#and like people always ask me how i started apprenticing for tattoos

[skelleton-llad]

The thing I think a lot of people don't realize about growth and achievement, is that in order to do what you want you will have to allow yourself to be uncomfortable first. If it looked easy for someone it either was cuz they had mommy and daddys help 100%, or they are faking it til they make it like an absolute badass. This shit is not easy you will have to make yourself uncomfortable to progress. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger is honestly really true when it comes to aspirations and goals

[lunarcrown]

can we see all of your tattoos? :0

I FINALLY TOOK PICS!!!! I actually don’t have a TON of tattoos compared to my peers but I have a nice chunk! I’m just slow at getting tattooed bc I’m always working so I get like MAYBE two a year 😂

ANYWAYS!!! Ok so my legs: butterfly, demon goat girl, caterpillar, bill cipher (a SUPER OLD ONE), Minecraft block, and blue three eyed cat are all by me on me HAHA

I’ve made myself quit tattooing myself so I can get OTHER people’s art on me, but I wanted to tattoo my own shins just in case it was too terrible to continue with someone else (it’s not actually that bad!!!), and the other things like the Minecraft block were just so I could have complete control of it when it meant so much to me. The three eyed cat is actually my first “official” tattoo on skin I did as an apprentice! (Bill was a sneaky stick and poke I did in college OTL)

Creeper is from a friend/fellow tattoo artist who I trade tattoos with a bunch (but we still pay each other bc BILLS…), party dragon was from a dragon tattoo trade, worm on a string was from a friend who’s apprenticeship started same time as mine, pink axolotl is from my coworker who is sooooo freakin cool….i aspire to be like her so much…. And anime eyes heart gal is from a super cool friend that I went to college with! We reunited when I started tattooing and got a lot of laughs on how long it took to get our degrees and now we aren’t even “using” them HAHSG

Rest of the ones on my legs!!

Mob is from the same buddy that did the creeper and another one you’ll see in a sec, the kitties are from ANOTHER pal who started apprenticing same time as me! They’re actually arranged to be a subtle ⚢ sign bc IM A HOMOSEXUALLLLL~~ the symbol beneath these is the ol symbol from gravity falls that I ALSO stick and poked in college YEP…. Love Bug and the firefly are by a buddy from Virginia! One day I’m gonna get a “mean” version of love bug on my other thigh and it’s gonna say “bug off” 🤩 and the colorful leopard is from ANOTHER buddy trade that I did with a very cool friend!!

And finally MY ARMS!!!!

I have even less up here because getting arm tattoos makes it hard to work pfft….

I LOVE canti from OG FLCL (I love robots with sick designs so much…) and I love the show as well (introducing me to the Pillows was so PIVOTAL…) so I have him not once but TWICE form different ppl. The one with the flowers was from my mentor who turned out to be a sucky person so BOOO but I still love the tattoo~ the claptrap and OTHER canti are from a neat guy that I LOOOVE his style but his shop is sooo traditional and it’s lowkey uncomfortable even though he’s nice so idk if I’ll go back for a third. The Grievous is from the same buddy that did the creeper and mob!!! It’s so cool too bc my freckles make HIM have freckles and it’s adorable to me. And finally my VERY first tattoo I ever got, the big ufo abducting a pumpkin!!

This was done by Kelly McGrath in North Carolina and she was so sosososo sweet, gave me free prints, let me video call some of it to my family because we were VERY very far away from each other, AND I got to tell her years and years later that she inspired me so much that I became a tattoo artist myself!! And I even got to ask her a question or two and she responded so nice :,,)

SO YEAH I don’t have much rhyme or reason to my picks besides preferring color tattoos to be the majority, but my goal now is to collect tattoos from some very cool people and take my time filling up my body with art!! Eventually I would like to extend to my hands (palms included) and feet (JUST THE TOP I AM NOT DOING MY SOLES), neck, body, and maybe a few on my face near the outer perimeter/outer corner of eyes/above eyebrows! But that’ll probably be way off bc I work a LOT like I said at the beginning! Always the tattooer, never the tattooed HAHA

[nat-space-obsessed]

"I'm 23." "No, You're Not."

Crossposted on AO3!

It turns out to be very hard to get a tattoo when you look eternally 14.

Prompt by @charcoalhawk

"Kid, You're like twelve. That's a fake ID. I'll get in trouble if I let you get a tattoo here." 

"As I said, I am literally 23. I've been 23 for five months now. It is on my ID. I swear to you that my ID is real." Danny repeated for the third time that hour. 

Danny had been going to get a tattoo, his second, actually, and both times so far he had come across one issue: 

His eternally 14 year old face. 

"I told you, this can't be a real ID, you look twelve."

"I look fourteen, thank you very much."

"You realize that doesn't help, don't you?" The girl behind the counter retorted. 

No, it doesn't. 

One thing about being immortal is that you forget that you are immortal. Danny's ID has his birth date and his current photo. It's not his fault that he looks fourteen!

Actually it is. He's the one who died. 

"If I told you it's a health condition, would you believe me?"

"Not without a doctor's note. Either way, kid, even if you are somehow older than 16, you can't get a tattoo even with parental consent. We live in Illinois."

Danny hated being locked out of things due to his perceived age. Even when he was in college, and all of his classmates thought he skipped a bunch of grades to get where he was. Every time he met someone new he had to go through the same spiel. 

'I'm nineteen, yes I look young, it's a medical condition, yes I am in my second year of college' yadda yadda yadda. It had been four years and it only got worse. 

It was worse when he was going to different age restricted places, such as bars and tattoo parlors, which thought that he was a literal kid. 

"Look. I already have a tattoo, isn't that enough??"

"How do I know you didn't have a friend do that for you, huh? I remember middle school with all of the stick-n-pokes."

"Does this look like a stick-n-poke???" No, it doesn't. It was a full color three quarter arm in a neo-traditional style. It was a ghost, because he loves his irony. 

Danny kept staring at the girl behind the counter, not blinking the whole time, as she stared at him incredulously. 

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you keep being a problem."

"I'm not being a problem! You're the one who isn't listening as I try to explain my situation!"

"Kid, you aren't going to get a tattoo from this place." She sighed. "Look, I can call my boss and she can make the final call on it." 

"Yes! Please! Do!"

The girl in front of him walked into the back room and called a name that Danny hadn't heard since high school. "Hey! Star!"

Wait, Star? 

"What is it now, Kay?" A familiar voice rang out, in an exasperated voice. 

"Look, there's this kid at the front who says he's 23, he has an ID that looks like it checks out, but he looks twelve. Literally twelve." 

"God, Kay. Just tell him no!" A woman walked out from the back room, and looked at Kay, then made eye contact with Danny.

"Wait, FENTON? Damn, you literally haven't changed since freshman year!" The blonde girl laughed. 

"Star! It's been so long, I can't believe you recognize me!" Danny smiled. "You started a tattoo parlor?" 

"Yeah, after high school, I decided to apprentice at that one parlor down the road from school? Yeah you know the one, right?"

"I got my first tattoo there! this one," Danny pointed to his three quarter. 

"Was it James? I apprenticed under him." Star smiled at Danny. 

"Wait, Star, you know this kid?" 

"We went to high school together. I was a bit of an asshole, but we made up at the end of senior year! We'd all been through a lot together, you know what they say about trauma bringing people together!"

Danny smirked at Star. "You still in contact with Paulina?" He started, "Have you heard about her new girlfriend?"

"Oh yeah! We had a double date not too long ago, you know, me and Kwan."

"I always thought you and Kwan would get together! You guys were always pretty good with each other."

"WAIT, wait wait, so Star, he's not lying about his age??" The girl behind the counter said. 

"Yeah, he's looked that way since freshman year, some sort of medical condition, right?"

"It was a whole thing in senior year, we were comparing yearbook photos, it was so funny to see Dash freak out like that."

Danny and Star laughed at the memory. 

"So, can I get my tattoo now?" 

"Oh for sure! I'd love to get you started on that, do a quick consultation." Star led Danny to her office in the back. 

The girl at the front counter grasped her head in frustration. 

[ak8shi]

Jobs that the HQ Boys would have in college

a/n: I’m tipsy and idk what this is.,,,,many thots head full

ATSUMU: oh my god… he would work at Lulu Lemon and also be a campus rep for the brand, he looks really good in the clothes ig,, 🙄his manager fucking hated him for the first month of working there because they put him on the floor thinking he would attract people with his athletic build and good looks but he was so judgmental towards the customers, they had to put him behind the cash register LMFAO😔😭, he’s still judgmental behind the counter about the colors people pick for things but he knows he has to stfu to keep the job.. when dudes check out and have anything longer than 5.5 inseam shorts he always mumbles under his breath about feeling bad for the dude’s girlfriend 💀

BOKUTO: ALSO a Lulu Lemon rep but more of a floor/customer service person lmfao, HE SELLS things like CRAZY, people just listen to him and his expertise when it comes to the apparel because he’s so enthusiastic about it and looks so good in it, he’s the type that has 5 million different random jobs here and there : I can see him working at the campus gym as an instructor or just someone who oversees the machine area, LMFAO he’s the one who organized recreational games and sometimes referees rec volleyball!! He loves it and people ask him for advice all the time. He also stands outside of hollister shirtless on Black Friday LAMAKISKSMS, He ALSO is sponsored by one of those companies that delivers snack packages directly to college dorms HE IS SO CUTE PLEASE

SUNA: He has a job at his college campus’ library! He literally loves it because he doesn’t really have to talk to anyone besides the elderly ladies who work with him and the occasional lost underclassman, and he can do his homework on the job. Girls go to the library that he works at specifically to stare at him, and the twins come in to annoy him often too (that’s the only way they would be in a library setting) GIRL he has to KICK them out for being so loud god. He also gets the occasional offer from the campus’ student ran fashion magazine to model but he’s too embarrassed and knows he would get absolutely CLOWNED if he accepted🥺. He also ubers on the weekends sometimes and he as a 5 rating because he’s hot and never makes weird conversation with his passengers

FUTAKUCHI: MAN he would work at the mall at one of those hair kiosks LMFAOO Listen, he’s honestly the perfect person for the job because he’s pushy, confident, and h*t… when people would usually object on getting their hair done by some random at the mall, they usually say yes to him because…. Its him ugh I hate him ALSO HE’S ONE OF THOSE SKETCHY PEOPLE ON FACEBOOK THAT SELLS SCAM BEAUTY PRODUCTS (“hey girly,” PLEASEMDMF)

OSAMU: He would work a typical bus boy job in college tbh, you usually have the start from the bottom in the restaurant business and he likes the fact that the hours are pretty flexible, and that he can show up hungover as fuck and still do an okay job. Occasionally his friends will pay him to cook a meal for them, or bake something that they can impress a girl with (sometimes he purposely burns the baked goods 😭LMFAMDM) Works late a lot of times and you can catch him downtown in the parking lot scarfing down his dinner at 2 am

SHIRABU: I have no idea why this one was so obvious to me but he 100% works at a Starbucks on campus lmao, his pre-med self is just always stressed and needs coffee to stay awake, and honestly he kind of enjoys being a cunt to all the students he encounters as an outlet for his frustration (sir…💀), He’s constantly screaming at Goshiki behind the counter, and he honestly doesn’t have the patience for any Karens or those girls who complain about their order because they ordered something they didn’t mean to. He’s genuine and friendly to his regulars though and if you tip he’ll put an extra shot of espresso in your order😙

KUROO: Also another obvious one for me, he’s giving me paid lab member by day, bar tender by night vibes from a million miles away. He honestly gets offered the job in the lab because of his grades and immense understanding of chemistry in his classes and labs, and he loves it!! God.. he’s really so nerdy and you can’t tell me this man doesn’t get published multiple times in academic papers bc he DOES! The lab is great and everything but he’s only there for a few hours per week, so he seeks out a nightlife job at a bar, let me tell you that’s where he cashes out,,, 🤑 like he gets tipped really well because he’s good at conversation while not being creepy, he’s HOT as FUCK, and he makes the drinks actually strong. Truly everyone and their mom’s favorite bartender !

ARAN: THIS MAN,,, he’s so photogenic and good looking there’s not doubt in my mind that he would be an influencer on campus (Atsumu really wishes he was him lmfao💀), he has ALL the sponsors and also a huge social media following. Fashion nova men, skincare brands, athletic programs, he has so many sponsors and basically most of his Instagram is payed placement , He also promotes a lot of campus merch and bars!! Like there are definitely pics of him popping bottles with his boys on his insta and he looks so good please😈

SEMI: he would work at a piercing or tattoo salon, and honestly it happens unintentionally ?? He went in for a tattoo and he was looking at the jewelry on display and was like??? this would be so cool to be able to pierce someone!! SO he apprenticed with a worker and had a lot of his friends who wanted piercings come in for practice, also he’s the type of dude that is great at calming/reassuring people who are nervous or anxious before getting a piercing or tat, loves to play his guitar quietly in the background when he’s not busy helping a client🥰 also volunteers at the animal shelter a few times a month bc he loves animals 🥺

SAKUSA: this one is making me laugh because he would definitely work a teleprompter job thinking it would be fine since he doesn’t have to touch or interact with anyone but he ends up hating it because of how rude the people are 💀😭 he somehow gets stuck with the most obnoxious and rude clients he really can’t take it, (the way he has to repeat himself forty times... no) he brings a huge thermos of coffee to the office when he has to work and he leaves with a huge headache every time

[struwwelzeter]

Ok, here it is. This is one of my all time favorite interviews. It doesn’t really contain anything new, and I am still convinced it has been translated before, but that is beside the point. He is so chatty, and I get the impression he was quite at ease with the interviewer, and he’s just and adorable dork. I gave up on trying to capture his “voice” pretty fast because it’s impossible. Maybe it’s because I know how he sounds when he speaks english, but he’s ... a bit of a hazard, in that he sounds dumb one minute and sophisticated the next, and some of the things he says are actually not translateable, so I just concentrated on trying to get what he says across and gave up on the how.

Interview with Richard Kruspe of Emigrate and Rammstein

by Marcus Schleutermann of Rock Hard Magazine, August 22, 2008

—-

Richard, where and in what kind of circumstances did you grow up?

Until I was seven I lived in a small village called Weisen. That was a beautiful childhood with alot of nature, cats and dogs and a big family with two siblings. Then the big break came unfortunately, with the divorce of my parents. My father was gone from one day to the next, and we moved in with my stepfather in Schwerin. We didn’t ge on at all. The situation between me and him escalated quite a bit and I often ran away from home quite often. Sometimes I slept on park benches or in a friend’s basement and was looked for by the police. When there was the chance to start an apprenticeship somewehre else I jumped on it right away and went to Hagenau. Since there was nothing there other than a big army base, I did nothing but spend two and a half years worth of sparetime playing guitar. Looking back, I have to say that my stepfather at least taught me basic discipline. I profit from that by now, because as a musician there is no outside obligation to sit down and compose every day.

Where would you most like to live?

At the moment, I live both in Berlin and in New York. I like that duality. New York has a unique energy that drives me. I never really warmed up to Berlin on the other hand. When I first came here, the negative attitude of the people here totally spooked me. It’s always a no at first. Apart from that it’s pretty cold here. But by now quite a few things have changed for the better, especially this refreshing multiculti-thing, which of course doesn't only work between germans and turks, but between all sorts of nationalities. I would most like to live in Cape Town. You have the mountains on one side and two oceans on the other. The people are open and friendly and there is a very beautiful light that is good for my mind. (I feel obligated to say that he uses the word «Gemüt» which could also mean mood or soul and kind of means all of those 3 things at once.) I can imagine that as a retirement retreat.

Were you more of nerd or a bruiser in school?

I think that goes without saying - quite a bit of a bruiser.

So you did end up in brawls now and then.

Certainly. At the age of 10 to 14 I got into situations all the time where I - lets say - could let loose physically. But when I started wrestling I learned how to chanel my aggressions. I trained 5 times a weekand had competitions on the weekends. Unfortunately I was way too offensive most of the time and had no patience while fighting. I wanted victory right away, like tyson.

Are your parents proud and of you?

I think my biological father is very proud of me. My mother always wanted something else for me, but by now my muscian’s life is okay for her. At the end of the day it doesn't matter what you do, as long as you are successful. Especially for the post-war generation of my parents materialistic value is still held above evrything.

So what does money mean to you?

Essentially, only the freedom to be able to do what I like to do. Money means independency to me most of all. The problem with that is of course that you get used to a certain level of luxury and lifestyle. When I earned the first bit of money with Rammstein I was in seventh heaven and thought I would never need more. With my two apartments in London and Berlin and the constant travelling I need a bit more nowadays.

How do you define success?

Success is relative. With Emigrate I got great reviews, sold a good number of albums worldwide and got releases in America and Australia. Therefore, I could assess my solo project as a success, but in comparison with Rammstein, who sell millions, Emigrate are small fry.

What was the most miserable job you ever had?

The worst job was window cleaner, because I suffer from vertigo a bit [laughs]. Initially I was a truckdriver, but I lost my license after an accident. After that the company deemed I was supposed to become a window cleaner and climb up the Schwerin television tower. No way! I just put up the ladder for them and told them: See you later! (He actually uses english for the see you later. More impactful, you see.) To get by, I made shoes myself and sold them. Espardrilles and the likes. That is funny, because I am actually not talented in crafts at all. But I am streetwise and inventive when it comes to survival. I always had to improvise to get by because I couldn't handle authority at all. As a teenager I apprenticed to be a cook/chef (Same word in german. Probably more a cook than a chef to be honest here.) That's a tough job going off the tough hours alone. Apart from that it gets quite hot by the stove after a while.

That is not that different with Rammstein’s pyro show.

Quite true, hahaha! I believe cooking and making music has so much in common anyway. I have always cooked without a recipe. I just take what is there and conjure up something delicious. Some things maybe don't fit that well in the beginning, but you learn that quite quickly and then you develop an intuitive sense. That is the same with composing.

What would have become of you, if you hadn’t become a musician?

Hm, good question. I would like to produce a band some time - so kinda switch to the other side. Other than that I love to write and could imagine screenwriting would be a suitable job for me.

Speaking of Hollywood, how about being before the camera? Are there characters you would have loved or love to play?

Two characters I find brilliant: Taxi Driver and Leon the Professional. And those gangster flicks are cool. Goodfellas and Reservoir Dogs for exemple.

So more the underdogs and the villains - not the heroes.

Yes, they just have more potential. After I shot some erotic scenes for a video the other day I could also imagine doing an entire film in that direction. I was quite nervous in the beginning, but the longer we were shooting the more fun I had. Erotic, mind you, not pornographic.

So, you’d undress for Playgirl?

Not anymore [laughs]. Although probably not before either. I do have a pretty easy going relationship with my body and run around naked in my apartment alot, but then I am not that exhibitionistic that I'd strip for some glossy magazine.

So you’re a at-home nudist.

Yeah, that's an east thing, I think. When I opened my apartment door in New York naked once when the door rang while I was in bed with my then wife, she was completely bewildered. The shameless ossis (east germans) and the prudish americans - that was a meeting of the worlds. [laughs]

Are you vain?

Unfortunately, yes. I'd like to be more above that because vanity is a negative quality that has something to do with insecurity and ego. I work on myself and as I got older I luckily developed a more casual attitude. At some point you start to accept the degredation of the body.

Theoretically you could counteract that with plastic surgery. How about an appointment with Nip/Tuck, hm?

That's not something for me, but I don't have anything against plastic surgery. If people are unhappy with their body and gain new self esteem and sense of life through an operation, they should go through with it. I do see a problem in the danger of it getting exorbitant and to develop some kind of addiction like with tattoos that goes far beyond the reasonable. The body won't go along with everythig after all, and such things as calf implants are pretty crazy.

Speaking of crazy, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

That must have been asking a woman to marry me two days after meeting her. She said yes, and the rest is history. (They are divorced at this point, as the article points out here - in brackets too.)

Cue: Woman: What type do you prefer?

Like almost everyone I do have some sort of type. You need a relationship that mirrors yourself and to develop. So in that sense you're looking for a partner that drives you forward in certain aspects. To have a good relationship you need to keep a balance of passion and friendship - if it's just one it will overturn at some point.

What do you think of groupies?

They just belong to it all. This symbiosis of star and groupie is like theater. The relationship between both has of course nothing to do with reality, and is just an illusion, but you shouldn't destroy that. I'm personally not really tempted by groupies because I like it when I have to fight for a woman. But I like the glamour their presence emenates.

Do you believe in god or reincarnation? Are you spiritaully inclined?

More and more. I don't believe in god in a church sense, but I'm a spiritual guy and believe in a form of justice; that the things we do come back to us in some way eventually. Karma, so to speak. I also have the slightly feminine habit of using astrology to understand people. I use it as a tool to decipher characters. Once you know how someone's house is build, it's easier to place their actions. To be clear: I don't mean horoscopes or such nonsense. There's alot of maths in astrology and you can't compare that with the usual star-sign pulp in TV programmes.

Could you live without television?

Nah. I have a huge beamer in my New York apartment's bedroom. I love lying in bed, smoking and watching good movies more than anything. That is the only thing where I can really switch of other than sex. Lots of both, please. [laughs]

Reading isn't your thing?

I used to read alot, but now I'm unfortunately too lazy for it most of the time. Even on the plane you get a monitor and a huge selection of movies since a while now. But I still have a good reading recommendation: The New York trilogy by Paul Auster.

What's the most important invention for human kind?

Each century has it's own big invention and right now that is clearly the internet. Before that it was electricity, which made everything else like the light bulb and the elctric guitar even possible.

To which era would you most like to travel if there was a time machine?

I guess the sword and blade time as I always call it. Knights templar, 11th century. I can answer that this well, because I like to watch even stupid movies when they deal with that period. I just have a huge affinity to it somehow and would love to find out how things were going back then.

Do you have a phobia?

Other than the aforementioned fear of heights I have a phobia of snakes.

When did you cry the last time?

Now you got me. That is a huge problem of mine because I just can't cry. I think that is a pity myself, because crying is an outlet with which you let grief go. Maybe that's why my music is so important to me, it's like my tear duct and helps me to live out my feelings.

——————-

- sorry for any spelling mistakes but I’m dyslexci and I can’t be bothered.

[crimsondelphi]

( tristin mays, 27, cis female, she/her/hers, april 13th ) Was that DELPHINE DESCHAMPS ? I heard a rumor they work for the FAUST family, but who knows for sure ? They can be a bit RESENTFUL & DESTRUCTIVE, but I also heard they can be RESOURCEFUL & VENTURSOME. You’ll usually find them at THE DEN in their spare time, when they’re not being the OWNER OF TONY’S GUNS & SPORTING GOODS/CARCANOS. You may want to keep an eye on that one !

guess who’s back? back again? it’s me! baz! and i’m so sorry lmfao. delphi is a brand spankin’ new muse, so bear with while i flesh her out! and i could ramble for days, so i’m going to try to not do that and just hit y’all with the facts so !!! here we goooooo!

pinterest. stats. someday a wanted connections page will be up, but today is not that day.

quick facts

full name: delphine odette deschamps. nicknames: del or delphi. anything else gets you shot. hometown: new orleans, louisiana. family: raimond & celeste deschamps - deceased, paternal uncle - deceased, an unknown half sibling - living. zodiac: aries sun, capricorn moon, sagittarius rising.  sexuality: pansexual. education: community college in new york - unfinished associates in arts. two year tattoo artist apprenticeship completed. 

that good ish ( death/murder mention tw, general spooky tw, violence tw, guns/weapons tw. )

born and raised in new orleans, delphine was raised on bourbon street. her father was a jazz musician and her mother owned and ran a voodoo shop.

her mother actively practiced voodoo while she was growing up, but stopped shortly after her parents’ deaths.

because of their unique lifestyles, del was the definition of street rat. she was well known within the community and almost every shop keeper and street musician kept an eye on her for her parents. she was v much raised by the community and she loved it. 

despite the turn her life would later take, delphine has only happy memories of her childhood. her parents, unconventional as they were, filled her life with nothing but love and adventure. 

( death/murder tw ) at the age of 13, both of delphine’s parents were killed on their way home from one of her father’s gigs.

it was later discovered that he’d developed a gambling addiction and it’s assumed that they were targeted for that reason. the case has never officially been closed and is considered a cold case. 

after the death’s of her parents, del became a ward of the state and bounced from foster home to foster home until her only blood relative was found.

( violence & gun/weapon tw ) a paternal uncle in new york that delphine had only met a handful of times was now her full time guardian and oh boY. 

shady was this man’s middle name. he owned a furniture company that operated as a front for his arms dealing operation. 

also v openly violent - got into a lot of fights and hid exactly none of it from delphine. 

not shockingly, mans had zero clue how to raise a teenager so kid gloves were nonexistent and a v impressionable and grieving delphine was thrust into a life of violence and crime that quickly became her new normal. 

del had always been smart and, because her uncle wasn’t super stellar at the healthy parenting thing, she quickly picked up on the family business and anything and everything involving firearms and weapons. 

ofc this meant her uncle was thrilled ( bc he’d be able to use her ) and that positive reinforcement was all she needed to dive head first into anything she thought would earn her that same positive reinforcement.

spoiler alert: none of those things were good. all bad. v bad. but delphine is a pro at figuring out what people want/expect from her and using it to her advantage. aka living with her uncle brought out literally the worst side of her and amplified it.

as soon as delphine was old enough to legally start working for the furniture store, she did. that meant she also got a closer look at the arms dealing her uncle was doing. by the time she graduated high school, delphi was her uncle’s right hand in the family business - helping him make major decisions and aiding in making new and more lucrative deals.

delphine did enroll in a local community college, where she studied art history for about a year before dropping out. during that time, she also started apprenticing at a local tattoo shop, mostly for fun and a way to take a break from the violence and guns of it all. even after she dropped out of college, del continued and finished her apprenticeship, continuing to tattoo part time until she moved to chicago.

( death/violence tw ) during a gun trade gone bad, delphine’s uncle was killed. to say she was devastated was an unbelievable understatement. as toxic as their relationship may have been, her uncle was the last of her biological family that delphine had. losing him felt like a finality she wasn’t ready to accept and, honestly, probably never really has.

it was 6 months before delphine was back to normal and, in that time, her uncle’s arms business had descended into chaos. as much as she dreaded staying in new york a second longer than she needed to, delphine couldn’t let that be her uncle’s legacy. so, del stuck around long enough to get the business back up and running with more competent and willing people running it. 

it was during that time that she encountered the faust family. after that, she learned everything she could about the family and their operations running out of chicago. at that point, her mind was made up.

as soon as she was able, delphine packed her meager belongings and moved to chicago with the intentions of joining the fausts. 

for the past two-ish years, delphine has worked her ass off to get to where she is now and she is thriving. dysfunctional as they may be, del considers the fausts her family, despite her gruff, prickly demeanor. she’s putting down roots, hopefully for the last time, but it is chicago, so who knows.

personality

okay okay, so del is 100% grumpy cat ( rip ). the rbf is strong and she takes exactly zero shit from anyone ( unless you’re her boss. she’s a v selective people pleaser? don’t ask me, i just work here ). she’s sarcastic and rude and generally an asshole even if she does like you. the only difference between how she treats people she likes and people she doesn’t is she threatens the people she likes with violence slightly less frequently.

possible connections

lord help us all - i’m the worst as these but !!! 

all the faust connections. pls and thank. bonus points if you get her even a little squishy. idk if it’s possible but let’s try. it’ll be a fun game.

employees at tony’s, pls and thank.

sparring buds! pls let her kick someone’s ass the reg. she needs to let out her aggression.

den buddies! has she been betting on fights? mayhaps. gimmie some friendly ( can she do friendly idk we’ll find out ) rivalry.

past hook-ups/flings. del is not someone who does serious, so she’s probably got a string of one night stands and fwbs all over the place. she’s a unabashed hoe and she ain’t sorry.

uuuuhhh, and literally anything else??? i’m open to absolutely everything always, so pls don’t be afraid to chuck any and all ideas my way!

[afteriwake]

Of Floral Arrangements, Tattoos and Brotherly Reconciliation (1/?)

This was the fic I started for Holmestice that I just let get away from me, so I’m posting it now. It’s Johnlock, Mystrade and Hoopervan, and it’s an AU involving tattoo parlors and flower shops, so let’s hope it gets more cohesive as I go on because there’s a background case too!

Of Floral Arrangements, Tattoos and Brotherly Reconciliation - For years, the Holmes brothers have owned shops next door to each other, and for years, there's been a rift between them. No one except their sister knows why but now, after Mycroft agrees to marry his long-time love Gregory, their employees and friends conspire to mend that breach between them...for better or for worse.

Read Chapter 1 @ AO3 

Very few people realized that the flower shop and the tattoo parlour that were next to each other in the Regents Park area on Marleybourne Road were owned by a set of brothers who barely spoke to each other. Mycroft Holmes, who it was said spoke the language of the flowers from both the Victorian Era and the modern era with such fluency that even Her Majesty wanted the Palace covered in his creations, had had a falling out with his brother Sherlock, also known as Sheeza, the most accomplished tattoo artist in the whole of England. Only their sister knew what it was about, and as she didn’t care for either of them herself, not many people knew what it was all about, nor why they avoided each other upon the opening and closing of their respective shops, not even giving a nod or a grunt of recognition.

Sheeza had an assistant, a woman named Molly who did some of the most amazing macabre art mixed in with flowers and bits of nature. She was quite popular with the goth crowd. His apprentice, John Watson, was something more than just an apprentice and was slowly inching into a romantic relationship of some sort, or at least as much of one as he could imagine himself in. John specialized in the geometric work that was beloved by the millennial and Generation Z crowd and could make almost any set of geometric shapes come off as works of art. And then there was Sally, the shop’s all-around woman and Molly’s wife, who had the sharp wit needed for the wankers who came in without reading the rules.

As much as Sherlock didn’t want to speak to his brother, his brother’s creations were always at the front, every day. Turned out Sally’s mate Greg was Mycroft’s lover (not that Sheeza cared about that, just as Mycroft didn’t care for John more than just a glance) and an assistant at the shop who spoiled the women with the lesser creations that weren’t up to the level of perfection that Mycroft had. Mycroft didn’t seem to mind what he would normally consider trash going to his brother’s shop; Sally and Molly took them home and pressed the flowers into the homemade paper that Sally turned into lovely cards and stationery sets.

And so for years, it was this way, until Greg proposed marriage to Mycroft. And then he made one demand: mend the breach with his brother. Mycroft refused to speak to Sheeza, and so Greg decided to do it himself.

He went next door with his newest bouquet later that day, when Sheeza had gone to take his lunch break with John. It was an extravagant bouquet, something with a dozen red roses at the heart of it, and a note for Sheeza. “Oh, this is lovely,” Molly said, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. She smiled up at Greg. “We don’t normally get roses, especially the red ones. What’s the occasion?”

“My engagement,” he said. “I asked Mycroft to marry me, and he said yes.”

“Congratulations!” Sally said, going out from behind her counter to give her friend a hug. “Oh, I’m so happy for you. Despite what Sheeza says, Mycroft seems like a wonderful bloke for you.”

“We get on well,” Greg said with a soft smile. “So today, you get a premium Lestrade creation. But it comes with a string attached.” He set the note on the counter. “I want Mycroft and Sherlock to mend their breach. Ever since I apprenticed with Mycroft ten years ago, before all of you came around, he’s been quarreling with his brother and I have no idea why, but I want it to stop.”

“Oh, thank God,” Sally said, shaking her head as she put a hand on her heart and let out a breath. “It looks as though Sherlock is holding John at arm’s length and we just want the two idiots to be happy. If he fixed whatever his issue with his brother is, maybe he’ll give John a true chance.”

“Good,” Lestrade said, breathing a sigh of relief. “So you’ll give Sheeza this note?”

“Absolutely,” Molly said. “I hope they start talking again. I think it would do them both a world of good.”

They all chatted a bit more, and then Greg excused himself and made his way back to the shop. Mycroft was in the back and Anthea, their counter clerk, was fixing up the showroom. “Has he left the workroom yet?”

“Not yet,” she said. “He’s in a Mood with a capital M. Someone is taking pictures of his creations before they’re given to his clients and copying them for social media.”

Greg sighed. “I told him we should have gotten our own accounts. I know he’s old fashioned, but how-to videos and an Instagram account would be helpful.”

“Well, now he’s doubled down on no sharing any of his creations whatsoever.” She moved a vase of fake flowers that showed what Mycroft could do with everlasting flowers towards the back of the display area and moved a new vase forward.

“One of yours?” Greg asked with a smile.

She nodded. “I thought we could have a splash of yellow for the spring.”

“I think you did a good job. And on that note, I’ll go whisk Mycroft away to the flowers market so he can pick some things for the Buckingham Palace job.”

Anthea brightened. “We got it?”

“Yeah,” Greg said. “Even if someone is trying to copy us unless they’re undercutting prices, we’re still in demand with Her Majesty.”

“Well that’s something,” she said. She paused. “You know, I heard his brother looked into things once upon a time, as a hobby. Maybe...”

“I’m one step ahead,” Gregory said. “But we have to get them on speaking terms before we can ask for a favor. But I think it will work out.” He smiled at Anthea, but inside, his stomach was roiled in knots. This theft of ideas was a big breach. There were the three of them in the shop but Mycroft had others who came in from time to time as he was trying to figure out a fourth person in the shop. It looked as though Phillip would get the apprenticeship, but if he was the one photographing the works before they were officially unveiled…

Well, then that would be very bad. Hopefully, they could figure out a way to stop it before the next exhibition, which was happening after the engagement at the Palace. And hopefully, in the end, the brothers would be on speaking terms again.

[adapted-batteries]

Out from the Facades

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General, sfw, some swearing

Relationship: Jazekiel

Word Count: 2236

Going off a previous post where I headcanoned Stone as a trans guy, this is a fic revolving around that, and the concept of found family for June 4th's prompt: Found Family.

Also posted on my Ao3.

-----

Jacob came home, hair cut short, with a button down shirt from the thrift store, trying to ignore the uncomfortableness of the too small sports bra he was using to bind. His father was usually home later, so he figured he’d have some time to think up what he was going to say, and where he could go if he ended up getting kicked out.

Unfortunately, Isaac Stone was standing at the kitchen counter, looking at some bill that had come in the mail that day. His father looked up, squinting at the open door from the bright Oklahoma afternoon. When Jacob unfroze and shut the door, Isaac sucked in a breath.

“So, you’re a boy now,” Isaac said, inspecting Jacob like he was a prize heifer at the county fair. While his feet could move, Jacob’s throat did not want to cooperate, so Isaac continued. “Since you couldn’t even be a decent girl, you better be a better man, you understand?”

Jacob nodded, mentally finishing the thought that came next: because I can’t have a queer for a kid.

So that’s what Jacob did. So long as he acted like a good ol’ boy, everyone went along with it. He was surprised how quickly people just decided that yeah, Rebecca Stone was actually Jacob Stone, star of the high school football team, more than capable of drinking with the actual linebackers, and making the same comments, though thankfully he never felt compelled to act on them like others did.

But the real shocker was how easily Isaac Stone swept the notion of Rebecca, the rough tomboy, under the rug like he had with his late wife's heritage. Surprising support wrapped in the ultimate thought that if things weren't right by themselves, he'd force it into a more acceptable image and move on. He’d drive Stone to Oklahoma City for hormone replacement therapy until he could drive himself, his father hid of all the pictures past baby stage that indicated a girl that wasn’t on board with being one, and somehow never misgendered him.

Of course, his father didn’t have to worry about misgendering if he wasn’t home, or was passed out drunk on the couch if he was.

By the time Jacob turned 18, no one made any mistakes. He’d been blessed by the transgender gods, spending most of his formative years on testosterone, and soon got top surgery in the city (thankfully paid for before his father completely ran the company into the dirt). To complete the perfect picture, he got himself a nice, manly job oil rigging. It was easy to forget he’d ever been Rebecca first.

But jacob couldn’t ignore how much of a fuckup he still was. No one knew that he’d went to college instead of “a stint up on the Keystone pipeline,” that he’d published dozens of scholarly essays on art and literature of all sorts while “apprenticing to be a surveyor,” that he still liked men even though he was a convincing fake womanizer. Despite briefly living more like who he really was, he was terrified of what would happen if the people back home found out. So, what better way to prevent that than to come back to Oklahoma and work long hours on a dead-end pipeline job, biding his time until Isaac decided he’d done enough to murder his company and let Jacob actually take over.

And then, when he was at the bar with some of his buddies, after dutifully hitting on the hot foreign chick with a Latin tattoo, ninjas showed up, and a NATO counter terrorism officer saved his ass.

The Library made it really hard to be Jacob Stone, manly oil rigger from Oklahoma, because he wasn’t any use to the Library for just that. No, Jacob Stone, brilliant scholar and expert in all things liberal arts, that was exactly who the Library needed to repeatedly save the world. And Jacob realized that, hey, it was pretty nice to actually be the real Jacob Stone, the one under all those facades.

The problem was old habits, ones that were decades in the making, were hard to break. It took him a few months to quit instinctively playing stupid before realizing, no, he didn’t have to do that. Only recently did he actually tell his colleagues what he was always busy working on in their off time, still publishing under Dr. Oliver Thompson, though the thought of abandoning the pseudonyms gave him the same fear that kept him hidden in Oklahoma.

At least the artificial interest in women was becoming not so artificial, but then there was Ezekiel Jones, doing his damn best to remind Jacob how not straight he was. And he still wasn’t totally truthful with the team; no one knew he was trans. Though he knew he didn’t owe them that bit of personal history, it felt like one more mask still hanging on his face.

And then the Library sent them to one of his father’s new sites in Wagner, and his past that he tried to shed came rearing its head all at once. Fortunately his father had hired local contractors who didn’t know Jacob, but he couldn’t do much about Isaac himself, or the fact they were dealing with some Choctaw mythology causing a ruckus, with protestors who seemingly could see through his white-passing visage and into his native blood.

It was as if the universe decided that he needed to actually confront the cultural past he’d carefully locked away years ago with his mother’s death, and the past he’d managed to lock away recently with becoming a Librarian. And maybe he actually would.

Isaac, of course, was off being useless in a bar, so naturally he got to introduce his colleagues to his father in his worst state.

“The hell you doin’ here?” Isaac was looking at him, just like he had that afternoon 25 years ago.

It took all of his willpower to not just turn around and leave. “...hey Pop.”

They managed to convince Isaac that he was just a surveyor assistant to Ezekiel, though part of him was on guard in case Cassandra decided to throw down with his father’s disgusting misogynistic behavior (he was convinced she gave Isaac a headache with all the jargon she threw around, so she got some revenge). It was easy knowing what to say to keep Isaac from suspecting anything, to get him to cooperate (especially considering he was oiled with alcohol), but after effectively being “out” intellectually for a year, it hurt to shove himself back into the good ol’ boy role, even if part of him was screaming it was the safe thing to do.

Being locked in the truth chamber was a thrilling experience, in that his anxiety about kept them from escaping. He thought he was going to have to come out right there to Ezekiel and Cassandra, but thankfully the door was happy enough with him talking about his father.

In the end, even after getting a practice run with Hokolonote, he realized it didn’t matter if Isaac had no clue who he really was. Isaac would never care, because Jacob still ended up being the family fuck up, just the “turnin’ your back on your family” one. He left Oklahoma with a different hurt, the low ache of realizing he never actually had genuine family to begin with.

And then he spent more time with the Librarians, and that ache began to fade. These people he worked with, saved, got saved by, knew him as he was, and loved him for it. And realized he felt the exact same way about them. He near spooked himself with how much he cared if Eve had died by Dulac’s sword, if Ezekiel got killed by anubis’s werewolves, if Cassandra didn’t make it through the surgery, if Flynn hadn’t been strong enough to take in evil while they scrambled for a solution to Apep, if Jenkins somehow died (thank god he was immortal). Family was only half of having people care about you; you had to care about them too.

He had family.

But he didn’t want any secrets with the family, and he still had one left tugging on his heart. And who better to tell than the other professional faker on the team.

He cornered Ezekiel in the main room while the others went about doing whatever they were doing. “Hey, Ezekiel, can we talk?”

Ezekiel looked at him, a mix of confusion and concern, since Jacob rarely pulled the first name card for him. “Sure, mate. Is something wrong?”

“No...uh, just, let’s go somewhere more private,” Jacob said, about-facing and walking deeper into the Library. Ezekiel followed him, and he knew the thief was suddenly hyper aware of everything because Jacob caught him off-guard.

The wandered for a bit, eventually far enough from the others and any main walkways where someone might come near. “Okay, what’s this about?” Ezekiel asked, folding his arms.

Jacob took a death breath. “I’ve not been completely truthful about my past-”

Ezekiel cut him off. “No one ever is, least of all me, so what of it?”

“No, just-” Jacob rubbed his face in frustration “-I know you and Cassandra found out I’d lied to my father about myself for decades, but that’s not the only thing about me you don’t know.”

“Okay?” Ezekiel just looked at him even more confused. “Are you like, coming out or something? Because that isn’t a big deal, I mean it is, but like, Cassandra has a girlfriend, mate, and you know I’m not the straightest bloke around.”

“You’re not?” Jacob shook his head, ignoring that bit of apparently obvious information for now. “I, uh, well, yeah, Jones, I’m coming out. I’m trans.”

There was an awkward silence as Ezekiel tried to figure out what Jacob meant by that. “Congrats?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times like he was trying out sentences in his head and deeming them not appropriate, and then a flood of words came out. “Um, so, do you have like prefered pronouns you want me to use? Are you thinking about a new name? Cuz that’s cool too. Are you still into women, or do you not want me to set you up anymore-”

Jacob felt like he’d been doing Atlas’s job for him, and Atlas had finally relieved him. “Ezekiel,” Jacob started to get the thief to quiet, “I’m a trans man.”

“Ooh, okay.” Ezekiel, despite his ability to don a quality poker face, had no control over the blush on his face right then.

Deciding he had nothing left to lose, Jacob decided to answer Ezekiel’s last question. “And you can stop with setting me up with women too...because I’m not straight either.” He let out a bark of a laugh at how surreal he felt, which made Ezekiel startle. Apparently Ezekiel realized how big this was for Jacob, because he was looking at him in amazement now. “I can’t believe I’ve not told anyone else that in two and a half decades.”

“You...it’s been that long?” Ezekiel blinked in disbelief. “How did you hide that?”

Jacob shrugged. “You’d be surprised how easily people will ignore things if you fit in somehow. And I wasn’t ever totally hidden...you met Slaten. He knew me, well, more than anyone else until the Library.” He knew what was coming next after he said that.

“Were you...together?”

A smile crept onto Jacob’s face, reminiscent. “It’s the worst when you fall for your straight best friend.”

“It really is,” Ezekiel replied, and then his expression changed to something more serious, his posture annoyingly more seductive with just a slight tilt of his head and angle of his hips. “Now I pride myself in reading people, a necessary skill for effective grifting, and, well, when I first met you, you gave off some repressed gay vibes for sure. Was there something more when you shoved me against that bookcase when ninjas were invading the Library for the crown?”

Jacob thought back to that moment. “Not exactly, I mean, I'm a fighter so my first thought was to immobilize you.” Ezekiel raised an eyebrow, but Jacob had more to say. He stepped closer to Ezekiel as he said, “then my second thought was you looked like you were enjoying it.” Now he was almost toe to toe with Ezekiel, and the thief had certainly picked up on where he was going. “And my third thought was that I enjoyed looking at you like that.”

Conveniently, they were near a bookcase, not the one from the memory, but close enough. With all other thoughts out the window, Jacob grabbed Ezekiel by the shirt and pushed him against the bookcase. Ezekiel let out a little gasp when his back hit the wood, making Jacob's heart flip in his chest. What he said was true; Jacob was enjoying pinning Ezekiel to the bookcase, and based on Ezekiel's turned on expression, he was too.

Ezekiel interrupted his observations. “Are you just going to look at me?”

“Hmm, I might with that attitude,” Jacob purred. Ezekiel scoffed, but he glanced down at Jacob's mouth, and then Jacob couldn't resist any longer. He relaxed his elbows and brought his face near inches away from Ezekiel's, but something making him hesitate.

Ezekiel read him like an open book. “You aren't second guessing, are you? There's nothing wrong with who you are, though your wardrobe could still use help-”

“Oh, shut it,” Jacob growled, but he didn't back away.

“Make me, cowboy,” Ezekiel retorted. That was enough to get Jacob to close the remaining distance and press his lips onto Ezekiel's.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration for him to say he felt fireworks when Ezekiel kissed back.

This was his family, this building, these people. Blood wasn't everything, despite what the folks back home thought. It only took him 40 years to find it, but he was very glad he did.

-----

Post Notes: So, this is some idyllic world where trans teens got HRT in the 80's, which as far as Google would tell me, wasn't a thing until more recently. Also, since I used “And What Lies Beneath the Stones” for reference on Jacob and Isaac interacting, I also noticed how the one protestor reacted when he looked at Stone, and my brain decided that was him recognizing Choctaw or another tribe in Stone because that's also a fun headcanon in my head from when people mentioned it way back.

I picture this happening after season four, so technically the LiTs don't remember the whole Jenkins dying bit (I feel like Flynn and Eve wouldn't say for time line stability, since Flynn does watch out for that already from “And the Final Curtain”).

[mayalaen]

17 - i need like 3 more rooms

Ryan is leaving the shop, and I’ve got a new artist that just started yesterday (she seems to be doing really well so far), but I do have one more room available.

Only problem is that as of the last few days, I’ve had some REALLY amazing artists ask to work at the shop.

All of which have NO CLUE how good they are.

Dude 1: He started coming to my shop a little over a year ago, and when he came in that first time he said, “Okay so can you tell me about needles? I think I’d like to do stick-and-poke tattoos.” I figured him for a sleazy scratcher that was just going to ruin his friends’ skin.

Fast forward a few months and he’s coming in regularly, still getting 3 round liners and black ink, nothing else.

He came in yesterday and finally I’m like okay can you please show me some of your stuff because I just REALLY wanna know.

He pulled up the first picture and my jaw dropped.

Dude is doing stippling, shading, and all this other stuff better than most tattoo artists do with tattoo machines. Like seriously this guy is crazy talented. He’s doing it out of his house, so technically a scratcher, and he wasn’t trained by anyone either, which is usually another red flag, but I’ll be damned if you could find anybody to actually teach this kid what he’s doing.

He’s got a unique style that’s all his own, but it’s also classic stippling. I want him SO BAD. A lot of customers ask if we do stick and poke, and if even people who weren’t sure about it saw his work, they’d want it. Stippling is also VERY popular right now. He said he’d love to work for me because he loves the shop and he appreciates that I helped him when he had no knowledge of tattooing :)

Dude 2: This guy looks like he’s 12 years old. He’s also technically a scratcher but apprenticed in a local shop that’s a VERY good shop. He’s been tattooing for 4 years, but after his apprenticeship he quit the shop because he didn’t like the drama and backstabbing, which doesn’t happen in my shop.

Anyway, I usually get a good feel for people when I’m talking to them, but as you can see above, I’m not always right when it comes to assuming talent. This guy wrote down his Instagram, told me he really wants to work for me, and asked me to contact him if I like his work.

I checked it out after he left and again my jaw dropped. This kid who looks about 12 years old does black and gray like somebody who has 20+ years of experience. It’s insane.

Dude 3: I’m still trying to get Vinnie to work for me. I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned him here before, but he’s the transguy I dated a couple times before realizing we weren’t right for each other and mutual decision to not continue.

Well he’s been telling me about his work environment and I’m appalled. Okay, so I’m not really that shocked. Hazing in tattoo shops, especially old school shops, is AWFUL. And they’re doing a number on him.

He’s got 5 years of experience, but damn if this guy isn’t way beyond junior artist, which is what they call him. They throw things at his head. They refuse to give him walk-ins even when it’s his favorite style that he is super good at, and when a woman comes in and asks if they have a female artist, they send the woman to him -- which always confuses the women (he’s transitioned and anyone looking at him wouldn’t realize he’s trans) and I’m sure hurts Vinnie every time even though he just shrugged it off when I mentioned it was a shitty thing to do.

So I’m trying to get him to come to our shop, but he feels a loyalty toward them because they apprenticed him. Loyalty in the tattoo industry is huge.

Guest Artist: I also need an extra room because, now that Kaylin is working at the shop, she’s social enough we’re going to try and get really big famous artists to come in for guest spots.

It’s a promotional technique that’s common in the industry. You contact a famous artist, ask if they can come work at your shop for a weekend or week or month for free, and their notoriety helps your business and their perk is they get a free place to tattoo and all the work that comes when a shop advertises a really famous artist in their city.

Until now I’ve had a room that gets temporarily used by our permanent makeup artist twice a month, but if I hire all the people I want to hire, we’ll have 3 more artists and that leaves less than no rooms for a guest artist.

Now that the strip mall is filling up, there’s no more spaces available on either side of me, so I can’t expand anymore :(

[katiefransviscom]

Frankie Williams Interview - Tattoo Artist in Weymouth

Could you tell me a little bit about yourself?

My names Francesca Williams, I’m 23 and I’m a Tattoo Artist at Osprey in Weymouth. I’m also a Virgo (laughs). I’ve been working here four years and tattooing for three years, so quite a while, but it doesn’t feel like a long time. When I talk to people about it, they're like, “oh wow, three years?!”. It’s just flying past, the times gone so quickly.

How did you start working at Osprey?

I started as a receptionist for a year. I came in asking for an apprenticeship, it was literally the first place I went to. I had my little portfolio in my hand, my mum had to shove me in the door because I was almost crying of anxiety and nerves. But I walked in and Saranna, the owner, had a look through my portfolio. She couldn’t offer me an apprenticeship right then and there, but offered me a job as a receptionist, just to see how I go, that maybe in a year’s time I could start apprenticing. I think working as a receptionist for a year helped me understand a lot more about the tattoo industry. I thought I knew a lot going into it, but when I started doing the reception job, I realised I knew nothing (laughs).

A lot of what I learnt was time management, seeing how long it would take Saranna to do a certain size piece, how to juggle your work diary and emails. I also learnt how to properly discuss tattoos with clients as well. I feel like if I had come straight into being an apprentice I would have been like “Oh you want a tattoo? Okay here you go”. But instead, I would see Saranna and Hailey talk through the process of tattooing. I think if I hadn’t of had that year, and just jumped straight into tattooing I would struggle a lot more.

Did you have a background in art before you came into tattooing?

Yeah, I've done art for as long as I can remember. I studied art for GCSE and A-level, I was considering doing as a degree as well. I think if I hadn’t of got my apprenticeship it could have been a possibility, but I went straight into the job from sixth form.

My family's always been quite artistic, my dad's a Graphic Designer, my granddad and uncle both paints. I don’t really get into it from my mom's side- she can draw a stick figure that's about it (laughs).

What schools did you go to?

I went to Royal Manor secondary, now its Atlantic Academy, then I went to Budmouth sixth form. I was accepted into Thomas Hardy's in Dorchester, but I didn’t really feel like I would have fit in there, it feels a bit stuffy there.

Did you feel there was a lack of resources or anything?

Definitely. Looking back, I can see it get worse as I went through education, through the decrease of funding for art. I remember being in primary school and they would have hundreds of glue sticks, all different shades of paper- just anything we wanted.

Then in secondary school, it changed to “oh, you buy your own glue sticks”, there was a few scattered about but mostly you bought what you needed. The most dramatic change was in Sixth Form I’d say, you’d have to buy everything yourself. I remember in my class we had had a teacher called Lisa for art, but she wasn’t an art teacher, she was a textiles teacher. The supplies were non-existent, there was one canvas for the class, and we would pretty much fight for it. It was so rare that there would be something to paint on, and this was our A-Level art lessons. I remember I got given the canvas to use for a design I wanted to do, and I felt so overwhelmingly happy- like I could cry. Looking back its really sad how underfunded the department was, but also how much that affected us kids learning in that environment.

Would you say, overall, that the teachers were good? Did they show like a passion for it?

Well, I had Lisa for my teacher most of the time and I had a proper art teacher, Giles, once every fortnight. From what I had heard, the people that had Giles all said he was a great teacher. He was really enthusiastic about art and their work; he would help however he could. I only had him once every two weeks, but I remember every lesson we had, he would be so shocked at how far behind our class was compared to his normal class.

It was a struggle because she wasn’t an art teacher, she was a textile teacher at the end of the day. She would just tell us how rubbish we were, but she wasn’t teaching us anything relevant so how could we be better?

In the last year, when it came to our final exam. She would always say “if you don't do it my way you're not going to pass, because I know what's gonna pass”. But what she wanted me to do, was not what I wanted to do. The day before my final exam I spoke with her and said how I wanted to create a huge board of tattoo flash for my work. She turned around and told me that wasn’t what art is, that I wasn’t allowed to it. So, for the first day of my exam, I just spent the whole day staring at a blank page in my book, thinking what am I supposed to do now? I’d worked so hard planning on doing this beautiful painting and she’d shut me down. On the second day of the exam, I’d thought of something overnight, absolutely rubbish, and hated it but I did what I could.

Do you think it kind of set you back a little bit in a way, or did it encouraged you to work a bit more independently?

I think it did work a bit in my favour. But, saying that, I've always had this attitude where I'll do it myself. It was a bit discouraging, not getting good feedback or anything from teachers, but it sorts of spurs you on- to prove them wrong in a way.

How would you kind of like describe your work now?

For the longest time I really struggled to describe my work, like “What am I? What is this?”.

I did feel like there was a big pressure when I first started to try and figure out a style. Because everybody's got their own style, its finding what makes you stand out amongst everybody else. But most of my work is blackwork, I do colour every now and then. It's always fun to do something a bit different but I love working with black. I find it interesting how much you can do with just one colour. I, personally, can’t see my work having its own style but if you say I’ve got a unique style, I guess it's working (laughs).

For a while, when I was still learning from Saranna, my style was kind of leaning towards her style a bit. But just from trying out new needles, new techniques, and things I think makes it feel a bit more you.

I feel like over the years your work has really got a lot more confident, when I see your work now, I can tell “Oh that’s Frankie”.

I feel in the last like six months, ever since we came out the lockdown, the number of clients that I’m tattooing has gone from quite low to huge. So, it's given me the opportunity to do more. When you do more, you practice more, then you get better and quicker. If you're practising every single day, you're gonna get better.

Would you say having more clients must give you more confidence in your work as well?

Yeah, getting people booked in, it's always helps. It makes me feel like I must be doing something right here (laughs).

There’s been points where I was struggling to get people in. And I’d think “how am I gonna keep doing this?”, there’s been real low points. But my mom would push me to keep going, I have to keep going. It was very upsetting and scary. When I was struggling to find people, I would make me question if I was rubbish, what am I doing wrong?

Would you say COVID knocked you back?

God, I lost months out of my apprenticeship because of COVID. There were huge gaps where I would be starting to learn something and then go into another lockdown, where couldn’t practice for three months. It would be hard to get the ball rolling when you’re constantly stopping and starting. Every time I felt like I was going back to the start. It was so stressful, but hopefully now, no more stopping.

You recently had a guest spot at Scorpio Mars in London, how was that experience for you?

It was a surreal experience. Just watching other artists work and see how they do their thing. Seeing their techniques, what machines their using, what their setup is- it's interesting to see that. It inspires you to try new things. In tattooing especially, different needles do different things, and each brand of needle has a different feel to it, so it’s a very personal practice in finding what works for you.

I followed the owner of the studio for years, even before I was tattooing. I have a picture that I drew of her way back, she was just my idol for years. It was just so surreal having my tattoo bed right next to hers. While I was there working, having her look over my shoulder and complement my work, it was just the biggest compliment ever. At the end of the first day, the artists in the studio invited me to a gig with them, the whole week was amazing. Such a great experience.

Would you say there’s a good community in tattooing?

Yeah. It has its ups and downs. A lot of drama, apparently us tattoo artists are very dramatic (laughs). I guess that comes with being creative, you just have more emotions (laughs).

There is a quite a big community. So, when you meet other artists, it's almost like “wow, another one”, but you're on the same wavelength. You can always talk about client stories, - horror stories and good stories. Its great we all have that connection, even though we've got different styles, or if were completely opposite people. We share a lot of tips as well. I’m always buying new needles and stuff.

Recently I tried this new fancy soap, and I can’t stop raving on about it, like to everyone that I could possibly rave about it too. I’ve told so many people about it and now all the artists at Scorpio Mars use it, Hailey’s got it now, Saranna wants it now, it’s great (laughs).

At our studio, were on our third generation. Basically, Haley’s been tattooing for about 16 years. Then she taught Saranna whose been tattooing for 8 years now. And then she’s taught me so, so the skills have been passes down in generations. It’s like a little family in a way, were all there for each other.

And has tattooing ways kind of being your dream?

I’ve wanted to tattoo since around 14. None of my family have tattoos, so I wasn’t exposed to it until I saw listening to bands who were heavily tattooed, like Bring Me The Horizon (BMTH). I thought it was a really interesting art form, making art permanent on your body. The lead singer of BMTH, his wife Hannah Snowden was very heavily tattooed with ornamental patterns. I remember looking at her and her tattoos, it was iconic seeing a woman be tattooed but also look feminine at the same time. I just loved everything about her, and she was also a tattoo artist.

Why do you think you like tattooing?

It’s being able to create art forever on someone. I’ve always loved people and seeing how we express ourselves. I love talking with people and understanding why they're getting their tattoo and the meaning of it, where their idea come from. Being able to design and communicate a message through art. There’s a special connection you have to a person when you tattoo them, I don't think there’s anything else like it in the world. You also have to be 100% sure about every move you make, every tiny move is permanent. There’re not many things in life that you need to be this sure about, it’s not like you can just press undo or rub it out. This is the one thing in life I know I need to be on the ball every single day, it’s a lot of pressure but so rewarding because of it.

There’s always new styles coming out in tattooing, just endless options of what you can do- like regular art. Whatever your brain wants to produce you can do that with tattoos.

At the moment see a lot of people doing brushstroke tattoos, it’s a really interesting style. Instead of painting with a brush you paint with a tattoo gun. I think in more recent years its really kicked off, compared to 30 years ago when there was pretty much just traditional flash off the wall of the shop. Now adays, the worlds your oyster, you can get anything done. The industry has gotten way more contemporary.

When you work on a design for a client, do you follow a creative process?

I normally start by sketch things out. Then when the client likes the design and comes in, I then resize it on the iPad to get it to fit their body right. Its quite basic really. But I really struggle to concentrate on sketching designs, so it could literally be a tiny little design, but it'll take me over an hour to do. I’ll draw for five minutes and then take an hour’s break.

I’d say I’m a bit of a night owl, working in bed is especially dangerous for me. Some nights I’ll started a design at like 11pm, just while in bed watching YouTube. Then before I know it, its 1am (laughs).

What would you consider your biggest accomplishment so far in your career?

Probably having my first guest spot be at Scorpio Mars in London. For them to accept me when I’d only been tattooing for just under three years, and for them to not say like “oh come back when you're more experienced”, that was amazing, it really boosted my confidence. What was amazing was having people travel to be tattooed by me as well. There was a girl who came from Oxford to get tattooed by me when I was guesting there. It feels so amazing, I still can’t really believe it.

Would you leave Weymouth?

I'd love too honestly. I don't know when, but at some point. I’ve always loved the idea of moving to London. Mostly just to experience the poverty (laughs). Paying like two grand in rent a month (laughs). It’s part of the experience.

There's a big tattoo community there as well. The styles of tattooing in London are completely different from smaller areas like down here. I feel like they a lot more accepting of different styles, at the moment you see this new ‘ignorant’ style, where it's similar to little children's drawings. Compared to Weymouth, all you see are Lilo and Stitch, and Disney tattoos. We call them holiday tattoos, which I’d say that’s a style of its own, but I’d like to work on stuff a bit different, you know?

What would you say the biggest issues are in Weymouth for creatives?

The lack of inspiration I’d say. It just feels like a dead town. There's not a lot artistically going on, apart from like hundreds of tattoo studios. But even then, I don’t feel inspired by them because we don’t really talk with each other. I get most of my inspiration from online, or the people I work with here in the studio.

It seems like there’s not much creative stuff going on in the town.

Exactly, like there’s Pots and Pints, where you can make your own plant pot or mug, but you have to drink to drink to do it. There isn’t anywhere you can just create, there's nothing like that. You can draw and do your own thing in a coffee shop, but where’s the community? Having a community would be great, but everyone just seems a little bit deflated. It feels like a dying town with everything closing and such. Weymouth comes to life in the summer, and then you go back to normal sad Weymouth.

Do you have any words of wisdom for someone starting out in the arts?

Really you just have to put yourself out there, because it’s so rewarding when it works out. And what’s the worst that will happen, someone will say no? Someone else will say yes. I’m a strong believer in everything happening for a reason, so when things don’t work out, try looking at it from a different perspective, there’s always a positive to it. It took me blood, sweat and tears, but I wouldn’t change any of it.

Look outside of Weymouth for inspiration as well, there’s so much outside of this tiny town, don’t let it get you down. Follow artists online and talk with them, get yourself out there. Just keep pushing through and enjoy the journey.

[fortisfiliae]

You’ve Changed - Chapter 2

Characters involved: Sirius Black x Amy McConnell, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew,  Lily, James and Harry Potter

A/n: A lot of plot and explanations, of how the marauders grew since Hogwarts, what jobs they have and what they’re up to, in this chapter! (Also five-year-old Harry being cute!!!)

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio!

Warnings: mentions of war and fighting; alcohol, smoking and drama at the end

Word count: 2.7k

Chapter Two - Dinner Disclosure

Piles of clothes were spread everywhere across Amy’s bedroom after she desperately tried to find the perfect outfit for dinner with her former schoolmates. She needed something that said ‘I got my life together, but I’m still having the best time of my life’, even if she knew, both of these statements were only partly true. Would this black skintight dress be too formal? The others have always been rather casual back then, but were they still like that? Another reminder of how little she actually knew about the Gryffindors she once shared classes with, since none of them made an effort to stay in contact. Not that they were obligated to, Amy couldn’t be bothered to try either, because they haven’t been friends in Hogwarts - just students that happened to be in the same year and got along without any noteworthy incidents. They haven’t been friends, so why would they invite her anyway?

‘Screw it’, she thought and went with the first things she had tried, a pair of pitch black skinny jeans, a burgundy blouse, her cream coat and a pair of every-day black ankle boots, before she cast a tidying spell, that made the mountains of unused clothing float back neatly into the wardrobe. She fished the piece of paper with Lily’s and James’ address out of the back pocket of her working trousers, took a deep breath to concentrate before she closed her eyes and disapparated.

Amy arrived directly at their doorstep, as she had intended. ‘Still got it, not a bit rusty’, she thought, as she raised her hand to knock on the door, but ended up hesitating, wondering if she really was welcome - for Godric’s sake, she didn’t even know anyone in there properly. What if she wouldn’t connect with this group of best friends? What if they had no topics to talk about, resulting in awkward silence, while cutlery scratched on dirty plates? She quickly shook off those thoughts, they had invited her, after all. It would be fine. And if not, she could leave and never had to see anyone, except for Remus, again. So she exhaled sharply and finally knocked three times.

The door swung open, Sirius standing in the frame. “Thought you’d never knock”, he said jokingly. “Second guessing?”

“Reconsidering maybe”, she said with a slight smile, as she stepped in. “Did you watch me?”

“I heard you apparating outside and came to check who it was”, Sirius told her and pointed at the spyhole. “Hello by the way”, he added and leant in to air kiss each of her cheeks, his stubble ghosting her skin.

“Hi”, she breathed in between them, wondering when this form of greeting has become a thing, while she unbuttoned her coat.

“Let me help you with that”, he said and took it off her shoulders. “The others are in the living room, over there.”

Amy went through the half-open door into the cosy room, which had a nice little fireplace next to two small sofas, some bookshelves in the corner and a dinner table on the other side of it. Remus was leaning against a chair, talking to James, both turning their heads her way when she approached them. Each of the two shook her hand and pulled her a little closer by the shoulder, greeting her with a warm hug - no air kisses this time.

Before they could start talking, Amy felt something gripping her pinky and pulling on it. She turned around and looked down to a small boy, who was without a doubt the Potters’ son. Every inch of his face, including his wild black hair and a mini version of round glasses, looked like an exact copy of James, except for the green eyes - they were Lily’s. He was about one meter tall, reaching a little bit above her hips, so Amy squatted to match his size.

“Hi there”, she said as he still held her pinky, yet didn’t look into her eyes as she spoke.

“Who are you?”, he asked and swung her hand from left to right gently.

“I’m Amy. And who are you?”

“Harry”, he said with a grin, before he finally made eye contact again. “Are you uncle Padfoot’s girlfriend?”

“What?”, she laughed. “Who is uncle Padfoot?”

Harry turned around and pointed at Sirius, who just entered the living room, making Amy raise her brows, which led Harry to giggle, swinging her hand more powerfully.

“No, I’m not his girlfriend. Why did you think that?”, she asked.

He let her hand go and began to explain, using various gestures to emphasize his words: “Uncle said a new friend would come today. And you’re a girl, you know. A friend who is a girl, is a girlfriend, obviously.”

James and Remus snorted at his cute answer and Amy bit back her laughter, saying: “Sounds very logical to me. Maybe your Dad will explain what a girlfriend is, some time.”

Sirius joined them and ruffled up Harry’s hair even more. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Girlfriends”, Harry told him and clumsily tried to fix the mess on his head.

Amy stood up laughing and looked over to Remus and James, who have been watching them amusedly. “Lily’s in the kitchen, if you want to say Hello”, James whispered to her and gave her a chance to escape, before Harry would demand more details regarding girlfriends. She smiled thankfully and pointed to the door on the other side of the room, raising her brows questioningly, to which James nodded.

Entering the kitchen, Amy found Lily preparing dinner, surrounded by steaming pots and pans, some already cleaning themselves in the sink. She clearly knew how to combine muggle and wizard cooking, as she effortlessly swung her wand, as well as a wooden spoon.

“Sorry to interrupt you”, Amy raised her voice, to not get drowned by the steaming and sizzling sounds from the stove. “Can I help out somehow?”

“Oh hi Amy”, Lily cooed, turning her way and greeted her with a small hug. “No way you’re helping, you’re our guest.”

“Alright then. Thank you for the invitation by the way. I wouldn’t have thought that Remus and you wanted me to drop by”, Amy said.

“Remus and I?”, Lily asked, before she dipped a spoon into the pot with gravy and gave it a taste.

“Yeah, Sirius said you wanted to meet again. Because we were fellow prefects back in school.”

“Oh... Right. I think Sirius may have fibbed you there. He was the one who asked us if he could invite you.”

“What?”

“Yes, actually I wasn’t really sure about bringing someone new to our house, given the circumstances. But he and Remus assured that you’re trustworthy. So we agreed and we’re happy to have you here now.”

Great start. They didn’t even want her to come and now she was there, a gatecrasher, untrustworthy at that. She could already sense the awkward silence that was going to linger during dinner. “I’m really sorry. I can leave if you want. Sirius told me... He... That git”, Amy struggled for words, her embarrassment spreading in dark red on her cheeks.

Lily took a step towards her and tried to calm her down: “No, stay. Please. As I said, I’m really happy to have you and we all need a breath of fresh air in here. If I really didn’t want you to come, I wouldn’t have let him invite you.”

Peter arrived just in time for dinner, the others joking about his bad habit of always being late, but never late for food. He shook Amy’s hand quickly, his palm was sweaty and he seemed tired but jittery. She remembered how Peter has always been the shyest of the group, in school. He had been chubby back then, still was somehow, but he looked like he had lost some weight recently.

They sat down at the table, three people at each long side of it and Harry at the top, in his highchair. Lily sat next to him, with James and Peter on one side, while Amy sat on the opposite, Sirius to her left and Remus to her right. Lily had really outdone herself with the dinner she prepared, it was delicious. While everyone munched on it, they talked about the things they have been up to since Hogwarts. James had ditched his Quidditch career because he didn’t want to show himself in public all the time and had become an Auror for the ministry, while Lily stayed at home with Harry for now.  Remus worked at Being Division, Peter at Obliviator Headquarters - both in the ministry as well, making Amy wonder how 75 per cent of the infamous Marauders managed to get those jobs. Sirius told that he had also applied as Auror, but got rejected each time, due to his family’s reputation of glorifying dark magic. He eventually accepted the ministry’s decision and started a business as a tattoo artist, after apprenticing enchanted body art.

They wanted to know how Amy got her job at J. Pippin’s Potions, so she explained that she went to Greenock straight after Hogwarts. Professor Slughorn had offered her to go there and get vocational training in Potions, from his dear friend Ilona Marth. A chance she couldn’t deny, so she accepted and had been living there for two years.

“So you’re a Potions master now, right?”, Remus asked as he put the last bit of mashed potatoes on his fork.

“I am, yes. And sort of a Mediwizard too, as they go hand in hand”, Amy replied.

“And you never thought about teaching in Hogwarts?”, Lily asked impressed.

“Not really. I wanted to experience the ‘real life’ outside of school for a while. Maybe someday, but as far as I know, they got Severus as a Potions master at Hogwarts now.”

“Gosh, Snape”, Sirius mumbled before sipping on his wine.

“Yeah, I think we can agree not to talk about Snivellus again”, James jokingly added.

“James”, Lily rolled her eyes at him and got up to pick up Harry from his chair, before she went upstairs with him and put him to sleep.

Conversations went on very easily, against Amy’s expectations. They had a lot to talk about, possibly because they still needed to get to know each other. After her second glass of wine, Amy was confident enough to ask the burning question she had been thinking of, for a while.

“So, are the rumours true?”, she asked carefully. “Did you-know-who attack you?”

The others shared a quick glance, seemingly checking if someone disagreed with telling. As no one intervened, James said: “He tried. But we were prepared.”

Lily went on: “We used various protection spells on our house and made Sirius our secret keeper, so no one can find it unless he tells them. We’re safe here, but have to watch out everywhere else.”

That’s why she has been unsure about Amy. Sirius wanted to reveal their secret to her. And she let him. “Where is he now?”, Amy kept asking.

Remus began to explain: “He and his Death Eaters attacked us during a mission for the Order.”

“The Order?”

“Guys, don’t you think it’s a little early for disclosing that?”, Peter whispered, picking his fingernails.

“Don’t kick up a fuss, Wormtail”, Sirius shushed him.

“We’re all part of an organisation called The Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore founded it years ago and we joined right after school”, Remus continued to explain.

“We could use a Potions master slash Mediwizard among us, actually”, James said invitingly.

“And what exactly does the Order do?”, Amy asked, more baffled than anxious.

“Guys”, Peter tried to stop them, in a breathy tone. “Enough!”

“Shut it, Peter!”, Sirius simply clipped.

“We’re fighting Voldemort and his allies, trying to destroy them”, James told her.

Lily ran her finger on the rim of her wine glass and sighed. “You surely have heard of the prophecy about Harry. Since Voldemort found out about it, he tried to kill my boy, along with all of us. But we managed to fight him off. We damaged him pretty severely last time.”

“Damaged?”

“He escaped. I don’t think he’s dead, just very weak”, Lily went on.

“I tried to find them multiple times, but the Death Eaters always seem to be one step ahead”, James conceded and shook his head slightly.

Peter suddenly jumped from his chair, drawing everyone’s attention to him.  “I said enough!”, he hissed. “You invite a stranger to our house and credulously tell her all of the things we swore to keep a secret after we had dinner once?! And even ask her to join the Order, despite knowing nothing about her. She could be a spy!”

There was the awkward silence. They watched him open-mouthed, as he stood there in a rage, chest heaving heavily.

“I, I’m sorry”, Amy mumbled. “I didn’t -”

“Peter”, James tried to stay calm. “First of all, this isn’t your house. It’s Lily’s and mine.”

“I’m aware of that. Amy, this is nothing personal, but I can’t believe you guys just trust any stranger Sirius obviously just wants to shag”, it blurted out of him.

“What the fuck, Peter! Are you out of your mind?”, Sirius shouted as he got up himself.

“Okay, I’m going to head home now”, Amy interrupted them, feeling both angered and humiliated. “I’m sorry I caused this. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely, Lily. It’s been nice seeing all of you again. Peter.” She looked at him one last time, his face wrapped in a frown before she headed to the door.

“Wait! Don’t go”, Sirius tried to stop her, as she put on her coat. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s talking utter bullshit.”

“Well, I can’t know that. Because he’s right. We don’t know each other. You don’t know if I can be trusted. But I can assure you, I’m not a quick shag”, she replied, hastily buttoning up her jacket and walked outside.

Sirius followed her, grunting: “He knew that would make you leave. That’s why he said it. Bastard.”

Amy stopped on the doorstep, turned around to face him and said: “I’m certainly not staying if someone inside clearly doesn’t want me there.”

He sighed, reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one with his wand, taking a drag before answering: “I understand that.” He blew out a cloud of smoke and continued: “But you know everyone else thinks you’re to be trusted. Peter will settle down. And I don’t see you as a quick shag.” He inhaled once more. “I mean. You know I’m always down, but you’re not like that.”

Amy let her head fall back and laughed at his comment. “You lied to me. Lily told me they didn’t want me to come in the first place.”

“True”, he mumbled. “But would you have agreed to come, if I said that it was only me that wanted you here?”

“Probably not”, she admitted.

“See? And aren’t you glad you came?”, he asked ironically.

“I was until five minutes ago”, Amy chuckled once more, while she took a step closer to him, glanced at his lips, where the cigarette lingered and took it from there, between her index and middle finger. His eyes followed her hand, his head neared hers slowly, as his view wandered up to her mouth.

“Good night, Sirius”, she whispered, brought the cigarette up to her mouth, took a drag and disapparated.

Find the other parts on my Masterlist linked in my bio! 

I so hope you like where this is going, as I am really excited about this story! It would mean the world if you told me what you think and feel free to tell me your suggestions for the plot. Thank you for reading, xoxo

Permanent tags: @geeksareunique @little-hufflepuff-badger @marauderskeeper @giggleberts @way-obsessed5 @oreofrappiewithblueberry  @draqcnheartstrinq @stxxphi @whatisthisthingcalledlife  Let me know if you want to be tagged (permanently, or just in this series)!

[bwitchinghour]

Bewitching Hour 2017 - Reveals

Your mods are so pleased with this fest! We hope that everyone has had as much fun as we have :) Without further ado, here are your Bewitching Hour 2017 participants!

Day One

follow me down (swallow it down) 

| ireallydontknowok | jikook

Jimin is tired. He's dragging his feet whenever they go anywhere, is always late to dinners and falls asleep during every movie they watch. He wears sunglasses indoors to try and hide the bruises under his eyes, but everyone knows. Jungkook is worried.

Head Above Water | bugarungus | vmin Jimin's dreams usually have meaning. That's why it's so important for him to rescue the boy from his nightmares before something happens to him outside their dreams.

a song of fire and fruit smoothies | teecysh | minjoon Namjoon is part dragon, and to his complete and utter embarassment, he can't stop collecting cute things for his hoard. Which would be fine except Jimin is the cutest person he's ever seen and it's becoming a real struggle not to collect him too...

White Strings of Gulls | atechamcham | vmin The life of a pirate has always been about gold, glory, power, and conquest. That's what Captain Taehyung's been taught all his life. All Jimin wants is to keep Taehyung alive. One day his magic won't be enough.

Dead Leaves | golden_kimono | yoonkook Jeongguk is a big fan of the TV show Dead Leaves, especially of Suga, one of the main characters. After writing a particular fanfic, he suddenly gets sucked into it himself and is up close and personal with the characters he admires so much. Is it real? Is it a dream? And will he find out his purpose before it's too late? (And does he really want to leave Suga?)

interlude | midnightghostwriter | gen in which a hobby for music gets jung hoseok unexpected attention and more trouble than he ever signed up for.

So Gold (We’ll Be Alright) | onceandforall | jinkook Jeon Jungkook is the witch community's next big thing and he needs all the help that he can get. or Five times Seokjin helps Jungkook and one time where everything works out how it's meant to be.

Day Two

call it magic (when i’m with you) | kthpjm | vmin Taehyung wonders how long he’s been in love with Jimin. Knows that he probably always has been.

Not everything happens for a reason | JimineexTae | vmin Taehyung believes in the reality of cause and effect, a predictable world where he already has everyone and everything figured out.And then Park Jimin and his existence somehow manages to ruin it all.

Why Did It Have To Be You? | realstadt | taekook In which Taehyung gives his sworn nemesis, Jeon Jeongguk, a love potion by accident.

Those Who Wander Are Lost | May Greene (btsmee) | gen It didn't matter. All returned eventually. None had ever truly left. Time was irrelevant.

I put a spell on you (and now you’re mine) | cosmicoffee | taegi, 2seok, minjoon To retrieve the heart of a fallen star, Min Yoongi ventured out into the woods one night. He instead was faced with a witch, who's broom had caught fire, holding onto a quest that was destined to change everything Yoongi had ever come to know.

Taste of Magic | thedarkestdawn | namkook Rookie witch Jungkook is apprenticed to newly qualified Namjoon.Neither of them are all that happy about this.

On Your Mark | Namless | namkook It's Namjoon and Jungkook's first time meeting. One wishes for something and the other's only there to fulfil this wish. Their only common point might be their unusual life mark. Except nothing goes accordingly: client and employer shouldn't feel some kind of attraction, really shouldn’t.

Day Three

Crinus Muto | apocryphalic | vmin Park Jimin's a sixth-year Prefect, top in his year in nearly all subjects except one: Transfiguration. Help is forced upon him in the form of Kim Taehyung, a fellow sixth-year with the rare gift of being born a metamorphmagus. Jimin's never been fond of Taehyung and when a spell goes awry, he's left to take care of Taehyung. Jimin learns that appearances are rarely what they seem and that quite possibly, he's misjudged Taehyung all along.

My Demons Follow Me | paechtae | taegi Taehyung let out a laugh that bordered on hysterical and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palm.“Okay going with the line of you eat my fucking dreams, which rude you didn’t even ask first, just– why?” You did ask though. Taehyung didn’t bother with responding this time, busy trying to figure out what exactly the demon was talking about. The demon reached back for the notebook again. You’re a very loud person when you sleep Kim Taehyung. You should be careful what you say and ask for. Crueler things in this world could have heard you.

through the looking glass | deuxoiseaux | namseok, namgi, yoonseok, namgiseok when kim namjoon finds a mysterious book in a language he's never seen, bookmarked with an address that doesn't exist, he can't help but be curious. drawn into a mirrored world that is at once familiar and impossible, with a man he's not sure he can trust, namjoon becomes an unwilling pawn in a struggle that can only end in death. all paths lead in a single direction, forward or back, and time is running out.

Vampire Vs. The God of Destruction  | lulublue1234 | namgi Yoongi's a vampire who's lived for three thousand years. Namjoon's a human prone to accidents. When the vampire unknowingly saves the human from the clutches of a Trickster, he finds himself soul-bonded to the man. Now Yoongi's irritated because....he likes the disruption more than he wants to admit.

there are many names in history (and none of them are ours) | ireallydontknowok | yoonkook, 2seok, vmin

unravel | homopoetic | yoonmin Jimin is a Third-Eye. He can't touch people skin to skin because the contact lets him see into their minds, viewing all their thoughts and secrets and desires at once. Yoongi's brother is a king. (Yoongi's brother is a cobra.) Changwoo sinks in his fangs, injects venom, takes what he isn't his. Yoongi's taken the poison, survived even as it permanently destroyed the layer of skin that keeps infections out, and built up a precarious sort of immunity. He's the only one who can do it. Yoongi is a prince. He's twenty-four years old. He's been grieving a loss for seventeen years now. No one noticed before. That's why he needs to keep Jimin.

Burns Blue | themarmalade | minjoon Jimin is used to relying on the wall he's built up in his mind to block out the constant swarm of thoughts and voices to get through a shift at work, to get through life. Namjoon, his shy new coworker, has an aura so loud it makes everything else go quiet. Jimin hates it. Jimin craves it. Jimin decides not to think about it. Namjoon, however, definitely thinks about him.

the pearl in the pond | hotpepperhoney | jinmin The mermaid rolled around and pressed his cheek to the sand, a happy sigh passing through his lips and blowing the sand near his face back into a small dune. Jimin leaned closer in the bushes, bracing against a nearby tree. He wanted to see more. The mermaid’s back sloped from the widest pair of shoulders he’d ever seen. Sand stuck to sections of his back and arms, a small river of sweat forming between the dip of his bowed spine. Jimin swallowed dryly. He had back dimples. His hand slipped.

Day Four

I’m drinking something lethal (must be you) | synecius | vmin Kim Taehyug, the self-proclaimed best Potions Maker in all of Dahlia, would be the first of his profession to have invented, prepared, and successfully completed the Most Powerful Love Potion Ever Created. But, does that really matters if it doesn't work on the one and only person he loves?

a letter to the moon | words_unravel | ot7

Graced | plantlet | gen Jeon Jungkook hates to be touched. He also hates his nightmares. But mostly, he hates to be alone.

Pieces of a whole | goodbyelover | yoonkook In a world where magic is just every day life and there's a slew of gods and goddesses to follow, Jungkook is just trying to do his best. Everything begins to change when he meets a mysterious tattoo artist named Min Yoongi.

fireflies | kaythebest | vmin When Jimin is six, his brother catches a fairy in a jar.

I know you; I walked with you once upon a dream | anatomiadea | yoonseok In a society where humans and supernatural creatures coexist together, Yoongi is a cursed human who he has been asleep for 500 years. Namjoon is the witch who was assigned to teach Yoongi about modern world, but he wasn´t able to find time to properly help the man and he asked his friend Hoseok, an earth witch, for help. Hoseok starts teaching Yoongi everything about the 21st century and Yoongi ends falling in love with the boy who looks so much like an old lover he had 500 years ago

Firepower | eclecticat | namjin, yoonseok If there’s one thing Kim Seokjin is expecting to see inside his freezer, it’s not a small scaly lizard lounging on top of his ice tray and eating an extremely small scoop of his expensive pistachio ice cream.

Dude, Don’t Be Scared | sunshlneboys | vmin It's 7am on a Saturday, It's not really going the way Jimin had hoped. He's currently handcuffed in a decidedly unsexy way, sitting in his living room and being questioned for murder by fairy police officers. All while his boyfriend sleeps peacefully upstairs. His weekend's not really off to a great start.

Day Five

Kindred Spirits | makitaechim (MnM_PD) | vmin, yoonjin Three Spell Casters. Two Roommates. Two best friends. One fucked up phone. One hell of a game. Will everyone survive a spell gone wrong?

every road leads back to you | vminism | vmin Taehyung knew, from the very first moment he met Jimin, that he was out of this world, unforgettable. He was only half right.

and we return to the beauty [from which we came] | spookynat | yoonmin yoongi is a writer and jimin is his come-to-life character

you’d think me rude but i would just stand and stare | melanic | vmin

There’s a Honey | mnsg | taegi Yoongi wakes up one morning to discover that everything he wished for has come true.

Keep You Alive | tinytaegi | vmin Jimin was about to go back to sucking his blood, but Taehyung kept giggling and Jimin murmured an annoyed “shut up”. Taehyung couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “No, you shut up.” Jimin wanted to talk back but suddenly, it was as if his lips were glued together. The other was wheezing by now, doubling over before looking into Jimin’s eyes with a mischievous grin. “Get on your knees, babe.” And Jimin’s body moved on its own. or One bad life decision leads Jimin to be dependent on the most hated vampire in the city.

the sky that ate up the blue sea | krystaljung | jihope

Min Yoongi: Author and...Magical Prince? | quebaek | yoonseok “My lord.” Jungkook started. “No, stop!” Yoongi stood up, “Quit saying that. I’m not your lord. I’m a writer. I write novels. And you aren’t a page, okay? You’re just a barista at Starbucks. I don’t know how I got in this castle, but I don’t belong here and I’m not going to keep sitting on this goddamn throne all day.”

find me in your depths (save me with your soul | vminskook (Mery_Strider_Egbert) | taekook Kim Taehyung, a sworn knight to the royal family, is sent to Earth to find Jeon Jeongguk, the long-thought dead prince of the kingdom of Vescaria.

we who bore the mark | tendershipping | vminkook Each summer, Jeongguk and Seokjin take a backpacking trip. This year, they're separated, and Jeongguk finds himself very lost and far from alone.

Day Six 

Crocodile Tears | larryflurry | yoonmin, namjin "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." He said as his round cheeks started to turn a shade of pink, almost the same pink as his fluffy hair. Almost. "Sorry to disappoint you then" Yoongi stated in response. "And honestly, I thought you were supposed to be something else."

or the one where Jimin wasn't exactly what Yoongi was supposed to be looking for, but he found him and he's not about to complain about it

He’s a Phantom | feihart | jihope Jimin could hear the hushed voices of his parents discussing his poor performance with his physics’ teacher. They’ve had the same lengthy discussion so far with the chemistry teacher, the math teacher and the English teacher, his parents’ good mood dropping with each bad review they get. When asked, Jimin didn’t have a better explanation for them other than ghost-fighting and keeping up grades was hard to balance—but he couldn’t quite tell them that. OR That Danny Phantom AU nobody asked for.

[theworstjedi]

Conquer Attachments

Friyr hefted the sack of feed over his good shoulder and waited for his ‘deficiencies’ to catch up. It was almost dusk, and the light waned low but still bright. On Kaas, it would’ve been pitch by now, but Ambria was merely a filtered low gray. Friyr didn’t depend on sight anymore than a Miraluka did. The dirt smelled pungent from the heat rapidly cooling the sand as though bringing out the smell of the musty underlayers. It coated his nose and made it dry. He carried grain into the storage sheds, while dragging his limp left foot in a trail behind him. The instep pressed into the dirt, which wedged into a clod in his sandal. It made the connection between his hip to his knee to the ground firmer than if he tried to support it on a flat sole.

Water lapped in his ears, and the oro-birds’ racous clucking settled into a murmur. Nights on Ambria were silent. Friyr knelt onto on knee and heaved the bag forward over his shoulder, almost going prostrate as he used his full body for what would’ve taken only the upper arms for a normal man.

“I can’t do it yet, Master.”

Elutherius’ skin burned. He didn’t need sight to know his wrists were a raw red, blistered bubbling on the surface of a red tattoo shaped into the Imperial seal. The palms of both of his hands felt raw where the edges of the lightsaber pressed into his skin. He resisted the urge to manacle his hands around them and rub the ache away.

“Look at me.”

Elutherius lifted his head in the gray darkness to the hulking silhouette.

“Look at me.”

Elutherius closed his eyes, pulled the weariness from his bones, like Quirt had asked just one more thing of him on an already bone-weary day, and drew in a shaking draught of Force.

When he opened them, his vision flickered blearily between the lines of blindness and unnatural sight that the rods and cones should never have been capable of. Blurred watercolor blended with sharp seven feet lines of wine-dark Massassi.

Elutherius met the yellow eyes.

“Good, Apprentice. Explain why you can’t.”

His Master’s tone was sharp. Businesslike. Urgent.

Elutherius was seventeen, though he looked younger than that.

“I need a smoother grip to fit my hands and—” Elutherius pulled his shirt up without a lingering trace of shyness for his body. He caught a glance at his hard but gawky teenage muscles fit on a slender frame still filling out and at the same time losing the last bits of babyfat clinging to the Korriban sinew. He was smooth. Pale. New blemishes of spotty brown freckled over his stomach and shoulders but they were healing into peeling skin. A few, very few pink scars traced what had been deep scabby gashes over his ribs.  They caved in as though broken and unset in healing, like his face. A warped dip.

“—and this. This hurts when I move. It makes it harder to do.”

The Massassi gazed at him a few seconds, and Elutherius met it unabashed. He took out his lightsaber and flipped it in his broad, thick, four fingered claws. “Apprentice.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“When I ask for an explanation, I expect it to be one we can both work with to overcome. Do I look like a medic?”

“No, my Lord.”

The Massassi turned on his lightsaber and raked a line down Friyr’s ribs with the tip. A loud sound filled the Apprentice’s ears. It was elegant really, like drawing a red strike through in pen that severed only cloth and cooking muscle but not bone.

Elutherius collapsed to his knees, registering that the sound was him screaming, and he lurched forward onto his hands, feeling his torso sag below his trembling shoulders and his Lord unkitted him. The heat built in a flash, never relenting, and it was only until his chest hit the floor, that he realized his Master had stabbed the lightsaber into his side, wrapping the wounded parts of him from the front of his the chest to the backs of his shoulders in a searing band.

“Give me an explanation,” Elutherius made out as tears fogged his eyes and the unnatural vision dissipated with them, but rather writhed within him as his tried to admit defeat. To curl up.

“I can do it I can do it I can I can--!”

The red beam retracted from the side of his vision, and everything went dark.

“I can do… it.”

“Good. Then get up and do it.”

Elutherius pushed himself to his feet, black eating the edges of his vision. Hearing began to turn from solid sounds, to faint liquid echoes. He fell again, smacking his chin on the metal of the landing pad. Something cracked. He tasted blood.

“There is a penalty for making me empty promises, Apprentice.”

Elutherius fought for consciousness. To stand before he was punished, but the lightsaber flared, and he felt the burn as more of him cauterized against his will, his helplessness used against him. This time. This time. He knew the screams were his own.

The shed was cool. Dark. Empty. Friyr slid his fingers under his shirt. He couldn’t feel much through the smooth scars in either his hand or side. A faint pressure of five tips, but—nothing more. Lord Ignolis couldn’t hurt nerve endings he’d permanently burned away. Friyr traced that absence methodically until his knees protested against the rough wooden floor. He staggered to his feet using the wall.

He dropped his hand from under his shirt and sighed. In time he’d learned through struggling and curling on the ground how to fight back, and eventually the Force buoyed him to his feet. Wicked and dark. There had been many more punishments.

Some of them had been his own errors, as he threw the debilitated side forward, letting people carve him because the scarred tissue was that thick. Their throats constricted in fear because he could take it. Without that he was just… Friyr flexed his arm into a curl and felt the deep current of numbness run down it. He suspected a muscle in his shoulder had been cut, but he couldn’t be sure.

Without the Force, Friyr was disabled. His ability had always been achy, limited, and he’d enjoyed building his strength past what people expected. He’d enjoyed getting stronger, but not by feeding on the Force. Not like this. No amount of muscle or hard work would fix the permanence of this.

Friyr left the shed and locked it up. He locked the Oro-bird coops. He heard the crunch of the dry dirt and the drag of his other foot through it. He didn’t feel sorry for himself. Not about that. He’d find a way. He always did.

“If you work with me, I’ll work with you, Teran! That’s all I ask! Kriff, I won’t even fight you about the med bay anymore!”

Friyr stopped outside his shed and looked up at the sky. It was a filtered gray pink that hurt his eyes.

When Teran had left, Friyr had expected it. His days on Tython had been sunlit and lonely as any Jedi milling around the half-bombed out temple had avoided him. Teran said he suspected Friyr was his purpose, that he’d had a feeling. Friyr, of course, had learned not to trust people a long time ago. They always had their own ends, even types like the Jedi that clung to altruism. They just didn’t realize what their own ends were.

But a feeling. Friyr trusted the Force, if not the headstrong, cocky, acrobatic-obsessed, young Jedi – who preferred to dance among the stars, rather than spend time with his Padawan on the ground. That was—fine. It was supposed to have been fine because Friyr didn’t trust people with red-hair and a way-ward temper because they loved falling into that stereotype.

Friyr snorted. Everybody knew the one.

But Teran had left a sizable hole, that Friyr had stumbled through into freefall. Stupidly trying to control his decent. People didn’t stick around. Jedi were afraid with people touched by darkness. It was stupid to trust that he’d stay, and Friyr didn’t expect As’traa to either. She needed the encouragement that she could do this more than he needed to know that she’d fail him as a Master.

She’d get him a new lightsaber; he’d understand what the hullabaloo was about, and he could ask questions along the way. She’d get what she wanted; Friyr wouldn’t have to form another…attachment.

“I liked Tython, but I knew too that was an attachment.”

Friyr had a smaller trail of people who had abandoned him, died, or had used him than most. Most dragged trains of flesh and tears behind them, but that didn’t make it easy for him to maintain.

Slavery was a hard profession. He’d learned how to serve someone without being too invested, to separate his thoughts form his work, to find moments of acceptable pleasure and indulge them while remaining impartial.

“It is control of your emotions Jedi emphasize not…not having them at all.”

“Slaves too, Lockham; slaves too,” Friyr sighed and let a warm wind carry his words away.

“This is… problematic for some. Like yourself, I suspect.”

When Friyr was around fourteen, he had fallen in love with a boy. Probably the second one he could remember loving. When Friyr was fourteen, he’d been a slave. When Friyr was fourteen, he already knew his chances were nil. His ability to desire, love, crave affection were broken in by the training he’d voluntarily submitted to and the years of service, since before he’d started losing teeth. Since he was a child with no food. It had been a wise decision, and it remained one. Slaves didn’t feel love at the same luxury that everyone else did. When people held food, comfort, and liberty over ones head, they fell victim to affection, false ploys of tenderness, and that was why Friyr had been a good slave. A clever one. Because he knew about this weakness, not because he’d been above it.

He balanced himself, he gained footing in the political game by using his master. When he’d fallen in love, he’d dealt with it. Managed it. When he’d became a Sith. Well…

He watched that boy grow into a man, Apprenticed under his father, and the future of having a title, land, a future beyond a well-fed death under someone else’s servitude was finally his; it had been all he’d ever wanted. As a Sith, he’d allowed himself, finally, the small luxury of uncalculating an emotion never meant for an equation. He’d allowed himself to soften control. He’d allowed himself not just indulgence of love but indulgence to create lasting connections beyond his own benefit.

Elutherius couldn’t remember what he had for lunch yesterday. Most people forgot most errant things, such as lunches. But then again, Elutherius hadn’t remembered anything for a long time except the voice of the Force, painful and beautiful in paradox, she shifted between acerbic mocking tones, paragraphs crusted in old blood, hungry pleads for fresh wounds, and soft decay. It was hard to hear anything else when she filled Elutherius’ head, drifting into different pitches as easily as a kaleidoscope did patterns. He felt compelled to listen to these echoes that had no true sound or language, deriving his life by the echoes of what might be his own mortality.

She spoke often about that in ways he heard clearly, like darkness pressing in on his eyes. She spoke about the end of things, and he understood the way the words fell from her lips like so much rot. If only because, latently, he was included in it. It was as though someone had locked eyes with him, while speaking on something otherwise innocuous seeming to the room at whole. All things worldly came to an end, but Elutherius had a sinking feeling she watched him in particular. The way scavengers did men on their way to death.

The world…sort of passed by. He listened, but he was unconscious of his own role in it. One day phasing from a moment of clarity in a towering mansion of cold metal the next across town and shivering in the middle of a warm rainfall having a familiar conversation.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” she said. Again.

Rivulets of grease ran down her face. Elutherius watched the trails through the yellow incandescence of his unnaturally lit and unnaturally sighted eyes. Dead eyes. He appreciated the detail, even if it was something so unappealing such as filth from an unwashed slave just finished her duties.

The balcony railing pressed into his forearms as they leaned against it, staring out into the dark silhouettes of thick foliage and canopy watching taxis go by to avoid looking at each other. The city dropped below.

Elutherius’ lips, heavily scarred from the trenches he’d carved into them, stretched into a warm smile that made him look severely aged rather than a walking blight.

“You’re so—” A shock of lightening darted through the thick clouds and cast Elutherius’ wasting broken face into light. Her eyes cast down on reflex.

Elutherius cleared his throat; his light golden robes swayed in the breeze. “I’ve looked better.”

The young woman gave him a soft smile. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

Elutherius glanced around at the outside of the Mandolorian Enclave, remembering the cold of the slave quarters at night with a strange fondness. It was a relief to have something so distant as an overworked cooling system stir something in him that awkardness of lumping the heir to a legacy with anything as trivial as a slave passed him by.

“The times I feel clear are fewer and further in between,” he said to a pane of grey. The rain knocked sharply on the full-length glass and the metal. It sounded a little like living in a tin can with thick insulation. The Mandolarian Enclave had been last week. Elutherius ran the memory through again over the fading whisper of the Force, but he found he couldn’t remember anything before Danara welcoming him home.

“Small price for ruling the world.” Was what she’d said next, but Elutherius couldn’t remember his response. Or even having existed past that point. It had something to do with him having been made Sith from the workings of a slave, no doubt. Or maybe it was having been made a slave from the workings of a Sith. To the Sith? He had been enslaved to the Sith, but that didn’t seem right.

What had she said again?

His head grew louder until the memory was eaten by both sides, and he felt himself expand into a sea of voices that connected the galaxy. He hummed to the tune they seemed to be pattering out and tried to cup his thoughts in his hands.

It was time to unlearn that.

He didn’t remember who he had been. Continued through numb routines. Friyr edged around the back of the Oro-bird coops until his feet smacked softly against wood. He and Sahley had sat there earlier. This anger wasn’t normal. This loss of memory wasn’t normal. This depersonalization wasn’t normal.

Sahley felt normal. He was down to earth, and sad. Quiet. He was interested. He sounded like Friyr’s age in timbre, and boy did his body certainly feel and respond to Friyr’s like it was thirty something. He was cricked, starting to develop aches….but pleasantly pliant. Falling out of youngness, but he was still so young.

He was an idealist. He believed in hope and thought Friyr was interesting because he was covered in scars, and talked openly about hardships like they were nothing. It attracted him, he listened. Friyr felt like a person when drawing the Mirialan in. Because Sahley let himself be controlled and wowed by someone who seemed as world-weary as he was.

“I realized too that was an attachment.”

If Friyr tried hard enough he could become red, down to earth, quiet, and sad while barking orders because someone else was somewhere in the Empire. For once he understood what he had felt like at fourteen. Perhaps thirteen. He remembered that balance. He remembered keeping people at a comfortable distance, while also serving in perhaps sensitive ways. He understood that he couldn’t stop people. He couldn’t break Force bonds. But he could handle his attachments, and he could let them float away on the wind.

Friyr was good at duty, he was good at serving. It had taken a long time to beat down the frantic angry Sith who forgot that.

[promptbomb]

Ink and Paint : Chapter 3

Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader Previous Chapters:  One // Two Word Count: 1,814  Prompt: You came to Los Santos to pursue a dream of becoming a tattoo artist. Things haven’t quite worked out as you planned and now you find yourself working a graveyard shift at Pandemonium Ink. Things are typically quiet, that is until one of the cities most infamous criminals come through the door.

You weren’t entirely sure what to expect, but it probably wasn’t this.

There was a chance you had a skewed idea of how we would look given his criminal behavior, not to mention having met him the last time. Disheveled and dirty with stone cold eyes and an expression that could turn from calm to scary at the flick of the switch. But the man that stood before you this evening looked utterly...pedestrian. He was much more cleaned up from the last time you met, and boy did he clean up well. Beneath all that sweat and paint was an almost charmingly handsome face.You now realized how he was able to get around so easily despite being one of the city’s most wanted. Dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and blue jeans, hair worked into a slightly messy bun, he could be any sort of average person walking the streets.

With his hands shoved into his pockets, he approached you, an almost timid expression cracking into an uneasy half-smile. “Hey.”

Your brows lift and you give him a look over once more, just to make sure you weren’t fooling yourself. “Hey, yourself.” You feel like you should be more at ease. He seems to be in a much better mood than the other night. But so far this encounter felt a lot more awkward having figured out who he was. “They told me you called ahead and said you were coming in.”

His stance shifts and he runs a hand along the top of his head, loosening dozens of small strands of hair from his bun and sending them into his face. “Yeah, I wanted to make sure you were here so I could...apologize.”

Apologize?

“Oh!” your voice nearly cracks, burdened by your own surprise. Having been so caught up in finding out who he was you neglected to run through a scenario like this. “No, you don’t need to do that, not at all.” Your forced laughter seems nervous but he seems not to notice as you continue, thank goodness. “Honestly, I should be apologizing to you. It’s not really my place to tell people what they should or shouldn’t do.”

He interrupts before you can say anymore, “No, you were right. My mind wasn’t in the best of places the other night. If I had gone anywhere else I’d probably be stuck with something I don’t want.” His half smile widens. For such a dangerous man he was incredibly sweet. “If anything you should feel commended on keeping someone from doing something they might regret. I think it shows you have real respect for your craft. I admire that.”

You feel warmth rises to your cheeks. This was not how you imagined this conversation to turn out, and had not prepared for it in the slightest. It truly was night and day between the man you had imagined to be walking through the door and the man who stood before you now. You almost feel bad that you had been running simulations about beating him down with a baseball bat now. “Thank you. If it means anything, I thought it was amazing that you wanted to get something for your friend. After all, you’re going to wear it forever, so it should mean something, yeah?” A glistening comes to his eyes and you realize that the subject was still fresh, despite how well put together he seemed tonight. “So, roses, right?”

His gaze follows you as you come around the counter, sketchbook already in hand and turned to the first of several sketches you had prepared. “You remember that much?”

“Well,” you smile and hand him the book as you walk the both of you towards the sitting area. “You’d be surprised the lasting impressing you leave on someone.” After he casts you a strange look you quickly add, “When you’re angry at them, I mean.”

Silence. Oh man, things had been going so well up to this point. And then he begins to chuckle, catching you completely off guard once again. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before actually.” You breathe a slight sigh of relief and when another bout of silence comes up as he overlooks your sketches you’re much less nervous. “There are...nice.”

“Nice?” The tone of his voice lets you know that he’s being sincere, however, “But it’s not what you’re wanting.” He appears apologetic but you’re not mad. You hadn’t really known what he wanted anyway and at least, now, you knew what he didn’t want. “That’s ok. That’s why we do these consultations. So let’s start fresh.” You offer him a smile and hold out your hand for your sketchbook, which he delivers. You flip through the sketches until you come to a clean page. “Maybe we can start by getting all the technical stuff out of the way, like finding out where you want to put it.”

“I was thinking here if that’s alright.” You watch as his hand comes to his chest, resting over his heart. It’s plainly obvious that this friend meant a lot to him.

“That’s great.” You nod to confirm his choice. “It’s actually a pretty good place for a first tattoo.” It’ll also offer you a fairly large canvas. “Did you have any idea what sort of style you wanted?”

“Not really.” If you had a nickel for every time someone said that. It wasn’t so uncommon for someone to come in with a general idea. That why they had the flash art on the wall. If anything it gave the customer a reference of what they might want. You’re about to suggest for him to look over the wall when he speaks up. “Although, when I was looking through your portfolio the other night there was something that caught my eye. It looked a lot like a painting.”

Mentally, you begin to flip through the pages of your portfolio, a careful and handpick selection of your best work when you were an apprentice. You recalled a piece that you had done just before you had left for Los Santos, a bluejay in watercolors. You fish the physical copy of your portfolio out of the pile and find it, not wanting to assume. “This one?” You ask as you show him.

He reaches for the book and begins to nod, looking over the piece once again. “Yes! That’s it. That’s the one.” His hand comes to rest on the page and again you see his eyes begin to swell with pain. “I don’t know why but there was something about this one I liked best.”

“Believe it or not that was a memorial piece as well.” He looks up at you as you continue, “A man came in one day at the place I apprenticed at. He had just lost his wife after a long illness and just wanted something to keep with him that always reminded him of her.” You smile softly, it was a good memory despite being so sad. “He told me she loved to bird watch. Even when she was sick in bed she would look out the window and watch the birds. When she died he said he remember there was a blue jay sitting on the windowsill that she usually looked out of. He felt like it was a sign.”

“He told you all that? Seems kind of personal.”

You offer him a shrug, “Sometimes people want to talk about the reason they’re getting a tattoo. I think it can be therapeutic.” It’s apparent that’s not something he wants to talk about. You suppose, given his profession, maybe he can’t. “But that’s just some people. Every experience is different. For instance, you look pretty tough, but you might cry.”

A change of subject seems to pull him out of the somberness of the conversation and he chuckles once again, “I doubt that. I have a pretty high threshold for pain.”

“Ooh, that’s what they all say.” You threaten with a grin. “Alright, so, colors?”

“I like what you did with the blue jay, to be honest.”

“We can do blue roses.” You tell him. “Actually, I think that would be really fitting. Blue roses symbolize immortality, and you are sort of immortalizing your friend forever in your skin.”

He appears to be pleased with this, “Sounds perfect. When do we start?”

Already you have several ideas swarming in your mind, you almost want to skip the sketching phase and go straight to tattooing. In all the excitement of getting to do your own work you had completely forgotten about being afraid of him early, in fact, you had forgotten about him being a criminal altogether. Still, it was best not rush so quickly, “I can work on some sketches and we can begin as early as tomorrow night if I come up with something you like.”

“I have no doubt you’ll come up with something great.” You feel yourself blush again and he smiles, seemingly noticing it this time around.

The two of you stand and you make your way to the counter again, pulling out a large scheduling book. Your ledger so far had been empty. “Alright, I just need to get a little personal information, like name and number.”

He seems apprehensive and you realize that he might not want anyone to have that sort of information, whether he knew that you knew who he was or not. “How about I just give you my number and you can put me down as Ryan?”

You don’t argue with that, surprised that he’d offer that much. “Sure.” You hand him your sketchbook and watch as he scrawls his number across the corner of one of the pages. “I’d prefer you not call me unless it’s important though.”

“No problem.” You assure him. “Then, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow night, Ryan.”

He flicks his hand in a slight salute, “Until then.” And promptly walks out the door.

The rest of your shift at Pandemonium passes without incident, but for once you’re glad for the quiet. You begin to pour yourself into sketching, filling pages with roses and splashes of blue, trying to find that magical moment when everything seems to click together. You can’t explain why you suddenly feel so enveloped in this project. Perhaps it was because it was your first real piece since you came to the city. Perhaps it was simply because, after everything that had happened that one evening, Ryan still wanted you to be the one to ink him. You felt pride, maybe even a little bit of arrogance knowing that the feared Vagabond of Los Santos was soon to be wearing your work.

Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up in the fantasy of it all you would have noticed the unmarked police car that was sitting outside Pandemonium when you left after you shift.

[brianewing]

To misquote #whitesnake #hereigoagain #inking a new piece. Feels good and also terrifying to be inking again. I’ve spent the past few months with a tattoo machine in my hand. It took me a bit to remember how I set up my workspace for inking. I don’t know why, but I always stress out while starting a new piece. I’ve done this stuff a million times yet I still psyche myself out. Happy to be working on something new. Listening to #SecretHistoryOfTwinPeaks so stoked! So much conspiracy!! So much backstory on the characters. I also got a bottle of wine and I’ll be doing fine tonight. Ok, enough #dorking out… I’m kinda slammed at the moment so if you’ve emailed, sent a text or tried calling I’ll get back to you this week. If you don’t hear from me just ping me again. Working on tons of cool crap right now. FREE BOOK I just posted a free #PDF of one of my sketchbooks here http://bodega.brianewing.com/books/ Really surprised by how many people have downloaded it already. PLEASE let me know what you think of it. #tellmeimpretty NEW CONTEST I’m going to be hosting a new #contest soon. I am not a #nameologist I’ll need your help to name the new #Marilyn colorway. So stay tuned. CONTEST FOLKS Check your mail. You should be receiving your stuff today or later this week. TATTOO My tattoo books are closed right now so I can focus on freelance. They’ll open back up in the beginning of April and I’ll have a new flash sheet and start doing custom pieces (with limited color) for something like $50 #buckaroos email me Brian(at)brianewing.com if interested. Do NOT DM me! I’ll ignore it. Just ask all the people that don’t read this part. In case you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about - I’m apprenticing under #MikeMoses @hollow_moon at his new shop @cauldron_tattoo I started my #tattooapprenticeship a year ago this month. For the past 4 months I’ve been #tattooing under Mike’s guidance. So hit me up if you want to book an appointment in April! #illustration #brutsubmission #design #detail #lineart #pinup #gigposter #screenprint #silkscreen #HanandLeia #ILoveYouIknow

[bleedingcoffee42]

Absent- Part 3

Part  1 and Part 2    

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Riza's first stop was the personnel department.   She went about her business with authority and nobody questioned her even though she could see them thinking about it.   She filled out the necessary forms for more forms which was in no way a security risk and would send the receptionist to the supply closet to fetch them.  It would allow the young woman to avoid asking the scary Lieutenant by who's authority she was asking for information, which was surely a relief for them both.   However while she waited she had every intention to slip behind the desk, check the directory to see who was working in East HQ and also check the file cabinet for a file on herself which would list her clearances.  That would tell her if she worked here at all.   Then it was on to the library to see what she could learn in a few hours.  

Unfortunately, great plans rarely saw execution on the field of battle.  No sooner did the receptionist disappear than the door opened and Rebecca Catalina entered with a stack of folders under her arm and looked right past her to see if the office was staffed or not.   For Roy to not recognize her was one thing, for her best friend who she shared the rest of her private thoughts was another.   For Rebecca to not even acknowledge her confirmed her fears:  she simply did not exist in their lives.   Rebecca would have at least recognized her from the academy, she never forgot a face, which meant that she never went to the academy.

Rebecca slapped the folders on the counter and looked to the supply closet door and raised her voice to be heard.   “Marcy, can you take these so I can get to the range while Grumman is in a meeting?”

So her grandfather was still in command here.   Rebecca worked for him.   Roy was here with the Elrics but wasn't the flame alchemist he was....something else.   She was not in any of their lives.   The information she was searching for was acquired and she no longer needed to sneak around to find it.   “I need to be getting back to work as well.  Can I come pick up those forms later?”

Marcy came out of the supply closet relived.  “That would be great Lieutenant.”

Riza turned to leave and Rebecca gave her a smile of gratitude, but without anything else behind it.  Just a simple smile thanking a stranger for making her workday a little easier.   As she moved Hayate moved with her and Rebecca couldn't help but notice.

“Bring your dog to work day?”

“He's in training to be a service dog.”  Riza explained.   With that she left the office and decided to leave HQ and head to the library.   She felt around in her pocket for change as she was going to have to make a call on the way.   The fact that she wasn't in Roy's life made sense when he apprenticed with Van Hohenheim.   Not knowing Rebecca meant she was not in her class at the academy.     She needed to call her home town and see if she still lived there, the postmaster would know if there was still someone at the old Hawkeye place or where he forwarded mail to.   She'd get answers as to her own moves from the paper trail at the post office, however she already knew one thing and that was she didn't join the military.

It made sense.  Roy had been her main reason for going to the academy, he had inspired her to take that direction.   Roy with his noble intentions and selfless proclamations had made her see a purpose in life that would make use of her skills and teach her a profession.   She saw him as someone worth protecting and the life she lived worth forgetting.   She could start over and never look back.   However without Roy to show her that, without him planting that seed in her mind she wouldn't have considered herself army material.    She would have only had her father's opinion on the military and that was overwhelmingly negative.  

The other prevailing fact was that if Roy wasn't in her life than there was nobody to trust with what she had tattooed on her back unless her father found another apprentice.   Even then he had denied so many and she saw so few alchemists with Roy's integrity and intelligence, she doubted that was the case.  You simply did not find alchemists of Roy, Ed and Al's caliber often.... if at all.    So the tattoo...was still hidden.  She knew the weight of this burden, how she has to always think about hiding that tattoo, and if there was nobody she felt safe giving it to than she was probably still hiding from the world at home.   Without a motivation to leave, without someone to share this secret with she was still Berthold Hawkeye's daughter and not the Riza Hawkeye she allowed herself to become.  

All this time she faulted herself for what she had done to Roy with this secret and never considered what he had done for her along the way.   Equivalent exchange.   Friendship.  Loyalty.  Trust.  Encouragement. Purpose.  Love.   All came with a price, but what of value was gained without losing something?   They lost their innocence and naivety in the war, they gained a better view on the truth and a drive to change the wrongs of this country.   Without that pain, without that horror....they would have never embarked on this road.

She left the building and caught sight of Roy getting in his car with Ed and Al teasing and laughing beside him.   He was a different man, not burdened by the past that tarnished his belief in alchemy, not the weapon of destruction that made him question himself so much.  He was lighter, more like the boy she knew back in their youth, able to enjoy the day and actually interact with the boys instead of push them away.    As he got in the car and drove off, she was assured it was still Roy Mustang because he made a U-turn in the middle of the road and ran over a trash can on the sidewalk before squealing tires and taking off.

She wondered if he ever saw war.   If his alchemy was, by his admittance, barely enough to stay certified than he would not have been sent to the front.   He was still brilliant and observant and friends with Maes, that could have lead him to question a lot.   She had to remember it wasn't just the war or Ed's findings that lead them down this path, there were many signs that things were not as they seemed.  Towns they visited that resented the military for good reason.  Places, like Liore, where the only way you could not see the problems was to not look at it.   He could have been suspicious of her just because she walked into his office and he never saw her before in his life!   There was more to it though, more to just politics and ordinary military back-stabbing.  She saw that in his eyes and she knew when he was trying to read a person.  

Riza and Hayate made their way down the street and found a telephone booth they could use to call the town she grew up in.  Hayate came in the booth before she closed the door and started sniffing the ground and checking out the smells.   She couldn't help but wonder what happened to him in this alternative reality.   Did he find a home?   Roy wouldn't have taken him, he was more than aware of his lack of time no matter what his rank, and nobody in the office wanted him.   She was honestly just happy she had him with her and wasn't alone.   She picked up the phone and called the operator.

“Operator! How can I help you today?”

“I would like to make a call to the post office in Frenau,  East City Region.”  Riza replied and took the coins out of her pocket.  The coin on top was the odd one from the warehouse yard, the one that started this mess. Or so she hoped.

“Please hold.”  

Now that she had time to look at it she wondered what kind of metal it was made of.   It looked like it had a reddish tint, maybe copper or a red brass. The edges were weathered and worn.  Ed and Roy had reacted first to the writing which meant that it was the most bizarre detail of the coin and not the circle.   She wanted to blame this coin but the fact of the matter was that she was not an alchemist and could not activate it, so how could it possibly be at fault for this alteration in her reality?

“That will be 100 Cenz, ma'am. Please deposit the money and I will connect your call.”

Riza put the coin away to make sure it stayed safe and then put her change in the phone to pay for her call.  

“Thank you, please hold.”

She hoped that she would find out that this version of her had struck out on her own and made a life for herself, however she knew all too well how oppressing it was to live in that house with her father.   She was independent and far from helpless, but she was also happy alone and was never far from accepting the recluse life that her father resigned himself to. She really had no reason to want more or have a reason to trust anyone.

“Frenau Post Office, how can I help you?”

“Hello, I cam calling from Eastern HQ and I am trying to track down an alchemist named Berthold Hawkeye?   Can you tell me if he is a resident of your town before I make the trip out to see him?”  Riza asked.  She knew her father had to be dead by now, but sometimes indirect questioning provided the best results.   People felt obligated to give you something after delivering bad news but were somewhat suspicious when asked directly for what you wanted.

“Oh I'm sorry ma'am, Mr. Hawkeye died a few years ago.”

She stayed silent and made sure to make a loud, audible sigh.

“However his daughter did remain in his house until it burnt down a few years later.  She's living in the old barn now, fixed it up and comes into town for supplies if you want me to pass on a message to have her call you?   She does mail a lot of books.  I think she's selling off the old man's collection through the mail through a used book seller in East City.   Smart girl that Miss Hawkeye, I'm sure if there is something alchemy related she could answer it for you.”

Riza had to admit it made sense.   Stay home, sell off his precious collection that he valued more than her or basic human needs and then move into the loft of the barn where she felt the safest and the most at home.   She could remain detached by using a book store as a middle man, keeping alchemists from coming to look for the flame alchemist's research while also giving her the needed income to invest in the farm and provide for herself.   However there was the implication of more. “Is she an alchemist?”

“Yes, actually.”  The postmaster said proudly.  “Helps a lot of people around here, barters since money is tight for everyone.  What we all hoped her father would be when he moved here and we're glad Riza turned out to be that kind of alchemist.  For the people, you know?   In a town like ours, it really helps a lot.”

“Thank you sir, you have been a great help.”  She hung up before he could ask if she wanted to leave a message.  She was reeling from the information.  She wasn't expecting that.   An alchemist?  Her?   Sure she had wanted to try but she never had time to spare for studies and she could never wanted to attract her father's attention.  To ask him to teach her alchemy would have been more traumatizing than allowing him to brand her with his secrets.   She fear him, and knowing how critical and difficult he was when Roy was studying under him made her wonder how she ever survived being his student.   She never had the inclination to study because inviting her father's disapproval would have made her life more miserable.   Studying on her own...was not a viable option.  She had too much work to do.

So how did the absence of Roy in her life at all send her down this path?  

This was her life and she couldn't comprehend the turn it had taken.  She couldn't understand how this version of her could succeed in the situation she was placed in.  Roy coming into her life had given her a connection to another human being that she lost when her mother died and her father was incapable of.   Roy encouraged her to stop hiding herself from everyone, he made her smile and realize there was a world for her out there when she could finally leave her father's house.  He pushed her father's paranoia back into the shadows and assured her there were good people in this world.   Roy leaving after his apprenticeship had been the catalyst for so much.   She wasn't afraid of being herself anymore, she didn't feel like she wasn't wanted or appreciated, she was actually looking forward to what life might hold.  It wasn't all about worrying about the bills or the harvest, she made time for herself and it made her feel worth something.  However...Roy had been hope for both of the Hawkeyes and if there had been no Roy than her father was without a promising alchemist to pass his legacy on to.

And it suddenly made sense.  She hadn't chosen to be an alchemist, she was not given a choice.   Without a youthful and mold-able talent at his doorstep, her father had turned to his only other option: his daughter.   Just like he did before, but instead of using her as a notebook he used her as the student that he couldn't find.

Riza was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of that, how terrified she must have been of the prospect of having to learn alchemy under those conditions.  With her father failure was not an option, nor was approval and encouragement.   After years of ignoring her he suddenly would have found a reason to take pride in her and that would only mean holding her to a higher standard than anyone else because she was his child.   A standard that was already impossibly high.  

The only good thing would be that maybe she avoided being scarred by this tattoo, although in true sense of equivalent exchange, would have still been scarred by the process of learning her father's alchemy.   She tried to help the people of her town, but remained far from human contact on the property where she spent her life.   That told her everything because she understood the rationale better than anyone.  Alone by choice, alone because her father would have drummed into her how dangerous his alchemy was and how she was entirely responsible for how she used it.  

She went from trusting Roy to trusting no one.   She doubted very much that the house burning down was accidental, because destroying it was no different than destroying the tattoo with the flames that were born of it.   The fear of discovery was a burden that weighed too much and she would be rid of it no matter how much pain it caused.  

There still was a Flame Alchemist, it just wasn't Roy Mustang.