#angis tattoo

[buenofreakyhouse]

Angis tattoo studio

[femin-ink]

Instagram: angieflemming_

[freedomkustomrides]

Taco 🌮 Tuesday: Angie Varona

✌🏽🤤🌮

[angiethewitch]

for the dark prince!

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

harry, as venus by botticelli

the birth of harry finally come to life, thanks to the incredible visions depicted in de amore ex tempore, a fic by @persephoneflouwers that has me dreaming like i haven't in a while. thank you <3

[something-tofightfor]

A little treat for anyone reading Liminality:

So.

I commissioned @valkblue for one of her Christmas slots and requested Liminality Frankie with a *few* little hidden treats included …and this is the outcome. (Anyone that can pick out these details is welcome to come scream about them with me!!!).

CURLS. HAT. TATTOOS. EYE CRINKLES. FOREARMS. SCRUFF. THE GRAY IN HIS BEARD. THE TINY SMIRK. THE SHIRT (that was clearly a gag gift from one of the other guys!)There is so much to look at and love 😩😭.

Angie, he is absolutely PERFECT. From the top of his curly head to the tips of his fingers, I could not be happier with this. Thank you so much for putting so much love and attention into what you do.

If you ever have the opportunity to work with Angie for a painting, I HIGHLY recommend it. She’s a dream and will go above and beyond to give you exactly what you’re looking for when it comes to bringing your character to life.

[damgoose16]

angy cats

[joliepasproductions]

Angelina Jolie by David LaChapelle for Rolling Stone (2001)

[femin-ink]

Instagram: angieflemming_

❗ Model of the Month surveys are moving to @l-n-i-modelofthemonth

[the-kipsabian]

its 1.15am, im having coffee and im emotional about chrissy b and the hope he gives me about being able to be me and survive this life

gonna be a long one tonight fellas

[angiethewitch]

thinking about when I worked at spar and I was discussing the tattoo I would be getting after my shift and the assistant manager said "I just don't know how you do it I don't know if I could commit to anything that permanent" and then I had to point out he had an entire child

[donnasmeatballs]

I forgot to show y’all, I got this Donna Beneviento inspired tattoo done in may!

(The sun and moon are inspired by her family crest, the flowers are a reference to the ones shown in the graveyard)

[throwmethroughawindow]

there’s quite literally nothing better than your tattoo artist saying “you sat so still while I tattooed you, I can’t believe it. That was a tough spot.”

only thing better would be ace giving me tons of cheek kisses😚

also this is not what I had in mind when I said I wanted an anime man’s mouth on me😠🙄😢

[alitgblog]

for the record i did think about doing inktober but i'm pretty busy this month so instead i'm just going to put my other wips on hold in favor of drawing some random characters in halloween costumes whenever tf i have the time starting with furthering my angie x cora agenda

(second one just has some warmer lighting based on the photo i was using as a reference)

[[litg halloween part 1]]

[anamazingangie]

Pinky Promises by Amazing Angie

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rated M / 2k / Complete

Tags: Light Masochism, Kink Discovery, Vaginal Fingering

He wondered what she wanted. What he would get the honor of inking into her flesh.

He hadn’t expected it to be his name.

He should have denied her.

He didn’t.

Or: Rhaenyra is finally old enough to get a tattoo.

Rhaenyra had been fascinated by her uncle for as long as she could remember. Even before she knew about the tattoos. 

As a child, he seemed larger than life—mysterious but kind, always with a smile to spare for her. He smelled like leather and smoke, and when her stepmother frowned at the scent Rhaenyra inhaled, wanting to fill her lungs with the aroma of her favorite person. 

She liked how his smell lingered in the air and on her skin, making her feel protected even when he was no longer present. 

…

She wasn’t sure how old she was when she found out about them —the swirling designs that covered the majority of his skin. He told her the first one was to cover a scar, but the ink quickly became a part of him, and perhaps even an addiction. It only spread from there, a mixture of his own art and others staining his pale flesh. 

“Can I have one?” She had asked him. Alicent had overheard, voice stony as she said, "Absolutely not!" -- the declaration paired with her signature scathing glare.

But Daemon had leaned in close, whispering, “When you’re older.” While extending his pinky in the most seriousness of promises. 

…

She was thirteen, the first time she stepped foot in his shop, and she was instantly invigorated by the music, the art, the atmosphere. She watched Daemon tattoo for hours, fascinated by the buzz of the machine and bubble of blood beneath black ink. The sharp smell of alcohol mixed with skin, and the sighs of relief from his clients when he declared a piece done. She understood now, how this was addictive. 

“I wish I could do one.” She had said, somewhat forlorn at the end of the day. He had pursed his lips, then smirked at her, always eager to please his niece. “That could be arranged.” 

He had a bare spot on his flank, perhaps the width of two fingers and the length of her palm.

 “What should I put there?” She had asked, staring dumbly at the blank skin.

 It was Daemon who suggested, “How about your name?” 

It only took a few minutes, her hand sloppy though she did her best to follow Daemon’s instructions. But by the end of it, her name was scrawled on his skin.

Her eyes were wide, as he cleaned and wrapped it, thanking her for the opportunity of being a canvas. She had laughed, told him that when she was older she would return the favor. 

…

Five years later, she hadn’t forgotten.

…

He saw her name on his books, grinning that she would go so far as to make an appointment—as if she needed one for his attention. He traced the letters of his name on the page with his finger, thinking of the place they were imprinted on him. He had many tattoos, but few were more precious to him than that one, and no one was more precious to him than Rhaenyra. 

He wondered what she wanted. What he would get the honor of inking into her flesh. 

He hadn’t expected it to be his name. 

She suggested it so casually, as she sat before him, with a confidence that showed she had thought about this.

“It’s only fair.” She said, with a smile. 

He should have denied her. 

He didn’t. 

…

His fingers were gentle on her and the drag of the marker silent as he signed his name across her hip. She had to hold her underwear out of the way while he drew, the lines extending too high for her modest panty line. She wanted that though, wanted it to be hidden. It wasn’t for anyone else to see —it was for her. 

And maybe, a little, for him. 

…

She wasn’t nervous. She had thought about this for years, tracing the spot on her hip with a frequency that was nearly embarrassing. She had even drawn it on a few times, only to become frustrated by the blurriness of the lines and loopiness of her own script. It wasn’t quite right. 

She still cried when it faded, though. Cursing the lie that was a permanent marker. She didn’t want his name to wash away, she wanted it to be part of her forever. 

It would be soon she thought with a sigh, admiring the reflection of the stencil in his studio's mirror. 

“What do you think?” Daemon asked, there was a vulnerability to his voice —as if he was nervous! Which was so silly given the circumstances that she wanted to laugh! But she would never want to hurt his feelings, so she bit back the grin that threatened to spread across her lips, or, at least, she tried too. 

She was too excited to be fully successful in hiding her smile when she told him the truth, “It’s perfect.” 

…

She hadn’t considered how it would feel to get a tattoo. For all she thought about having one, the act of getting one wasn’t something that had consumed her. She definitely hadn’t worried about it, and even with the knowledge it might hurt, she wasn’t afraid. She wanted the mark on her flesh, and she would suffer through what was necessary to get it. 

It would be worth it. 

And it would be okay, because her uncle would be there. 

There was no one she trusted more than Daemon. 

…

She gasped when the needle hit her skin—trying to stay still even as her body begged to flinch. She wanted to be good for Daemon, wanted to sit well for this and impress him. But she couldn’t hide her whimper as the needle continued to drag, scratching lines of ink into her skin. 

“It hurts.” She whined after a minute, but Daemon offered no sympathy. She chewed on her bottom lip with hopes it would distract her from the pain. 

It didn’t work. 

“How do you stand it?” She asked, doing everything she could to avoid shifting her hips to escape the buzz of the machine. He seemed to take pity on her then, when he saw the pleading expression on her face and realized the extent of her struggling. 

“I lean into it.” He said, “Close your eyes and think of the sensation. Let yourself be overwhelmed by it. If you sink deep enough you might even like it.” 

She huffed at that, thinking it impossible. But she would take his advice, she had seen his chest —he was the expert. So she shut her eyes and pressed  her cheek into the firm leather table. It smelled a little like Daemon, and that grounded her —as did the firm press of his hand on her hip. 

With her eyes closed, the music in the studio sounded louder. It felt like the beat was surrounding her and making her body hum. Then Daemon shifted, and the stale scent of smoke wafted over her senses, the familiarity of it relaxing her further. She felt cradled by this environment, comfortable. And so when the needle pressed back against her skin it still hurt, but a deep breath was enough to ease it. 

She thought of what Daemon said, about leaning into it. When she focused, she could feel how her thigh pressed back against his palm, and how nice that was. And then, somehow, the heavy weight of his palm didn’t seem so different from the drag of the machine against her skin. They both provided pressure, a sensation that seemed to simmer on the surface of her flesh. 

She floated there for a while, in the pool of sensation.

She didn’t realize she was slipping deeper —not until her breath hitched, but not because it hurt. It was… worse, the raw feeling went deeper the surface of her skin, radiating through her muscles, through her core. She clenched down, as if the contraction could push the pain away, and was horrified when she moaned instead. 

Daemon didn’t stop, and the ache only seemed to intensify. Pooling in her stomach and running down her legs until everything felt tight. Her skin tingled, goosebumps pricking as she let out an involuntary shiver. 

“Are you okay?” Daemon asked, and she nodded—the movement vigorous, for she was suddenly filled with the fear he’d stop.

She sighed in relief when the drag began again, she felt steadied by the pain now. As if she couldn’t relax without it against her skin…But at the same time her gut seemed to tighten and twist in a way that made her writhe against the leather table. 

“You have to stay still.” Daemon said firmly, his grip on her hip tightening

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered. 

“Do you need a break?” He asked. She shook her head, admitate. With a sigh he started again, but the needle hardly touched her before she flinched, nearly crying out as her body tensed. She gritted her teeth, “I need…” she whispered, before trailing off. She wasn’t sure what she needed, but Daemon knew. He always knew. 

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he said. 

She nodded, her eyes still pressed shut. 

“Do you need my help?” He asked, and she nodded again.

His hand didn’t have to move far, and it didn’t take much —-the drag of fingers over the cotton gusset of her underwear. The press of a gloved thumb against her clit, it took maybe thirty seconds and she was gasping into her fist as her hips arched against her uncle's palm, finally finding release. 

He waited until she stopped shaking to change his gloves, then he continued. 

…

She was drowning, she thought. She couldn’t breath, it hurt too much—the only air was gained from little gasps, not enough to fill her lungs. It left her feeling lightheaded and fuzzy, like she could float away if it weren’t for the pain. 

But she craved it, the feeling of ink carving into her flesh. She mourned the loss of it when the needle moved away, eagerly awaiting its return because it made her insides quiver. It was all she could focus on now, the ache across her hips…and the occasional drag of her uncle's hand, fingers brushing the seam of her panties as he shifted. 

She could feel the heat dripping out of her, and she was sure there was a wet spot forming on the cotton between her thighs. She would have been embarrassed by the fact Daemon could see it , and smell it, but she was too distracted. The throbbing of pain kept growing stronger, the only relief being offered by her uncle’s straying fingers. 

She heard the click as he set down the machine, but she kept her eyes closed. Was it over? Did she want it to be over? She wanted…

Yes. This. 

 Gloved fingers slipped beneath dampened underwear, parting her folds and finding a place there. Two, then three, the intrusion stinging but eased by the fact she was so slippery. The feeling of latex against her clit made her moan, she was so close, but it wasn’t enough. And then his other hand was on her hip, stroking and making the raw skin itch. She twitched into the touch not sure what he was doing, but then his fingers gripped the meat of her hip. Nails were dulled by the plastic gloves, but she was so sensitive that every fingertip felt like a dagger digging into her flesh. 

It was bliss. 

…

When she opened her eyes, everything was clear —sharp and focused. 

She felt so good. 

So refreshed. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

Daemon’s answer was a laugh, “Sweetheart, you came.” 

…

They didn’t talk about it. 

They parted with a hug and simple instructions—“Wash it with soap and water, moisturize it daily, and keep clothing away from it, okay?” 

She nodded eagerly, saying she would take the best care of it.

“You promise?” He asked. 

She extended her pinky with a smile. 

…

He asked her how it was healing when he next saw her, a week later after dinner at Viserys’. They were alone on the deck, sharing a cigarette and a comfortable silence.

“Can I see it?” He asked, becoming intrigued when Rhaenyra’s face took on a pink blush. He grinned at her embarrassment, pulling her between his legs and gripping her waist. 

“ No.” She said, though she didn’t try to get away. 

“Why not?” He asked. 

She shifted, biting her lip, “You said to keep clothing away from it?” 

He nodded, and her feet shuffled —knees nervously bumping his own. 

“I have to check how it’s healing.” He insisted, ignoring her protests.

 She squirmed, palms pushing her skirt down before finally giving in and raising the hem.

  Oh. 

She’d taken his advice seriously, forgoing underwear to allow the tattoo to heal unhindered. Now he understood her nervousness, though she had no reason for it. 

He’d felt her cunt of course, soft and perfect even with a layer of latex between them. but that didn’t compare to seeing her pretty folds. Bare and pink, in the moonlight, with a little pearl at the top that his fingers longed to touch. 

He resisted, fingers instead dragging across the letters of his name on her hip. Rhaenyra shivered slightly at his touch. 

“I think I want another one.” She whispered. 

He looked up at her, fingers lazily stroking the still slightly raised letters.

“Another tattoo, or another orgasm?” He asked, curious. 

She bit her lip, “Both?” She said, sounding hopeful. 

  He laughed, pulling her into his lap and pressing a kiss to her hair. 

“I can help with that.” He said. 

She pulled back slightly, the feel of her cunt warm against his denim clad thighs. He was tempted to drag her back to him, but she didn’t go far. Separating just enough to free her hand from between them. 

He grinned as she held out her pinky, linking it with his own. 

Thank you for reading! <3