custom stained glass

anonymous asked:

Could I get a tattoo artist/florist au with Tattoo Artist!Asahi? Maybe the reader comes by with flowers to thank him for the tattoo he did on her and he just gets so flustered and happy? ;u;

Admin Emma might have gotten a bit carried away on this… and whoops, accidental AsaDai (My Most Legendary of Rare Pairs). Please request more of this; this is literally all I want to write. 
~Admin Emma

With the custom stained-glass windows installed, your little flower shop was finally complete, and you’d never been happier. The sun cast glittering patterns in soft, pastel colors, warming your shop with its light and heat. With the soft, acoustic music you had playing in the background, you hoped it had an inviting atmosphere. People came to buy flowers for a reason, and you wanted to make the process as painless as possible. You wanted to accommodate every type of emotion, from grief to exuberance to jittery excitement; all were welcome. At least, that was the vibe you were going for. You’d settled in a young, hip part of town; you had an open door policy. Everything was going according to plan. You loved it there.

On a particularly blase Monday afternoon, you were sitting at the counter, doing your books. It was a slow period, and your coffee steamed merrily away while you filled out orders and input receipts. Suddenly, heavy footfalls echoed through your store, disappearing among the potted orchids. You set your pen down, wiping your hands on your apron out of habit, prepare to greet your new customer.

You opened your mouth to welcome him, but your breath caught in your throat; he was fucking gorgeous–tall and solidly built, with well defined, muscles, a narrow waist, and thick arms and legs. His face was chiseled, adorned with the perfect amount of scruff, and his long, brown hair was tied in a messy knot at the back of his head. His battered jeans and fitted black t-shirt definitely worked for him, and the leather wrist cuff and leather cord on his neck made you a little bit weak… but what really drew your attention were the tattoos.

Dozens of colorful pieces of art ran up and down his arms, disappearing into the sleeves of his shirt. You couldn’t even follow them all, there were so many–from the geometric patterns on his forearms, to the star on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger to the watercolor rose on the inside of his upper arm–they were gorgeous. You’d never seen so many. You were vaguely aware that you were ogling, but you didn’t really have to worry about it, because his whiskey-brown eyes were trained on a gorgeous, vivid blue orchid. His gaze was sharp with concentration, like he was analyzing it petal by petal.

You cleared your throat because dammit, you were a professional! And he was a customer and you would greet him like a normal fucking person!

“Hello,” you squeaked (just a little). “Um… welcome! Is there something I can help with?”

“Hmm?” Tattooed-hot-guy turned towards you (oh, fuck, his face was cute too–carved by the Gods, this one) and flashed you the sweetest, most genuine smile–the type of smile that made your stomach drop somewhere in the vicinity of your feet. You felt like you were falling. “Oh, sorry, no. I’m just looking.”

“Looking for something in particular?” You straightened your shirt–it probably didn’t need it, but you were at a loss for what to do with your hands.

“Um, it’s sort of…ah,” he stuttered, rubbing at the back of his neck with his large hand (and oh no, he was shy too? This didn’t bode well for your self-control) before his attention flickered back to the orchids. “I’m looking for inspiration, if that makes sense.”

“Ah,” you chuckled dryly. You swallowed–when had the air gotten so warm and dry? “Trying to impress your muse?”

“Not necessarily,” tattoo guy replied. “I own the little shop down the street–Ink Black Studios? I’ve been looking to like… I don’t know, do some organic sketches? Flowers seemed a good place to start.”

“And the orchid spoke to you?” You tilted your head, watching the gears work behind his eyes. You always loved artists, and this was why–watching the way they thought and saw the world and processed it… it fascinated you.

“Sort of,” he said. “I was actually looking for stuff with more volume? I love chrysanthemums and hydrangeas–as far as drawing is concerned, anyway. They’re gorgeous, and I love the fullness and the texture. But the colors on this one… do these even occur in nature?”

“Orchids come in so many colors,” you responded. “They’re tropical, which means they’re a little tricky to care for, but they can occur in a truly baffling variation of colors. I’ve seen blood red ones, pink ones, bright orange… you name it!”

“Well, they’re really beautiful,” he said. He fished in his messenger bag, pulling out a small sketch book about the size of a tablet. “You mind if I sketch for a bit?”

“I don’t mind at all,” you replied with a grin. Any excuse to spend more time with him, yeah? “Just let me know if you need help.”


His name was Azumane Asahi. He was a tattoo artist and piercer, the owner of a small studio down the road from you. He owned the place with two friends from high school. He was also an amazing artist. He had this way of capturing life, movement, and the perfect imperfections of organic material. He had been kind enough to let you flip through his sketchbook, and you’d been so impressed by his work. A sketch of a pair of delicate, demurely-folded, tattooed hands had nearly taken your breath away, and the portrait of a broad man with squared features and a warm smile was so loving in its small details, you had to wonder if this was Asahi’s significant other. A man that beautiful–that sexy–couldn’t possibly be single.

But the potential status of Asahi wasn’t the reason you were spending your off day bringing a voluminous bouquet of brightly-colored carnations–your personal underrated favorite flower, no matter what anyone said–to Ink Black Studios. You’d considered a tattoo for a long time, and you finally had an idea of what you wanted, and Asahi seemed the perfect person for what you were looking for.

You weren’t sure what you expected with Ink Black, but it certainly wasn’t what you got. The sign above the door depicted a blackbird in flight, with ‘Ink Black’ in big, bold English lettering with the corresponding kanji underneath. You could hear music drifting out from the open door, and from what you could see through the tall windows, the shop was empty, but it was also brightly lit, warm and welcoming. There were three stations set up along the back wall: one was meticulously organized and clean–almost Spartan in its minimalist nature, with everything in its proper place; one was organized chaos, with art, inspiration, and sundry doo-dads pinned on the walls; one was what one would expect from an artist’s table, with a sketch table and various tools and implements in their own cubbies. Instead of swatches and samples of tattoos on the walls, like you’d seen in other places, there were gorgeous watercolor paintings and evocative photographs. The place smelled like a combination of disinfectant (a comforting smell, considering what they were dealing with) and warm spice.

Gathered around a glass counter filled with neatly-arranged displays of body jewelry were three unbelievable attractive men in their mid-twenties. Asahi you recognized, and you couldn’t help but notice that he’d forgone his normal t-shirt or soft sweater–his normal aesthetic–for a racerback tank top and dark jeans. You were treated to even more of Asahi’s tattoos, from the three crows over his heart, to the sanskrit under his collarbone, to the fox that extended from the base of his neck over the back of his shoulder.

The guy behind the counter was slim and pretty, with a killer smile. From what you could see of his arms, they were literally covered in a floral tattoo sleeve. Not a single inch of naked skin was visible from his wrists to his shoulders, and the semi-transparent material of his pastel blue t-shirt exposed even more of them over his left side. They matched his snake-bite piercings and the small star tattoo under his right eye (to correspond with the beauty mark under his left eye); his thick, wavy ashen hair was styled in a trendy undercut, and he looked every inch the effortless-rock-star most people strived for, but never achieved.

The other guy was solidly built, a little shorter than Asahi, and square-featured–you recognized him from the sketch in Asahi’s sketchbook. His hair was a conservative, short style, but the classic Boy Next Door look was slightly besmirched by the gauged plugs in his ears, the crow tattoo on his neck, the dragon on his upper arm (revealed by the rolled sleeves of his fitted black t-shirt), and the two names on his arm–Sora and Kaiyo. He was leaning heavily on Asahi, and his warm brown eyes caught yours with interest.

Asahi glanced up from the sketch he was working on, shooting you a shy grin; “____! This is… a surprise. What brings you here?”

You shuffled your feet, careful not to drop the vase you were carrying; “I brought you these. You’re always keeping me company, so I figured given that I’m closed today, I’d stop by and say hi. Are these the other artists you were telling me about?”

The one with the floral sleeves shot you a wide grin; “I’m Suga, and this is Daichi. We co-own Black Ink with Asahi. Are those carnations?”

Suga pointed to the vase in your hands and you started a bit; “Hm? Oh, right! Yes! I just figured… if it was ok… Asahi said he liked flowers with texture and volume, so I figured I’d bring them over. They’re low pollen and will last a couple weeks if you keep the water fresh.”

“They’re really pretty, ____. Thanks,” Asahi said sincerely. His smile was so wide and bright, and he had such a precious blush on his face, that it took your breath away. “I’ll put them at my station. I was hoping to get some sketches in today, but… well, you weren’t in. I didn’t realize you closed on Mondays.”

“I don’t get a lot of traffic, so until I get my feet under me, I figured it’s probably not worth turning the lights on,” you replied. “I still stop by to water the plants and stuff, though, so… umm… let me know if you ever want to stop by on a Monday. I can make an exception for you.”

“Ah,” Asahi chuckled shyly, scratching at the back of his neck. It was such an adorable gesture for someone so… large. And sexy. “Well, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to make exceptions for me.”

“What if I want to?” You regretted the words the instant they left your mouth, especially when you got a knowing smirk from Daichi. Asahi’s blush crept up the back of his neck, but he still looked so happy. His warm brown eyes sparkled when he looked at you, and his smile was so wide and sincere it made your stomach drop with exhilration. “To be honest, I’m not here just to deliver flowers and say hi.”


“Yes. I’m… I’m looking to hire you. I’d like you to give me my first tattoo, Asahi.”


He watched you walk out of the store that afternoon with an appointment and a concept sketch that he would finetune over the course of the day. Next Monday… next Monday he would have you at his station, laying back under his hands, totally trusting him to put his art on your body. To be honest, the feeling made butterflies the size of condors flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t hide his goofy grin when he gazed at the flowers you’d brought. He’d thought you were a beautiful person when he’d seen you in the flower shop the first time, and he’d kept going back. Over and over, he would go back, because he wanted you… but that was only if you were willing to share…

As if on cue, Daichi’s chin dropped heavily on his shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the sun kanji under Asahi’s ear.

“____ was cute,” Daichi stated frankly, his deep voice like a balm on Asahi’s nerves. “What do you think?”

“Daichi, you know I love you, right?” Asahi said softly, leaning gently into Daichi’s affectionate touch.

“Of course. And I told you, I’m cool with a third if you are. And like I said, I like ____. They seem cool, and I want to get to know them.”

“You’re sure?” Asahi turned towards Daichi, reassured by his gentle smile and the tight squeeze around his middle. “Alright then… we’ll bring it up when they come in on Monday.”

Daichi buried his face in Asahi’s hair while he set to work on your tattoo. He was so excited, he was even able to ignore Suga’s over-exaggerated gagging noises at their clear show of affection.

Asahi suddenly couldn’t wait for a week to pass.


The look of custom windows, but easier to change. Decorative window film adds personality and privacy to a space, letting natural light in.

A tip: avoid colored window film in a small bathroom. A bathroom needs lots of light in natural tones to make applying makeup, shaving and everything else easier. 


This was the only commission I got at Youmacon 2014. It’s a Gallery Glass window sticker of Lewis, from Mystery Skulls’ “Ghost” animated video. I’d never heard of the thing before, and just thought it was a cool-looking skeleton character, but after so many people recognized him while the paint dried, I had to have a look at the video they kept telling me about. It’s pretty nifty!

As far as the cling itself goes, pretty standard stuff. I had fun using the pearlescent paint on the skull and ribs, with just plain white on the shirt.

When most folks say that they live in a castle, they’re either saying that they have a big house or they’re being sarcastic about how many hours they work at White Castle. But when Howard Solomon says that he lives in a castle, he means that he lives in the actual castle he built himself in the middle of a Florida swamp. Because where else would you put one?

Solomon started out as a junk artist – someone who creates projects out of recycled materials. But he had a hard time selling his works made out of maxi-pad wrappers and old answering machines, so all his art started to pile up. Most of us would have just built a shed or a teepee or whatever; Solomon started building a castle. And he kept building until decades passed and his glorified storage closet clocked in at three stories and over 12,000 square feet. By the time he was done, Solomon’s castle featured a dungeon, towers, and a Spanish galleon in the moat. Not to mention 60 custom-built stained-glass windows.

And the castle itself is as shiny as a knight’s ass, thanks to hundreds of aluminum printing plates that make up the exterior.

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