#he has a tattoo of an anchor that says ‘I refuse to sink’.

[candycryptids]

I’m sad as hell but I made one of my old DnD OC’s in final fantasy properly because he’s been in 1 (one) screenshot before I really dug my teeth into Customizing and Modding my blorbeans to look like my blorbeans which is great, cos he’s my baby boy baby… he does the gardening…. He’s retired…. He has anxieties….

Anyways here’s Sebastian (Sasha) Orlev he’s from a Curse of Strahd campaign and became my baby boy baby (and also a wereraven, but don’t worry about that, also disregard the carbuncle n minion I’m hanging onto my happiness by my fingernails rn and that’s an emotional support carb in a onesie okay,)

He’s also Keathan’s retainer and Ishi’s [unofficial Gardener].

[mercurial-madhouse]

Anonymous asked: I wish you would write... A Disney princess!AU (like cinderella or sleeping beauty or snow white) where both of them are princes just that they follow the same general plotline (for example H could be prince charming and L could be the one that got put to sleep or hidden somehow/some reason).

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You don’t have to say you love me (Just let me adore you)

Fiery sunlight flashes through the pendant soaring through the air, its broken chain trailing behind like snapped heartstrings.

Wrenched out of a waking dream, confusion and shock overwhelm Harry as he lurches on the shifting deck. Reeling yet frozen, he scans the insanity before him.

In his enchanted absence, chaos has usurped his throne. Niall, Liam, and Zayn are all racing about, attempting to contain the mayhem. And he’s… Why is he in his purple ceremonial robes? Why is he at sea? And the strange man a few metres away, who has just lost the pendant—what’s his name?—Ben. Why the bloody hell is Ben covered in sea creatures? Only his outstretched hand is visible, clawing for one end of the broken chain that’s sailing just out of reach.

The horrifying truth catapults into Harry’s chest. Caught within the magic bound into that necklace, he’d almost married this stranger. But this isn’t the man he loves.

Fear drives like a weighted anchor into his chest. Someone or something slams into him from behind.

Stumbling forward, Harry searches the quarterdeck desperately for the one person missing, the last person he remembers. Relief battles surprise and both cascade over Harry, unlocking his lungs beneath the flood-tide of emotion when Harry finds him.

Louis’s bracing barefoot against the opposite rail near Harry’s quarters, the captain’s cabin. The loose white shirt Harry first gave him, the one he’d flung off his own back when he’d found Louis stranded naked on the rocky shore three days ago, hangs haphazardly from one pale shoulder. The silent, shipwrecked sailor had struggled with the buttons then as though he’d never seen them before. Even now the shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, one side tucked into his trousers as though Louis had thrown it on in a frantic rush to get here.

Ocean blues, wide like the ebbing tide, lock onto Harry’s. Harry launches through the melee of people and ocean life to reach Louis. Harry’s always hated low tide. Always felt like he was helplessly watching the shoreline as the ocean receded ever further away from him.

The circular pendant hits the deck and cracks. A golden flash bursts from the object, halting the tumult as it blinds everyone.

Harry’s heart surges into his windpipe as the beam zings across the deck, slams into Louis’s throat, and disappears.

Shock etches over Louis’s face. He pushes three fingers against his neck then swallows.

He opens his mouth… and speaks.

Harry’s world upends, throwing him back beneath the swirling waters of his own shipwreck eight days earlier. Up and down collide with past and present as the voice he’s dreamed of since that day comes to life and enchants him all over again with a single word.

“Hazza.”

**

Harry grins at the obvious curiousity scrunching Louis’s features. Whether he never could talk or the shipwreck that brought him to Harry’s shores left him too afraid to speak, Harry doesn’t know. But his beautiful features are so wonderfully expressive it’s as though Harry’s fluent in a language he didn’t realize he knew.

“What. Haz?”

Louis nods, glancing at the closed door they’d just come through after Harry’s mum, the queen, had shooed them out of her private chambers with a wave and that childhood name for Harry on her lips.

“It’s short for Hazza.” Why is he telling Louis? His mum never calls him Haz unless they’re alone, and now he’s adding to the slip-up?

Louis’s eyes light up with such pure delight that Harry’s heart skips a beat and promptly rolls over in his chest like it’s prepared to give up the ghost to the ocean depths. He tucks a wayward strand of hair out of Louis’s eyes. Countless brushings and his hair is as wild as it’d been when Harry found him yesterday. Untameable as the ocean that’d brought him here.

Mouth suddenly dry despite emotionally drowning, Harry’s tongue flicks out to wet his lip. He follows his heart over the ocean horizon that’s reflecting in those blue eyes. “You can call me that, if you want. Hazza.”

He’s officially lost his mind. Only his mum has the right to either name. But the soft, private smile Louis bestows upon him is so warm that Harry feels like he’s been crowned the prince all over again. All the adoration of the entire kingdom pales compared to the affection emanating from Louis now.

Louis’s mouth forms silently over the word, like he’s testing the feel of the name on his lips the same way he’s once again rubbing the ruffled silk cuff of the pale blue shirt he’s wearing between his fingertips. A flash of sadness momentarily dims Louis’ smile, but then it returns larger than before, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as though Louis still loves what neither of them can hear.

Harry would give up his claim to the throne for that smile.

**

“It’s you.”

The choked words burble up from his throat like bubbles through swirling seas. Two more steps and Louis’s in his arms. Holding Louis feels like the wild exhilaration of setting sail. Louis smells like saltwater air, a zesty ocean zephyr billowing the sails and guiding Harry ever onwards.

Unable to process, Harry tries to clutch Louis close and look into his face at the same time. His forehead bumps into Louis’s temple; his palm curves over Louis’s jaw.

“How is this-... I don’t-...”

Louis’s fingers fist in the purple velvet of Harry’s coat. “I’ll explain everything, Hazza, I s-”

Even though ragged with desperation, the vibrant sound of his voice shocks through Harry. Fantasy and reality collide and fragment into crystal clarity.

The man of his dreams is standing before him. Wide awake this time with no water filling his lungs, Harry refuses to lose Louis again.

He’d almost kissed Louis in the grotto before their boat upended. Now he ducks in to smash his lips into Louis’s before anything else can break them apart.

The port side of the ship runs aground over a submerged sandbar.  A barrel careening across the deck slams into Harry in the massive shockwave surging over L'Esprit as she keels to starboard, wrenching Louis from his grasp.

“Sire!” His first mate Liam catches Harry around the waist, hauling him against the mainmast he’s got hold of. But Louis stumbles, unable to find his balance.

“No!” Harry’s hand catches empty air as Louis hits the deck, sliding with everything not held down until he slams into the starboard rail.

The ship shudders and stills, canted slightly.

Gripping the rail, Louis pushes back to his feet. Harry pushes away from Liam. The sun sinks over the horizon. A blinding green flash shoots up from the spot where she fell into the sea.

“Mary mother,” Niall, Harry’s helmsman, breathes nearby, quickly crossing himself.

Every sailor knows the superstition. The green flash. The impossible will be made possible.

Harry staggers, halting halfway to him when Louis freezes. The blood drains from Louis’s face right before he disappears from view, engulfed in the same golden magic that’d left the necklace and returned his voice.

The golden hurricane vanishes.

Pure disbelief consumes Harry.

Louis’ shirt and tattoos are gone, replaced with pale skin broken only with tiny translucent scales where his tattoos used to be. They flash golden in the last rays of light, trailing down to a magnificent fishtail. Iridescent blue, with each tiny movement the colour shifts, as though the ocean and all her colours are captured within. Speckled throughout are scales of coral red, deep and luscious.

Harry blinks. The illusion remains. Fin smacking against the wood, Louis struggles upright, bracing on his palms.

Harry’s dimly aware of those eyes locking back onto him.

Louis slowly shakes his head, the plea so obvious on his face. “Hazza, I can expl-”

A slow chuckle from the forecastle breaks through the haze of disbelief clouding Harry’s senses.

Ben rises to his feet, casually brushing off guppies and starfish. The smirk on his face transforms his features and a wave of disgust rolls over Harry.

“Even the ocean knows you don’t belong together.”

He’s speaking to Louis.

Louis shakes his head again, tail flopping once more as he tries to straighten his torso best he can. His scales are already wrinkling, drying out in the warm evening air. “You enchanted him with me voice! How was I-”

Ben cuts Louis off by holding up a hand, three fingers raised. “Three days. That was the contract. You had three days to find your true love’s kiss, no matter what.”

Harry can’t keep up. That word, love, shocks him into speaking, but only a noise comes out before Louis’s growling at Ben in an echo of that burst of impetuous fire Harry’s seen glimpses of these past few days.

“I love him.” The melody of Louis’s voice changes. “Please, Simon, just give me one more minute.”

But Ben only laughs again, that same light chuckle. It grows, steadily deepening into a throaty cackle. A cloud of black envelops him until that laughter emanates from the void, punching through Harry and the hearts of every sailor aboard.

The monstrosity left in the wake of that cloud and laughter has several sailors crying out in fear, backing away. The human half is older, greying hair and cutting eyes. Instead of a tail, the creature ends in thick tentacles.

Simon leers at Louis. “Your voice belongs to me now.”

He lunges. Louis throws himself back against the rail. His eyes find Harry. Time frees Harry’s legs. He dives forward.

Simon’s arm catches Louis around the chest. His tentacles lock around that beautiful tail. Louis’s fingers claw into the wood, but the suckers latching into his scales immobilize him.

They vanish overboard.

“No!” Harry slams against the railing in time to catch a final glimpse of iridescent scales choked by black tentacles disappearing beneath the white-capped waves. He tears the buttons of his waistcoat ripping the ornate fabric off. He grabs the railing to dive overboard.

A hand grabs his arm, wrenching him back.

“Majesty, are you mad?!” Niall stares at him in horror. “You’re human, Sire!”

A burst of agony-fueled anger surges through Harry. “I don’t care,” he roars, wrenching his arm free. “I love him.”

It doesn’t matter that he’s in love with a fish.

Niall grabs him again. “I know.” Voice softer, but no less intense, he shakes his head. “But the ocean floor is only a grave for the likes of us. You’ll be dead before you can get close.”

The pity in Niall’s eyes hurts Harry more than his next words.

“He’s lost, Harry.”

Refusing to believe that, Harry shakes his head, jerking away from the words. Something flashes on the deck.

The compass that’d been around Ben’s, no, that monster’s neck. Harry’s heart lurches into his throat when he recognizes it.

It’s his compass. Understanding that his first love would always be the sea, his mother had gifted it to him when he’d turned sixteen two years ago, so he’d always find his way home no matter how far over the horizon he sailed. He’d been clutching it when he’d gone overboard in the storm, and was so certain he’d lost it in the shipwreck.

Harry snatches it from the deck. The broken chain falls away but Harry can only stare as the familiar weight in his palm settles in a pained squeeze around his heart with a single flash of a memory.

**

Floating. Numb. Idle waves weaving over his legs. A comforting pressure over his torso.

Gentle fingers brush a wet lock of hair from his face. The stranded curl slides over his cheek. His fingers curl around his compass.

Distant voices. “Majesty! Prince Harry!”

The weight shifts, startled. Lips brush a soft kiss over his brow.

“Live,” that bright voice that’d just been singing, beckoning Harry towards the surface of his consciousness, whispers, quiet yet commanding.

“Your Majesty! Prince Harry!”

A hand smooths down his arm and slides over his palm. The weight of his compass vanishes with the fingers. Someone splashes away through the shallows.

Blinding sunlight pierces his eyes as he pushes them open. He’s alone on the shore. Niall and Liam are racing across the surf towards him.

**

“Your majesty!” Liam’s shout jars Harry from the memory. The ocean had claimed him, and the ocean had saved him. It’s not Louis’s eyes that were familiar. After all these years, Harry’s now certain the ocean has been familiar because it swirls in captured sunswirls in those eyes he’d finally found three days ago.

And like the ebbing tide slipping through his fingers, that freedom has once again sunk beyond his reach.

“Majesty?” Liam’s fingertips brush his elbow to get his attention. Sorrow washes his voice soft. “Your orders?”

Harry can’t look away from his compass.

The glass is cracked, as broken as the mechanism within. The arrow no longer points north, but west, towards the horizon. Angry tears blur his vision as frustration wells in the pit of his stomach. He’s spent years seeking the heart of the ocean, only to find it, only to lose him. Louis saved him twice and now Harry can’t help him.

Harry can’t follow.

Harry clutches the compass until his knuckles are white, riding the roiling wave of frustration desperately. A warmth bursts from the compass and flushes his palm. Startled, Harry jumps. Like sunlight shifting over the surface, the compass flashes with a remnant of that golden magic of Louis’s voice that’d burst from it earlier.

Hope flutters like twin swallows taking flight in his chest. Harry turns back towards the rail where the arrow is pointing.

The broken arrow moves with him, aiming ever onward in the direction Simon and Louis had vanished. Harry’s facing due west but the arrow now points north before him.

“Sire?” Niall’s eyes are wide. He crosses himself again, staring at the compass in Harry’s hand.

A grim determination sweeps over Harry. “Get us afloat, Liam.”

His first mate nods. As Liam turns, barking out orders to the rest of the crew, Harry pockets his compass and throws off the lavender waistcoat that matches the coat he’d already discarded.

Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white shirt, he rolls his sleeves up and turns to Niall.

“To the helm, Niall. I’ve got a prince to find.”

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(Of the three Disney-inspired ideas that came to me, I attempted with this one to stick as close to a direct retelling with Louis as the princess as the prompt requested. I’d also always wondered how Prince Eric knew where to find Ariel so he could help her defeat Ursula in the Disney version of Little Mermaid. I tried to answer that here. Hope you enjoy, Anony! I know it took a while. Moving homes can make writing time hard to find! And a huge thank you to you, Lily, for all your help, love!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Send me an ask (anon or no) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

OT5 Superpowers 

Invisible Louis

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

OT4 Spy AU

Disney-Inspired 1: Liam/Harry/Louis as Niall’s three fairy godmother roommates.

[5-seconds-of-bucky]

Undertow (IV)

CH IV: Market Moments

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

Listen to the audio version here!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 

Shawn felt slight guilt for letting the fib glide so smoothly off of his tongue. He and every other native to the town knew the market stands would have a slim chance of selling cheeseballs. Shawn knew not only because he works there, but also because he found the clear tub of the snack at an actual grocery store.

But the fib was worth it in his eyes. It resulted in Y/N running amuck in a quest for the orange snack, asking any patron she ran into where she could find some. Shawn just kept chuckling at her from his designated stand, apron tied around his waist. Anytime Brian noticed his employee’s lack of concentration during the beginning of the shift he would remind him in a stern tone to “keep your eyes on the bananas, not the girl.” And any bystander would have thought that comment triggered Shawn’s immediate tensing muscles and nostrils, flaring like a bull.

His employer knew, though, comments like those never put Shawn on edge like that. Brian’s eyes followed the young man’s gaze to see the same Y/N Shawn had introduced him to earlier that day. It was the stranger chatting her up, with his shoulder against one of the wooden beams nearby, that caught his attention. Based on the fuming reaction of the one beside him, the man piqued Shawn’s interest just as much. His sandy blonde hair and all-too-tight shirt made Shawn think to himself, why not just tattoo try-hard on your forehead?

“Jealous much?” Brian mumbles beside Shawn’s ear, resulting in a surprised yelp from the proximity. Though his emotions were undeniable, he refused them anyway.

“M’not.” Crossing his arms over his torso, Brian immediately patted one of his biceps in an attempt to bring them down.

“Don’t look so angry. Customers will think you’re unapproachable,” he hisses. Shawn obeys for the sake of his paycheck but refrains from straying his eyes from the two for long. Any customer who wanted assistance purchasing an item or had a question they demanded Shawn answer, the boy would only spare eye contact with them for fifty percent of the conversation.

“It’s been fifteen minutes. What could he possibly be talking about with her?”

Brian hums. “People talk about lots of things. Who knows, maybe they’re finding they have lots in common.” Shawn only scoffs at this.

“Please,” she’s a walking mermaid talking to a mooching lifeguard, Shawn thinks, “they have nothing in common.”

“Okay, how long can you hold your breath for?” Wesley’s lips form a devious smirk as the question leaves them. Y/N’s lips can only part, losing all acts of shaping anything near an answer. Her mind suffices a simple “just a while” seconds later, hoping it wasn’t too vague to beckon more questions. Lucky for her, it seems Wesley has a knack for caring more about the response to his own questions rather than hers. This was nothing new to Y/N, who did in fact, grow up with her father as a parent.

“My record is six minutes and fourteen seconds. It’s on my bucket list to beat the world record: twenty-two minutes and twenty-two seconds. I know it’s ambitious, but…” frankly, Y/N is growing bored of the conversation. As guilty as it sounds, she saw no point in speaking to Wesley when she would vanish from his world in a few days and head off to...somewhere else.

“Hey, let me ask you something,” she breaks off Wesley’s incessant chatting with a small smile and does not wait for his go-ahead to continue. “If you could go live anywhere on Earth, where would it be?” Wesley’s lips form a small ring as a strange, high-pitched tone leaves them. Y/N stands with wide-eyes and is too afraid to ask what that was or where it came from, deciding to stay silent.

“Does it have to be real, or can it be mythical?”

“I mean…preferably real, but--”

“Because my father always told me these stories when I was younger about this place on Earth. He claimed society was so different down there compared to the one on land, that he called it a world in our world.”

“D-down there?” Y/N responds in a meek voice, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah...Atlantis. You’ve heard the stories too, I’m assuming.”

“I mean...I’ve only seen it in that movie about the fish girl.”

“The mermaid,” he corrects.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Well, my dad described it differently. He said that their kingdom was built and crafted from a sunken city. Even after seeing it demolished and crumbled, the Atlanteans knew they could transform it into something incredible. And he went on about all these abilities they have, like how their eyes adjust naturally to the darkness of the water, how they have this innate connection to marine life and can communicate with any sea animal that crosses their path; they don’t even need to hold their breaths underwater!”

“Sounds like your father was a great storyteller…” Y/N chuckles nervously, eyes darting to the passing bystanders who continue giving Wesley concerning looks. Her blood was quickly running cold in fear of finding somebody with similar, piercing eyes Wesley’s father probably mentioned too.

“That’s the thing. My father might have been good at telling stories, but he is a horrible liar. I remember the fourth time asking him how Santa Claus could get into our house with no chimney and a locked door he could not come up with an answer and told me it was a myth. The same thing happened when I asked why we had to buy eggs when the Easter Bunny got millions for free. And when I asked how the Tooth Fairy had access to all the printing presses to international currencies without being arrested, he got upset with me...told me I was too smart for my own good.”

Y/N is slowly becoming baffled by the precarious names he is throwing out and decides to let him continue. Drawing any suspicion to herself due to confusion over well-known characters of the land-walkers is the last thing she needs.

“But, when it came to talking about Atlantis, he never seemed to run out of details. Any question I asked about it, he always seemed to have an answer for. I would ask more about it now because everything inside of me is telling me it’s a real place. But...I’m scared if I confront my dad about it…”

“He’ll tell you it’s fake.” Y/N pieces the end together for him. His lopsided smile slowly turns into that of a frown, earning a sympathetic gaze from Y/N. “Well, I don’t know how credible I am as a stranger, but…” She lifts a hand to rest on Wesley’s shoulder, “I think your father is right. You are too smart for your own good...and I think if such a place were to exist, there would be more evidence of it.” Wesley nods but soon pauses, becoming entranced by Y/N’s sincere gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice demands.

“Huh? Oh, nothing you just,” he clears his throat, “you have really pretty eyes.”

The orbs he was transfixed on moments before widen at this compliment. All at once, her mind rewinds itself to replay this afternoon with Shawn; his curls tickling her neck, the chuckle in his throat vibrating against her and her ruining their “moment”, a word she has yet to find a clear definition on. She also replays Connor’s entrance and comments about Shawn looking near ready to lock lips with her or be her utter demise through suffocation. Either activity sounded both passionate and intimate in a way Y/N was unclear about wanting with Wesley.

“Oh,” she whispers, dropping her arm from his shoulder in a haste.

“I-I’m sorry, that was awkward,” Wesley apologizes.

“No, no it’s alright. I just...I don’t want you to choke me,” she blurts, earning a few puzzled stares from those around them.

“What?”

“Or kiss me. Or...I don’t know, whatever happens in these moments.”

“Moments?” One of Wesley’s brows arch.

“Yes, a moment. Was that a moment? Because I think I just had my first one today and I’m not sure how--”

“Hey, Y/N, breathe.” He reaches both hands out to take her by the shoulders, quickly demonstrating a deep inhale and long exhale. She follows, mimicking his timed breaths down to the second. “It doesn’t have to be a moment if you don’t want it to be.” She nods, slowing her quick breaths and throwing a glance over her shoulder subconsciously for a quick peruse at Shawn’s figure behind the wooden stand. She smiles to herself, seeing his concentrating frame bend and twist meticulously to stack the bunches of bananas to perfection.

“Was it with Shawn?” Wesley asks. Y/N looks back toward him, pulling her brows together.

“Was…”

“Your moment. It was with Shawn, wasn’t it?”

“I..uh…” Her cheeks begin glowing red upon being caught.

“Hey, I’m not going to be upset.” He shakes his head, blonde streaks falling against his eyelashes. “Mendes and I might be tough on the water, but…” He takes his hands off of her shoulders, “I could never hate the dude enough to take his girl.” Y/N spares Wesley a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” She mumbles, preparing to pivot and return to Shawn’s stand.

“Oh, wait, Y/N--” the girl’s head turns back, humming.

“Where would you go, if you had the chance?” His question makes her eyes flicker down in thought, a pondering silence filling the air around the two.

“I’m not sure, actually. I don’t know if there is a place that could live up to this…” Through her answer, Wesley’s eyes met Shawn’s above her shoulder. Realizing he’d been caught, Shawn turned his body away, the feeling of dejection consuming his insides by the sight of his savior and worst enemy conversing.

“Well, just know a lot of people would miss you here if you left. More than just me,” he says, pressing a palm against his chest. Y/N looks behind her once more, only to be met with Shawn’s back.

“He would especially miss you.”

Another fond smile crawls onto her lips as she thanks Wesley again. When she turns to retreat to Shawn and Brian, the sinking feeling Wesley was awaiting inside of him felt more like a hot air balloon running off of helium than it did a whale with an anchor. As he begins walking in the opposite direction, sparing cursory glances at some of the products or swim trunks he walks past, his phone begins blaring its ringtone. He is stunned to pull it out and to be met with a pixelated version of his father and the name “DAD” overtaking the screen. Did his father finally keep his promise?

“Dad, hey!” The young man greets with exuberance.

“Hey, son. Finally got some free time…” Ripley announces at a regular volume. Hidden in between a few displays, he peers at Wesley slowly drifting from the curious girl, who was now speaking to an associate and pointing to the yellow fruits between them. “Tell me, how is it going? Did you win that surfing contest?”

“Yeah, but it kind of sucked to win now that I think about it. One of the other guys got really hurt.”

“Eh, I’m sure he’ll be fine. That’s what a rookie gets for going up against my son!” he barks a laugh. “I bet that trophy won you a couple of girls’ attention, huh?” Wesley gulps.

“I mean...not really--”

“Don’t lie to me, son. I can hear how lovesick you are. What’s her name?”

“Are you almost done yet?” Y/N groaned after Shawn finished up with a customer. She was sitting in a chair Shawn found under their table, picking at her nails in hopes that something interesting would happen.

“We’ve got another hour before we close up but then we have to put everything away so it’ll probably be an hour and 45 minutes before we can leave.” He shot her a smile as she dramatically slumped in the chair.

“They didn’t even have cheeseballs! I wasted half my day asking people if they had cheeseballs and they looked at me like I was insane.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help that she wanted the orange delicacy and in her opinion, these people were insane for not having it. “Just shut up and do your work so we can get out of here faster.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“I know what I want. Can you blame me?”

Shawn turned his back to her, opting to ignore her complaints instead of feed the fire.

“So you’re ignoring me now? Rude.”

He tried his best to keep the laugh in.

“That’s fine. I’ll find someone else to talk to.” She stood up and brushed off her pants, purposely bumping Shawn in the shoulder as she walked past. He reached out to grab her arms before she could get too far, forcing her to stop and turn around to look at him. “What, scared I’m going to find someone else to buy me cheeseballs?”

“Just stay safe.” There had been something nagging at his gut since he saw her with Wesley earlier and he was wary to let her out of his sight since then.

“Okay?” She gave him a funny look. “I’ll stay safe, no need to worry. Trust me, I know how to take care of myself.” It didn’t make Shawn feel much better but he let go of her anyways.

She walked off, only looking back once to shoot him a wink. He could only shake his head as he went back to work, wondering how it had been only one day and he was already infatuated with this girl.

Y/N walked around from table to table, actually taking the time to look at the contents this time. She didn’t have any money, as she found out earlier that day, but she still enjoyed looking at what each stand had to offer.

She looked around for a while before one stand in particular caught her eye. It was pushed back in a darker corner of the marketplace that people would probably miss if they weren’t paying attention.

She approached the table slowly, making sure to not startle the person running it, who seemed to be asleep in their chair. The table was decorated in an array of beachy looking stones and jewelry.

The person woke in her presence, sitting up and pushing their sunglasses up on their nose. “Why hello there.”

Y/N smiled at them, suddenly offset by their demeanor. She kept her gaze on the trinkets on the table, running her fingers over the symbols imprinted in them. Some posed a striking resemblance to the things she could find in her jewelry back home. Or, what used to be home.

“See something you like?”

“Yeah, they look a lot like-” She stopped herself, realizing that she almost revealed her identity.

“Like what?” They leaned forward, urging her to go on.

“Just, uh, something I saw in the store the other day.”

“You know,” They leaned back, crossing their arms over their chest. “Some say these came from Atlantis. Straight from the room of the princess.”

“Oh really?” She forced a laugh, retracting her hand to her chest. “Won’t the princess be upset that her things were taken?”

“She lives there no more. Ran away from an arranged marriage and was never found. I’m sure she cares very little about what happens to her old possessions.”

“That makes sense.” Her voice was so quiet she almost didn’t hear herself.

“Please, take whatever you’d like. I’ll give it to you, half price.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I can’t.” She looked back to Shawn on the other side of the market, seeing him busy bagging some fruit for a customer.

“Are you sure? Such a beautiful girl deserves beautiful jewelry. Perhaps that boy you’ve been sitting with would want to get you a gift?”

“I really should get going.” Y/N nervously scratched her upper arm. “Thank you though.”

“Always! Come back any time.” They gave her a sly smile and she took a few steps back. “Have a great day.”

“Uh, you too.” She gave a polite smile and nod, turning around and hastily making her way back to Shawn.

The vendor pulled their sunglasses down from their eyes, revealing a pair of piercing green eyes. They pulled out a phone from their back pocket and unlocked it, clicking on the name Ripley in their contacts and bringing the phone to their ear.

Someone picked up at the last second, a gruff “what?” to greet the caller.

“It’s Merlin,” the vendor spoke. “I’ve got eyes on the subjects.”

Shawn’s post-work exhaustion and shopping trip from earlier in the day made heaviness caress his eyelids without complaint. Y/N hoped it would be the same for her, but she felt there was a kickdrum where her heart usually lied and the incessant wriggling of her toes beneath the bedsheets was impossible to control. This night in particular was when the girl felt scared to let sleep wash over her like a high-tide. Various scenarios of her waking up tomorrow without Shawn beside her or not in his bed played in her mind on an unrelenting loop.

The lime green digits on Shawn’s nightstand read 2:23 when the girl surrendered to the endeavor of catching shut-eye and opted for shuffling from beneath the covers and waddling to the kitchen. Despite seeing Shawn lock it earlier that night, she inspects the front door anyway. She does the same with the windows, even going as far as to flip the lock back and forth to build the small sense of security she felt. Even then paranoia still cloaked her mind and hypnotized her to grab the near-empty bin of cheeseballs from the kitchen cabinet and situate herself into a sitting position on the kitchen island, eyes pointed directly at the meager shard between the curtains of the kitchen window.

Slowly, the girl grew disoriented from the lack of sleep and stress harboring her for the last few days. The vision her distressed subconscious conjured is one far more macabre than she could have manifested while awake. Not only did they find her, but they kidnapped Shawn alongside her and drug him down to the depths of the water with no mercy. The scream he elicited when he no longer carried any valuable oxygen was muffled and distraught. Bubbles blurred his face, which, in turn, made tears build beneath Y/N’s eyelids. When she witnessed the facade of him go limp in the guard’s merciless hold and begin sinking, the whimpering pleas for him to wake up and escape quickly morphed to crackling screams.

When she heard his voice break through clear to her, the lids shielding her vision flung open. Immediately, her eyes stung from the contact of the cold air to her hot tears as she observed Shawn and Connor’s perturbed expressions. Glancing down, she found her arms stiff and cradling the bucket of cheeseballs to her chest.

“Uh…” she sits herself up, mimicking the position she was in last night before trying a buoyant tone of voice. “Good morning!”

“Good morning...you alright?” Connor lifts an eyebrow in Y/N’s direction, while Shawn is still lost for words after stumbling into her body tucked inwards and crying out for him.

“I’m good! Just came down for a...late-night snack. I must’ve closed my eyes for a few minutes.” She assures, holding up the plastic bucket for their eyes to study.

“Seems like you were here a little longer than that.” At this comment, she twists her body around and gasps at the numbers on the stove. The numbers 7:04 stared back at her menacingly.

“Woah,” she breathes out, whipping her head back to face Shawn and Connor. “My bad.”

“Were you feeling okay last night?”

“Yes,” she squeaks defensively. “I just...had trouble getting comfortable is all.” Crossing her arms, she refuses to meet Connor’s questioning eyes and Shawn’s features, still locked in place. “I’m going to the bathroom.” Y/N excuses herself in a mumble before sliding off of the counter and scurrying through Shawn’s open bedroom door, shutting it behind her. When a second closing door sounded, Connor looked directly at Shawn’s profile.

“So, you’re not gonna tell her what you heard?” Shawn glanced down to his fingers, picking at his nails.

“Why should I?”

“I mean, if a girl I was into confessed her love for me in her sleep I wouldn’t be standing there keeping quiet.”

And Shawn’s initial reaction was quite the opposite. When Y/N murmured “I love you” followed by his name an undeniable smirk tugged the corner of his lips. The man wasn’t quite sure he felt smitten at the same level, but he could surely reach it. And he wanted to, but the only thing stopping Shawn from planting a kiss to her lips the moment her eyelids fluttered open happened to be the echo of her cautionary messages playing on a loop in his brain. Both knew their relationship already pushed boundaries that threatened their lives to those looking for Y/N and to draw any more attention to themselves would be a ludicrous choice.

Furthermore, Y/N has shown no signs of traveling these last few days. For Shawn to jeopardize this new affair by selfishly wanting more out of it would only result in her packing her bags and leaving. She even preached that she would only provide Shawn with a load of heavy burdens and trouble. He begs to differ, since the moment they crossed paths, his woes were as scant as raindrops. But even in this unacknowledged intimacy, Shawn understood he must reciprocate the blurred lines, throw out the words he can never say to her, realize that she could up and leave any day now.

This new friendship was one Shawn was riding like a bumpy wave. And each time he thinks he may be near the end he plummets back into the thought of her. Every being of Shawn wants to follow Y/N’s instruction and keep paddling to the next wave to sweep him up.

“It was just a dream, Con. It didn’t mean anything.”

Whether or not he had admitted to himself, though, he was already snagged beneath by her undertow. The depth she chooses to yank him down to could be the least of his worries. The only doubt suffocating him is the matter of her deciding to let him go.

Look out for the next part of Undertow coming out 2/19/21!

Join the taglist to see what happens next!

Taglist: @fallinallincurls​ @ilumxna​ @lonelyreputation​ @purely-imagines-and-fantasies​ @shawnmxndxs​ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3​ @sillyquirkymendessupporter​ @itsalwaysbeen305​ @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ @marissje​ @princessmia1705​ @rosetoronto​ @itrocksmysocks​ @organicpurplepants​

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 44: Truth And Dare

[WARNING: NSFW]

We spend the rest of the day in an odd sort of domestic bliss. William has been writing in his bedroom, and I have have been reading in mine. I get up from the bed when I hear his door open and close, only to find Puck in the hallway, pawing at the wood. He must have gotten kicked out for distracting William.

I scoop the bunny into my arms and make my way to the kitchen, where I make myself a sandwich with some cheese I find wrapped in cloth in a cupboard, and sit down to eat it along with some rouge.

“No, bichito, you can’t eat this,” I tell Puck when he climbs onto my lap to sniff the bread. “What is it? Are you hungry?” He wiggles his nose and stares at me with beady eyes, but does not give up his pursuit of my sandwich. “Okay,” I sigh, standing up again. I leave my food on the tall kitchen counter, out of the rabbit’s reach, and rummage around the kitchen for something to give him.

I give up soon enough, unable to find any vegetables, and opt to ask William for instructions. I noticed the little garden at the back of the house, and figured he must use it to feed Puck, but I want to make sure.

He opens the door quickly after I knock. It takes me a second to remember what I wanted to say. We have not talked about this morning. In fact, it’s like it never happened at all. It’s... strange, to say the least, even uncomfortable, but I do not know if I should bring up the topic of my attraction for him again. I doubt he feels anything beyond playful curiosity for me, and I still haven’t gotten over Leonardo. The way thinking of him helped me calm down at the café certainly surprised me, though. My attachment to him is obvious, but I never thought he would become my anchor, much less so after having ended our brief relationship.

“Um, uh...” I finally stammer. “I think Puck is hungry. I have no idea what rabbits can eat.”

“Oh,” William chuckles. “Well, I keep a basil plant in the back yard for him. Celery, clover... Carrot tops are alright too, but do not feed him the carrot itself. ‘Tis a treat only,” he explains.

“Okay, cool.”

I quickly turn and begin walking away, but he grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop.

“Anaïs, wait.” That makes me look at him. He only calls me by my name when he’s serious. “I have been wondering where the events from this morning leave us.”

“Yeah, me too...” I mutter.

“Thou should know that I am unusually fond of thee. I would not be opposed should thou choose to-”

“I don’t know,” I interrupt. “Part of me wants to, but part of me knows it’s not gonna end well. Not for me, at least. Not when it’s you.”

“I can’t promise I will not break thine heart,” he says slowly, “but I can promise thee this: if it ends badly, it shall be my downfall as well. The stakes are as high for me as they are for thee.”

“Perhaps, but we’re not even playing the same game,” I retort. “Are you just trying to get close to me to further whatever ulterior motives I’m sure you have, or are you actually interested in me that way?” I ask, pulling away from him. 

“Thou art not any better, my sweet nightshade. Thou said so thyself, the only reason thou hast come to me is distrust.”

“Yeah, but that was before-” I cut myself off before I can finish the sentence. What the hell was I going to say, ‘before I developed a crush on you’? I absolutely blame this nonsense on vampire puberty, no matter what he says. He has a point, though. I am not as innocent as I have tried to convince myself I am. Sure, I might be attracted to William, but I must not forget why I came here in the first place. If my feelings need to be put on the line in order to find out what he’s up to, then so be it. “Fuck it,” I declare out loud. “Let’s do this.”

I grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him into a kiss. He smiles into it, satisfied with my decision, and buries a hand in my hair as the other grabs my waist. We stumble into his bedroom, and I kick the door closed behind me.

“Wait,” I rasp against his lips before pulling away. “We’re really doing this?”

“Only if thou art willing,” he answers. “Art thou?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smirks, and swiftly attacks my lips again, deepening the kiss. 

My arms snake around the back of his neck, where I begin playing with his soft hair. My fingers then trail down to the collar of his shirt and latch onto the top button, undoing it slowly. William takes the suddenly tedious labor from my hands, and I pull away from the kiss to observe him. He undresses slowly, his eyes fixed on mine as a smirk grows on his lips. The performer that he is is giving me a show.

‘Your turn’, his eyes seem to say when the fabric slides off his shoulders, baring his torso. He makes no attempt to touch me again. No, he wants me to do it on my own. I oblige his unspoken request and begin to slowly unbutton my own blouse. I feel vulnerable under his patient gaze. The sound of my own nervous heartbeat makes me hesitate, accelerated by the aura of danger that seems to emanate from William whenever I cross paths with him. But I am here to stay this time. I feel like prey, but I won’t run. I want to be his, if only for this very moment, regardless of how long it lasts.

I don’t stop until the last of my garments hits the floor. There I stand, fully naked for William to see, too caught up in the thrill of the moment to think of anything else. He comes closer as his gaze falls to my breasts.

 No, that is not what he is looking at. He reaches up to delicately trace what’s left of the bullet wound with his index finger. Unlike the rest of my scars, this one has not disappeared completely, and I suspect that neither has the entry hole on my back. Thanks to le Comte turning me to save my life, it healed abnormally quickly, leaving behind a rounded, misshapen indent on the left side of my chest. It has a silver tone to it, paler than the rest of my skin, and looks only slightly worse the scar usually left behind by a smallpox vaccine.

“I am terribly sorry for causing that unfortunate incident, my nightshade,” William mutters, suddenly serious. “To be forever marked like that...”

“Do I look like I care about marks on my body?” I chuckle, lifting my heavily tattooed arm in front of his face in an attempt to lighten the mood a little. 

I wonder what he meant by ‘forever’. Will this scar not fade eventually like the others? Either way, now is not the time to think about that. William seems to agree, because that lustful shine returns to his eyes as he moves on from the bullet wound to cup my breast. His touch is careful, like that of a museum curator handling an ancient, invaluable artefact.

I remain completely still as he begins to slowly circle around me. His hand slides up my collarbone, then down my shoulder and along my arm, following the black outline of the leaves that are permanently etched onto my skin. He comes to a stop right above the back of my elbow.

“Is that Vincent’s?” he asks, intrigued by the familiar style of the sunflower. I nod. He then leans in from behind to whisper into my ear. “Careful, my lady. Thou might make me jealous.”

“It’s from before I met him.” My voice comes out softer than I anticipated, breathy and nervous from William’s possessive tone. It sends shivers down my spine. “I just like his art, that’s all,” I quietly explain.

I feel him suddenly pull away from me, but I do not turn around to see what he’s doing. I stay completely immobile as he comes back to stand behind me, so close that his chest is touching my back. He gently pulls a soft fabric over my eyes. The red silk ribbon from last night. I do not fight it this time. I read somewhere that, when one sense is taken away, the rest become heightened, better. I wonder how much more I could perceive deprived of my vision. Everything already feels so different since I turned...

He finishes tying the ribbon into a secure knot on the back of my head. I gasp when his fingers brush against the spot on my back where I know the other scar is, matching the one on my chest.

“Come, Anaïs,” he says softly. “Lay down for me.”

I let him guide me to the bed. As much as I refuse to trust William, I must at least pretend I do if I want to get anywhere with my little investigation. The only way to earn his trust is to prove that he has mine.

Though I am terrified, I blindly oblige his request and lay down. What’s the worst he could do, kill me? That is not something I have ever been particularly afraid of. Besides, I doubt it is what William wants.

“Put your arms up.”

I obey. Almost immediately, I feel something soft wrap around my wrists. He’s tying me up. The idea of being bound by him, so vulnerable and at his mercy, makes my breathing accelerate.

“Relax,” he whispers. “Give me a single word and I will free thee. I would never do this against thine will.”

“Okay,” I breath out, reassured. It is hard to be afraid when he is so gentle, so attentive. But alas, that does not make me any less nervous. I have never done this before, willingly submitting to someone like this, and I don’t know what to expect. “I trust you,” I quietly state, partially to convince myself of the fact as much as him. And so, my performance begins.

I feel the mattress sink where William climbs onto the bed beside me and begins laying a trail of kisses down my neck. He makes his way down my body in an infuriatingly slow manner, but I can’t help but shiver every time his lips flutter over my skin.

I am startled by a light pinch on my sensitive right nipple. I did not notice his hand move there... It is not his fingers I am feeling. No, his wet tongue clues me in, when it begins to circle around it between his lips, pulling an unexpected moan from the back of my throat. I do feel his hand on my left breast, where he has begun gently twisting the nipple between his soft fingers. He darkly chuckles when another sigh of pleasure escapes my lips before abruptly letting go.

I whine, wanting more, but he won’t give it to me. Instead, he teasingly caresses my stomach, slowly moving towards... Nothing. His warm hand is gone from my skin as fast as it had come, and I wiggle in my restraints, unsatisfied.

“Be patient, my nightshade,” he sings, amused by my desperation. Desperation for him, that he created. He knows I am putty in his hands, and he likes it. I think I do, too. “Part thy legs.”

His order surprises me. I do as he says without question, eager for his touch. Finally, he slides a finger down the center of my folds, slowly, carefully, as if I was going to shatter from the tension. I think I might. His finger moves up, then down again, before finding my entrance. I open my legs apart even wider, granting him access, and he slowly pushes into me. My breaths are heavy with anticipation, interrupted by a needy whimper every time William moves his finger inside me. I want more.

He must be able to tell, for another finger joins the first in his painfully slow process. It does not last long, though. I hear the rustling of clothes and something metallic hit the floor. His belt. The mattress shifts under his weight. I can feel the warmth of his body hovering over mine in teasing proximity. His breath tickles my ear as he cruelly laughs yet again at the vulnerable state he has left me in. And his cock... Hard as a rock, it presses gently against my core before sliding into me.

I gasp and tense in pleasure around his girth. William’s hand returns to my breast, squeezing it lightly, and then moves to caress up my neck. He cups my cheek as he lets me adjust to the sudden fullness I feel. His thumb drags over my lips, parting them for another kiss. At the same time as he takes my mouth in his, he thrusts again. My resulting moan is muffled by the kiss.

The movement of his hips accelerates, steadily but slowly, until I am left a trembling mess under him. He maintains his rhythm, sending electric shocks all over my body.

“Thou art so beautiful, my nightshade,” he groans when I come undone. His pace slows, helping me ride out my orgasm. “Radiant as the Sun itself.”

He pulls out, and I am left breathing heavily in my uncomfortable position with my arms tied to the headboard. I hear some rustling before the knots around my wrists loosen. Once my hands are freed, William moves on to remove the blindfold. I blink a few times to help my eyes adjust to the light in the room, only to see William smirking down at me. He did not finish this time, too focused on pleasuring me instead. I stare at him, not knowing what to say.

“Mierda,” I blurt out, suddenly remembering something. I don’t know whether to attribute it to the post-coital clarity or my own unpredictable train of thought. “I forgot to feed Puck!”

I quickly wrap myself in a robe I find on a chair, still glistening with sweat, and run out the room.

[thedistantstorm]

Phoenix Protocol 20

Zavala x Awoken Female Warlock | Mid/Post Forsaken | Slowburn | Gratuitous Descriptions of Light | Self-Confidence/Self-Worth Issues | Redemption

When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Art for this one is brought to you by the lovely @crazy-bone-lady who gifted me this lovely sketch for my birthday last month (and I’m still screaming about it).

Previously

-/

She isn’t really awake when he rises with her in his arms, the wan rippling of starlight beneath her skin only the slightest bit dimmer than her eyes. Her head lolls against his armored chest, not softly, but not hard enough to hurt. Still, she hums some intelligible sound against him, relaxing when he says her name.

His measured, serious steps are easy to drift in and out to, but the whirlwind of transmat jolts her awake with a gasp.

“I’ve got you,” He tells her, his voice soft, breath warm against her forehead, when her breathing quickens and both Ghosts zoom in frantically. He presses his lips to her skin, featherlight. “It’s alright.”

She replies moments later, groggy and sleep-addled. “You’re squeezing me like it’s not.”

When what she says sinks in, he does his best to relax his grip. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head, clearing some of the foggy feeling away. “Not at all,” Miyu replies.

He strides down a long hallway. His quarters, she realizes. Miyu keeps her gaze trained on him. He does not hold eye contact long, but she does feel his fingers twitch with the urge to hold her tighter again.

“Talk to me,” She says, when he lays her on one side of the bed.

Zavala turns away, rounds the bed and doffs his armor with a practiced slowness, the methodical unclasping of buckles and ties giving him something to do so she won't see the tremble of his hands. It would be too telling of his emotional imbalance, the war of fury and fear that he desperately needs to get under control.

Tamashii and Adelaide flit above her. When she props herself up on her elbows to try and remove her robes, they both make intelligible sounds of distress and assist her. Her Ghost's voice is firm. Worried. “Your blood pressure is still lower than usual. Hold still.”

“I'm okay,” She breathes into the relative quiet of the room.  “Just tired. I promise.” It is a good thing they intervened, though. Her vision swam a little around the edges with the movement.

“Let us take care of you,” Tamashii tells her in that gentle, almost timid, way of his that reminds her that he's just been put through something very bad. The little wobble of his voice suggests he needs to help her as much as she needs to be helped. Her sweet, precious Ghost. She reaches for him and he comes, sinks into her damaged palm with a shivering tumble. “I'm sorry,” He murmurs, shaky. Adelaide bobs overhead in silence. “Just for a little while.”

She cradles him close. “It's okay, Tamashii. I'm here.” She takes a moment to continue. “I'm sorry I frightened all of you.” He bumps her hand and phases away. She feels him like she would an overshield, his presence lurking protectively around her mind. It's Zavala's ghost that transmats away everything but her undergarments. She shifts, trying to get comfortable. She does feel a little achy, now that she thinks about it.

The bed dips beside her, and she rolls over to face him. The effort is harder than she cares to admit, but the hand he places on her cheek is warm. Soothing. She shuffles toward him and he moves his hand to her waist to pull closer.

He does not speak, not with words. His eyes say something else. They speak of fear. Concern. Worry.

Miyu lays the palm of her hand over his heart. It shakes with effort and the phantom tingles of nerve damage. “I'm fine, Zavala. Really.”

His unoccupied hand squeezes the one she’s laid on his bare chest; he's stripped into loose sleep pants and little else. His breathing is ragged. Chaotic, for a man who thrives on structure.

“Four Ghosts were powerless to bring you back,” He says, trying to abate the anger, but it bleeds into his voice regardless. Stoicism fails him. “For hours, Miyu. I held you for hours, not knowing-” His voice catches. He swallows. Dials it back, tries to get himself under control. “I thought I had lost you for good.”

She frowns. Her fingers sneak out from under his, and she lays them on his cheek, along the ribbons of pale tattoos. He tips his head up into it and kisses her palm like a man starved for touch.

“Ikora did not understand. Thought it was some kind of resistance, like your Ghost refused to help.” His hands clench into fists, a sharp contrast to her delicate fingertips dancing along his temples. “She killed you, repetitively. She almost killed you for good.”

“Zavala-” She finds herself pressed onto her back, not unkindly, drowning once more in depths of blue.

“I have held my composure for centuries,” He murmurs. “Through failures and devastation that should make what happened today pale to compare, and yet I,” He takes a breath, trying to abate his rambling. “I do not think I could handle losing you. What I mean to say is-”

Two gentle, delicate, trembling hands reach up to his shoulders and guide him down to lay half on top of her, his head on her breast, ear pressed to the heating of her heart. Warm. Alive. Here.

He closes his eyes, reaching for her hand. “I love you,” He whispers against her skin, across pale aura the color of stars and snow.

It isn't that she doesn't love him. Miyu thinks perhaps the fact that he's fallen in love with her despite how fragile, how broken she is, makes it that much more. And yet, when she tries to tell him that she loves him back, she chokes.

The Speaker's words echo in her mind, chill her to the bone. “You will hurt those who care for you, very much.”

“I know,” She whispers into the dark, tears leaking from her eyes. Her hand squeezes his like it’s her anchor, a lifeline despite the tingly-burn of pain the movement takes. “I know.”

He surges up to kiss her, and it's both terribly sad and unbelievably sweet. She wonders if, deep down, he really does know.

The path back to her Light, back to herself - to all that she is and all that she is meant to be - is a path that she must walk alone.

-/

Miyu carefully slides out of the bed and dresses in a shirt that’s far too large for her petite frame. Tamashii immediately scans her, zipping around her carefully as if there is something he can do if vertigo claims her and she tumbles to the floor. It does not, though. She feels significantly better. Not amazing, not like she’s normally felt lately, but her head is clear and her balance holds.

A look back at the bed tells her that her partner has not moved, a blanket draped over his bottom half, his usual half-frown, mostly stoic visage passive in sleep. She resists the urge to smooth her fingers over his brow; She can see the tension that lingers. It would only wake him up, and right now, she needs a moment alone with her other partner, the one to whom she’s inexplicably bound.

They slip out to the balcony of the Commander’s spacious abode, a small space of a modestly furnished living room. “We’re alone,” Tamashii tells her, knowing she’s going to ask. He flutters close, in front of her face. “What happened yesterday? Why did that happen yesterday?”

She sighs. “I had another vision.”

The back half of his cones spin, the golden trim catching the light of the rising sun. “A vision,” He processes. “Thanatanotics?”

“Maybe?” She shakes her head. “That’s never really been my thing,” She tells him, though they both know. “I talked with… well, he said he both was and wasn’t the Speaker, so…” She dips her head sheepishly, snow-white eyes daring to peek at Tamashii’s cyan optic.

Tamashii bobs midair and waits.

“He asked me about what makes me a Guardian. And…” She sighs. “He mentioned that the Light would guide me, when I was ready to stop being afraid.”

“Mmhmm,” The little being in front of her says. “And this took hours?”

“I don’t know how it works, Tamashii!” She whispers, so she doesn’t yell, “I didn’t ask for the vision!”

The Ghost recoils. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes. “I just - I couldn’t feel you, for a while there. Zavala wasn’t the only one who thought you were gone. I failed you. We tried-” Miyu plucks him from the air and holds him against her heart.

“No,” She admonishes. “You have never failed me, and you never will.” Her fingertips are soft and tender as she strokes his upper-most fin. “You brought me back the second you were able. I know you did.”

He bob in her hold, a resounding yes, and trembles. “I don’t know which was worse,” He whispers in his synthetic overtones, “At least when the Cabal attacked, I knew there was nothing I could have done, but this was… if I was stronger, maybe I could have-”

“No,” She says, drawing him back so that they can look at each other. “If the Traveler wished to speak to me, how could you have intervened?”

“The Traveler needed you dead?”

“Maybe,” Miyu says, with a tip of her head. “I don’t know. The Speaker said this would not happen again.”

Tamashii blinks his optic at her. “So next time, it’s for good?”

“There won’t be a next time,” Miyu replies. “I have to figure this out.”

“Did he give you something that would help you with that?” Tamashii sounds skeptical. Not that he wasn’t fond of the Speaker, because they both had been, but she can tell he’s at his limit.

She shakes her head. “He helped me realize something, though.”

“Okay…”

“I can’t do this here.”

“But-”

“Listen,” Miyu breathes. “Please.”

“Go ahead.”

“Ikora and Zavala, they want to help. Zavala’s efforts have really made things easier for me.” She taps her index finger against her cheek, and looks out at the City and the looming underbelly of the Traveler. “But I’m not making things any easier for them. The Traveler needs them, too. Working together.”

“That isn’t our problem.”

“Yes and no.” She runs her fingers through sleep-wrecked hair. “Look. Everyone has an idea of what’s best for me. And what happened yesterday is only going to make everyone’s opinions stronger. I’m sure you heard Zavala. He blames Ikora.”

“I do, too. She shouldn’t have provoked you.”

“We’re all fighting battles others don’t know about,” Miyu recalls, sagely. “We’re all human. We make mistakes.”

Tamashi flutters a bit, cones spinning as he processes, takes in the whole of her face. “What are you saying, then?”

“Zavala won’t want me dealing with Ikora.”

“No,” Tamashii agrees, “He won’t. I'm really not sure how I feel about you dealing with her, either. So what do you want to do?”

“I have to leave the Tower.”

Tamashii rocks back and forth. “Even if you told them you had a vision, Miyu-”

“I have to,” Miyu resolves. “It’s the only way.”

“Okay,” He considers, “Let’s say I agree with you. How will you do it?”

Miyu shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. If nothing else, there’s still Osiris.”

“The-there is?”

She nods. “Do you trust me?”

“As much as I think I’m going to need a therapist when this is all over-” She quirks a demure brow at him, the sunlight accentuating the hints of blue and purple and silver in her mostly pewter-black hair, “Of course I trust you, Guardian.”

Miyu smiles. “Glad to hear it.”

[constel-langst-ions]

Cover-Up

*Loosely based on other tattoo fics and amazing tattoos Ive seen (all will be desribed as best as possible)

Warnings: Previous self-harm, scars, tattoos

—

No one really knew why Lance wore long sleeves and jeans all the time, per say. It was normal for him to be seen like that, always with his jacket on. No one questioned it, either. Only Hunk really knew what was below the heavy clothing.

—

They all found out after a particulary hard training session. Allura had called them all into the common room.

“Paladins! I have exciting news!” She announced, her voice unusually chipper, losing her usual loud and demanding tone. Everyone listened, eager to know the news.

“Me ane Coran have organized a day off. We wanted to congratulate you all on your improvent over these last few months!” She finished, holding out the last note. Her hands were clasped together, and she wore a large grin, the kind that made you start smiling with whoever wore it.

All the paladins wooped, chattering away about their plans for the next day. The only one who wad quiet, was Lance. He simply gave a small smile, adding a brief comment if a fellow paladin shot a tease or idea his way. If someone hadn’t been involved in the conversation, they could’ve guessed that he didn’t look forward to it.

They all turned to go to their respective rooms, before Allura sharply inhaled. They turned to her, eyes wide in surprise. “Sorry, paladins! It seems I have forgotten to add that the planet we’ll be stopping on has one of these ‘beaches’,” She air quoted, “that you all seem to love will be there. It is a peaceful planet, not dominated by any species, so do not feel the need to bring your bayards.” She rushed out the last sentence, having said it all on one breath.

“Now, shoo! We will be arriving in a few of your Earth hours.” Her face twisted with confusion at the term, and the paladins left her, laughing with glee.

—

“Woo-hoo!” Lance cheered, collapsing onto one of the couches. “This is gonna be awesome!” He smiled, positive energy radiating off of his form.

Pidge waved her hands at him, making a mock face of disgust. “Gross, get your happiness away from me.” She sat beside him, fiddling with her collar.

“'Dawh, Pidgeon, why so down? Afraid of the Lochness Monster?” He sprang at her to emphasize his own teasing.

“No, she’s probably afraid of sunburns.” Keith, having flopped onto the couch opposite to them, piped up. “I dont know about ypu, but I’m defintly going to burn.”

Hunk and Shiro finally sat down, hunk letting out a little noise of amusement.

“Me and Lance will probably tan, if there’s even a sun. I mean, I hope there is. What’s a beach day without the sun?”

“Don’t worry, guys, we’ll bring sunblock. Maybe snacks.” Shiro said, a smile tugging at his lips.

As if they had planned it, all the paladins shouted, in unison, “You’re such a dad, Shiro.” They all crumbled into giggles at that, Shiro affectionately rolling his eyes.

“Alright team, lets get ready for tomorrow and make it a fun day. No stress, no fights, and no computers.” His eyes landed on Pidge.

The girl squawked in astonishment, the rest of the paladins laughing and giggling as the stood and walked out, leaving a mildlu annoyed Pidge to deal with Shiro.

—

The minute Lance arrived in his room, he threw off his jacket and practically ripped off his shirts, kicking ogf his pants as fast as he possibly could. He sat down o his bed, wearing only boxer briefs.

He looked down at himself, and at the splashes of color on his arms, legs, and chest. And, beneath those, the white lines that littered his body.

“Oh god, how will they react?” He moaned, hugging himself.

His tattoos didnt help much to cover the scars; they were still clear as day. They started at his ankles and went up to his hips. His arms were worse. From his wrist bone to his elbow, there were scars. Thin and white, always mocking him for how scared he had been.

He couldn’t get a body suit; it’d be suspicious, and he would definitely be asked about it.

Feeling his stomach start to feel empty with anxiety, he started thinking about his tattoos, looking to get his mind off of the worryting thoughts that plaged his mind.

His first tattoo that he had ever gotten had been a warercolor wave on the inside of his left arm. It was long, stretching from his wrist to his elbos, effectively covering most of the scars. It was beautiful, different shades of blue making it look real, completed with white tips to represent ocean foam.

His second one was on the inside of his right arm. It was the solar system, each planet beautiful decorated in a different, vibrant color. Each had a splash of watercolor around it, as if someone dropped paint on it. It was probably his favourite one.

After the solar system, he got a tattoo on the middle of his chest, going from his belly button to right below his collarbone. It was a ribcage, plus a spine, and instead of limbs, it had flowers growing from it. The top faded to a rose, a petal ending before his collarbone. It was plain, simple black and gray, but it had taken the longest out of the others, and was the most painful.

Finally, the one that meant most to him: wings. He had a tattoo of wings on his back, them being large and so delicately tattooed, with attention to detail, that they almost looked real. The feathers were a vibrant blue, the same as Lance’s eyes.

From there, he got countless tiny tattoos that litteref his body. On his collarbone, he got the planets in order. On his other collarbone, he got a quote, saying 'I refuse to sink’ with an anchor beside it. He helf that quote dear to his heart.

He would never forget the story behind each tattoo, and how much they meant to him.

—

Without realizing, Lance had fallen asleep. He woke up to the sound of Allura’s booming voice over the comms, announcing their arrival to the planet, named Deshion.

He inwardly groaned, pulling on his pair of blue swintrunks before he threw on his normal outfit. Afterall, it was still a short trek to the area they would be staying.

He stepped out of the room, nearly running into Hunk as he did so.

He took a step back as Hunk nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Woah, sorry bud! I was about to come wake you.” Hunk grinned, searching Lance’s face for any sign of negativity.

“Nah, Im okay.” Lance looked Hunk up and down, silently congratulating the yellow paladin for his choice in wear. He was wearing yellow swimtrunks, with white, flowery prints on them. He was also shirtless, much to Lance’s surprise.

“Are.. you dressed..?” Hunk asked, looking at Lance with confusion.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah!” He snapped back to attention. “Yeah, yeah. I have my shorts on beneath.”

“Cool! Well, everyone’s waiting on the bridge for you, so whenever you’re ready, meet us there so we can go. The castle already landed.” And with that, he sped off.

Lance huffed and shoved his hands in his pockets making his way to the bridge. He was slow, and his face had lost the usual lively expression. He was not looking forward to this.

—

Lance regretted wearing his full outfit to the bridge. When he arrived, everyone was already wearing their full bathing outfits, Pidge even wearing a bathing suit (a.k.a, Lance mused, green shorts with a black tanktop.) He felt out of place, and ignored the team’s concerned glances.

“Are we gonna go, or what?” Lance grinned and fingergunned, even adding in a wink for extra reassurance. Collectively, they groaned, and all started walking into the escape pod. (the pod thing that leaves the castle? Idk man)

—

As soon as they got down, they saw Allura and Coran setting up towels and umbrellas. To Lance’s surprise, there was even a picnic basket in the middle.

But what really caught Lance’s attention was the crystal clear, blue waters. He almost burst into tears at the sight, but stopped himself. It had been so long since he had last seen an ocean, and he longed to play in the water, while splashing his teammates, and collecting shells. He wanted to bask in the sun and do chickenfight, and lose, just to let Pidge have the triumph of beating him

But a voice in his head nagged him. No, it said, you cant. They’ll see the scars. Judge you. Leave you. Give you pity. If not that, they’ll judge those tattoos.

He shuddered at the thought. All of those choices were terribls. But hey, if he was being judged for either of those things, it wasn’t new. People who saw the cuts left him, mainly friends. Or complete strangers saw them, and called him a freak.

The tattoos were worse. He was always called out for them, usually by middle-aged people, calling him rebellious and other nasty slurs. It sucked, so he resorted to wearing jeans and a jacket, even in the dead heat of summer.

And, he thought, even now, on the beach. He sat down on one of the towels, having promised to join the other paladins later. He watched as they splashed and played and ran. Watched as they did all the things he wanted to do with them, oh so badly. It tugged at his heartstrings to know that he lied, he wouldn’t join them. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t risk them leaving him, too.

—

Pidge sat on Hunk’s shoulders letting out a battlecry as she went to knock Keith off of Shiro’s shoulders. Much to her happiness, she had caught him off guard. He flailed, before falling backwards, ultimately taking Shiro down with him.

She jumped off of Hunk’s shoulders, ignoring how Keith stuck his tongue out at her. She turned to where Lance was sitting.

Why hasn’t he joined us yet? She thought to herself, narrowing her amber eyes on his still form. He was just sitting there, absently making shapes in the sand. He hadn’t even changed into his swimtrunks, for God’s sake!

Pidge knew she should’ve been somewhat suspicious, but this was Lance. He was a good actor, and Pidge knew it.

“Lance!” She called, waving her arms at him, “You said you’d join us!”

That seemed to grab his attention, as his head snapped up to look at her.

“Uh..” He looked like a deer in the headlights, and she would’ve laughed if it wasnt for him wincing.

—

“I cant..?” Lance cringed at his own excuse. It was terrible, he knew, and by Pidge’s expression, she knew too.

“Uh, yes you can.” She retorted, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“Lance, you promised.” She said, giving him puppy eyes.

Oh god.

He can’t resist that looks, and Pidge fully knows it.

Reluctantly, he stands. Well, its now or never. He thought to himself, standing up and tugging his jacket off.

—

Pidge watched as he stood and took off his jacket. Then his shirt. And that’s when she saw the tattoos.

She inhaled sharply, the other paladins following her gaze. Their jaws dropped.

Lance, with his perfect skin that he cared so much about, had tattoos.

All of them were floored. Each tattoo was detailed, absent of any mishaps. It was obvious that each had had much time and effort into them. Congrats to that tattoo artist, Pidge thought, they’re good at their job.

—

Lance slowly shed his clothing, dreading the moment when he would be close enough for them to make out the scars. He took off his pants next, pulling his swimtrunks higher up onto his hips. And he walked, inner arms pressed against himself as he folded his arms, attempting to hide the most visible scars.

—

Pidge felt her heart sink when Lance was close enough to them. Now she could see the tattoos, but she could also see the scars underneath them. Reallt, it was obvious. It was also clear that the tattoos were meant to hide them. It didn’t work. They could all see it.

But, she could also see Lance try to hide it. He had his head down and arms crossed. Yet, they all knew. And Pidge had just forced him out of his comfort zone, just because she wanted him to be there.

“Lance..?” She questioned, her voice quiet. She could hear the teams suprised gasps, and the noises the made after them, disheartened.

“Pidge.” He looked up, shooting her a cocky grin. But it was forced. His smile dropped, and he shifted uncomfortable.

“Look,” he started, uncomfortable, “I’m sorry. It happened in my past. I got these tattoos to cover them. Yadda yadda, big ol’ sob story.”

No one said anything, just standing as the waves lapped at their legs.

“If it makes you guys uncomfortable, Ill go find a swimshirt.”

That snagged Pidge’s attention. “Uncomfortable?” She spoke, utter disbelief in her words. “You think we’re uncomfortable?” She almost cried at that.

“Lance, we’re sad that you would ever do this, but we’re not uncomfortable. It makes me proud that, even though you have scars, that you’re willing to show them anyways. Not everyone is like that.

Lance seemed shocked at her words. Still, no one moved.

Then Lance shot forward, engulfing her into a hug. She let out a cry of protest.

"I’m so sorry Pidge! You didn’t deserve to see that. But.. just…” He stammered, reluctant, the rest of the team joining in on the group hug. Cooing softly, whispering reassurances and praise.

“It means a lot to hear you say that, Pidgeon.”

[odderancyart]

On a Never Resting Sea

Chapter VII: Storytime

First Last Next

AO3

Summary: Razz, the heir of the Beobyrian Empire, is on his way home from a diplomatic mission as his ship gets attacked by pirates. Suddenly he finds himself taken as hostage, and it doesn’t seem like the pirates are planning to exchange him for a ransom anytime soon. How annoying.

Warnings:  violence, death, blood, hostage holding, kidnapping, prostitution

The wind had increased, and the waves caused the ship to rock quite violently. By now, Razz has gotten used to the everchanging ocean, and was quite good at keeping his balance, luckily. Therefore, he did not fall of his bed (again) as an extra strong wave hit the side of Sarynthia. It had been three days since the visit to port, and hopefully his brother had gotten the news that he was alive by now. Razz could only hope. Later that evening he had realized he had to get the corset off again, because sleeping in one wasn’t exactly good for the spine. Unfortunately, that had meant that he’d had to yell for Red to come help him again; after trying to do it on his own he had found out that he did not have the ability. Especially since it was a fucking sailor who’d tied the knot.

That’d been just as embarrassing as getting it on.

With a sigh, he stood and walked over to the wardrobe. He was really goddamn bored. Razz had played his instruments, written a letter to his brother that never would be sent, studied the documents he had left until he knew every word, worked out as well as he could in such a small space. He was out of ideas. At the castle, there was never time to be bored; there was work, lessons, parties, and courtiers to talk with. If he ever had a moment of free time he didn’t know what to do with he could always call for a jester to entertain him. Being idle was entirely foreign, and he did not like it.

As he studied the clothing in the small wardrobe, he felt an uncomfortable twinge in his soul. He was running out of clean clothes – not actually, but the reality even worse. There were multiple clean dresses but he could not wear them without a maid to help him to get them on and they were mocking him for it.

Running his fingers over the soft fabrics, he shrugged. If he couldn’t amuse himself in another way, then he might as well play dress-up like he’d done when he was a babybones. Still did, if he was being honest with himself, but nowadays it was called being fashionable and a style icon since he did it in front of the Court.

It was a pleasant feeling, linen gliding over bone, as Razz slid the shirt over his head. He then took off with his trousers, and put on the silk underskirts. No corset, so it wouldn’t look as good as it could, which was unfortunate. If there was one thing he loved, it was to look fabulous at all times. Yet, it was something to do.

He smiled slightly as he dragged a weekday dress over his head. It was a high-waist, so a corset wasn’t needed. Just like his underskirts, it was made of the finest linen, and with its black colour and ivory ornaments it was a very fancy garment. Razz studied himself in the window, which was hard since it still was day but it worked. He grinned happily. At the very least his forced visit at the pirate ship hadn’t made him any less gorgeous.

The by now very familiar noise of bone on wood echoed through the cabin, and Razz’s eyelights lit up.

“COME IN,” he called, and the door squeaked as it opened, the sound like music in his ears. He was so tired of being alone, and Red was surprisingly pleasant to be around. The pirate grinned at him as he entered, and then stopped, staring at the dress. Then his eyelights slowly moved toward the still open wardrobe and the clothes in it. Snorting at the look on the other’s face, Razz crossed his arms over his chest and leaned toward the wall.

“WANT TO TRY ONE? THE DESIRE IN YOUR EYES IS OBVIOUS,” he said, chuckling loudly. He did mean it – it wasn’t often he’d let anyone borrow his clothes but why the hell not? Playing dress-up with Red might be fun. The other’s sockets widened, and he stared at him in disbelief.

“wh-“ he began, before interrupting himself and taking a step backwards. He seemed taken back, and Razz smirked. “’m not wearin’ a princess dress.”

After grabbing the skirt carefully, Razz lifted it up and let the fabric fall almost seductively. The pirate’s clothes were of a durable, rough material, made to last. A great contrast to the soft, delicate material of his own clothing which was made for comfort, beauty and, almost most importantly, to impress. Red seemed to lean forward, eyelights following the movements closely. Smirking wider, Razz quickly turned. He looked through the dresses quickly before taking out one of the biggest, loosest ones and held it up. It was royal blue with earthy brown seams.

“I CAN SEE YOU’RE TEMPTED,” he purred. “GO AHEAD. I WON’T JUDGE.”

There was a flicker of resistance in Red’s eyelights, and for a moment Razz thought he’d refuse. Then his shoulders sank, and he grimaced, nodding.

“fuckin’ fine,” he said grumpily, slowly walking up to the wardrobe. “gimme th’ dress. but dontcha dare tell anyone.”

“WHO WOULD I TELL?” Razz replied, triumphant, as he nodded. “YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE HERE I EVER TALK TO. NOW, TAKE OF YOUR COAT AND SHIRT.”

Red grumbled, but obeyed. After putting his coat down on the bed and carelessly dragging the crimson shirt over his head he simply threw it on the bed gable. Razz frowned and shook his head but didn’t say anything. Instead he just held the dress up higher, and took it off the hanger.

Taking a closer look at Red, his eye sockets widened. The other was covered with pictures: tattoos. Maps and ships and anchors and seabirds and sea animals. He studied them curiously, which Red noticed and grinned at him. Razz scowled in return. He shook the dress.

There was something akin to a blush on Red’s cheeks as he carefully took the dress from Razz. Razz watched in slight amusement how the other handled it like it was the most breakable thing in the universe. He also felt a bit pleased. At least the pirate knew to take care with precious things. Very slowly, the dress was slipped over Red’s head and his mouth was slightly open as it slid down his body until it was fully on. The lower seam was about a decimetre from the ground, due to their different heights. It would’ve been more, but almost all of Razz’s dresses were fitted after his height when wearing heels.

Breathing deeply, Red held up an arm and stared at the silk of the wide sleeve. He seemed almost spellbound by the feeling of the sleek material.

“WELL?” Razz asked, laughing under his breath. It was almost adorable to watch. Snorting, he grinned at the thought. Who would’ve ever thought a pirate could be called ‘adorable’?

“this is wha’ ya wear every day?” Red said, almost breathless, a jealous tint in his voice.

“EXCEPT WHEN I’M EXERCISING OR FIGHTING, YES,” he confirmed with a nod. The look on the other’s face was one of pure awe. “YOU LOOK GOOD IN IT.” Except for the fact that it was too small. Images of Red wearing a well-fitting dress appeared in his mind, and he shook his head to get rid of them.

Suddenly footsteps were heard outside of the room, coming closer. Signalling that someone was on their way either here or one of the few cabins close. Red’s sockets grew wide, and he tugged at the dress. He looked slightly panicked.

“gettit o’ me,” he almost commanded, tugging at it again. “or i’ll never hear the end of it. ‘specially if ‘t’s undyne or boss.”

For a short moment Razz thought about refusing to help, simply because Red had had the guts to order him to do something. Then he huffed slightly, and began to ease it off the other’s shoulders. Luckily, they hadn’t closed the back, or this would’ve taken some time. The other wriggled inside the dress, and he gripped harder so his hands wouldn’t slip off the slippery fabric. Red’s breathing had become harder, and Razz fought the urge to roll his eyelights. What was the big deal? It was just a pretty dress. Was it such a crime to like beautiful things when you were a pirate? Thank the stars he wasn’t one if that was the case.

He had only just gotten the dress off Red and put it down on the desk chair as the door opened. Wide-eyed, Red twisted his neck to look who it was. Razz followed suit, but calmer. The captain stood frozen in the door, staring at them with wide eyes. Then a shit-eating grin appeared on her face.

“Don’t mind me, just continue with… whatever you were doing,” she giggled, throwing them a dirty-minded look. “Red, come to my cabin later.”

She stepped backwards, and closed the door as she did so. A groan came from Red, and Razz stared at the door, horrified. Did she… did she think they’d… that he would… He gaped, choking at his words as he tried to get a word out. That was not only fucking illegal but also plain wrong.

“gods fucking damn it,” Red said, sinking down on the bed, and Razz’s eyelights slowly moved toward him instead of the door.

He could only agree.

Red left shortly after. The atmosphere had turned quite awkward and frankly embarrassing. The queen had seemed completely horror-struck after what Undyne had said. Also, if the fish brat wanted him to come to her cabin, then it might be something important. That was what he told himself at least as he excused himself. Cheeks still slightly crimson, he made his way through the hallways of Sarynthia, toward the Captain’s Cabin. The biggest cabin in the entire ship, which was lucky. She and Fell shared houseroom right now, after all.

Almost surprising his brother could stand that. Fell was a neat freak and Undyne a total slob.

Then again, he had shared bed with both Undyne and Red more times than even she could count.

After knocking once Red opened the cabin door. Both his brother and the captain was already in there. They were grinning, staring at him as he appeared, and he scowled. She let out a rowdy laugh as he glared angrily, and stood up to throw an arm over his shoulders. Red growled slightly, but allowed her to steer him inside.

“C’mon, lil’ bro,” Undyne laughed, forcing him to sit on Fell’s bed. “How did it go with the empress?”

Of course he hadn’t been able to get himself to hide the news for Undyne and Fell. The three of them didn’t do that kind of secrets. Family didn’t do that kind of secrets. He rolled his eyelights and stuck out his glowing red tongue at her.

“nothin’ happened, fishbreath,” he told her flatly. “he jus’ wanted ta see my tattoos. ‘parently tha’s not a thing at th’ imperial court.”

That was probably true. Her face fell slightly, but the grin was still wide. Fell, who had been standing over the desk and studying maps, walked up to them. He raised an eyebrow, but elbowed Undyne in the side.

“I TOLD YOU,” he said, sounding smug. “THE QUEEN OF BEOBYRA WOULDN’T. STILL. HOW IS THE SEDUCTION GOING, WHELP?”

Red shrugged, and stood up. Pressing past them he went to the window and stared out at the cloudy sky. The wind was fresh and strong, with no signs of tempest. Perfect sailing conditions, his mind quietly supplied. Throwing a glance at the other two he grinned.

“’s goin’ fine, boss,” he promised. His soul uncomfortably skipped a beat, but he wasn’t sure why. “th’ plan’s still on.”

“GREAT,” Fell said, before flicking his hand. Red let out a muffled protest as his soul turned Blue and he floated over to the other two. His brother had a habit to pick him up all the time. Normally he didn’t mind, his brother’s arms were comfy and felt safe. But he wouldn’t protest if Fell stopped doing it with Blue magic every time he was out of reach. “WELL THEN, BROTHER. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT APPLE PORRIDGE? I’VE BEEN MEANING TO TRY IT OUT WITH THE OLD APPLES NO ONE WANTS TO EAT.”

Red grinned at the empress, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed and embroidering. Another thing he had been surprised to find the other knew how to do, except playing instruments and doing calligraphy. Which was very pretty. Then again, he wasn’t sure why he was surprised over anything the other could do anymore. It had been proven that a princess’ education was very throughout. Except in stuff necessary for living such as cleaning and cooking. That he couldn’t do for his life. Razz was looking pensive as he let the needle travel over the pillow Red had given him for embroidering. He had stolen it from one of the crewmembers. They wouldn’t mind. Probably.

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Razz put down the embroidery and stared at him with tilted head. Red blinked, waiting for the other to speak. He cringed little. It was uncomfortable to be the victim of such an inquiring stare. Eventually, though, the empress spoke.

“WHY DID YOU BECOME A PIRATE? YOU ARE NOT LIKE I IMAGINED A SEA CRIMINAL WOULD BE AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO THINK OF A REASON BUT BEEN UNABLE TO,” he said, and Red snorted. While he wasn’t the most common type of pirate, he most certainly wasn’t an unusual kind either. Shrugging, he leaned backwards in the chair.

“tha’s a long story.”

“I’VE GOT A LOT OF TIME. UNFORTUNATELY.”

Razz stared at him expectantly. Eventually, Red shrugged. What would be the harm in him knowing? Well, there was possible harm in it; Beobyra wasn’t as tolerant with for example accidental childbirth as Peosana was. Yet, he found that he kind of wanted to tell the other.

“’lright,” he agreed, and felt his soul skip a beat as Razz smiled. The other looked almost happy. Probably because he finally got his way in something, but still. It felt weirdly good.

“once upon a time-” he began, staring at the cabin roof. “-there was a woman. ‘er name was eila. ‘cause o’ where ‘n’ how she’d been born, she ‘ad been forced to go into prostitution. not th’ fine kind, like blueberry. she didn’ work at a brothel, neither did she actually ‘ave a place to service ‘er customers. eila was th’ back-alley and cheap inns kind of whore. one day, she ‘ad a client who accidentally left ‘er pregnant. don’ know who, don’ care. ‘nfortunately, she died givin’ birth. twins. th’ newborn skeleton brothers were raised by their uncle ‘n’ their mother’s cousin, who shared th’ same profession.”

“th’ bros lived on th’ backstreets o’ cherlian – th’ capital – durin’ their entire childhood. did wha’ they could t’ survive. stole ‘n’ did a whole lot o’ weird jobs. lived in near-starvation ‘n’ misery but they ‘n’ their family lived. when they turned ten-’n’-four, the brothers had had enough. they decided ta try their luck elsewhere. they left cherlian, ‘n’ decided ta travel ta th’ coast. by walkin’ ‘n’ stealin’ rides a’ carriages they reached drahenport sal – th’ capital o’ th’ neighbourin’ country – ‘n’ did their best ta make a livin’.”

“drahenport sal has a big underworld. th’ brothers found their way into ‘t ‘n’ did wha’ they could ta earn money. tha’ included fightin’. backstreet battle rings were very popular. neither o’ ‘em had any real trainin’, but they had powerful magic ‘n’ did pretty good. then one day one o’ ‘em wanted ta try to take on th’ big fishes – literally. th’ rulin’ master o’ the rings was a fish monster a few years older than ‘em who ‘ad run away from home since she didn’ want ta marry or work with trade like ‘er family. she wanted ta fight. ‘n’ he decided ta battle ‘er. stupid decision, really, but he refused t’ listen ta reason.”

“so ya know. he fought ‘er. she beat ‘im into th’ ground, o’ course. she actually had trainin’ ‘n’ a lot more experience. she could’ve killed ‘im, but she didn’. th’ fish ‘ad taken a likin’ to th’ young skeleton who dared t’ fight ‘er and refused ta back down. so she took the brothers in. taught ‘em ta fight fer real. the three o’ ‘em became their own lil’ family. a couple years later, when th’ bros were ten-‘n’-seven and th’ fish was twenty-‘n’-one, they’d ‘ad enough o’ th’ city.”

“young ‘n’ stupid as they were, they stole a ship. which they quickly sank, ‘cause they had no idea how to steer or handle a ship. ‘t was a wonder they got ‘t out on th’ sea at all. but they were incredibly stubborn ‘n’ the ocean was exciting ‘n’ pirates were cool, so they taught ‘emselves. listenin' ta sailors comin’ ta th’ pubs in town ‘n’ sneaking onboard on th’ ships in th’ harbour. eventually they understood, and while they did they met some more monsters ‘n’ humans who wanted ta leave. they stole ‘nother ship ‘n’ named her sarynthia – one o’ the skeletons idea. ‘n’ they became pirates ‘cause whatever else was there in life? fightin' in rings fer th’ betting money and livin’ in th’ slums? nah. th’ sea’s life ‘n’ this life is true freedom ‘n’ independence. never restin’ ‘n’ never restrictin’.”

“well!” A loud slap was heard as Red clapped his hands together, grinning widely. Razz jumped at the unexpected sound. He turned his gaze from the roof to Razz, a teasing glance in his eyelights. “th’ one that fought undyne was my bro, if ya didn’t figure tha’ out yerself. tha’s my life’s story. wanna tell me yours?”

As expected, Razz frowned at him. His expression was hard to read, nearly closed off but not quite. There was hesitance, and some amount of disgust, and also something that almost looked like pity. As well as something he couldn’t read, but it was softer than Razz’s usual expressions. All to be expected, except the last one. Red grinned wider, trying to show he didn’t need any pity – or want it. Their life had been hard, but hey, it all turned out great. If they avoided the gallows at least. And if they ended up there, at least they’d lived an exciting life.

If he was being honest, after this stupid plan they were quite likely to end up hung from Thyragård’s walls – if they even came that far. Red waved the thought away. He wasn’t going to be honest with himself this time, nope.

“YOU’RE A BASTARD,” Razz stated after a moment of silence. Blinking, Red studied him. There the mild disgust was. He held in a snort, even if the dislike on the other’s face made an unpleasant feeling creep up his spine. He felt slightly self-conscious about not knowing who his father was for the first time in his life.

“i suppose i am,” he said with a shrug, keeping the unconcerned look on his face. “tha’ doesn’ really matter in Peosana, yanno. as long as ya know who yer family ‘n’ yer ancestors are, then yer fine. if ya don’t, on th’ other hand, then yer born to th’ bad graces o’ society. we know half o’ them, so we’re not as good as th’ people who can count generations back but we’re not complete outcasts a’ least.”

“HOW ODD,” the other mused, smoothing out his light pink skirt carefully. It was a pretty dress, Red had to admit. Razz looked contemplative as he looked up from his skirt and studied Red again. Why did he keep doing that?

There were a few moments where neither of them spoke, and Red felt uncomfortableness rising in him again. Eventually he cleared his throat.

“oh, ‘n’ th’ captain said ya can play on carai zalû, by th’ way,” he said, grinning as the other blinked and a bright smile of relief lit up the queen’s face. “not th’ sacred songs o’ course, ‘n’ i doubt ya know them anyway – they’re well-guarded – but some folksongs and popular music. congrats. yer goin’ ta be th’ first beobyrian royal – perhaps th’ first beobyrian – ta celebrate a peosani holiday with peosanira.”

“I WOULD BE HONOURED IF THE ONLY REASON HADN’T BEEN MY KIDNAPPING,” the other said dryly, waving the needle and pointing it accusingly toward him. He’d taken up his embroidery again as Red spoke. “YOU’VE GOT A LOT OF FEASTS, HAVEN’T YOU?”

At that, Red laughed, and nodded. More than he could count. Which admittedly wasn’t long. He reached in under his coat and scratched his arm as he stood. Walking over to the bookcase, he let his fingers travel over a few of the book backs. One of them bore the insignia of Peosana; a golden oak tree on light grey background. It symbolized their (former) biggest sources of income and work; oak and diamonds.

“sure do. there’s carai zaña, elinya, saranha, valhanha, demathava, alithava, pravannalava, carawi-“

“I GET IT!” Razz interrupted him, waving his hands a bit frantically. “BUT WHY?”

“we’ve got a lot o’ gods ‘n’ every single one wants a party. which is understandable if ya ask me.” He turned the pages in one of the books. This one was full of colourful pictures, which was a reason he liked it. Gave him an idea of what it was that happened in the book. He guessed this one was about an evil princess kidnapping some noble. A dragon saved them in the end, it appeared. Seemed like a good story. He’d have to ask Undyne to read it for him and Fell sometime. “well, majesty, i’ve got ta go.”

As he put the book back and made his way toward the door, a hand grabbed his. As he turned back, the first thing he saw was Razz’s big, purple eyelights.

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO LEAVE SO SOON?” the other asked, sounding almost a bit pleading. Red blinked, and then sighed.

“i’ve got work, yanno,” he pointed out, but didn’t insist. He sat back down on the wooden chair. The triumphant expression on Razz’s face was almost… cute.

Wait.

What.

[ma-sulevin]

Slow dancing for DWC :)

Yay! I’m so happy you sent me this one. Asha/Cullen for @dadrunkwriting​

If you’re not up on Asha’s canon: she told Cullen how she feels a couple of months ago, and he pushed her away in favor of focusing on the Inquisition. She wanted to get over him, but… things happen.

Asha presses her tongue tentatively against her swollen lip and hisses at the pain that radiates from the wound. She should have hesitated long enough for Dorian to heal her before she spoke to the Empress, but she wouldn’t. The future of Orlais was more important than a split lip, and now she can’t find him or Henry, and she has to deal with it herself.

After Florienne was arrested, Asha slipped away. She stands now, silent, on one of the balconies circling the ballroom. It’s empty, and she relishes the quiet after so much chaos and fighting during the evening’s festivities.

She bends at the waist, as much as her armored corset will allow her to, and leans against the balcony railing with her forearms flat against the stones. She takes a deep breath and peers deeper into the gardens, trying to figure out what’s happening in the shadows that cloak almost every flower and shrub from her view.

She doesn’t hear when Cullen comes up behind her, doesn’t realize anyone is with her until he leans against the railing next to her.

She hides her surprise, turning slowly to gaze at him with green eyes red around the edges. 

“You did well tonight,” he says, voice pitched low so that no one else will be able to hear him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.”

She stares at him, so resplendent in his dark Inquisition formal wear, his curls carefully controlled, his scar begging for her attention. She wants nothing more than to turn into him, to release the pain she’s been holding in the weeks since he turned her away on the battlements, to tuck her head under that strong chin and let him hold her.

She doesn’t.

“Thank you,” she says, voice sounding strangled even to her own ears, and then she turns away, staring back out into the gardens as Cullen continues.

“You… look lovely tonight,” he says, voice halting at each word like he isn’t sure of what he’s saying.

Asha doesn’t respond. Her head bows between her shoulders, dipping down towards the railing between her shoulders as she continues.

“You stabilized Orlais. Now Corypheus won’t have as strong a foothold when he makes his next move.” His voice is quiet, accent beautiful, quietly rumbling through Asha’s chest. Every word makes her shoulders rise higher around her head until she just can’t hold back her words any longer.

“Cullen.” She sighs his name, cutting him off. He falls silent mid-sentence, amber eyes turning toward her to see what she has to say.

She doesn’t look at him.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice breaks, and she hangs her head even lower. “I can’t–Cullen, I know you don’t want to be with me, but I need time.” She covers her face with her hand and doesn’t see Cullen turn to fully face her. “I need time to get over you, Cullen. You know how I feel. I just… I just need some space.”

She’s almost begging. She’s exhausted from fighting the Venatori and the Harlequin, exhausted from running across Thedas to close rifts and put the continent to rights, exhausted from pretending seeing Cullen almost every day does nothing to her.

Cullen is silent for a long moment, just watching the way Asha stands. Her head is hanging low, each of her breaths sawing in and out of her chest, left hand closing convulsively around the Anchor. He can’t see her tattoo under her green dress, but he knows it’s resting between her shoulder blades, ready to tease him.

The dress she is wearing is much more modest than the original, safer, hiding basic armor, but it still looks beautiful on her.

She shudders, and he looks more carefully at her face. She’s turned away from him, but he can still see when a tear slips from her eye to fall from her cheek into the gardens below.

“Asha,” he breathes, and she looks up at the sound of her name. He’s called her nothing but Inquisitor since that day she foolishly told him how she feels, and now…

He takes a step back. “Will you dance with me?” He’s holding one hand out for her to accept, a small smile on his face.

She should say no.

She doesn’t want to.

She takes his hand instead of speaking and steps into his embrace, allowing herself this one moment. His free hand settles at her waist, drawing her a step closer before his feet begin to follow the tempo set by the band.

They move together through a simple box step, following the beat well enough if not the actual steps of the dance, but still Asha refuses to look at him. She studies one of the decorations on his collar, staring at it stubbornly as they turn together through the dance.

“Asha.” His voice is deep, beautiful, tantalizing. She can’t help it when she begins to curl in on herself, ready to give up for the evening if Cullen wasn’t holding her. “Asha.” His voice breaks a little, just enough to pull her attention from his jacket up to his lips, and finally to his eyes.

His beautiful eyes, brown and gold and amber, the kind of eyes she would happily drown in.

“I’m sorry.”

Of all the words she expected him to say, I’m sorry didn’t even make the cut. She raises her eyebrows and stares at him, waiting for more of an explanation.

“I… I shouldn’t have sent you away when you came to… to talk to me that day.” There’s no question of what day. There’s only one he could mean. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, just lets him hold her through the dance until he speaks again.

“Can you forgive me?” His hand leaves her waist to find her chin, tipping her face up so she’ll meet his gaze again. “Asha, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

She huffs and looks away. “What’s to forgive?” she demands. “I shouldn’t have approached you like I did. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Cullen shakes his head, dropping his hand back to her waist. “I shouldn’t have turned you away when… when I feel as strongly for you as you do for me.”

It’s impossible. There’s no way his feelings run as deeply as hers.

And yet…

She looks up at him, eyes full of new tears. “Cullen?”

He meets her eyes without shying away.

“You once asked if I could care for you as you cared for me, and I ran away. I was weak, afraid of my own feelings. I’ve cared for you as long as you have for me, and I can’t… I can’t let you face these threats alone. I… I want to be with you, Asha. I do.”

Asha blinks, letting his words sink into the places of her heart she never thought would be touched again. The parts she walled off after he turned her away that day on the battlements, the parts she walled off when she saw him speaking to the serving girl who always seemed to be there when Asha arrived for their appointments.

She trembles in his grasp, fingers shaking where they’re clasped in his and where they rest against his shoulder. He can feel her weakening and pulls her just that much closer, ready to support her should she fall.

“You… you have feelings for me?” Even Asha’s voice is shaking when she asks him, eyes wide and watery when she looks up at him.

Cullen’s smile is small and sad, stretching his scar a little as he looks down at her. “I do,” he repeats, echoing his words from just moments earlier.

Asha glances away then back up at him. “You’re not just saying that?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not, Asha. I want to be here. I… I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.” With the way his cheeks are turning pink, Asha has no doubt that he would be rubbing at the back of his neck if he could.

“I…” If she’ll have him? Would she have him? After everything that happened? After he turned her away, left her crying alone on the battlements? After he chose the Inquisition over his own happiness? Over hers?  “You want to… to be with me?”

She won’t look at him now, but he answers honestly. “Yes.” Nothing has changed since their talk on the battlements save the depth of his feelings. He saw the way he hurt her, saw the unexpected depth of her feelings for him. He thought she would get over them right away, but the way she acted the day before they left… “I don’t want anything more.”

Silence reigns between them. They move together until the end of the song, but even then Cullen doesn’t release her. If she had stepped away, he would loosen his grip immediately, but… she doesn’t. 

“Asha?” he asks, voice very quiet, tentative, afraid of what she might say.

She swallows hard. “Of course, Cullen. I l… I want to be with you too.” Her cheeks heat at whatever work she trips over, but Cullen beams, pulling her the half step clsoer to crush her aganst his chest in a hug.

They stand like that for a long moment, tangled in each other’s arms, before she speaks again. “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?”

Cullen laughs from deep in his chest. “Not that I know of. It would be a particularly cruel one, if it were.”

Asha hums. Ain’t that the truth? 

She still has no idea where to go from here. She doesn’t know what lies before them, waiting for their attention in the weeks to come. All she knows is that she has her man, her templar to herself for now.

She isn’t going to argue with that.

When she finally pulls away to look up at him, he tips her chin up to hold her the rest of the way. 

Their eyes meet again, and she smiles in silent consent to what he’s thinking. He bends down, closing the distance between them to press a kiss to her mouth.

She allows the contact for a moment, her toes curling in the lovely shoes Josephine picked out for her, before a sharp pain reminds her of where they are and what they’re doing.

She whines and pulls away. Cullen obeys, following suit even before he sees what’s wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, looking down at the blood now smeared across her chin. Asha shrugs, reaching up to smooth away the bit of blood now against his lip. 

“It’s fine,” she mutters. “I just… I need to get this healed before… before anything else happens.” Her cheeks are red again, but Cullen ignores it in favor of smiling brighter and pulling her closer.

“Of course,” he murmurs, and somehow, somehow, he makes her toes curl again. “I will speak to you later, Asha.”

He releases her, and she steps away, smiling up at him. 

“Goodnight, Cullen,” she says, head cocked to the side, fingers pressed against her split lip.

He grins. “Goodnight, Asha.”

He turns and disappears back into the crowd, and Asha waits several minutes before following after him to find a mage to heal her lip.

She has a lot of making up to do.

[Asha Trevelyan master post]

[allmyloveavery]

I’m thinking about getting an anchor on my wrist that says refuse to sink, I know basic but I’ve wanted this for 6 years now and my dad says If I’m going to get something get a sleeve so it would look better than just random tats all over (he has like 7 tattoos, one sleeve, and one half sleeve, 2 on his calf’s, 3 on his hands)(2 of them on his hands are matching with my mom) anyways I got carried away clearly, but what do you think? Should I do a sleeve or just the wrist?

oohhh that’s actually a really cute idea i love that! well i think sleeves are really cool but single tats in random places are dope too, it’s really just what you like better. You could get the anchor one now and then if you decide that you want more tats you can consider doing a sleeve? idk you should just go with what you think is best babe i think that either way it’ll end up looking really good!

[stephenmccull]

Ink Rx? Welcome To The Camouflaged World Of Paramedical Tattoos

Tattoo artist Eric Catalano performs an areola tattoo procedure on Terri Battista’s breasts at Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio in Hecker, Illinois, in November. After a double mastectomy following cancer in 2013, Battista had reconstructive surgery ― but held off on areola tattoos because of the cost. Then she heard about Catalano’s shop, where breast cancer survivors could get the procedure done for free.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

This story also ran on The New York Times. This story can be republished for free (details).

HECKER, Ill. — The first fingernail tattoo started off as a joke by a man who lost the tips of two fingers in a construction accident in 2018.

But that shifted after Eric Catalano, an auto finance manager turned tattoo artist, finished with his needle.

“The mood changed in here,” Catalano recalled as he stood in his Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio. “Everything turned from funny to wow.”

When Catalano posted a photo of the inked fingernails online last January, he thought maybe 300 people would like the realistic tattoo. He had no idea the image would be viewed by millions of people around the world. Even “Ripley’s Believe It or Not!” tracked him down to feature the viral tattoo: a pair of fingernails that looked so real no one could believe their eyes.

The viral photo pushed Catalano, 39, further into the world of paramedical tattooing. Now people with life-altering scars come from as far as Ireland to visit Catalano’s tattoo shop in this rural village about 30 miles outside St. Louis. They enter Eternal Ink looking for the healing touch they saw online. With flesh-toned ink and a needle, Catalano makes his clients feel whole again with an art form and industry that picks up where doctors leave off.

Mark Bertram lost the tips of two fingers in a construction accident last year. Bertram was trapped in a fan belt at work when the tips of his fingers were severed off. Eric Catalano tattooed fingernails for Bertram.(Courtesy of Eric Catalano)

Catalano is known for his talent with intricate fingernails and filling in the blanks left empty by accidents or surgeries, but other paramedical tattoo artists also are trying out flesh-toned pigments to camouflage imperfections, scars and discolorations for all skin colors.

Using tattoos to blend in rather than stand out is a relatively new field. A school started outside Atlanta about four years ago has trained more than 100 aspiring paramedical tattoo artists.

Because the work is considered cosmetic, though, it typically isn’t covered by medical insurance. Still, the mostly unregulated industry continues to grow even as health care professionals debate the safety of tattoo ink. Many people are willing to pay out-of-pocket for that final piece of healing.

Leslie Pollan, 32, a stay-at-home mom and dog breeder in Oxford, Mississippi, feels this service is priceless. She was bitten on the face by a puppy in 2014. She underwent countless surgeries to correct a scar on her lip.

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“I went to plastic surgeons that were supposed to be the best in Memphis,” Pollan said. “They gave me no hope, so I started looking for other options.”

She ultimately traveled six hours for a paramedical tattoo session with Catalano. He used ink and his tattoo needle to camouflage Pollan’s lip scar, giving her back a piece of her confidence.

“You don’t understand until you’ve been through it,” Pollan said. “It really made me have a different outlook on life.”

José Alvarado, of Pingree Grove, Illinois, winces while getting two fingernail tattoos at Eric Catalano’s studio in Hecker, Illinois, in November.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

A Booming Business

More than 500 miles from Catalano’s shop, industry expert and paramedical tattoo trainer Feleshia Sams, 41, shows artists and health professionals how to cover stretch marks, surgery scars and discolored skin with flesh-toned pigment in the course she launched at the Academy of Advanced Cosmetics in Alpharetta, Georgia.

While a tattoo license is required for such work, separate paramedical tattoo training is not.

Catalano is self-taught. He uses the techniques he picked up years ago while helping breast cancer survivors who wanted tattoos of areolas — the dark area around nipples — after having mastectomies. Those tattoos are among the most common paramedical requests.

His grandmother had breast cancer. Her battle with the disease is one reason Catalano is so dedicated to helping those with the diagnosis.

People with life-altering scars come from as far away as Ireland to visit Eric Catalano’s small tattoo shop, Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio, in Hecker, Illinois, about 30 miles outside St. Louis. (Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Eric Catalano, an auto finance manager turned tattoo artist, specializes in the art of healing. The single father of three performs up to eight reconstructive medical tattoos for free each “Wellness Wednesday” in his small Illinois shop, drawing in nails on finger amputees, mocking up belly buttons after tummy tucks or fleshing out lips on a woman mauled by a dog.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

“Cancer took away a part of my body I can never get back,” said Sarah Penberthy, a breast cancer survivor who came from Festus, Missouri, for areola tattoos. “I felt like I wasn’t even human.”

Penberthy, 39, said she was grateful for her life but still felt incomplete until Catalano stepped in. He tattooed nipples and a creative design of a ship’s anchor on her chest that says “I REFUSE TO SINK.”

Catalano now does up to eight reconstructive tattoos each “Wellness Wednesday,” drawing in nail beds on finger amputees and mocking up belly buttons after tummy tucks.

Catalano doesn’t charge for paramedical tattoos. A GoFundMe page established last year brought in more than $12,000, allowing Catalano to donate his skills for the time being.

“Financially it doesn’t make sense, but it’s just something that I love to do,” Catalano said.

But the single father of three will need more to keep things going. He wants to find other ways to fund his work.

Terri Battista, of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, shows her completed tattoos to her husband, Joe Battista. After a double mastectomy following cancer in 2013, Battista had reconstructive surgery ― but held off on areola tattoos because of the cost. Then she heard about Catalano’s shop, where, as a breast cancer survivor, she could get the procedure done for free.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Elsewhere, the business of paramedical tattoos is supported by the booming interest in cosmetic and plastic surgery, Sams said. Americans spent more than $16.5 billion on cosmetic procedures in 2018. After tummy tucks, breast augmentations and other procedures, some patients want to cover their scars.

“It’s going to take off even more so than what we’ve seen in the past,” said Sams. “We’re providing students with a nontraditional way to make a career.”

She added that one of her graduates reports a six-figure salary after establishing a business of her own.

Every time I see that emotion, I’m 100% sure this is something that I can’t stop doing.

Eric Catalano

Trial-And-Error Tattoos

Catalano’s first fingernail client, Mark Bertram, 46, lost the tips of two fingers at work when his hand became trapped in a fan belt.

“It’s life changing but it’s not life ending,” Bertram said. “Doing work is harder now. Everything is just a little different.”

He can’t tie his shoes with ease, type on a keyboard or hold food the same way anymore. But after two surgeries and occupational therapy, he decided to make light of his new condition by asking Catalano to create the fingernail tattoo. The idea made everyone in the studio laugh until they saw the final result.

Bertram has returned to the shop for a touch-up. The maintenance helps his nails keep their realistic look. The ink in fingernail tattoos, however, doesn’t always absorb into the scar-tissued skin.

The two fingernail tattoos that José Alvarado, 44, of Pingree Grove, Illinois, got from Catalano in November wore off within weeks.

After losing part of two fingers in a work accident 16 years ago, José Alvarado receives two fingernail tattoos at Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Alvarado had become an amputee 16 years ago when he damaged two fingers on the job at a printing factory. He endured two surgeries after the accident and had decided to visit Catalano’s tattoo studio from his home outside Chicago after seeing the artist’s work online. Although he was upset when the tattoos first wore off, he said, he’d like to try them again because he liked how it looked.

Catalano’s not sure why they work for some and not others.

Getting the same results for people with darker skin tones is also a challenge because the color of their nail beds doesn’t match the color of their skin. And paramedical tattoos of any kind for people of color can be more difficult to execute, which is one reason Sams created a line of 30 skin-colored and undertone pigments for trained professionals that she sells online and at her school. Catalano tracks the ink he uses as he continues to figure things out along the way.

“It may not be a one-size-all thing that fits everybody,” he said.

Catalano still does regular tattoos out of the studio he established more than 10 years ago. His rate of $100 per hour for those tattoos has stayed the same while he donates his paramedical work every Wednesday.

“Every time I see that emotion, I’m 100% sure this is something that I can’t stop doing,” he said.

José Alvarado looks at his two new fingernail tattoos after the November procedure. Alvarado later said the tattoos wore off within weeks but he hopes to try again. The ink in fingernail tattoos doesn’t always absorb into the scarred skin.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Ink Rx? Welcome To The Camouflaged World Of Paramedical Tattoos published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Ink Rx? Welcome To The Camouflaged World Of Paramedical Tattoos

Tattoo artist Eric Catalano performs an areola tattoo procedure on Terri Battista’s breasts at Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio in Hecker, Illinois, in November. After a double mastectomy following cancer in 2013, Battista had reconstructive surgery ― but held off on areola tattoos because of the cost. Then she heard about Catalano’s shop, where breast cancer survivors could get the procedure done for free.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

This story also ran on The New York Times. This story can be republished for free (details).

HECKER, Ill. — The first fingernail tattoo started off as a joke by a man who lost the tips of two fingers in a construction accident in 2018.

But that shifted after Eric Catalano, an auto finance manager turned tattoo artist, finished with his needle.

“The mood changed in here,” Catalano recalled as he stood in his Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio. “Everything turned from funny to wow.”

When Catalano posted a photo of the inked fingernails online last January, he thought maybe 300 people would like the realistic tattoo. He had no idea the image would be viewed by millions of people around the world. Even “Ripley’s Believe It or Not!” tracked him down to feature the viral tattoo: a pair of fingernails that looked so real no one could believe their eyes.

The viral photo pushed Catalano, 39, further into the world of paramedical tattooing. Now people with life-altering scars come from as far as Ireland to visit Catalano’s tattoo shop in this rural village about 30 miles outside St. Louis. They enter Eternal Ink looking for the healing touch they saw online. With flesh-toned ink and a needle, Catalano makes his clients feel whole again with an art form and industry that picks up where doctors leave off.

Mark Bertram lost the tips of two fingers in a construction accident last year. Bertram was trapped in a fan belt at work when the tips of his fingers were severed off. Eric Catalano tattooed fingernails for Bertram.(Courtesy of Eric Catalano)

Catalano is known for his talent with intricate fingernails and filling in the blanks left empty by accidents or surgeries, but other paramedical tattoo artists also are trying out flesh-toned pigments to camouflage imperfections, scars and discolorations for all skin colors.

Using tattoos to blend in rather than stand out is a relatively new field. A school started outside Atlanta about four years ago has trained more than 100 aspiring paramedical tattoo artists.

Because the work is considered cosmetic, though, it typically isn’t covered by medical insurance. Still, the mostly unregulated industry continues to grow even as health care professionals debate the safety of tattoo ink. Many people are willing to pay out-of-pocket for that final piece of healing.

Leslie Pollan, 32, a stay-at-home mom and dog breeder in Oxford, Mississippi, feels this service is priceless. She was bitten on the face by a puppy in 2014. She underwent countless surgeries to correct a scar on her lip.

Email Sign-Up

Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Sign Up

Please confirm your email address below:

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“I went to plastic surgeons that were supposed to be the best in Memphis,” Pollan said. “They gave me no hope, so I started looking for other options.”

She ultimately traveled six hours for a paramedical tattoo session with Catalano. He used ink and his tattoo needle to camouflage Pollan’s lip scar, giving her back a piece of her confidence.

“You don’t understand until you’ve been through it,” Pollan said. “It really made me have a different outlook on life.”

José Alvarado, of Pingree Grove, Illinois, winces while getting two fingernail tattoos at Eric Catalano’s studio in Hecker, Illinois, in November.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

A Booming Business

More than 500 miles from Catalano’s shop, industry expert and paramedical tattoo trainer Feleshia Sams, 41, shows artists and health professionals how to cover stretch marks, surgery scars and discolored skin with flesh-toned pigment in the course she launched at the Academy of Advanced Cosmetics in Alpharetta, Georgia.

While a tattoo license is required for such work, separate paramedical tattoo training is not.

Catalano is self-taught. He uses the techniques he picked up years ago while helping breast cancer survivors who wanted tattoos of areolas — the dark area around nipples — after having mastectomies. Those tattoos are among the most common paramedical requests.

His grandmother had breast cancer. Her battle with the disease is one reason Catalano is so dedicated to helping those with the diagnosis.

People with life-altering scars come from as far away as Ireland to visit Eric Catalano’s small tattoo shop, Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio, in Hecker, Illinois, about 30 miles outside St. Louis. (Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Eric Catalano, an auto finance manager turned tattoo artist, specializes in the art of healing. The single father of three performs up to eight reconstructive medical tattoos for free each “Wellness Wednesday” in his small Illinois shop, drawing in nails on finger amputees, mocking up belly buttons after tummy tucks or fleshing out lips on a woman mauled by a dog.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

“Cancer took away a part of my body I can never get back,” said Sarah Penberthy, a breast cancer survivor who came from Festus, Missouri, for areola tattoos. “I felt like I wasn’t even human.”

Penberthy, 39, said she was grateful for her life but still felt incomplete until Catalano stepped in. He tattooed nipples and a creative design of a ship’s anchor on her chest that says “I REFUSE TO SINK.”

Catalano now does up to eight reconstructive tattoos each “Wellness Wednesday,” drawing in nail beds on finger amputees and mocking up belly buttons after tummy tucks.

Catalano doesn’t charge for paramedical tattoos. A GoFundMe page established last year brought in more than $12,000, allowing Catalano to donate his skills for the time being.

“Financially it doesn’t make sense, but it’s just something that I love to do,” Catalano said.

But the single father of three will need more to keep things going. He wants to find other ways to fund his work.

Terri Battista, of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, shows her completed tattoos to her husband, Joe Battista. After a double mastectomy following cancer in 2013, Battista had reconstructive surgery ― but held off on areola tattoos because of the cost. Then she heard about Catalano’s shop, where, as a breast cancer survivor, she could get the procedure done for free.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Elsewhere, the business of paramedical tattoos is supported by the booming interest in cosmetic and plastic surgery, Sams said. Americans spent more than $16.5 billion on cosmetic procedures in 2018. After tummy tucks, breast augmentations and other procedures, some patients want to cover their scars.

“It’s going to take off even more so than what we’ve seen in the past,” said Sams. “We’re providing students with a nontraditional way to make a career.”

She added that one of her graduates reports a six-figure salary after establishing a business of her own.

Every time I see that emotion, I’m 100% sure this is something that I can’t stop doing.

Eric Catalano

Trial-And-Error Tattoos

Catalano’s first fingernail client, Mark Bertram, 46, lost the tips of two fingers at work when his hand became trapped in a fan belt.

“It’s life changing but it’s not life ending,” Bertram said. “Doing work is harder now. Everything is just a little different.”

He can’t tie his shoes with ease, type on a keyboard or hold food the same way anymore. But after two surgeries and occupational therapy, he decided to make light of his new condition by asking Catalano to create the fingernail tattoo. The idea made everyone in the studio laugh until they saw the final result.

Bertram has returned to the shop for a touch-up. The maintenance helps his nails keep their realistic look. The ink in fingernail tattoos, however, doesn’t always absorb into the scar-tissued skin.

The two fingernail tattoos that José Alvarado, 44, of Pingree Grove, Illinois, got from Catalano in November wore off within weeks.

After losing part of two fingers in a work accident 16 years ago, José Alvarado receives two fingernail tattoos at Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Alvarado had become an amputee 16 years ago when he damaged two fingers on the job at a printing factory. He endured two surgeries after the accident and had decided to visit Catalano’s tattoo studio from his home outside Chicago after seeing the artist’s work online. Although he was upset when the tattoos first wore off, he said, he’d like to try them again because he liked how it looked.

Catalano’s not sure why they work for some and not others.

Getting the same results for people with darker skin tones is also a challenge because the color of their nail beds doesn’t match the color of their skin. And paramedical tattoos of any kind for people of color can be more difficult to execute, which is one reason Sams created a line of 30 skin-colored and undertone pigments for trained professionals that she sells online and at her school. Catalano tracks the ink he uses as he continues to figure things out along the way.

“It may not be a one-size-all thing that fits everybody,” he said.

Catalano still does regular tattoos out of the studio he established more than 10 years ago. His rate of $100 per hour for those tattoos has stayed the same while he donates his paramedical work every Wednesday.

“Every time I see that emotion, I’m 100% sure this is something that I can’t stop doing,” he said.

José Alvarado looks at his two new fingernail tattoos after the November procedure. Alvarado later said the tattoos wore off within weeks but he hopes to try again. The ink in fingernail tattoos doesn’t always absorb into the scarred skin.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Ink Rx? Welcome To The Camouflaged World Of Paramedical Tattoos published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[dinafbrownil]

Ink Rx? Welcome To The Camouflaged World Of Paramedical Tattoos

Tattoo artist Eric Catalano performs an areola tattoo procedure on Terri Battista’s breasts at Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio in Hecker, Illinois, in November. After a double mastectomy following cancer in 2013, Battista had reconstructive surgery ― but held off on areola tattoos because of the cost. Then she heard about Catalano’s shop, where breast cancer survivors could get the procedure done for free.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

This story also ran on The New York Times. This story can be republished for free (details).

HECKER, Ill. — The first fingernail tattoo started off as a joke by a man who lost the tips of two fingers in a construction accident in 2018.

But that shifted after Eric Catalano, an auto finance manager turned tattoo artist, finished with his needle.

“The mood changed in here,” Catalano recalled as he stood in his Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio. “Everything turned from funny to wow.”

When Catalano posted a photo of the inked fingernails online last January, he thought maybe 300 people would like the realistic tattoo. He had no idea the image would be viewed by millions of people around the world. Even “Ripley’s Believe It or Not!” tracked him down to feature the viral tattoo: a pair of fingernails that looked so real no one could believe their eyes.

The viral photo pushed Catalano, 39, further into the world of paramedical tattooing. Now people with life-altering scars come from as far as Ireland to visit Catalano’s tattoo shop in this rural village about 30 miles outside St. Louis. They enter Eternal Ink looking for the healing touch they saw online. With flesh-toned ink and a needle, Catalano makes his clients feel whole again with an art form and industry that picks up where doctors leave off.

Mark Bertram lost the tips of two fingers in a construction accident last year. Bertram was trapped in a fan belt at work when the tips of his fingers were severed off. Eric Catalano tattooed fingernails for Bertram.(Courtesy of Eric Catalano)

Catalano is known for his talent with intricate fingernails and filling in the blanks left empty by accidents or surgeries, but other paramedical tattoo artists also are trying out flesh-toned pigments to camouflage imperfections, scars and discolorations for all skin colors.

Using tattoos to blend in rather than stand out is a relatively new field. A school started outside Atlanta about four years ago has trained more than 100 aspiring paramedical tattoo artists.

Because the work is considered cosmetic, though, it typically isn’t covered by medical insurance. Still, the mostly unregulated industry continues to grow even as health care professionals debate the safety of tattoo ink. Many people are willing to pay out-of-pocket for that final piece of healing.

Leslie Pollan, 32, a stay-at-home mom and dog breeder in Oxford, Mississippi, feels this service is priceless. She was bitten on the face by a puppy in 2014. She underwent countless surgeries to correct a scar on her lip.

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“I went to plastic surgeons that were supposed to be the best in Memphis,” Pollan said. “They gave me no hope, so I started looking for other options.”

She ultimately traveled six hours for a paramedical tattoo session with Catalano. He used ink and his tattoo needle to camouflage Pollan’s lip scar, giving her back a piece of her confidence.

“You don’t understand until you’ve been through it,” Pollan said. “It really made me have a different outlook on life.”

José Alvarado, of Pingree Grove, Illinois, winces while getting two fingernail tattoos at Eric Catalano’s studio in Hecker, Illinois, in November.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

A Booming Business

More than 500 miles from Catalano’s shop, industry expert and paramedical tattoo trainer Feleshia Sams, 41, shows artists and health professionals how to cover stretch marks, surgery scars and discolored skin with flesh-toned pigment in the course she launched at the Academy of Advanced Cosmetics in Alpharetta, Georgia.

While a tattoo license is required for such work, separate paramedical tattoo training is not.

Catalano is self-taught. He uses the techniques he picked up years ago while helping breast cancer survivors who wanted tattoos of areolas — the dark area around nipples — after having mastectomies. Those tattoos are among the most common paramedical requests.

His grandmother had breast cancer. Her battle with the disease is one reason Catalano is so dedicated to helping those with the diagnosis.

People with life-altering scars come from as far away as Ireland to visit Eric Catalano’s small tattoo shop, Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio, in Hecker, Illinois, about 30 miles outside St. Louis. (Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Eric Catalano, an auto finance manager turned tattoo artist, specializes in the art of healing. The single father of three performs up to eight reconstructive medical tattoos for free each “Wellness Wednesday” in his small Illinois shop, drawing in nails on finger amputees, mocking up belly buttons after tummy tucks or fleshing out lips on a woman mauled by a dog.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

“Cancer took away a part of my body I can never get back,” said Sarah Penberthy, a breast cancer survivor who came from Festus, Missouri, for areola tattoos. “I felt like I wasn’t even human.”

Penberthy, 39, said she was grateful for her life but still felt incomplete until Catalano stepped in. He tattooed nipples and a creative design of a ship’s anchor on her chest that says “I REFUSE TO SINK.”

Catalano now does up to eight reconstructive tattoos each “Wellness Wednesday,” drawing in nail beds on finger amputees and mocking up belly buttons after tummy tucks.

Catalano doesn’t charge for paramedical tattoos. A GoFundMe page established last year brought in more than $12,000, allowing Catalano to donate his skills for the time being.

“Financially it doesn’t make sense, but it’s just something that I love to do,” Catalano said.

But the single father of three will need more to keep things going. He wants to find other ways to fund his work.

Terri Battista, of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, shows her completed tattoos to her husband, Joe Battista. After a double mastectomy following cancer in 2013, Battista had reconstructive surgery ― but held off on areola tattoos because of the cost. Then she heard about Catalano’s shop, where, as a breast cancer survivor, she could get the procedure done for free.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Elsewhere, the business of paramedical tattoos is supported by the booming interest in cosmetic and plastic surgery, Sams said. Americans spent more than $16.5 billion on cosmetic procedures in 2018. After tummy tucks, breast augmentations and other procedures, some patients want to cover their scars.

“It’s going to take off even more so than what we’ve seen in the past,” said Sams. “We’re providing students with a nontraditional way to make a career.”

She added that one of her graduates reports a six-figure salary after establishing a business of her own.

Every time I see that emotion, I’m 100% sure this is something that I can’t stop doing.

Eric Catalano

Trial-And-Error Tattoos

Catalano’s first fingernail client, Mark Bertram, 46, lost the tips of two fingers at work when his hand became trapped in a fan belt.

“It’s life changing but it’s not life ending,” Bertram said. “Doing work is harder now. Everything is just a little different.”

He can’t tie his shoes with ease, type on a keyboard or hold food the same way anymore. But after two surgeries and occupational therapy, he decided to make light of his new condition by asking Catalano to create the fingernail tattoo. The idea made everyone in the studio laugh until they saw the final result.

Bertram has returned to the shop for a touch-up. The maintenance helps his nails keep their realistic look. The ink in fingernail tattoos, however, doesn’t always absorb into the scar-tissued skin.

The two fingernail tattoos that José Alvarado, 44, of Pingree Grove, Illinois, got from Catalano in November wore off within weeks.

After losing part of two fingers in a work accident 16 years ago, José Alvarado receives two fingernail tattoos at Eternal Ink Tattoo Studio.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

Alvarado had become an amputee 16 years ago when he damaged two fingers on the job at a printing factory. He endured two surgeries after the accident and had decided to visit Catalano’s tattoo studio from his home outside Chicago after seeing the artist’s work online. Although he was upset when the tattoos first wore off, he said, he’d like to try them again because he liked how it looked.

Catalano’s not sure why they work for some and not others.

Getting the same results for people with darker skin tones is also a challenge because the color of their nail beds doesn’t match the color of their skin. And paramedical tattoos of any kind for people of color can be more difficult to execute, which is one reason Sams created a line of 30 skin-colored and undertone pigments for trained professionals that she sells online and at her school. Catalano tracks the ink he uses as he continues to figure things out along the way.

“It may not be a one-size-all thing that fits everybody,” he said.

Catalano still does regular tattoos out of the studio he established more than 10 years ago. His rate of $100 per hour for those tattoos has stayed the same while he donates his paramedical work every Wednesday.

“Every time I see that emotion, I’m 100% sure this is something that I can’t stop doing,” he said.

José Alvarado looks at his two new fingernail tattoos after the November procedure. Alvarado later said the tattoos wore off within weeks but he hopes to try again. The ink in fingernail tattoos doesn’t always absorb into the scarred skin.(Michael B. Thomas for KHN)

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/ink-rx-welcome-to-the-camouflaged-world-of-paramedical-tattoos/

[gyrlversion]

19 Designs Tattoos Artists Are Sick And Tired Of Doing

1.

Big cats in crowns

“The head artist at my shop was getting super burnt out on big cats (specifically lions) wearing crowns. In about a month, he’d done five realistic lions (and a panther) wearing crowns on dudes who wanted to feel like kings. I had to start politely turning them down when people called to inquire about them.”

—AncientCatGod

2.

Anchors — usually accompanied by the words, “Don’t sink.”

“And when you ask them what it means, it’s always, ‘It symbolizes that I can’t be held down.’“

—MCsquared3745

3.

Forests around people’s arms

“My tattoo artist told me he’s refusing to do any more forests around people’s arms.”

—85on31

4.

Chemistry tattoos

“I have a couple chemistry tattoos, and my artist made a comment about girls getting dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin with the word ‘Happiness.’ Seemed like he might have done a few too many.”

—SPECTRE-Agent-No-13

5.

The entire Bible

“I’m not religious at all, but I think I’ve ascribed the entire Bible on human flesh at this point.“

—RAWest_ofRaw

6.

Palm trees

“My local tattoo shop in the Caribbean has a running tally of how many times they’ve had to tattoo palm trees on girls’ ankles.”

—tonikyat

7.

Pocket watches surrounded by roses

—c0nsume0

8.

Barcodes

“My friend got so tired of doing barcodes on people’s necks, he made a game out of using the silliest products as references. So if the customers scanned the tattoo, they’d see that the barcode was for sanitary products, a bag of nuts, mashed potatoes, etc.”

—Bobvankay

9.

Latitude and longitude coordinates

—CJM_cola_cole

10.

The outline of Pikes Peak

“I went to a tattoo artist in Colorado once. He asked what I was thinking of doing, and I said, ‘I want an outline of—’ and he just sighed and said, ‘Listen dude, I’m sorry, but if I have to tattoo Pikes Peak one more time, I’m gonna lose it.’

For the record, I was asking for a rat, and he apologized profusely, but I thought it was hilarious. I know three different Coloradans with Pikes Peak tattoos.”

—Renlywinsthethrone

11.

Mandalas and tree silhouettes

“IDK, but 20 years from now, there’s gonna be a lot of old people with mandala tattoos and tree silhouettes.”

—hatsnatcher23

12.

A mustache on the inside of a pointer finger

“I’ve seen so many people get a mustache on the inside of their pointer finger. I feel like that fad has to have gotten old with a few artists.”

—wild_stryke

13.

Two M’s on people’s butt cheeks

“My tattoo artist told me he’s no longer doing matching M’s on butt cheeks. Ya know, so it spells out ‘MOM’ when you bend over. The joke’s been played out.”

—Blewedup

14.

Astrological signs

—blargher

15.

Face tattoos on 18-year-olds

“I’m not against face tattoos — I have friends and peers that wear them quite well. My issue is 18-year-olds who want to get them because they want a certain look. Pop culture has made them seem a lot more acceptable then they actually are. At the end of the day, in the majority of careers, they will hinder employment.”

—asshatface666

16.

Octopuses

“I’m completely sick of octopus tattoos. Everyone who has one thinks they’re insanely unique and doesn’t realize it’s a ridiculously popular tattoo.“

—ffunster

17.

Literally getting the words, “Your name” on someone’s butts

—j3rt190

18.

The Deathly Hallows symbol

“My friend who’s a tattoo artist said he’s done the Deathly Hallows symbol probably 15 times in his career.”

—Romane_PaulNibaa

19.

And lastly, infinity loops

“As I was setting up my last appointment, my artist and I were talking at the front desk when the receptionist took a call. They told the caller, ‘Just a minute,’ and asked my artist: ‘Hey, do you have time for a walk-in today?’ He looked over and said, ‘Maybe, what do they want?’ ‘An infinity loop.’ ‘Are they on hold?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Fuck that, I’m so fucking sick of infinity loops. Tell ’em I’m busy.’ Safe to say my artist is sick of infinity loops.”

—aZombieSlayer

Answers have been edited for length and/or clarity.

What other tattoos do you think are overdone? Let us know in the comments!!!

The post 19 Designs Tattoos Artists Are Sick And Tired Of Doing appeared first on Gyrlversion.

from WordPress http://www.gyrlversion.net/19-designs-tattoos-artists-are-sick-and-tired-of-doing/

[sloshasasha]

Continuation from the last post

So I had lunch with my grandma and that was rather uneventful.  She asked if I wanted to go back to the bureau of immigration to get my visa.  I politely declined because I knew she would make a scene by confronting the guard who denied my entry.  What is it with Roxas women and confrontations?  Ugh, I definitely inherited my terrible temperament from her.  My family also inherited all sorts of fucked up from her.  You think your family is dysfunctional?  Mine is definitely in the top 10, it all started with her.  Not only does this dysfunction affect her children and grandchildren, but also her siblings children.  

Anyways, I paid 75 pesos to get into Fort Santiago, barely made it into the fort and now grandma wants to know if I’d like to go back in there while she accompanies me.  No thanks, I prefer doing things on my own and definitely at my own pace.  We ended up going home and from there I decided to go over to the restaurant to hang out.

The really cool thing about my aunt’s restaurant is that there is a hostel across the street.  Like, literally, a hop, skip, and a jump away.  Throughout the day the restaurant sees foreign travelers coming in for a drink and some food.  I’ve met several travelers, but none of them stick out like this one guy, a fellow American and he’s from Texas.  It was the first time in a few days that I didn’t feel so alone in a country that I should be familiar with.  Also, it felt good to have a conversation with someone who wasn’t struggling to understand what I was saying. 

Most of the week was uneventful, though I did get to go up to the rooftop of a hotel down the street.

This city is so big and it makes me realize how small I am in this world.  It also makes me wonder, how many people in the poor parts of town have traveled more than 5 miles from their neighborhood?  How many people have traveled to different parts of their country?  How many people have had the luxury I’ve been blessed with to visit several countries and hundreds of cities around the world?  

Taking in this cityscape also made me feel sad.  After a week abroad I’m finally feeling home sick.  I miss being able to plop down on the couch and binge watch stupid movies on Netflix, I miss the convenience of being able to drive myself around town, I miss my xbox, I miss being able to see trees everywhere I go, I miss the semi-fresh air, I miss reliable wifi and high speed cellular data.  Jesus, I’m embarrassed that I’ve got first world problems.  

For the past 4 months I’ve been feeling depressed.  Not the suicidal kind, I may be selfish but I love life, and my friends and family too much to leave them all behind.  There’s a hole in my soul that needs to be filled.  There are two things in my life that I need in order to fill it, but neither have a place for each other.  The first one is my need and desire to be adventurous and explore the world.  There’s so much out there that pictures and stories from other people can’t do justice.  I want to see, feel, and touch my surroundings.  The other part of that hole is my need and desire to settle down and start a family.  Adventure and travel have no place when you’re tied down and held in place by an anchor as heavy as a family.  

HAHAHA, that just reminded me of people who get anchor tattoos with the saying, ”Refuse to Sink.”  Umm, anchors were meant to sink.  They hold objects in place.  Should’ve gotten a balloon tattoo...

Before going on this trip, I had a goal to go diving.  I have conquered the mountains by learning to ski and snowboard and now it’s time to conquer the ocean.  There’s another world under water that I want to see.  I’ve snorkeled so many times, but you can only hold your breath for so long when you dive down before you have to go back up for more air.  So I’ve decided that while I’m in Southeast Asia, I might as well take advantage by traveling to another country.  I figured I could get my open water diver certification in Thailand, travel to a country I’ve never been to, and this also solves my visa problem.  If I leave the Philippines and come back, my visa resets itself.  Ha!

Today is Friday, I have one more day till I travel to El, Nido, Palawan.  I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE CITY!  If you get a chance, check this out https://www.airbnb.co.uk/rooms/10048675 That’s where I’ll be this weekend.  I’m soooo excited.  Chances are I won’t post till sometime next week.

[gyrlversion]

Tattoo Artists Are Sharing Which Tattoos Theyre Tired Of Doing, And Chances Are You Have One Of Them

1.

Big cats in crowns

“The head artist at my shop was getting super burnt out on big cats (specifically lions) wearing crowns. In about a month, he’d done five realistic lions (and a panther) wearing crowns on dudes who wanted to feel like kings. I had to start politely turning them down when people called to inquire about them.”

—AncientCatGod

2.

Anchors — usually accompanied by the words, “Don’t sink.”

“And when you ask them what it means, it’s always, ‘It symbolizes that I can’t be held down.’“

—MCsquared3745

3.

Forests around people’s arms

“My tattoo artist told me he’s refusing to do any more forests around people’s arms.”

—85on31

4.

Chemistry tattoos

“I have a couple chemistry tattoos, and my artist made a comment about girls getting dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin with the word ‘Happiness.’ Seemed like he might have done a few too many.”

—SPECTRE-Agent-No-13

5.

The entire Bible

“I’m not religious at all, but I think I’ve ascribed the entire Bible on human flesh at this point.“

—RAWest_ofRaw

6.

Palm trees

“My local tattoo shop in the Caribbean has a running tally of how many times they’ve had to tattoo palm trees on girls’ ankles.”

—tonikyat

7.

Pocket watches surrounded by roses

—c0nsume0

8.

Barcodes

“My friend got so tired of doing barcodes on people’s necks, he made a game out of using the silliest products as references. So if the customers scanned the tattoo, they’d see that the barcode was for sanitary products, a bag of nuts, mashed potatoes, etc.”

—Bobvankay

9.

Latitude and longitude coordinates

—CJM_cola_cole

10.

The outline of Pikes Peak

“I went to a tattoo artist in Colorado once. He asked what I was thinking of doing, and I said, ‘I want an outline of—’ and he just sighed and said, ‘Listen dude, I’m sorry, but if I have to tattoo Pikes Peak one more time, I’m gonna lose it.’

For the record, I was asking for a rat, and he apologized profusely, but I thought it was hilarious. I know three different Coloradans with Pikes Peak tattoos.”

—Renlywinsthethrone

11.

Mandalas and tree silhouettes

“IDK, but 20 years from now, there’s gonna be a lot of old people with mandala tattoos and tree silhouettes.”

—hatsnatcher23

12.

A mustache on the inside of a pointer finger

“I’ve seen so many people get a mustache on the inside of their pointer finger. I feel like that fad has to have gotten old with a few artists.”

—wild_stryke

13.

Two M’s on people’s butt cheeks

“My tattoo artist told me he’s no longer doing matching M’s on butt cheeks. Ya know, so it spells out ‘MOM’ when you bend over. The joke’s been played out.”

—Blewedup

14.

Astrological signs

—blargher

15.

Face tattoos on 18-year-olds

“I’m not against face tattoos — I have friends and peers that wear them quite well. My issue is 18-year-olds who want to get them because they want a certain look. Pop culture has made them seem a lot more acceptable then they actually are. At the end of the day, in the majority of careers, they will hinder employment.”

—asshatface666

16.

Octopuses

“I’m completely sick of octopus tattoos. Everyone who has one thinks they’re insanely unique and doesn’t realize it’s a ridiculously popular tattoo.“

—ffunster

17.

Literally getting the words, “Your name” on someone’s butts

—j3rt190

18.

The Deathly Hallows symbol

“My friend who’s a tattoo artist said he’s done the Deathly Hallows symbol probably 15 times in his career.”

—Romane_PaulNibaa

19.

And lastly, infinity loops

“As I was setting up my last appointment, my artist and I were talking at the front desk when the receptionist took a call. They told the caller, ‘Just a minute,’ and asked my artist: ‘Hey, do you have time for a walk-in today?’ He looked over and said, ‘Maybe, what do they want?’ ‘An infinity loop.’ ‘Are they on hold?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Fuck that, I’m so fucking sick of infinity loops. Tell ’em I’m busy.’ Safe to say my artist is sick of infinity loops.”

—aZombieSlayer

Answers have been edited for length and/or clarity.

What other tattoos do you think are overdone? Let us know in the comments!!!

The post Tattoo Artists Are Sharing Which Tattoos Theyre Tired Of Doing, And Chances Are You Have One Of Them appeared first on Gyrlversion.

from WordPress http://www.gyrlversion.net/tattoo-artists-are-sharing-which-tattoos-theyre-tired-of-doing-and-chances-are-you-have-one-of-them/