#Skin Bundles For Tattoo Artists

[genisynth]

Tattoo Travel Case Sydney

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[drak3n]

TATTOO ARTIST/PIERCER!CHOSO

CONTENT WARNINGS: unestablished relationship, smut, public sex, mentions of body modifications, cunnilingus, implied blowjob at the end, choso has a prince albert-, tongue- and a vertical eyebrow piercing

sena’s note: i know there’s a lot of tattoo artist choso already but i folded — anywaysss up next is my man gojo 🖤

MINI-SERIES MASTERLIST

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who was very well-known for his talent despite being so young; who was always pretty gifted with his hands and used peoples’ skin like a canvas, gracing it with the prettiest designs, simple and small, or detailed and large

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who shared a studio with a few fellow tattoo artists and piercers, but had a goal of having his own studio someday

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who had just finished a 5h back piece on his last client and walked towards the front desk to retrieve his cigarettes and take a break, just for his hooded, brown eyes to set on you

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who saw you standing next to your friend and encouraging her to hand in her data sheet for her tattoo, and who watched as your friend was immediately guided into one of the rooms by a tattoo artist, just to leave you all by yourself

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who came back from smoking minutes later to see you sitting on one of the leather seats, flipping through pages of the shop’s magazine that showed many different designs of tattoos, and also piercings

“you want to get anything done?”

nearly flinching at the cold voice sounding a couple of feet away from you, your eyes met choso’s, who was leaning against the wall, revealing fully tattooed forearms through his loose-fitted t-shirt. he looked very… unique, to say the least.

“oh, no, i’m just waiting for a friend,” you smiled kindly, “she’s getting tattooed right now. think it’ll take some time.” you felt guilty that you stared at the man like he was some kind of alien. his features were just really captivating, the plethora of tattoos peeking out from his short sleeves and from the collar leaving little to the imagination that they continued even beneath that shirt.

his eyebrow tattoo shone under the light, but when he opened his mouth, your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of a tongue piercing.

you suddenly remembered what they said about guys with tongue piercings, and felt deeply ashamed about getting such thoughts about a hot stranger.

“come,” he invited you towards the room he usually worked in, “you’ll get bored here. you’ll get a piercing on the house.” he didn’t know why he offered that. maybe, just maybe it was because he didn’t want the other piercers and tattoo artists to charm you first.

at the end of the day, you left the studio with your freshly tattooed friend and a pierced nose.

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who hoped you’d walk in again, and whose shoulders nearly slumped in disappointment upon seeing your friend coming in by herself a few days later to get her tattoo checked, without your company

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who — totally on accident — saw that the studio had been tagged in multiple stories on instagram, one of which being yours, a spontaneous picture taken of your side profile that showcased the gem he had pierced into your cute nose

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who absolutely didn’t follow you after that, just to see mere minutes later that you did, and before he could stop himself, he followed you back

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who really wasn’t the best texter, which left you wondering if you should even try and talk to him at all; whose eyes went wide in surprise when you waltzed into the studio to get your thigh tattooed weeks later

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who showed you that same day how it felt to get eaten out by someone with a tongue piercing

“c—choso… fuck— what if someone—”

your hand clamped in front of your mouth to stifle a moan threatening to force itself out when the ball of metal on choso’s wet muscle bumped against your bundle of nerves. you were seated on the couch he’d previously tatted on, both of your bare legs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted on your delicious pussy.

“let them,” he spoke gruffly into your cunt as his tattooed hands dug into the underside of your thighs. he didn’t hide the smirk displaying on his lips at the way you drooled from the sensation of his piercing coolly gliding against your wet pussy lips.

“c’mon. use your words. i’ll let you cum if you do.”

“pleasepleaseplease let me cum… please choso.”

“cute. you want to feel what the piercing on my dick feels like?”

➩ TATTOO ARTIST!CHOSO who totally did make you beg on his thick dick adorned with a shiny prince albert piercing, and who couldn’t even be mad at you when you flashed him a tongue piercing you had gotten at another studio to surprise and make him see stars just like he’d done for you

[peachesofteal]

Oh god - I’m still stuck on this.

18+ MDNI / explicit sex, dark and twisted themes

I've been thinking a lot about Simon Riley who doesn't want the divorce.

Simon who never wanted to be separated, who hates living apart. Simon, who would drag you to a tattoo artist to get your ring permanently inked to your skin so you could never be rid of him, if he could. He’s been actively avoiding the stack of papers that are waiting for his signature, staying on longer Ops, picking up extra work.

Can’t be divorced if there’s no signature.

Simon, who unbeknownst to you, still comes home. Still pushes open the back door in the dead of night, keeping his steps silent so he doesn't wake you. Simon, who stands in the doorway of your bedroom, his old bedroom, and watches you sleep on his side of the bed in those little, ratty shorts with your ass perked up in the air like you're waiting for him. Like you’re ripe, and ready.

Simon, who checks your birth control every night. Who’s pleased when he realizes this month’s pack hasn’t even been opened, every color coded pill still in place, foil glinting at him in the low light of the vanity.

Good girl, he thinks to himself, shutting your medicine cabinet with a silent click. Getting yourself all ready for him.

Simon, who agrees to meet you for dinner.

"Let's just sign and get it over with. We can catch up, too. Talk about what we want to do with the house."

"Alright, love. Whatever you want."

You're a bundle of nerves when he shows up, seated at a little table in the back, glass of wine already half gone.

Normally, he'd try to soothe you. You've always been naturally anxious, a little dependent, and in a social setting, a little high strung. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch.

But this time, he doesn't bother. He sits there with his arms crossed, watching you nervously chatter away, one hand flat on a manilla envelope. He stays quiet, letting you go on, watching your hands seek something to do, fingers finding your wine glass over and over.

You drink two glasses of wine before the entrees are served, dangerously close to your usual self imposed "three drink" limit.

One thing bleeds into another. You start to lean a little, in your chair. He nurses a bourbon, you order a shot after the meal.

"Want one?" Your tongue follows the seam of the lime wedge, dabbing along the spongy, white fibers before your teeth sink into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

“You know I don’t like tequila, but you go on.”

You’re a bit sloppy by the time he gets you home, but still sweet like honey, like you used to be years ago. Before everything changed. Before you asked him to move out.

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the kitchen table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He cooed, relishing in the way you moaned with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Don’t worry, I’m gon’ take care of you and this neglected little pussy.”

“You have to pull out.” You slurred, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold.

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you wanted years ago, the thing that made you cry alone in the middle of the night whenever he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key.

His phone dings with a text, two days later.

“Still mad at you… Can we please meet up about these signatures?”

This became a full fic here.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): foul language, suggestive themes, brief non-consensual grab (non-graphic)

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part One of Ink & Needle

Inside the club Riot Room, you meet a masked stranger.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

The puddle in the caved pavement ripples as a raindrop shatters its silent surface. Small, but growing larger and wider until the water is still again. Another raindrop falls from the sky and the process is repeated.

A beginning. An end. A beginning. An end. A—

Fresh start.

New roots.

The brick that starts the riot.

All things have a beginning. This moment is no different, because it feels like the start of something, and for so many fucking reasons.

And it’s not just the water. It isn’t only the water. There is a neon sign, and its reflection is in that tiny pool. A bright pink that is at odds with the old London architecture surrounding it. Maybe the color is melting, or maybe it’s your imagination, and your brain has finally kicked off and this is its farewell salute.

Why, when you are here for someone else’s beginning, does it really feel like yours? It’s not sour or sweet or foul or sticky but heavy as if your boots are filled with liquid cement.

This is supposed to be Evie’s night. This is her bar crawl. This is her marriage. This is her bachelorette party. But now you’re at the last place of the evening, and everything is suddenly barring down like an avalanche.

Riot Room blares the pink neon sign. It’s loud, and the very edges of your consciousness ache from how bright it is. You’re not even standing that close.

Below the sign is an archway with an open gate. A tall man in all-black stands off to the side of it checking IDs and handing out wristbands. From the open gate comes a pounding, shredding beat that you’re not sure is heavy metal, electronic, or a combination of the two.

Riot Room is completely different from the other places you’ve visited tonight. The four places before this were all quaint pubs with odd names and a nostalgic sense of comfort. Riot Room is a club. There is nothing quaint or nostalgic about it.

Two scantily clad women in black leather wearing large coats trot by, their heads bent close as they talk to each other. Their lips are painted a dark purple that resembles bruising as if they’ve been kissed roughly.

To your right, Sam’s gaze drops to span the length of one of the women. She looks on in appreciation, her pink-painted lips pursing with interest. Her dark skin is speckled with gold dust and her tight curls are bundled up on the top of her head in two big buns.

Sam’s gaze draws away from the woman’s bare legs. Her gaze falls on you, and you grin widely, knowing she’s been caught. The corner of her mouth quirks with a hint of smile.

She leans in until your shoulders touch. “It’s not like you weren’t looking.”

You lean in a bit more until your noses are close to brushing. “But I wasn’t the one who got caught.”

Sam laughs and pulls away, the sound of it bright and airy. She waves her hand as if trying to ward off evil.

Once she’s caught her breath, Sam leans around you, addressing the two women standing to your left. “Ready, ladies?”

Jade tilts her head, her blue ponytail shifting to fall over her right shoulder. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Did you pick this place, Sam? Seems like a ‘you’ kind of place.”

Sam nods toward Evie with one of her buns. “The bride-to-be agreed to this.”

You and Jade turn in unison. Evie shrugs. “I did.”

Jade snorts and holds out an outstretched hand toward the club. “You hate these kinds of places.”

“Oh my god,” mutters Sam throwing her arms up in the air, her gold bangles clacking against each other.

Evie laughs softly, and the sound is sweet enough to rot your teeth. That’s the thing about Evelyn Green. She is the nicest, most kind-hearted, selfless person you’ll ever meet. Rarely does this woman do anything for herself, and putting this evening together for her was a struggle. Not because she’s difficult, but because she wanted tonight to be about everyone, not just herself.

Evie’s button-nose scrunches slightly. “I told Sam I wanted to come. When am I ever going to go to a place like this after I marry Archie?”

Jade’s lips form into a thin line and she shakes her head. “Archie is the most un-pretentious rich boy I’ve ever met in my life. He’d love you even if you were a plastic bag. And he hates all those events the two of you go to anyway.”

“Yes,” agrees Evie. “But he’s required to go, and once we’re married, I will have to attend as well.” Her face falls slightly, and it’s understandable.

Evie’s fiancée comes from wealth—the old money kind. Archie’s great grandfather is of British nobility, and while Archie isn’t titled, that doesn’t really seem to matter. He is well-educated, and many of his closest friends and colleagues all run in the same circles.

Evie is not from that life. She grew up a poor coal miner’s daughter in southern Missouri. She managed to scrounge up enough money to move to Columbia to attend Mizzou and met Archie during an exchange program. She was in a park, and Archie was playing soccer with friends. Knocked her in the side of the head with the ball. Archie sat with her in the ambulance and the two went on a date the next day.

They’re in love, and it’s a gorgeous, beautiful thing. But not all of Archie’s family is supportive of their marriage. Many look down on her for her background. Evie acts like it doesn’t bother her, but you know different. Those events they attend together cut deep, tear into her until there is nothing left but her forced smile.

Jade sighs loudly and then turns toward Sam, pointing at her. “If I find out you forced her—”

Sam groans and then grabs Jade’s outstretched forearm, tucking Jade against her side as the two of them walk arm-in-arm towards the club. “Oh shove it, Jade,” mutters Sam.

Evie giggles and holds out her hand to you, wiggling her fingers. Grinning, you entwine your fingers with Evie’s and follow the bickering duo.

They argue all the way to the door. IDs are checked. Wristbands are handed out. A cover is paid. And then you’re walking through the gate, under the archway, and into an open courtyard.

That heaviness returns, and your boots feel like lead. Something about this place is different from the rest, and you cannot put a finger on what you’re sensing. It’s a change in the direction of the wind. It’s a falling autumn leaf. There is a shift happening, and you’re not aware of where it might come from.

The night sky is directly above your head, and you can see every star in the sky. To your immediate right—just inside the gate—is a coat check. Next to it is a stage where a man in a Jason Voorhees mask stands behind a DJ booth. He is shirtless, well-muscled, and covered in fake blood. Though both feet are on the ground, the rest of his body shakes and writhes with the intensity of the music. The bass is the loudest aspect, rattling around in your body until you start to feel dizzy.

On stage with DJ Voorhees are several other masked men. They too wear hockey masks, but they are all painted a different color. They don’t wear shirts either and they jump around on the stage, pushing and shoving each other, occasionally dropping down into the crowd to do the same before running to the stage.

The crowd is thick but mostly near the front of the stage. Beyond them on the far side of the courtyard is the bar. It’s long, spanning nearly the entire wall, with several bartenders and barbacks working along it. Next to the bar near the stage is a set of stairs that leads up into a building. People enter and exit through the door. There are windows but they’re entirely blacked out and you have no idea what might be back there.

You scan the length of the bar and find another set of stairs on the other end. This one descends and next to it is another gate—this one much smaller than the entrance—guarded by security. The back wall of the courtyard—the one facing the stage—is lined with people, but there is walking space between them and the crowd near the stage.

Evie’s smile widens, and you suddenly don’t care anymore. This is for her, even if you feel uneasy. Her happiness is the most important thing right now.

“I’m grabbing us drinks,” yells Sam over the music. She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder before she heads that way.

Evie steps a bit closer to you. She’s nervous but eager as she squeezes your hand.

One of the masked men jumps off the stage and into the crowd. They all yell and then he pops up, throwing himself in people’s faces. You instinctually step forward to block Evie as he darts around a club-goer and appears directly in front of you.

“Fuck off,” you yell when he pushes himself into your face. All you see is the purple-painted hockey mask and he won’t fucking move. He just stands there like an ill omen that won’t allow you to look away.

You’re about to speak, your lips and tongue forming the shape of what you want to say. Then, he disappears, as if knowing your intention.

Jade snags your upper arm and leans in, her gaze fixed on the point the guy slipped away to. “I’ll stay with Evie. Go check on Sam. Make sure she isn’t just buying us tequila shots.”

Evie reluctantly gives up your hand as you navigate the congested dancefloor. You have to twist your upper body to avoid collisions. Just through the crowd, you can just make out Sam’s buns. A man steps into your path. He isn’t looking—likely too drunk to even notice that you’re right behind him—and you step out of the way to avoid is wayward swagger.

But there are too many goddamn people, and you can’t avoid them all. Instead of him, you bump into someone else.

“Shit. Sorry. I—” You glance up. “Oh fuck.”

A wraith stands before you, all cold shadow and violent foreboding. Dark eyes surrounded by pale eyelashes observe you from behind a black balaclava. Around the mouth are skeleton teeth but they’re a tad faded which only adds to the ominous presence of this strange man. He is tall, and you have to bend your neck to see directly into his face, and that doesn’t even take into account how broad his shoulders are.

Space is non-existent. The only thing you understand about your surroundings is him. This man is a being out of hell, a creature of fire and blood, and yet you’re drawn to him. You are a pale moth, a gentle creature, and he is the pyre in which you will burn.

He takes hold of your upper arm, and his grip is strong. His strength is both a threat and a comfort. He could snap you in two, but it’s placement and how firmly he holds on to you tells you otherwise. This man is dangerous, and yet through the hardness is a softness in the brow that you recognize as concern. His dark eyes narrow, and as he pulls you closer to him, he leans in before his gaze moves to a stop over your right shoulder.

“You okay?”

It isn’t the wraith gripping your upper arm who’s addressing you. You glance over your left shoulder and meet a softer expression. Black hair cut short, tanned skin, and kind eyes. This man is completely different from the one that still holds onto your arm.

“Fine,” you murmur but realize he can’t hear you over the music. “I’m fine.” This time you project, and he nods.

“Gaz!” He turns away, and a different man holds out a plastic cup full of beer to him.

Gaz takes it and then this newcomer turns in your direction. You want to leave, to walk away, but that’s difficult when your upper arm is still in a vice grip. You shake it, trying to throw the stranger’s grasp, and make no ground. His hand stays put.

“Who’s this?” asks the newcomer, and you recognize the accent as a Scottish one.

“Some wanker ran into her. Knocked her right into Ghost.”

“Fucking hell. You good, Lt?”

Ghost doesn’t say anything, or if he does, you don’t hear him over the music. Shaking your arm again, you attempt to free yourself for a second time. Ghost still doesn’t let go. Instead, he tugs you a little closer until you feel his body heat.

You hate being told what to do, and you especially hate men who cannot take a fucking hint. You try again, ready to smack the balaclava right off Ghost’s face if he doesn’t release you. But he does, and his grip is gone so suddenly that you nearly topple backward.

Acting bolder than you feel, you give Ghost your best scowl before turning toward Gaz, your mouth forming into a smile. “Thank you,” you say, excusing yourself quickly and heading toward the bar.

“What kind of a name is Ghost?” you mutter to yourself just as Sam turns around from the bar. She cradles six drinks in her arms like a newborn baby.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You reach for them, grabbing one before it tips over to spill across the floor.

“Jade sent you, didn’t she?” laughs Sam, handing you another plastic cup. “Can’t trust me after that tequila incident.”

“No comment,” you answer, making sure the drinks you’re holding are secure and won’t slip out of your grasp.

When you return to Jade and Evie, the two women have their arms wrapped around each other, swaying in a little circle, giggling hysterically. The moment you and Sam appear, Evie is pulling away from Jade, reaching for the gin and tonic you hold out to her. When the drinks are distributed, Sam and Jade have one in each hand while you and Evie only hold one.

Before this, the four of you visited four different pubs, and had plenty of drinks at each establishment. While it’s nearing the end of the night, there isn’t any reason for you to go overboard. Slowing down might be best, especially if Sam and Jade are going to double-fist drinks the rest of the night. Tomorrow—technically today at this hour—is supposed to be a spa day with some of the women from Archie’s family. Hungover is the last think you want to be while dealing with them.

As your lips suction around the head of the straw, you feel a pull, a tug toward the back wall of the courtyard. You resist the urge, refuse to look because you know who you’ll find. Instead, you suck on the straw, focus on the bite of the gin, sway your hips until the pounding beat is all you know in your veins.

But the pull won’t release. It won’t slacken. And the more and more you resist, the more it aches to not look, because no matter how startling his appearance is, it intrigues you, makes you think about how long it’s been and how you wish to be touched.

Would he keep the balaclava on? Would he take it off? And why does that intrigue you?

You start to turn, to surrender to the tug, and then snap back to reality, nearly knocking into Jade as you force yourself away from looking. The drink in your plastic cup sloshes harshly against the side but doesn’t spill over.

Evie leans in, her lips close to your ear, and she nods in the direction of the tug. “That guy won’t stop staring at you.”

“Who?” you ask innocently, knowing exactly who Evie is referring to.

“Mystery masked man.” Evie grins, her straw caught between her upper and lower teeth.

This time you look. There he is. Ghost, as his friends called him. He leans against the wall, the same small group of people surrounding him from earlier. They’re all talking, but Ghost is staring in your direction, and his gaze is locked in on you.

You quickly glance away and shrug even as a dull heat warms your limbs. “Looks like trouble.”

“Looks like a good time if you ask me.”

“Evie,” you gasp, bumping her shoulder.

“What?” she laughs, sucking up the last bit of her drink.

Jade goes up on her toes, her head swiveling back and forth. “Who are we looking at?”

Sam catches on and twists, glancing in the same direction. She’s successful first. “Oh my god.” Sam leans in until her cheek is pressed against your own. “That man is staring at you.”

“I know!” You pull back a bit, but Sam doesn’t let you go far.

She bumps your shoulder. “Go talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“Hello. Have anyone waiting on you? No? Great. Let’s get out of here. You can even keep the mask on.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m not doing that.” You reach out and snag Evie’s arm. “And it’s her night. Why would I leave y’all for a hook-up?”

Sam finishes one of her drinks. She removes the straw and pops it into the other cup, doubling it up by putting the full plastic cup into the empty one. “Listen, if you won’t. I will. The guy next to him with the dark hair is an absolute snack. Even the older guy with the weird mustache is making my daddy issues purr.”

Jade’s eyes widen slightly. She nods enthusiastically. “Oh he is quite nice.”

“Right? Girl. I could take him and not in a fight.”

“Fine!” you exclaim. “I’ll go talk to him.” You turn toward Evie. “If you’re okay with it?”

Evie grins around her straw. You know what it means. Evie wants you to go because she wants to see everyone happy, but you wouldn’t call yourself excited. That heavy feeling is back, the one that feels like a new beginning.

The issue is that fresh starts are a cleansing. They are often a renewal. You think of cold water, of a slate wiped clean, but there are other markers for such things. Fire destroys but it also creates the opportunity for new life. Controlled burnings are a thing, and this man—this Ghost—can only be fire.

“I need a refill anyway,” you mutter, turning toward the bar, some of your confidence slipping.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol in your blood singing, giving you a feeling of lightness that makes your feet move of their own accord even as they want to drag. It is confounding. You don’t know what you want.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, moving ever closer to your wraith. He watches you the entire time. As you draw nearer, and your gazes lock, he straightens. Ghost pushes off from the wall like he’s expecting you to come to him. You notice the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his right hand clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

The gesture is so surprising, you lose all your nerve, walking right past him and to the bar. You don’t have to see him to know that he’s watching. His gaze is a drill, and you sense the bite of it at your back. Your palms are sweaty, and you discard your empty drink in the nearest trash bin.

You order another gin and tonic, handing over a crumpled pound note to the bartender. As you turn around, you notice that Ghost is gone. He isn’t leaning against the wall or even lingering with his friends. They’re still there, chatting away, but Ghost is missing.

Your heartrate kicks up and it’s suddenly so loud you don’t hear the thunderous pulsing beat of the music. It’s like you’re standing in a dark train tunnel, and everything is narrowing down to a single point. The crowd near the bar has grown in the last few minutes. People walk up and down the stairs next to the bar, and now that you’re actually focused on the building, you can some of the interior lights.

Evie, Sam, and Jade are out of sight, but you know they’re probably rolling their eyes, ready to question you about why you didn’t approach him. Better to accept your defeat and move on. Yes, there is a tug, a tether attached to this stranger that you cannot seem to shed, but you don’t know this person. There is no harm in not pushing this further, in moving on, and pretending you never met him in the first place.

“Whatever,” you mutter to yourself, as the roar of the music comes rushing back.

As you squeeze between two people, one of the mask-wearing men from the stage appears from nowhere. It’s the same guy from earlier. The one with the purple hockey mask who threw himself at you and Evie. You step back and bump into someone. That momentum only pushes you closer to him.

Purple-mask cages you in, lunges repeatedly like he’s going to grab you or hit you. It’s intimidating. Awful. You want to tell him to leave you alone, but the music is so loud you’d have to scream.

You step to the left to try and move around him, but he only puts himself back in your path. This time, you form the shape of a bite, ready to sting with your words, but all conscious thought leaves you the moment his hand makes contact.

He does touch. And it is not gentle.

He tugs on your jacket, then your top, then your jacket again. You bat is hand away, try to move out of range, but he is so much faster. His arm goes around you, and then he drags you in like you asked to dance.

“Let go!” You yank your arm free, but the guy still holds firm, guiding you deeper into the crowd.

Everything is hot. Tight. Overwhelming. Stealing all breath.

You pull again. “Let go!”

This time he does. This time, he disappears.

Ghost looms like a dark shadow, his hand around the guy’s neck. His palm is large to the point that Ghost’s hand easily encases the man’s throat.

“Touching a woman without her consent isn’t polite. In fact, I’ve killed men over less. How about you apologize to her, yeah?”

It’s the first time you’ve heard Ghost speak. Even over the music, you easily hear the rough, gruff timbre of his voice. It’s harsh like liquor and yet entirely smooth when it washes over your body and floods your senses.

Ghost drops the guy and he immediately bolts, darting through the crowd and pushing people out of his way. Ghost does not run after him.

Instead, he turns toward you and lowers himself enough to get close. All you see are his eyes which at first seemed dark, but now look like how light shines through a whiskey bottle.

“Did he hurt you?” The concern in his voice is genuine, and somehow that pleases you. There is a small trace of anger, but it’s fleeting, and not worthy of attention. Ghost isn’t worried about your purple-masked assailant. He’s worried about you.

You shake your head. “No.” Lick your lips. Breathe deep. “No. I’m fine.”

His pale eyelashes look like little halos. Is the hair on his head the same? Is it darker?

“You sure?” he asks, this time starting to straighten a bit.

“Yes. I just—I need some air.”

Ghost nods. “Come with me.” His hand gently rests against your elbow, and you accept it. This touch is not a threat, and you surrender to him, allowing him to lead you away from the crowd. They part easily as if on instinct. Maybe Ghost is truly that intimidating.

Ghost leads you to the far edge of the bar near the secondary set of stairs. He does not escort you down the stairs but to the other archway you noticed earlier. The security guard nods at the two of you and then you step down onto damp pavement in a little alleyway.

Your rescuer immediately pulls out a pack of smokes from the inside of his leather jacket. He selects one and then holds the pack out to you. You reach for one. It’s a reflex. You tend to smoke when you drink because it prevents you from drinking more than you need, but sometimes all you do is chain smoke and then you can’t talk the next day. It’s a terrible habit but one you haven’t been able to kick.

“Thank you,” you murmur once your cigarette is lit. He simply nods and pushes up his balaclava to suck on his own.

You try not to stare but you catch the faint hint of a long scar along the edge of his jaw. Beneath that, his entire neck is a solid black tattoo. You’ve seen them before, where people blackout parts of their body in ink. His stretches across the muscles in his neck, and when he inhales, you take note of every ripple of muscle. The strength there is astounding.

Glancing away quickly, pretending you weren’t admiring him, you clear your throat. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Ghost cannot be his name. There’s no way.

He exhales, the smoke drifting up into the air. “That important to you?”

“Yes.”

He stares at you for a moment. “Ghost.”

Fuck. Why’d you think he’d say anything different from a man wearing a balaclava out in public. It’s not his real name. That’s obvious, but you’re not sure if you want to push the matter. Yet it does make you wonder why he didn’t give you his real name.

You decide not to push it, giving him your name instead. As he exhales, the smoke fans upward to crown his head like a pair of horns before twisting off into the night sky.

“Why’d you scowl at me?” he asks, ashing his cigarette.

You run your tongue over your front teeth before speaking the lie. “I didn’t scowl.”

“But you were angry,” says Ghost, pointing his cigarette in your direction before he takes a drag.

“You wouldn’t let me go,” you counter, growing annoyed with this line of questioning.

“Someone knocked you down. You didn’t speak or look at me. And I’m the one you ran into. I was concerned.”

“For a complete stranger?”

“I’m a compassionate person.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “And yet you threatened to kill the man who touched me.”

Ghost points toward the gate, emphasizing each word with a light thrust of his hand. “The threat was deserved.”

I’ve killed men over less.

His words rattle around in your head. What normal person says something like that? The fact that he said it without fear makes you question what line of work he’s in.

Ghost drops his arm and takes another drag on his cigarette.

You should be afraid. You should walk back inside to your friends. That’s the safe thing to do. It’s the smart thing. But you’re feeling a bit bold—and a little annoyed. You want to know where this goes or if it’ll lead nowhere at all.

Straightening your shoulders, you drop your cigarette and put it out with the toe of your boot. “My friends think I should fuck you.”

It’s out of your mouth before you have the chance to think twice. Ghost’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth.

His head tilts slightly, and then turns in your direction. “What?”

You hate repeating yourself, but you’ve already said the words. You cannot take them back.

“My friends noticed you staring at me. Told me to talk to you. If I didn’t, one of them would have.”

Ghost fully shifts in your direction. He takes one step toward you. Another. There is a dark swagger there, and he’s trying desperately not to smile.

“You want to have it off?”

Yes.

“Thanks for the offer but I really should leave.” You start to step backward as if to return to the club.

Ghost must realize this because he moves like a bullet, blocking your path, planting one hand against the brick wall behind you. Your gaze falls on his hand and you notice all the tattoos. They cover his fingers and the back of his hand, disappearing under the sleeve of his black leather jacket.

“You’re taking the piss.” Ghost is smiling now but it’s not nefarious or cruel. He’s politely amused, and that is somehow worse. He leans in until you can smell the rich scent of his cologne. “You want to fuck or not?”

You swallow, desperately wanting to say yes. “I have to stay here. Can’t leave my friends.”

Ghost shakes his head and lowers his voice. “We don’t need to leave.”

The thick lust in his tone worms its way into your bones. From there, it oozes from the marrow, sinking into your blood and nerves, consuming every piece of you until your autonomy is nearly snatched from your control.

“You’re being awfully bold,” you murmur.

“You suggested it. I’m simply finishing it.”

“Don’t play games.”

“I’m not.” Ghost straightens a bit. “But I don’t want to unless you’re willing.”

He is sensing you hesitation, and it’s not that you don’t want to. It’s that you’re making excuses because that’s what you do. You step around things, shimmy by issues, and try to avoid as much as you can.

You cross your arms and pop a hip. “I am willing. But I don’t believe you when you say we don’t have to leave.”

He smirks. “So I can’t bend you over that box?” Ghost nods his head at a point behind you but you don’t even look.

“Very funny,” you deadpan.

Ghost straightens his back and his hand falls away from the wall. “This place has an underground area. Mostly employee only but there are a few back rooms where the…musical guests stay.”

“You know an awful lot about this place. Take women down there often?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Never. I like to scope a place out first.”

I’ve killed men over less.

What does he do for a living that he wears a fucking balaclava out in public and wants to “scope a place out” first? Every possibility flows in and then directly out of your head. Any of them could be possible.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself.”

He shrugs. “Up to you. Come with me or don’t.”

Ghost’s word and tone are casual, but you see the tension in every muscle and in the way he carries himself. There is a hesitation in him. A fear that you might say no. But the gin in your veins is strong, and it’s singing, convincing you to go with him.

When do you ever take risks?

“Okay,” you murmur. Then, more loudly. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[venusstorm]

a request where chris evans fucks his girlfriend ,reader inside his trailer

Imagine you’re his makeup artist too. Just picture the amount of sneaky bullshit the two of you would get up to inside of his trailer. 

Shake the Trailer

Pairing: Chris Evans x makeup artist!Reader

Warnings: 18+, sex, grinding, humping, praise-kink, light degradation, creampie, spit kink

w/c: 963

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

"Stop staring at me like that," you mumble, eyes locked on painting Chris' black ink tattoos with creamy foundation. 

"Like what?" He pouts. You don't even have to look up to know he's poking out his lip, that infamous puppy dog face of his fighting to reel you in. 

You're on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the top of his tall stature and Chris was loving every second of it. You looked so adorable with your furrowed eyebrows, tongue peeking from between your lips as you blended the beige foundation into his skin perfectly. 

"Let's take a break," he murmurs, eyes trailing down your figure. 

"Tapes start rolling in forty, Chris. We don't have time for breaks." 

"But, angel..." He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

"But, nothing. And can you stop moving? It's already hard enough to reach you as is."

He releases a heavy sigh of defeat, his hand retreating to his side reluctantly. "I can sit if you'd like."

You smile, "thank you." 

You follow Chris to the loveseat in the back of his trailer, gathering your supplies and dropping them back onto the floor. He plops down on the couch, watching eagerly as you tower over him, oblivious to the way he was soaking up your presence. 

Fuck. You were just so perfect. His sweet little makeup artist and girlfriend bundled into one. Could you blame him for being insatiable? The moment your hands grazed his skin he could feel his cock stir, fighting the urge to shove you against the wall and make the entire trailer shake. 

Without warning, he pulls you into his lap, his hands gripping your waist as your legs fall to his sides. "Better?" He asks, his voice deep with yearning. 

You shake your head in disbelief, fighting off the wide smile blooming on your face. "Just keep your hands to yourself, Evans."

Chris nods, the smirk on his face replaced by an expression of seriousness. "Of course. Wouldn't want my pretty baby to lose focus."

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

"Angel, please," Chris grunts. His head is thrown back, lips parted as you grind into his lap. 

"No touching, remember?" You tease mockingly. 

His hands clenched into fists, your soft moans taunting him devilishly. "C'mon, sweet girl. Let me feel you, please, baby." 

You whine as his hips thrust into you vigorously, his clothed length poking underneath your skirt.

"I can't ruin the makeup, sweetheart," you counter, running your hands through his locks and pulling him towards your lips playfully.

"Screw the fucking makeup. You can redo it, C'mon, baby. Wanna feel your pretty walls, fuck. Makin' me so hard. Gonna fuck you so deep."

His cock is leaking beneath you, his spend sticking to his boxers. Chris ruts into you harder, his blue eyes glaring at you with need.

"Let me fill you up, angel. Dump all my cum into that tight cunt. I know you love being all messy, sweetheart. Cum dripping down your legs while I fuck my seed right back into you.”

You hold onto the sides of the couch for balance, the cushions hardly supporting you. You began to envision his burly arms wrapping around you, his arms trapping you against his warm skin. He always liked how small you were against him, your body in his full control. 

"We shouldn't even be doing this, we're working," you mumble, voice hazy as you felt his cock hit your folds. 

"Stop acting as if you care," he murmurs. "Just let me have you, angel. Cum all over my cock until you're fucking shattered."

You watch his eyes roll backward, his hands slipping underneath his boxers to jerk off. He strokes his cock quickly, his eyes struggling to stay focused on your movements.

More spend drips down his shaft, the wet spot growing larger until you can feel it against your thighs. "Oh, sweet girl, M'gonna cum, fuck M'gonna cum."

You elevate yourself, giving him room to slip his boxers off completely. His cock pops free, his tip glaring red and dripping. Quickly you push your panties to the side, guiding his member into your entrance and sinking onto his cock with ease.

Chris helplessly thrusts into you, moaning loudly as you grab his hands and place them around your waist. You muffle his noises with a kiss, saliva dripping down your chin as he cries out your name. 

Ropes of cum shoot inside of you, his movements never faltering. He fucks you through his orgasm, eyes rolled back and arms hugging you against him. He fucks you like a doll, using your cunt as his own personal fuckhole.

He always liked to hold you close, possessively gripping your waist, shoving your face into his chest.

"All. Fucking. Mine." He bounces you on his cock frantically, his seed seeping from your hole and messily covering his lap. Fuck, he was so thick, breaching your hole and stretching it wide without care. 

With one hand he holds you tightly, the other he cups your face, fingers slipping between your lips for you to suck on as he fucks his seed back into your tight channel.

You groan as he spreads your mouth open wider, a string of saliva dangling from his tongue and landing on yours before he embraces you in another kiss. 

Your body begins to convulse from the action, your moans growing louder as you grip onto his shoulders for leverage. 

"I've got you, sweet girl," Chris murmurs, his hands caressing your head into his neck. "I've always got you."

Your legs twitch as you squirt against him, liquid coating his groin and seeping downwards. Chris basks in your breathy moans, staring in awe as your lips part.

“Feel so good, angel,” Chris moans weakly. And before he realizes, he’s breaking down with you. His second orgasm meshes with your own until you're left clawing at his back. He shouts from the pain, his grip on you tightening as he empties his balls into you. 

He doesn't bother pulling out, instead, he thrusts himself deeper, resting you on his cock so he could kiss your sweet lips.

“Look.” His eyes trail down to his chest, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Perfectly intact.”

[archangeldyke-all]

a request for butch tattoo artist sevika pls 🙇🏾‍♀️🙇🏾‍♀️

anon ur a genius!! i hope u like it <3

men and minors dni

in a modern au, i always filp flop on how to incorporate sevika's mechanical arm into her character. sometimes i think she has a prosthetic, but sadly prosthetics today can't move and function as well as her prosthetic in canon, so sometimes i think she just has severe nerve and tissue damage on her arm from a fire.

which is what we're gonna do for tattoo artist sev.

she starts getting into tattoos because of her arm. she struggles with its appearance, so she teaches herself how to do stick and pokes with household objects. she practices on oranges and bananas until she feels comfortable enough with it, then she starts tattooing her arm.

it starts with a few stars on her wrist, a lightening bolt on her pinky.

she likes it.

she likes it so much, that every time she feels especially depressed about her arm (about once a week) she adds a new tattoo. it always manages to cheer her up-- the ability to create something beautiful on something (she considers) mangled.

she starts sketching ideas for new tattoos-- skulls, flowers, various animals.

she starts practicing different fonts too.

eventually, when she's got about a quarter of her arm covered up in simple line art stick and pokes, she gives in and buys herself a tattoo gun.

within a year, she's got a full sleeve-- all done by herself.

her friends start asking her for tattoos, which leads to friends of friends asking for tattoos in exchange for money, which leads to silco finding her and offering her an apprenticeship at his tattoo and piercings shop.

she says yes without hesitation.

it's the first job she's ever had that she actually loves. once she's finished with her apprenticeship, she specializes in tattoos that cover scars-- whether they're from injuries, surgeries, or self harm.

seeing her clients cry in the mirror at the sight of their new art-- something beautiful drawn over a painful memory-- never fails to get her a little misty eyed herself.

she always wears wife-pleasers to show off her ink. even in the winter-- she'll bundle up under sweaters and coats until she gets to the shop where she strips down until her arms are bare.

she's not too fussy about her clothes-- prefers comfort over fashion. cargo pants, jeans, and sweatpants are her go-to's. she keeps her hair slicked back with gel, out of her face and behind her ears.

the first time you meet-- you almost pass out at the sight of her.

you'd come in for a piercing on your nostril. it had gone smoothly, silco instructing you to breathe in, then out as he shoved the needle through your skin. he shoved the stud in, and helped you stand when sevika walked in from her lunch break.

silco helped you sit back down, explaining that sometimes people get shaky from the shock and adrenaline. you nodded along, not wanting to tell him you were actually weak in the knees because of the woman standing before you.

sevika didn't notice you until you were checking out at the front desk. she nearly fucked up her client's leg tattoo she was so busy gawking at you. you caught her staring and smiled shyly, waving at her. she grinned.

sevika's silco's best artist-- which is why he doesn't give her any shit when she puts her gun down and tells her client "one second," before dashing out the store to follow you down the street.

"'scuse me!" she calls out. you whip around, shocked to see the handsome woman jogging after you. "i, um..." she gets choked up standing in front of you, nervous and cursing herself for being crazy enough to chase after a complete stranger.

"i like your tattoos." you say to fill the awkward silence as sevika tries to find her voice. a bashful smile creeps up her lips.

"yeah?"

"yeah." you say. "'specially this one." you say, pointing to the 'DYKE' knuckle tattoos on her left fingers.

sevika sputters and blushes, it takes her a solid minute to reply to you.

"do you... ever think about getting some of your own?" she asks eventually. you raise an eyebrow.

"who says i don't already have some?" you ask. she blinks, her eyes quickly scanning up and down your body like she's trying to figure out where, exactly, you were hiding your ink. she has to clear her throat and shake her head to stop the dirty thoughts from clouding her mind.

"well... if you ever want some more..." she says, nervously scratching the back of her neck. you giggle.

"i dunno. tattoos are pretty expensive, it'll be a while 'til i can save up for another." she deflates in front of you and you grin. "but, you know, dinner for two is much less expensive." you suggest. sevika's jaw drops.

you exchange names and numbers, sevika reluctantly returns to her work, only to be interrupted by a ping on her cellphone twenty minutes later.

sevika opens the message and grins when she sees a message from you. she opens it, and nearly falls out of her rolling stool when she sees a picture of your tits barely concealed by your lacy bra, a tattoo peeking out between them. you'd captioned the message: "sneak peek."

it's then that she realizes that she's found her soulmate.

[valentiyne]

Ashton with a tattoo artist! Love interest. Maybe he goes in to get a tattoo then immediately takes interest in them, going back fo stupid reasons like touch ups, recommending anyone to get tattooed there, just being down bad in general

𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗒𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 ꕥ 𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗋𝗐𝗂𝗇

Ashton Irwin x Fem!Reader Summary: Requested! Ashton makes a last-minute booking with coffee made just right. Warnings: N/A Word Count: 1.4k Copyright © 2024 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

"Are you guys still open?"

It was a cacophony of sounds, with the buzz of the tattoo guns overlapping with the hum of conversations. The other artists' voices were raised over the noise, and the air was thick with the smell of ink and antiseptics. I could hear the sound of the machine moving, the soft thud of the needle on the skin, and the occasional gasp of surprise from a customer.

My boss, Jocelyn leaned over to me with a smile, "I'm off the clock, you're up."

I look up now, trying my hardest to not mean mug the person who ruined my chances of an early freedom tonight. He stood in the doorway, his messy brunette hair pushed back behind his ear and his hands fiddling with the sleeves of his white sweater. His hazel eyes scanned the room before they landed on mine.

"What were you looking to get done?"

"Oh!" he stutters and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. From the looks of it, it was worn down and ripped in a few places but he hands it over proudly nevertheless.

I inspected it for a while, nodding to myself, "Is it a.... dog?" I quirk an eyebrow, looking up to match his eyes. He nods, a loose strand of hair falling down perfectly on his face, "it's a greyhound, yes"

I nod my head and hand him a clipboard to sign in, inspecting the loose piece of paper once again before heading to the printer. I printed numerous sizes, unsure of how big he wanted it to be.

After all was said and done, he was sitting in my chair and I was nervous checking to make sure I had everything I needed.

Tattoo gun, ink caps, gloves, tattoo gun, ink ca-

"I like the room", He speaks up, motioning to the shelf of miscellaneous items hoarded on them.

He slips the white sweater up and over his head, bundling it in a ball next to him. I make an effort not to stare at his tattooed body, my cheeks flushing up as I keep my back turned.

Obviously I was never like this with any of my other clients, but something about him made me lose my focus. It was unprofessional and unlike me- but god is he hot.

"Thanks, this is basically my second bedroom since i'm here so much" I took a deep breath, sliding my gloves on, and turning towards him. His stencil was already prepped and on his arm, and I stepped towards him slowly.

"You're here often?" He questions, watching as I dip the needle in the ink.

I nod, stretching his skin with my free hand "Yeah, all seven days of the week, unfortunately.... It'd be a little easier if I had any coffee today"

He's silent for a while, my eyes wandering up to see him staring off at the shelves that littered the walls surrounding us.

"Any reason you chose a greyhound?" I attempt ti make conversation, suddenly embarrassed of my trinkets. Not that there was anything wrong with them, I just didn't want him judging me for my childlike interests.

I laid the needle to his skin, hearing him take a deep breath before speaking, "it's for my new album"

I nod in response, dragging the ink down as I trace the stencil. "looks like we're both artists in a sense" I tease, earning a chuckle from him.

Over the next two hours, I learned many things about the boy in my chair. His name was Ashton, he was a musician, he owned a lemon tree and he could hold his breath for a minute and a half. He apologized throughout the course of the night, telling me he wouldn't have stopped in and got a tattoo if he knew we'd be closing soon. I reassured him numerous times, telling him it genuinely wasn't a big deal. He was nice and a great person to talk to.

But after all was said and done, I wrapped his arm and after leaving a hefty tip- he was gone.

I didn't see him for two months after the fact, every time the door would jingle, I found myself snapping my head up to see if it was him

Each time it was not...

"I'm telling you, he came in here and left me a $500 tip, Joss. it was bizarre! I couldn't even find his stupid profile anywhere" I groan, smacking my head down on the desk dramatically.

She giggles at my hopelessness, her hand patting my head kindly, "Maybe he has a girlfriend?"

The door swinging open made me groan louder, lifting my head up with half-lidded eyes and a fake smile.

"Hi sorry we're closing soon, you can book an ap-"

"Closed so soon, sweetheart?" His voice rings out, a stifled laugh following after. I open my eyes quickly to see him standing there, his journal tucked under one arm and two coffees in the other.

I giggle loudly, standing from my chair and walking towards him. "Ashton! where have you been?"

He hands me the coffee, giving me a side hug before pulling his journal out from under his arm. "i'm looking to get another tattoo, and who else would I trust but my sleep deprived tattoo artist"

I try to hide the blush creeping up my face, turning around to show Joss who I've been talking about for weeks. Her mouth is hung open, eyes wide as she looks between the two of us. "That's Ashton....?" She takes a deep breath before shaking her head quickly, "Miss Y/n has been talking my ear off about you since your last visit"

I turn around quickly, shooting daggers as I give her a nice tilt of the head to get lost. She raises her hands in defeat and snatches her coat from the chair I was previously in before waving goodbye. Ashton waves back with a smile before I cover my face in embarrassment.

"Seems like i'm the talk of the town?" He teases and I grab his forearm, leading him to my studio.

He hops up on the chair, sliding off his cardigan and showing me his healed greyhound. I analyze it carefully, smiling up at him. "It looks amazing!"

"Wonder who did it?" He teases, poking my side playfully. I roll my eyes and flip through the notebook, passing by song lyrics, doodles, and other random scribbles before I pause at a drawing on the last page.

It was a scribble of me hunched over tattooing his greyhound. my tongue poked out to the side with a look of pure concentration spread across my face.

My cheeks grow red and I look up at Ash, a look of confusion and admiration painted. "Wha?"

"To be fair, I came for a touch-up on a few older pieces but... Also to ask if you'd like to come to dinner with me tonight?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, internally I was squealing like a little girl.

"I would love to."

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍

summary: the type of beauty the piercers/ tattoo artists in my modern au hold

characters: piercer!/tattoo artist! xiao :: scara :: kazuha :: venti :: aether :: heizou

my modern au || genshin masterlist

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 is beautiful like…

𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 like new leaves on a bush and budding flowers emerging from the ground; like lush moss and drops of dew clinging to grass in the morning; like the first warmth of the sun after a cold winter and a playful breeze curling through a garden; like the soft song of birds in the crisp morning air

𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 is beautiful like…

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 like the golden brilliance of the sun and the ripe sweetness of fruits; like the constellations of freckles on sunkissed skin and airy freedom of light clothes; like the laughs shared between friends and the coolness of diving into water; like the sun sinking behind the horizon and late nights spent outside in the warm air

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔 is beautiful like…

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 like the lights of festivals illuminating the night; like the afterglow of warmed skin and the combination of summer and autumn wardrobes; like watching the butterflies in the garden and harvesting fruits and vegetables; like getting surprised by tepid rain and watching stunning thunderstorms light up the sky

𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 is beautiful like…

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 like the leaves changing their colour and the sour sweetness of apples; like the earthy smell after rain and the crunch of stepping on leaves; like pulling your favourite sweater from the closet and the sound of rain against your window; like the smell of cinnamon and baked goods wafting through your kitchen

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 is beautiful like…

𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 like the feeling of coming home after being out in the cold and warming your hands around a steaming mug of your favourite drink; like the scent of pine in the air and the swirls of frost decorating the windows; like the stillness of a snowy landscape and doodling on snowed in cars; like the reflection of icicles in the sun and your breath being visible in the air; like bundling up in a pile of cosy blankets and making fun of cliché rom coms

𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 is beautiful like…

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 like the beginning of something new; like rivers breaking through their icy surface and misty morning sceneries; like the realisation you can leave your scarf at home and sitting outside in the sun for the first time again; like talking a walk through a blooming landscape and catching up with your friends again

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit; do not copy into an ai

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

➺ send in an ask to be added to or removed from my tag list

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[circle-with-me]

‘tis the damn season - part 1

Pairing: Will Ramos x Original Female Character - Genevieve (Gen/Viv/Vivvy)

Content Warning: This series is 18+ Minors DNI. No major content warnings in this part. Mentions of alcohol. Vomiting. Descriptions of panic attacks.

Word Count: 2.5k

taglist: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @midnight-eternals @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666

*if i missed anyone or if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

Authors Note: Surprise! I had planned on part one not being out until Christmas but apparently I had a sudden brain surge and was able to finish it. This part is a lot of set up to the main story. I hope you enjoy it ♥️

Gen stops abruptly on the sidewalk the moment she hears it, her feet frozen in place. Her eyes go out of focus and she can feel her chest tighten as the sound continues to ring in her ears. That laugh. His laugh. She could recognize it anywhere.

Her skin is suddenly scorching, a stark contrast to the cold air outside. She swallows harshly, her mouth dry, as she dares to sneak a look behind her. Turning slowly, she regrets her decision immediately as she’s met with large brown orbs boring holes into her. “Shit.” she curses under her breath and turns to quickly walk away.

“Viv?” Gen winces at the nickname. The ice in his voice spreads through her quickly as she begins to walk faster.

“VIV!” He calls out, louder this time. She hears his footsteps behind her. No, no, no. Her eyes start to burn as tears begin to form in the corners. Not this way. Not today of all days.

“Viv, wait!” she can hear the desperation laced in his voice. She shakes her head and moves even faster, practically running now. The sound of his footsteps become closer as he increases his pace. She feels her throat close up as her tears begin to fall freely.

“Goddammit, Genevieve, stop!” Finally catching up with her, he grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him. For a moment, she considers slapping him across the face, but as soon as their eyes meet her mind goes blank.

He stands there in front of her, chest heaving from running after her. He’s bundled up in a black puffer jacket, light blue jeans, and an orange beanie. The only visible skin was his neck and hands, both now covered in tattoos. A gold hoop in his nose the only remaining facial piercing and his plugs were larger than she remembered.

He looks as young as he did the last time she saw him but his face had matured. A strong jawline and prominent cheekbones replacing his once boyish appearance. Looking at him was always like looking into the sun and god dammit if time and some maturity didn’t make it worse.

Or maybe it was karma biting her in the ass.

He stares at her incredulously, his hand still gripping her arm like if he let go she would be swept away by the wind. His eyes search hers momentarily and Gen sees a flash of something akin to anger appear and then disappear just as quickly. His grip tightens and her eyes water again. She squirms to try and free her arm from his grasp before panic sets in.

Realizing what was happening, he rips his hand away like he had been burned. He holds his gaze where his hand once was and then returns his attention back to her. His gaze seems apologetic for a moment but turns cold as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Two Days Prior

Gen stretched and looked down at her phone. Shit, it’s 7:30, she thought. She was supposed to meet her friends at the bar over an hour ago. She had spent almost twelve hours in the studio and made very little progress. The artist she was working with was an upcoming pop star that had very little experience. She required so much autotune it made Gen’s head want to explode. She had spent the better half of the evening doing everything she could to make the poor girl sound good. She was damn good at her job but she wasn’t a miracle worker.

Deciding to call it a night, Gen quickly grabbed her things and headed out the door. As she caught a ride to the bar her phone rang. She looked at the screen as “Westwood, New Jersey” popped up.

“Ha. Absolutely not.” She scoffed and hit the decline button.

“Finally, our favorite workaholic has arrived!” Ezra exclaimed, standing up from his seat to greet his friend.

“Gen, I thought we said 6pm.” Natalie huffed, crossing her arms. “A thousand apologies, Nat.” Gen kissed her cheek as she sat down. “I promise I'll go to palates with you every day next week.”

Natalie's eyes narrowed. “AND you’ll bring Starbucks?” Gen winked. “Is it even palates without starbs?” Smiling, the other woman laid her head on Gen’s shoulder “You are forgiven.”

“Okay, but what about me? What do I get?” the man opposite them spoke up expectantly.

“Hmm, I could put in a good word with Felix at the studio. Tell him you’re interested.”

“You mean that smoking hot producer you worked with a couple of months ago?” Gen nodded. Ezra’s eyes widened briefly and he glanced between the two women in front of him.

“Oh honey, you are definitely forgiven.”

“Thank you for having mercy on me, my dear Ezra.” Gen said mockingly.

“I’m jealous, Ez. I wanted a stab at Felix.” said Natalie as she waved for the bartender to bring another martini and one for Gen as well. Ezra ordered his usual negroni.

“While we’re on the subject of Felix.. I thought you two were dating, Gen?” He asked pointedly.

She scoffed, drinking the martini Natalie had made for her. She hated martinis. Natalie should know that by now, but she wasn’t going to turn down a free drink.

“That’s cute, Ez, but you know I don't do relationships.”

“Remind me why that is again?”

Natalie groaned. “It’s because she dated that guy all through highschool and he dumped her before she moved out here.”

“He didn’t dump me! I broke up with him because he-“

“Because he didn’t support your dream or want to leave your shitty hometown with you so you left him.” Natalie interrupted, rolling her eyes. “We’ve heard the story a thousand times, Gen.”

“We had been together for seven years, Natalie. It’s not like it was some meaningless crush. He was pretty much all I had. I thought that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Natalie laughed dryly and draped an arm around her friend. “Clearly, he didn’t feel the same way. It’s been eight years, babe. Time to move on.”

Gen pressed her lips together, embarrassment bubbling in her stomach. She knew it was a waste of time fighting back. Natalie had already had a few drinks and arguing wouldn’t end well. She bit her tongue and chose to push down the anxiety with more alcohol.

Stumbling out of the bar, Gen searched for her phone to call an uber. Ezra had found his own ride and Natalie went home with a hot editor she hoped would get her a book deal. She leaned against a light pole for stability as she finally fished it from the depths of her purse. She noticed another phone call from the Westwood number from earlier in the night and rolled her eyes. Who the fuck is calling her? There were a couple of voicemails but she refused to listen to them.

His face entered her mind and she shook her head in a failed attempt to get rid of him. He’s not calling you. He doesn’t care. Why do you even care?

“I don’t fucking care!” she yelled out loud to no one.

Her face felt hot and she was dizzy all of a sudden. Her stomach was in knots and she was definitely going to puke. She stumbled over to the curb, expelling the contents of her stomach. The tears rolling down her face did little to offer any relief to the heat in her cheeks.

“Do you need a ride, ma’am?” A voice broke her out of her haze.

She looked up to see a man peeking out the window of his taxi. Breathing a sigh, she spit in the street and stood up, wiping her mouth.

“Please.”

“Gen, are you okay?” Adam asked as he let Gen in, concern in his voice.

“I’m fine.” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “I just drank a little too much. Wanted to see you. Sorry it’s so late.”

Adam laughed softly and grinned. “You know I’m never going to complain about seeing you.”

“Why did you come here last night? Really?” Adam spoke softly as he watched Gen get dressed.

“I told you. I wanted to see you.”

“When you actually want to see me you call first. Usually spend a few days and then go back home.”

Gen turned her attention to the man on the bed, she knew where this was going.

“When you show up in the middle of the night wanting to see me, it’s usually because there’s something you want to forget about.”

“It’s not that serious, Adam. I was drunk and your place was the closest. I meant to call you earlier in the day but it slipped my mind.”

“You could at least make up a believable excuse. We’ve been doing… whatever this is for the past two years. I know you better than you think I do.”

“This is all really adorable, Adam, but I have to go to work.”

“Gen, would you just give me a second? Please?”

Sensing the frustration in his voice, Gen sat on the bed and sighed. Adam moved closer to her and ran his hand down her arm.

“I know what this is about. It’s the same thing every time. I’m not Will, Gen. I’m never going to be him.” She felt her throat close up at his words.

“Adam, that’s not…”

“Let me finish. I’m not Will. I wasn’t there when your mom died or when things got rough at home.” Adam grabbed her hand and rubbed the pad of his thumb against the back of it. “But I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”

Gen stared at where their hands lay connected. He had no idea how badly she wanted it to be enough. She never felt like she deserved love. Her father made sure of that. Will was the only one who made her feel worthy of it, and when he was gone she no longer saw the point of trying.

She straightened her posture and looked him in the eye. She didn’t want to break his heart but it was clear she had no choice. It was better this way. He would be better off with a nicer girl that wasn’t so fucked in the head.

“No, Adam. It isn’t.”

Gen couldn’t pinpoint a single emotion upon seeing the look on his face. Shame. Regret. Disgust. All with herself. He went from seemingly hopeful to shattered in a millisecond and it was all her fault. His eyebrows furrowed together and his lips formed a frown. He dropped his eyes from hers to their hands and let go abruptly standing up.

He walked across the room and then turned around, placing his hand on his hips, “If you keep treating people like this, you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life. And you know what? Maybe that’s what you deserve.”

Gen stared blankly, shocked by his sudden change in demeanor. Tears started to form in her eyes but the words of her father began echoing in her mind. Suddenly she didn’t care what the man in front of her thought.

Standing up she walked towards Adam slowly and placed her hand against his cheek. She smiled softly as he looked at her confused.

“Thank you, Adam.” Her face fell. “Thank you for once again proving to me that I shouldn’t waste my time forming relationships with anyone. Because the only person I know I can count on is myself.”

Gen turned and grabbed her bag that was sitting in her bag by the door. She didn’t bother looking back at him as she walked out.

Gen hoped that work would keep her mind off the morning’s events but it proved to only make her day more difficult. By lunch, she had dealt with busted equipment, two temper tantrums from the pop diva, and one seriously pissed off producer.

She leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. The mixture of her hangover and the stress of the day had caused a migraine and she cursed herself mentally for allowing herself to get so drunk last night.

She felt her phone buzzing in her pocket and groaned. She knew who it was that was calling her. They had already called three times. She hit the red button and sat the phone on her lap.

Not three seconds later, her phone started buzzing again.

Throwing her hands up, she relented. “Fine! You win!”

“Hello?!” she answered, her tone much sharper than she intended.

“Hi. This is Anna Newman from Shaw Law Firm in Westwood, New Jersey. Is this Ms. Castillo?”

“I- um…” Fuck. Fuck. How did she know that name?

“Hello? Ms. Castillo?”

“Don’t call me that.” Gen spit into the phone. Once again, sharper than she meant to. “I’m sorry, um. I don’t go by Castillo anymore. I changed my name to Taylor several years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. My papers here still have you as Castillo.”

“It’s fine. What do you need?” Gen pulled her knees to her chest and placed her head between them in an attempt to quell the sudden nausea.

“We’ve been trying to get in touch with you…umm… my boss, Nathan Shaw, is wanting to meet with you regarding your father’s will. There are some important matters that he needs to discuss with you.”

Her entire body stiffened. Her heart rate sped up so quickly she thought it might explode out of her chest and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

“My father’s what?”

“Your father’s will. Since his passing the..”

“I wasn’t aware he had passed.”

There was no immediate response from Anna. If all of the blood in Gen’s body hadn’t been rushing through her ears at that moment the silence would have been uncomfortable.

Finally, Anna spoke. “Ms. Castillo…”

“Taylor.” She corrected her.

Anna cleared her throat. “Ms. Taylor. I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but your father passed away on Sunday evening.”

Gen looked at her watch. It was Thursday.

“And what exactly does your boss need from me, Ms… Newman, isn't it?”

“Uh, yes. He uh, he needs to go over your father’s will with you. There’s also a matter of funeral arrangements that need to be taken care of as soon as possible. The funeral home can only keep his body for seven days.”

“Can’t this be taken care of over the phone?”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. Mr. Castillo left strict instructions that this all must be handled in person.”

Gen rolled her eyes. Typical of him to make things difficult. He had been trying to get her back to New Jersey for eight years but she refused. She had half a mind to politely tell Ms. Newman to shove him in a pine box and let his will go to probate court, but the thought of home and her mother’s things flashed through her mind and her chest tightened. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing anymore of her.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The nausea from earlier resurfacing and overwhelming her. “Tell your boss to clear his calendar. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Part 2

[e-dubbc11]

The Sweetest Pain Series

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Each part has its own set of warnings

Summary: You and your tattoo artist have been friends for 6 years and finally admit you have feelings for each other. Parts 1-3 include their first date, a little jealousy, and eventually a little bundle of joy.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Anna

Come in Raven, This is Blackbird

The Sweetest Christmas

A Little Raven Thanksgiving

Snow Day

A Work of Art

Scene from Anna: Billy’s POV

Scene from Anna: Frank’s POV

Memory from Come in Raven, This is Blackbird: Anna’s POV

Warm Kisses, Cold Skin

Son of the Sea

Anything for You

Always Her Hero

Happy

The Perfect Summer

The Fight for Her Affection

Be Like You

No One Needs to Know

He’s Not So Little Anymore

[castielslostwings]

✨ 🌈PRIDE BOOK RELEASE 🌈 ✨

ENCHANTED INK

by Robin Lynn

SUMMARY:

When it comes to transformation, magic only fixes what's skin deep…

In a world where an artist's magic brings tattoos to life, ink gone wrong can spell lasting heartache for those unlucky enough to experience it. Jaded and cynical on both life and love, tattoo artist Ashton Andrews is about to find out that even the most deeply-etched scars can be transformed into something beautiful when the right person is holding the pen.

Having carried the burden of intentionally-ruined ink on his skin (and the matching scars on his psyche that come with such betrayal), Ashton is understandably reluctant to trust. He’s entirely content to bury his nose in the fantasy worlds created by his favorite author, rather than risk his heart in the real one.

…On the other hand, he would like his tattoo fixed.

Enter Link Remington: magical tattoo artist extraordinaire, devastatingly handsome media darling, and co-owner of the famed tattoo studio, Soul Survivor. Ashton knows that Link has the artistic chops to repair his skin, but is completely unprepared for the charming, persistent, and impossibly understanding man to find a place inside his heart.

Through working together, Ashton begins to realize that there’s more to Link than his public persona, the art on his body, and the image he’s created that only goes skin-deep. Link has his own scars to heal, but with a charm or two, a dash of creativity, and equal leaps of faith, perhaps the enchanted ink the two of them create together will be the beginning of something positively magical.

___________________

If you like:

Fantasy, magic, world-building, tattoos and tattoo artists, Hurt/Comfort, profound instant connections, Meet-Cutes, Secret Identities, Celebrities, happy endings (😏), gay romances with lots of intimacy and affection, and positive messaging about choosing your own scars, this is the story for you!

“Enchanted Ink” is available in TWO VERSIONS! Both come in ebook + paperback. Choose:

“Spicy” 🌶️ (adult, 🔥🔥🔥 heat level, language)

OR

“Clean” 🧼 (rated Teen, NO explicit content, softer language)

About the Author:

Robin is a 36-year-old queer, autistic, a mom and a disabled former firefighter, paramedic, and registered nurse who writes with the goal of reflecting the queer community in media. Because everyone deserves to see relatable, imperfect main character mirrors simply existing and getting their happy endings.

More about Robin!

Signed copies, merch, and limited edition launch bundles available on Ko-fi.

XoXo,

Robin Lynn ❤️💚💙

[lavmatthews]

lavinia gwendolyn matthews. 29. coastal area resident.

she/her. returned merrock local. owner of cobblestone cafe. sister to vincent. hopeless caffeine addict, aspiring artist. dog mom to fig the frenchie.

[ biography ] ⧫ [ pinterest ] ⧫ [ interactions] 

&. BASICS

full name: lavinia gwendolyn matthews

nickname(s) / goes by: lav

pronouns & gender: cis woman

sexuality: pansexual

birth date: october, 7, 1993

birth place: merrock, maine

arrival to merrock: local to merrock but moved for university and returned at the end of 2022. 

family: vincent matthews – older brother

relationship status: single

face claim: barbara palvin

&. MORE BASIC INFO

languages: english, hungarian, some french

religion: agnostic – believes in reincarnation

education: ba in english and american literature and ma in cultural anthropology from eotvos lorand university

occupation: owner of cobblestone cafe and freelance painter drinks, smokes, & drugs: yes, no, no

&. PERSONALITY

zodiac sign: libra

mbti: isfp – the adventurer

likes: painting, reading, indie music

dislikes: hot sauce (not to be confused with buffalo wing sauce)

bad habits: chewing pen caps

secret talent: she’s surprisingly skilled at knot-tying, an early childhood spent helping her father on boating trips having paying off in a talent she uses mainly to bundle bakery orders

fears: abandonment

five positive traits: charismatic, reliable, generous, inventive, protective

five negative traits: guarded, impulsive, stubborn, evasive, clumsy

&. APPEARANCE

height: 5’9

tattoos: a faded rose on her right middle finger and the number ‘4’ behind her left ear to signify the day she left merrock (august 4, 2012), and a moon on her left ankle.

piercings: lobe piercings

bold which habits your muse has

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back of their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

[soultattoos]

Discover the Magic of Temporary Soul Tattoos: You’re Guide to Buying Online

Are you searching for a unique way to express your personality without the lifelong commitment of a permanent tattoo? Enter temporary soul tattoos! These innovative designs offer all the artistry and individuality of traditional tattoos but can be easily removed whenever you desire. In this blog, we’ll explore the allure of temporary soul tattoos and guide you on how to buy them online.

What Are Temporary Soul Tattoos?

Temporary soul tattoos are intricate, beautifully designed tattoos that can last anywhere from a few days to several weeks. They’re perfect for those who want to experiment with body art, try out new styles, or simply enjoy the artistry without the long-term commitment.

Why Choose Temporary Soul Tattoos?

Versatility: With a wide range of designs available—from intricate mandalas to minimalist symbols—you can switch up your look as often as you like.

No Pain, No Commitment: Say goodbye to needles and healing times! Temporary tattoos allow you to explore your style pain-free.

Self-Expression: Whether you’re celebrating a significant life event, expressing your creativity, or just having fun, these tattoos can reflect your inner self.

Safe and Skin-Friendly: Most temporary tattoos are made from non-toxic materials, making them suitable for all skin types.

How to Buy Temporary Soul Tattoo Online

1. Research Trusted Retailers

Start by looking for reputable online stores that specialize in temporary tattoos. Check reviews, ratings, and testimonials to ensure the quality of their products.

2. Explore Design Options

Browse through various designs to find something that resonates with you. Whether you’re drawn to floral patterns, tribal motifs, or abstract art, there’s something for everyone. Some stores even allow you to create custom designs!

3. Check Material and Application Method

Ensure the temporary tattoos are made from skin-safe materials. Look for options that are easy to apply and remove—typically, tattoos that come with clear instructions and require just water to apply are ideal.

4. Consider Size and Placement

Think about where you want to place your tattoo. Sizes vary, so choose one that fits your desired location—whether it’s a small wrist tattoo or a larger piece on your back.

5. Look for Deals and Promotions

Many online retailers offer discounts for first-time buyers or bundle deals. Keep an eye out for sales to get the best value for your purchase!

Applying Your Temporary Soul Tattoo

Once your tattoo arrives, it’s time for the fun part! Here’s a quick guide on how to apply your temporary soul tattoo:

Clean and Dry the Area: Make sure the skin is clean and dry before application.

Cut Out the Design: Trim any excess clear film around the tattoo to ensure a clean look.

Apply the Tattoo: Place the tattoo face down on your skin. Use a damp cloth or sponge to wet the back of the tattoo and press firmly for about 30 seconds.

Peel and Admire: Gently peel off the backing paper to reveal your stunning new tattoo!

Removing Your Temporary Soul Tattoo

When you’re ready to remove your temporary tattoo, simply soak it with baby oil, rubbing alcohol, or warm soapy water, and gently scrub it away. It’s as easy as that!

Final Thoughts

Temporary soul tattoos offer a fantastic way to express yourself without the commitment of permanent ink. With a myriad of designs and styles available online, you can easily find the perfect tattoo that speaks to your soul. So why wait? Dive into the world of temporary tattoos and embrace your creativity today!

Where to Buy

Ready to get started? Check out our favorite online retailers for a stunning selection of temporary soul tattoos. Unleash your inner artist and enjoy the freedom of self-expression without limits!

[purenumb12]

Pre-Numbing Cream & Gel Bundle

Tattoo artist Owned & Developed! We're one of the only artist owned & developed tattoo numbing companies in the market! We made this pre-numbing cream with not only the client in mind, but also us artists. We wanted to make sure our formula never altered the skin while tattooing and kept the vibrance of the tattoo while healing.

Price:- $43.99

[nerieae]

001. a tattoo parlour, buzzing with machinery and walls lined with artwork .

A potential AU maybe?

Tattoos: permanent art that you wear forever on your skin. Many use them as a form of self expression, while others seek to rebel against something (or someone). In some countries, they practically serve as a target on your back; “look at me! I’m with a dangerous crime syndicate, and if you get too close, it’s curtains.” Or something. Perhaps she’s been watching too many retro crime dramas…

Anyway. Desinii has just stepped through a doorway, into what feels like a completely different world from the one she’s from.

The lobby is painted a rich shade of carnelian, and even the lights feel warmer, rather than the stark white many establishments implemented nowadays. Front and center of the room, there’s a desk; simple, but elegant in its own right; with golden legs and trim, and an impressively streak-free glass top. Seated behind that desk is a woman with sun kissed skin, and fiery red hair bundled up atop her head in a messy bun. She makes it look intentional.

Somehow, she knows that Desinii is new around— certainly has nothing to do with how the woman twists a braid around one finger, over and over. She is merciful, however (a goddess, then), and asks how she can help without a drop of condescension in her tone.

“I made an appointment with Urbosa.” So far so good! She’s not a stammering mess, at least.

When she’d first made the decision to get a tattoo, Desinii had consulted every friend she knew already had some form of body art. They’d guided her here without hesitation. And after doing some research into the shop— what? Of course she trusts her friends, but a tattoo is a permanent piece of art etched into her skin!— her search has provided a veritable wall of positive reviews.

Many had praised the shop for its hygiene practices; others gushed over the fact that it’s a woman owned and operated establishment; etc. What had caught Desinii’s eye, however, was the fact that a specific name kept appearing in reviews…Urbosa. All who mentioned this artist had only glowing remarks!

Desinii’s decision was effectively made for her.

The woman behind the counter smiles in a knowing sort of way, and runs her tongue across her teeth before ducking her head, and clicking some buttons on the computer before her. Once she’s completed her work there, she turns away from Desinii, and shouts into the back of the shop.

“Urbosa! Your next appointment is checked in and ready for you.”

Desinii isn’t quite sure what to make of the wink that’s aimed in her direction, just after she’s encouraged to have a seat on one of the sleek looking leather couches— but she understands shortly after, as a gorgeous woman emerges from behind a black curtain.

[creativeprojectrhianna]

Tattoo Research (Artist) -

Whang-Od Oggay

Life -

Whang-od Oggay (born February 17, 1917), also known as Maria Oggay, is a Filipina tattoo artist from Buscalan, Tinglayan, Kalinga, Philippines. She is often described as the "last" and oldest mambabatok (traditional Kalinga tattooist) and is part of the Butbut people of the larger Kalinga ethnic group.

She has been tattooing headhunters and women of the indigenous people of Butbut in Buscalan, Kalinga, since she was 15 years old, but the Butbut warriors who used to earn tattoos by protecting villages or killing enemies no longer exist. Despite this, Whang-od continues to practice her traditional art form on tourists visiting Buscalan

traditional artform that she learned from her father who was considered a master tattooist in the region. Traditionally, only men with special tattooing ancestry were allowed to learn the art. Whang-od was an exception due to her talent and potential seen by her father. In later life, Whang-od's chosen apprentices constituted of only women, breaking the patrimonial tradition for the first time in recorded Kalinga history. Despite breaking tradition, her community accepted her decision. She has been doing the batok, the traditional hand-tapped tattooing, on male headhunters who earned the tattoos by protecting villages or killing enemies. She also tattoos women of the Butbut people in Buscalan, Kalinga, primarily for aesthetic purposes. As a traditional Kalinga tattooist or mambabatok, she has done fortune telling and chants while doing tattoos. Every design she creates contains symbolic meanings specific to the mambabatok culture. For example, a warrior who had killed an enemy would be given an eagle tattoo upon his return from battle.

She was first tattooed as a teenager with the designs consisting of a ladder and a python. The python tattoo was especially important in her people's sacred stories. According to their indigenous religion, the python scale tattoo was first given to Lagkunawa, a beautiful noblewoman from the village of Tinglayan (Whang-od's home village). It was a gift from the hero-god Banna, who fell in love with the mortal. Ever since, the tattoo was passed on through the generations. Fatok is the term used for tattooing women to show beauty and wealth. When a woman's arm is tattooed just like Whang-od's own tattoos, the family of the woman is obliged to pay the tattoo artist a piglet or a bundle of harvested rice (locally called as dalan). On the other hand, fi-ing is the term used for tattooing of male Butbut warriors on their chests and arms. Whang-od used to practice fi-ing until headhunting was discouraged by the government. Fi-ing was last practiced in 1972.

Though headhunters no longer exist, Whang-od still applies the tattoos on Buscalan tourists. She however no longer chants when tattooing tourists, as the chants are only for the beautification of Kalinga women and for the celebration of Kalinga men's victory in battle.

She later decided never to marry, and thus has no children[7] and leaves no direct descendants to continue her legacy as a mambabatok or traditional Kalinga tattoo artist. She had relationships with other Kalinga warriors, but remained unmarried due to her vow.

Work -

She accepts around twenty to thirty customers every day. She only does simple tattoos nowadays due to her advanced age. Her apprentices, all women, have continued the tradition for her and their people. The tattoo ink she uses is composed of indigenous materials, usually a mixture of charcoal and water that is tapped into the skin using a thorn from a calamansi or pomelo tree. This ancient technique of batok dates back a thousand years and is relatively painful compared to conventional techniques. She uses designs found in nature and basic geometric shapes. She has numerous signature tattoos, but since 2017, her signature tattoo is composed of three dots, representing herself and her two apprentices, depicted as a continuation of the art form from the older to the next generation. Aside from being a tattoo artist, Whang-od is a respected village elder and plays the nose flute. She also does agricultural tasks, such as feeding pigs and chickens; and cultivating rice.

According to tradition, her tattooing skills can only be inherited through lineage. Whang-od believes that if someone outside the bloodline starts tattooing, the tattoos will become infected. The influence of modernity meant that the young people of her village were no longer interested in embracing the tattooing works of their elders for decades, until a rise in appreciation of Indigenous ways in the 21st century paved the way for the conservation of the art form in Buscalan. Whang-od has trained Grace Palicas, her grandniece, and Ilyang Wigan, another bloodline successor, to continue her people's tattoo artistry. More bloodline successors have gradually become interested in their people's artforms, including a 12-year-old named Den Wigan. However, these successors have not performed the other works of a mambabatok, and their own tattoos are not as intricate as those of Whang-od. Furthermore, according to Filipino anthropologist Analyn Salvador-Amores, the other batok traditions, which include chanting and fortune-telling, and the revelation of the symbolic meanings of the tattoos, may fade away with Whang-od because these are not transferred to her successors. Chanting and fortune-telling are only performed for the Kalinga people, never for people outside the ethnic sphere. With that, Whang-od may be the last mambabatok of her village, unless the indigenous Kalinga peoples themselves formally choose to get traditional tattoos as part of their modern culture, and her apprentices master the elaborate and highly difficult tattoo chanting arts before she passes away.

Style - The Kalinga Tribes

These Kalinga tattoos, despite consisting of symbols occurring in nature carrying simple geometric patterns, do not carry the same meaning they had when they were earned through warfaring culture.

The Kalinga people have a reputation for being “the strong people of the Cordilleras.” At the same time, Kalingas greatly value family and kinship; thus, the household, extended household of the kinship circle, and territorial region are significant units of Kalinga society. In the past, they gained leadership and respect through headhunting, along with other skills at which an individual excelled. Their neighbors and even invaders feared them due to their as headhunters. In fact, the name Kalinga, which originated from the Gaddang and Ibanag languages, means “headhunter.”

The Kalingas are a proud people and well known for their intricate hand-woven textiles and beautiful and colorful beaded jewelry. In every celebration, they incorporate dance and traditional music as a form of thanksgiving and cultural preservation.

The Kalingas are divided geographically into the following:

Butbut Kalinga

The Butbut Kalinga reside in Tinglayan, Kalinga. Farming is their main source of livelihood, as the province has a rugged and mountainous topography.

Limos Kalinga

Also known as the Northern Kalinga and Limos-Liwan Kalinga, the Limos Kalinga live in Kalinga Province.

Lower Tanudan Kalinga

The Lower Tanudan Kalinga are found in the southern part of Kalinga. Their language, which is most intelligible with that of the Limos Kalinga, has three dialects: Minangali, Tinaloctoc, and Pinangol.

Lubuagan Kalinga

Kalinga, a landlocked province in the northernmost area of the Cordillera Region, is bounded by the provinces of Cagayan and Apayao in the north; Mount Province in the south; and Abra in the west. The larger elements of Cagayan and Isabela are found on its eastern part. The Kalinga Lubuagan inhabit the Kalinga and Apayao provinces; their language widespread and used in almost all the municipalities of Kalinga, and has five dialects. Kalinga originated from the Gaddang and Ibanag languages meaning, “headhunter”. In the days gone by, headhunting was once regarded a noble “pursuit” and symbolized bravery. Theirs was a warrior society that accorded tatoos as status symbols awarded to warriors which men respected and women admired. Thus, warriors, mingol, enjoyed a higher status in Kalinga society. The bodong, a peace-pact in Kalinga culture was an indigenous socio-political system that defined inter-tribal relationships. It was developed to minimize traditional warfare and headhunting, as well as, served as an institutional ‘renewal’; maintenance, and reinforcement of social ties. Later, bodong was expanded into a multi-lateral peace-pact intended to strengthen unity in the Cordilleras.

Dance was an integral element of Kalinga Lubuagan culture. In keeping with its warrior heritage, Takiling, represented a homecoming of successful kayaw or head-taking, done to avenge the death or evil done to a family member or relative. Mingols were honored by their female relatives with gift of lawi feather, bongon (beads), and colorful ba-ag (g-strings). Victory songs were sung by villagers and the mingols danced with closed fists while the unsuccessful mingols were demoted to playing the gangsas, gongs. Ngilin was a marriage dance performed during rituals and celebrations, such as the budong; the choreography simulated the courting interactions between a rooster and hen. The most popular was the Tadjok which was performed by the tribe to commemorate grand feats, rituals, and social gatherings. The men showcased strength and virility, whereas the the women conveyed grace and sensuality, as they mimicked high-flying birds.

Mabaka Valley Kalinga

The Mabaka Valley Kalingas, who inhabit the southeastern part of Kalinga, are also known as the Kal-Uwan, Mabaka, and Mabaka Itneg.

Madukayang Kalinga

The Madukayang Kalinga are concentrated in southern Mountain Province. Their language is mutually intelligible with Limos Kalinga and Balangao (83%.)

Southern Kalinga

There are about 13 villages in Kalinga province where Southern Kalinga live. Their dialects include Sumadel-Tinglayan Kalinga, Malango, and Bangad.

Upper Tanudan Kalinga

The Upper Tanudan Kalingas reside in the southern part of Tanudan Valley in Kalinga Province, not too far from Mountain Province.

The Kalinga and other Cordillera peoples are believed to have arrived in separate migrations from southeastern or eastern Asia. The original migrants of northern Luzon might have had a common culture, but due to particular conditions of economy, water supply, population density, and ecology, cultural differences began to appear among the northern Luzon mountain peoples, resulting in the various ethnolinguistic groups: Ibaloy, Bontok, Ifugao, Kalinga, and Sagada.

Kalinga has agricultural, mineral, forest, and wildlife resources. The main agricultural product is rice. Principally rice growers, the Kalinga were once famous for producing and exporting large-grained rice. Traditionally, the most valued property is the rice field, followed by house sites. Other customary wealth indicators are livestock used in sacrifice and heirlooms like Chinese jars, plates, gongs, and beads. Kalinga is now the acknowledged “Rice Granary of the Cordilleras.” With an agricultural land covering 178,371 hectares, the province produced an average of 152,857 metric tons of rice from 2008 to 2010. Kalinga is regarded as the best producer of F1 rice, and its unoy variety is consumed widely both in the country and abroad.

The Kalinga actively promote eco-cultural tourism, drawing local and foreign tourists each year. Each municipality has its own festival: the Manchatchatong (gathering) of Balbalan; Laga (weaving) of Lubuagan; Salip, an anagram of Pasil, the municipality’s name; Pasingan (wedding celebration) of Pinukpuk; Pinikpikan (native chicken stew) of Rizal; Matagoan (zone of life) of Tabuk; Podon (peace pact) of Tanudan; and Unoy (native rice) of Tinglayan. All these come together during the Ullalim Festival, which is a yearly agro-industrial and cultural fair in Tabuk that lasts up to five days.