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sehested66sehested · 2 years

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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so i read this scenario on reddit and i thought it would be a cute and fluffy fic idea if you want to write it :)

one of the Pedro boys (i was thinking frankie or marcus moreno but you can put any one of them that you feel like would fit the story) lands himself in the hospital and the reader visits him often cause they’re friends. they notice that every time they visit, his heart rate monitor speeds up, like not enough to cause alarm but enough to be noticeable, and that’s how she finds out that he likes her and they decide to date (after he gets out of hospital)

Appendicitis (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: talk of being ill, vomit, pain, lots of talk of hospitals and that being a major setting, Frankie is a dad, language

A/N: welcome back to Josie’s quest to clean her inbox! This idea was so precious!! I hope you guys like it!!

Frankie is in fucking agony. Never has he felt something as painful as this, never has such pain radiated through his body so intensely that he has no choice but to vomit out his stomach’s contents.

He spends the day at home, occupying his daughter as best he can while he’s in such suffering. He figures that maybe it’s just really bad gas cramping or constipation. Marisol plays quietly, at her daddy’s request, watching her favorite Disney movies on the couch while nuzzled into his side. Frankie has never been so grateful to get her into bed at the end of the day.

After a full day of the pain, and realizing that it wasn’t going away no matter how many painkillers he took, Frankie gave in around midnight. Lying in his bed, skin turning gray and the pain now decisively in his right side, Frankie called you.

After a few rings, you picked up. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hi.” His voice sounds agonized. “How much do you charge for babysitting again?” He asks, the strain clear.

You’re confused, pushing the phone closer to your ear and thinking it might be the distance that makes him sound so odd. “Uh, you’re my friend, so free. You need me to take Mari?” You ask him.

He nods. “Yeah; how much for like a week though? I don’t want to impose though, and-“

His voice sounds terrible. “Frankie. Shut up. A week? What’s wrong? I can take Marisol for as long as you need, but I gotta know what’s going on.”

Frankie is quiet before he grunts softly in pain. “I think my appendix might be fucked up. It hurts like fucking hell. Mari’s asleep, I don’t wanna wake her or anything, but could you-“

You cut him off once more, sitting bolt upright. “I’m on my way over. Do you think you can hang on until I get there? I can drive you to the hospital, or we’ll get one of the boys.”

“That sounds good,” Frankie agrees. “Fuckin’ ambulances are so expensive.”

You chuckle softly. “Hang in there, Fish, okay? I’m gonna call Will, see if he can drive you and I’ll stay with Mari. How’s that?”

Marisol loves you. There’s no better solution in Frankie’s eyes: she behaves better for you than she does for him. She’ll be in good hands, happy for as long as he needs to be in the hospital healing. “Perfect. God, you’re a fucking angel. Don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better than me,” you snort as you pull on a hoodie and slip on some shoes. “I’m gonna call Will. You got this, Fish. Distract yourself. I’ll send you updates.”

When you arrive at the Morales household, Will’s truck is already in the driveway. He lives closer, so it makes sense. Be quiet and don’t wake Mari, you remember as you slip off your shoes and head up the stairs of Frankie’s home. It’s quiet, unsurprising for this time of night, and you know Mari is a light sleeper. Frankie would never want to wake her at this hour.

Wandering into his room, you find Will standing next to the bed and an incredibly worn-looking Frankie. His skin holds barely any color, his face almost green in nausea. You rush to his side. “Frankie, holy shit,” you exclaim in a loud whisper, taking his hand. “You’re okay?”

“I will be if Miller mans up and gets me out of this bed,” he says, followed by a chuckle with no humor.

Will sighs. He’s wearing pajamas too, looking as exhausted as you are. Frankie groans as he hears Mari’s tiny voice over the baby monitor. “Fuck. You’re staying with her, Will’s bringing me?” He clarifies, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes.

Nodding, you squeeze his hand. “Give me directions quickly and I’ll go get her. You gotta sit up first, Frankie,” you reassure him.

He squeezes your hand back tight and sits up, his face contorting in pain. There’s a flush of redness to his cheeks, and it makes him look more human for a moment until it fades again. “She won’t fall back asleep unless she’s in this bed with you. She needs the attention. Uh, food is in the fridge, you know emergency shit,” he says, with surprising coherence for the pain he’s in.

You nod and ruffle Frankie’s soft bedhead. “Benny- fuck,” you wince, knowing the Miller brothers hate being mixed up. Somehow, even with their distinct personalities, you do it all the time. “Will. Send me updates,” you remind him as you stand. “And you, Francisco,” you murmur and press a kiss to his sweat-beaded forehead, “get some strong pain meds and get better for me and Mari.” You smile softly and walk out of the room.

The room next to Frankie’s is beautiful, a sage green paint and lots of woodland creatures painted on the walls by Frankie’s surprisingly artistic hands. There’s a crib covered by a creamy white canopy and the little girl pokes her head up, tilting to the side in confusion as she sees you.

It’s not fear, of course. Mari loves you, absolutely adores you in fact. She’s just… confused. Her little brain can tell it’s the middle of the night. “Where’s Daddy?” She asks, making uppy arms at you.

You walk over to her crib, picking her up and kissing her head. “Daddy’s got a tummyache, cutie,” you tell her and tickle her tummy gently, making her giggle and bury her tiny face in your chest. “He’s gonna go see the doctor and get it all fixed up, okay? You and I are gonna have so much fun,” you assure her, and she giggles again.

You can hear two sets of feet, slowly moving. “Let’s go give Daddy a kiss goodbye, okay?” Mari nods and rubs her little eyes.

Frankie’s got an arm around Will’s shoulders in the hall, looking absolutely agonized. He smiles a little as he sees you and his baby. “Hey, patita,” he chuckles. He dubbed her duckling from the soft tufts of fluff on her head as a baby. “Be good while I’m gone.”

Mari nods and puts a hand on either side of Frankie’s sweating face, making a little pout and giving him a kiss. “Love you, Daddy,” she says, a yawn overtaking her tiny face.

“Love you too,” he nods and looks up at you. “I owe you.”

“Friends don’t owe each other,” you shake your head. “Now get your a… butt to the hospital, Morales,” you tell him and pat Will on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

He nods at you and the two men shuffle along through the house until they can get Frankie into the car and on his way to (hopefully) sedation and a cure.

Yawning again, Mari’s big brown eyes look up at you from where you hold her on your hip. “Snack?” She asks you, pointing towards the kitchen.

Her little voice and tiny, pudgy fingers are too much. “I suppose. Only because we’re having special girls’ time,” you tease and boop her nose. Setting her on the counter, you grab some cubes of cheese and some berries, which you make sure are in small pieces.

Mari’s content to eat her snacks with you, and you can see her growing sleepier again as the plate empties out. “Sleepy?” You ask her, and she nods. “Alright, cutie pie,” you sigh and lift her, holding her to your chest as she wraps her arms around your neck and her legs around your torso. “Do you want me to cuddle with you?” You ask.

She nods. “Gotta snuggle for late sleepies. Daddy says that.”

The words melt your heart. Frankie’s always been so good with her, so warm and skilled and precious. It only makes your crush on the man grow every time his little girl babbles about how much she loves her daddy. “Does he?”

She nods. “Daddy sings for me.”

Frankie singing Marisol to sleep. The idea melts your heart. You need in on that. “What does he sing to you?” You ask. “What’s your favorite song that daddy sings to you?”

She thinks for a moment as you sit on the edge of the bed, allowing her to clamber off your lap and into the cozy king-sized bed. “Rocket Man.” It’s hard to decipher in her baby-talk, but you get it.

“He sings that for you?” You ask as you get under the covers, into the blankets that are still warm from Frankie’s body heat, that smell like his cologne.

Mari snuggles into your chest, and nods softly. “Can you sing Rocket Man?”

“Of course,” you nod and trace little circles into the toddler’s back, singing the Elton John song to her in a soft voice. It doesn’t take long, now that she’s in her daddy’s bed and got a snack, for her to fall asleep. She snores softly, and you follow suit not too long after.

It did turn out that Frankie had appendicitis. The doctors weren’t entirely sure what caused it, but you and the Miller brothers rotated your time with Marisol at home and the hospital with Frankie, as his stay was painfully long for such an active man. Santiago video chatted often, but being out of town prevented him from physically seeing Fish.

It took him about a week to recover, and that time was mostly spent napping or watching the television in his room. He’d bullshit with the guys or you when you were around, and he especially loved the time of the afternoon every day where one of you brought Marisol to see him.

Usually it was just you or one of the Millers who stayed in the room with him. The other two either stayed with Marisol or got to stay at home and rest for themselves. It was a lucky day when you and Benny got to both be with Frankie for a while, telling stories and laughing. It was your turn to be off-duty, but all you wanted from your free time was to be with the man.

Your presence has always made Frankie’s heart rate a little faster. It’s always made his palms a little clammy, and his pants a little tighter sometimes. At least now he can attribute it to the pain.

Every time his eyes catch yours, his heart monitor gets a little louder. It’s odd, but you shrug it off. It can’t mean anything. It’s just your Frankie. After an hour or so of spending time with the guys, you run to get fast food for the three of you. While you’re away, you receive a text from Benny.

Benny Boy: you’re fucking with his head, bro

You: what?

Benny Boy: the heart rate monitor is nearly silent right now. every time frankie looks at you it spikes, don’t tell me you haven’t been noticing that

You: do you want nuggets or a burger?

You: thats ridiculous, Benny.

Benny Boy: always nuggets. but seriously, his heart rate is at like 54 right now, he’s just chilling and kind of dozed off. let’s check it when you come back.

You: be prepared for the most boring science experiment ever. also, what dip do you want?

After you receive your bulging bags of food, stuffed from both Benny’s and Frankie’s massive appetites, you return to the hospital.

You: walking in. pulse status?

Benny: 60. he’s a little more awake now.

As you enter the room, Frankie turns to you and grins. “Hey. What did you get?” He asks.

You plop the bags on the small table overhanging Frankie’s bed and grin. “Just your usual order. I know what you like,” you shrug as you unpack the food.

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 77

Smiling at the rate of Frankie’s heart, more than you should really, you sit down back next to Benny and the three of you eat your food. It’s somewhat quiet, the chatter dying as you devour the fast food, savoring the grease and salt.

After everyone is finished, you stand and clean up the garbage, tossing it all away. You sit back down on Frankie’s bedside. “So, macho man. How’s the pain?” You ask, your fingers tracing his good side.

Beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 86

He shrugs. “It hurts like a bitch, and they said it’s gonna keep hurting like a bitch.”

“Poor baby,” you chuckle, cupping the side of his face and kissing his forehead softly.

Beep beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 96

Benny groans and stands. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” He smacks your arm as he walks past, as if rubbing in the evidence he’s found. “And then take a walk, I think.”

You’re still seated at Frankie’s side, on the inflatable hospital mattress. “Oh Benjamin,” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why’d he leave so quick?”

You shrug, though you know the answer. “Who knows? Benny can’t even predict himself,” you chuckle. Frankie’s hand rests over his chest. You slide your hand over his torso and lace your fingers through his until you’re holding it. You can feel his heart thumping steadily against it. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 104

He smiles. “I’m lucky I have you.”

You sigh softly as you look up at the heart rate monitor again. “I gotta say, you have a really high resting rate,” you say nonchalantly, as if you believe it.

Frankie’s face warms. “I, uh-“

“I’m kidding, Frankie,” you mumble softly to him, smiling a little. “I really like you, and I think that monitor is helping me know you like me too. When you get out of here, can we maybe go on a date some time?”

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. HR: 112

Nodding enthusiastically, those floppy curls move with his head. “I would love that,” he tells you with a beaming smile. “God, have you been able to tell all day?” He asks as he looks up at the monitor, his ears burning with heat as he reads the pulse rate. It’s embarrassingly high.

“Yeah,” you finally admit and smile down at him. “But it’s cute. And it makes me feel all warm inside because I finally know you like me too.”

Big brown eyes stare up at you with all of the love in the world. “If I wasn’t wearing a hospital gown, I’d kiss you right now,” he promises. “But that’ll have to wait.”

“Yes it will,” you nod and kiss his forehead again, easing him back against the mattress he’d lifted up from slightly. “Now I’m going to go find Benny, and you slow down that heart rate,” you tease and ruffle his curls.

“I’m not gonna be able to slow it down with you around,” he says with a soft smile, his eyes slipping shut.

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lil-tachyon · 4 years

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Your art has such a moebius like quality that i always struggle to replicate. Do you have any tips you could share?

Hey thanks for the question! I’m a complete amateur and Moebius is, in my estimation, one of the most skilled visual artists of the last century so please take everything I have to say with a grain of salt while I answer your question. This all comes from my own experience and I am still learning.

First of all my main piece of advice for anybody drawing anything: if you want to get good, assume that you know nothing, start from the beginning, practice fundamentals, and draw every day, even if it’s just for like 15 minutes. No amount of art advice is worth anything if you don’t draw.

Now to address your question about how to replicate a ‘Moebius-like Quality,’ I would say what you need to do is study him very carefully.

When I first started drawing seriously and getting super into Moebius and all that I made the mistake of thinking “Okay, this is just simple lines and bright, mostly flat colors underneath. Not too hard to replicate.” Which couldn’t be further from the truth. Moebius’ art has this thing about it where it can often appear really simple but you try to recreate it and you find yourself hitting a wall. Let’s look at an example:

This looks like what I said, right? Clean lines, striking color palette. But there’s more to that. First of all, the fact that the gigantic flat black shape at the bottom of the piece conveys simultaneously the impression of the girl on the left leaning against the chest of the central figure and the boy on right fading into the back of composition while not containing any detail itself should clue you in to how much of a master good o’l Gir is and how much thought and knowledge had to go into designing this piece. There’s more.

If we zoom in on the head we can learn a bit. This is the focal point of the piece and, as such, this is where all the detail is. Where lines are used sparingly throughout the rest of the comp, here they provide an abundance of detail for the central figure’s elaborate headdress with contour lines defining the shape of the yellow crest and other lines throughout intimating textile patterns. The colors are striking but they’re not just random bright colors.

There’s the light blue of the background, a smattering of desaturated purple/red colors in the headdress, and the yellow of the crest. Let’s look at a color wheel:

You should notice that yellow is on the opposite side of the wheel from the entire blue-purple section. Yellow contrasts with blues and purples. Thus, just that tiny bit of yellow is enough to make it totally pop out from the rest of the more desaturated blues and purples in the piece. So, not just some random bright colors, but some carefully thought out areas of low and high color contrast.

Let’s look at another example:

A small piece but so effective. Notice how in the top, the horizontal lines begin super tightly packed and spread to create a gradient from pack to white. Notice how the line weight increases between the shadowed and light sides of the mushroom cloud to brilliantly indicate a core shadow. Notice how the horse and rider are mostly just black shapes- but they’re composed in such a way that your mind knows exactly what they represent. Notice how the hatching that creates the ground texture also points towards the cowboy’s head as a focal point.

Another one:

Look at the linework on this. The way he varies the lineweights to indicate changes in value. The way each line describes the form of the figure and his clothes. How the lines create texture. No line here was put down by chance- each one has a purpose and Moebius knew the purpose of every mark he put on a paper.

So, I guess part one of my answer is you gotta really put the work into being a good artist and use Moebius as your guide. Get good with pens, be able to vary your lineweights, be confident with all different kinds of hatching styles, etc. Read up on color theory and see how Giraud applied it. Every new thing you learn, take that knowledge and use it to study your favorite artists and see how they applied it. That’s how you learn.

There’s a little more though and this applies to the content of Moebius’ art.

Here’s a side-by-side comparison of the Moebius’ concept art for the unmade 1970’s Dune movie with a screenshot from the new Dune movie. What makes them different? As bizarre as the Moebius design is, it feels a hundred times more real to me than the armor pictured on the right. There’s a specificity to it. Where the Moebius design feels like the result of generations of tradition and culture resulting in an outfit as elaborate, unconventional, and distinctive as that of an Ottoman Janissary, a Landsknecht, or a Samurai, the image on the right looks like a generic assemblage of armor plates with no history behind them.

As fantastic as Moebius’ work is, it definitely has a basis in the real world. I mean, he spent years illustrating a gritty, down-to-earth cowboy comic. All his designs feel distinct and specific and I would venture to say that a lot of that comes from taking an interest in real world cultures and traditions.

I think this is true of all real good science fiction and fantasy artists. They know how to take something from the real world and twist it to their own ends.

I hope this answers your question and helps you find joy in creating art. That’s what it’s all about.

For more reading, here’s a William Stout article on the subject: https://www.williamstout.com/news/journal/?p=3806

As a postscript, I’ll include some other artists that I think anyone who is a fan of Moebius should check out.

Sergio Toppi:

Katsuya Terada:

Katsuhiro Otomo:

Mark Schultz:

#moebius #jean giraud #art tutorial #art tips #mark schultz #katsuya terada #sergio toppi #katsuhiro otomo

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gildedcreaturefeature · 2 years

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Character introduction: Connie

Basics:

Name: Connie Gilmore

Pronunciation: k- ah - n - ee | g- IH - l - m aw r

Meaning: Connie is an English name which means ‘constancy’ or ‘steadfastness’ (it’s ironic).

Gilmore is a reduced Anglican form of the Gaelic Mac Gille Mhoire (Scots), or Mac Giolla Mhuire (Irish). It means ‘servant of’.

Birthday: 13 June 1954

Age: 26

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Siblings: One older brother

Parents: A single mother. Unknown Muggle father.

Other Family: None of note

Languages: English

Current Residence: Her friend Glenda’s couch

Hometown: Chicago, Illinois

Wizard Fun:

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird

Year of Graduation: 1971 (flunked out)

Occupation: None currently

Pet: A brown rat, named Igor

Blood Status: Halfblood

Species: Human; Metamorphmagus

Patronus: Crocodile

Boggart: A swarm of bees (she’s allergic)

Amortentia: Old books. Shampoo. Chicago deep dish pizza.

Wand type: 11”, Jackalope antler core, hawthorn wood, surprisingly swishy

Affiliation: Neutral

Appearance:

Height: 5’4”

Hair Color: Naturally blonde. Hair colour fluctuates according to mood, but she favours red and blonde

Eye Color: Blue (naturally). Also varies

Typical Hair Style: Most days, shoulder-length red hair with bangs

Fashion Style: Typical muggle fashion of the period - mostly bohemian, thrifted clothes

Distinguishing Features: Varies, day to day. As a Metamorphmagus, Connie is constantly changing her appearance. However, her most distinctive features that you’ll likely see her with on the daily are the bright red hair, the up-turned nose, and icy blue eyes.

Personality: Connie comes across as a generally easy-going person. She doesn’t like conflict, nor does she like taking sides. She prefers to come across as laid-back and confident - she wants people to like her. She has a good sense of humour and has a genuine laugh that’s infectious (she snorts when she laughs). She’s always the one with creative ideas - however, she’s not a particularly hard worker, so she’s not often going out of her way to do things.

Positive Traits: + Creative + Humorous

Negative Traits: - Indifferent - Fickle

Quick Facts:

Connie is a Metamorphmagus.

She has an older brother who’s a Squib.

She is not currently on speaking terms with her mom.

She is a halfblood - mom is a witch, dad is a Muggle. She’s never met her father.

She’s not particularly skilled at magic - though she’s never cared to put effort into learning it and using it (she failed out of Ilvermorny before she could finish her seventh year). She only uses it when it’s absolutely necessary.

Connie wants to be famous amongst Muggles as a horror movie producer/director.

Her stance on the war is neutral. She could be swayed to join either side by the right person.

Theme song: “The Bidding” by Tally Hall

Headcanons:

Connie really loves disco music.

She has picked up photography and filming as a hobby, and only uses Muggle cameras.

She plays the monsters in her own amateur films using her Metamorphmagus abilities.

Connie once had a whirlwind love affair with a woman who was part-Veela. They met when she moved to London, through the gay club scene. Things ended rather horribly, but Connie still thinks about her to this day.

Connie’s hair is usually blonde and unstyled on days that she’s feeling sad, or just not feeling herself.

She keeps her wand in her boot, or stuck in her hair when she does an updo.

#character intro #connie gilmore

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jilytho · 4 years

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and they were roomates

Jily/Marauders roomate thing just for fun. Happy Jilytober!!!!

Read below or on AO3 of FFNT

Moving in together had always been the plan. The Marauders, out in the real world. Throughout Uni they were always forced to split up into different apartments in groups of two, usually ending with Sirius and James in one apartment and Remus and Peter sharing one down the hall. Remus insisted it be that way because he insisted he wouldn’t be able to focus on schoolwork if he had to deal with his idiot of a boyfriend 24hours a day but separate apartments in no way made them spend any less time together. James swears he spent more nights on the floor of Remus and Peter’s kitchen than in his bed. Still, once they were done with school and off in the Real World having an apartment for all of them to live in was the ultimate goal.

They set out to look for a spot that was nice enough to fit the bizarrely high standards of Sirius, while still not breaking the bank for Remus or Peter who insisted on paying their own way without any help.

It was Remus who ended up finding their place, somewhat dodgy area of town but right down the street from his favorite Thai takeout place, three coffeeshops with adequate reading vibes within a four block radius, and a seven minute commute for Remus to get to the lab everyday. 14C was a once cute three bedroom apartment now covered in years of dust and grime and now officially theirs.

Sirius and Remus claimed the master with its very own ensuite so James could stop having to pick Sirius’s hair out of the shower. It wasn’t a perfect set up but they all found ways to mesh together and make it just right and just theirs. Peter was immediately made interior designer and found a couch and two armchairs off of craigslist so that they could stop sitting on the floor in front of the TV. James was in charge of the kitchen and bought real utensils and bowls so Sirius would stop pouring his cereal onto frisbees. Remus developed his very own homemade cleaner filled with bleach and alcohol and was likely poison in a bottle but it somehow made the beige counters white and sparkling.

Technically James and Sirius were the only names actually on the lease, a Sirius suggestion, so that if they were ever late on rent it wouldn’t impact the credit Remus had spent so long building up. It had the added benefit of Peter and Remus not having to worry if their paycheck was being delayed and they had to pay Sirius or James a few days late because the boys were always good for it.

Being adults in the real world never stopped any of them from still behaving like children. Sirius refused to take out the trash so James took to dumping the trash on his head while he was sleeping, and accidentally got day old noodles onto Remus’ pillow. They broke two TVs during two separate games of indoor football and Peter was a world class baker but was the worst at cleaning in the whole flat and left flour everywhere, constantly. But still, they were happy. They ate dinner together almost every night and had movie nights on Thursdays. Peter and James invested in heavy duty ear plugs within three weeks of moving in and realizing just how thin the walls were.

After a full year of making Apartment 14C home, the lease was up they unanimously decided to resign because this was their place. But then one day they wake up to find that Pete has his bags packed and is all “I got a job across the country bye”. They want to fight him and Remus, always the logical one, brings up that they literally just signed for a whole year and are only 20 days into this new lease. And Peter, the little slimy rat, smirked and said “Not my name on the lease, not my problem” and just left.

They learn from Facebook that he was working for some politician that stands for everything the boys do not. The kind of politician who would actively root against the happiness and togetherness of Sirius and Remus. Once they learn that, they are officially done missing him.

At some time in the middle of the night all the pictures that Peter was in from school are mysteriously replaced with pictures of James’s cat.

Sirius wants to keep He-Who-We-Do-Not-Talk-About’s bedroom empty and make it into a yoga studio/library combo but Remus says that it's ridiculous to pay that much extra in rent and he refuses to let Sirius pay for the room and so the roommate hunt begins.

Everyone they met with was either too sweaty or too loud or was great on paper but had a super distinct death like scent so the room sat empty for almost a full month. James was content to let it stay that way and just keep finding reasons because it was good with just the three of them. They weren’t the same and James was sometimes a third wheel but these were his brothers, he didn’t need anyone else.

It stays empty until one day, Remus comes home from work one day saying that he has a friend from class, a nice well mannered and smart girl who would pay her rent on time but is in urgent need of getting off of her sister and terrible brother in laws couch before she “sets it and the house on fire”. Sirius isn’t sure he wants someone willing to commit arson moving in across the hall from him but a quick look from Remus shut him up and he was suddenly all for the mystery girl coming in. Remus said she would be moving in in three hours and would James be available to help her carry in her bags? James felt slighted that he wasn’t even given a vote or a chance to meet the girl, but that was mostly because despite Peter leaving and betraying them, James is loyal to a fault and still saw the room as Pete’s room and Pete’s stool in the kitchen despite the fact that the lying bastard just took off with no warning and changed his phone number and was a traitorous little bastard. Still, he couldn’t argue the point too much or he’d look stupid so fine, let the new girl move in but “Remus I swear, make it clear that this is just temporary until she figures it out and we find someone else we can all agree on”. He decided he just wouldn’t hang out with the new girl. They’d be apartment mates but they wouldn’t be friends.

She shows up with seven boxes and three bottles of wine to her name. James’s mouth is full of pasta when she introduces herself to him and he is so startled by the green of her eyes that he swallows without chewing and starts hacking noodles up while waving hello as she watches, green eyes wide with concern and amusement, hand still held out to shake.

The first week after she moves in, he avoids her like the plague. He mentally insists that he has no need to get to know her because this is just temporary and she is going to find a new place and it doesn't matter how green her eyes are if he just doesn’t look at them.

By the start of the second week, it stopped mattering if he didn’t directly interact with her because she was still everywhere. The living room was transformed from a bare bones TV and couch room to completely cozy with scented candles and fuzzy blankets and fun, colorful throw pillows that James instantly became obsessed with. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love the lemon scented soap in the kitchen or how she always made sure there was coffee in the pot for him or how the scent of her rose body wash somehow fills the whole apartment everytime she showers and is amazing or how the whole apartment just felt warmer and better now that she was there.

He stopped getting surprised when she found ways to just fit with them. He always thought Peter worked well with them, they were brothers of course, but now he couldn’t help feeling like Peter had been a square peg squeezing into a circle hole. He fit but it was also just a little tight or tense or unequal. Lily, on the other hand, clicked in just right. She was instantly just one of them, even before James had accepted it. On her 10th day of living with them (a celebration Sirius insisted required an ice cream cake) all reservations about her completely imploded because there was no arguing that she belonged with them and they belonged with her. When he woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, he wasn’t at all shocked to find her and Remus reviewing chemical formulas at 3am on a Tuesday. Like of course they were, why wouldn't they be. It felt even less surprising that he just walked himself over and sat on the ground in front of her and stole her flashcards so he could quiz them both. It felt only natural when he saw her and Sirius getting ready to go to spin class together, even though Sirius never brings James to spin class with him anymore because of the one time he fell off his bike and caused a ruckus. He’s barely even confused when he ends up at a sunrise yoga class with her even though he had never been awake to see sunrise a day in his life. He’s even less surprised to learn that he enjoyed it immensely and had never been so happy to be up that early. He tells himself that it's just the impact of the yoga that he is in such a good mood but knows it has a lot more to do with the laughing goddess in the downward dog next to him.

They get glared at all through the class because he keeps whispering things to her and making her giggle and then he becomes so transfixed by her laugh that he loses his balance and falls out of his pose, almost toppling the woman next to him. She laughs so hard her face matches her hair and giggles every time she looks at him for the rest of class.

And then it’s Sunday and Blokes Brunch easily becomes “Lily, let’s go time for brunch” and when she pops the champagne (which had always been James’s job but he couldn't’ even fight her properly for it) he sees the sparkle in her eyes so much clearer than the sparkle in the drink and he lets himself actually see her and oh my god did she look good.

It still hurts when they see a picture of Peter on facebook or in Snapchat memories but slowly their memories start to fill up with green eyes and red hair and lovely smiles. It is no surprise when just the suggestion of her moving out became criminal. It was no surprise to any of them except for James when she stopped sleeping in her room and started sleeping across the hall with James. None of it was how the Marauders expected their lives to be at all but there was also more joy and warmth and love than any of them could have ever predicted.

#happy jilytober #jilytober #jily #drabble #mywriting #James Potter #lily evans #maurauders era

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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@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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witchesoz · 2 years

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Oz Lore: The Great and Powerful (2)

II) The Land of Oz

Now, what is truly fascinating is that for the release of the movie, Disney published an official map of Oz as it appears in the movie – in fact it is the same map that appears several times in the movie.

However before that, let’s tackle the biggest issue with this movie: is Oz a dream or not?

The movie tries to mix together two conflict canon, the books where Oz is real, and the MGM movie where Oz is a dreamland. As a result… on one side Oz is visibly real, since the Wizard is not knocked on the head in any way, is rather carried there by a magical tornado, and later appears in Dorothy’s story. But on the other side, Dorothy’s story per the MGM movie was a dream, and the Wizard, just like Dorothy, sees in Oz beings and creatures reflecting his reality – the lions, the monkeys, the circus music in the plants, Glinda being a reflection of Wanda, the Little China Girl being the wheelchair girl… too many coincidences for it not to mean something. The result is extremely confusing. But that’s the main trouble with this movie: in terms of Ozian lore, it is infuriating by its desire to take from both canons without fully indulging in any.

Now, to get on to Oz itself…

They kept the idea of Oz being split into several distinct sections, which is nice. The Emerald City is at the center of Oz and has its own, green-colored region. The official map mentions a “Green Lake” nearby, which is not appearing in the movie but is actually a nod to the mysterious lake Baum added on his Oz maps without ever using it in a story. The most interesting twist is that in this version, there are actually four yellow brick roads, each linking the City to a different part of Oz.

In the north, you have the purple-colored Gillikin Country, which appears on the officla map, but is absolutely forgotten in the movie. It is never mentioned, does not appear and doesn’t play any role – the official map doesn’t even has landmarks for it. Since Glinda in this movie is the witch of the South, there is no witchy presence in the North – and even more, on the official map, the Northern Yellow Brick Road is the only one that is not tied or crosses over with the other Yellow roads (ALL the other Yellow Brick Roads are tied together in one big system).

In the South, you have the Quadling Country. It seems to be red-colored, in theory. You see, the thing is that on the official map the colors of the countries are very pale – and the one of the South is so pale it doesn’t seem like it has any color at all. It looks to be the same beige as the paper of the map, until you look really close and note some faded red/pink colors on the borders. The only real noticeable landmark is “Glinda’s Castle”, which is the small bubble-protected kingdom Glinda built in the South during her exile. Because yes, she visibly had enough time to build there a castle – unless it was always there and she merely took over. In the movie, this is where Glinda united her “forces” by gathering people who were oppressed/wronged by the Wicked Witch and knew the truth. Three groups are here: the Quadlings (the simple, rural folks living in the South. Look like humans with strange mustaches/hairdos/outfits – mostly farmers, though others also have jobs such as iron-smiths, sewers, bakers or scarecrow-makers) ; the Tinkerers (old, bearded and bald men with pointy ears, most walking with canes or in wheelchairs, and who are able to build anything – probably a mix of elves makers and the Winkies from the novel) and the Munchkins (who are just like in the MGM movie – interestingly not all the Munchkins joined Glinda’s side, one actually works as the Herald of the Emerald City, but ultimately turns out to be a double agent for Glinda – but it leads the question, if Evanora can spy in Glinda’s protected kingdom, how come she did not realize her own city herald was a spy?).

At one point we also see a bunch of wild mountains located at the border between the South and… the Munchkin realm, let’s call that. The mountains there are shaped like giant animals (one is a stone lion, another a titanic elephant) and they have on them strange sights such as flowers made of crystals/gems.

And then… the East and the West. Oh boy. That’s the mess.

You see, they inverted the East and the West. Which isn’t wrong in itself, because this is a nod to the real Oz maps: the first Oz maps in the books had confused the directions, putting East on the left and West on the right, resulting in an ongoing debate over whether the directions are inverted in Oz or not. HOWEVER… the mistake the movie And this precise map made is that they did not invert the directions on the map, East is still on the right as in our world’s maps. No, they inverted the directions when it comes to the people. The Winkies are put in the East and the Munchkins in the West. Which doesn’t make any sense since for example Evanora goes to rule over the Munchkins and become the Wicked Witch of the East… in the West, according to the official map (which is the same map used in the movie).

Anyway.

The Yellow Land of the Winkies (normally in the West, but on the map and the movie in the East) is actually where the Wizard begins his journey. His balloon falls in “The Winkie Peaks”, in the North-East, right next to Ugabu (another book nod). The Winkie Peaks is a set of twisted canyons and weird mountains – they are covered in snow in their highest and most northern parts, which then melt into waterfalls, rivers and lakes. This area is filled with strange sights: butterfly looking like flowers ; giants plants ; reeds making music ; and “water fairies”, small mischievous sprites who love to bite people. This is also where the Wizard meets Theodora – and this actually is never explained. Why is she so far away from Oz? And why is she in an area FILLED WITH WATER?

They then go into what the map calls the “Enchanted Forest”, which looks mostly like a regular forest. Except that it is filled with lions. This is also where they meet Finley, a small winged monkey with a bellhop outfit, who just escaped after his master’s house was destroyed by the Wicked Witch winged baboons. Here is something else that never got explained: what exactly is Finley? He looks a lot like the winged monkeys the Wicked Witch uses in the MGM movie. But in this continuity, the Wicked Witches use flying baboons. And while Finley has similarities to them (a winged ape with human clothes), he also doesn’t look like them AT ALL – he can speak where they cannot, he is gentle and kind where they are brutal and cruel, and he has feathered wings where they have bat wings.

Finally, in the movie they leave the Winkie Country by using the Yellow Brick Road, which leads them through a patch of blue flowers. And here is actually another interesting confusion: in the movie, it is implied that each gate of Oz has in front of it a patch of flowers tied to the land it faces. The eastern gate has blue flowers; the western gate has yellow flowers, and the southern gate has red flowers – the deadly poppies. Which would make sense… if they hadn’t switched the two countries. So, while the blue flowers face the East, according to the map they face the yellow Winkie Country. Same with the yellow flowers in front of the blue Munchkin Country. In fact, it seems that in the movie the East with the Peaks and the Enchanted Forest, was supposed to be the Munchkin Land of the MGM movie – after all the Enchanted Forest is the one of the MGM movie where they meet the Lion, the Tin Man and the talking apple trees. But the official map put them in the Winkie section.

And the deadly poppy fields are even more confusing – while they are supposed to face South, because they are red and are not near the Eastern Yellow Brick Road, the movie and the map explain that the field is actually East, and borders the Enchanted Forest. It is also confusing because in the MGM movie it is implied that the poppy field is a spell cast by the Wicked Witch, but here they are an already existing area everyone in Oz avoids because “one sniff” of the flowers and you fall into an eternal sleep.

As for the Winkies themselves, just like in the MGM movie they are represented as tall soldiers with hooked noses and chins – they are the personal guards of the Wicked Witches. However, contrary to the MGM movie, they do not have green skin, they rather have yellow skins (a nod to how their color is yellow).

And then you have the Eastern – I mean, Western part of Oz, the blue-colored Munchkin country. Only three areas are visited here: the China Country, a nod to the book, a city made of giant china cups and teapots, inhabited by living china figures. The town got entirely destroyed by the flying baboons, because they celebrated the arrival of the Wizard which angered the Wicked Witch, leading to the genocide of the China people, with only the Little China girl surviving (in this canon, glue does not exist in Oz, and thus the China people, once broken, cannot be repaired – until the Wizard arrived, with glue). Later another area of the Munchkin Country is the “Dark Forest” also called the “Haunted Forest”. Where the Enchanted Forest was a green, vibrant, beautiful area, the Haunted Forest is a dark and gloomy place filled with black dead trees, enormous thorns, and also man-eating plants with glowing eyes. In fact, to travel safely there you either have to run very fast, or be a witch whose magic can force the plants and obstacles to push away (such as Glinda does with her wand). The Haunted Forest borders “The Cemetery”, where Glinda’s father was buried. And according to the map, it is basically the only cemetery of all Oz, where the Ozites are all buried.

As you might remember, the haunted forest was originally (MGM canon) in the West of Oz, near the Wicked Witch castle. And here it is in the Munchkin Country, except that the Munchkin is in the West… the same way the Enchanted Forest, in the East-Munchkin land of MGM becomes here part of the East-Winkie land. It is just… so confusing.

This little tour being made, here are a few additional thoughts about this take on Oz:

# The technological level of Oz is… extremely confusing. The Quadlings are shown to own sewing machines, for example, hinting at a somewhat modern Oz. Yet, the Ozites are also confused by things such as glue and music boxes, and ignore what canon powder is.

# The size of Oz is… also confusing, but overall damn is this country small! On one side it takes roughly a full day (one afternoon and one morning) for the Wizard and Theodora to go from the Winkie Peaks, at the Ozian border, to the Emerald City, at the heart of Oz. Yet, the Wizard tells the China Girl her city is “one or two hours” of walk from the Emerald City. Except that, according to the map, the distance China Town-Emerald City is half the length of the distance Theodora and the Wizard crossed to get to the Emerald City…

#oz #oz the great and powerful #oz lore #oz geography #gillikin country #munchkin country #quadling country #land of the winkies #movie

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 3 years

Photo

Movie Mars on Earth Wadi Rum looks like few other places on Earth. In fact, the distinctive desert landscapes have inspired more than a few filmmakers to use the valley in southern Jordan as a stand-in for Mars. Among them was Ridley Scott, director of the 2015 film The Martian. Scott made frequent use of Wadi Rum’s scenery, often bringing viewers along on panoramic tours of surreal inselbergs, spires, and turrets of rock as fictional astronaut Mark Watney tries to survive and make his way home from Mars. When viewed from space, it is easy to see why Scott chose this place. The colors and textures of Wadi Rum—shown in the natural-color Landsat 8 image above—are a close match to those found on Mars. The area, which appears in the movie on multiple occasions, features towering sandstone and granite inselbergs that punctuate valleys blanketed with iron-rich sand. It includes one of the region’s most iconic rock formations: the Seven Pillars of Wisdom, a group of natural stone pillars that jut from the northern edge of Jebel Um Ishrin. Many of the prominent rock formations in Wadi Rum are comprised of partially eroded layers of sedimentary rock—mostly purple and white sandstones—that formed hundreds of millions of years ago when sea levels were higher and the area was muck at the bottom of an ocean on top of a base of granite. After sea levels dropped and exposed the new sedimentary rocks, a combination of tectonic lifting, wind, and water eroded and sculpted them, leaving valleys filled with sand and jagged terrain. Scott felt the scenery was such a good approximation of Mars that he only made a few changes when editing. He added a background red dust to many shots, and occasionally added computer-generated clouds and dust storms for dramatic effect. “I didn’t do anything but shoot it at the right time, from the right positions,” Ridley told Space.com. “To me, [Wadi Rum] is the Eighth Wonder of the World. It’s incredible.” Mars aficionados and sci-fi movie buffs can keep an eye out for Wadi Rum in several other movies. Red Planet (2000), The Last Days on Mars (2013), Prometheus (2012), Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), and Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019) all used Wadi Rum as a stand-in for Mars or other fictional desert planets. “I was in awe of that place, it was really, really special,” actor Matt Damon said of the time he spent filming there. “[It is] one of the most spectacular and beautiful places I have ever seen, and like nothing I’ve ever seen anywhere else on Earth.” NASA Earth Observatory image by Lauren Dauphin, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Story by Adam Voiland.

#space #science #earth observatory #nasa #news #jordan

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slowlydrowningme · 4 years

Text

Under the Bright but Faded Lights

Title: Under the Bright but Faded Lights

Rating: T

Word Count: 1546

Warnings: Description of kidnapping and injury, minor mentions of blood and violence

Pairing: Damian x fem!reader

Prompt: 18 and 22 for Damian Wayne x fem reader (Pinterest prompt lost #1) please!

“You are weak with love for her.”

Notes: Apparently I have issues writing fics that are mostly the requested pair. I don’t know how this turned into what it did, but there it is. Fun fact: I started this fic three different ways before I settled on this one. Good times.

Tags: @this-is-what-makes-us-fandoms

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things are fuzzy when you come back to your senses slowly. The pain in your head isn’t surprising and neither is the wet, sticky feeling on the side of your head. The cold is seeping into your skin through the material of your jeans where you’re sitting on the damp concrete, hands pulled above your head secured with chains if the clinking noise is anything to go by. Your shoulders are sore and your ribs ache with each breath, but other than that you seem to be relatively unharmed. The pounding headache was by far the worst part.

And it was made worse when you finally decided to open your eyes.

“Y/N…thank god.”

“Di-Nightwing?” You can barely make out he outline of the man sitting across from you, but the voice and color scheme are unmistakable. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Blinking your vision clear, you try to remember the events leading up to that shadow appearing in your bedroom.

“Dinner with a friend,” you say in leu of saying Damian’s name because you don’t know who has you and what they know. “A movie and then a walk home.” It had been Damian’s night off and he had decided to take you on one of the most cliché dates ever because Dick had recommended it and you had found it amusing. He would do anything to see that lovesick smile on your face and the whole family (and you) knew it.

“Where did he grab you?”

“He?”

“Deathstroke.” Well, damn. “Where were you?”

“At home. I had been there about ten minutes.” The lenses of Nightwing’s mask closed and you knew he had drawn the same conclusion. Long enough that Damian would have been well on his way home. “But…I never sent the text.”

The text that you sent every night before slipping into bed and drifting off for the night. The text that would be replied to immediately if Robin wasn’t patrolling. The text that you would see the reply to when you woke up the next morning if he was. The text that was sent because you had once told Damian how your mother said her biggest regret was not getting the chance to tell your father she loved him one last time before he died in the car accident when you were ten.

“He’ll notice then.”

“Yeah,” you breath out, blinking slowly as your head starts to fog up again. “How long have we been here?”

“Me, a couple of hours. You, maybe an hour tops.” Damian would have definitely figured something out by now. Whether he had figured it was foul play was still up in the air.

“Hey, N?” You struggled to keep the slur out of your voice, but the startled look on his face told you that you had failed. “I’m going to pass out again now.”

“Hey, no! Y/N?! You need to stay awake!” Nightwing called out, but he already sounded like you were listening from underwater, so you knew it was a pointless cause at this point.

The next time you came to, you are still chained up but there’s the distinct sound of fighting in the room with you. A gun shot going off pulls you out more quickly than the previous time.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance, kid,” the deep voice of Deathstroke, aka Slade Wilson, draws your attention to where he and Robin are engaged in a fight. A quick glance reveals Nightwing is almost out of his manacles, tossing worried looks between the fighting pair and you.

“Y/N!” Nightwing relaxes slightly in the shoulders when he notices your eyes are open again. But that is short lived when another gun shot goes off and something sharp hits your cheek. You flinch and gasp when the pain in your arms is brought back to your attention.

You’re aware you haven’t been shot, but you definitely took some kind of shrapnel to the cheek and it stings. But it just serves to remind you of all the other aches and pains that have only gotten worse since your last bout of consciousness.

“Ow,” you muttered, blinking back the bite of tears.

“Jesus,” Nightwing swears, doubling his efforts to get out of his restraints. It’s a moment later that both of his arms are falling to his sides and he’s crawling over to where you’re slouched. But your eyes are on Robin and Deathstroke. You had seen Damian fight plenty of times and every time you’re able to marvel at the terrifying beauty of it. But he has a katana and Deathstroke is wielding his guns.

“No, help him. Help Robin,” you gasp out when Nightwing reaches up to pick the lock securing your hands above your head.

“No. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t get you out of here first.”

“Please help him.” But you know your request is in vain because Nightwing is shaking his head and reaching above you still. Your chest is tight with fear as you keep your eyes on Robin as he focuses on Deathstroke.

“The others are here,” Nightwing says quietly as you feel the grip around your wrists release and he’s gently guiding your arms down. He’s careful with you, but you aren’t trained to compartmentalize the way they are and the pained cry escapes your dry, cracked lips. There’s a flurry of movement when the others crash into the room and you flinch at the commotion before leaning into Nightwing as he shifts to protect you from what’s happening on the other side of the warehouse.

“Get her out of here,” comes a growl that is sadly all too familiar these days and just, how did knowing Batman’s voice become your norm? “Nightwing, now!” The order is clear and Nightwing tenses with it but doesn’t argue. Instead, he loops an arm under your legs and around your back, lifting you easily as he stood.

“Leslie is waiting at the Cave. Take mine.” Red Hood shoots Nightwing a glance over his shoulder before taking a shot at Deathstroke.

You want to argue. You want to fight them all to get to Robin and make sure he’s okay, but the fog is coming back and you’re not certain how much longer you’ll be able to hang on. But you fight it because Hood’s ride is a motorcycle and you’ll need to hang on for the ride to the Cave.

Thankfully, Nightwing seems to know you’ve only got a little bit left in you and straps you onto his back before you’re flying a breakneck speed to the hidden entrance. But you’re out again before you enter and when you come back to the world, you’re laying on a bed in the med bay of the Cave and Damian is sitting next to you. You hand, that doesn’t have an IV attached to it, is held tightly between both of his, his lips pressed to your knuckles as he watches you blink awake. There’s no hiding the fear in his eyes, or the relief at seeing you awake, so you give him your best shot at a smile.

“Hey,” your voice is rough and you can guess that you’ve probably been out for a fair amount of time given the texture of it.

“Thank gods you’re all right,” he whispers in response, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. You close your eyes and hum in response. “I was so worried. When you never sent the text,” he explained, leaning back to sit down again. He kept his grip tight on your hand, placing his lips back to your knuckles.

“Slade?”

The darkened expression tells you all you need to know. Escaped.

“What did he want?” There had been no exchange between the two of you other than the butt of his gun connecting to the side of your head, so you couldn’t be certain outside of your connection to Robin.

“To make a point. He failed.”

“He was never going to kill me or Dick, was he?” Damian let out a snort and shook his head.

“No, he’s too fond of Grayson. It’s disturbing. I think he only takes him to prove he still can,” and wasn’t that disturbing. But you were still glad that Damian’s oldest brother had been there to keep you calm and watch out for you.

“Dami? What point was he trying to make?” The question is quiet, and you’re worried about the answer, but you also know you need to hear it.

“You’re weak with love for her,” Slade ground out as he blocked a blow from Damian, throwing one of his own that was easily blocked by the other man. “Your grandfather would be disgusted with how weak you are.”

“You are wrong. I’m strong because of my love for her. For all of them. That is where my grandfather was wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter. He was wrong.” The smile he gives you is enough to put out the fire of fear in your belly and when he releases your hand to place his hands on either side of your face so he can press his lips to yours sooths the remaining doubts.

“I love you, My Prince.”

“And I you, Beloved.”

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