#Fine Line Tattoo artists near me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scekrex · 8 months ago

Note

hey, hear me out, Adam with a reader with lots of tattoos, like, the WHOLE body, and Adam finds the reader really badass and try to do a tattoo too but he totally regrets it afterwards

Okay so reader's not only tattooed but also a self-taught tattoo artist bc I said so °^° I hope ya like Adam's breakdown over a shitty tattoo <3

He can fix it

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Adam adored every single drop of ink that had been poked underneath your skin, even if he didn’t understand certain design choices, he loved your tattoos, thought they made you look badass.

And then one day you had gotten home from yet another appointment, heaven had two, maybe three tattoo studios and the only one near you was fucking shitty so getting a tattoo always went hand in hand with being gone for at least three days - yet it was always worth the travel because at least they did a good job. There was one little studio close to you, the artists weren’t nice, their work wasn’t good and every damn day you wondered how they managed to pay rent because there was simply no way people were actually getting tattooed there. But on the other hand it really wasn’t your place to judge because you had started just as shitty when you had started to learn the skill of tattooing. You hadn’t tattooed others though, only ever practiced on fake skin or your own body.

So when you got home from your latest appointment and proudly showed Adam your newest tattoo, the first man was quite surprised that it was related to him. You proudly flexed your forearm as you showed him the artwork of the battle ax version of his guitar that would now forever be on your skin. “You’re absolutely fucking insane, babes,” he wispered as his hand grabbed your wrist in order to pull your arm closer to his face to see the artwork up close. It was a super detailed image that left Adam breathless, he loved it so much. “This is fucking on point, and the blood sinner dripping from it? Holy fuck man.” You shot him a teasing grin as you pulled your arm back to grab the first man by his collar and pull him in, “So, when do ya get my weapon tattooed?” It wasn’t meant as an honest question, you knew Adam adored tattoos on your skin but getting inked up himself? He wasn’t so sure about it. The pain he would be able to handle without any problems, that wasn’t his deal at all. It was more about the design. And to be fair? Getting your halberd tattooed sounded like a great fucking idea in his ears. So he offered you an equally teasing smirk as he tilted his chin upwards and confidently replied, “I’m gonna make an appointment right fucking now.” You curiously raised an eyebrow at Adam, he had been so quick to decide for something so permanent? It wasn’t that the first man was against inking up his own skin - far from it actually, he had told you so often that he wanted tattoos too, but whenever you had offered to design him one he had backed out. So this decision came quite surprisingly. "You sure? Y’know that ya don’t have to-” “Oh shut your fucking mouth, I fucking know okay? "BUT I wanna.” His voice didn’t sound as confident anymore and you seriously questioned the decision he had just made. But if he was so sure about it, you would let him have some fun. He had to know what he was doing, that really wasn’t your place to tell him no.

Adam had made an appointment at the tattoo studio near your apartment, you had told him that their work lacked skill but he had simply ignored it, had told you that it’ll be fine. He simply was too lazy to travel so fucking far for something as simple as a tattoo, and seriosly how bad could it be?

Well, very fucking bad.

Because when the brunette opened the door to your shared apartment and his eyes met yours, you knew they had fucked up. There was disappointment in his expression, guilt for not listening to you and discomfort for what they had done to his body. They had ruined it, the lines were wobbly, the coloring was so inaccurate and the details of the carvings had been completely ignored, for fucks sake, Adam was sure a toddler would’ve done better.

You got up from the couch immediately, “Show me,” there was no excitement in your voice and the first man knew you were aware of the situation. “Fuck no,” Adam pressed his left forearm thightly against his chest, ignoring the pain that shot through his arm at the firm contact. His wings pushed you back a little as he wrapped them around you in order to feel protected - he was in pure discomfort. Why did he think going to that studio had been a good idea? You had informed him that their work wasn’t good, you had warned him. And he had actively decided to ignore that warning and now he would never be able to wear fucking short sleeved tops again. That’s how much he hated what they did to him. “Ain’t no fucking way I let you see this shit.” You sighed and your eyes softened a little, providing some comfort - you weren’t mad at Adam, why should you? But you guessed the way you had demanded to see the clearly fucked up tattoo made it seem like you were. “Adam, the tone of your voice matched the kindness your eyes offered and you gently reached for his wrist, “Show me so I can make a plan to fix it.”

His eyes shifted from the fresh tattoo that was covered by the sleeve of his robe to you and with a sigh he sunk his wings and extended his arm in your direction so that you could have a look. “They let you leave with that piece of shit on your skin?” you complained and looked at the LED expression his mask offered. “I’m here and that shit is on my arm, so yeah, they fucking did.” You guided him into the bedroom, letting him sit down on the bed. Your hands reached for his mask and carefully pulled it off his head, exposing his face, his eyes were filled with anger, sadness and regret. “Put on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, calm yourself down a little and come to me when you’re ready okay?” You placed a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, “I’ll set up my tattoo needle and I’ll fix that mess for ya. Take all the time you need for that.” You were about to pull back and give him some space as he grabbed your wrist tightly and looked at you with wide eyes, “You can fix it?” You playfully rolled your eyes and shrugged, “Fuck yeah I can fix it bae.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #male reader #adam x y/n #adam x reader #adam x you

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self-shipping-doll13 · 11 days ago

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Gold-Embossed Dinner Plates

November Prompts

Wc: 3930

Tw: Slight NSFW

There was a wild lashing outdoors, the droplets bouncing off the pavement. It was 4:30pm when 4:30pm was a late Autumn evening, and no longer a Summer afternoon. Not taking joy in the needles of rain I’d be braving in my venture, I was zipping up my fleece to stave off the late chill when my co-worker pulled me aside.

Ubbe and I had spoken only a couple of times before. He was good for our customer base, since a few people sidled in to smile at him dreamily when they bought their expensive pastries.

“Someone told me you had a run in with my brother,” Ubbe began, and there was a wry twitch on his lip.

“Yes, I met him a couple of days ago,” I said mildly.

That the two men were related should not have come as a surprise. They had the same last name, the same blue eyes—but Ubbe’s had not such keen ferocity.

The memory rekindled a fire in my cheeks. Ubbe seemed to choose his words thoughtfully, examining my face. “…I think I should apologise on his behalf. He didn’t say anything to bother you? Ivar can be unpredictable—he does things without thinking.”

“No, no,” I replied with dismay. How conscientious of Ubbe, but I was eager to mollify any worries he had. What garbled version of the story had he heard? “Nothing bad went on,” I reassured him. “We just had a little awkward moment. I’m fine, don’t worry at all!”

“Ah,” he accepted this correction, distancing himself. “Then forget I said anything.” And he smiled so that he showed the whites of his eyes. I hurried home.

That was before I started actually dating his brother, and I was soon made aware of Ivar’s brusque attitude (which I grew to find charming) by his… unorthodox teaching methods. Evidently others were unaccustomed to his gentler side. But I certainly did not resent the fact that I received special treatment. It made me feel, well, special. Later he told me I was.

From Ivar’s now-and-again comments on his family I gleaned a few more things: he had a half brother named Björn who was travelling the Mediterranean. The middle child, Hvitserk, was a tattoo artist and lived in the city with his girlfriend Thora—fine work. In those quiet moments late at night, I trailed my fingers softly across the sable whorls of ink on his skin. Sigurd, one year older than Ivar, had estranged himself from certain members of his family a couple of years ago and was trying to eke out a living as a musician. As a rule, he and Ivar despised each other, and Ivar was not keen on my speaking to Sigurd anytime soon. Or ever.

Floki, a family friend and apparently Ivar’s old teacher, was the person Ivar was most nervous for me to meet, because he held him partially responsible for his interest in old Norse history. Floki actually lived near my own home, on the briny grey coast. He made boats—in fact, he made a whole lot of other things. So one day, I found myself in the heart of his workshop, in a modest dwelling by a quay. Intricate carvings lined the tall shelves, and the wood shavings Floki blew from a coffee table made clear he had a pretty spontaneous work ethic. His wife, Helga, was immensely doting and kind, though sad-eyed. Dunking biscuits in hot cocoa whilst in their sitting room, I listened to the waves break up against hulls of white painted ships. It was probably the most comfortable I’d felt around Ivar’s family.

Floki was not related to Ivar by blood, but with his eccentricities, he definitely fit into the archetype of a ‘fun uncle.” Secretly I thought he acted more like Ivar's father than his actual father, whom I’d once met briefly in the hall landing just as he was shrugging on his fur-lined coat. Ragnar hummed at me blankly like I was the new and easily shatterable vase, and then left to go on and do other things.

I got the feeling that maybe he’d left that landing a lot in the past.

Ragnar had been separated from his wife Aslaug, Ivar’s mother, for over a decade. Not legally perhaps, but in every way that mattered. As I’d first seen her after seeing Ragnar, she was stiff and distracted, and seemed to look through me rather than at me. Aslaug and I smiled politely in the vague direction of the other, but without any real engagement. She was tall, auburn-haired and intimidatingly beautiful, so I knew where Ivar got his good genes from.

The idea of a more substantial meeting would not come up until something like a week or two after that. It was during one of those nights, lonesome but for the two of us and fuelled by kisses and caffeine, where it was impossible to resist getting lost in each other. And we got pretty lost—two times, three times—lost so thoroughly I could barely recall any other words than his name, and the soreness he left behind was the sweetest thing. Panting, I lay curled up against him, sweaty and sticky and satisfied. My heart was pounding and our intermingled breathing was so loud, the scent of sex permeated the air. The city outside was alive with blaring car horns and the drunken shouts of Halloween revellers, floating in through the open window and into his apartment. I could’ve died right there and been content.

“A girl could really get used to this,” I mumbled.

Ivar was rubbing my hip. “Yeah?”

Gazing up at him affectionately, I propped my chin up on my knuckles as I stretched my legs and toes out. His eyes had that tired, sultry glazed over look.

“Sweetheart… Keep staring at me like that and I’m going to be tempted to have a go at you again.”

I grinned cheekily. “Hm, I wouldn’t stop you.”

My muscles were utterly relaxed—I was steadily growing drowsy and my lids were drooping. He planted a kiss on the top of my head, shifting under me.

“You want to sleep, don’t you?”

Yawning, I nodded. “Should go to the bathroom first…”

Basking in the afterglow, I hated to drag myself away from him, and it was tough to lift up and roll out of bed. Caressing me with slow, gentle motions, he held fast.

“Wait, listen,” Ivar said, nose still buried in my dishevelled hair. “I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

Ivar tucked a loose strand back. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly. “How would you like it if I asked you to come to dinner with me and my family this weekend?”

I blinked for a moment. This statement was spoken more like a question; lacking in his usual confidence. “Of course I’d go,” I told him, without really thinking.

“That was fast,” Ivar said hazily. “My mother wants to get to know you, this girl I keep talking about. And my older brothers are going to be there. Two of them.” He puffed air out of his nose, then looked at me seriously, with pleading eyes. “Do you mean it? You want to go?”

“Yes.” Propping myself up on my elbow, I trailed a line down his jaw, finding light stubble and coaxing him into a grin. “Did you really think I could say no to you?”

“Saturday.” Ivar told me, chasing my hand to kiss it like he always did. “And I’m looking forward to it.”

Humming, I pressed my lips to his and then got up, goosebumps rising on my arms in the cool evening air. We both had a lecture the next morning, with him in his usual role. It was a good thing I wore a turtleneck to hide the purple welts blooming on my throat.

Once I had more time to ruminate on my decision, I felt I was actually a bit concerned. If Ivar was antsy for me to be like Floki, I was nervous to properly acquaint myself with his mother. Questioning if I truly measured up was a daily occurrence—if just an internal one—and it did feel like a kind of yardstick was awaiting me.

Fiddling with the straighteners, I examined myself doubtfully in the mirror that Saturday. My exact fear could not be pinpointed—it was a cluster of little fears. I was anxious for his mother and I to get along, to not be found disappointing; too unattractive, too socially inept, too working class. Beyond this, I was just anxious, and slightly clammy with my makeup and my hair done up.

Aslaug met us both at the door, dazzling with perfectly straight white teeth. “Jasmine, welcome,” she held both my elbows gently. “Ivar’s told me so much about you.”

“And you,” I told her, smiling as graciously as I could as she brought her nose to my cheek in a fake air kiss. I tensed up a bit, not sure whether to reciprocate.

“Don’t scare her off,” Ivar smirked, arching a brow.

Aslaug threw him a mild glare, and I was struck by the facial similarity. “You will have to excuse my son, Ivar has no manners in this house,” she said gravely.

My lips twitched as I was startled into amusement. About the exact same time as he said: “She loves it.” I told her: “Oh, that’s never been a problem for me.”

After some gracious laughter, she turned to head back into the dining hall, he took my hand discreetly, the other flexing around the spiked handle of his crutch. “C’mon, It’s just this way,” Ivar whispered into my ear, and I nodded and trailed after him into the dining hall. Tired, I did not feel as adept at socialising as I did on recharged days. But I was glad that it seemed Aslaug had forgotten how our original meeting went, because that meant I could hopefully make a better impression.

At this point I’d been in their house a few times before, but tonight I was struck by how nice the place was. The house itself was located in a safe, well-groomed neighbourhood, filled up with doctors and big cars. Probably cleaned up for the guests’ arrival, too. I sat down in my chair, in awe of the gleaming silverware and finely embroidered tablecloth in rich hues of crimson and gold. Careful not to let any loose drops besmirch it, I poured a stream of gravy onto my food and passed the boat to Ivar, who drained it dry.

“This looks amazing,” exclaimed Thora. She seemed more comfortable with the new faces than I was.

“It’s one of our family’s favourite dishes,” replied Aslaug. She ate her meal delicately, and had refused the offering of the gravy boat. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you for having us,” I piped up, trying to meet her gaze directly. “You have a beautiful dining table.”

“Not at all. Please, make yourself at home.” Aslaug wore a green velvet dress, and ornaments tinkled at her wrist as she held the stem of her wine glass. “I hope the traffic coming down wasn’t a problem? Siggy’s been very troubled with it lately.”

“No, it was fine,” I said reflexively.

“How is Siggy?” Hvitserk asked, shovelling in piles of food into his mouth. Aslaug’s face turned awkward.

“Doing her best to cope with the changes,” she said in a gentle voice. “Living in an empty house when you’re not used to it can be difficult. She likes to fill up her time, so I take her with me to Pottery class. But from what I’m hearing, Thyri is doing well in America.”

Ivar was digging in by my side, wholly unaffected by the formal atmosphere. “That seat is empty.” He sent it a combative side-glance. “I thought I’d see Ubbe here.”

There were three vacancies. Untouched chairs made of high-backed mahogany. Myself and Thora’s were clearly the reserves, metallic and modern in design.

“Ubbe couldn’t make it,” explained Aslaug. “He’s been very busy lately. He works on Saturdays now.”

Ivar flashed one of his sinister false smiles. “Hm. It’s just been a while since I’ve last seen him, that’s all.”

Hvitserk cleared his throat. “Working two jobs… That’s Ubbe for you. He told me he’s saving up for the grand hotel booking.” I did always peg Ubbe as the type to not accept financial help. Hvitserk took a loud sip of his drink. “But you know, I think I agree with him. Margrethe deserves to be a happy bride.”

Thora looked to him curiously. “Margrethe?”

“Yeah, she’s his fiancé.”

Observing the pleasantries, I cut my meat, my knife and fork scraping loudly on ceramic. The dinner plate was embossed with gold—black borders engraved with delicate fleur de lis—and I felt like a slob for using it, though it was at Aslaug’s behest. It seemed more suited to filling tall glass display cases, like Fine China that was never eaten off of, but always treasured.

After a while, Ivar began disturbing the peace. “Listen to yourselves,” he said mockingly. “The food is going to go down my throat like nails if this is all we talk about the whole time. Mother, you’ve hardly said anything about yourself. How is the class?” He waved his fork.

Personally I couldn’t see how it could be anything but excessively delicious: with the golden-brown roasted potatoes, steaming green vegetables and slices of lamb drizzled with the gravy, it felt like Christmas.

I’d eaten a brussel sprout too quickly and a hot lump was struggling down my oesophagus as I listened in.

“Well,” Aslaug pressed a well-groomed hand to her chest like she had heartburn. Evidently with her favourite child, she had infinite patience. “It’s really not that exciting, it just gives me something to do. Helga’s much better at it than I am,” she said modestly.

“I’d love to hear about it,” I said. Though struggling with the brussel sprout pain, I was now enjoying thinking of swiftly spinning potter’s wheels. “It sounds interesting.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Ivar, endearingly invested.

Aslaug turned her piercing eyes on me, curious. Thora made sounds of enthusiasm, keeping a hand over her lips as she nodded and chewed her food.

I fired on. “Is it a hard hobby to keep up?”

“Not really,” she said, and after a moment went on: “Like most crafts, I suppose it takes practice. And time. I’ve been doing it for several years now.”

“Will you show us? I get pictures, but eh…” Ivar looked genuinely eager to see his mother’s work. I understand that they were always close, if sometimes at odds.

“Yeah,” said Hvitserk. “I haven’t seen any of them.”

For a moment she looked taken aback, and hesitated, as if deciding if it would be appropriate for her to leave her guests. “Excuse me, I’ll just go and find it.”

Aslaug’s heels echoed impressively on the oaken floorboards, which were polished to a fine sheen. We were now left without our hostess to wrangle us.

“So, Jasmine, are you in university?” Thora asked.

At this, I perked up. “Yes. English Literature, and I take a few other courses. And I guess you’re in too?”

“Mhm, I do Fine Art.”

“What’s it like? I’ve always been curious, but I don’t know anyone who majors in art. Not right now anyway.”

“Basically like how you’d expect. I spend a lot of time in a studio, I guess. A while ago I was nosing about in the city trying to find inspiration to help with my personal portfolio, and, well,” Thora rested her head briefly on Hvitserk’s shoulder. “That’s how I met this guy.”

“This guy? Ow.”

She laughed and told me, “Shared interests.”

Hvitserk laughed too, poking her with his fork in a way I deemed affectionate. “We’re in the same boat.” I smiled at them clumsily, unsure of how to phrase it.

Ivar made an amused noise. “Jasmine here has the dubious honour of minoring in Norse studies.” Not hesitating, he brushed his knuckles over my cheek. I knew he loved that course—didn’t love the people in it. “Very bright little student, aren’t you sweet?”

“I think I have an unfair advantage,” I said bashfully, finding his touch pleasing despite my embarrassment.

Ivar snorted with derision. “Not that you need it, what with a class average like that.” He stretched out in his high-backed chair, and then went back to eating.

His older sibling was looking between us with increasing awareness. Somehow the fact that I knew our relationship was inappropriate hadn’t been on my list of concerns until now. But it was probably good to rip the band-aid quickly, since I didn’t intend to let it stop me and obviously neither did Ivar.

“I’m happy for you,” Hvitserk said in an Ubbe-like way.

“Cheers,” Ivar said, grinning and raising his glass.

The tapping of high heels was heard once more as Aslaug strode back in. Ivar gulped down his drink.

“This one is very recent.” She was holding a mottled clay pot, vaguely shaped like an amphora, and she set it down gently on the table beside her plate. “I wanted to paint it first, but was thinking of maybe putting some flowers into it. Artificial ones, so they won’t wilt.”

Ivar squinted at it, leaning forward slightly. “You know, that looks just like the one we broke ten years ago.”

“No, it was longer ago than that,” said Hvitserk. Ivar’s head snapped back quickly to look at him. “Thirteen—fourteen. I was pushing you in the cart, hit that sharp turn by the living room. Happened there.”

“Oh, it was eternally a pain to clean up after you boys.” Aslaug sounded distantly cross, as if the memory still vexed her. “Shards everywhere, all over the floor.”

“I like the shape of it,” said Thora tactfully.

“It’s really pretty.” I also complimented, observing the pot with its smooth, shiny surface like a spotted seal’s hide.

“Beautiful shape, though it wasn’t very neat,” agreed Aslaug, stroking it. “But I’ll have this one done up more tastefully. Anyway, I’m distracting you all from eating.” She nonetheless seemed to be proud of her work, and to my eyes, was slightly flushed at the attention.

Loud chewing and plate scraping resumed. I chatted more with Thora, who was enduringly friendly, throughout most of the meal. Ivar and I would occasionally lean close to exchange furtive whispers as he pointed out things I hadn’t noticed before; the orange juice stain on the tablecloth, the slightly crooked painting, the peel of the wallpaper.

Our fingers would join together under the table. He also liked to flaunt them in full view, smirking pridefully. Something warm filled my belly, so I drank more water.

After eating, we all set up in the living room. This place was far cosier—not to disparage the rest of the house, which was tastefully furnished. But here, it was much easier to relax. One of those electric fire lights flamed red in the grate, and the settee was piled with tasselled suede cushions. Laughing, I sank into it, more interested in our steadily improving dialogue. Somewhere along the way, I accepted a taste of sherry and a slice of plated pavlova. The sugary sweetness of the crust melted on my tongue, and I let Ivar steal a green grape off of it. He popped it in his mouth.

Both a long time and no time at all had passed by the time we’d finished up. Aslaug pressed her fingers to her temple as if she had a migraine. Ivar urged her in a gentle voice to dismiss us, so when she smiled at us this time the skin of her eyes crinkled tenderly.

As a guest I followed Ivar through a doorway. The bedroom was cloaked in black-and-navy and held the fond air of being preserved for return migration. There by a tall oak wardrobe, I dropped a canvas bag that held a change of clothing and a toothbrush. I would’ve never realised it was half-past-twelve were it not for the glittering of a digital alarm clock on an end table.

Ivar found his chair by the desk and let his crutch fall by the wayside. “Sit here a minute.” He beckoned me to him, and I padded across the soft carpet. The heat of Ivar’s palms warmed my legs through denim. “There. That’s better… Being on me where you should be.”

“I feel like I could be silent for the rest of the night.” Sighing deeply, I threw both my arms around his neck.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Just means I get to talk more.”

“You would anyway,” I said, and before he could open his mouth to retort I blurted out a confession of sherry, “Do you think your mom likes me? I couldn’t tell.”

His double take alleviated my concern before he even opened his mouth “Of course. We got to talking earlier, mother said she was glad I found someone who’s nice and actually sensible… Which you are.” He snorted. “Put it this way, she has no reason to dislike you.”

“I was only… Unsure if I would be considered suitable.”

“Nonsense,” Ivar said. “She’s always on my case to get settled down. If anything, you’ve made her very happy.”

Bubbles of my silliness popped harmlessly, and in the dim lamplight I wondered if he knew how desperately I’d like to kiss him. “That’s good. I’m really glad.”

I toyed with the moon pendant on my necklace. She was peering through ash grey curtains, silvery rays bouncing off of laden bookshelves. Glossy hardbacks jumped out at me, and I hoped in the morning after a slice of buttered toast, I’d be able to slide one out curiously and ask after it, just a little. Warmed, we’d talk and laugh, spread out in a tangle of belongings on various soft surfaces, like we did in his apartment.

“Relax. You worry too much. And you don’t need to.” Ivar squeezed me. “My mother’s easy to please, not like me. With brothers like mine, it’s a necessity.”

She did appear to have a lot of patience. “I thought Hvitserk was alright,” I said, grinning behind my hand.

“Only because you don’t know him like I do. And you should know by now that my opinion is the only one that matters,” he finished haughtily.

I suspected this was not wholly true, but Ivar was very wilful. Even by relinquishing a book to me on that fateful day, he’d gotten his way.

The rush of desire to kiss him overwhelmed me now. By his noise of pleasant surprise, I could tell he really didn’t know of it, that I would have to communicate it very thoroughly to him. There In his arms I found a casual welcoming, precious for its thoughtlessness.

I knew then any rejection was self-imagined. So I eased, and thought of comfort. “It’s feeling stuffy in here. Mind if I open the window just a crack?”

Ivar stroked my knee, distracted. “Not by too much.”

It was a mild Autumn evening. Tugging at the curtains, I reached up and pressed the lever down. From the gap a light breeze floated in, carrying a hint of spice. The room was ground level, and in the back garden a lone tree threw itself up in a sprawl of limbs.

Embraces resumed with sighs on our lips. Twisted boughs shivered in the wind; in the dark the leaves gleamed yellow and green, like sly cat’s eyes.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

#⛏️🪢#☕️ au

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paradisepoisoned · 2 years ago

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I'm drunk, and work is consuming my life, so I give you the Death Note tattoo AU no one asked for.

-L was a world-famous tattoo artist, but no one really knows what he looks like except his clients and disgruntled employees, but his work is well recognized. Moved to New York to open his own tattoo shop but he's kinda a mystery in the industry and he's one of those owners that doesn't really show up to his own business anymore he rarely tattoos and when he does its only things he wants to do. Will fuck off to Cambodia for a month or something and then randomly show up to collect money and sleep there for a week.

-L has only ever took two apprentices and they were Mello and Near. He took them on at the same time and it was a complete disaster. L refuses to take on an apprentice ever again

-Near specializes in sacred geometry, mandalas, and all that tedious crazy shit. Line work is impeccable. I feel like he'd be great at lettering and that fine line bullshit that everyone else hates. No one takes him seriously as an artist cause he looks like he's fucking twelve. He has amazing work but is absolutely horrible with clients due to his non existent social skills.

-Mello is the black and gray guy. He's one of those guys who just whips out a 23 mag and goes to town and bangs out a half sleeve in a few hours. I can see him doing crazy horror shit and those big crazy religious pieces like praying hands statues and all that good shit. He doesn't do color and doesn't like anything with a lot of linework. Looks scary but kinda a softie.

-Near is great at linework. Mello is great at shading. They compete and fight on a regular basis. They have an ongoing silent war stealing each other's supplies,clients, etc. (They're secretly in love tho, deal with it)

-Matt definitely the anime bruh I could see him doing some super colorful new school anime type shit he's a street shop kinda guy at heart tho hell do the dirty jobs no one else wants to do and he's FAST he can bang out your little infinity symbol butterfly feather clusterfuck matching finger tattoo with your 13 friends no problem. He wears goggles while tattooinglmaoaoa idk why, but he also gives me big piercer energy, lol

-I'm sorry but I can't leave out Linda. I feel like she's the color girl. Specializes in cover ups and botanical tattoos but shes well rounded and can take mostly anything that walks in. Probably the most organized artist out of all of them and keeps the shop from falling apart on a daily basis. I feel like L also trusts her to be the one to manage the shop while he's not there since the others are all completely unhinged, lol. Shop mom 100%

-Matt and Mello hit the bar at least once a week after work and talk shit till 4am

-B Specializes in trash polka fucking fight me on it.

-B and L apprenticed together and were working together when L opened his own shop but B kinda went down a dark path and him and L drifted apart and now have beef so B is the artist no one talks about (except Mello cause I feel B woulda played a big part in his apprenticeship)

-B also kinda legitimately tried to burn the whole shop down before he left soooooo...

-L has kept B's room open for years, hoping he gets his shit together one day and comes back.

#death note #death note headcanons #tattoo au #wammys boys #wammys house #wammys kids #Mello #mihael keehl #nate river #meronia #mello x near #Near #Matt #mail jeevas #Linda #L #BB #Beyond birthday #headcanon

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vaingod · 1 year ago

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:^) Mad at myself for not powering through my most painful tattoo ever and tapping out after 4 hours of 14 thick ass needles going through my sternum and near my top surgery scar like holy shit exhaling did nothing to guide my brain through the pain like i felt the needles in my ribs in my organs in my lungs it was white hot pain ive never had a tatt that painful even my 16 hour sleeve of COLOUR wasnt that bad this girl loved her thick needles and she did warn me that her style uses a lot of thick lines so higher voltage to get the machine going i was like i have 2 full sleeves and half my calf done ill be fine. nah. first time ive sworn so much right at the start too, maybe its true the older you get the more your tattoo pain tolerance goes down, anyway i cant wait till next year when ill see her again and she can finish shading and texturing the top of the fox skull and nettles on my shoulders, i love tattoos and trans tattoo artists so fucking much

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chiarrara · 9 months ago

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More ab the art school au:

I was thinking about Nanami and at first I thought he could’ve been in packaging or industrial design(bcs of the whole corporate salaryman thing) but the more I thought about it and his cursed technique the more I think woodwork would be a good option for him(lots of measuring, lots of physical work) . In this au I think he quit art for a while because he realized how much the academic art world was draining him and everyone else and realized how awful the industry can be so he went on to have a normal job. But you know what sucks more than being forced to pump out art quicker than you can manage? Being forced to stare at a Microsoft excel sheet for 8 hours a day. So if he went back and became a teacher at the school, I think he’d be teaching one of the “normal” subjects (math or history for example) but would still let students ask for art advice he has.

I actually haven’t thought about Yuuta as much but I think he’d do amazing ink illustrations(he’d be a dope tattoo or manga artist), so I’d say he’d either be in fine arts or graphic design. His drawings are mostly black and white with just a small pop of color and he’d use a LOT of cross hatches and lines. I think at least a few people asked him to design their next tattoo for them.

Since you mentioned Dagon, while I do think that sealife and the cycles of life would fascinate him and he’d definitely incorporate that into his work, what I do think would intrigue him more is the fear of the ocean, how vast it is, and how little we know about it. I think he’d do amazing mosaics using things he finds on the beach like seashells and stones,( Kind of like the thing you mentioned with Hanami combining art with actual plants) which he gets by foraging on the beach for a few hours every weekend(and that’s also why his house has sand everywhere). I think he’d also love the fucked up looking fish at the bottom of the ocean. He’d also love doing very large murals and mosaics just because it helps emphasize how massive ocean is

Nanami: okay no so I'm thinking about what you were saying in the other ask about the parallels between the art world and the jjsorcery world, specifically the working conditions. And thinking about Nanami getting burnt out, but then going to a place where he has no creative outlet and he's getting just as burnt out anyway, maybe worse. Like if he's going to be overworked at least he's going to be somewhere he can get paid to create and have resources supporting that. I can just imagine how soul draining it was to be somewhat cut off from that.

I love him being a math teacher thoooooo :) he has such high school math teacher energy. Not like Gojo who has PROFESSOR energy, but tired button up and slacks hs math teacher teaching the same subjects over and over again trying to get kids to understand trig and geometry and logarithms. I'm just getting so nostalgic for my old hs and cc math teachers lol, they're so silly.

Also it would be so neat if (like his cursed technique) he just had a knack for eyeballing measurements and getting them near perfect when woodworking. And I wonder if nobara would like to be mentored by him......

Yuuta: awwww I love Yuuta as an illustratorrrrr. reminds me of my lil emo friends and me in hs drawing on anything and everything and honestly making some pretty cool designs. Always black ink or pencil haha. I love to think that he would be designing tattoos for his friends, and then maybe just kind of get a reputation, like his skills getting around by word of mouth and he starts designing for a lot of people.

I also can imagine him doing a series of stylized portraits of his friends. Do you think he still would come into the art school pretty depressed & lonely and then make good friends? Is Rika around?

Dagon: okay this is so so so so so cool. The mosaics, him like tracking sand in everywhere, spending hours just collecting things on the shore. but omg i can picture the large like gallery wall murals of sea glass and shells and fish bone.... ugh like it's so beautiful in my mind I love this au

#jjk art school au

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cesium-sheep · 9 months ago

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tattoo get, report for @ceylonsilvergirl below <3

I went to Rhiannon at Strange Magic Tattoo, they were very communicative and easy to talk to, very invested in my comfort etc. they used a cordless needle gun, which they say is much quieter. this was on my left thigh.

pain: it feels about the same as digging out an ingrown hair with sharp tweezers. better than getting a line set for a blood draw even accounting for the relative durations. I would say that it feels like it's about to punch through and hurt worse than it actually does which may psych people out into thinking it's more painful than it is, but it always stays on the near side of that little barrier. this took technically an hour but I would guess like 40 minutes of actual inking? and it was very easy. but bear in mind I have chronic pain and am a professional patient so I have to sit through worse for less all the time anyway. tbh my random ambient aches like the patch that reacted to my exfoliant last night are currently worse than the site, although it was sprayed with bactine which is a topical anesthetic.

appointment scheduling: this shop was appointment only, they had both a google form and a contact email that went to the main shop who then gave me the artist's email. I had to follow up once after the initial email as they had just come back from vacation and the forwarded email probably got lost. I sent them the image I had drawn and a description of what it was and where I wanted it as well as some relevant info like this is my first tattoo, I'd like to have someone with me for cripple reasons, etc. they gave me their hourly rate and a time estimate. this shop also requires a deposit to hold the appointment, which counts towards the total bill and which I was able to send to the artist directly.

the actual appointment: skipped the two closest doses of prescribed aspirin, filled out a consent form, got the area cleaned/shaved and the stencil applied for approval, let that dry down and then lay down with my leg supported. they spent time talking through what they used, what they were doing, and what they were going to do. the music was a little too loud but whatever. we chatted amiably while they worked and it was generally very easy. I wore my loose pajama pants so I could roll them up to expose the site without cutting off circulation. they use second skin, so I basically just don't touch it for 3 days then regularly clean and moisturize after that. showering etc is still fine from the getgo. there were minor modifications to the design that were not sketched out but were verbally agreed upon beforehand. the artist, matt, and me were the only ones there.

price: another shop gave me an estimate of $350 for the same design, but possibly due to more communication beforehand this was $180+tip for 1 hour of work. I tipped 20% since I have heard that's standard and also it was all the money I technically had spendable plus $2.

#photo #ask to tag #long post #readmore #no more catholic corpse for meeeeee #hasn't sunk in yet tbh #will probably take up to like a week or two #like as it heals and it's still there yknow

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dearweirdme · 1 year ago

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there are always fans who overcompensate whenever bts interact with a woman in a professional setting, and it’s because they want to appear like they are not a y/n, so they go over and beyond to look like they’re completely okay with the female involvement, and in doing so just bring out weird takes and suggest that bts can’t interact with a woman without it being sexual/romantic. it’s disrespectful to the woman - because ur seeing her role as only that - and it’s disrespectful to bts because you’re assuming they’re incapable of female friendships. with a fandom so big it’ll be near impossible to find a balance of normal people lol but i’ve looked at the initial reactions and she’s been well received! since this song is one jk didn’t himself write but rather chose when he heard it, and since i assume it’ll be heavily promoted, i am fairly sure it’ll have a vague romantic plot line but i do sort of wish the conversation steered in the direction of them as actors, because she is a really good one, and this will be something new for jungkook too!! that being said, of the other female appearances in mvs, like halsey and becky g and soyoon, there was barely any romantic plot - although they were also collabs so that could be why! i don’t know han sohee too well but she does come across as dressing similar to jungkook, and she loves a nice tattoo too, but she has also been in a drama with hyungsik and was at the dream premiere so, maybe she’s friendly with all of wooga? i’m intrigued as to how this collab came about

Hi anon!

One of the things I dislike in Kpop, is that female and male artists aren't 'allowed' (not sure if it's actually a rule, or just a societal thing) to interact normally. In real life, men and women are very capable to just interact friendly without it being a big deal. I've had more male friends than female ones, and there was no romance involved with any of them, from both sides. I get that it was probably to prevent gossip and rumors, but it makes every time they do interact with a woman this really big deal.

I look at this like a business deal. Jk wanted an actress for his mv, they chose her because they liked her style and her acting probably. That's it for me. I hope they got along well, but I did see her with Wooga squad at the Dream premiere I think, so yeah he probably already knew her. Nice link you made there.

Personally I'm completely fine with her in his mv, I'd be completely fine if they were friends, and I'd be completely fine with them being more (just dont think that's the case). But women and men working together shouldn't be this big of a deal. Most men and women are perfectly capable of being normal towards each other.

#jk music #jk mv

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hearteyesdiaz · 2 years ago

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coming to your askbox to be totally normal about it but you're the only one with a similar opinion

why do tiny bad tattoos have Oliver in such a chokehold lol the artist for his latest is here posting healed pics after three weeks and the tattoos already look scratchy, these are going to be amorphous blobs within the year. I love the man but I hate how trendy these tattoos are

Hi anon, thanks for stopping by!

Obviously I don't know him, but I feel like Oliver (and many others) like this style for a few reasons:

As you said, it's trendy! The internet's facilitation of the increase in knowledge of and popularity of tattoos/artists/styles over the last ~15 years is really quite something, ain't it! Even as I was graduating from high school, when I spent a LOT of time consuming tattoo-related content online (but before instagram was a thing LOL), it was really common for someone who wanted to get a tattoo to just, walk into the closest tattoo studio near them and explain to the guy behind the counter what they want and hope for the best lol.

Now people can look at and share hundreds or even thousands of pictures of tattoos online via social media. And just like with makeup, clothes, etc., certain styles of tattoos have always been popular for its time amongst the tattooed crowd: Americana style with military personnel starting in the 30s, the movement away from pre-drawn designs to cater instead towards drawing customized tattoos for a client in the 70s and 80s, the increase in pop culture subject matter like Looney Toons and Disney cartoons in the 90s, and of course that thick black "tribal" style EVERYONE had in the late 90s/early 00s are just what immediately come to my mind. “Fine line/micro” tattoos have just been the hot new thing so far in this newfangled age of social media.

I'm gonna take a kind of educated guess and say this style originates from artists showing off online their ability to create such small images in the tattoo medium, because as the occupation has evolved over time so too has the tattoo equipment and techniques involved. Now it’s possible for artists to hone in and tout their skills on social media in tattooing with tiny individual needles to create these dainty smol fine line tattoos in a more democratized system of engagement and feedback.

Smaller sized tattoos can be more discreet, which a lot of people like for a lot of reasons! I think a big reason why a lot of people in Hollywood get small tattoos is to be able to hide them for work. Fandom jokes about how the make up department must hate covering them all but its actually not too big of a deal when they’re all small like his are. Much easier to cover up and blend in a dozen tattoos the size of a postage stamp than say, Ryan Guzman’s entire forearm lol

Looking back at some other posts detailing all of the tattoos that Oliver has (I’m sure you know what post I’m talking ab but I don’t necessarily want to link to their blog bc they obviously love Oli’s tattoos and I’m not trying to swerve into their lane lol), it seems like he potentially did not have the best experience with the first couple of tattoos he got. He apparently thinks his forearm tattoo is too big (I’d argue it’s too small to be properly legible but lol) and dislikes it because of that, and I can see how that could also effect what size he thinks his tattoos should be.

((AND LISTEN!!!! To anyone who might be reading this rn and getting upset with me, I am NOT saying small tattoos can’t look good!! But rule of thumb: the smaller the tattoo, the simpler the design needs to be for legibility and longevity’s sake!))

I’ve already made a post explaining some of my issues with this (comparatively) new style so I won’t repeat myself here, but I will piggy back off a point you made: “posting healed pics after three weeks” because those tattoos may be healed but they are not settled into the skin. I would encourage anyone wanting to get this style of tattoo to really, really, really look (you may find it difficult to find healed photos from some of these artists. huh! weird!!!) for healed photos from an artist you are considering getting work from. I’m talking at least a full year (which even still is nothing relatively speaking but it IS a newer style so) because I see SOOOO MANY fine line tattoos that did not have enough ink deposited into the skin during application and they just fall out so so quickly as a result.

Also LOLing over this apprentice already working on skin when they apparently can’t control their machine correctly enough to draw straight even-thickness lines ALL WHILE CHARGING CLIENTS $400+?? please be serious the mediocrity here is truly astounding

#i didnt even MENTION the heavy instagram filters that one artist who did the hummingbird tattoo uses to up the saturation but lol #ran out of steam answering this im so sorry hopefully this entertains you a lil anon #oliver stark #YES IM TAGGING IT LMAO #every time a post with his newest scrawl makes the rounds on my dash to the tune of 'yasss king these are so gorgeous ahh #so pretty ahh he has the best tattoos ahh' i die a little on the inside lol #THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO ANSWER ANON THANK YOU

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