macklin celebrini has autism
RMH
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Show & Tell
taylor price
oozey mess
Claire Keane
tumblr dot com
hello vonnie
Jimmy Eat World
Sweet Seals For You, Always
izzy's playlists!
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
bliss lane
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
The Stonewall Inn
Keni
No title available
No title available
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Colombia
seen from Colombia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
@roryhagan-blog
liesanders replied to your post: Do you charge less for tattoos on /intimate/...
Why not on a $500 check?
Much as I love money being thrown at me, I also like customers not thinking I’m fucking them over. Can’t pick both hands behind Fortune’s back.
Do you charge less for tattoos on /intimate/ places? ;)
Is your intimate place on a $100 dollar bill?
Skin || Rory & Scott
pagingdoctornolan:
The empty chair beckoned Scott as surely as the thump of Rory’s palm smacking against the vinyl. His pushed-up left sleeve seemed to constrict like a band, the bare unmarked skin of his forearm prickling with the effort of maintaining the illusion under Rory’s expectant gaze. Giving the chair one last look of dread and misgiving, Scott steeled himself for the inevitable and hauled himself into it. His arm felt like he’d doused it with gasoline in a room full of smokers.
Unsureness about Rory’s expertise wasn’t the problem here. The wall alone was proof of the guy’s experience, let alone the easy, casual way Rory had confirmed it. Plenty of those photographs were right off the skin; Rory was visibly good at his job. There was no reason why Ink Inc. would have bad Yelp reviews, and Scott couldn’t pretend he had reservations about the service.
Rory was saying something about his customer base, and Scott seized on the small talk with relief. “What kind of people do you get here?” he asked curiously. “I mean, if you gotta have a whole backroom for the—” Here, he made a discreet hand gesture signifying supernatural, that was meant to be tactful and came out looking like he was miming horns. “Pretty great idea, this. Nice to have someplace that specialises in helping folks in a niche kind of need.”
To emphasise his point, he shifted in the tattooist’s chair, trying to look like he wasn’t about to bolt straight out of it. Despite having the look and feel of a dentist’s contraption, the chair was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe because it was the one familiar thing in the most alien room Scott had ever been in. And he definitely included a Brony convention in Florida in that reckoning. (The Hotel Palmiere had been most unfortunately double-booked that year.)
As if he sensed Scott was dithering (ya think, said the scornful voice at the back of his brain), Rory tried to guide the conversation to the sign on the front door of the parlour. The glasses felt crooked on the bridge of Scott’s nose, and he removed them, fiddling at the the nose pad of it as he tried to scrounge up a decent answer to Rory’s question. Nothing that befitted his IQ came to mind.
“I’m not sure what I’m—” I’m doing here. “Here for. What I want outta this.” ‘Cause I’ve got all the tattoos I want, and now, they’re a liability. “It’s broad daylight out there and I haven’t been drinking, so if I walk out of here with a bad decision, well. I’m not sure what I could pin it on.”
He involuntarily glanced downwards again, and the white ridge of scar tissue on his wrist stared back at him. It gave him new resolve. “Maybe something simple. Something that won’t raise too many eyebrows at work.” Rory didn’t need to know that wearing gloves and long-sleeved coats nearly all the time was in his job description. “A… band of some kind? Just to hide that. To keep people from asking about it. Turns out cold iron leaves marks you need all kinds of tricks to hide. Or,” he added, with the faintest of smiles that was devoid of his usual glibness and just a little angry, “am I preaching to the choir?”
When it came to the past decade or so, travelling up and down the eastern seaboard, supernaturals were few and far in-between; he’d had no standing amongst anyone that there was more to him than humanity in the most literal sense of the word. He’d never even worked on fae before, aside from prior girlfriends who’d let him use them as his canvas, the rare few who could be touched skin to skin with no need for concern. No, to most - the art that lined the walls of the room was just that, and the hunters that he and Ulfric felt the heat of didn’t waste time picking fae out of fairy tales.
Shaking his head, Rory scratched absently at the back of his neck as he watched Scott’s interpretive dance hand routine. He hadn’t even really considered that just maybe his set-up was as good as a shitty neon club sign that buzzed SUPERNATURALS HERE with Broadway light intensity, but so far, he hadn’t gotten anyone straight up identifying themselves as anything other than human, or even more fun - anyone bringing out the accusing clipped words that signified they didn’t look so kindly on the sorts of species that adorned the walls, never mind the fae who was sticking needles in their arms.
“Not people like us,” he replied, correcting the other fae. “Still, can’t say I don’t wish you were right.” He liked humans fine, but he was not one of them as much as he seamlessly fit himself into their style of lives in comparison to other fae. Getting the chance to talk freely with supernaturals was like meeting a fellow countryman so far from home - you could be as different as blood and ink, but you still came from water.
Scott’s uneasiness radiated with mounting intensity, sitting thickly in the air around him. Nervousness in a place like this was a concept that, personally, was something completely foreign to Rory, but every now and again you got someone who acted like they were a rabbit caught in a place where every exit was a fox’s den. Scott’s word choice could easily have been at home in a psychiatrist’s office. Rory listened patiently, slipping on a pair of nitrite gloves from the tray beside him out of habit - not occurring to him that for once he wouldn’t need them so soon, the risk of accidentally drugging him suddenly evaporating. Scott’s expression changed, and he didn’t even have to keep on talking for Rory to understand.
Underneath the cotton of his sleeve, his own fucking ugly jagged wound could be found, the scar hypertrophic and as subtle as a donned ski mask and a pump-action shotgun in a Wells Fargo bank. Fabric always scraped against its ridges, but it had been a long time since he’d ever felt from pain from it - and when he had, it had been pain enough to last a lifetime. In a way, it was just as prominent on the skin of his left bicep as the opposing tattoos on his right.
Taking Scott by the wrist, he thumbed the ridge, examining the tissue to see the extent he’d have to work with to cover it up. “I’d go with thick and dark, colouring it would just draw more attention to it.” Ruminating it over for a second, he continued. “Could try a Celtic Knot banded around your wrist; I have a feeling anything more involved with what’s on the walls with that kind of scar isn’t the greatest move.” His eyes flicked back up to Scott’s, a smile playing at his lips. “Unless you feel like upping your chances of becoming Warden bait?”
liesanders:
The truth of the matter is… I was being sarcastic this entire time and you all took the bait. If it weren’t so mildly annoying how gullible you all are, I’d find it more endearing. But I do not.
Ask me why I do not.
[user goes to mockingly put this up and then delete it a la unsent letter style and then accidentally hits post anyway]
blythewonder:
Getting Pintrest was probably the best and worst decision I’ve ever made.
Otherwise known as the next gen Google images where people think it isn’t theft to rip their tattoo ideas straight from there.
deirdredolan:
Well! I think I’m done with family interaction for the year. Who’s with me? I say extra alcohol this New Year’s Eve. In fact, I say, extra extra alcohol. How much liquor does it take to forget an entire year?
Well, you could try a whole bottle of 101-proof in one night. Though I think it might do a little more than make you forget just the entire year.
D.J. Cotrona for DA MAN Magazine, August/September 2015.
sciencebanshee:
[pm] Well, I wouldn’t have to worry about stepping in puddles of spilled drinks. But they’re pretty, um… squeaky. Turtleneck it is. What I’m into is none of your business.
[pm] Too bad, it’d save me the trouble of having to throw down my jacket over every assholes spilt Cosmo. None of my business like JillOff and her Den of Lady Love? Fair enough, Queen Titania.
sciencebanshee:
[pm] I don’t plan on doing that.
What’s a boob tu My work uniform is a lab coat, a gown, a hat, a mask, booties, and latex gloves. I may be socially inept, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what I should be wearing to a night club. I don’t need to comply with OSHA regulations for forensic pathology while I’m there. I… have many turtlenecks. Will that do?
[pm] You ever think that your little worldview doesn’t reflect reality when it’s only the reality of one group of people? I’m gonna go with no.
Hang on, booties? Scratch what I said - bring those. You’ll be a hit. Jesus, no Whatever’s comfortable. You’re not into dresses?
sciencebanshee:
[pm] It’s not denial if it reflects reality– then it’s just reason. Yes, us MDs have a keen eye for detail, but that doesn’t mean I like reading 24-word-titles of medically inaccurate pornographic videos. Or, uh, any titles of medically inaccurate pornographic videos.
I’m sorry for the spam. And I’ll… see you in a couple nights? I can’t believe I’m actually
[pm] You follow up on my dollar to a charity tin advice? Holy shit, you actually counted
You don’t need to apologise. Also, wear something nice. It’s not the sort of place that lets in boob tubes and daisy dukes at the door. Your work uniform, right?
reedhan:
That’s sexist, man.
And yeah, unless there are unexpected complications but I think I’ll be fine. As for the station, I’d rather be at work right now. I’m great at what I do.
That movie was the underground feminist hit of the 60s; no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll lend it to you sometime - think the hospital’ll allow a Russ Meyer film being played in their No Fun Allowed paradise?
Heard from some other guy who confirmed you’re actually a goddamn cop that you’re not a field officer. So what are you great at doing?
sciencebanshee replied to your post: Welcome to JillOff!!! CLICK NOW to enjoy THE NEWLY...
[pm] Hey. /Hey/. I think it’s obvious I didn’t send this! Don’t call me /any/ of those things. And why would someone make a pornographic title that long!?
[pm] Well, seeing as how you’ve been in denial about your non-human condition against all reason, who can tell what’s obvious? And it’s to be specific, Kavanagh. Isn’t medicine and cutting up dead people all about attention to detail like that?
Welcome to JillOff!!! CLICK NOW to enjoy THE NEWLY RELEASED "Deep (Strep) Throat" & "Two Female Doctors One Bag Of Subcutaneous Fluid They Were Supposed To Bring A Patient But Instead Had HOT Sex On The Hospital Bed" make an account Now for member benefits free healthcare new videos added daily CREDIT CARD PLEASE
[screenshots this to treasure forever; however is also deeply disappointed to find the link does not work and instead activates Norton™ AntiVirus]
[pm] So when I get your number, should I save you under Kinky Kavanagh or The Busty Banshee? Or do you prefer Dr. JillOff, PhD?
adrien-babineaux:
[pm] HE GOT STABBED?! Well he works for the police, but I don’t think he’s a field officer. I don’t know. But I’m sure of one thing: he’s convinced I’m going through a midlife crisis. Which I’m not. I went through this back when I was 20
[pm] Holy shit, he actually works for the polic Probably shouldn’t have mentioned heroin that one time then You know that’s what someone who’s going through a midlife crisis would say, right? Then again, we’ve all been there at 20.
reedhan:
Fist fights can escalate to involving knives and guns.
I do. There are warrants on the ACPD website but their names are as follows: Azul Bleu, Rosie May, Terra Weeks, [user goes on to list several mores names].
They are hiding from authorities, crossing county or state lines or trying to seek asylum in another country at this point. There isn’t much I can do seeing as I was taken off the investigation due to injuries but several members are repeat offenders.
Wait, you got fucked up by a bunch of chicks?
[despite the other user being full on stabbed, this user laughs to himself for at least 4.5 seconds before composing himself]
Can’t say I was expecting an all gal-gang. Like Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! Ashkent Creek edition? Let me tell you, the deserts of Cali sounded like a better backdrop.
Expected to make a full recovery? Dunno what the other cops are like in this town, but I hope they do their job for you.
rezathevamp:
[pm] Uhm, no? I’ve heard you mentioned so I figured I’d check you out. Who’s Haakonsson?
Little bit of both? I’m looking to do a sleeve but I only have some of it planned out. Need someone nice and trustworthy to help me with it. It’s a bit of a personal sleeve, so… yeah.
[pm] The owner. Big, Norwegian Viking looking guy. If you meet him, you can’t miss him.
Sounds good. I’m happy to help you out if you need to throw around any ideas, so if you’re fine talking about it over the internet, I’m free.
reedhan:
Butterfly.
Stabbed more or less than five times.
Begs the question why you told me it was a fist fight, but hey. I don’t draw the line in the sand of distinction.
Do you have anything yet on who did it?
