowing or darkening the colour. Perhaps you might settle for pastel hues, or a darker and less saturated tone. Both your eyes and the eyes of your viewers will thank you for making something other than pitch-black or a vibrant hot magenta!

Hopefully this little diagram shows what a difference a bit of playing around with your colour wheel can do! Now time to address another common trope in OC creation when it comes to hair: hair styles.

A very common hairstyle that you see is the hair over one eye. OCs with their bangs draped down over one eye. TV Tropes discusses this infamous design cliche as a way of symbolizing sexuality, shyness, solidarity or powerful [HERE].. However, most OCs with this hairstyle are not always explained and if it is, it’s done poorly, making it seem as though a) the creator was merely going for a run-of-the-mill edgy look with their character OR b) they just can’t draw the other eye.

While having an OC who's a bit on the edgy and badass side is cool and all, it is a trope to avoid. I went through a phase of having my hair over one eye in my elementary days but trust me, it’s not a very practical hairstyle, and it’s certainly not very stylish if your bangs are all scraggly too. If you have chosen this hairstyle to avoid drawing the other eye, just take the leap! You’re not going to improve unless you push yourself to experiment with new hairstyles, of which there are many!

Finding other hairstyles to use for your OC is as simple as browsing the Internet. There are countless of video and written tutorials to watch on how to draw hair styles, all of which are arguably more appealing and interesting than that mock of edgy bangs. If you are striving for an edgy character, there are other ways to show that in their design than simply such an ill-mannered hairstyle!

Credit: doggerland

Common Mistake #2 - Eyes/Facial Scars

Much like hair colours, overly-saturated colours can ruin eyes when they seem out of place. You can have an OC with natural coloured hair, a good colour palette and then oh wait - an eye colour that doesn’t really fit. I’ve seen many young creators using eye colours that really don’t exist and look very unnatural, clashing with their character’s design.

Like with hair, a certain number of natural eye colours exist. Even if you’re bending from natural eye colours, avoid using saturated shades or shades that are just too dark. You can get some nice and more natural colours by playing around with your colour wheel. You can be bold without using such assaulting colours! XD

Another common trope derived from anime and gaming are scars. I know I was mostly going to discuss colours here, but like hairstyles, it’s something worth addressing!Once again, I’m gonna make reference to TV Tropes’ article. The most common scars include:

A cut over one eye

A claw mark (usually three or four even gashes on the chest or face)

Any of the Standard Bleeding Spots

Any scar shaped like an X.

A scar on the face that happened in a sword duel.

Credit: TV Tropes

Regardless of the universe, fandom or non-fandom, scars may add to your character’s story, but it takes a lot to make a scar on the face seem original. I’m personally not a fan of OCs with scars on their face, since it’s often not acknowledged or even drawn in a way that is realistic.

For example, getting slashed across the eye with a sword or blade would not leave a clean scar and a pearly, blinded eye, as we often see in anime. It would look nasty and it would look as disabling as it feels, so when people don’t abide to the very nature of how the human body heals, it irks me a little bit.

My tip here would be to avoid scars that go over the eye unless you’re going to do it right. Research the injuries if you don’t have a weak stomach, and see what injuries like that would really look like. Overall, facial scars are also something you should steer away from. Important scars can go elsewhere, you know! There’s more to your OC’s body than just their face.

Scars also come in more shapes than just 3-4 animal claw marks, burns from abusive parents or straight-lined sword scars. Scars come in different shapes and sizes. Some are hypertrophic/raised while others are flat and just sort of look like birthmarks upon healing. Are you willing to give up your action-packed duel scene and settle for a more realistic scar for your OC? It’ll help in the long run if you’re aiming for accuracy.

Common Mistake #3 - Colour Palettes

Oh goodness you guys have probably heard enough about me yammering about colour. But hey - this tip post is mostly about the importance of colour. This here is the last major tip for designing your OC. This will be the last part of this post, and I apologize for this being a bit of a mess! I was trying to keep this one as general as possible!

ANYWAYS-

Colour palettes are essential to a character! I hope that’s ingrained in your brain at this point because it really is! Their wardrobe should reflect their personality and should be carefully considered as well. Too many times have I seen colour palettes that just do not work at all with the character’s attire nor their apparent personality.

Using the girl who has been our base for examples in this post, let’s take a look at her attire. A baggy hat, a bandanna around her neck, a sweater, fingerless gloves and a layered skirt. This is rather cutesy attire and while perhaps you could argue that a pink and teal getup or an edgelord black and rainbow outfit could work, there are palettes that might fit this character a little better.

Pastel colours fit better with this style of dressing. It feels more correct to have the four palettes on the right than the two on the left. This is the effect your colour choices have on how pleasing your character looks to the eye.

And that is all!

We hope you enjoyed this tip post! Likes, reblogs and follows are always appreciated. Some aspects of OC design were not covered here, especially the important stuff that more experienced creators would’ve wanted to see like how to make face, eye, nose, etc. shapes more unique and clothing design. I’ll try to ensure that gets covered in the future, as I said before, but I hope that those that read this enjoyed it!

#General #Multifandom #Non Fandom #Multifandom OC #Non Fandom OC #OC Help #OC Review

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decaffeinatedcatastrope · 5 years

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@silverryu25 long stufffff ~ thank goodness readmores work now!

Regarding Calibri punching people that deserve it: Yeahhh thank goodness she has really good control of her intents. It’s her philosophy that “you can’t learn a lesson if you’re dead”. Most of the rumors of her killing random citizens are just that; rumors. Now, maiming random citizens...

Regarding Cali growing up without her village full of skeletons: Honestly, Calibri wasn’t all that effected by losing her village and family at such a young age. Yeah, she was kinda sad when her bearer fell down, but she knew it was going to happen. Not everyone died, some of them were like “wait isn’t she right most of the time? shit we should probably leave.” So she has some cousins around somewhere.

She was...kind of a weird, scary child, even before her village went up in flames xD Having the abilities for Judgment and Premontion aren’t...it’s not a good combination. She’d often go around and knock on random people’s doors and just tell them straight up weird shit. “OH, HELLO DEAR~” “hi. stop cheating on Baskerville.” “WH-WHAT.” “and don’t eat your second bowl of soup tomorrow if you do not wish to die. bye.” “WHAT JUST. WHAT.”

Its part of the reason why no one wanted to believe her when she predicted that the village was going to be attacked. She was weird.

Regarding Vivaldi’s half-adoption of her: Vivaldi was not prepared to be a dad, lmao. Especially not to Cali xD He was still kinda mourning his brother and then Asgore’s mother basically dumped this smol orphaned skelechild into his giant treetrunk arms and said she’s to be the next judge, prepare her for it.

And he’s just like wtf. I didn’t sign up for this. He was so worried she was going to destroy his books or break his baubles or something. But she showed great respect for all the shiny things he collected and the memories they held for him. He was really quite proud of her, even after her first Judgment, when she broke down pretty hard but managed to stay strong. He never failed to let her know just how proud he was at her restraint.

He definitely helped her stop being so weird and antisocial with non-skeleton monsters, and taught her blue magic and how to find enjoyment in the small things in life. He told her to never hide herself, and that it’s not weak to ask for help. Please child, never hide yourself if you are hurting.

He also was very adamant that you do not punch they royal family. Child stop.

Regarding her fears that she’ll lose herself to the LV and end up like Tempus did:

I never said Storm the Sorrow took place in the UT universe. :3c Just that it’s set a long time before UT ever takes place.

There will be a breaking point.

As for her LV, she refuses to let any of the guard take on EXP for any reason. She wants them to go home to their families with light souls and bright smiles. She takes that burden upon herself, if there is need for such force. And as much as everyone would like to live in peace, there are still scuffles and skirmishes between the town and some human towns. There are always thieves and bandits. There are always reports of monsters going missing and their employers are to blame. It’s an era of uncertainty and strife.

Think like, Skyrim levels of bullshit that she has to deal with.

Regarding meeting Toriel:

xD Yes, Calibri was very curious about the weird fuzzy monsters when her bearer brought her to the palace in a panic over the village. She’d never seen any other non-skeleton monsters before. Or humans. She was very sheltered.

The easiest way to Calibri’s heart: standing up to her. xD Tori was not having it when this strange little monster Vivaldi set down in the grass made a beeline to her from across the courtyard and immediately started touching her face. Cali was like whoa she threatened me. i like her. Also Toriel is really soft and fuzzy so like. Cali couldn’t stop touching her face. It was kind of awkward. (She basically did the same thing to Asgore when they first met but he just giggled)

And thank you for the compliment! I’ve never drawn the goat family before so I needed to practice xD I’m honestly very happy with her!

Regarding punching Asgore:

They’d met before this point, she didn’t outright punch him when the first met. But she’d kind of attached herself to Toriel’s hip at this point and little bab Asgore was a little jealous because he thought Cali was going to steal his betrothed. And that she was a boy.

He learned real quick not to assume. Also, bones hurt. Especially when they’re socking you in the nose.

Calibri felt kind of bad for making him cry, especially when he tried so hard to make up for it. Like, he talked to Tori and then demanded his mother buy Calibri some properly fitted Ladies attire because if she was reacting like that he could only conclude that he wasn’t the only one to make that mistake. Vivaldi could never make that mistake, so he just dressed her traditionally, and he just kind of forgot that other monsters don’t automatically know and it’s really hard to tell with baby bones. A lot of skeletons don’t care, but like, Cali was absolutely appalled because her whole life everyone knew and suddenly everyone around her was very stupid xD

So basically Cali was horribly spoiled after that and she loved it.

And yes, Asgore, Toriel, and Calibri are...really close. <w<’’ When the two boss monsters started getting all lovey dovey, Calibri kind of had to shove her blatantly obvious crush on Tori under the rug so they wouldn’t feel bad. Like, do your thing you two, I’ll be over here. Guarding the door. Not listening at all.

But they weren’t going to let her feel left out, either.

The three of them were basically inseparable, but Cali always kind of felt like a third wheel and as her LV grew, she started separating herself from them more. By the time her and Gaster meet, she’s pretty estranged from them, although they’re not shy about welcoming her back if she needs them. Sometimes she sneaks into their wing for cuddles at like 4am.

After she and Gaster started talking more she started getting that warm fuzzy feeling she once had for Toriel. xD And she’s absolutely terrified, but couldn’t be happier? Calibri was confused.

Gaster meanwhile had been living at the palace for a few years by then, on an invite that he’d been recognized for his infallible memory and with the passing of Archivist Vivaldi they would love to train him to be the new Archivist.

He’d been totally shocked to see another skeleton monster in the court, even if she was twisted by LV and soul-shatteringly terrifying.

Pretty much from the moment Asgore and Toriel met Gaster, they started shipping him with Cali. And Cali fucking hated it.

“are you kidding me, he’s a toothpick, if i breathe on him he will die let alone bed him, and i will NOT have that on my conscience!”

#decafcat talks sometimes #storm the sorrow concepts #kata dumps headcanons everywhere #whoops i think this almost counts as a snippet #it's over 1000 words of just me blathering on xD

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getreadytosmash · 6 years

Text

Questions for the mun

Questions for the Mun

Copy this and fill in your own answers. Then tag some people to learn more about them.

• Favorite smell: The smell of cooked pastries or fruits.

• First Job: I had to work at my primary school to help with kids, I just ate brownies all week lmao.

• Astrological Sign: Scorpio

• Favorite pizza: Pineapple and pepperoni (I'll fight anyone to hates it)

• Favorite dog: My neighbours dog; Sky the German Shepherd. She's the biggest sweetheart and I practically raised her.

• Favorite foot attire: I've got pusheen slippers with unicorn horns. Either that or my kneecap boots with pink and purple laces.

• Favorite Roller Coaster: The vampire ride at Chessington world of adventures! It's super fun!

• Favorite candy: Love heart candies for sure. Either that or Cadbury chocolate! Particularly easter eggs.

• Favorite ice cream: HAAGEN DAZS BELGIUM CHOCOLATE FOR LIFE BRO.

• Pet peeves: I HATE being called Gabriella/Gabriel and when people interrupt me when I'm speaking. I also hate it when someone tries to make me do their work for them.

• What are you listening to right now: When the going gets tough from Spongebob the musical. Don't judge.

• Color of your vehicle: Haven't got one but the old car is bright red.

• Color of eyes: Blue but they change shade based on how I feel/my health. When I'm bad they go gray but when I'm good they go bright blue. Apparently my eyes are my best quality because of the dark blue rings around them. Odd.

• Favorite Holiday: Easter because I LOVE THE EGGS.

• Night owl or morning person: Since most of my friends are online now, I'm forced to be a night person and up at 3am most nights.

• Fave day of week: Friday. The feeling of knowing you've got the weekend to relax is the best ever.

• Tattoos: None since I can't deal with needles.

• Like to cook: I've got...so many horror stories of cooking...so no.

• Beer or wine or neither: Probably beer? But I'd take a coca cola any day over it.

• Can you drive a manual transmissions: I can't drive whatsoever because of my fears of messing up and killing everyone.

• Favorite color: Orange! Also my favourite fruit!

• Do you like vegetables: I like most of them! But the occasional one I hate.

• Do you wear glasses: Nope, perfect vision baby.

• Favorite season: Winter, at least you can get warm and I adore snow.

Tagged by: @shadow-of-a-hero

Tagging: @awkward-snake-girl and @i-dont-bite

#meme #shadow-of-a-hero #awkward-snake-girl #i-dont-bite

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pedroscurls · 7 years

Text

Title: Hurt Me

@myheart4ever47 requested: Okay I seriously have an idea for a story even thou you kinda did one like it the You, Doll, Are Special (which I love by the way)... I had one where it's kinda similar that she's been a wife for the same amount of time but she's paralyzed and she's a gorgeous woman but starts to feel insecure about being paralyzed and everything else bc Negan hasn't brought her to the room for alone time.

Character(s): Negan and Reader Summary: You finally have enough of Negan’s behavior towards you. Word Count: 3,288 Warning: ANGST! Author’s Note: I was in dire need of some angst, so @myheart4ever47 messaged me with the perfect idea! Thank thank thank you for requesting this! I’m going to make Negan a real asshole, so there’s a warning lmao. Enjoy! <3

Song: Hurt Me by Låpsley

You had been Negan’s wife just after Sherry agreed to be his first. It was odd in the beginning. You assumed that being paralyzed would restrict you, but Negan was persistent and he still managed to make you feel special and beautiful with just a simple glance in your direction or the words he used. Negan wasn’t like any man you had been with either. He was vulgar, overconfident, and violent (to an extent, if need be).

When he asked you to be his wife, you thought he was pitying you, but when you realized his attraction to you was real, you were quick to agree. However, two wives became five and now there were five women (including yourself) who had to share him. The four other wives always complained about Negan, but it seemed like you were the only one who cared deeply for him.

It was different. Your dynamic with Negan was different than his relationship with the other wives. He enjoyed your presence, and loved to talk to you about what was bothering him. He never looked at you like you were incapable of handling yourself just because you were in a wheelchair. In fact, it made him appreciate you even more which always made you happy.

Since becoming Negan’s wife, you were always hesitant about pleasing him in the intimacy department. However, the first time you slept with him, it had been the greatest sex you ever had. The men in your previous relationships have always been so careful, despite your verbal acceptance for them to go rough. Negan, on the other hand, listened and tended to your every need. You had thought he was a selfish man when you first met him, but in the bedroom, Negan was a very giving man. He was very attentive, and always wanted to pleasure you first before he gave in.

Though, the more wives he got, the less he asked for you. Usually, you were all in a rotation unless someone wasn’t feeling up to dealing with Negan. It worked out, but it had been months since Negan called for you. He didn’t even visit your room like he usually did whenever he was finished with a wife. You missed the sex, but most importantly, you missed his presence and the talks you two shared with one another.

When he did enter the wives’ lounge to look at his wives, he hadn’t even spared you a glance. You had begun to realize that Negan had finally come to his senses and your disability was now a turn off. He didn’t want you anymore, you assumed.

So, today, you caught him leaving his room just as you were leaving yours. Calling his name, you wheeled yourself over to him. Negan was dressed in his usual attire: leather jacket, grey pants, red scarf, and Lucille propped on his shoulder. His hair was slicked back, and he was still sporting the salt-and-pepper beard that you loved.

“What’s up?” Negan asked. “Need anything?”

“I—Well, I was wondering if I can see you tonight,” you replied.

Negan grinned. “Miss me that much, doll?”

You bit your lower lip. It was in this moment you truly felt how distant he had become. As Negan looked at you, you realized it wasn’t in the same way he had before. He kept eyeing your wheelchair and instead of replying to him, you just shook your head and turned around.

“Doll, wait…” Negan sighed, jogging over to you. “You and me tonight.”

You looked up at him with hopeful eyes. For a brief moment, his eyes softened and he looked at you with such admiration, but just as it appeared, it vanished quickly. “Really?”

“Of course. I’ve been missing you. So, you and me. I’ll see you tonight.” Negan leaned down to kiss the crown of your head. He lingered once he pulled away, his fingertips grazing your cheek lightly.

You quickly wheeled yourself back to your room. You needed to look for the nicest dress that you had. Negan said it was going to be you he chose tonight, so you wanted to look as sexy as possible to remind him what he had been missing.

You were bubbling with excitement, and you couldn’t contain it. Yes, you were excited about the possibility of having sex with Negan, but you were also excited to spend time with him. Usually, Negan would allow you to spend the night which he never allowed the other wives to do. Regardless, you settled on a red spaghetti-strapped dress that clung to your every curve. You were sure that you were going to attract Negan’s attention by wearing red instead of black.

Wheeling yourself into the wives’ lounge, they turned to look at you with arched brows. They sensed your excitement, so Amber approached you with her arms crossed over her chest. She eyed your frame with a disgusted look, shaking her head.

“Negan won’t want you regardless of what you wear. You’re in a wheel chair,” she spat.

You tightened your jaw, and stared up at her with narrowed eyes. “The only reason why Negan wants you is because you whine all the goddamn time. He has other shit to deal with, but if you’re blabbing constantly in his ear, he can’t get anything done. He fucks you to shut you up,” you retaliated.

“At least he fucks me,” she laughed.

Amber walked away from you, but you decided to sit near the window. Your mind had drifted to your brief conversation with the blonde. Maybe it was true that Negan didn’t want you anymore, but seeing him earlier today had given you hope. There was something different about his demeanor, but you tried not to dwell on it too much.

Your gaze turned to the door once it opened. With a grin, you wheeled yourself closer once Negan entered the room. He scanned the lounge as his eyes settled on you for a few seconds. Amber walked to stand next to you, resting her hands on her hips as she moved her hair over her shoulder with a slight whip of her head.

Negan slowly walked towards you and grinned. Standing before you, Negan glanced in your direction before he reached out a hand for Amber.

“You ready, baby?” Negan asked.

“Mhm,” she giggled.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears. You looked up at him and felt anger and heartbreak rush through you instantly. “Negan…” you called.

“Yes, doll?”

“You said it was going to be—”

“Changed my mind. Love the dress though.” Negan hooked his free arm around Amber’s shoulder, leading her out of the lounge.

You felt tears threaten to spill over, so you wheeled yourself back near the window. Sherry walked over to you and rested a hand on your shoulder. She was the only one who understood how you felt for him. Unlike her and the rest of the wives, you wanted to be here. She never judged you for it; besides, you both were one of the first ones to become Negan’s wife.

“You okay?” She asked.

“I think I’m done,” you admitted. “I can’t handle it anymore.”

“What do you mean you’re done?”

“I can’t be here with Negan anymore.”

“Where will you go?” Sherry furrowed a brow.

“I’ll have Negan put me on points. I’m sure I can do something. Maybe work in the kitchen with chopping vegetables, washing dishes. I don’t know. Anything is better than this,” you sighed.

“Is that why you dressed up? You thought it was going to be you?”

“It was going to be me. Negan said so earlier today. I just don’t know why he changed his mind. I don’t know why he’s been distancing himself either, Sherry. I can’t take it.” You wiped your eyes after a few drops of tears had fallen.

“If you’re sure… Then, go for it. I know how much he hurts you, especially after Amber treated you,” Sherry sighed. She walked to the bar to pour you both a glass of alcohol, but you turned to look at her and shook your head.

“I’m just going to go to bed, Sherry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Thank you though. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As you were wheeling yourself to the door, Sherry caught up to you and rested a hand on your shoulder once more. “Whatever you’re thinking… It’s not true. You’re prettier than all the girls in here, me included.”

You offered a small smile and shrugged. “You’re just saying that, and I appreciate it. Have a good night, Sherry.”

Once you made it to your room, you heard the sounds of Amber’s moans echoing from Negan’s room. Your heart broke and quickly, you slammed the door shut and locked it behind you. You didn’t care if Negan found out that you locked it; he didn’t bother to come into your room anymore anyway.

You stripped the dress from your body, tossing it aside carelessly. Sliding an oversized flannel over your frame, you propped yourself with your arms once you locked the wheelchair. You hoisted yourself onto your bed and settled down on it. Lying back, you finally let the tears fall freely. You didn’t know what you had done for Negan to treat you the way he did, but enough was enough. You didn’t want to live the rest of your life like this anymore.

The next morning, you wheeled yourself down to the cafeteria. Negan had made a ramp made for you and it was convenient now that you wanted to leave. It was too early in the morning for the people of the Sanctuary to be eating breakfast, but you decided to just visit the kitchen to see what they had planned for today’s meal.

Upon entering the kitchen, you noticed Simon instantly. He had always been so nice to you that it even made Negan jealous.

“Hey!” he called out. Simon jogged over to you and smiled instantly. “You’re up, and you aren’t in the lounge…”

“Needed some fresh air, I guess…”

“More like fresh food,” he chuckled. “Come on. I think we can get you something.”

Simon never allowed you to wheel yourself. Whenever he was around, he had taken the chance to push your wheelchair to give your arms some rest. It was nice and very thoughtful. Entering the kitchen, the workers looked up with widened eyes and quickly made a plate for you and Simon.

“Did Negan want breakfast too?” Simon asked.

“How would I know?”

“He is your husband,” he chuckled.

Whispering, you lowered your head. “Not for long.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’m not sure if he does,” you answered.

“Well, I’ll get him a plate just in case. It’s always better to have the boss wake up on the good side of the bed,” Simon grinned.

Simon decided to give Negan his breakfast after you finished yours. He accompanied you to the tables in the main dining hall where he sat at the table. You had always enjoyed Simon’s company. He seemed to make you laugh with his silliness, which was a relief in this world. It seemed like the apocalypse hadn’t tainted Simon’s morale like some people you have encountered.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you hit on this woman only to find out that she wasn’t interested in you, but the friend you were with?” You laughed, covering your mouth once you swallowed your food.

“Worst part is… My friend was a woman,” Simon groaned at the memory.

You shook your head, and giggled quietly to yourself. For a moment, you had forgotten about Negan and focused solely on Simon. It was what you needed: laughter.

“You have to work that charm a bit more then,” you teased.

“I can work my charm fine,” Simon glared teasingly.

“I didn’t say you can’t… I said just a bit more.”

“Well, what if I say I think you’re absolutely beautiful?” Simon smiled.

“What?” you blushed.

“You’re breathtaking,” Simon admitted.

“But I’m in a wheelchair…”

“And my hair is receding. Who cares?”

You smiled to yourself, dropping your eyes to your lap. Your cheeks were tainted with a light hue of pink, and Simon had taken notice. Technically speaking, you were still Negan’s wife, but it didn’t matter now that you were planning on telling him that you wanted to leave his harem.

“You’re funny,” you finally replied.

“Just speaking the truth. Negan’s a lucky guy.”

Speaking of Negan, he entered the dining hall with Lucille propped on his shoulder. As his eyes met yours, you noticed the irritation behind them. Though, he still maintained a grin on his lips. Simon excused himself to retrieve Negan’s breakfast as he approached you, sitting across from where Simon was sitting.

“Morning. What the hell are you doing down here?” Negan asked.

“Needed fresh air,” you repeated, and wheeled yourself away from him and closer to where Simon had been sitting.

Simon entered the dining hall and set Negan’s plate down in front of him. “Morning, boss. Good night?”

Negan grinned. “Fuckin’ great night.”

You tightened your jaw and looked between Simon and Negan. You absently moved closer to Simon and Negan had noticed. Simon continued to eat, oblivious to your actions. He glanced down at his plate and continued to scarf down the food without any knowledge of the tension in the air.

“I don’t want to be a wife anymore,” you blurted out.

Negan dropped his fork onto the plate and looked at you. “Excuse me?”

Simon stood from the table. “I’m going to patrol the gates. Call me if you need anything, Negan.” He quickly left the dining hall; Simon didn’t want to be there for the inevitable argument that was sure to happen.

“You heard me. I’m done.”

Negan narrowed his eyes. “Because I didn’t pick you last night? Seriously, doll. Get that stick out of your ass and get over it.”

“I’m in a wheelchair. That’s why you don’t want me anymore,” you accused.

“That’s not it, and you know it.”

“Then what is it, Negan?”

“I like variety,” he chuckled.

“Fuck you. I’m not going to be your wife anymore. You like variety, right? Well, get another woman. I’m sure you have many lined up and waiting,” you spat. You pushed your plate away from yourself and unlocked your wheelchair.

You had expected Negan to follow you, but when you looked over your shoulder to see him staring down at his plate, it just broke your heart even more. You approached your room and wheeled yourself inside. Negan hadn’t said anything about you leaving the harem of his wives, but it didn’t matter. You weren’t looking for his approval; you were looking for the truth.

Before you could begin putting your clothes into a bag, Negan barged in and slammed the door loudly behind him. “Stop whatever the fuck you’re doing,” he threatened.

“No,” you responded.

“Goddammit…” Negan grabbed the bag from your grasp and pulled it away. “I’m talking to you. We need to talk.”

“Maybe Amber wants to talk… Or Frankie? Sherry, possibly…”

“Knock it off,” Negan glared.

“Why? Do you realize what you do to me, Negan? Everything between us was fine, then all of a sudden, you distanced yourself. Is it because I’m disabled? Is that why? Did you finally come to your senses that you’d rather fuck a woman who can stand on her feet?!” you yelled, staring up at him.

“No… You being in a wheelchair has nothing to fucking do with it,” he sighed.

“I’m done. I don’t even want to hear what you have to say. What you did last night was the last straw. You broke me. You hurt me, Negan. While we’re at it, why don’t you hurt me a little bit more?” You cried.

“I don’t want to…”

“Well, you’ve been doing it for the past few months, and you did it last night!”

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry?” You laughed. “That’s funny coming from a man who doesn’t mean half the shit he says.”

Negan looked at you with narrowed eyes. You could see the anger behind his beautiful orbs, but you weren’t going to let him stop you or change your decision. You had enough of Negan, and despite the feelings you developed for him.

“I’m not going to let you work for points.”

“Yeah? Well, tough shit, Negan. You broke past these walls I put around myself, and you were the first people after this world ended that I was willing to trust. You broke that.”

“Doll…” he pleaded.

“I can’t look at you because all I’ll see is impending heartbreak,” you admitted with tears slowly falling down your cheek. “I can’t be near you anymore.”

“I’m sorry…” Negan repeated.

“It’s too late for that.”

“I had to distance myself from you… You have to realize that,” he explained.

“No. You didn’t have to do anything, Negan. You chose to distance yourself from me. For what reason? I don’t know, and I don’t care,” you argued.

“I promised myself I would never love or care for anyone again,” Negan admitted. “And then you came here and—you changed everything. Our late-night talks helped, and having you in my arms when I went to bed made me feel less like the monster that people have made me out to be. You understand me…” Negan said quietly. He stepped forward, but you quickly wheeled yourself back and away from him.

“I didn’t know that agreeing to be your wife would be so difficult. Amber, Sherry, and everyone else can put up a façade, but I can’t. I’m not doing this anymore. If you can’t open your eyes and see that the only goddamn person who cares for you is right in front of you, then there’s no way you ever will,” you muttered.

You looked up at him and noticed the confliction in his eyes. You knew you should be happy and relieved to know that this was taking a toll on him, but instead, you wanted to just wrap your arms around him and reassure Negan that you would always be there.

But he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve you.

“I’m not putting you on the point system,” Negan stated.

“I don’t care. I will earn my way of living like everyone else that is not your wife, Negan.”

“Give me another chance…” he pleaded.

“You made me love you, Negan… You said you never wanted to lose another person that you cared for or that you loved after Lucille… But guess what? You just lost me. Now please, get out.”

“Doll…” Negan reached out, but you shook your head.

“Please, Negan… That is all I want from you.”

“I never meant to fucking hurt you,” he apologized.

“Funny how we do things we don’t mean, yet we do so anyway.”

“I was just afraid…”

“And you didn’t think I was? Not everything is about you, Negan. Now please… Let me go.”

“You really want this?” Negan asked.

“No, but I know that it’s best for me.”

Negan sighed, leaning down to kiss your cheek. You shut your eyes and felt his thumb brush your tears away from your cheeks. He pulled away and looked down at you. Negan’s eyes glazed over with unshed tears, but instead, he gripped Lucille and propped the bat onto his shoulder.

“I didn’t distance myself because you were in a goddamn wheelchair, doll… I distanced myself because I was afraid to love again, but I realized that it was too late,” he whispered, and walked quietly to your door.

“Yeah… It is too late,” you stammered.

“I’m sorry, doll…”

“Sometimes, Negan, sorry isn’t enough…”

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marisdoner · 5 years

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A Designer Fat-Shamed Me on Instagram After I Criticized His Show

No need for the flu shot use The Hydrogen Peroxide Ear Treatment

I’d arrived at the Manhattan restaurant formerly known as the Four Seasons, dressed in black-tie attire, as instructed on my invitation to the Fall 2019 Philipp Plein show and dinner — which was and then wasn’t going to come with a Kanye West performance — to find a line of dozens of attendees outside. I’d been sent to review the collection for the site Fashionista.

I didn’t expect that I would be reviewed the next day. Review may be putting it mildly: Philipp Plein dug up a year-old photo of me on the BFA image site, and fat-shamed me to his 1.6 million followers on Instagram, mere hours after my article was published.

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After the show, I wrote what I saw, that his looks contained a “regurgitated tasting of other designers' hits from recent seasons past.” And that, judging by this and other recent shows, “Plein's muse is an urban cowboy futurist with a trust fund and a coke problem.” I wrote that though I had been assigned a seat, I ended up relegated to a standing-room-only balcony sardined in with 100 other people (who also thought they’d get a seat at the seated dinner). I wrote that I thought his collection was vapid, and its “billionaire” theme in poor taste.

I can see how this would be upsetting to the designer, but I was being honest, and doing my job to be the eyes and ears for Fashion Week fans and readers who came to me and that site for a report on what went down.

Rather than begin a discourse with me, the fashion writer, about my review, Plein came after me, the person. In an unexpected and cruel social media blitz, Plein posted images of me (this really isn’t about whether I looked good or not, but I’m not fond of the ones he found) with the Spongebob Squarepants cartoon character Patrick Star shoveling hamburgers in his face. He fat-shamed me, saying he’d make sure I got a free meal next time, and apparently confused me with a photo of Amanda Bynes. (That, or he was somehow using her to denote a person who had gained weight? Truly, one can never know.) What is clear is the he thinks weight, and eating, are things women should be ashamed of. It was bizarre, mean, and incredibly unprofessional.

RELATED: Mom Body Shamed By a Stranger at the Supermarket: 'How Are People So Rude?'

I don’t follow Plein on Instagram, so I learned about the attack via trolls who came straight to my DMs to echo his harassment. “LMAO Plein ROASTED your fat ugly ass!” one person said. I was shattered.

I am acutely aware of the Internet’s power as a breeding ground for vitriol and hatred. I just didn’t expect it from a professional designer, one who himself is no stranger to a bad review. (Strangely, Plein has not used his Insta story to personally attack Vogue’s Luke Leitch, who last year wrote that his “braggadocio/balls cocktail” gave way to “meh” clothes and “hilarious” shows.)

RELATED: Women Strip Down to Their Underwear to Protest Outside Victoria's Secret Store in London

I’ve actually written about Philipp Plein before, too, after spending nearly an hour with him in his Upper East Side townhouse in 2017. That was for a reported piece about Plein and his business, in which I glossed over the bad things people had said about him in the past — including admonishment for his “Alice in Ghettoland” show, for example — and included a relatively positive review. This time, clearly I struck a nerve.

I have no delusions about who I am in the fashion world — I am not an influencer with hundreds of thousands of followers, or an editor-in-chief who deserved a front-row seat. I am not an industry-revered critic like Robin Givhan (who herself didn’t attend the Plein show.) I am a writer and reporter who did her job with integrity and professionalism, and expected to be treated the same.

RELATED: Victoria's Secret Model Slammed for "Fat-Shaming" After Exercising and Eating Fruit in Front of In-N-Out Customers

As I was writing criticism of Plein’s work, I welcome criticism — harsh or otherwise — on my own. That’s the kind of dialogue that fosters rewarding conversations and deeper thought. It’s what any of us hopes to do when we challenge a designer to do better, by writing that their collection fell short. But to lash out at a review and attack my body? It’s hurtful, but also neither here nor there. I was deeply ashamed of the photos he’d posted of me, before realizing it is Plein who should be ashamed. And perhaps he is; Plein deleted the Instagram stories about me by the next morning, though I’ve heard nothing from him nor the PR team that handled the event.

Fashion has come a long way in terms of promoting body positivity and changing beauty standards, and I hardly think individual designers behaving badly are worth allowing us to regress. As the industry continues working toward being a more inclusive and celebratory space, it is they who will be left behind.

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A Designer Fat-Shamed Me on Instagram After I Criticized His Show was originally posted by Health Nutrition And Strange Science News

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