#coil tattoo machine

[awolgina]

got my coil tattoo kit now what? zero instructions lol boomer learning s...

got my new coil tattoo machine kit, no assembly instructions! now what? I've been inspired by @inkmaster

to try tattooing again at 60 🤷‍♀️✒😁🤞🤞

[tattoosbylexy]

✨ Let’s practice some lines! ✨

One of the exercises my mentor has me to is to trace lines. Here I’m using a regular bic pen which we’ve attached to a coil machine, which I then turn on while I draw. Working against the weight and vibrations strengthens the muscles in my hand! 💪🏻

[mogielnik]

I hate pens i think its time to radicalize n buy coil

[mellostattoos]

Fake skin tat of Jack Torrence

[kleefkruid]

Something interesting that I've noticed now that the majority of the people in my life know I'm learning to tattoo, is that my smalltalk treatment kinda has switched from 'artist' to 'tradesman?'

Everyone knows the kind of small talk questions you get as artists, people have low expectations of your financial prospects (and to be fair generally they're right lmao) and generally they don't really know what to say even if they're supportive.

But with tattooing, I realise I'm becoming 'a guy'. When someone you know goes into plumbing you'll generally say something like "Oh, good to know, next time I have an issue I know who to call!" He becomes your 'guy' for that specific thing. And when I tell people I'm getting into tattooing, I also get the "Oh good, when I want my next tattoo I'll know where to find you!"

I come from a very working class family where a lot of them worked their way up to become a one-man buissiness in their trade, and we had a family gathering yesterday and it's never been so easy to catch up with everyone, I got to 'talk shop' with uncles. It's all very interchangeable as a concept. "I'm doing an apprenticeship." "I've invested in some (insert tools of the trade)." "Did you hear Danny became co-owner of the shop he works out of?"

I had an entire conversation with my cousin who is a crane operator about how I'm learning to work with coil machines bc they give more feedback and are easier to repair yourself while new machines are less bulky and cheaper and easier to set-up but when they break they break etc etc and he was with me the entire time because every job has machines that fall into both categories.

idk for me it is lovely because I love art and don't mind getting really deep into art philosophy and the high brow shit for time to time but I'm also really solidly with my boots on the ground. I got a printmaking degree instead of a more conceptual art degree for a reason, I do have a love for machinery and daily application of art. And it feels really nice to be able to finally bring what I've learned back home. It's not even about approval but just wanting to connect and now I finally found a way to make it click and I love it.

Also it's just really great to finally be relieved of the "and what kind of job can you get with that" art school kid curse lmaooo

[draculasfavoritewife]

El Hambre (Hunger)

Summary: Getting Miguel to take a break is a full-time job unto itself, and requires a little extra incentive.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader

Warnings: Lots of suggestive talk. Miguel being an ass hehe. A risky make-out in a public space, idiots in love CANNOT keep their hands to themselves. I put far too much of my descriptive powers into talking about how devastatingly sexy Miguel is. Also for my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.

Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :)

This is one of my personal favorite pieces I've written, and still makes me giggle like an evil maniac whenever I return to reread/edit it. I have shamelessly watched every Miguel scene in ATSV far too many times and will continue to do so; his image is already tattooed on the backs of my eyelids. As mentioned in my HCs, reader is a spider-hero, but I left her pretty vague on purpose -- feel free to fill in her costume/powers/skill set with your own spidersona!

*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)

He hasn’t turned away from his myriad glowing monitor screens in nearly ten minutes, standing like a damn statue with his feet wide apart and hands braced on his trim hips, only lifting to sharply swipe through any screens that serve him no purpose. Each tiny shift of weight, the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathes, all the little things that prove he is still, in fact, alive, cast soft highlights over the swell and dip of taut muscle, every part of him coiled and ready to explode into action like the perfect hunting machine he is. 

Right now, though, his eyes are burning from overexposure to even the dim interior of his watch station, and with an annoyed sigh he turns his face to the side, long fingers rubbing furiously at where the bridge of his nose meets his brow in the hope of chasing away the dull ache gnawing there. 

“You do know that even though I don’t have spider-sense I can still hear you, right?” 

You let go of your strand of web and drop lightly to the platform behind him, pulling off your mask and tucking it away. “What gave me away, the sound of me drooling as I stared too long?” 

Shocking hell.

You’re in one of those moods. 

Miguel can’t quite decide if he’s too tired for this right now or if he’s curious how far you’ll try and push him on his home turf. And it’s that indecision that starts him digging his own grave. 

“I was going to say the way your heartbeat spikes every time you set foot in this room.” His voice comes out sweet and thick as honey, because he knows exactly what that tone does to you when he uses it.

“...And I can still smell my clothes on you. Did you sleep in my shirt again?” 

“Maybe.”

Actually, you’d fallen asleep in a veritable pile of his clothes — it had been a bit since he’d had a free night, okay, and you weren’t desperate you just missed him. 

That makes him chuckle. He can probably tell you’re omitting the whole truth. 

Miguel finally turns to fully face you, and you inhale quickly as always, at the way he towers so far above your head, how his wide shoulders block out the light from his screens so his silhouette swallows you in darkness. His hair is messy, and there are deep shadows under his eyes, but his pretty mouth is slanted in a wry grin and the set of his thick eyebrows hints at underlying amusement. 

“Cute,” is what he remarks at your wide blinking eyes and rapidly heating skin, and it makes him smirk wickedly, to see how that one word flusters you for the barest of seconds. You’ve told him multiple times that you hate being called “cute” by anybody else, but ever since the first time the word slipped past his lips when he really realized just how much smaller you were underneath his body….

Well, he knows the effect it can have. 

You scowl and regain your composure. “Don’t call me that.” 

Miguel’s only response is an easy shrug, a lift of one shoulder. “What’d you bring me?” He nods at the containers in your hands. 

“Entitled prick.” With a dramatic flourish, you whip them away from his claw-tipped fingers. “What makes you think these are for you?” The exchange is back in your court with his query, and you intend to keep it there. 

“Aren’t they always?” Dark eyes zero in on yours, their softness in the gloom betraying what the gesture means to him even if he won’t say it. 

With a huff, you thrust the thermos and small box into his chest, pretending you don’t keenly notice the way the impact sends a ripple through his impressive pectorals. “Coffee. And those stupid little empanadas you love so much.” 

“Not stupid.” He takes them from your grasp much more delicately than someone with hands so large should be able to. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a single craving for subpar food? Keeps me human.” 

He’s baiting you, knows that the words “not since I tasted you” are on the very tip of your tongue, because that’s just how your dirty mind works and he loves it. Can see the struggle on your face as you resolve not to say them aloud, and that almost goads him on more, to know you’re thinking it and just barely holding out so he doesn’t get the upper hand again quite yet. 

You settle yourself on a nearby console and gaze expectantly at him, swinging your legs. 

He gives you the side-eye as he sets your offerings down next to his work station.

“What.” 

“I’m not going anywhere until I see you eat something,” you inform him sweetly. 

Miguel groans. “Ay, loca, no eres mi madre. I’ll eat when I’m done running these last projections, okay?�� 

You obstinately sit cross-legged on the console and make a show of getting comfortable for the long haul. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me, Handsome. I meant what I said.” 

He glares.

You glare back. 

Finally he opens the box with painstaking slowness — you see the way his nostrils flare at the scent of hot food, though you know he’d deny it — and he takes a large bite, maintaining eye contact the entire time he chews and swallows, each motion dripping with mockery. His tongue runs across the length of his upper lip far too sensually to be accidental, and you just catch the points of his fangs glinting in the partial darkness. 

“Better?” he drawls, dropping the empanada back in its container and leaning towards you. 

“That was one miserable bite! Doesn’t count.” 

His lip curls in a taunting sneer, and before you know what’s happening one of his powerful arms is on either side of you, his head cocked to one side as he studies you through half-lidded eyes. “Maybe your ears don’t work, Sweetheart. Tú no eres mi madre. ¿Comprendes?” 

You decide to change tactics. “Fine, fine. I’ll let it go. But —“ you gently push a few stray strands of hair away from his forehead, pausing to kiss the stress lines between his eyebrows. “— when was the last time you slept, Mique?” 

He rolls his eyes. “This morning —“ 

“For more than twenty minutes.” 

That makes him think. And by the way his gaze guiltily slides away from yours, he knows you won’t like the answer. “…When was the last time I stayed with you?” 

You sigh and cradle his strong jaw in your hands, thumbs massaging soft circles into his skin to get him to unclench his teeth. “That was four nights ago, Mique.” 

A long exhale escapes him, and he rests his head against your chest. It warms you, that he feels safe enough in the moment to let down his guard and actually show such intimate affection in his workspace. 

Or maybe he’s just that tired.

Either way, you’ll take it. 

You start working his back and shoulder muscles, kneading deeply into the firm knots where you know he holds onto everything — anger, grief, guilt, worry — Miguel does not talk through the mess in his head, preferring instead to let it fuel his savage strength. But when the adrenaline at last wears off, you know the toll it can take on his body. 

A sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and altogether far too suggestive for the time and place, rolls from deep in his chest and his hands tighten on the edge of the console, metal protesting as his talons curl into the hard surface. “Mierda. That’s tight.” 

“Should I stop?” You can’t quite tell if his reactions are spurred more by pain or pleasure.

With Miguel, the two often travel hand-in hand, anyway. 

“No.” To your disbelief, his hands uncurl from where they’re sunk into the console and travel to find your legs, teasing them apart so he can shove himself even closer and you have nowhere else to put them than around his waist, your heels resting just above his ass. “Keep going. Feels good.” 

“Someone’s touchy today, huh? And not in the usual way,” you tease, and then suddenly yelp as his hot, searching mouth lands right in the center of your chest, very noticeable through the thin material of your suit. One of his hands immediately clamps over your mouth to stifle any further sounds. 

“Cállate, Chula,” he warns, finally raising his eyes to yours again. You can see the crimson starting to smolder through in his irises, a sure sign that he’s giving in to having you right here in front of him, that you just might be a better use of his time than his projected calculations of multiverse-wide collapse.

He could use a break.

“You know people can hear you.” 

You push his hand aside. “Right, and that was totally way more audible than whatever sound you just made a minute ago.” 

“You know how I feel about it when you’re a brat to me,” he growls, snagging your lower lip with his thumb. 

“I think you love it,” you whisper, one of your own hands sliding up the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his dark hair. 

“I think that disrespectful mouth needs to be put to better use.” 

He hasn’t ever kissed you in his workspace before, and the forbidden feeling of it as he pushes you down on your back, pinning you to the console and stopping your mouth with his own sends a jolt down the entire length of your spine. Miguel has always been a wild kisser when he’s properly worked up, and you gasp out loud as his sharp teeth nip your lip, immediately followed by his tongue soothing the momentary sting. 

“I told you to be quiet,” he hums as he at last lets your mouths break apart. 

“You didn’t say you were gonna bite me, Cariño!” 

His answering smile is a wider one than you’ve seen in days. “Why would you ever assume no biting with me, Baby?” 

“…Fair point.” 

It takes you a minute to realize his fingertips are teasing the neck of your suit down bit by bit, leaving more and more of your throat exposed. “¿Qué haces, Mique?” 

He shushes you, this kiss a little more romantic and drawn out than the last. “You said you’d sit here ’til I ate something, hmm?” 

“Y-yes….” 

His gaze burns dark red and you suddenly feel the entire weight of him trapping you in place. 

“Well lucky you, pretty girl — you look a lot tastier than a cafeteria empanada right now.” 

He keeps one hand over your mouth as he attacks your neck, your shoulders, your wrists, anywhere that he knows gets a shiver out of you and that you’ve told him he can leave a mark. You try to keep still, you really do, but it's almost impossible with the Spanish endearments he mutters in your ears and the way his lips, teeth, and tongue take you on a seemingly endless rollercoaster of sensation. You hear him hiss once or twice when his onslaught makes your thighs tighten around his hips, but you can’t help it, can’t help trying to pull his body even closer, even though his heartbeat is already thundering against yours and your desperate breaths are rocking his lungs. 

When he finally uncovers your mouth again to let you take in more air, you splay your hands across his wide chest, prodding at the nearly-nonexistent layer of his digital suit. “Off.” 

“Mmm, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he murmurs regretfully, and to your dismay, he suddenly releases you, picking up the coffee you brought him and swearing briefly in Spanish when he realizes it’s not as hot as he wanted anymore. “They’re looking for you.” 

You sit up quickly at the sound of youthful voices echoing faintly in the corridors but getting closer — your spiderlings, no doubt, wondering what on earth took you so long bringing O’Hara his dinner. You’re a mess, you realize, hair disheveled and suit boasting several tears in unfortunate areas where his claws caught, the skin beneath already bruising wherever his mouth was. 

“Catch your breath,” he advises around another bite of empanada, with all the smug tone of a life coach having just witnessed a breakdown (as if he wasn’t the sole cause of that breakdown). “You’ll need it, to explain away all of that.” 

“I hate you, Miguel O’Hara.” You grit your teeth and slide off of his equipment, halfheartedly readjusting yourself and tamping down the rising tide of desire he had the audacity to start. “You and that fancy body glove of yours.” 

“Just because no one can see what your nails have done to my back doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” he offers flippantly, as if that will do anything to fix your current state. “And I know by ‘hate’ you really mean ‘violently need me to make up for stopping short’. I have to come by for some of my missing clothes later anyway.” 

Hope blossoms in your chest. “You’re coming over tonight?” 

A thoughtful sip of coffee. “Unless LYLA kills me first for making her watch us go at it. I’ll pick something up for dinner, too. And who knows….” He steps closer, his free hand wandering from your back all the way down to your thigh and up again. “Maybe, if you tire me out real good, I’ll even get some sleep like you want?” 

Anticipation bubbles through your veins at the thought.

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting.” 

He gives your hip a sharp squeeze. “Atta girl.” 

A burst of chatter below heralds the arrival of your little clan of doting spider-kids, so you gather your wits and swing down to meet them, praying none of them put two and two together and actually get four. 

Miguel glances over the edge of the platform, and barely hides his satisfaction and amusement at the immediate flood of concern and questions that greets you: “What did this to you?! Are you okay?!”. 

He almost considers coming down there and setting the record straight when he hears you say, “It’s okay, Kids, really, don’t worry about it. Just got chomped a few times by a giant angry spider while I was on a mission. But he’s gonna pay for it next time, I swear.” 

No eres mi madre = You're not my mother

¿Comprendes? = Understand?

Mierda = (Expletive)

Cállate, Chula = Be quiet, Cutie

Cariño = Honey, Sweetheart

¿Qué haces? = What are you doing?

[meetinginsamarra]

Fanfics I really liked in June 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

-----

The Disappointed Optimist's Guide to Sharing a Flat with a Madman by Calais_Reno @calaisreno

Despairing over his horrible living situation, John Watson has a small bit of luck when he meets Victor Trevor, who is trying to get out of his lease. Taking over the lease will mean moving in with Sherlock Holmes, but compared with his current horrible flatmates- Seriously, how bad can it be? A couple of brats who mess up the flat, make fun of him, and eat his food. Or a bloke who doesn’t talk and sometimes plays the violin. He can stick it out for two months...

Lots of fun and some hurt/comfort, great reading!

Two Dozen Kilometres North of Berlin by stopthat

“How am I meant to forgive you?” John whispers, the moment calling for quiet, the question heavy and harsh. Sherlock thinks of what they’ve both been through, each suffering in solitude, existing in a divided nightmare, several worlds apart.

“Perhaps you’re not,” he says, closing his eyes against the inescapable dark.

Reunion, angst with happy ending and bedsharing. What more does one need?

A thing with peas by khorazir @khorazir

Sherlock does the laundry. John cooks a thing with peas. They talk. Finally.

Yes, finally! Just a lovely and long overdue and very satisfying conversation.

A Home for Us by sussexbound

He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Post-Reichenbach, hurt/comfort and caring John. No Mary. Lots of feelings!

Masters of Ink by Indybaggins @indybaggins

John has a triple-coiled tattoo machine in his hand and a row of inks at the ready. He has gloves on, a willing client in front of him, and a detailed stencil. He is ready to win this bloody competition. Except he’s competing against Sherlock Holmes...

Awesome first meeting on a reality show, Ink Master AU. There is expert tattooing, slightly less expert flirting, and two men falling hard. But John is married, and they can’t all win.

[lulu24784]

🖸 ──» south park tattoo artist au headcanons :

main 4 + butters headcanons for an upcoming fic

stan 🖸 specializes in: blackwork tattoos 🖸 hates sitting for too long 🖸 frequent smoke breaks 🖸 needs to be listening to his music when tattooing 🖸 refuses to do any color 🖸 definitely acts like a rockstar and thinks he'd kick ass at inkmaster 🖸 not always the nicest when he's frustrated; like if his client isn't sitting still. he will definitely tell them they need to or he'll stop and won't finish the session that day 🖸 rotary machine usually 🖸 his station is sleek; black and grey themed. almost empty looking, he doesn't have much hanging up. feels very medical

portfolio: preferences to skulls, abstract, blackout sleeves

kyle 🖸 specializes in: neo traditional 🖸 asks if you're okay every 5 minutes 🖸 "do you need more pillows? water? sugar??" 🖸 "if you need me to stop for any reason at all, don't hesitate to let me know, okay?" 🖸 other than that, he doesn't talk too much during the session. he's too focused 🖸 very detail oriented 🖸 wireless rotary machine all the way 🖸 stencils you like 2-3 times; "hmm i dunno the placement is weird?" "dude i said i liked it, it's fine. am i paying your hourly for this??" 🖸 walks you through literally every step of the tattoo process. goes to wipe with soap: "okay, so this is gonna be cold okay?" 🖸 he just wants you to be happy in the end 🖸 his station is a bit cluttered, but it's organized clutter. artwork hung up in matching regal frames and plants on his storage shelves and in hanging baskets.

portfolio: preferences to lady faces, botanicals, animals

kenny 🖸 specializes in: neo traditional + but is an all-rounder can literally do anything 🖸 studio owner 🖸 always smokes weed before a session 🖸 pretty chill; he's a laid back boss. as long as you're clean and professional he doesn't care what you do 🖸 likes to take his time and do good work, he did work hard for this career after all 🖸 loves getting to do stupid tattoo ideas but is usually stuck doing bigger piece work; he gives the fun stuff to his apprentice 🖸 CHATTERBOX. literally does not shut up during the session, always cracking jokes 🖸 definitely the life of the studio; makes everyone feel comfortable and welcome 🖸 rotary or coil depending on what he's doing 🖸 generally keeps the main studio area organized; has plants that he gets kyle to take care of. his own station though... oml. it's chaos. random mismatching frames with prints of dicks and memes all over the walls. his shelves probably have random knick-knacks he thrifted, like... idk a furby, some random porcelain horse?? just the most weirdest shit. his ink wall is very organized though somehow..

portfolio: preferences to peonies, irezumi style, ignorant style

eric 🖸 specializes in piercings 🖸 definitely gets a kick out of hurting people 🖸 has a big ego because of what he does 🖸 surprisingly very professional when it comes down to it 🖸 makes his clients comfortable and sometimes jokes around with them 🖸 gets nervous before every appointment; always a little afraid he's gonna fuck up 🖸 always keeps the a/c cranked so his clients are less likely to pass out but it makes everyone miserable with how cold it always is in the studio 🖸 thinks he's hot shit because he's the best piercer in town; it definitely fuels his already massive ego 🖸 definitely the type to bitch about problem clients 🖸 has superhero prints hung up in his station and funko pops on his storage shelves; but his station is fucking spotless otherwise.

portfolio: preference to cartilage, septums, nostrils

butters 🖸 specializes in: kawaii style, anime, cartoons 🖸 kenny's apprentice 🖸 the most nervous wreck of a tattoo artist, cries after almost every tattoo 🖸 runs the social media for everyone and manages the front desk 🖸 basically the "shop bitch" that has to do apprentice duties like cleaning and running errands; kenny's generally pretty easy on him though 🖸 gets all the tattoo's nobody else wants to do, but it pushes him to learn 🖸 slowly making a name for himself though as the only tattoo artist in SP that does anime tats 🖸 gets all the hello kitty girls as clients 🖸 the artist you want to go to if you need a mini therapy session. will tell you to dump your partner, move out of the city, and go travel with the $2 you have left in your bank account after the tattoo lmao 🖸 rotary only. Kenny wanted to teach him how to use a coil but figured with the times he might as well just show him the basics 🖸 pink station! stickers everywhere! he's got a heart ring light to take pictures for his portfolio. his shelves are full of plushies that clients have bought him and anime figures. also has a hello kitty water cooler that he uses for his distilled

portfolio: preference to color, sanrio, anything adorable!

[cicadaknight]

wishlist for horizon 3:

more interactivity with the focus ui (solving holo puzzles, ui menus, holo calls with companions, listening to music, viewing data points and found content through the focus etc.)

aloy has outgrown her lone wolf tendencies, i wanna see her asking for help and company in her travels. super unlikely, but i would kill to have a party option where you can explore and fight with the squad.

customizing overriden mounts. (paint, armor, decor, names)

some element of choice with upgrading gear and weapons. rather than just having it be a linear set of upgrades, being able to choose between several unique mechanics or benefits. (i know the coils and skill tree basically function like this, so it would probably be more about functionality)

improving the ui for potions/traps/utilities. with everything they added in hfw and the dlc, there's no way in hell you can easily tap through 40+ utilities to find the right one in the heat of battle. it's so clunky compared to the rest of the system

removing tattoos from armor. like come on now, no way aloy's getting tattoos without it being a major choice. it's tacky and weird to use culturally significant tattoos as changeable decoration.

a main trans character who's entire dialogue and story isn't "everyone told me i was weird for wearing different armor or wanting to fight. so i became a cop." cannot get over how the tenakth, quen, and banuk have no real gender roles/limitations in their cultures, and yet...

insectoid machines! i wanna fly on a giant bee! throw hands with a metal praying mantis!

finally finding out who invaded the embrace, what happened to rost on his murderous hunt

[kinodraws]

hello! I was wondering if you had any tattoo machine recs for a total beginner?

LOL i literally made a thread about this on twitter the other day!

Here's a bunch of stuff for someone who's learning to tattoo.

DISCLAIMER

DO NOT TATTOO OTHER PEOPLE FOR MONEY IF YOU ARE NOT WORKING IN A SHOP

DO NOT TATTOO OTHER PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR HOME OR ANY PLACE THAT IS NOT A SHOP

TATTOO FRUIT, PIG SKIN OR SILICONE FAKE SKIN

TATTOO YOURSELF IF YOURE BRAVE AND CAN ACCEPT THE RISKS INVOLVED

That being said:

MACHINE PICKS: - high end: bishop power wand packer ($1200 for full set, $649 on sale at kingpintattoosupply.com rn for the machine itself which would require purchasing a separate battery) - midrange: FK Irons spektra xion ($574 on painful pleasures, requires power supply or battery) - beginner: MAST archer ($179 on Amazon) Be aware that with this machine, the battery is rechargable but NOT replaceable, so if the battery dies, the machine dies. IMO not a big deal at $179 tho. You can also get coil machines from just about anywhere but they're less foolproof and you need to know how to tune and maintain them, and they aren't cordless so there's much more risk of dragging the clip cord through contaminated material which is gross and dangerous

POWER SUPPLIES: - Critical is kind of my go-to for everything. If you buy an RCA compatible machine, you would need a critical RCA Battery which comes in two configurations, the regular one gives you about 10 hours of running tattoo time and the shorty gives you 5.

BLACK/WHITE INK PICKS: - Allegory BLAK - Dynamic black - Empire white COLOR INK PICKS: - Electrum (flows nicely, doesn't crust over if left exposed to air in the ink cap for a long time) - SOLID Ink - (flows nicely, highly pigmented, haven't used this much) - Eternal ink (good all rounder but most of their opaque highly pigmented colors tend to go thick over time and do not flow easily)

CARTRIDGE PICKS: - High end/best for very experienced artists - Black Claw - Midrange: Kwadron, Electrum - Budget: MAST

Other things you need to tattoo safely: - Tattooing/medical tray - Cling wrap - pen covers/clip cord covers - masking tape - ink caps - stencil printer - stencil paper - shaving razors - green soap - wash bottles - madacide/cavicide/opticide (NOT OPTIONAL) - Paper towels - vaseline - single use individually wrapped tongue depressors - Fake skin (get it at pound of flesh or amazon) - Scissors - Stencil transfer solution (I prefer Dynamic's stencil magic) - Wash bottle bags - Rubbing alcohol - Dental bibs - Laser/Inkjet printer - GLOVES

ALSO GET YOUR DANG BLOODBORNE PATHOGENS CERTIFICATE! IT's $30 on the red cross website and cheaper on other sites!

you also need like at least some cursory drawing skill and the knowledge of how deep to go in skin to prevent blowouts and faint lines! There are lots of folks on youtube who can give you the rudimentary knowledge you need to get started, but the best way to get into tattooing professionally (if that's what your after) is to build up a portfolio of flash pieces that you feel best express your style, and to start getting tattooed at local shops by artists you like & respect.

Anyway! Hope this helps!

[wordsinhaled]

so i was thinking more about the crowley/aziraphale pacific rim AU and i couldn't figure a way to stick them right in the middle of the action but i think that's okay because one of the best things about crowley and aziraphale is their "just some person"-ness anyway

i ended up with "if they just had a meetcute in the pacific rim universe what would that be like?" which. is not quite what i was imagining initially. but nevertheless? now this exists in my brain so y'all can be privy to this exceedingly handwavey scifi fluff

like, i don’t think aziraphale would ever step foot in a jaeger (can you imagine? i can't). but i think he could, in this AU, still own a bookshop, and have somewhat of a committed interest in cryptozoology. such that a.z. fell & co becomes sort of regionally renowned for its extensive cryptozoology section even before the kaiju wars. at first it's like a cult landmark but once the attacks begin it becomes something of a hotspot for information (much to aziraphale's dismay, because he still hates selling books)

crowley... i’m thinking. maybe he starts out in school studying astronomy. he's stoked about earthlike exoplanets. he gets to studying the conditions that permit life on earth, which leads him down the separate avenue of horticulture. he gets a rad little greenhouse going; propagating plants and all that.

(i don't know why plant nerd!crowley is just an natural arrow right to kaiju nerd!crowley to me but… something about it just makes sense in my brain. i mean, you know if humanity ever went off into space, crowley'd be the one responsible for preserving the seed library. but i digress.) the kaiju wars start, and crowley has a lightbulb moment, like, ohhh. they’re… fascinating? massive bloody efficient death machines, sure, but they’re cool, in the same way that carnivorous pitcher plants are cool. he's like, what questions can i ask about them??? answer: ask all the questions. and this leads him to aziraphale’s bookshop, of course

aziraphale’s got a sign up at this point, pointing out the cryptozoology section. he has a ton of people coming in asking about the topic, so he figured he’d make it easier for them to find, and subsequently be bothered less.

but no one else is as much of a regular. aziraphale learns, after the first few times he comes in, that his name is crowley—anthony crowley. it's because he asks if aziraphale can order increasingly specific books in, and he writes his name and phone number on a catalogue card so that he can call him when the books come in (...and if it's a ploy to give aziraphale his info… who's going to know?). aziraphale, for his part, wonders why crowley doesn't just use his university library, because anthony crowley is a graduate student. he's tall and rakish and bespectacled, with fiery hair and a serpent tattoo coiled around his wrist (aziraphale has no idea how far it goes after it disappears up his jacket sleeve, but the head of the serpent peeks out of his shirt collar sometimes, so aziraphale assumes it goes across his shoulder). he saunters about like he hasn't got a solid bone in his body. he has, apparently, a near-encyclopedic knowledge of the cosmos (which aziraphale is impressed by though he tries to be prim and reserved about it). occasionally, aziraphale hears crowley humming "flash" or "seven seas of rhye" from across the shop, and smiles to himself.

aziraphale doesn't know if crowley falls outside of his usual type, or if he's simply never come across anyone quite like him before, but he's finding himself becoming oddly attached. he tells his friend muriel about it over tea. "aziraphale," they tell him, "i think from what i've heard you're experiencing what they call a crush." (air quotes included.) "don't be ridiculous," aziraphale says. "i don't get crushes." (it's true, he's never had what one might traditionally call a crush. but so what? maybe he has one now)

crowley camps out in the stacks and writes notebooks full of spidery notes. once, he stays until past closing time, accidentally, and the next day he brings aziraphale a cup of english breakfast from the coffeeshop nearby, and a little pot of african violets as an apology. with a slightly sheepish grin, he says he grew the flowers himself. there's a little care card stuck into the soil, with more of his handwriting on it.

the violets bloom beautifully on the windowsill next to aziraphale's desk.

fast forward some indeterminate amount of time and now they actually spend time together.

maybe a kaiju came up the thames (i mean... listen. it could happen! if only just because it would be logistically fucking unhinged and the imagery of a kaiju rearing up out of the river while people are sitting on the london eye in the background is kind of great.) anyway, aziraphale had to impromptu barricade his bookshop and crowley was there too so they’re just. shut up in there with a handful of other customers until it’s safe to come out again. someone’s watching the live news coverage on their phone. crowley and aziraphale are sitting on the floor together between bookcases. a bit apart from everyone else, and passing crowley’s little flask of whisky back and forth. for fortitude, or whatever (fortitude against the kaiju threat, and not because they’re sitting next to someone they’re pining for, of course)

“y’ever thought about joining up?” crowley asks him eventually. aziraphale gives him a blank look. “you know.” there’s a metallic crash outside as if to prove crowley’s point. “the defense corps.”

“oh, heavens no. me, in a jaeger?”

“yeah—i suppose—nah, couldn’t see you doing it, now i think of it.”

“most certainly not.” the mouth of the flask is warm from crowley’s lips or maybe aziraphale’s imagining it. in any case he passes it back quickly. “you?”

“well… i’ve thought of it, sure. ‘course, it’d be k-science for me.”

“naturally.”

“oi! i could pilot a jaeger. if i wanted.” a pause. “what!”

“it’s only… well, it’d be a bit too slinky, wouldn’t it, with you piloting.”

“slinky!” mock indignation, giving way to curiosity, and circling back around to delight. “mister fell! have you been looking at my h—”

aziraphale steamrolls over the end of that sentence loudly. “it takes two, anyway, darling, as you well know. who would be your co-pilot?”

he resolutely doesn't contemplate crowley drifting with someone who isn't him. in this hypothetical scenario, which is never going to actually happen—

“you. obviously.”

(was it obvious?)

“but i would never—”

“yes, yeah, sure, mm-hmm. we’ve established that, aziraphale. i just figured we'd probably be... y'know. right?" they stare at each other for a moment before crowley barrels on. "anyway. just being silly, me. doesn't matter."

and why does crowley sound so tetchy and maudlin all of a sudden?

(narrator voice: crowley sounded tetchy because he had just been about to confess his feelings to aziraphale in the most roundabout way possible.)

anyway

maybe after this event crowley doesn't show his face in the bookshop again. aziraphale tries calling his number but his line's been disconnected. tries his level best not to pine for him and the next he hears of him is like, five years later when he's reading the newspaper one morning and sees an article on the oceanic monitoring operations going on in the pitcairn islands, and there's a photo of crowley grinning, dressed in a black turtleneck with the k-science logo on the chest, and he's quoted in the article, saying something about how he'd never have joined k-science if it hadn't been for a conversation he'd had with someone very important to him in a bookshop thousands of miles away what feels like a lifetime ago...

so aziraphale (madlad that he is, in any universe) is all, THIS. IS A SIGN and books himself a flight that very day

okay, and imagine their faces when aziraphale shows up on premises and crowley is all WHAT'RE YOU DOING HERE (basically—picture his disbelieving grin, the one he wears every time aziraphale surprises him) and aziraphale is all "well, i saw you in the morning paper, didn't i?" and he's, staring at crowley, who's got his sleeves rolled up and gloves on and he's up to his forearms in radioactive-looking bioluminescent goo, and he's all "hang on, let me get these gloves off, this stuff'll eat straight through your clothes and i remember how much you love that waistcoat—" "you remember?" "...'course i remember."

*insert soppy looks here*

anyway, then they go on a dinner date, sushi and chilled sake, and crowley rambles on at aziraphale about kaiju gut microbiomes and how they harness radioactive phytoplankton to power their digestive system through nuclear fission (or whatever), and aziraphale tries very hard to focus more on his food than on crowley's wildly gesticulating hands

i could go on but essentially it's just... pining and fluff. fluff and pining. and enormous sea monsters from another dimension of course

[harellan]

🍓🍓 for viggo and jordan c:

Viggo: 🍓 He taught himself how to play guitar by watching live performances of his favorite hardcore & metal bands and copying what they do. In a post-game universe where he survives the relic, he leaves Night City and starts a band that finds a lot of success in the hardcore/metalcore scene of 2078. (I imagine whatever music he makes sounds reminiscent of Every Time I Die/Better Lovers)

🍓 He is terrified of any and all insects/spiders; the more legs it has the more he hates it. Johnny likes to tease him about this every time it comes up. "I've seen you take on the baddest motherfuckers in this city without a second thought, but one fuckin' spider has you running away like a little bitch?"

Jordan: 🍓 They've been pursuing a tattoo apprenticeship for a while with no luck. They bought a janky ass coil machine online in the mean time and gives their friends free tattoos whenever they want. They're pretty good now, but the first few they did were really shitty. (Viggo has one of these. It's a super wiggly dragon)

🍓 Thinks they would survive in any horror movie but is actually so afraid of getting hurt that they would hide in a closet crying and get killed first

[a-luran]

What kinds of tattoos are we talking here?

I have a few headcanons depending on the AU! so I'll just answer as though for a general canon that I like to use most often.

First I'd establish that because nations can scar and heal, their tattoos can also age so some of Arhtur's very oldest tattoos are illegible shadows, so faint you'd almost think they were not there. They bleed into his newer linework and more than once some drunk bloke at a bar trying to pick him up has gone on about blowout and old machines, coil vs rotary, all the while Arthur smiles, indulging him with eyes that had seen dawns over hills that have been flattened by time. I think he would have gotten work done over the shadows of some of his dearest tattoos, trying to preserve them and that he has managed to do so well enough. His skin is a treasure; an archaeological map of every life he has lived.

Every nautical tattoo on his skin he earned the old fashioned way, crossing the Equator and marking thousands upon thousands of miles in swooping sparrows. He'll have collected plenty of tattoos abroad as well over the centuries, and he will be one of the first people most pleased about the resurgence of traditional tattooing techniques across the world. One of his shoulders down to his bicep and one of his thighs are done inn traditional Tebori and that they are some of his favourite pieces. His back is a world map of overlapping traditions. He has sensitive hips and would squirm to have a lover tracing the ink that runs close to his groin. I think he would have let Alasdair do the tattoos on the sensitive skin of his wrists and let them kiss them when they healed.

I also like to think that looking at him in a three piece suit you would not think there is a single drop of ink on him. The moment his sleeves ride up though...

[myreputatioooon]

I can't be bothered to make an actual fic series so take this fake one instead. BTW if you wanna use this yourself, your more than welcome to.

Please just credit me as the one to come with this idea even through you don't have to

=================

[ Fuck You : The Series ]

(§) The Shards have seen many-a-worlds over their quest for eternity, some holding very, very interesting qualities in their species, and if warped they could prove excellent components to creating Data.

OR: I use the Entities being dicks as an excuse to make em shove several fanfic tropes into the WormVerse. Despair ensues.

A/N: Expect each installment to be non-chronological, non-linear, canon-compliant(?), and contradicting snippets told in episodic format since I can't be bothered to wrap my head around just how much any of these additions to the cape scene would in turn change canon.

Fuck You ★ OmegaVerse AU

In one version of the multiverse, keeping a secret identity is pretty easy. Just wear a mask, cover up features unique to you in particular unless your power says fuck you to that and bam! You a whole new person to everybody else!

Here? Pretty much the same if you ignore the secondary sexes. Alpha, Omega, Beta, and the many variants inbetween. And also the ruts and heats. And the pheromones *shivers*

Scion save the medical industry— OH WAIT.

End A/N: Fun fact about my parahuman omegaverse if you haven't noticed yet, consistency is dead!

One omega is a murder machine towards parahumans and normies who aren't pack and the other has a glorified sweat.

As similar as two parahuman's secondary sexes may be, their own personal biology is tailor made to be unique to them alone and often to make them suffer even further (if i care to do that that is, teehee!)

Fuck You ★ Soulmate AU

The Shards of this realm have managed to create an ever bigger mess than those who brought the Omegaverse to humanity.

How? Though soulmates. I'm talking the kinds with timers counting down to the meeting, the ones that share each other's pain, the ones where the first has a tattoo of the second's first words to them who in turn hears any music the first listens too, the three plus soulmates, the platonic, the familial, the enemies, everything you have already and never seen before! Throw it all into a blender! ALL OF IT! WITNESS AS THE CAPE SCENE GETS FUCKED OVER AGAIN AND AGAIN BY THE ENTITIES MATCHMAKING!!!!!!!

Also um uhhh . . . Civilians get caught up in the soulmates bullshit too, but in every pair or more starts with at least one member is a cape lmao. That or a member is 100% without fail going to become a parahumans.

End A/N: yeah soulmates are Legos here. Typically it's two or more bound to one another by one or more means but it can be anything

One parahuman and their biological family tied with fifteen soulbinds each unique to each person. A whole parahuman gang who's marks only come complete after joining as one

Soul enemies who become stronger together and use that strength to do each other in

Biotinker creations with a Lifespan tied to a civilian who in turn cannot be more than 5 feet away from another parahuman tasked with killing the biotinker creations in question

There's so much more ideas I could give but I can't come up with them all right now and maybe I'll come up with some cruel, cruel ideas to use or you will come up with something I'll use

The omegaverse and adjacent stuff will also still be a thing here but not for every parahuman just some of them (unlucky lmao)

Since I'm feeling extra kind, the next chapter will feature Coil & Piggot being in the know about being one another's soulmates ;) Love ya!

[swifty-fox]

so im. currently writing a gale / john au of my own, and john is a tattoo artist in it. and as per an ask earlier you said you hated when tattoo fics were under reasearched-- so what things in particular bother you??

oh man okay disclainer: i am NOT a tattoo artist i just have a hyperfixation and also am trying to become one. also dated one (don't do that)

my biggest pet6 peeve is i see a lof of writers calling it a tattoo "gun" and they would never do that, that's what people who don't tattoo call it. The artist is always gunna refer to it as a tattoo 'machine'

tattoo machines are originally made out of doorbell motors fun fact. this here is your very traditional coil tattoo machine. A lot of artists use or have switched to the wireless Pen types but as an aesthete I love the classics.

Improper aftercare/ unrealistic post tattoo life.

Getting tattooed hurts. it puts your body through it you're going to be walking around with an open wound for a few days. No sex no touching it etc. but tattoo aftercare CAN be very sexy and intimate. partner washing the area nice and gently and then patting it dry and applying lotion.

I just personally love the methodology of tats. I LIKE to see the author has a knowledge of what they're writing about so I also look for the details and when I don't see it part of me is always oh :/ okay

Snippets from my oc story:

“Ever had a tattoo before?” He asks from where he was bent over a small hospital sink, headphones fully off his ears now as he fills a tiny cup with water and places it on a wheeling medical tray that was already covered with a box of surgical gloves, several more small cups, two packaged needles and a deconstructed tattoo machine. The rubber bands were the same bright yellow as Arnie’s headphones. His hands were bony and flushed at the knuckles; darkly tattooed with a mix of designs. Dom could make out a skull on one finger from where he was, as well as a cross, a dagger, and an assortment of meaningless designs. They threaded between a mix of heavy rings on the man's fingers, weaving between them seamlessly in a way that felt both entirely natural and deeply calculated. Dom found himself staring. 

“Yeah,” he answers, a beat too slow. “I wanted to get a cover-up done, actually.” 

Clink, clink, clink. 

The sound of Arnie removing his rings one by one, dropping them onto an empty ashtray echoed loudly around the room. His nails were painted with black chipped nail polish. He shoots Dom another friendly smile

-

“Just going to press really gently here,” Arnie murmurs, his now gloved hands applying pressure over the edges of the stencil to make sure the transfer was good. Dom is glad for the warning as his stomach flips uncomfortably. He exhales slowly. 

The next few minutes pass quickly as Dom tries to sit still so as not to smudge the still drying stencil. Arnie bustles about, putting on a clean pair of gloves, putting together his machine and testing it quickly before wheeling the tray of ink over. More cold goop is applied to Dom’s skin and he hisses again.

“Don’t remember this part last time.” He mutters, resisting the urge to cover the cold spot. 

“Yeah well, I can’t imagine your basement tattoo was done with much hygiene in mind.” Arnie says breezily, bracing a hand on Dom’s shoulder and leaning over him, “Ready?” 

Dom swallows against a dry throat. “Bring it.” 

I'm honestly being a lil lax with hygiene protocol here but.... its fine LOL. But little tidbits of the process of setting up and doing a tattoo all help it feel real!

[rghtstuff]

Single coil tattoo machine. RightStuff - The ONE