#permanent tattoo removal near me

[thebrowproject]

Hyperrealism Brow Tattooing - The Brow Project

Hyperrealism brow tattooing is a technique used to create natural-looking eyebrows that mimic the movement and direction of real eyebrow hairs. It involves tattooing wispy, overlapping hair strokes in a unique pattern to achieve a hyper-realistic 3D effect. This technique is different from traditional microblading and uses a machine and a single ultra-thin nano needle to create soft, airy hair strokes. https://thebrowproject.com/

[quantumclinicau]

[novaskincare123]

[jchaneladkinson]

Lip blushing, or lip tattooing, employs a tattoo gun and pigments to give the lips a more defined shape and a natural-looking colour.

[ddejavvu]

omg can you write a smutty and fluffy fic about reader discovering that aaron has tattoos under that suit of his and also could he drive a motorcycle 🤭 like imagine aaron having a helmet for her and teasing her on it and her grabbing his hips

Perhaps you're crossing an invisible line when you begin thumbing through the pages of a photo album that had been tucked away beneath Aaron's coffee table, but you're a nosy drunk, and he'd invited you to sit on his couch. It's his fault, really.

Emily peers disinterestedly over your shoulder, only paying attention because it's more entertaining than listening to Spencer talk Star Trek. You find baby pictures of Aaron, grainy photographs of a moderately chubby baby, and your giggle is heavily laden with booze.

After the fifth nondescript baby portrait Emily turns away, and only a few pages later, he's graduating high school. Something is unsettling about the way that his memories had so quickly switched from infant to adult, but his smile is dazzling under the weight of his cap and gown, so you let the uneasy feeling wash away in exchange for some belated pride.

"You're a snoop," Aaron observes, when he comes back from the bathroom to find you transfixed by his photo album. He smiles, his own demeanor loosened by liquor, "That was my graduation day."

"I know,' You gush, "I'm not that drunk."

He rolls his eyes at you, but a grin is firm in place over his lips.

Then you turn the page, and it's not Aaron anymore.

Oh, fuck, it is Aaron. Aaron with tattoos littering his toned torso, jeans hanging low on his hips, a cigarette in his hand and his legs straddling a motorcycle. He's polishing the body, pinning it between his knees to do so.

You hadn't realized your jaw dropped, but it did.

"Those were my teenage dirtbag years," Aaron recalls, with a snort that's a mixture of fondness and ridicule, "I thought I was some rebellious-" His brain falters, failing to provide him with the proper connection, and he falls short, "-Uh, rebel."

"Woah," Is all you can muster, tracing your fingers over the page wistfully. He laughs, and you blink up at him blearily, "Do you still have those?"

He quirks a teasing brow at you, "My tattoos? Well, they're kind of permanent. I thought you said you weren't that drunk?"

"You could have gotten them removed," You grouse, "So... do you?"

"Still have them?" He verifies, and when you nod, he bites back most of the force of his smile, "I do."

"Lemme see." You demand, before you can process that you're asking your boss to take his shirt off. His eyebrows raise, nearly merging with his hairline, and you stammer, "Not- like, I'm just curious, they're so... unlike you."

"I've changed a lot," He lets your slip of the tongue slide and you're grateful for it, "I'll show you one."

You watch with wide eyes - you're not aware that you're gawking at your boss, but you are - as he peels away the hem of his shirt from his skin, exposing black ink that you've never seen before tracking up his torso. It's on the left side of his stomach, near his groin: a pair of handcuffs.

"I was into some weird shit," He muses, tongue loose from the drinks he's had. You don't bother gaping at his unprofessionalism, you're stuck staring at the handcuffs.

"Twenty-year old me thought I was gonna be the one in handcuffs, not the one locking them on people," He laughs, and drops his shirt, covering the tattoo. "So, you have any wild teenage tattoos of your own?"

You're a changed woman. Twenty years ago your boss had been whorishly draped over a motorcycle, handcuffs tattooed above his pelvis. You finish the night out in a trance of absent-minded conversation, but it's less from the liquor and more from the stun of seeing Aaron's past self.

If your boss suddenly notices your eyes roving over the spot where his tattoo lies beneath his button-up from then on, he doesn't say a word.

[richeeduvie]

ok there is a very real chance i’ve sent an ask about this before but i cannot remember soooo baby getting R tattooed on her somewhere as a surprise and roman dropping dead when he discovers it

"What's that?"

Baby's smiling at her smiley little girl. She presses her chubby finger against the small R on her mommy's bicep.

"It's a surprise for Daddy."

Baby Jr tilts her head. "For Daddy? He wants letters on you?"

"It stands for his name, silly. Roman."

"...I forget his name isn't Daddy. But what?! Is it there forever?"

Baby smiles a bit more. She combs her fingers through Baby Jr's soft hair as she rolls up her sleeve a bit more.

"Forever. And maybe...the first letter of your name can be right next to his. I bet he'd like that, but I won't tell you when I'm getting you tattooed, that would spoil the surprise."

Baby Jr breathes in hard, she's much too excited so suddenly and she doesn't want Mommy to make her use her inhaler, so she's trying to calm down - but Daddy is gonna go crazy for this, and Mommy get her name too? It's so much. She sits criss-cross-applesauce, rocking until she needs to sit in her Mommy's lap cause biting is good, biting is love, but she'll bite herself and that hurts, so Mommy's the next best thing.

"Daddy is gonna go coo-coo."

The front door swings open, a groan coming out through the room.

"I call death to the film industry. People are fucking - the risks they take is about the size of their assholes. Or...maybe not, maybe their anuses are huge and that'd explain the sticks they're able to stuff up there."

Baby Jr giggles. It's because of her Daddy being funny, but there's a secret on Mommy's skin and she don't know if she can hold it.

"Don't swear, Daddy - buttholes is also good word to use."

"Well everything's perfect when you say it, nobody is going to go anywhere near a middle aged man who uses the word butthole. Hug."

She's so giggly and Baby tries to hide her smile, elbow under her head. Baby Jr goes running off to Roman, hugging his legs. He takes her up into his arms in this obnoxious, smug happiness. But he blinks quick at how his daughter seems to just, heave. Cutely heave with laughter.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

And Baby takes to standing.

"I think she'll be more excited than you are for this."

"...What?"

"I just had an impulse, nothing too regretful - I don't think you'd like me to call it that but...I got a tattoo."

Roman looks to his daughter and blinks slow, a glaring turn back to Baby.

"Oh. Ew."

The ew is dragged out, Roman rolls his eyes and puts Baby Jr down. He rubs his face. To soothe, to show just how much he thinks that that is a stupid idea.

"A fucking tattoo? You wanted to go cool and ruined your skin? It's gonna be a fucking butterfly, or something like fu....like warrior. No, no - I married you, I would like to think you wouldn't get your skin etched with something as fucked as that. Please tell me it's somewhere that's not that noticeable."

Roman almost goes off, but he covers Baby Jr's ears. Baby crosses his arms.

"We don't do doggy, so like, if it's your back, whatever."

"Mm. Bicep."

Her voice is casual as his eyes widen.

"Are you kidding me?! I have my mouth there all the tim-oh my god. Next time you have a impulse, walk three blocks and kill a finance guy or a labor worker. Don't do this to me."

"Daddy. Stop being silly, please please - you are gonna love it!"

"I'll accept it eventually, Honey. Sure, but-"

Baby takes steps to Roman, rolling up her sleeve, pleasure under the casual, relaxed features of her face. As Roman's soften at the sight of the R.

"I could always get it removed. It's pretty small, so I assume it'll be easier than most. I thought you'd like it. But tattoos are permanent, I should've just bought a necklace or something."

Roman stares. He doesn't blink. Baby Jr giggles.

He swallows and does this almost cough before he scratches his head.

"Why did you get it so small?"

"...I think that'd be a good thing considering I'm just gonna get it removed-"

"No! Shut the fuck up - I just didn't kno-I didn't think it'd be this...me. For me. You're for me. Cool, it's..."

Roman blinks hard before his eyes just go small. Baby Jr makes hand motions for Baby to pick her up and when her mommy does, she's the one holding the sleeve in her little fist to look at her daddy's initial.

She mwahs a kiss on Baby's tattoo.

Baby smiles before her brows curve in confusion at the look of her husband, Roman's flexy and shifty hands as he keeps staring.

"Roman, you okay?"

"...Uh-huh."

He takes her arm, a face serious and Baby Jr can't understand why because it's so cute. Cute things don't need serious faces, but she won't question her Daddy.

"I literally...this means I can never get you for anything now. Seriously. Fucking one-upper."

"No, it doesn't. You really don't like it-"

"Shut up. I do! You kno-God, I do. But you don't even own enough tank tops to show it up so whatever, and you've one-upped me with the hottest blot of ink..."

Roman breathes...wrong, Baby's brows bend lower.

"Roman, breathe."

"Daddy, you can use my inhaler."

"I'm fine. I'm...it's just-"

It's just that anything about her and her love for him can ruin him, make him feel sickly in such a perfect way. He shudders. It's pathetic. Roman wants to be normal about this, but his heart's never been in the right place to be...regulated. But fuck, who fucking cares? She's perfect and she loves him enough to be branded with his initial.

So, he's going to feel like he's going to die because he could die happy right now. How many people get that moment?

Roman kisses Baby Jr's cheek.

"Why didn't Mommy get my whole name?"

"Be grateful, Daddy. Please."

Baby snorts. Roman's brows raise, it's a "Right, sorry."

Baby knows it went as expected when Roman mwahs his initial on her skin, just twice over before he nips.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drawn Together 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, spanking, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The world is underwater. Senses dulled, eyes itchy, lungs burning. You wake to a horror just as bad as any nightmare. The lashes across your ass and thighs sting and throb terribly. You whine and pull the pillow from over your head.

Your eyes bead with tears as you try to sit up. It hurts so bad, more than before. You shake as you crawl to the edge of the bed, turning to put one foot at a time on the floor. You quiver as you stand straight and hug yourself.

You glance at the tray untouched at the end of the bed. You couldn’t eat if you tried but you definitely won’t accept any of his kindness. It’s less than that. He’s trying to trick you.

You go to the dresser and stare at your neatly folded panties. You don’t think you could even bear the satin. You take out a silky nightgown and replace your dress with it. You smell him on the garment still, on yourself.

You go to the window and press your hand to the cool pane. It’s evening now. You reach up and try to grip one of the nails there. You’re so stupid. Why would you do that?

You go back to the bed and move the tray onto the floor. You roll back under the covers and huddle into the mattress. There’s no point in trying. Not right now. You just want to sleep.

There’s a low click. You hold your breath as the door creaks open. Footsteps near the foot of the bed and stop before the tray.

“Sweetheart, are you awake?” Steve calls to you.

You don’t move as you keep the blankets high against your cheek. You hear a clink, the distinctive noise of metal on porcelain. He tuts and inhales, letting it out loudly.

“Why didn’t you eat? You have to eat, sweetheart?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your jaw. You hear him, feel him getting closer. He drags his fingertips along the blanket and up the shape of your figure beneath. You can’t help but shiver.

“I know you’re awake. Why don’t you sit up and have your dinner?”

You ignore him, sucking in your lip as it trembles. He sits on the side of the bed, firmly against you as he rests his large hand on your arm. He runs his touch up to your shoulder down to your neck, tugging down the blanket.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he purrs, “you don’t have to be scared, sweetheart. I won’t punish you any more.”

You open your eyes and look at him through a sheen of tears. His thumb presses to your throat and you whimper. You pull the blanket back up and brush him away with your elbow. He retracts his hand and lets it fall to his knee in a fist.

“I understand, sweetheart,” he greets, “you’re tired. You took your punishment so good, you can relax now.”

He slips his hand behind him as he shifts and trails along your hip. He feels down along your ass and squeezes until you yipe. He quickly removes his touch and stands, clearing his throat.

“I’ll leave the food in case you get hungry,” he says… if you need me, you can tap on the door, sweetheart. Anything at all.”

You know he can’t give you what you truly need. What you want so badly. For him to go. To leave you alone.

You don’t move. Don’t make another sound. You wait. He does too. At last he gives in and leaves. Just not far enough away.

🎹

When Steve returns, he doesn’t speak. You hear the disappointment in his huff. He takes the tray out, the door shutting pointedly in his stead. You stare through the dark at the window, moonlight beaming onto the floorboards.

You’ve never felt so lost in this place. Your grandfather’s townhouse was always safe. Always a haven to come and hide away. To play the piano and just be. It’s not his anymore, it’s not even yours.

You cover your mouth to keep your emotions from spilling out. The door opens again. The soft tread of feet round the bed and the lamp on the other side casts a glow around you. You watch Steve’s shadow on the wall as he looms behind you.

He sits to remove his socks, standing to peel off his shirt. Even in his silhouette, you can see the definition in each muscle. He undoes his pants and pauses. You can’t breathe as you feel him watching you. A low growl rattles from him, a rumble from deep in his chest.

He pushes back the blanket, cool air tickling up the back of your nightgown. You gulp and brace the edge of the mattress. As he lowers himself beside you, you pull yourself away from him. He bounces slightly as he gets comfortable, laying on his back as he reaches to turn off the lamp.

He rolls onto his side and you shove the blankets away from your body. You lower yourself to the floor, taking a pillow with you, and lay on the border of the rug. You curl up and shiver.

“Sweetheart,” Steve says in confusion, “where are you going?”

You don’t answer him. Why can’t he understand? Why would you want to be near him? 

“Come on, get back up here,” he coaxes, “I’m not mad anymore.”

You are, you pout into the darkness. The bedframe groans and he exhales again, something on the precipice of a snarl.

“Sweetheart, I’m being nice and asking you to get back in bed.”

Silence.

“Now.”

You dig your nails into the tender flesh of your arms and bend your legs tight to your body. You steel yourself for his wrath as the springs compress beneath his weight. His feet come down just behind you and a brittle whine escapes you.

He bends and scoops you up in his arms. Easily. Too easy. He’s so much stronger. It doesn’t matter what you say or do. You can’t fight him.

He turns and puts you back in the bed, laying you down carefully. He quickly climbs in behind you, nestling against the curve of your body as he hooks an arm around you. You shake and grasp onto his thick wrist.

“Get off of me. Please,” you beg.

“Sweetheart, change your tone.”

You sniff and stay quiet. You can’t argue with him. You know that already but you’re not thinking straight. Your fear makes it hard to focus. All you know is you don’t want him near you, but you can’t make him go.

“That’s it, just relax,” he purrs into your hair, “Isn’t this nice? Just the two of us?”

You don’t reply but he hardly seems to notice. His hand creeps along your stomach, forcing its way between your middle and your bent legs. He grips your thigh and forces it straight. You squeak as he straightens your body and draws you flush against his front. Wait, no!

You feel him against your ass, through the thin layer of silk. He’s completely naked. More frighteningly, he’s hard. He’s excited by this. Intoxicated by your fear.

“Mm, you smell nice, baby,” he nuzzles your ear, “you’re so warm.” His hand wanders further, his fingers curling as he gathers up the front of your nightgown, “let me be nice to you.”

Your hand shoots down and you grab his hand, keeping him from going any further. He inhales your scent and shakes away your grip. He traces along the line of your pelvis and you tremble, helplessly resting your palm over his veiny hand. Please, please, stop.

“Steve,” you say his name, hoping to break him of his trance, “I’m tired. Let’s sleep.”

He groans and his fingertips brush along your vee of hair. He hums and plays daintily with the curls. You feel his muscles draw taut through his stomach and chest. He brings a leg forward and hooks it over yours, pulling it back as he delves his fingers between your folds.

He buries his hand between your things, pushing against your cunt, the rough flesh firm to your clit. You murmur and bite your lip. You don’t know what to do to make him stop. You curl your fingers around his hand.

“Please,” you mewl, “I never…”

He’s silent and still. He keeps his hand lodged between your legs and draws you closer, tangling his leg in yours. He pinches the rim of your ear with his teeth and snarls.

“I can wait, sweetheart,” he rasps hotly against your scalp, “just let me hold you.”

He doesn’t move. His hand remains as it is as he pulls his head back behind yours, his nose against your crown as his long breaths storm around you. You dip your chin down and try to calm your furiously beating heart. 

“Okay,” you agree, if only to keep him from trying anything else.

[ikeromantic]

IkeVamp Boys React to Tattooed MC pt 4

Vlad, Faust, and Charles

Vlad

You shiver as Vlad's cool fingertips slide up your spine. He places a kiss just at the top, where you know his lips touch the cluster of sakura blossoms. He presses a kiss to each falling petal, suspended in ink along the line of your back.

"I like these," he says quietly. "The promise of beauty and spring, eternal."

"And the passing of time. Beauty is ephemeral." You arch into his touch.

"And yet you've made it permanent, caught in this moment forever." His fangs scrape lightly on your skin as he kisses the last one, near your hip.

You understand the meaning in his words, the promise that he won't let you go, not again. Not now that he's found you after centuries of waiting and searching.

Faust

You wake to find Faust staring at you, his eyes narrowed. The expression makes you self conscious. "Ehm. Good morning?"

"Is it?" He frowns and leans closer. That's when you realize the sheets have slid down and he can see the tattoo on your hip, just under the hem of your night-shirt. He's seen it before, you are fairly sure.

"Is there a problem," you counter. Then you sit up, tugging your shirt down to cover the design.

Faust reaches over to pull it aside again, studying you like one of his experiments. "This. There is something about it."

Ah. You smile in understanding. "It's a cover-up. I got a stupid tattoo when I was - well, it doesn't matter. Just never get a name tattoo. Trust me." You try to tug your night-shirt down again.

"A name?" His bright green eyes pin you in place.

"The design covers it up. I bet you can't even tell what was there, right?"

Faust scowls. "Who's name is it?"

"Look, it's an ex, ok? I thought, I don't know . . . it was stupid and I regretted it right after. I got the cover-up as soon as we broke up." You shrug. "It's probably not what I would have gotten, but at least I don't have to see his name on me the rest of my life. So, can you not make a big deal about it?"

"So . . . would you remove it if you could?" His gaze turns speculative, thoughtful.

"I guess? But it doesn't matter. Even in my time, tattoo removal isn't exactly 100%." You finally pull your shirt from his grip.

Faust stands, determination in his posture. "Eat and then meet me in the lab. We have much work today."

"I thought you were taking a break today!" You frown at him now. This was supposed to be your day to spend with him. Maybe going shopping, getting some food . . .

"It was. It is. But I have a new project and you must be present. My little guinea pig." He smiles at you. "Today, we will discover how to remove ink from human skin.

Charles

You notice Charles is giving you puppy dog eyes. This isn't unusual, exactly, but you aren't sure what he wants from you. After all, you're already on a date. You decide not to ask. He will definitely tell you.

A moment later, you're rewarded for your patience. He reaches for your collar, tugging it down. "Can I see?" Charles doesn't wait for permission. He pulls your shirt away from your collarbone, and you realize what he's trying to look at.

The raven in flight that graces your collarbone, inked there when you left home to start a new life on your own. A reminder that you could always start a new, as you had again when you followed Le Comte through the museum door.

"That's my tattoo." You aren't sure what else to say, especially with him leaning close enough to kiss.

"It's pretty." He runs a finger along the delicate feathers. "Like it's about to fly away, but it can't. It reminds me of you."

"I'm glad you like it." You feel heat rising to your cheeks, not so much from the touch - Charles is always handsy - but from the way he speaks. That rare moment of vulnerability when you can see past his cheery mask.

"I hope you'll never fly away from me," he lays his head on your bared skin.

"I told you I would stay." You let your cheek rest on his head, his hair tickling your nose. "Besides, that's not what the raven means. It's . . . it's rebirth. Starting anew. Remembering that no matter what happens, there's another chance, if you're willing to take it."

You can feel his smile, and the warm, damp dew of a teardrop. "That sounds like a nice thing to believe."

[raethethey]

Tucked Away Tattoos

Member: Lee Minho x gn!reader

Word Count: 3087

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, tattoo adventure!

Warnings: swearing, general anxiety, small existence crisis attack lol

A/N: I love this. I think I'll always love this. This was so fun to write even though it is now 7am (haha my sleep schedule hates me). Thank you loml for requesting this @labyrinthgate <3 I hope ya'll enjoy!

Part of @the-writing-nook's monthly prompt for January: write something set in a small town. Go check out the other ones here! (link to be added when the masterlist comes out at the end of the month)

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Summer break was right around the corner. You had so many plans to adventure and get out there. First on your list was to get a tattoo. You had been thinking about getting one for years, something special to you and meaningful enough that if your parents ever found out (you, an adult with your own money) got one they wouldn’t absolutely hate it. (They’d still frown at you because they thought you ruined your career life forever, but it’s not like they could do anything about it either.) So you called up your best friend, Minho, called the tattoo shop you’d researched for weeks, and made an appointment for the first weekend after finals.

Time flew by fast. Maybe too fast. Your appointment was approaching and your nerves were on the fritz. Were you really doing this? Really getting something completely and totally permanent (besides the laser removal options)?

Yes. There was no turning back now.

Minho pulls up to your dorm building in his beat-up family car, the one you snuck out of the house in so many times in high school, the one that took you to all your club activities in middle school, the one you threw up in during elementary school. He rolls down the window and as always lays down on the horn, loud enough and long enough everyone in a five-mile radius turns their head to see what’s going on.

Jogging to the car as quick as you can, you hop in and slam the door shut, punching his arm, “Shut up, you menace! You’re going to get the police called.”

He just laughs, putting the car in drive and turning on the radio to a quiet volume; it’s a level just for background noise. “So, where is this little tattoo shop you’ve decided to throw your money at?”

“Just outside of town, kinda near that cat café we went to last month,” you say, pulling up directions. It’s only a twenty-minute drive from the university near the small lighthouse at the bay.

“Oh, I’ve been there! It has plants everywhere and this cute little shop cat that none of the artists know where it came from, they just accept that it lives there now.” He turns out of the parking lot making his way to the main road, the GPS silently telling him which directions to turn.

Quirking your eyebrow, you turn toward him as much as you can while being buckled, “You’ve been to a tattoo shop? Without me? Traitor.”

He rolls his eyes, “Jisung wanted another piercing, six wasn’t enough apparently.”

“Hey, one can never have too many piercings. Wait! Was it that forward helix one he got? I love that one.”

He nods, leaning back in his seat to get comfortable for the drive. “I may have also gotten a piercing.”

Unbelievable. Lee Minho? A piercing? He has his lobes pierced, you know that much, but another one? “You’re joking. You’ve gotta be joking.” He glances at you. “Oh my god, you did not. You did? Where?!”

His lip twitches. You slap him on the arm resting in between you on the center console.

“You did not, you asshole. You’re always doing this to me.”

“Okay, okay, I didn’t, but I did get a tattoo.” A small grin graces his face.

Not believing him this time, you turn back to the front of the car and turn the volume up, rolling your eyes at his antics.

He turns it down again and looks at you, glancing at the road every few seconds, “I actually did though. I’m not kidding about this one. It’s small, almost invisible, I’m not surprised you haven’t seen it.” He holds his arm out in front of your face, close enough to have you crossing your eyes at the proximity. He uses his thumb to point at the side of his middle finger. There, the tiniest marks you’ve ever seen is a tattoo, a real tattoo, of a minimalist cat face. Two tiny triangles for ears, a smaller filled-in triangle for a nose, and six lines for whiskers.

It’s cute. It’s very…him.

You’re stunned, to say the least. It takes you a while to come up with something to say, something normal and not a babble of ‘oh my god you’re adorable can I kiss you?’ Because that would not be good.

Instead, he speaks up again in your silence, “I swear I was only there for emotional support for Sung, but the dude asked if I wanted anything since I went all the way out there and you know Jisung is a terrible influence, so I got this. It was small enough they didn’t even make me pay for it.” He huffs a laugh, putting his arm back down.

Your eyes follow his hand, still trained on his finger even though you can’t see it from this angle anymore. Finally, something in your brain starts to work again and you grab his hand, tugging it to your face again, this time to see it right side up instead of upside down as he had shown you. It leaves his wrist at an awkward angle.

“Ow! Not so rough, I am driving, you know?”

You risk a touch. You lick your finger and rub it across the ink to see if it would smudge.

He pulls his hand away and rubs it on his pants. “It’s real, y/n, ew. Why would you do that?”

“Oh. My. God. IT IS! You got a tattoo! Without me! Not only are you a traitor, but you’re also a backstabber! We promised! You promised we’d be there together if we ever got a tattoo for the first time.”

“No, we didn’t! I do not recall a promise like that ever being made. What are you talking about?”

“Fifth grade. We were on the bleachers listening to this dude talk about motorcycle safety and he had the sickest arm sleeve. You don’t remember?”

His mouth falls open and his head hits his seat, “Ohhh, yeahh. Sorry.” He grimaces at his forgetfulness.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

As the shop comes into view, Minho starts looking for a parking spot. Miraculously, there's an open one right in front of parlour. And it’s free. No wonder considering how small this town is. He parks and you both hop out, heading into the shop. The little bell rings signalling your arrival and a woman walks out from the back. Presumedly, she’s an artist what with her arms decked out in ink and a few piercings littering her ears and face.

“Hi, how can I help you two lovely, blank people today?” A friendly smile stretches across her face revealing another piercing just inside her lipline, in front of her teeth.

You smile back, “Hey, I’m here for an appointment? Y/n at 4:30?”

She checks her computer and nods, “Yep. Can I see your ID?” You hand it over, having it ready. “Great, I’ll just have you sign these papers and we can get right to it.” She hands you a clipboard from behind the desk.

After filling it out and handing it back, she takes it to the back to get it into the system, telling you your artist will be right with you.

A few minutes pass as you wait in the lobby, flicking through the binders laid out on a small coffee table of all the artists' past works and styles. Minho is scrolling on his phone and tapping his foot.

The silence, save for the rock music playing through the speakers around the room and Minho’s tapping, is making you nervous. You start wringing your hands together, biting your lip and glancing out the window, at the decorations, and then at the cat that saunters into the room from who knows where. You nudge Minho and point to the white feline. He glances up at you and follows your line of gaze, a small grin appearing on his otherwise stoic face. Ever the cat dad with three of his own, he starts making noises at it. Small clicks of his tongue and soft tuttings. The cat gingerly makes its way over to him and rubs its face against his pant leg, meowing quietly.

You whisper, “How is it that every cat loves you?”

“It’s universal,” he whispers back, “They all communicate telepathically telling each other which ones are the good ones. Turns out I’m a great one.” He smirks at you as he pets its head, scratching the top of it and eventually its chin.

Rolling your eyes, you reach out a hand to let it sniff you. It bumps its head against your fingers, purring. When it jumps into your lap all of a sudden, you coo overcome by its adorableness. “Who’s the great one now?” You smirk back at Minho.

A man walks out of the back this time and calls your name. Standing up, the cat leaps from your lap and scurries back to where it came from.

Minho follows you and the man to the back of the room where a station is set up and a chair, reclined to a flat position is waiting for you.

The man, also covered in an array of swirling lines, more colourful than the lady’s, asks if you’re ready as you sit down. Nodding you pull out your phone and start to look for your reference pictures. Once you find them you show them to the artist and a few minutes pass as you talk about placement and the different pain levels for each area. Deciding your forearm would be the best place for your first tattoo, he starts drawing up a stencil of your idea, asking for your opinion every few seconds.

The closer he gets to finishing it, the more anxious you get, rubbing your hands up and down your thighs as you tap your toes together. They’ve gotten quite sweaty in the past half hour.

Minho has been characteristically quiet since you walked in, but now he speaks up, “Hey. It’s gonna be fine. Just half an hour, maybe less and you’ll be walking out of here a new person. A new, badass person with ink to show off to all your friends and to make your mother faint and father threaten to never speak to you again,” he gives you a reassuring smile. The one that only brings up half of his mouth and makes his eyes twinkle. “This guy’s done thousands of these, there’s no reason to worry about how it’ll look, plus,” He takes your hand in his, the one with the little cat face on it, and squeezes lightly, “I’ll be right here the whole time. You can squeeze my hand as hard as you like. Now breathe.”

You take a deep, shaky breath and exhale slowly, returning his calm smile as a silent thank you. Unconsciously, you start gently rubbing his little tattoo, the placement already ingrained in your brain.

“Alrighty. Here’s the final product. You like it?” The artist shows you the stencil and you nod, giving him a thumbs-up with the hand that isn’t holding Minho’s.

He starts placing it on your forearm and the process begins shortly after. It’s not as bad as you thought it was going to be, but damn you if you won’t take this chance to hold Minho’s hand.

He isn’t really a touchy guy and prefers witty comments to lift you up instead of hugs or pats on your head. Any chance you get to be closer to him without giving away your true thoughts is a chance you’ll take.

Growing up, you and Minho had always been close. Not just proximately by way of living arrangements as kids, but practically joined at the hip all throughout childhood. You did everything you could together. Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder, would change their mind if they got to spend almost every waking hour with Minho like you did. Shit, you were head over heels for your best friend. He was funny in the weirdest, bestest way, charming, caring in his own odd ways, and smart. So fucking smart. Nobody knew the most random facts about anything like he did. And if you thought he was the most handsome man on earth, no one needed to know but you. Fuck, you were in love with him.

Maybe getting this tattoo would change things. If you were brave enough to do this maybe you could be brave enough to tell him. Or maybe all your courage would desert you as soon as it’s over.

You squeeze his hand instead. He squeezes right back, softly rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you. “You’re doing great, just keep breathing. I’m not carrying you home if you pass out.”

You chuckle and it just slips out, completely on accident, “God, I love you so fucking much.” You take a deep breath and close your eyes. For barely a millisecond. They fly back open immediately as soon as you process what you actually just said. You’re too scared to look at him. The ceiling is a much better view, you think. Why did you say that? He’s gonna reject you. He’s gonna stop being your friend now. It���s going to be awkward every time he sees you if he doesn’t completely avoid you. You’re going to have to tell your parents why he’s stopped coming around. You won't ever get to see his cats again! Why, why why did you open your mouth? You’re frozen in fear. You might have stopped breathing. Maybe you’re dead? Please, you want to fade out of existence right now.

“Breathe, y/n. You’re turning purple.”

You let out the breath you were holding. Hopefully, your last breath before you follow the light to sweet, sweet endless nothing where you never have to face him again. Why couldn’t you just respond normally? One simple word change and you wouldn’t be having a crisis right now.

The artist speaks up, “Almost done here. Like he said, you’re doing great. Just a bit more and we’ll patch it up and you can go home.”

A weak smile tugs at your lips, though it’s more of a grimace thanks to your inner turmoil.

“See, almost done. And like you said, I love you so fucking much too.” The world stops spinning. You chance a glance at Minho though you can’t be too sure you’re meeting his eyes; the world may have stopped spinning but the room is going 80 miles per hour. However, as soon as your gaze lands on him, everything slows and it feels like the world fades around you. You can barely hear the tattoo gun anymore.

There’s no mischievous glint in his eyes, just pure honesty. And love. Maybe you did die and this is just a poor excuse for heaven; hearing what you want to hear in the afterlife. Some joke life is.

You don’t know how long this purgatory lasted but all of a sudden someone is helping you sit up. You feel a tightness around your arm and look to find saran wrap around it, the tattoo covered in gauze to protect it.

“All done! You were a great patient. Here’s an aftercare worksheet to make sure it doesn’t get infected and some extra gauze to switch out occasionally, I assume you have saran wrap at home. If it starts itching or you get a rash, call a doctor, yadda yadda; that paper will tell you everything you need to know. Enjoy being part of the community and we hope to see you back again soon!” The man starts cleaning up his station as Minho gently helps you stand up and gather your things to pay and leave.

Unfortunately, your knees don’t really work right now and you start to buckle. Shock catching up to you; more from what you think you heard than the tingling sensation in your arm. You never hit the floor though, Minho guides your slight fall back to the chair and sits you down again.

You hear muffled conversation from him and the artist as you try to gather your bearings, Minho’s hand firm your grasp.

A cup of water enters your vision and you flimsily take it, gulping down its contents. Then Minho’s face, his beautiful, perfect, angelic face enters your vision, smiling like a cherub sent from heaven. Goddamn him. Why does he have to be so pretty?

“It’s just genetics, angel. Don’t worry, you’re not too bad looking yourself.”

Did you say that out loud?

“Yes. You also said that out loud. Come on, love. This man doesn’t have all day and we gotta get back home.”

“I-” Your voice cracks. “Sit. Can’t move. You-”

He chuckles looking at the man still cleaning up his station. “Sorry about this. They’re usually more coherent with their words. They might be in shock right now.” He gathers you up in his arms again, careful of your arm, and with your clumsy steps barely helping, he moves you to the waiting room again to sit for a bit longer, until you have your wits about you again.

His figure disappears for a while as your senses start to return. You don’t know how long it is again before he comes back, but he’s got his own bandage around his middle finger.

Worry speeds up your reviving process. “Are you okay? What happened? Why do you have a bandage around your finger?”

“Relax, love. It’s just a new addition. You needed a bit more time to come back from lalaland and the nice man offered when he finally recognised me from when I came with Sung.” He squats in front of you, loosely taking your hands in his. “Can you walk now? Without falling on your face?” You nod, blinking. “Good,” he stands up, pecking your forehead on the way up, “Let’s go home now and talk about this wonderful revelation you’ve just made while high on brave juice.”

“Oh god, I did say that out loud for sure, didn’t I? Fuck.”

“Don’t forget what I said. That’s kind of important too, angel.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Bonus:

“I can’t believe they let you get another tattoo for free.”

“I can’t help it if people just like me more, besides it’s cute.”

“It’s an ‘x’ and a squiggle on the other side of your finger.”

“It’s a cat butt and it matches the face I got.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

[thebrowproject]

Puffy Eyelash in Dallas - The Brow Project

What causes a puffy eyelid?

A puffy eyelid can have various causes, and the appropriate treatment depends on the underlying cause. Here are some common causes of a puffy eyelid:

Eye Infections: Eye infections, such as conjunctivitis or blepharitis, can cause swelling of the eyelid. Treatment may involve using antibiotic eye drops, ointment, or other topical medications to clear the infection.

Allergies: Contact with allergens, such as dust or pet dander, can cause the eyelids to appear puffy. Sleeping in eye makeup or lying flat on your back or face down while sleeping can also cause fluid to pool and settle around the eyes, leading to swollen eyelids.

Fluid Retention: Fluid retention, also known as edema, can cause swelling in various parts of the body, including the eyelids. This can be a sign of underlying health conditions, such as heart disease or kidney problems. Treatment may involve diuretics, which help the body remove excess fluid.

Thyroid Problems: Thyroid conditions, such as Graves' disease or hypothyroidism, can cause both eyes to appear swollen or puffy.

Skin Conditions: Skin conditions like eczema or dermatitis can cause inflammation and swelling of the eyelids.

Sinusitis: Sinusitis, an infection or inflammation of the sinuses, can cause puffiness around the eyes, affecting the eyelids.

It's important to note that these are just some of the possible causes of a puffy eyelid. If you are experiencing persistent or severe symptoms, it is recommended to consult a doctor for a proper diagnosis and appropriate treatment.

[onebeautymedical]

Are you searching for “laser treatment near me” or “laser treatment services near me”? Look no further! New York offers a plethora of advanced laser treatment services to cater to various skin and medical needs. Whether you’re dealing with unwanted hair, skin imperfections, or medical conditions, laser treatments provide effective and non-invasive solutions.

What is Laser Treatment? Laser treatment involves using concentrated light beams to target specific areas of the body. These treatments can address a wide range of issues, from cosmetic concerns like hair removal and skin resurfacing to medical conditions such as varicose veins and skin lesions. The precision of laser technology allows for targeted treatment, minimizing damage to surrounding tissues and promoting faster recovery times.

2. Popular Laser Treatment Services in New York Laser Hair Removal:

Say goodbye to razors and waxing! Laser hair removal is a popular service for those looking to permanently reduce hair growth. Using laser technology, hair follicles are targeted and destroyed, preventing future hair growth. This service is ideal for areas like the face, legs, underarms, and bikini line.

3. Skin Resurfacing:

For individuals struggling with acne scars, wrinkles, or sun damage, laser skin resurfacing can rejuvenate the skin’s appearance. This treatment removes the outer layers of damaged skin, revealing the fresh, new skin underneath. The result is a smoother, more youthful complexion.

4. Tattoo Removal:

Regretting that old tattoo? Laser tattoo removal is an effective way to fade or completely remove unwanted tattoos. The laser breaks down the ink particles, which are then absorbed and eliminated by the body’s natural processes.

5. Treatment of Vascular Lesions:

Lasers can effectively treat vascular lesions, such as spider veins and port-wine stains. The laser targets the blood vessels, causing them to collapse and fade from view. This treatment can improve both appearance and comfort.

6. Pigmentation Treatments:

Hyperpigmentation, age spots, and melasma can be treated with laser therapy. The laser targets melanin in the skin, breaking up the pigment and evening out skin tone. This service is particularly popular among those seeking a more uniform complexion.

Why Choose Laser Treatment Services in New York? New York is home to some of the best medical and cosmetic laser treatment providers in the country. The city’s clinics are equipped with the latest technology and staffed by highly trained professionals. When you search for “laser treatment services in New York,” you’ll find a wide range of options tailored to your specific needs.

Benefits of Laser Treatments Precision: Laser treatments offer high precision, targeting specific areas without affecting the surrounding tissues. Minimal Downtime: Most laser treatments have minimal recovery times, allowing you to return to your daily activities quickly. Long-Lasting Results: Many laser treatments provide permanent or long-lasting results, reducing the need for repeated procedures. Non-Invasive: Laser treatments are typically non-invasive, meaning no surgical incisions are required.

Conclusion

If you’re looking to enhance your appearance or address a specific medical condition, consider exploring the various laser treatment services in New York. With advanced technology and expert care, you can achieve the results you desire. Don’t hesitate to search for “laser treatment near me” or “laser treatment services near me” to find a reputable clinic in your area. Whether it’s for hair removal, skin rejuvenation, or medical treatment, laser services offer a safe and effective solution for a variety of needs. Experience the benefits of laser treatments and take the first step towards a more confident you.

[quantumclinicau]

[novaskincare123]

Premature skin ageing symptoms and treatment

1.Fine Lines and Wrinkles

One of the most common signs of premature aging is the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles around the eyes, mouth, and forehead. Wrinkles happen due to a loss in skin elasticity, which can be caused by sun damage, smoking, stress, or genetics. The best way to address these issues is through proper skin care such as using moisturizers and creams with peptides and antioxidant-rich ingredients that help stimulate collagen production in your skin.

2. Dark Spots

Dark spots or hyperpigmentation are another one of the signs of premature aging, typically found on areas that have been over exposed to UV light such as face and hands. According to several studies, factors such as pollution and hormones can also contribute to dark spots appearing on your face before time. Your best course would be exfoliation combined with hydroquinone use; this stimulates cell turnover allowing for vivid complexion revealing end results.

3. Dry Skin

Dry skin can lead to redness that increases wrinkles over time due to insufficient hydration levels within daily activities such as prolonged sun exposure, air conditioning or extreme cold weather conditions. Applying a good combination of hydrating creams mixed with natural oils (such as coconut oil) will replenish dry areas providing intense moisture levels the skin needs for preservation from further damage from environmental influences throughout the day. 

4. Loss of Elasticity

Loss of elasticity happens when collagen production slows down significantly within mature skins due lack in vascular circulation under epidermal layers not being able to reach vital nutrients essential for regular skin repair process leading again towards early wrinkles formation. To stimulate collagen once more you could use retinol lotions people proven success rate in restoring elastic barrier giving back a youthful appearance without spending thousands on cosmetic facial treatments etc...

5. Uneven Skin Texture

Women often complaint about their uneven skin texture causing unwanted bumps or dullness looking aggeravate when doesn't well hydrated especially if lacking an effective Exfoliating routine used at least every other week with lactic acid cleanses helping diminish dead flakes achieve flawless finish starting days off look younger even avoiding unnecessary make up application since very little might necessary mask any underlying undesired aesthetic irregularities present overskin surface .

6. Sagging Cheeks

Sagging cheeks are usually caused by repeated muscle movement triggered by specific type expressions ususally done monotonously overtime sadly some times no preventive methods have taken account avoid premature wrinkles enjoy healthy firm visage avoiding surgical solutions facial implant procedures luckily injections barely painful somewhat invasive apply short term amounts botox pilling month reap rewards its effectiveness weakening nerve synapses causing contractions stop motion chronological aging having face still seemingly friendlier age 

7. Facial Volume Loss

Facial volume loss been major concern past decade many celebrities spending tremendous sum recuperate lifeless features attained times without necessarily opting expensive procedure like dermal fillers attribute simple concepts drinking plenty water keep system hydrated green tea pores refresh extra few slices cucumber momentarily tempted eat chocolate regularly fatty acids excellent wrinkle prevention asset physical exercise maintains adequate oxygen flow seek natural solution olive oil honey provide deep therapeutic massages possibly schedule sauna sessions anti aged effect let free radicals own nation prevent too much exposure environments dust smoke chemicals assure nutritious diet maximum longevity newfound beauty healthy habits maintained granted turn heads confidence highest form Self appreciation

[docnoctem]

(I don't really know how to introduce this, nor have I really posted my writing on this blog in many, many years-- but it is so removed from the fandom writing I've done that I can't see how it fits there.)

Some personal writing below the cut, very rough, very uncertain in what it is besides an exercise in addressing insecurities. I haven't really ever written in this sort of style, nor kept a diary in my life, so it's nothing fully expanded or polished. Just, er, something. Trying to make myself work through a very long rut, I suppose.

the divine feminine as the bizarre feminine, or: an ode to & from the weird girl

/

When I’m thirteen, I hold tightly onto her left hand while he is in her right. We sit catty-corner against the edge of his mattress, my knees facing the bedroom door. She turns her shoulders away from him fully and tells me she’s scared, and I don’t know that she shouldn’t be, because I’ve never sat where she’s sitting now; I say instead that it’s alright, that we can leave if she wants to. Whether I want to goes unspoken, lost somewhere in the din beyond the door.

In the early evening she and I are drinking frozen cokes from the general store, in mere hours children again, and she says “I’m glad you were with me.” Only then will we whisper conspiratorially about how I was afraid too, laughing soft so her parents don’t hear, even though I did nothing except count her fingers with my thumb and steal looks between her twisting mouth and the hair tucked behind her ear. It won’t occur to me until I retell this story at thirty-one how strange it sounds, and I’ll leave off the warmth her words gave me deep in my stomach. I’m glad you were with me. In that gratitude, it becomes girlish bonding, and girlhoods bound.

/

When I’m sixteen, she is a different she; over five, eight, twelve years, she will change faces many times.

In this skin, she is adored; blonde and sloe-eyed, suited to a tiara, her world manic and bright. I have never seen her alone– at least, this is the image of her I carry. She is too good for me. She, in so many skins to follow, will be too good for me.

One day, in the family’s orange-wood kitchen, her mother will call me her daughter’s weird friend. In the moment, I tuck it away. I might even smile, like clay pulled into a funny shape, or maybe I pretend not to hear, asking instead if I can wear her skirt tonight, if I can be her for a while. I am still too young to be wounded in ways that can be seen; in acknowledging it, I would give life to the way it felt. And I cannot picture a more wretched, futile thing living than the thing inside of me.

Little by little though, these stolen gasps of oxygen as its head nears the surface will give it shape, give it breath, give it teeth. My Weird becomes something so ugly, red-raw and pulsing like an organ. What was once abstract becomes something more animal; from here onward, it will bite in me.

/

When I’m eighteen, I come to understand that the weird girl can only ever be an accessory.

It’s my birthday, and a fabled one: the sort you turn to a forever-day commemorated in tattoo ink. I want something revealing of my then-bookish heart, brazenly uncool, but the curved writing is too intricate to read in the small space I’ve allowed myself. Terrified of wasting the day, of disappointing, of loosening my grip on a fantasy, I instead choose something easy, something impersonal. It is permanent all the same.

She has two bodies now. They will leave with matching tattoos. A decade on I imagine we’ve each grown to think differently of our markings, but that night they went arm-in-arm to bed singing. By dark, I was in my car alone.

This will be a theme when she comes in threes and fours and sixes and eights; the weird girl is a silvery party hat for the drunken chorus at midnight, but she is never the dress, never the coat, never the foundation you build your day around. She’s a bit of tinsel in your hair for a laugh, for a memory you wish to pack full and paint in technicolor for flattery, but she is not a favorite shirt worn threadbare and known. I am lucky to glitter your eyelids and to perfume your skin, and at dawn I’ll be bumped inch by inch to the back of the drawer again.

/

When I’m twenty-six, she makes me write. She’s lived in a world so far from my own– a world of hard-won successes, an uncompromised mind and sharp tongue that turns self-deprecation to charm, not least of all because it is so observably untrue. She keeps her hair shorn close to the scalp, and tells me her mother didn’t perform love like women on film do. And she writes. Between afternoons of more weight than a year in my life amounts to, she writes; there is never a question of time to the willful, for there are always spare minutes in the day occupied by lesser needs like breathing, or resting, or sitting alone with a terrible thought.

She is the sharp and gilded end of Weird, where I sit dulled and dulling. I tell her plainly that she makes me feel small, but that I love all that she is; it is so earnest a thing to say that within the sea of words she’s penned that month, she shies from finding those few. Maybe she just wouldn’t mean them, I fear. She tells me she feels ill when she cries. I cry so often.

For a few years, I write. She is matching me, then doubling me, then rounding her tenth lap while I stare hard at the page. I want to be fruitful but instead I curl my fingers into fists, press the tips together until my nails bend. I stand in the kitchen light, awash in cold-white and buzzing overhead, and I watch the potatoes sprouting eyes in their basket. It feels as if I haunt my life; girl and ghost, separated by use to the world. That divide grows wider day by day. Her basket, it seems to me, is overflowing with fruit.

My Weird gnashes its ugly teeth again then. I think to myself that I cannot be happy, but it is not a pitiable, romantic thought– not the whimper of some helpless thing drawn out between the heavier hands of the world– rather, so long as I steer, I have made happiness into a needfully elusive thing. I define life by what mine isn’t. This awareness gives strength, but not strength enough to defang my Weird.

[curiousquirks]

Kinktober | Day 21

Pairing: Overhaul | Kai Chisaki x GN!Reader Prompts: Tattooing | Slave Auctions Content Warnings: Slavery, Auctions for Slaves, Reader has Tattoos, Read is forced to get a Tattoo Word Count: 1,302

Summary:

Being bought by the Shie Hassaikai, hand picked by Overhaul, gave you shelter from some of the harsher choices in the auction. You were still their property though, and the fresh tattoo on your chest was a constant reminder.

Your number was called, signaling you forward through the curtain. The bright spotlight was blinding to your eyes, nearly causing you to trip as you were dragged along by the chain cuffs around your wrists. Your breath was shaky as you were instructed to walk down the insulting mock runway to show yourself off. You felt more exposed now, finally seeing the groups of people gawking at you from their seats. Your captures only allowed you simple underwear, watching the buyers to get more of an idea of what product they’d be getting.

You strained your ears, desperately trying to understand what the whispers were saying but there were too many voices at once. You swallowed roughly, tears starting to prickle at the corner of your vision. A snap of fingers from behind you signaled for you to spin, just like you were forcefully trained. You did so, with a little reluctance, earning more harsh whispers.

“Alright that’s enough,” Shouted someone from behind you. “They’ve seen enough.”

You quickly scrambled your way back towards the area you came from, your arm roughly grabbed by one of the auctioneers. “If you don’t make me any money, you’ll regret it.” He spat, squeezing your arm uncomfortably tight. 

You whimpered, trying to pull your arm away as someone thankfully came over to take the man’s attention off of you. They got in a hushed conversation before his eyes looked towards you, wide in shock. You stood silent, fear freezing you in place as you struggled to catch anything they were saying. It sounded like someone was interested in you. Insistent apparently. 

You were forced to sit back down as the people moved back out into the main room. Muffled voices spoke in the distance, as the auctioneer began bidding off all of you. Some went to expensive bidders, willing to throw away millions of yen for a human being that couldn’t deny them. You only had two. You were soiled property apparently, the tattoos across your body being something permanent that they couldn’t remove. Something marking you as your own person, and that just wouldn’t do. It was part of the reason that you could’ve been a big problem for the auctioneer. 

But someone bid on you and won. You were dragged off towards a private room on the side for the buyer to inspect their purchase. You stood there nervously, trying to use your hands to cover yourself before a sharp noise from behind you forced you to stay still with your arms held in front of you. A well dressed man walked into the room, a simple mask covering his face. He was formally introduced to you by the person who brought you into the room. Overhaul. 

He walked around your near naked form, a gloved hand running along your tattoos. A noise of approval hummed from his throat, his cold sharp eyes inspecting every inch of you. You shivered, unsure of what to do in this situation. Unsure of what he wanted out of you.

“I think you’ll do well in the Shie Hassaikai.” He spoke smoothly, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve got no need to worry.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. He sounded like he wasn’t talking to a human being he just bought. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, swiftly undoing your cuffs causing them to fall with a loud clank onto the floor. He turned slightly, grabbing a pile of clothes from his associate who came in behind him before handing them over to you. 

“Go ahead and get dressed so that we can head back to the compound.” He instructed, turning himself to speak with his associate. It sounded like orders of some kind. Was he also like you?

You quickly dressed yourself in the slightly baggy plain clothes that he handed over, wanting to cover yourself as fast as possible. You rubbed your wrists, massaging the marks that the tight cuffs rubbed into your skin. Nervousness bubbling in your stomach as you shift your legs, feeling uneasy. His eyes flicked back towards you, noting that you were finished dressing yourself, squinting slightly when you took in your body language. He flicked his head towards the door, signaling for you to move towards it. You had reluctance as you slowly moved forward, his associate leading the way for you. 

You were taken back to their compound, silence having filled the car the entire ride back. You had your own quarters where you were allowed to sleep, the whole experience so far seeming surreal. You didn’t let yourself relax though, not trusting anything going on. The loud lock on the door, only accessible from the outside, just solidified that for you. 

The following morning you were directed through the compound, being led down various tunnels before being taken into an office. Your buyer–Overhaul, had taken a seat behind the desk gesturing for you to sit down across from him. He slides forward a piece of paper for you to read. It appeared to be a rule list, heavily detailed with do’s and dont’s. 

Follow his instructions, only speak when spoken too, remain by Overhaul’s side unless instructed otherwise, don’t interact with other Hassaikai members unless instructed, ect…

You read over the list twice, making sure you didn’t miss anything. He’s been kinder than you expected but this list proved strange nonetheless. You glanced back up towards him, placing the paper on his desk, before folding your hands in your lap. “I understand, sir.” You said, bowing slightly with the hope of appeasing him, acknowledging his demands.

“Good,” He replied, giving a signal to his associate again. “Now that I have that out of the way, we can continue with the next order of business.” 

You were directed out of the room again, towards a completely sterile medical room of some kind. The standard table expected to be seen in these rooms was replaced with a chair. You glanced around quickly, confusion washing over your face as you noticed a strange man checking through…tattooing instruments. You stopped yourself from questioning anything happening as you waited.

“Have a seat,” Overhaul instructed, which you followed. “Since you’re not new to tattoos, this should go by easily. Since we are yakuza, I want you to show pride in our clan.”

Everything started making sense now, pieces you’ve picked up on finally falling into place. You nodded, wondering if this was a strange practice to mark “servants” to yakuza clans or not. You didn’t know whether or not to offer an arm, leg, or your back as you waited with anxiety pooling in your stomach. The man who you assumed was going to be tattooing you got into a whispered conversation with Overhaul, quick glances taken towards you as they spoke.

“Take off your shirt.” Overhaul spoke, moving himself towards the door. “I’ll see you when you’re done. I’d like to see how the finished product looks.”

It was something in his tone that made his last sentence sound far more sinister. You did as he instructed, taking off your shirt, folding it before laying it in your lap. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract yourself as the man began tattooing what you assumed was the clan’s symbol across your chest. It took hours before the man was finished, assuming Overhaul told him to be thorough with details. You glanced down once he was done, letting it sink in that you were now branded with a constant reminder of your new nightmare. You have no reason to think your new owner would be nice, and considering he commanded that the tattoo be constantly visible from now on once he saw it, you had a feeling it was going to just get worse.