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whiskygoldwings · 2 months

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The Tattooist

The first clone trooper client she tattoos is an act of remembrance.

The man stands forlorn and desperate in the reception area, his borrowed clothes fitting poorly on his slumped frame. His face is tight, like a man on the edge of screaming, holding it back by the skin of his teeth. She recognises this pain, and quickly ushers him into her workroom, calling for A'maa to take the front desk while she speaks to a client. He breaths slightly easier once they are no longer in public, and she gestures for him to sit on the well-worn sofa she reserves for guests.

“I haven't got many credits,” he admits straight up. “They don't exactly pay us. I just wanted to see what could be done for what I have.”

She nods and grabs a pad and stylus, settling herself into her armchair and crossing her legs. “Tell me what you want and how much you've got and I'll see what I can do.”

He swallows painfully, and reaches into his pocket. “I have exactly 134 credits,” he holds a handful of ingots, and she glances down before looking back at his face. “I looked you up; I know it's not much in terms of tattoos. It's just... It's all I could scrape together...” he stumbles over his words, embarassment curling his lips.

“And what you want?” She interrupts, halting his ashamed attempts at explaining himself.

He takes a deep breath, grimaces, then sighs. “My brother was killed in the last battle. His name was Star. The long-necks... The Kaminoans I mean, never let us mourn each other where they could see. But he's my brother. We were born of the same batch, he helped me when I struggled with the maths tests, we had each others backs... I have a million odd brothers, but he was mine...” He presses his thumb and forefinger into his tightly-shut eyes, choking back a sob. “I want to honour him forever. I want to carry him with me, in a way they can't take away from me.” At this he straightens, bringing his hand down to stare at her determinedly. “They can make us wash our armour off, take our possessions from us. They will have to flay my skin from me if they want to take this.”

She stares back, stylus against her lips, and feels a swell of righteous fury in her throat. She's always had a mild force-sensitivity. Not enough to make training her of any worth, but enough that she can get a feel of a person, enough she can get a taste of their emotions.

This is a proud, strong man. And he is not broken by the hardships he faces, as much as he should be.

She will honour his brother with him.

The design practically leaps from her stylus, as she coaxes little stories from him. Little tales of his brother. His name was Star, he tells her first, and she sketches the rough outlines of one. He named himself, the man tells her, not giving his own name. Named himself after the balls of fury in the universe that were always out of their reach of Kamino. He laughs quietly, painfully, as he tells her the first time they had snuck out on a rainless night, when there was a brief respite in the clouds of Kamino, and by chance, there was a meteor shower over head. They'd all been amazed, confused and delighted by the sight, their little squad of five. One of the trainers, a kind man named Kal, had chuckled and told them “That'll be a shooting star” when they ask him about the phenomena, and Star had whispered to him in their bunks that night that he had decided on his name.

“I used to call him a shooting Star when we were in sims,” the man admits, a crooked grin on his face. “He kicked me in the shin for it once. Think he actually kinda liked it though.”

She adds a trail of dust behind it.

“He was so proud of being an ARF,” the man whispers. “So proud when I was nominated for ARF training alone with him. I was never as good as him, but he always took me with him, wherever he went. When the Commander told us we were getting the training, he basically hugged him. The Commander just gave him a pat on the back and told him never to do it again or he'd demote him quick as sithspit” the man snorts. “He didn't mean it, but Star'd never moved so bloody quick back into a salute, I couldn't help laughing at him, the idiot.”

She tabs out and finds a reference for an ARF troopers helmet on the 'net, and draws the trail of star dust bursting out of it and curling round to meet with the star itself.

“Our battallion wears green. Mainly olive-green. The commander started it, reminds him of the General I suspect. We became Green Company.”

The dust trail gathers sprinkles of olive green, the Star limned in the colour. She hesitates for a moment, then asks. “What markings did he wear?”

The man startles; she'd been loath to bring him out of his memories, but she wants to make it accurate. Needs to make it accurate really. She can feel how important this piece is to the man, and she finds herself strongly opposed to disappointing him.

“He had two stars on the left hand side of his helmet, one within the other.” The man indicates a point on his crown, above his ear. “And his visor was lined in green. He had a stripe vertically down the right hand side, ending just under the visor itself. On his chest piece...”

She lets him continue detailing his armour, drawing another star in olive green within the big one, then delicately tipping the helmet to conceal where the star would have been on the left. She's good, but it would have been too small to depict without potentially bleeding into a solid line, and she doesn't want that to happen. Instead, she marks in the line on the right-hand side, and ensures the big star is representative of what she imagines was on the helmet.

He's trailed off, staring sightlessly at his hands in his lap. She doesn't want to shake him, suspects alarming a trained soldier out of his own mind would be a bad idea. Instead, she uncrosses her legs, and clears her throat lightly. He glances up at her, and she smiles and extends the pad to him.

“Is something like this what you had in mind?”

He blinks at her, than reaches over and takes the pad. She sees the moment when he takes in the image. His eyes widen, and a tear he's been holding back since well before he got here slides down his cheek. He presses his fist into his mouth, other hand shaking where it holds the pad and he nods, clenching his eyes shut. “y-yes... Oh yes...” He stammers, voice thick.

“Where would you like it?”

“Over my heart,” he whispers. “I will carry him always in my heart.”

She stands abruptly, making him jump slightly and reaches out for the pad. “Okay, shirt off and lie down on the bed for me please. I assume as a clone trooper you're routinely screened for any blood diseases?” He nods, standing up with a slightly dazed expression on his face. She nods back and turns away, beginning the ritual of preparing her inks. She's playing a game of avoidance now, knows she won't take this man's money, and if she can keep him from asking about it she may be able to get it finished before he finds out. She suspects he'd do the honourable thing and refuse to get the tattoo. It'll be harder for him to do if it's halfway done. And while normally she'd insist on a full disclosure form and signature, she gets the feeling having no hardcopy evidence of what is about to happen will be a very good idea. The pad will need reformatting after she's done, but she's been required to do that for other clients who want their body art to be completely untraceable, so she doesn't store anything of any import on it for long anyway. She hears the rustle of cloth behind her and smiles slightly to herself, pleased at a plan going well. “Would you tell me more about him please?”

The man takes a deep breath behind her, even as she hears the bed creak as he clambers onto it. “He was always good at slipping by unnoticed. It's how he kept us both out of trouble back in training...”

She finishes mixing up the colours she needs as he begins to tell her about their childhood, what little of it there was. Checks her machine and cleans the patch of skin above his heart as he laughs about a prank played on one of their batchmates. It warms her and chills her at the same time, realising how little they had, but what great things they made of what they did. She prints out the stencil and places it over his chest as he whispers about Star easing him through the tail end of a nightmare, checking quietly that he's happy with the position before pressing the needle to his skin. He breaths in through his nose once when she starts, and she glances up at him, but he smiles and continues on into a story about when they first met their Jedi, and how Star gushed about her afterwards. She sinks into the meditative process of stamping lines into being, bringing colour to life, all the while surrounded by the man's soft voice building a memorial to his brother in their room.

When it's finished, the man looks surprised. “I thought it would take longer than that?” He blinks at her, “And be more painful in all honesty.”

She grins, “You did your research well hon, I'm good at what I do.”

He laughs and sits up, wincing slightly as the skin stretches around the wound. She squirts cleaner onto a cloth and holds it towards his chest, pausing before touching the tattoo for him to give a nod of permission, then wipes carefully across it, removing excess ink and stencil gently. Looking it over critically, she's happy with what she's done, knows she's poured herself into this tattoo as well. The lines are clean and crisp, the colours deep and rich. The helmet tilts up to look at the star above it, the trail of stardust sweeping behind it and curling up to emerge from the opening of the helmet at the bottom. Olive green accents in the tail, the line over the right-hand side of the helmet and around the visor, and the outer and inner two stars. She nods to herself, and grins up at him. “Ready to see it?”

He swallows nervously, but nods. She feels her grin quirk into a proper smile, then holds out her hand to him. He looks at it for a second, then places his own in hers, and she helps pull him from the bed. She keeps hold of his hand as she guides him to the full length mirror just beside the couch, and gently pulls him to stand infront of it. The hand in hers trembles as he stares at his reflection, taking a moment on his own face to gather his courage, then looks down at his chest.

The noise that punches out of his lungs is almost animal, and she grips his hand tightly. He cries openly, other hand reaching up to hover just under the tattoo as he looks down at his own chest. It's several moments before he can say anything, and she stands next to him the whole time, holding his hand as he clenches onto hers. He cries and cries, grief finally allowed expression, as she gives him silent comfort in proximity. His first words are “thank you”, and she smiles at him, as he starts to collect himself and turns away from her to try and pull himself back together.

“I'll give you a few minutes to check it over and make sure you're happy before I bandage it up,” she murmers, and steps quietly out of the room, giving him privacy in his sorrow.

A'maa glances up at her as she steps out, raising an eyebrow. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be working today, and she hadn't considered that A'maa might have had to turn away one of her own clients when she committed to tattooing the man. But A'maa glances over at the door to her workroom and shakes her head. “Don't worry about it Elaah,” she whispers, “Whatever it was, it was clearly important.”

“Yes,” Elaah whispers back, walking over to cradle herself in A'maa's outstretched arm, seeking the comfort of her own found family. “Yes, it really was.”

It's a few more minutes before the man opens the door, glancing around the edge of it. She quickly cuts off her conversation with A'maa and smiles at him. “Ready to get bandaged up?”

He nods and smiles, face a little blotchy from the tears, though neither she nor A'maa say anything. She gives A'maa's shoulder a quick squeeze, then heads into the room, leaving the door ajar this time. The man stands infront of the mirror again, gazing down at his new ink, and she quickly grabs the bits she needs to finish off. He smiles at her as holds the fake skin bandage up to his chest, carefully sizing it up to fit nicely over the tattoo.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“Nothing hon, you paid me in stories.”

He protests immediately, as she suspected he would. “Too late hon!” she grins at him. “It's already on your skin and I'll throw your credits out onto the street after you if you try leaving them behind. Good luck winning this one!” She winks and pats him on the shoulder, turning away to grab his top and thrusting it into his abdomen. He grabs it and gapes at her, clearly not quite sure what to say, before straightening and flashing a sheepish grin at her.

“You planned this from the start didn't you?” He asks, pulling the top over his head and rolling his eyes as she throws him a cheeky wink and nods.

“I've got to give you something, this means so much to me... You have no idea...” He gulps and shakes his head, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. “Tell you what, I'll make sure anyone else who might be thinking of getting some ink heads this way?”

She shrugs. “I'm not going to turn down customers, but you don't owe me anything. I just hope you think of Star whenever you see it.”

“I will,” he murmurs, a hand going to rest over where the tattoo sits over his heart. He glances up at her. “My name is Trix. I just... wanted you to know that.”

She smiles at him, and gently rests a hand over his own. “Thank you Trix.” she says, smiling up at him, “Thank you for everything you and your brothers do for us.”

He grasps her hand with his other one and squeezes it tightly for a moment, before turning around and walking out the shop.

#the clone wars #clone troopers #fanfic #fanfiction #feels #tattoos #tattoos as healing #star wars #oc characters #also posted to ao3 #CentrauGuardian

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psuedofolio · 6 months

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Last week on my character a day thread was more "Magical Girl SCP" characters and I'm realizing I didn't share the pictures from the last time I brought out the psudo scp universe characters so here they are. I'll make the whole story someday. Lore/flavor text is as follows: 1: Fairbanks would often have to insist Isabelle stop skipping her small arms training. She rarely said it, but she was very fond of the junior researcher. And she knew just how unsafe the SAFE Research Department could be.

2: Fairbanks' Notes on the Vampire, "Drymouth."

After 21 days without feeding, she will enter a state of altered consciousness and will speak true prophecies. The Board believes it is worth the ethical costs of starving her. I believe she uses her prophecies to guide us to our destruction.

3: Partial Transcript: Tattoo Parlor, 3:25 PM

Subject X66: "I'm still kinda nervous about the pain, ya know. I'm sure you get that a lot."

Witness: "I... what is... Is that a body mod?"

Subject X66: "What are you talking about?"

Witness: "Holy fuck it moved!"

4: Codename Sunshine is the first entity to take a role in DIR Fairbank's "Special Taskforce." Though the Director believes she is wholly reliable and a potential asset for our field agents, many are skeptical. Her ability to "transmute light into burning liquid" is quote: "Scary AF."

5: Agent Nathan Collier returned to work with REDACTED three months after the incident with Valeria's escape. His personal heroism in subduing the entity aside, it was decided he was unfit for field work. Instead he was reassigned to the SAFE Department on so called "babysitting duty."

6: Ben died a few years ago in an unrelated accident, but ever since then what appears to be his "ghost" continues to check the halls for anomalous readings. Once we calibrated his scanner to account for his own emanations, he returned to being a valued member of *redacted*

7: What limited things we do know is REDACTED's body is made of particles which "absorb" em waves of all kinds, from light to radio. Though REDACTED manages to bypass nearly every security measure we have, they have no connections or intentions that qualify as a threat.

8: Contrary to popular belief, Franklin is NOT an anomalous entity. He is merely a holdover from REDACTED before it became REDACTED. His "good humor and fatherly advice" has often made agents question his true nature. And security monitors him as agents often confide secrets with him.

(ooc note, it was about an hour after drawing this that I realized I basically just drew Clint McElroy)

9: Frm: Dir Fairbanks The girl in our care is not to be referred to as "anomaly" or "spider thing" or by her case number. She has come to us willingly. Her name is Penelope, and but for her anomalous mutations is a normal child. We will provide her normalcy. That is an order.

#magical girl scp #psu scp #oc #oc characters #character deisgn #scp #horror #scp oc

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snailtrain · 3 months

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Commission done for @madmud2730 ♥

Their OC Dennis and the TFP kids :> I had a lot of fun with this one hehe

#commission #digital art #commissioned art #commission art #tfp #transformers prime #tfp kids #dennis #oc characters #my art #illustration #digital illustration

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ericvelseb666 · 1 month

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Finally I'm done with them, here they are! Nina Velseb/Nina Dear and Eric "Dear" Velseb in their Welcome Home universe, I used the official welcome characters for reference and Eddie's

Her butterfly changes color due to emotions, it only happens in the Welcome Home universe

Yep He still tall but not as Howdy, Barnaby and Poppy though

Eddie and Nina being reunited again, Eddie was the one who helped her escaped from Home, she and Eddie used to be together before Nina winded up in the Spooky Month universe

💞BONUS: Nina's parents!!💞

They both live outside of the neighborhood and they always give Eddie some cookies and tea when Eddie delivers their mail

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corrieguards · 11 months

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If you write canon x OC and you think your OC character is the only one that fits the canon character - then i'm sorry to break it to you babe, but you're actually delusional.

#for legal reasons this is a joke #mostly #but seriously #there is no reason to bring down other people just because their oc is different #obv you're gonna like yours more #because it's yours #and that's great #good for you babe <3 #but that still doesn't make it better (or worse) than anybody else's #we're all equals here #canon x oc #canon x oc writers #oc characters

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sebcosmothetransguy · 27 days

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i solemnly swear i am up to queer mischief

i found some old queerified marauder headcanons, basically just about what i thought they would be in labels and all. i wanna share that with the world

James is gay, and is with Regulus.

Regulus is bisexual and polyamorous, so he has two partners, one is James and one is a girl. also, Regulus uses he/they pronouns.

Remus is genderqueer (AFAB), and is bisexual. he uses they/he pronouns, and they’re with Sirius.

Sirius is a transguy, and is demisexual and pansexual. Sirius also uses he/they pronouns.

Peter is a demiboy (AFAB), and uses he/him pronouns. he’s also oriented aroace, demipanqueerplatonic, and ambiamorous (with a preference for polyamorous relationships). he doesn’t have any partners yet, though.

Marlene is a lesbian, and is in a relationship with Avery (an OC of mine), Regulus’s other partner.

Avery (full name: Avery Clayton) is genderfae (AFAB), and uses they/she pronouns. they’re bisexual and polyamorous.

then there’s one last OC of mine, Cosmos Lovegood. he’s a demiboy (AMAB), and uses he/it pronouns. he’s straight, and has a partner.

annnnd that’s all, i think.

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fensherohair · 1 month

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The Maraurders & The Metamorphic Witch (Part 13)

Words: 1.8k Warning: None Pronouns Used: She/Her - Use of Y/N

Things seemed to quiet down in Gryffindor Tower as the summer holidays approached. However, the same couldn't be said outside of it. Allegra and her group of friends had quickly built a reputation, a bad one at that. Their ideas of "jokes" often resulted in tears or things only the group of girls found funny, although they ceased to see amusement in any of it the moment the same logic was turned on them, normally by the Marauders, although Severus had occasionally done it in defense of Lily.

"You guys promise to write over the holidays?" asked Isolde, a soft tone to her voice as she looked around her group of friends. From the boys who so often caused mischief to the girls, she shared a dorm with. Sure, not all of them got along, but at least it wasn't World War Three. Lily and James were often going back and forth about something, with James all but pining after Lily and the fiery redhead ignoring him in favor of her friendship with Severus. The Marauders had bestowed each other with little nicknames and slowly started to find themselves over the last year. Their friendship had grown, and each had started to notice those around them more.

"Who else am I going to pester?" asked (Y/N) with a mischievous grin. "Plus, you know Hunter is gonna send letters, too," she added, as laughter rang from her lips. Isolde's cheeks heated up with a pinkish/red highlight as she was reminded of her friends knowing about her dating life.

"You can pester me," commented Sirius as he came to sit next to (Y/N), Remus squashing himself between (Y/N) and Marlene with a victorious grin. Marlene smiled sweetly as she reached for a bowl of her favorite jelly.

"Save me the nightmares and just date already," commented James, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose before pulling out the parchment once stashed away in the inside pocket of his robes. "Wait, where's Lily? Didn't she come down with you girls?" he asked, ruffling his hair as if to give the illusion he'd just stepped off his broom again.

"Careful Prongs, your image is slipping," replied Peter, as if to poke fun at one of his best friends. Once again, he wore his favorite striped sweater, the one with Gryffindors colors.

"What image is that exactly?" asked Marlene, a playful grin appearing across her lips before the laughter escaped her. James could only send her a deadpan glare, although a smile soon cracked through. Of course, the girls would take the opportunity to poke fun at him; he'd done the same over the school year, particularly in the quiet moments.

"The poet?" questioned (Y/N).

"I was thinking the lady's man ... you know, the one with the terrible flirting," commented Isolde with her own smile.

"Be serious, guys," started Remus, happy to join in the fun. "Peter obliviously meant the bookworm image James had been working on over the year."

"And here I thought it was the star Quidditch Player and Master Mischief Maker one," voiced Sirius.

"You guys are hurting my feelings," declared James, "Peter clearly meant my tough guy image. I can't help but care for you lot, even when you are experimenting and blowing things up regularly."

"Come now, I hardly blow anything up these days. It's more boogy traps and pranks," replied (Y/N) with a small chuckle. "And helping you four with all your witchy needs when the time calls for it," she added, her smile unmoved as her eyes sparkled that little bit more.

"Or in detention," replied Peter quickly, receiving another chuckle from (Y/N), and she nodded in confirmation and pointed over as if to declare he was right.

"Ow!" exclaimed Isolde as something collided with the side of her head. Looking at the table, she was met with a screwed-up piece of parchment that appeared to have tape wrapped around it. However, when she picked it up, it seemed heavier than normal, as if something had been hidden inside it, perhaps a stone or a smaller rock.

Peter let out a tiny, scared squeak the moment his eyes landed on the group of girls set on terrorizing the castle, him included. He'd still yet to get over Samantha's claim of dating. Nor had he been able to shake the rumors of such the rest of the girls had been spreading. Despite his best efforts, the young wizard has yet to work out what they want from him. He couldn't offer them anything, he wasn't popular, there was nothing special about him. He was just another pureblood wizard, terrified of being alone and the brewing war; he just wanted to live his days at Hogwarts, learn to be a wizard, and figure out what he wanted to do when he left school.

"You okay, Peter?" asked Hunter upon joining the group and taking Lily's place. As was the norm, the redhead girl sat on the opposite side of the hall with Severus. There was little doubt the two were making plans for the holidays. The same thing he did with his friends from Hufflepuff and with Isolde. At least when the family wasn't on trips, whether to muggle amusement parks or attend family functions.

"I still don't get it," said James as he looked between the Wolffe siblings. He could see the similarities and features they shared—everyone could—yet they were so different everywhere else. One was a well-rounded fifth-year student, popular and smart, and a seeker for Hufflepuff, a school prefect. The other was a mischievous third-year, clumsy but incredibly smart, a thorn in the side of professors and fellow students alike but a brilliant chaser for Gryffindor's Quidditch team.

"Get what?" asked Remus, allowing curiosity to get the better of him. He soon understood the comment when he followed James' line of sight as it flicked between Hunter and (Y/N).

"(Y/N)'s a metamorphagi, so she's naturally more clumsy, mischievous, and curious. Mom and Dad neutered it and encouraged us both to be who we are," answered Hunter, reaching to tighten his red bandana, waving to a few students of his own year when they passed. "Mom always said the mischief came from Dad's side of the family," laughed Hunter, recalling his parents' back-and-forth comments, normally as part of their banter.

"Can't believe I'm only just asking this, but what do your parents do?" asked Sirius, asking the question he was sure Marlene, Isolde, or Lily would have asked long before now. Yet none of the boys had; it hadn't even crossed his mind to ask. Mainly because his own parents did little with all their free time; his mother rattled around the large house yelling about something; his father would be holed up in the office, attempting to write some book he'd been working on for years.

"Mom's a potions master, and Dad's a magizoologist," replied (Y/N). "I get my curiosity about potions from her. There was always a bang or two when Mom was in the basement. A couple of smoke clouds on the odd occasion," she laughed as she remembered her mom calling. She was fine from the basement when something exploded.

"That explains a lot," commented Peter. "You know we should all meet up sometime during the holidays," he added, his eyes lighting up at the idea. Sirius, Remus, and James were his best friends, but the girls were also close to him. Hunter, too, was growing on him. He didn't appear often, but when he did, it was easy to get along with him, as if it had been with (Y/N) before that.

"Good idea," started Isolde, a soft grin coming to her lips as she nudged Hunter gently as if saying she'd be happy to spend more time with him. "You lot can swear me in on your secret plans," she laughed. "Lily, too, if we can ever get her back."

"Secret plans?" asked Hunter, his attention quickly turning to his little sister again, just in time to see her ruffle Sirius's fluffy hair. It didn't seem to stop him from playing with her ever-changing locks, though. Instead, the pure-blood wizard flicked it on occasion before ruffling hers with a grin.

"I think they mean the mischievous ones," replied Remus, knowing several plans were in place to cause more havoc and chaos during the following school year. Old Filch and the wicked witches Allegra had joined were the main targets, along with the odd Slytherin and anyone else who just happened to walk into the firing zone, whether that be a professor or a student.

"Sure, it wasn't the laughing potion and snapping quill one?" asked Marlene in response, seeing utter confusion pass over James and Peter's features, much to the amusement of Sirius and (Y/N) when they finally paid attention.

"Am I invited to your little pity party?" asked Allegra as she waltzed over to collect the screwed-up piece of paper with the rock tightly bound inside. She and her new friends had hoped to transfigure it into something else, something Isolde was terrified of, but it hadn't worked out that way. Every attempt had failed to hit its target.

"Who's the Pumpkin Head over there?" asked Isolde, looking over to where Allegra's friends were gathered, only to see one of them with a Pumpkin Head, two of them struggling to move with jelly legs, and another two dangling upside down, as if an invisible line was holding them there. The other wasn't fairing any better, as it appeared as if her front teeth were growing larger by the second.

"Process of elimination, I'd say that was Ulrica," replied James.

"Snape and a few of his buddies are being idiots again," angrily spoke Allegra, missing Hunter's quiet sniggers, as if he knew the group of Slytherin boys weren't entirely responsible, at least not for all of it. Another two charms hit her before Allegra could continue with her rant or make the rude demands of those before her. One had a white shimmer to it, and the other had a blue spark. The first locked her legs together, causing her to tumble forward, whereas the other was by far the worst for Allegra, a singing charm.

"Hunter" called (Y/N), as she tried to contain her laughter.

"I'll hold my hands up to the Pumpkin Head, but the rest I'm surprisingly innocent of," replied Hunter, spotting Regulus and Mason giggling among their group of friends while pointing to the larger group of girls.

"I guess you two rubbed off on Mason and Regulus," Marlene commented with a chuckle. She finds her brother's actions sweet in a way, although she feels as if she should be protecting him. He seemed determined to get payback on her bullies, particularly Allegra, who'd tormented her throughout their second year.

"I'm so proud right now," said Sirius, although he'd unlikely say that in front of his parents. He would happily say it to Regulus before the train home reached Kings Cross.

Series Masterlist

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localsya · 10 months

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comm for Demitria, thank you so much💛 Character is not mine*

#art commissions #dnd art #digital painting #digital illustration #oc art #oc characters #not my oc #syaarchv

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merlinm196 · 14 days

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Kyalin doodle with my oc kids had to fix yue hair

#kyalin #lin beifong #kya ii #kyalin fanart #kyalin family #oc characters #beifong #avatar the last airbender #legend of korra fanart

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lily-drake · 6 months

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The Demon's Queen

Chapter Fifteen

First <> Previous

One month passed both far too soon and not soon enough. She hadn’t received any information from anyone on what she would be doing, but her training was ramped up tenfold. She hadn’t been this sore and bruised since her first few months of training.

“What on Earth was that ?” Maha bellowed from where she stood on the side of the mat. Marinette grit her teeth as she ducked under another blow made by the bulkiest of her oh-so-precious Jackals.

“I must agree with you Maha,” Hadid sighed, “and here I thought she had finally mastered the move.” He sounded disappointed and it pulled at something inside Marinette. For some reason, a part of her felt upset at the thought of upsetting Hadid. She could care less about Maha, but failing Hadid made her want to fight even harder. She felt like she needed to prove herself to him.

Feigning a punch she ducked before kicking out and pushing him off valence slightly. But the second that it took for him to fall back into position was just enough for Marinette to get close and hit multiple of the central pressure points she learned about from Tomoe, paralyzing his arms, shoulders, and neck. Then with one last well placed kick he was down with her on top of him squeezing his windpipe until he tapped out as best as he could with his paralyzed arm.

Marinette stood up. She expected her legs to start shaking, for her breath to be staggered, to feel scared about what she had just done. But no, she felt calm, her legs were steady, and she felt proud of herself. She felt like she had finally accomplished something great.

She looked up, her face an emotionless mask. Maha had her usual displeased frown, not giving away any emotions. But when she looked up and saw the large Cheshire grin Hadid was giving her she felt a cold shiver of fear run down her spine. His face was unnatural, but it showed just how proud he was of her.

“Still a long way to go with you, but it’s a good start,” Maha finally growled out, “at least you have proven ready for your mission.”

Marinette stared down at one of the men that had caused her so much pain and distress. She should despise him for the pain he’s put her through, after all he chose this life. He chooses to live a life that causes the pain and suffering of others. She should just leave him to get back up on his own. After all, it was just a training spar.

Hadid’s voice from so many months ago rang through her mind, “Your defiance against your allies could lead to your demise. Be careful of who you make your enemies.” Marinette didn’t like it, but she knew what she needed to do.

She lifted her hand and was actually rather surprised when the man—she’d been sparring him for months now and still didn’t know his or the other’s names—took her hand. Like usual he didn’t say a word and when dismissed by Maha, he disappeared.

__________ Damian was worried about sending her on this mission. It was the strangest thing he’d ever felt before. Never once had he worried over the safety of his servants. If they died it was simply because they were not strong or skilled enough to over power their enemies and return. But this, this was different.

He had chosen Marinette himself, had hand picked her to be part of his most elite. If she died here it would not only mean that she was not strong enough, but that he had made a mistake in his beliefs. He could not allow that to happen.

His mother was gone—something about a private affair she needed to see to—so she couldn’t tell him if he had indeed been mistaken in his decision or not. He didn’t feel like he had made a mistake, he needed her to see exactly what they’re fighting and why. Needs her to see that he is not the villain. Of course he is no hero either, heroes are naive and can only bring themselves to carry out the barest sentence of justice.

Take his father as an example. He calls himself and his little Posey “the heroes of Gotham”, but nothing ever changes. His enemies always escape their cages, always kill more innocents, always spread destruction and chaos, and then what happens to them? They’re sent back to their broken cages only to reoffend again and again.

Todd had the right idea when he broke the moral code and killed the monsters he found. With them gone and the others controlled under Hood’s reign, the people under his protection are truly safe.

Damian stared out across his balcony overlooking the entire base. He watched the silhouettes of Marinette and her team—The Jackals Maha liked to call them—headed towards the entrance where a helicopter was waiting to take them on their mission.

Something was pulling at his chest. A strange dropping sensation in his gut telling him to follow her. Telling him that something would go wrong and that he needed to be there to ensure her return. He ignored it. She would return, she is strong enough that she will live through this. It’s not even that complicated of a mission. The feeling of unease still remained.

__________ The helicopter ride to the “airport” was an interesting—unsettling—experience. All four of them, plus the pilot—so five—sat in complete silence the whole way. They were all dressed in their robes, faces covered and weapons strapped and hidden all along their bodies. Once they made it to a secret bunker of sorts they switched to a messenger plain where the shortest of the Jackals took over and began to fly them to G* knows where.

“I should probably know your names while we are on this mission if we want to communicate effectively.”

“And you will need a code name so we do not blow your cover.” The smallest of the group said tersely. The voice was obviously female though she spoke with a slight accent, but it was still a shock to hear it after so many months of nothing but silence. She had honestly wondered if all of them were actually mute or not.

“You may call me Rajani. My brother,” she pointed to the most muscular of them, “is Azrael, and he,” she pointed to the second man, “is named Hosaam. Now we must pick a name for you.”

“Khata sounds just fine to me,” the pilot—Azrael—grunted. Marinette’s brows furrowed at that. Through her studies of the Arabic language she had quickly found the name Maha had given to her as one of the biggest insults she had received. Everyday she would call Marinette a mistake. Everyday she would say that the name Khata was the only thing she had truly earned. It burned her insides and made her push herself if only to prove her wrong.

“I agree,” Hosaam nodded, arms folded in front of him. “It is a good name for this mission. No one would suspect.” The others nodded allowing the silence to fill the space once more. Marinette but her lip. She did not wish to be known in the field as “The Mistake”, but she knew arguing would only activate her supposed Allie’s, so she remained silent.

It took nearly 11 hours for them to reach their destination. 11 hours were the only noise was the whirring of the plane’s engine. It made her skin itch, but Marientte did her best to make as few movements as possible. She didn’t trust that either of these three wouldn’t try something if she left herself vulnerable in any way. Marinette was honestly surprised with how smooth the plane ride went. She had assumed that–with her luck–something would have gone wrong. But no, from the air to landing not a single misfortune moment had occurred–she wondered if that was because she no longer had any access to her miraculous.

They had landed in a sort of bunker, away from the public and any cameras that could have picked them up. She followed the Jackals to a sideroom where a large table sat in the middle of the room with a set of black blue construction manuals. “Where are we?” Marinette asked, breaking the tense silence.

“ Fortaleza, Brazil,” Rajani stated, shoving a flashlight into her hands. The others gathered around the table and turned their flashlights on before shining it above the paper, revealing the structural design of a large warehouse with text written all around it in the League’s Dialect. Marinette followed suit as she studied the design and read about their mission.

A large worldwide trafficking ring will be meeting in this city in two days. The ring leader will be the last to arrive minutes before they begin auctioning off hundreds of children to the highest bidders. Nearly everyone attending are people that oppose The League of Assassins and have been trying to destroy it. Their job is to break into the event, free the children, and kill everyone in attendance ensuring the safety and secrecy of the League and its existence.

The warehouse was large, and located in a deserted part of the city. It was far enough away from the Favelas to keep the public away while also close enough to not be a conspicuous meeting place. In order to ensure a peaceful gathering, the gangs and cartels were all paid off as were many of the cops.

“It will be best if we can get in and out.” Rajani began to plot, “I will ensure that all of the exits are sealed off while Hosaam sets up a trap. Khata and Azrael will be in the audience ensuring crowd control. We have the guest list, so it is of utmost importance we ensure everyone on this list only enters the building. I wonder if it would be best for one of us to go in as one of the children though,” everyone’s gaze turned to Marinette.

She felt a shiver up her spine from how intense everyone’s eyes were. They were all cold, calculating, distant. They were assessing in their minds whether or not she would actually fit in, and unfortunately for her, it was rather well. Marinette was short, her full height only coming to 157.48 centimeters (5ft 2in). She was petite, and was still covered in large bruises from her shoulders down from all of the sparing she has had to endure.

“It would make finding and freeing the children more manageable,” Azrael grumbled, tilting his head slightly as he studied her, “as long as she put up a convincing act.”

“And what if I’d rather not be the caged child,” Marinette snapped, meeting his gaze. She couldn’t see it as he still wore his mask, but she could feel his smirk, his cold brown eyes boring into hers.

“You don’t get a choice.” The coolness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t let them see how much he frightened her.

What if she became like that? Cold, uncaring, cruel. How would she ever be able to live with herself?

“Where are we supposed to take the kids once they’re free,” Marinette snarked, changing the subject, “we aren’t doing all of this just to let them wander off and get taken by someone else.”

“The Demon’s Head has a plan. We take them to the rendezvous point four miles East of the warehouse–transport will be provided. Once they are dropped off we leave,” Rajani reported calmly. “We have our own rendezvous a mile north from there. If we do not arrive by twenty-two hundred hours we will be stranded here and forced to return in disgrace.”

This was a lot for Marinette to take in. Here was a top secret ninja league that had kidnapped her rescuing a bunch of children while also killing the children's tormentors. What was their goal here? Like Rajani had started, there were going to be hundreds of people who planned against The League here, and their main purpose was to eliminate them–Marinette wanted to gag–but why save the children. Why not just let them die as well in the collateral? Why go through the trouble of ensuring they’re safe at all?

“What’s the most efficient way to kill the others? There will be hundreds of people, and if even one person senses something off or dies too early, everything will be over.” Hosaam spoke for the first time since the flight, nearly making her jump. His voice was rough and deep, deeper than she imagined, though she didn’t know why.

“Poison is out of the question, too easy for something to be messed up in the interim,” Rajani muttered to herself as he brought her hand up to cup her covered chin. “There are too many people for a frontal attack, explosions hold too much risk to the cargo,” Marinette bit her lip to keep her from lashing out at calling the kids “cargo”.

“We could gas the place. First we could gas the place. Sleeping gas first, then nitrogen gas. Kills them fast and is untraceable. We get in, then we get out,” Hosaam supplied.

“We’d have to get the kids out first, kill the guards and switch them places, but it should work.” Rajani agreed with a firm nod. Reaching across the table to grab a single match, lighting it against the table before tossing it onto the blueprints. Marinette watched as the blue paper material burned black and red, turning to ash in front of her eyes. She couldn't help but think of a dress that she’d like to make based on the burning paper flying around her.

Taglist:

@aespades @adrestar @astrynyx @doll246 @queenz-z @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @seraphichana @miraculous-ninja @dorkus-minimus @mysticsoulgirl @ritacrow-blog @snow-leopard-777 @fidget-eep @sometandomstuff333 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @shreeing @achaoticmess1 @liquid-luck-00 @buginetye @stainedglassm @prettylittlebutterflie @laurcad123 @iloontjeboontje @heartsong18 @raeuberprinzessin @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @jennifer-rose123 @moon5608 @corporeal-terrestrial @skitarii-alpha-c6-555 @saltysugarysembei @phantom120 @kking13 @depressed-bitchy-demon @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @iamablinkmarvelarmy @fleursroses @buginetye @humanoid606 @ev-cupcake @blackroserelina @rainbowbunny0159 @the-ace-reader @humanoid606 @taewinterbear95 @blueberrygeniejam @alex-rebecca @neulosfantacyworld @devilbunny612 @boredteen19 @agentxx92 @animegirlweeb

#maribat #dc x mlb #mlb x batman #marinette dupain cheng #damian al ghul #angst #descriptions of violence #the league of assassins #league!marinette #OC characters #mission #damian is bad at feelings #damian is the demon's head #jason todd (mentioned)#assassin training #manipulation #mental manipulation

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multifandomshortstories · 11 months

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I’ve got so many fanfic and oneshot ideas in my phone it’s unreal. They’ve been backed up since like 2020 but I’m always too nervous no one will like them 😭

#marauders #twilight #oneshots #headcannons #teen wolf #marvel #oc characters #x reader fanfiction #x reader oneshots #bobs burgers #Harry Potter #male! wednesday addams x reader #the lost boys 1987 #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #the spiderwick chronicles #fanfiction #probably more fandoms too #mha imagines #self insert

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whiskygoldwings · 2 months

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The Tattooist: Chapter Two: Wrench

I won't lie, I've been kind of terrified of putting this out, in case it didn't hold up after the first chapter. Everyone was so amazing and writing such wonderful things about it; the fear of letting people down was very real! But, here it is, a very different feel for this chapter, but I hope you all like it too!

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The second time she tattoos a clone trooper client, it is an act of defiance.

This time Trix reached out to her first, sending her a message asking for an appointment for one of his brothers. She'd asked if this man had any idea what he wanted in advance, and Trix had tentatively answered her that he wasn't sure, just that his brother was angry, and needed to do something to get the itch out of his skin.

Elaah had blandly pointed out that Trix now knew full well that tattoos actually made you itch, and he had blushed before laughing sheepishly, admitting she was right.

She'd accepted anyway, arranging a date and time. She'd slotted in a whole day session, figuring that if they couldn't work out a design together, she'd maybe be able to pick up some walk ins, or get some of the admin done instead. Trix had given her the name “Wrench”, and made a comment that he was a pretty great guy normally, just he might be on the frustrated side when he came to see her. She'd carefully selected a day when Cafas was in. She didn't think any of the troopers would be likely to get aggressive, but she'd worked in the lower levels long enough to not be willing to take the chance.

She was just enjoying the last few sips of her coffee when Wrench stormed through the door, a cloud of righteous fury blasting in with him, making the force smell like burnt rubber. She managed to catch her expression before she wrinkled her nose, getting the feeling he would have taken one look at her face and walked straight back out again. Calmly, she puts down her mug, and places her hands clearly on top of the counter in front of her, empty palms flat against the surface. “I assume you're Wrench?”

“That's me,” the man says, arms crossed and jaw taut. “Trix told me to come to you.”

Elaah smiles at him, hopping off the stool and waving him over to her workroom. “Trix is a man of his word. Didn't tell me much about you though, just that you were angry.”

Wrench strides after her, passing her where she holds the door open and sits down on the comfy sofa as if it is the most uninviting, hard-backed chair ever. She glances over at Cafas' workroom to see him stood in the doorway, one grey eyebrow raised at her. She quirks a smile back, then goes into the room herself, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. She doesn't get a sense of violence from Wrench, more bottled up rage and frustration that needs to find an outlet. Cafas will keep an ear out, but she doesn't need him in the room.

She grabs her pad and stylus, freshly wiped the evening beforehand, and sits down in her armchair across from him. For a moment, she just watches the stewing man then tilts her head at him. “So what are you here for Wrench?”

He laughs bitterly. “You know you've gotten my name right twice more than my bloody chief so far?” his fists clench. “It's not bloody hard! My name is Wrench. It's a karking tool! People across the galaxy use them every day. I didn't choose it for complexity. I like working on machines, it seemed logical and simple. Apparently kriffing not!” he gets up and paces infront of the sofa, face twisted in anger, and when she looks deeper, hurt.

She realises she knows what he's here for, and quickly sketches out the basic shape of a wrench. “Your chief doesn't call you your name?”

Wrench laughs again, a haunted, broken noise. “My chief can't tell us apart. He's natborn, doesn't lift a karking finger, yet he lords it above us all like he's some kind of gift to the universe. I'm not even sure the man knows what a wrench is, he clearly hasn't used one even once in his perfect life.” She feels bitterness and exhaustion in the force. This man has worked hard to get where he is, and the smallest bit of recognition would go a long way. “I want him to look at me and say my name. Not hey you! Or trooper! Hell, even my serial number would be better than being treated like the shit on his shoe.”

Elaah blinks, not quite sure what to make of the serial number comment, before focusing in. “You want a wrench tattoo somewhere obvious.”

He whirls to stare at her, clearly taken aback for a moment, before nodding sharply. “I want it on my kriffing face.”

They stare at each other for a moment, then she places the pad and stylus on the table and crosses her arms. “If that is what you really want, I'm not going to persuade you otherwise. How long have you been thinking of this.”

He stares for a second longer, than slumps onto the couch. His whole body seems to crumple, like he was geared up for an argument, and the strings of it have suddenly been cut and released him. “I didn't think you'd agree,” he glances up at her.

She nods. “That's part of why you're so angry isn't it? You thought I'd say no, try and convince you you didn't know what you wanted to do with your own body.” He shudders, and she has to fight with herself not to go over there and hug him. “I think you've had enough bodily autonomy taken away from you without me joining in.”

Wrench looks sharply up at her at that, before releasing his breath all at once. He sits back up, steadying his shoulders, and looks at her without anger for the first time that day. “Trix was right about you,” he says, then smiles at her. “You're right, I want a wrench. I want it over my left eye. I've been thinking about it since I saw Trix's tattoo. Hadn't really thought about it before that, I'll be honest with you. Hadn't really known it was an option I guess. But it hasn't left my mind since. Trix gave me his credits, and a few others who feel like I do have given me theirs. Trix made me promise to agree a price with you before you began,” she grins sheepishly as he fixes a stern look on her.

“Will it get you into trouble?”

“Probably,” he shrugs. “But I've made that choice. If they decommission me for this, I'll have still looked that man in the eye and made him recognise me.” His back straightens further, and she can see the pride and defiance in the tilt of his chin.

“Decommision you?” She asks, browridge furrowed.

Wrench shakes his head. “I shouldn't have said that much really. Just... Whatever happens after this is my choice and my fault.”

Elaah stares thoughtfully at him for a moment. She can guess what the word means, doesn't quite want to let herself believe that they would go that far. But Wrench had felt honest and passionate when he spoke, and she feels a hard lump forming in the base of her throat. She swallows round it, making her own choice. She had already told him she wouldn't take his bodily autonomy away from him. Denying him his choice now would be just as bad. She'll just have to deal with her own complicity if it comes to it.

He's watching her still, clearly aware she's having her own crisis of conscience, but not interrupting or trying to guide her to a choice. It settles her own decision further. This proud man, stripped of so many of his own options, has made sure she has her own, even if it will mean he doesn't get what he wants.

She clears her throat, and picks up the padd and stylus again.”I get the feeling you don't want anything fancy,” she says, glancing at his grateful expression before looking back at her simple sketch. “More something bold. Obvious. Unmistakeable.”

Wrench nods.

“Do you want it solid black, linework or colours” she asks, blocking in the lines of the tool more purposefully. She's going to make this the kriffing best wrench she'd ever drawn.

“Solid black?” Wrench queries, and she nods, quickly finishing the outline and filling it with the colour. She turns the pad around to show him, and he looks over it critically, before the corner of his mouth quirks up in a grin. “You didn't even use a reference for that.”

She hums. “It's like you say, a wrench is a universally known tool after all.” It gets a laugh from Wrench, and she bares her teeth at him in a smile. He laughs harder at that, and she stands up and goes to print out the stencil. “Lie on the bed if you would please, on your back and tilt your face to the right on the cushion.”

“Price first,” he raises an eyebrow at her, not moving, and she growls as he smirks. “Trix was very clear about making you agree to one first.”

“Fine,” she grumbles, placing the printed stencil aside and pulling out her black ink. “75 credits. I won't take anymore than that.”

“I haven't even said what size I want it” he protests, and she turns and raises her own eyebrow at him.

“What size do you want it?”

He indicates from his nose to just before his ear. “Basically as big as you can get it really. Karking obvious, like it's stamped across my force-damned face.”

She nods and turns back to her ink. “75 credits then.” It's the lowest price they quote, but she doesn't particularly want to take any of the hard-won money from these men. She'll figure out some way to feed it back into the GAR, though she suspects it'll be harder than it should be to ensure it will go to the men.

Wrench snorts behind her, clearly aware she's quoting low, but accepts it as a truce, and goes to the tattoo bed.

It doesn't take long to get prepared with only one colour on the plan for today. She carefully places the stencil, fitting the bottom half of the wrench on his left cheek and the upper half continuing on over his eyebrow, a gap for his eye. She slants it so the top fixed jaw skims below his regulation short hairline, and makes him to get up and check it before she'll begin.

He stares at it for a moment in the mirror, a fierce look on his face, before nodding at her and lying back down on the bed. She'd offer him some numbing spray, but she suspects he wants to feel every moment of this, and would resent any offer to ease the pain. With a tap of her fingers to the lower part of the wrench, she presses the tattoo gun to his cheek, and begins.

He can't talk during it, too much risk of knocking the gun out of place. But she can feel the edges of his emotions in the force, and the flow of catharsis through him. Every stroke of the needle across his skin feels like resolve, and she finds herself growing calmer as the tattoo takes shape. She lines it first, giving herself an edge to work against, then begins the careful shading in of the solid black. It won't be easy for Wrench to come in for a touch-up fighting in a war, so she needs to make this as uniform as possible. She slips into the focused meditation she usually finds in the hum of the tattoo gun, and the spread of ink across flesh.

Wrench doesn't flinch or move once during the entire process. He keeps himself rock still, in a manner that hits her all at once has been trained into him. What have they been put through, she wonders, to know how to remain unmoving in the face of constant pain. She has to set the thought aside, to be examined at another time, so her needle doesn't grow harsh and cruel in her grasp. There is, of course, plenty of pain, considering the location and simply the nature of tattooing, but she doesn't let it become any worse than necessary.

He sits so well that she finishes in record time. The solid black statement stares defiantly across his face, and she gently wipes it down as Wrench takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. She's not sure he actually blinked at all during the time she was tattooing, though he must have done. She gets close to his face, staring carefully at every endge of the tattoo, and the stretch of black at it's core, ensuring she hasn't missed a spot, or wavered in her lines. Satisfied, she leans back, stretching her arms above her, before patting Wrench on the shoulder. “It's done.”

He sits up, a little faster than she would have liked, but she gets the sense he needs to see. She's proven right when he swings his legs straight off of the bed, and marches over to the mirror before she can tell him to slow down.

Wrench stops, and stares at his own face. There's something blistered and painful in his presence in the force, yet also something wondering and cautiously pleased. She wonders what it must be like to be constantly surrounded by the faces of people who look just like you, looking for ways to make your own identity among an army of people physically exactly the same. She wonders if he's finally looking at his own face for the first time, and knowing it to be only his. A little part of her weeps for this man, but she doesn't let any of it show. This is not like Trix. Trix needed empathy and support. Wrench needed her to be quiet and to respect his choices.

Wrench takes his own time to examine his new face, and the line of his shoulders straighten as he takes on the aftermath of his decision. He turns to her, all the anger bled out of him, leaving only determination behind. With confident steps, he approaches her and nods. “Thank you,” he says, reaching into his pocket and counting out exactly 75 credits. No more, no less. He hands them to her, and she takes them with a nod of her own.

“It should be bandaged, to protect it,” she says, but is unsurprised by the shake of his head.

“I'll go to the medics on the ship if I need to, but I need to wear this openly.”

She doesn't argue, and as he walks out, she hopes she gets to hear the story of what happened when the chief officer saw it from him. She hopes she hears it from him directly, years down the line, when he's looking perhaps for a touch up.

She doesn't let herself consider what “decommissioned” may mean.

#star wars #the clone wars #clone wars #OC characters #OC clones #fanfiction #Star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #tattoos #tattoos as healing #crossposted to ao3:CentrauGuardian

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