• d i m a • @3dima-blog - Tumblr Blog

erranthart‌:

❝ –- i like a lot o’things, but that don’t mean they gotta be permanent. ❞

the only things he honestly - likes - enough to wish for any kind of permanence are them… the other members of this group… for all they’re a bunch of misfits, not every one endearing themselves to him - they are still, family. and he has an unshakable loyalty to them. that doesn’t mean he’s going to get their goddamn faces emblazoned on his skin… because plenty faces had come and gone before. he might be the oldest ( currently ) but he certainly wasn’t the first. and those that had been here when he’d opened his eyes to this life of monsters and mayhem were all… long, long gone now.

placing the little device that dima had thrown to him carefully on one of the benches, he at least has the decency to turn his back, go about putting away more of the tools scattered from a days honest work - metal and engine oil, rather than blood and bone. the kind of sweat dripping labour that turned coin rather than stomach. why look away??? because he’s familiar with the drain on psyche and body when those little ‘gifts’ were pulled into play. even a ten second show of the ‘fantastical’ could be enough to slam an ice pick migraine into the gray meat of your skull.

❝ – ain’t my name. ❞

he reminds with a quick flash of a grin over his shoulder. he actually wonders for a moment if anyone might actually remember it. doesn’t quite recall who was the last person he might have told it to. he certainly can’t remember whether he’s ever told dima… or maybe if he’d been told it by someone else. one of those things that belonged to a world, and a man, several lifetimes ago… now, he’s simply ‘hammer’. and that alias… name… whatever, sure as he’ll been around longer than the first one.

❝ but it’s been around longer than most things. ❞

there is a slow blink and a tilt of his head at the attempt to mimic ( though to get close he’d need to gargle glass with whiskey to get that scratched and rough bitten tone… ).

❝ older’n you.❞

said with a rather pointed look this time, though whatever dima had been doing to salve the burgeoning headache seemed to be done and dusted. however he did have a point - and it’s not as though ‘hammer’ can argue it - it was something that stuck, and for exactly the reasons you probably think a name like that would.

❝ so sayin’ i decided to give it a shot… IF – should i pay a visit to your pal todd??? or you wanna get all - needle happy on me just so y’all can say you did??? ❞

one hand reaches out and he picks up a hammer from the bench, a gnarled old thing with worn wooden handle, ball point on one side, claw on the other.

❝ and no dickin’ around with this whole nordic thing that’s had some kind o’revival. cinematic stuff i think… big blonde guy. anyway, none o’that. this is a hammer. simple. practical. no nonsense. you reckon you can deal with that??? ❞

‘ well no — of course not. ’

dima wasn’t his name either but rarely did he break out the whole hi my name is jared when it came to introducing himself to others like him. he’s not too sure anyone but Beacon knows his real name, and that’s only because sometimes his alias doesn’t work in waking him up and she snooped in his wallet to find something else to call him.

‘ to be real, if it was, i’d be pissed at my mama for a name like that. nothin’ wrong with it - mind you. just ... well you know what i mean. ’ being named after a tool - for real didn’t sound like something he’d to happy-happy-joy-joy about.

‘ that’s cuz i’m still a baby compared t’you, old man, ’ he grins ( apparently not much makes him NOT grin ) biting down on the rings stuck through his bottom lip and tugging with pearl-white teeth. in honesty he envies Hammer for being good enough to survive this long, given what they do. his own gift not one that gives him too much of a leg up on the competition monsters they encounter regularly.

he watches the way the man handles his namesake, the sturdiness of the hammer a direct mirror to it’s owner. he’s not sure what you use a hammer for in an autoshop, but he figures it’s here for a reason, in easy reach for whatever it needs to bang back into place.

‘ i can do it. i wanna— ‘cuz if you have any kind of virginity left and that’s it, i’m the one taking it, ’ he laughs, though he does reach for the hammer to turn it over in his hand, feel the weight of it against his palm.

‘ so you’ll let me? really? ’

#erranthart #p: hammer

necrorivkah‌:

@3dima

The woman in high heels entered the tattoo parlour, seemingly out of place. Her black pencil skirt and burgundy blouse, screamed prim and proper not the type of person that would be in a place like this.

Appearances were in most cases unreliable.

Under the layers of clothes, there was a body with small tattoos in places hidden from prying eyes. Symbols of power. Secrets. One date and two names in Cyrillic. And faint scars from battles won and others that were too close from being her last one.

“ From the Jolt.” She said stopping in front of the man and offering the disposable coffee cup “ I was told you like it this way. I need an unusual tattoo. Well for other people, not us. Our scale is pretty much fucked up.”

he’s doing sketches. not ones he’ll lift off the paper into a true 3-d rendering, just ones he’s got the time and ability to get out of his head now with the others buzzing away in their booths, turning dreams into ink-reality and his last scheduled appointment gone for the day.

he sticks around to pick up the walk-ins because you just never turn down work as a tattoo artist.

“ well i’m there like... twice a day, so i bet they’d know best, ” he smiles, gladly taking the cup, sipping from it and letting the hot liquid run down his throat and settle warm in his belly.

it’s only a little bit of a shock to see rivkah come in here in the first place, though nothing is ever really that shocking to jared. if anything he shocks everyone else more than the other way around. “ so you decided to bribe me with coffee? ” he’s not above letting her think it worked.

“what’re you looking at gettin’? i can give you a quote and set you up an appointment, or i can start on it now. up to you, i’m not busy. ”

#necrorivkah #p: necro

shes-sweet-but-not-innocent

#:: isms ::

RANDOM DIMA FACTS:

he has heterochromia. one eye is green, the other is hazel ( a light green/light brown/deep blue ). both pupils are surrounded by a golden ‘sunflower’ ring.

it’s always better to tell him a meeting is an hour before it actually starts. he is never on time. he’ll probably still be late, but he’ll be there.

he’s bi. he ignores this label for the most part and insists he’s just a guy that likes what he likes.

as of the current moment he has over 40 tattoos of various sizes on many various parts of his body.

he has 9 piercings.

for a scrawny, not-naturally-blessed-with-size kind of guy, he’s deceptively strong, wiry, and a natural fighter in the way of street fighting. a lot of his free time is spent walking around the city though, so he never gains much weight.

his favorite food is nachos SLATHERED in cheese. sometimes with chili but not always. he accepts these as a form of payment for favors.

the only thing(s) he owns that are worth anything monetarily are the watches he 'lifts’ from magazines. his most expensive watch normally costs over $160,000.

#:: ch. study ::

erranthart‌:

“yeah well, for most people, they’re pretty permanent.”

a slight arch of brow and a somewhat amused shake of his head. that ‘gift’ that dima had been given didn’t extend to all, so a piece of fucked up ink was - forevermore - a piece of fucked up ink. and on an ouroboros member, forever could literally be just that. as long as they kept on keeping on and didn’t lose their head ( in the most literal sense ), – f o r e v e r.

it’s something he’s considered in idle hours with a bottle warming between his fingers. one of those random questions that comes up in odd moments of musing and idle chatter. one of those things that runs along with other impossible things -

‘if you had a superpower, what would it be?’, ‘if you won a million dollars, what would you do with it?’, ‘if you could live forever, would you want to?’.

perhaps he’d almost find it funny that he already has an answer to that first question. funnier that he’ll never be able to answer the second because of their necessity to remain ‘below the radar’. and the third?

honestly… he doesn’t know. would it even make a difference? is death a torment, or is it a release? is it a dark place, or a path to the light? is it a solitary nothingness, or a welcoming embrace? so do you accept it - or run from it?

there’s the argument that you sit back and watch everything you love die. there’s the counterargument that if you have nothing to love, then you have nothing to lose. and love – isn’t exactly something that’s touched the life of the hardworking mechanic. he cares. he cares a lot… for everyone he knows, for people who pass him in the street, not just because of a job, but because it’s simply his nature to. but love…?

look, he’s not the kind of guy who’s out there bemoaning his life and the universe for his lot, he takes the hand he’s been dealt and makes the most of it. it’s not a remarkable life - but it’s not a bad one either. he’s not looking for power or fame ( or infamy ) or wealth… he’s just trying to be ‘the good guy’. because when people are busy looking for those other things, they seem to forget about that.

and if he can be a good guy for one lifetime? maybe that’s enough. anything else is just a cherry on top.

“there’s a lot of important stuff and there ain’t enough skin.”

he says with a shrug at the thought of using it as a memorium - something to mark moments which deserved remembering. but he doesn’t seem to forget them, even for all of the memories stacked up in his head… what did his years amount to? two? three? four lifetimes?

“how do you pick one moment from hundreds… maybe thousands? and i’m pretty sure the note that came with the whole resurrection gig was ‘low profile’.”

and a pinup on his arm while - possibly ‘panty dropping’ - was a great way to draw attention. especially to his particular talent.

a…decade? he’s really that far behind? again? damn… he was pretty sure he had been keeping up with modernity as of late. apparently it had rather gotten away from him…. which did happen on occasion. but thoughts of things he might have missed are all but lost as dima extends his ‘power’ - it’s still something fantastical to watch. a gift. a neat trick. magic. whatever you wanted to call it. watching the object take form and shape from, essentially nothing - was mesmerising. he’s so wrapped in watching it happen that he’s almost not concentrating as the new gadget, object, thing ( it’s small and cool to the touch and it looks like some kind of sci-fi version of his zune, and expensive… he actually has no idea what it’s called though ), is tossed in his direction. and it takes a quick adjustment to catch and not ‘crush’.

maybe anvil will know what it is. and how to work it. and he tries very hard to wipe the utter confusion from his face and reply with a nod and a ‘thanks’.

“slow your roll there, copperfield.”

because he’s not up to speed enough to make a magician reference to harry potter. he’s probably missing out. then again, if he’s already a decade behind on the whole device and gadget front, he could hardly complain about a tattoo looking ‘dated’… it’s not like he’d notice.

“lets just say - for the sake of argument - that i said yes… i ain’t no artist - n’less it’s made of metal and has wheels, then you’re shit out of luck with creativity. what could i possibly come up with that wouldn’t be 1. a cringeworthy cliche and, 2. tacky and tragic.”

he doesn’t know what it’s like not to have enough skin. but that’s his own. he’s never pulled an image from anyone else, unless it was temporary, black sharpie drawn onto his favorite canvas named Ammo in the back room at the tattoo parlor, after hours, while she drones on about the evils of the world, or what kind of weapons she’s getting her hands on soon, or what flavor of lip gloss she’s really feeling this week. that’s something he’ll never tell anyone that he allows himself to be. a human diary.

‘ you could pick anything, man. see a picture of a tiger you think is cool? get it. they don’t all gotta mean somethin’. you could just... like it.’ not advice he’d give a regular customer, he learned the best way to convince someone that a tattoo was a good idea was for them to be in love with it, and that’s worked well enough, but his honesty level rises a little bit when Hammer is around and Dima’s not entirely sure why that happens.

he points to the line of script across the front of his left shoulder and collarbone, just peeking out beneath the neckline of his t-shirt. ‘ got this one cause i was reading a book and the line just sounded... cool. had todd ink it on me the next day. didn’t think twice about it, and it looks cool. good conversation starter, ’ he grins.

now comes the part he hates.

while it’s all fun and games ( or at least it is on his ‘off time’ when he’s not trying to toss otherworldly monstrosities back into whatever dimension they crawled out of... ) to pull objects from nowhere with only a thought and a little finger-wiggle-magic, there’s a p r i c e for it. not one he minds usually. the small travel-size bottle of Excedrine Migraine Relief pills sits permanently in the pocket of his dark cargo pants to help with moments just like this one.

one more quick flip through the magazine puts him on a Coca-Cola advertisement and he pulls the chilled, sweating glass bottle full of soda from the page, pops the top off with the silver ring on his right hand and downs a couple of his pills, foresight a blessing, as it hasn’t hit quite too hard yet.

it’s an action he barely puts thought to anymore. a habit he’s never tried to break. he’s only careful when he has to be, and here, at H&A, he’s safe.

‘ but i mean hey, if you really wanna get something that means something to ya, get a hammer. small, inside’a your wrist here, ’ he points at the place where the wrist bends, veins visible but never a problem where ink is concerned. ‘ no tragedy there. s’just your name. it’s who you are. it’s personal without having to go into some kind of back story if anyone asks. just a nickname i picked up along the road of life, ’ he mocks his best Hammer voice, dimples breaking into his cheeks.

#erranthart #p: hammer

gingerbread-graphism

#:: face ::

lethallinguist‌:

There’s an elongated blink and stifled sigh that comes following a pen cap spat into her like it was a temporary trash can, but seeing as how she came to him she wasn’t about to pick a fight over it. Especially with the always familiar feel of the marker tip on her skin. Over the years it had become a soothing therapy; Dima treating her like a personal blank canvas; and she felt herself start to relax.

“Zero.” She said flatly, settling back into the chair and closing her eyes. “They deserve to rot like the shit we hunt.” Harsh? Yes, perhaps. But no one that would be offended was around to hear it. She reveled in the peace the empty parlor brought, and the fact that she didn’t get that scold-y look for saying things like that.

She peaked an eye open. “You’re supposed to tell me not to murder people, not encourage me. The less you stop me the more likely I am to actually shank Cutlass with a rusted spoon.” She closed her eyes again, the barest hint of a crooked smile amused at the prospect. That would be hilarious. At least until he tattled on her, anyway.

“What are you up to tonight? Besides decorating me?”

“ouch. remind me not to do anything you can hold a grudge against me for.”

he could — absolutely. dima has a special talent, and it’s not just pulling three-dimensional objects from two-dimensional renderings. he has an innate ability to piss people off with how little he actually gives a shit about anything and he could absolutely see himself shrugging his way onto ammo’s bad side.

felt tip dragged to continues long strokes, a picture starting to form on skin, temporary but no less beautiful than it would be on a paper canvas or painted onto a wall. he’s done some rendition of this drawing before, tucked away on a drawing pad sitting somewhere in his apartment. but each one is unique and he’ll personalize this one just for her. make it beautiful. she deserves no less.

‘ now why would i wanna stop that? obviously you know how obnoxious he is. ’ he’d never actually wish true harm on any of his fellow ouroboros, at least not of the permanent nature. but he’s allowed to be annoyed by personalities as much as the next person, and it seems he’s not the only one.

a few more, smaller, tighter lines drawn, detail. dima recaps that sharpie and finds another with some color in it, moving on to give the drawing a little flair. ‘ nothin’, ’ he admits, used to having nothing to do with the rest of his night. ‘ figured i’d finish up a few drawings and head home. the walk there would probably be enough to get me tired. but we can hang if you want. you know me and plans. hate ‘em. ’

#lethallinguist #p: ammo

avis-noctis‌:

Like things that he was almost sure he couldn’t vocally speak of. Not yet at least. Nox put his beer down on the table and craned his body over towards the other side side so he could pull a notebook and pen closer to him just in case. “Bad stuff, trauma,” he said with a one shouldered shrug. Some pride warmed the pit of his gut when his voice didn’t waver like it would have when he first got into Ward City. “Sometimes some good stuff too, though.”

The kipine scampered towards his side and hunkered down right next to him. She folded her wings neatly and stared right at Dima, unmoving and unblinking. “You don’t even know. She’s quieter than a mouse when she wants to be n’ then she goes off like a goddamn car alarm a second later.”

dima’s not the best advice giver. actually he sucks at it quite a lot but since he died a couple decades ago and was given this second chance thing, there are some things he’s learned. and he’s sure all the other ouroboros know the things he does — if they’re not too green — a thought that stick in his mind even as he nods his head and takes another drink.

‘ just gotta let it go man. can’t let that shit sink it’s claws in too deep or it’ll drive ya crazy, at best. get’cha killed, at worst. ’ maybe he has an easier time just getting it all to go away ... but whether by choice or just way of distraction could be debated.

‘ does she bite? ’ translation ... can i touch her?

#avis-noctis #p: nox

— - HEADCANON.

ouroboros task #1 - residence

home is an old abandoned warehouse right on the edge of the city. big windows, lots of natural light, TONS of open space and a constant scent of fresh cut wood, paint, turpentine, and that stupid Curve body spray he loves.

it’s hardly ever clean.

drop cloths are scattered about the open floor, walls are always painted with different murals. furniture is moved often enough that you never know if you’ll find his bed in the kitchen or the refrigerator plugged in somewhere in the middle of the living room.

the dining room table is an old wooden bench, salvaged, sanded and stained, sitting in front of a pieced together set of wood horses with a heavy, sturdy, slightly crooked block of redwood that’s littered with little carvings or pencil sketches thought up during his morning bowl of captain crunch or lucky charms.

it’s... a work in progress... constantly.

#:: headcanon ::

Succubus: What’s one thing you can’t live without?

monster asks.

Succubus: What’s one thing you can’t live without?

chaos.

watching the occasional businessman pack up his suitcase where everything has a place, pens have slots, papers have clips and folders and sticky notes … it makes his skin crawl.

watching a mother of a toddler with a diaper bag stuffed full of what-the-hell-ever a person that tiny could need for a 30 minute trip to the park all in the right pockets and hidden compartments … it gives him migraines.

— but …

put him on a raging dance floor with a thousand sweating bodies and gyrating hips and he’ll find a home.

put him on an airplane and push him out with his parachute only halfway on and he’ll scream out thank you sir may i have another?!

don’t expect his home to ever be cleaned spotless … or to be able to see his floor past all the paints and drop cloths and ink stains. ( he’s sanitary enough to keep his station clean at the tattoo parlor, okay? what the fuck more do you want? )

#:: headcanon ::#shadowsumbras

erranthart‌:

at the ‘it’s all good’, there’s just the slightest of nods and he notches down the defcon level in his brain. even without those brain splitting signals alerting them to some ‘big bad’ slipping through the cracks, there were still plenty of ‘little beds’ that managed to work their way through - enough to keep everyone on their toes. but if this wasn’t that - just something of a casual visit, then he can shake out the string of tension building between his shoulders.

dima finds a slot for himself amid the parts and pieces and hammer goes back to stacking tools, either on wall hooks or back in trays ( so he’s not the most organised of people in any other aspect of his life, but in his work, there are - even if not blatantly obvious to the curious onlooker - places for things… didn’t really do much good to be hunting for an hour for a three quarter socket wrench ).

however, the question which arrives is something of a sideswipe - definitely not one he’d been expecting. something that causes his brain to stutter as there’s no real or immediate answer there - ready at his fingertips. and that’s… rare. after all this time, he’s pretty much worked out an answer for most things that come his way. dima, however, has something of a knack for bringing the unexpected…

there’s a thoughtful twirl of a screwdriver in his hand - suddenly distracted by the need to actually ‘think’ about something.

“i dunno, never really thought about it.”

which is the truth. there always seemed to be something else to do. and anything that might be self-indulgent was usually nudged toward the bottom of the list.

his nose does wrinkle slightly though at the thought of piercings - he’s been ‘punctured’ enough in his time, not one of them a pleasant experience. shot, stabbed, gouged, clawed, bitten… the thought of punching holes through himself permanently just wasn’t appealing.

“guess i never thought i’d live long enough for somethin’ like that to be worth it.”

a small shrug, a slight sideways grin. he’s not the ‘first’ member of ouroboros in existence - there had been others before him. it just so happened that of those here, he’d lived the longest. because yeah, he’s still surprised at the number of years he’s managed to tuck away.

“just figured that as well as ‘me’ not lastin’ so long, that maybe stuff like that wouldn’t either… i mean… we do heal pretty quick. figured the ink might have a battle on it’s hands stayin’ put, y’know?“

which means that - nope, he doesn’t know how it works but dima seemed to manage okay - each mark and curl and piece of art or metal that adorned his body didn’t seem to want to ‘leave’.

“hey - i’m in the 21st century. i totally have a zune around here… somewhere.”

he doesn’t know how he would feel if he was tattoo free. or piercing free. or if that didn’t make up 80% of how dima identifies himself. anything from his past life — the one before this whole starting over better business — none of that really crosses his mind anymore.

i mean it’s not often he gets the question ‘ how would you describe yourself? ’ so he just doesn’t. but if he did have to, the first thing he could see himself saying is that he has tattoos. he’s not even sure how many anymore.

( — he doesn’t plan them. they usually come to him in moments ... one’s not often fully awake... and he draws them out, slaps them on a buddy’s work space desk the next day and offers up full payment and being the lunch gopher if he’ll get him done before the shop opens at noon. )

he momentary silence and subsequent stilling of the body before him has him chuckling. he doesn’t mean to do that — make someone’s brain stutter step to the left without their permission — but it happens often enough, and it’s still pretty damn entertaining every single time. it’s rare he catches hammer off guard like that though, so this is like walking into a candy store on a day their just giving their stock away.

“ life expectancy s’got nothin’ t’do with it bein’ worth it. i literally pulled one of mine off the other day because it looked weird. ”

it was an old one. from before. yeah once he found out he could do that he almost shit a gold brick.

the healing thing is true. there’s not been a problem on himself or any other ouroboros he’s tattooed so far, but he could see how maybe hammer could assume something like that. dima’s only had to do a couple of touch-ups, and only if he’d gotten too light handed during a session.

“ don’t you have anything in all your years that you’ve ever thought about ... ya know ... commemorating? anything that was important enough? or hell — one of those hot pin up girls from one of those calendars or something. imagine flexin’ one of those guns with some o’that on there. panties would drop everywhere, dude. ”

yet another one of those things that flies from his lips without a second thought. he should be embarrassed for himself but he is anything but.

“a zune?? brother you’re livin’ at least a decade behind. here... gimme that magazine.”

and once said magazine is acquired, he flips through the pages until he locates the thing he’s got in his head, an advertisement. and to anyone else, it would be a wishlist item. something to ask santa clause for for christmas.

dima clause. ho ho ho.

laying the book out on a nearby flat surface, hand clenching and un-clenching a few times, then hovering slightly over the picture— an iPod. bright blue with white headphones laid out stylishly beside them like a snake. it makes for a pretty good picture.

too bad he’s stealing it.

the page shakes just the slightest bit, and the device rises from the page, which takes a matter of seconds and there’s a twitch in dima’s eye, pupils dilating momentarily as his arm tingles. it’s an easy pull. it still amazes him though, no matter how many times he watches himself do it.

checking the quality, eyeing the sleek sides and then seeing it comes halfway charged with at least one song, he wraps the earbuds around the device a couple times and tosses it in hammer’s hands.

“ there. and now you should let me tattoo you, too. then you’ll be all caught up. ”

#erranthart #p: hammer

just-a-rasta-girl

Don’t look into my eyes, there’s nothing you’d like to see

(via just-a-rasta-girl)

#:: isms ::

Fury: What is a word/phrase that you dread to hear?

monster asks.

Fury: What is a word/phrase that you dread to hear?

there’s a few of these:

‘ hey i saw ( insert object ) in this magazine. can you take it out for me? ’ — mostly from other ouroboros that newly find out what he can do.

‘ i want ( insert name ), that’s my boyfriend/girlfriend, right here… ’ — speaking of getting significant other’s names permanently inked on their skin.

‘ i bet you can’t ( insert whatever )… ’ — don’t tempt him.

#:: headcanon ::#shadowsumbras