Yes, It’s another Cats OC. Yes, I am aware i have a problem. No, i am not going to stop. So there! XP
I actually came up with this one awhile back from talking things over with @partyinthemysterymachine about any potential romance for my oc, Bloodypaws. which . . . he’s not a good candidate for obviously. But i did come up with this. Strangely, today of all days i finally have the courage to share this . . . particular character. I will be putting all her relevant and story points under the cut. Please read the tags, k? This one’s pretty dark.
Alexamane (pronouncced:Alex-uh-may) is a young adult queen in her mid-late 20s with pale golden-blonde curls and sky blue eyes. Her name is a mashup between Alex from Fatal Attraction and Misa Amane from Death Note.
She is an amateur sleuth and has wall covered in photographs and strings. she has been tracking and identifying the crimes committed by and connected to Macavity for years. it was through this she figured the existence -and name!- of Bloodypaws.
She then fell in love with Bloodypaws and became convinced he returned her feelings, viewing different crimes of his as declarations of love.
Alexamane became convinced he was a dedicated career man who kept a healthy separation between his love live and work and was protecting her by keeping her away from his criminal lifestyle.
She decided that the only way she could be with her beloved would be if they started working together. but the only way that could happen is if she proved herself to his boss. A.k.a Macavity.
Through her research she had discovered Macavity’s connection to the Jellicle Tribe.
Alexamane decided that the only way to prove herself to the Hidden Paw and finally be with her beloved was to murder the the biggest thorn in Macavity’s side. Munkustrap.
She sneaks into the junkyard and attacks Munk.
Bloodypaws, a shadowy unseen figure, separates her from Munk and kills her.
Unbeknowest to her, Macavity, ever the possessive villain, had directed Bloodypaws to ensure no one but him ever harmed the tribe and in particular Old Deuteronomy, Tugger and Munkustrap. By attacking Munk, Alexamane had essentially signed her own death warrant.
Her last words are some romantic lovey-dovey weirdness. When Macavity asks him if he knew her Bloodypaws reveals that he did not. He hadn't even known she existed.
A few days later all the evidence she had gathered is destroyed in a fire
and this is what i wrote instead of finishing up the last two chapters of atpc orz;; i don’t really like it but it’s written already and it’s more than 1k so i guess i’m posting it.
also this was a chance to advertise my sports anime trash self
this is a gender bender (fem!daejae)
There are bruises scattered over her bare arms, fresh bumps against the skin that are just starting to purple. Her jeans are torn at the knees and the fabric there is bloodied. She presses her tongue against the cut in her split lip and grins crookedly.
“What happened?” Youngjae asks. It’s just like her, really, to show up at Youngjae’s house at eight in the evening on a school night, roughed up like the gangsters in her anime shows.
“I got into a fight,” Daehyun answers. She’s staying back on the porch, patiently waiting for Youngjae to invite her inside, as if she hasn’t already been to Youngjae’s house a million times before. The weak light that washes over her from the hallway throws her into shadows and makes her eyes reflect the stars in the night sky above.
“I can see that,” Youngjae answers dryly. “Come in. Let’s get you fixed up.” She’s already padding down the hall to the stairs, soft socked feet sliding across lacquered wood, expecting that Daehyun will follow and close the front door behind her.
Daehyun laughs. “I just need a band-aid or two. It’s not that bad.”
Youngjae stops mid-step on the staircase and turns to look at the smudged eyeliner at the corners of Daehyun’s eyes. She snorts. “Why’d you cry, then?”
Daehyun winces. “You couldn’t even let me save a little face, could you?”
Upstairs, Daehyun doesn’t let Youngjae take care of her. She plops onto Youngjae’s bed like she belongs there and peels off her faded skinny jeans. They’re stuck to her like glue, and it takes Daehyun a solid two minutes to get them off. Underneath is more bruised skin, old and new splotches alike littering the flesh around Daehyun’s bony calves. Her underwear, bright pink with orange and lighter pink flowers and swirls, stands out against her olive skin. Daehyun walks to the bathroom with a slight limp, Youngjae trailing silently behind, and quite literally pours hydrogen peroxide over the scrapes on her knees with a hiss. She digs around in the band-aid box and, finding no band-aids of sufficient size, grabs six, and sticks them over her knees, three to each. Youngjae adjusts her glasses, watching from the doorframe as Daehyun washes her hands and scrubs her face clean of sweat, dried tears, makeup, and the crust of blood under her nose.
“Six,” Youngjae says. She points at Daehyun’s knees. “You needed six band-aids.”
Daehyun says nothing. They wander back into Youngjae’s room, where she hands Daehyun yet another school t-shirt. It’s from art honors society, this time. Daehyun pulls off her sweater, but Youngjae doesn’t even pretend that she’s not staring at Daehyun’s bra. It’s surprisingly cute—nude, almost the same color as Daehyun’s skin, embroidered with lace on the bottom and a tiny pink bow in the middle. Daehyun is an A cup, bordering on a B, and never wears bras with wiring, because she read somewhere online that wiring is unhealthy. All this Youngjae knows because Daehyun blurts these things and more aloud, for whatever reason.
“Why’d you fight?” Youngjae asks.
Daehyun shrugs. “He said some things I didn’t like.” But it’s more than that, Youngjae knows. It could have been a comment about the piercings decorating Daehyun’s ears (“Seven in each ear! Eight, if you’re counting the industrial as two.”) It could have been about her hair—she wears a shiny black ponytail that starts at the very top of her head and ends at her shoulder blades, but the bangs hanging over her eyebrows are thick and a shocking raspberry color (she trims them a little every day, just so that they’re perfectly even.) It could have been a lot of things.
Sitting half naked on Youngjae’s bed in a too-large white t-shirt, banged up knees tucked into her chest and straight hair released from the vice of three hair ties, Daehyun looks small. She is small, actually. She stands at five foot two, mostly flat-chested, thin-legged, with wrists so small Youngjae can wrap her thumb and pinkie around them. A petite one. Smart, too, and nice, and so pretty that Youngjae could stare at her all day. She’s everything Youngjae wants to be.
But.
But she wears her ponytail high so that her fourteen (sixteen?) piercings are on display and her raspberry bangs stand out, and that’s different. Sometimes, (a lot of the time) she wears flowery dresses with thick white socks that go up to her thighs and red converse, and that’s different. She sports a purple belt in Brazilian jujitsu four times a week and plays the piano at least an hour a day all at the same time, and that’s different. Different means that Daehyun doesn’t have a lot of friends. Different means that sometimes people say things or do things that make Youngjae’s blood boil, but Daehyun just has to take it.
Youngjae doesn’t understand. Daehyun is rough around the edges, blemished. She spits curses to her friends and doesn’t pull her punches. She cries a lot. She’s selfish, blunt, and possessive. Lonely. Daehyun walks the halls of their school alone. At lunch she squeals over mindless action anime and wishes she could cosplay, (just once!) without her parents telling her it’s childish. Sometimes, she’ll text Youngjae and say i’m going to marry a cat when i grow up as if she isn’t less than a year away from eighteen. Despite it all, despite her shortcomings and her childishness, Daehyun is so beautiful, so enchanting, so honest and loyal, and Youngjae is so in love.
“You should try and get the blood out of your pants,” Youngjae suggests. She shakes herself out of her reverie and tells herself firmly to stop over-thinking.
Daehyun shrugs. “They’re ruined anyway. I’ll just throw them away.”
“If you clean up the blood it’ll just look like it’s meant to be torn.”
Daehyun only sighs, so Youngjae sits back down at her desk and continues work on her chemistry lab report. She tries not to think about Daehyun’s pink underwear and her cute bra. She tries not to think about Daehyun’s lips, which are always chapped because Daehyun hates to put on lip balm. She tries not to think about Daehyun like that at all, because Daehyun had once texted i’m asexual and if there’s anything that Youngjae will do, it’s give Daehyun the respect that she deserves, whatever that may entail.
“That’s not due until next week,” Daehyun says. She’s suddenly right behind Youngjae, nuzzling into Youngjae’s soft, straight hair.
“So?”
“So, watch some anime with me until your parents get home. You have time.”
Youngjae wrinkles her nose. “I’d rather not.”
“Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t love Haikyuu!!. You’re total trash for Tsukki,” Daehyun urges.
“Just because we both wear glasses—” Youngjae protests, but Daehyun’s already unplugged Youngjae’s laptop from its charger and is taking it to the bed and pulling up an anime website.
And, yeah, Youngjae thinks, tangled up like this in just their underwear, warm skin on warm skin, squished into a tiny twin bed and watching one animated, overpowered volleyball team beat another, is just fine, too.
