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#but also about this one tatt on my leg

cold-heart-warm-writings · 1 year

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Ouran Host Club members as crazy shit my brother has done and some of his ailments

Hikaru- Revealed his ass tatt at a family dinner with our aunt and uncle - Dude (Hikaru) told his aunt she looks like a frog and then attacked her with said frog, I don’t think he’d have any qualms with showing off his new ass tatt

Mori - Broke his wrist while skateboarding home drunk, didn’t realize it because his pain tolerance is so high, still threw cousins into a lake, ended up needing two surgeries to fix his wrist. - My brother is, as we like to describe, stupid strong, and with the way Mori lifted Haruhi in the first ep like she was nothing? He also seems stupid strong and maybe a bit oblivious to his own pain.

Honey - Snuck out to McDonald’s in the middle of the night and got caught because he put the receipt in the visor and it landed in our dad’s lap the next morning - Honey decided to add McDonald’s ice cream with his midnight cake eating.

Tamaki- Adopting a puppy in college without telling my parents (and NOT having a job at the time to pay for said puppy’s needs). (was going to say, surprise, my gf and I are pregnant! Jk, I adopted a dog, but then decided not to go that route. My mom agreed that out of all his recent decisions, that was the best one.) - Tamaki might be the King of the Host Club, but he is not the King of Thinking Things Through

Kyoya - Went the wrong way on a train in Whales, and ended up getting a ride home with a famous Welsh race car driver - Kyoya would only get on the wrong train if he was extra tired, but he knows all the famous people, so of course the guy he gets a ride home from is a famous race car driver.

Haruhi - Got stung by a jellyfish that wrapped itself all around his body from his legs all the way across his torso, and then everyone, including our Grandpa 100s of miles away, offered to come pee on him. - Haruhi seems like she’d have that kind of bad luck and that everyone would want to “help” her.

Kaoru - found a stray chicken in the middle of the city his senior year, “adopt” it, named it Lizzie, had our mom say “um??? No???” and pay money to take it to a farm (where they did NOT kill it), and then proceeded to have my mother booed at the senior band concert because she didn’t let him keep the chicken. Oh, and then have the chicken end up not being a chicken. He’s a rooster. - Kaoru likes to boo Tamaki, and even though adopting a random chicken does seem more like Mori vibes… the getting my mom booed at the concert screams a petty Kaoru, so there you have it.

Renge - Blowing everyone’s minds at his job because he’s a good talker, especially with older people, and even had someone try to wed off his teenage daughter (hard no). - Renge somehow gets whatever she wants, and my brother is somehow able to make amazing deals happen to get just about whatever he wants. It’s a wild time.

#maybe this is too out there but my brother is such chaos he fits the host club #and girls fawn aaaaaall over him jfc it’s annoying #like girlies listen my brother’s a dumbass plz 😑#ohshc #ouran #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #hikaru hitachiin #kaoru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #mitskuni haninozuka #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #haruhi fujioka #renge #renge houshakuji

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chipped-chimera · 7 months

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Uh ... Cyberpunk 2077 modding update? I guess?

So I'm actually playing the game now, like for realizes (instead of somehow sustaining myself via modding and not touching the game for a period of months because I'm just like that™) - thankfully I got enough of Ven's custom tatt done that I can actually take screenshots and enjoy things provided I don't show her back or legs ever hahaha

I am aware I've kind of been hoarding content I'm making but it's also an aspect of just learning polish I guess while I get to a level I'm comfy with sharing. I am contemplating releasing the Venatrix hair but it still needs work, as I am highly aware I am getting by with it looking great to me because it's dark as fuck lol. But in the lighter tones? mmmm not so much. Also playing around with screenshots has shown me while my rigging was for the most part near perfect, there is a little jank to sort out still, which will take a bit of fiddling to work with the rig it's based off.

I've ALSO finally figured out why my recolours were just flat out not working despite following the tutorial over and over again step by step to check if I was fucking up. What had actually happened in the transition to 2.0 and my fresh mod directory I'd forgot about the heckin' Material and Texture Override mod which I hadn't installed and isn't mentioned in the guide either so it did not click for ages sooo now I'm kind of going ham. No really, I have a whole folder of screenshots of clothing I don't like so much that I'm probably gonna recolour just so I can use it. Case and point - that Valentinos vest. It's amazing but the colours always made me think of McDonalds (that super bright red and plastic-grade yellow, eugh. Not very classy). Idk if people would want a mod of highly-specific recolour replacers?

Also completely clowning over here considering trying to get the cyber-chimera artwork as a patch on a jacket buuut it's just way too wide to work well for this jacket (my favourite one too) so now I'm considering making one from scratch or something why am I like this

Uh also putting it out there if there are any mutual modders out there who'd like to chat on discord, troubleshoot, yell about shit, exchange notes etc. I'd be very down for that since I'm not really into big modding discords. I just basically use them as forums at this point and ctrl+f my problem in the relevant channel. I'd maybe be better with something smaller and more casual modding discord too (like idk, 20 people, tops).

Anyways that's the latest, hopefully more (and maybe something release-able) soon!

#kerytalk #my modding #cyberpunk 2077 modding

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rogueddie · 1 year

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Omg!!! 21 tattoos!! That's amazing I'm so jealous and so happy for you at the same time. I've also watched waaaay too many tattoo tours but it's just so cool and fun and easy way to obsess over tattoos and I'm happy I'm not the only one doing that. I'm curious, do you have a preferred style? Like, neo-traditional, old school, blackwork, fine-line, realistic, sketch (that's not an official style, I think, that's just what I call tattoos that take on a more drawing-like look because I don't know if it has a name) etc. Or are you someone who doesn't look at styles but just focus on the tattoo you're going to get?

When I got my first tattoo I preferred fine-line and sketch-like styles (That look like drawings) and I didn't really care about or looked into the specific styles, I just picked the tattoo shop from reviews and the way I liked their website was presented. But now, 5 years after my first one I actually really really love old school and neo-traditional (Which is funny because I couldn't stand old school 5 years ago and now I'm in love with it, though I haven't got a tattoo in that style yet)

The leg Hermes staff tattoo you described sounds so cool!

Yes! You can ask about my tattoos. As I said, I only have 4 which is a major bummer. The first one I got is just the word "Hope" written in cursive, nestled in one side of my hip where I cut myself for a period of time. When I turned 18 I'd just come out of a really rough time of my life, a really hard year where I relapsed on self-harm, so when I managed to stop again and I started feeling better, I got the word Hope as my first tattoo because it felt right and as something to hold onto if things went bad again (I'd been thinking about getting a tattoo since I was 16). The word was made too small though so it doesn't really look that nice anymore. But that's okay, I don't need it for the purpose I got it for anymore

I have a gymnastics pose in fine-line on my upper arm. The lines all look like they were drawn in one continuous, never-ending line so there are a lot of swoops. Like a drawing in cursive, if you can describe it like that. Then I have a typewriter on my forearm, which I got made last August. And my latest one, which was made through several sessions throughout september-november-december is a Phoenix half-sleeve. It ends by my elbow where there's a peony (directly on top of my elbow, which was a fun experience). It's absolutely my favourite one. It's big and cool and epic. Made in Japanese style. It's basically an homage to my identity as a trans and nonbinary person. I call him Felix (phelix, if I'm feeling punny). I felt like he ought to have a name since he's a creature. And it's a he/him even though hes a representation of my trans identity and my gender identity is 100% agender (no gender, none whatsoever). I hope to get the half-sleeve into a full sleeve sometime in the future

- tattoo anon 🦇

I think the only preference I really have is for the patchwork sleeve look. I do try to keep things consistent though; my left arm and leg are all traditional/neo-traditional, but my right arm is a little chaotic, less tattoo style and more aesthetic (mostly solid blackwork).

The Hermes staff tatt is definitely a cooler than I can make it sound, it's the best idea I've ever came up with and my artist made it even better. It's based on the version of the myth where Hermes finds two snakes fighting and stops them by putting his staff between them.

Your tattoos sound really cool! Especially the phoenix, that sounds SO good! And the gymnast one too; I know exactly what you mean by a drawing in cursive, they always look beautiful.

#ask

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tiny-tigers · 11 months

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Oh I've just noticed Molly in that Croatia vid - is that how her and Cam met?!

Also no, never noticed the legs, some guys have very fair hair that you can't really see and some just don't have much leg hair eg. Ant Watson so I just assumed it was one of those reasons! Can't imagine a rugby lad shaving his legs and not getting completely rinsed for it

Also it was Ryan Wilson mocking LRZ a bit because he'd been talking about his Wales debut and wanting/getting loads of new girl followers, he actually said "not any good ones" 😒 whereas they asked Fred the same question a week later and he revealed nothing! So that's why they complimented him compared to LRZ (also LRZ did not come across very well in his pod 👀 no chat whatsoever, not funny, the pod hosts were clearly struggling 😂🙈)

But yeh don't get me started on the ankle tatt, he said in an interview he might do what Ellis and the others have done and get one for every England tour and I was like NOOOOO 😭❌

Also I don't know what's worse about those Croatia pics, knowing he had a girlfriend at the time or that thing on his head 😭😭😭

I completely get what you mean about George's wedding though, it felt empty and completely not lovey dovey?? I get they're a private couple, but I didn't find any of those pictures loving at all 👀👀👀

Yes !

Haha no he shaves :) we had noticed a before and after... and compared to the hairy legs of Jack there is no common mesure.

George legs are baby smooth for example I guess it must help for something.

I need to check that pod with LRZ 🤔🤔🤔 yeah superficiality is glued to LRZ but I have his fanpage following me and he seems like a really good lad ??? She struggled with depression cutting herself and he helped her a lot with those struggles and sending her messages. So for me he will always be a sweetie.

Oh yes tattoo fred tattoo fred so I get 1 chance in one million to tattoo him. I was afraid to see a tattoo salon on some Marbella bitches at one point but it wasn't for them.

"That thing.." I never understood where it came from did he loose a bet like Jack and U20 ? I was so sure he did it in solidarity at one point but no. I am not sure he kept it in his pants in Croatia but ... Let's talk about Ibiza because I remembered something to add to my windmill , they met a couple of girls there and jack followed somes and I was always curious about one that no one else followed except him and it was a rugby girl who is actually in couple with another rugby girl 👀👀

😊

I was waiting for such a big wedding and incredible dress and suit and animation and it was SUCH a let down.... Also I wanted all his clubs partners present some from bath... tigers... omg 😭

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 5 months

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OC x OC for me (tragic) lad Spitfire (because you like him)! Either platonic or Romantic! Both works, but if just one then Platonic!

He's Hardcase's older brother by minutes and picked up Case's leg bouncies when he's nervous. He was supposed to be a commando, but was transferred shadily by a trainer to artillery for the 210th for four months, where he was then put back as a footsoldier and later was returned to Commando, but he chose to remain with his squad. He would feel guilty otherwise! Would die for Case, but Case dies first. He's a bit of a wreck and grows his hair out so he doesn't see Case when he looks in the mirror. He has a memorial for him in his room. Case drew his face tatts on his commando helmet, and he tattoos 'if there's a brother I'd want to be like, it's you' with something he associates Case with on the top half of his left peck. Does this for Gregor too on his right shoulder :'( Boy enjoys speeder riding (and heavy guns like Case, but his main weapon is always a repeater rifle like the Commando he is). Doesn't even hesitate to get his chip removed once his general's secret investigation is known to him.

When he laughs, it's mostly from his chest and he squints his eyes entirely closed. Always goes to 79s to catch up with Case, and he favours cider made from cider apples over anything else. Regularly does his commando workouts and always tells his brothers and team he's proud of them, the same way he used to tell Case.

As one last sad moment, he has all the names of the Vode he loves most on his left wrist, small but super neat and in their individual hand, he has a date between S3 and S4 where the 210th were given the 'Krell Treatment' on the back of his left shoulder, and he marks the date of order sixty-six on the other side with 'this clone kills no Jedi'. He keeps his Republic cog tattoo beneath his collar, too, but puts a rebel overlay on top.

Boy gets watery eyes when he's emotional, but it takes a big loss for him to sob, too, and he likes hugs!

Finally! If he thinks someone he cares about has died, but they come back alive, he's hugging them so tight, too [Gregor discovered this and might have laughed to hide his crying face you never know]

(@eternal-transcience via the main <3)

hiii friend! I'm 1) glad for the chance to learn more about Spitfire and 2) very excited to give this man a best friend. Since you've already explored some of what Spitfire and Mei might look like together, I'm gonna go a different route and say...

Tal!

Tal is my OC for the Right to Love matchmaking AU, but in the normal timeline, Tal works as a therapist and psychiatrist. They love to drink tea and recommend new blends to friends, and I feel like they happen to be at the same tattoo parlor as Spitfire one day and decides, You know what, I'm going to talk to a stranger today and give them some tea.

Spitfire is probably a little taken aback, but Tal is just very calm and serene and chill, and is like "here, you look like you need this." And Tal thinks that will be the end of it, that they'll never see the man from the tattoo parlor again--but then they do. Just randomly while Spitfire is on shore leave and exploring Coruscant. Then they do the spiderman pointing meme. And then they go to an actual tea shop and talk for a good while.

It's a good thing that Spitfire is physically affectionate, because Tal is a hugger, too. Saying hello? Hug. Bidding farewell? Another hug. Spitfire makes them laugh? You guessed, hugs!

Because of their education and training as a psychologist, probably a very good, neutral ear for Spitfire to talk to and gain insights on. Tal is Very Good at listening and offering advice when it's wanted, but they also fully understand the power of just a warm mug of tea, a cozy blanket, and a fluffy pillow. So that's exactly what Spitfire gets when on shore leave.

I hope these are some good thoughts for Spitfire! thanks for the ask! <3

#also hey- why would you hurt me with this line: 'would die for case but case died first'#how dare you #oc x oc ask game #oc: tal dravigna #oc: spitfire #my ocs #other ppls ocs #rhiplies

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steve0discusses · 2 years

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S5 Ep 29 Part 3: All Our Problems Are Ghosts

As I await my fate to see whether or not I have to go into Jury duty, lets talk about Yugioh.

Coincidentally, it’s the part of the episode where we meet Bakura who is also approaching the justice system but...probably didn’t have a jury at his trial, just guessing. Apparently he’s a graverobber, which tracks.

Not clear if he had a British Accent in 3000 BC Egypt before he got completely possessed by a ghost who absolutely does.

(why are they green?)

Also, this is here:

So like...

...how long exactly has this thing been in the sky? Is it uh...is this a common thing that Pharoah just kinda ignored? Maybe it was behind a building or something? Or maybe Pharaoh has no idea what’s up and down anyway because like he’s a Y2K guy trapped in a simulation of the past? And lets be real, Pharaoh has max 4 years years of memories in that bean. Maybe 4. He did let Yugi take the wheels for like most of it.

(read more under the cut)

I don’t know, but this thing is just up at the sky peeping on us the whole time. Just to remind you that, Yo, you are in a necklace.

Bakura conveniently has a bunch of magical guards that bust him out of the chains, which is something he just added to this world to give him a leg up on Pharaoh’s cult. TBH I don’t know if it was really possible to go about your day to day in ancient times without being in at least a couple of cults simultaneously so you could hedge your bets, so that makes sense. Just feels like that was pretty typical for back then.

And so back with Pharaoh, he’s already getting sniped like 3 minutes in by a guy with a blow dart.

A blow dart that we evaded by having Marik wave his robe at it. It was probably not moving all too quickly, but the sniper was doing his best. They don’t have guns yet.

So at Seto’s behest, everyone decides to use their magic items to turn this guy’s soul demon into a tablet.

Again with the jury duty. I get it, universe, I can’t escape jury duty. Although I really want to.

Random observation but: Is Pharaoh wearing clip-ons?

He’s wearing clip-ons, right? Like...

...those are 8 lb clip on earrings my man. Calm down. Also, pierce your ears. I am 100% positive that Yugi gave himself an ear piercing at some point when he got kinda bored one summer but just never used it and it closed up. 100% positive. So why does this ancient Pharaoh with four earrings on wear clip-ons? That’d be so painful to have that pinching your lobes, holy hell.

I’ll have you know that I just looked up if ancient Egyptians pierced their ears, and that was one of the most “wow obviously” that I got as a response from the google search engine. If their little logo in the corner could do a facepalm, it would have.

Shadi has a 00′s-tribalish tatt on his forehead, inferring that he has always had this final fantasy 00′s-tribalish tatt on hsi forehead. No wonder he wears the hat now that he’s an old ass adult.

The show goes through the purpose of the items, which is basically the same thing we already knew, but with the context of “this is why they do that now though.” Which was kinda nice to have a reason that they ever existed in the first place.

Their purpose: To make magical stone tablets and get rid of these damn monsters that have possessed a large majority of the city it feels like.

...there is no explanation as to why these spirits possess Egypt at this point. With the Orichalcos arc we did get people possessed by rocks that granted them like super technology, but I don’t know why this is currently happening. I’m sure the show will take it’s time to tell me, but I do not know if these are the same evil spirits that used to be human beings 5000 years before this point. I would love to see Dartz’ wife show up possessing some random dude but I have a strong feeling they’ve decided to forget the Dartz season.

And none of that matters anyway because the people turned spirits possessing people are now back to being tablets (which are currently paper cards).

Seto takes a LOT longer to make a card 5000 years ago than he does now, just saying. He doesn't need a rod, he does it better with computers. Kind of funny that in his attempt to escape his fate he HELLA embraced his fate of just printing so many damn cards.

Back at casa Marik, Shadi finally decides to tell us about Pharaoh.

So obviously Joey had to attack the guy because how many opportunities do you have to wrestle with a ghost? (Actually...a lot of opportunities on this show nm)

Joey has become so used to ghosts that he has gone full Kaiba and now assumes that his mind tricks are in fact holograms. It took 5 seasons but Kaiba’s brain issues have finally rubbed off on Joey.

And then after he got corrected, Joey went off about how we should be a lot more bothered about talking to a ghost, and that ghosts are scary. Joey just letting out all his baggage on how he REALLY feels about ghosts the moment that Pharaoh steps out of the room, honestly.

There’s a lot of denial on Joey honestly, but whatever he needs to form his own happy universe to get through this, I guess.

An ancient Egyptian looked down at their gray haired infant and was like “Lets call him Bakura!”

I love anime.

Again, Shadi secretly wants to screw everyone, for just no reason that I know of. I really hope we find out that Pharaoh dated the girl he liked or something stupid so we get some sort of explanation for why Shadi keeps being the most ineffective person alive.

Ah Shadi.

Anyway, lets check up on Shadi’s murderer, who went directly back from the tomb he just got arrested from and is living his best life.

Look at that, beads! The thing that you should be drawing if you are drawing ancient Egypt! (or nearly any ancient people, for that matter) The thing all animators and illustrators fear drawing. Luckily, this is anime so they can just...animate his mouth and not really move these beads too, too much.

I really hope the animator who drew this segment got the raise of their life, because keeping this look consistent shot to shot would have been hell.

So, Bakura takes Pharaohs Dad from this tomb and youknow...I thought this show had run out of Dads to have issues with. But I forgot one.

I’m excited to see this new Dad, I can pretend he belongs to Yugi since apparently Yugi’s parents got freakin edited out in the English version of this show. And like if I didn’t know that Yugi has a Dad currently living, I would now assume his Dad is dead, since he and Pharaoh share such similar lives. Seems like a natural place to talk about the passing of your Father and paralleling the lives of the two boys, it feels like that’s where the plot is going, but...Yugi’s Dad is hella alive, so that's just a headcanon that can be easily debunked.

But I still, for a second, thought “holy crap that’s why Yugi is raised by his grandfather!!!!” before I remembered that nah, Gramps is just always home because he works there.

Anyway, back at the palace, Seto got very suspicious of Marik and was it was like...man...why weren’t you suspicious of Marik 5000 years later? Seto downgraded.

Anyway, next episode we get to see some drama!

That is if I don’t get called to court, in which case it’ll be a while. We’ll see what happens.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

#yugioh #Yu-Gi-Oh #YGO #yugi muto #yami #ishizu ishtar #actually her name is isis now #seto kaiba #egypt #shadi #tea gardner #tristan taylor #joey wheeler #shimon #akhenaten #or however his name is spelled #S5 #ep 29 #holy crap I almost forgot about Bakura

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junko-and-riri-domain · 3 years

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❦ single parent circle typa thing | pjs

↬ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ: tatts & cupcakes | chapter 2

↬ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: park jongseong / jay x reader ft. all members + eventual appearance of i-land k

↬ ɴᴀᴠɪ: ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ | ɴᴇxᴛ | series masterlist

↬ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: none

↬ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.4k

Jay’s hands felt clammy as they held Sunoo and Jungwon’s, the three making their way to where ras bakery stood. He wondered to himself if they should turn around and leave, text you tonight, and properly thank you some other time. As if he were trying to justify wanting to go back,

“She did tell me to text or call, she never said anything about actually visiting,” he muttered to himself. He was about to tell his sons the change in plans since it was getting late. That is until Jungwon and Sunoo took it upon themselves to let go of his hand and run to the door when they saw you and Ni-ki coming out.

He ran after them as any parent would do but the two kids had legs of speed and managed to get to you before he could catch up. He noticed how your arms instantly invited them without hesitance and the way your eyes looked at them with worry. When he finally reached the 4 of you, he bowed out of politeness,

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let them run off like that. They just let go of my hand when they saw you and got excited.” His attention then went to his sons, “Yah, didn’t I tell you guys not to run?” he said. As the two boys looked up at him, his gaze softened and he let out a sigh, Jake and Sunghoon said that he was too soft for his boys, letting them get away with too much, and he was starting to believe them.

“I’m y/n, this is Ni-ki,” you said with a smile and a bow of your own.

“I’m Jay and well, you already know their names.” He wasn’t quite sure what he expecting when he heard of you from Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon. Naturally, he was curious since you stood up for his kids despite not even knowing them for a full day. But as you stood here in front of him, there was just something about you that rendered him speechless. It wasn’t until you spoke that he was brought out of his thoughts,

“So, what are the three of you doing here?” you asked.

“I, uhh, wanted to say thank you,” he replied truthfully, nervousness now settling in the bit of his stomach. “I didn’t realize it was closing time or I would’ve come some other time.”

“I’m honored, CEO Park Jongseong thought my bakery was worth paying a visit to?”

“Sunoo and Jungwon raved about the cupcakes Ni-ki shared and the pastries on the way to the park you gave them.”

“Y’all should be my test-tasters for new recipes then.”

“Oh? Who am I to deny that request. After all, it’s for the greater good of your customers,” he joked.

“Ni-ki and I were gonna get dinner at the pizza place across the street. The 3 of you should join us if you haven’t eaten yet.” He knew he should have said no, after all, you and Ni-ki probably wanted to eat together and you were probably offering just to be nice. He tried not to eat out too much if he could help it and preferred to cook for the boys. Yet tonight, he was feeling tired and he wanted to get to know you some more so,

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” As the 3 kids were working on one of the coloring sheets,

“Can I ask you something?” he asked. You leaned back into the booth,

“You just did,” he let out a chuckle.

“Why’d you name the bakery ras bakery?” he asked.

“Ahh, well I usually tell people that it stands for “rise and shine” y’know, cause it’s a bakery and pastries tend to be a way to start your day.”

“Mhm,” he said, wanting you to continue.

“But the real reason is because of you.” Because of him? He took a sip of his drink in an effort to stay cool,

“Me?” Quoting his famous line,

“Resentment, Anger, and Shame,” you replied. “I got into selling my baked goods around the time I found out I was pregnant and a lot of things were happening. When I got the money to open the bakery, I named it ras bakery.” Curiosity settled into him, wondering your story and just why that line stuck with you knew but he knew he wasn’t in a position to ask. So instead,

“Who was your bias?”

“OT3.” He leaned into the booth, bringing his arms up and hands behind his head,

“Liar, who was it?” He noted how your eyes widened slightly,

“How the hell did you know I was lying?” you asked. If he was being honest, he hadn’t.

“You just confirmed it,” he replied.

“Ok, well, I like all of you the same let’s get that clear but if I had to choose a bias... Sunghoon.” After hearing that he wasn’t your 02z bias, he felt slightly jealous but tried not to show it.

“Why him?”

“Have you seen the man? He’s a freaking prince. And when he laughs it’s so cute, please, I can’t. Like there’s a reason he’s called the Ice Prince but he seems like the type of guy who’ll do things for you on the down-low.”

“What about Jake?”

“Jake is such a gentleman! His Aussie accent just gives me butterflies whenever I hear it. Like you look at him and you just know that you can trust him. Plus, he’s so in love with Layla like imagine if he ever has a kid?” As the pizzas came to the table, he put a slice on everyone’s plate. As he placed one on yours,

“What about me?” he asked.

“You?” you asked.

“Mhm.”

“You’re an angry bird,” you teased.

“Yah, that’s not fair. You said all this stuff about Sunghoon and Jake,” he said with a pout.

“Ok, ok. In all seriousness though, you’ve always been passionate about anything you do. Whether it’s being an idol or a CEO, you follow through with everything. You’re caring towards other people and you’re comfortable to be around. Maybe it’s because of your honey addiction, I don’t know.” As dinner progressed, Jay realized that he was starting to enjoy chatting with you. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease with someone and noticed that throughout the night, you didn’t just take care of only Ni-ki, but also Sunoo and Jungwon which he was thankful for.

As the month went on, you and Jay exchanged a few texts here and there sometimes about the kids but other times just to chat whenever you both had time. To help Jay, you made lunch for Jungwon and Sunoo and gave it to them in the morning. To help you, either Jay, Jake, or Sunghoon dropped Ni-ki off to the bakery after school. Some days, the 3 kids were in the bakery while other days they were at Jay’s house. You managed to hire a pastry chef Wendy to help out with the work. One Friday afternoon, Heeseung came in while you were organizing the cupcake display.

“Where’s Ni-ki?” he asked.

“Dance studio, Jay’s picking him up today.”

“Ok, what’s going on with you and him? All Ni-ki talks about is ‘Jay-hyung this, Jay-hyung that.’ As your best friend and Ni-ki’s favorite hyung, I’m offended.”

“We’re just helping each other out.” In the short time that you and Jay knew each other a sort of silent agreement fell between the two of you to help out the other whenever possible. When you mentioned to him that Ni-ki wanted to attend a dance studio, he did some research and found one that gave discounts with 2+ kids enrolled. When he mentioned that Sunoo stopped wanting to eat actual food and only wanted cupcakes, you gave him some recipes to secretly incorporate it in meals and started baking more savory and vegetable-filled items.

“The two of you are in a single parent circle typa thing. Since he’s Jay of 02z that means he worked with-” you cut off Heeseung not wanting to hear the name he was about to say,

“Hee,” you warned.

“Y/n, you know I love you but when it comes to the men in your life we both know that you haven’t made the best decisions.”

“Good thing Jay and I are just in a single parent circle typa thing then, right?”

❦ written by riri (@enhykkul) | next | series masterlist | main blog masterlist

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ:

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴜꜱ: still open! if you want to be on the taglist send an ask or comment saying that you wanna be tagged in the series

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eddiecabotsmile · 3 years

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did you miss me?! no, alright that’s cool me neither whatever.. IM BACK THO i finally beat writers block (hopefully) and my (creative) juices are flowing and i’ll update some more :) thank u for being patient w/ me, my lovely daisies I LOVE YOU -love daisy

cw: mentions of needles, tattoos, fainting, cursing

getting a tattoo w/ the dogs

pink

he probably wouldn’t get one because of “professionalism” BUT would support you 100%

mr pink being mr pink would pester you

“are you really sure you wanna go through with this” “for the thousandth time yes!” “fine. but wha-“

if you get a tattoo somewhere under the clothes he’ll stare the artist downnnn

“hey, will you go a bit fucking lighter? she’s in pain”

holding your hand and kissing your knuckles

okay okay okay, he said he would not like it, but he really really likes it

“you like?” you asked happily looking in the mirror, “i uh, yeah i really do”

from then on he’s fascinated with your ink — like always examining it, touching, looking, etc

helping you take off the saniderm in the shower which leads to sexy shower time

often you two will lay in bed and mr pink will trace your tattoo with his finger

“would you ever get a tattoo?” you asked looking down at him, he smiled softly “maybe”

orange

i also don’t see mr orange getting a tattoo because he’s a cop (idk if they have rules)

so he grabs some temporary tattoos from the store

sitting cross legged on the bed placing tattoos on each other

“baby cmon you know i want silver surfer” he complains reaching for the tattoo you had

you shake your head “yeah but there’s only one so..”

fighting over the silver surfer tattoo and he wins

peeling the tattoo back and accidentally catching some of his arm hair 😬

“ouch! what the - give it here”

by the end of your ‘home session’ you both have temporary tattoo sleeves

sitting back on the pillows and freddy telling you who each person is — if you don’t already know

this might have convinced him to get some tattoos in the future

blonde

he probably does the tattoo himself because he’s so full of surprises

he’s got some hidden ink btw 👀

100% makes you get his name and he gets yours

vic rolling his eyes every single time you flinch

“almost done, babydoll” “ughh you said that a million times already”

i like to think he’d trust you enough to let you tattoo him

“you look sexy inking me up over here, baby” cue you flicking his nose for distracting you

he won’t mind if it’s a bit messy but he does help you so it turned out really good!

looking at your thigh and being so giddy “i fucking love it vic, thank you”

he’ll use this to his advantage of course because this is mr blonde we’re talking about

that night you’re laying on your side trying to get comfortable when vic pics you up

“i’ll hold you tonight, it’s gonna hurt a bit”

brown

“i want to pay homage to my favorite directors” “babe it’s literally a tattoo”

arguing for a bit over what’s cool and what’s not

mr brown gets the axe from the shining on his forearm

and you settle for something not so intense and get the room 237 key on your forearm

brown is not good with pain, and it’s a really big piece (he’s a long armed boy)

at one point he nearly faints — shocking the tattoo artist, and making you laugh

brown wakes up with you cradling him on the floor of the room, “oh, did i finish it?” but you just shake your head

when it’s finally done he can not stop admiring it, the ink is amazing and looks so good on him

a few weeks later when he’s making out with you he’ll bring up how much he loves your tatt

“mmh, seriously, it’s sexy”

white

larry has a few tattoos here and there, so he knows what it’s like

you on the other shane are freaking out over the pain

“what if it hurts” “it won’t. well not as much” “larryyy!” “what? what do you want me to say?”

larry goes first to show you how big and strong he is

show off — you swear he flinched a bit (he did)

king and queen finger tattoos !!

aftercare daddy ™

he doesn’t let you lift a finger, literally

applying soothing gels on each other carefully and it counts as mini massages :’)

if larry didn’t have a thing for your hands before DEF has one now

larry uses his middle finger a lot more now 😏

eddie

eddie “afraid of fucking needles” cabot

“baby pleaseee i really want one” you cried out following him around the kitchen

eddie turns to look at you “if i say yes will you shut up?” — the answer is YES

i like the idea of branding name tattoos so i imagine you also get his name on you

almost breaks your hand bc he’s squeezing it soo hard

watching the tattoo artist shaving eddies furry chest is absolutely hilarious

“you two stay right there, i have to go get another razor, i’ll be right back”

once they leave you’re laughing your head off and eddies just sitting there annoyed

“eddie” tattooed neatly just a over your hip bone where he can see it while he’s going down on you

and your name tattooed across his left peck — also eddie would leave his jacket fully unzipped everyone can see it, he’s so smug

“christ man, can you cover that up” pink sneers looking at eddies full frontal chest forest

eddie and you having a hard time falling asleep because of the pain

but getting to see him shirtless around the house ;))

#mr pink headcanon #mr pink x reader #mr orange headcanon #mr orange x reader #mr blonde headcanon #mr blonde x reader #mr white headcanon #mr white x reader #mr brown x reader #mr brown headcanon #nice guy eddie headcanon #nice guy eddie x reader

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

Text

@trulytaka asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀 🛹 💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. ��Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

#my writing #wacky au requests #god i want to read 100k worth of this #i just don't want to *write* it #insert dog no write! only read! meme #special thanks to mr p for coming up with rukia's car for me #we spent about a month once discussed which 80s sportscar each of the vice-captains would drive #it is the best bleach conversation we have ever had

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scolopendress-tag · 3 years

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Man I wanna get a centi tattoo on my birthday still I know I've been heeheeing abt it but MAN it makes me nervous. Not only do I KNOW pedes are hard to draw but when they're done and I've found people who've done them... They don't get them like. Anatomically accurate? And of course I'm FINE with stylization of course, but they do NOT have little wasp jaws at the front of their head and their antennae are NOT bolt straight. Please. And the terminals too like those aren't hair man those are legs... I'm too nervous to talk back 2 ppl half the time.... Even if it's just saying well hey actually.... U know?

And also I can't bare to hear negative comments about centipedes. Fun fact if u comment on people's posts where they're positive abt bugs or smthn with "oh I still hate them or ohhh they're gross ew kill it with fire! Ahah smash stop kill! So scary im nauseous! So ugly ew eradicate only good ones a dead one ;)" shit you're not funny or quirky or imventive or even like decent ur just fucking awful and annoying pls shut the fuck up thanks. We get it. You don't have to like bugs but man can people not understand that maybe that's not very decent to do. I've had people tell me that shit to my face in person at pet stores n shit when I mentioned I owned animals like I do like I would die if my tattoo artist did that. Like why do people even think that's okay. I am ranting and going off on a tangent now but can you imagine if ya told me u like corgis or have one and I told you "actually I hate corgis I would hit them with my car if I saw them lmao burn em alive better off dead am I right haha they're just so gross and freakish n ugly man it's fine I'm just a corgophobe <3" it's pretty understandable that that's unacceptable. Like don't do that. If you've gotta whine about bugs don't do it in spaces where they're being appreciated keep ur bad taste to urself. "Cool! they do honestly scare me some tho lol" or like stating a phobia and setting boundaries is fine just don't be a dick yanno. God.

Idk. Maybe I'll hold off on the centipede tatts n get something different for my first time as much as that pains me.

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chromatic-lamina · 4 years

Text

seaside and floaties one piece fanfic excerpt

Just feeling a bit anxious at the moment with real-life obligations, and posting some of my AO3 stuff relieves it a little. This is Marco/Law not swimming, but doing their best to stay in the water. Light humour. They’ve got a one-eyed, short-haired, stumpy, barrel-chested dog called Misery, and a bunch of thieves who steal wallets buried in the sand.

Post-canon AU, but powers retained, and canon elements. SFW.

🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️

You wouldn't think a one-eyed creature could swim so well."

"Anything swims better than us."

Marco wrapped an arm around Law's waist and drew him near. Law, arms crossed, turned his head Marco’s way for a beat. Steadied his footing. Looked back as Misery paddled out into the sea, picked up a stick thrown for her and swam back in. The salt water had to taste bad.

She loved the ocean. So did they of course, and they could stay afloat on top of it, in a vessel, or under it in a submarine, but they couldn't physically submerge themselves and let go and trust the water and currents to carry them from one point to the next. They'd drown.

She ran up to them, shaking droplets all over their hairy legs—board shorts were the order of the day, even if they only went in as far as their knees. Franky tried to convince them of the benefits of Speedos, but the two pirates were strangely modest. Plus, Robin might be lurking nearby and she had no mercy. Board shorts hid the fishing tackle a whole lot better.

They'd tether a floatie ring to the shore, or wear them themselves, tough guys be damned. The floaties looked particularly cute around Law's badassmotherfucker bicep tatts, and Marco never failed to snort as his lover inflated them and slid them along his muscled arms.

They were like city kids—fluent in the ways of back-alley streets, but pale and jelly-legged on sand or sea. Even if they'd spent their lives on it. On it. Under it. Not in it.

Law's gruff wheeze of a laugh joined Marco's. It didn't stop them.

Once, Law had chased down some bozos who'd taken off with their wallets, his wet boardies stuck to his thighs, yellow floaties (with Hearts' symbols) pumping up and down as he ran after them. Then he remembered his power and those kids never knew what hit them. Smoker had taken their statements and visited Law and Marco at home.

"Said a bunch of putzes..."

"Us?" Marco asked.

Smoker chomped on his cigar. That meant yes.

"Only two of us," the Phoenix added.

"Anyway, a galoot of galahs."

"Two, just two of us," Law corrected, "And the dog."

"I think they're using that word incorrectly," Marco murmured, turned his teacup. "Galoot. I think a galoot is a galah."

"Galoshes of galahs?" Law suggested.

"They're wellies. Wellington boots."

Marco looked at the window, all innocence, to avoid the devilment in Law's quick grin. He knew the Heart was imagining galoshes-wearing-galahs galooting in a downpour, like umbrella-twirling tap dancers.

Smoker glowered at them. "Some floatie-wearing hard-arse greenhorns dismembered them and dropped them on the foreshore."

"They lived to tell the tale?" Law asked, a tumbler mug of green tea in his hands disguising the curve of his lips. "They sound ghastly."

"Especially the floatie part." Marco bent under the table and scratched Misery's fur. She thumped her tail.

"The kids admitted they'd been trying to lift wallets."

"Do tell." Law and Marco had taken precautions and buried them in the sand while they paddled. Their possessions should have been safe. Who'd they think they were messing with?

"And so they're not pressing charges."

"Huh."

"But just be careful, Law, about separating people from their bodies."

"Is it illegal?" He thought stealing wallets also wasn't high on the list of judiciary approval.

Smoker knew if Law used his power, subjects wouldn't be hurt. "No, but it scares the fuck out of everyone."

There should be a law against it. Sent ripples of fear through the community. "If you two still wanna play pirates, do it on the wide open unchartered seas."

Recidivists. Not reformed in the slightest.

"Scares them even if we've got floaties on?" Law and Marco sent each other a glance, and had to look down at the table to stop a fit of unmanly giggles.

"We look pretty suburban." It pained Marco to say it, but it was true.

Smoker cracked a smile, quickly hidden by bitter coffee. One of the "victims" had taken a snap. Smoker almost expected the irate man bearing down upon them, yellow floaties prominent, to be wearing an Edwardian one-piece swimsuit, and to have a little jiggly beer belly.

"Well done," he growled, and ran his foot over Misery's hide, "Just how do you manage to threaten and protect while wearing floaties, of all the goddamned things?"

Marco looked at their tea-towel collection, at Law's tea-towel collection. Smoker really had to ask? "One of Trafalgar's many skills."

"We've got a rubber ring, Smo-ya. It's cute. Got daisies on it. Nami gave it to us."

Marco stood and walked to the kitchen. "Charged us, Law. We had to pay her for the pleasure." He brought back a mandarin each for all. Sat and peeled his, looked over to Smoker. "Sure, big guy. Next time you want to join us, just ask. You don't have to arrest a bunch of losers to impress us."

🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️

Law, earnestly leant forward on a Bepo-shaped pool float. Marco mixed the drinks at the poolside bar and Smoker rolled his cigars on the edge of an ashtray set up on his daisy-patterned float. Both fruit-users' stacked arms were encased in floaties. Smoker's bore the Marines' symbol.

Misery ran up and down the side of the pool, and it was Tashigi's job to fetch either one of them out of the water when they tumbled in. All it took was one point needing emphasis, one grown man leaning too far. There went the cigars, Law's do. Thank goodness for the floaties. And Tashigi.

Turning circles, Misery barked, and Marco for the life of him was sure she was laughing.

🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️🐶⛱🏊🏿‍♀️

This is again from a dark fic (most of the excerpts are), and is actually from a dark chapter, so I’ll just post what’s above, but a link to my AO3 is in the header of the blog. Hope it can be enjoyed without the full context of the story or verse.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law #marco the phoenix #marco and law #smoker #opfanfic #opfanfics #op fanfiction #op fanfic #my writing #my stuff #chromalami #marlaw #marco/law #law/marco

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