FABERGE RUSSIAN SILVER & ENAMEL EGG w STAND - Incredible Russian
silver & cobalt enamel egg by Faberge. Has intricate raised design
depicting the Russian double headed eagle, torches, wreaths and
griffins. Mounted with Cabochon garnets to top and bottom. Gold wash
aries ~ seeks opportunities to learn new things, sparks like a firecracker when information and thought is generated, spins at the speed of light, reactive and childlike, magical, overactive, self directed and lively
leo ~ the lights of every star flash in vivid firelight, thoughts are painted into reality in vivid, vibrant, creative expression, thoughts are loud, dominating, the mind is a crowning glory, glowing when amongst creative expedition
sagittarius ~ the universe is enlarged through a kaleidoscope of symbolic glow, seeks to apply philosophy to experience as the pot of gold at the bottom of every intellectual rainbow is found
I don’t know why, but I kept thinking about Harry’s first tattoo this morning.
It happens a few years out of Hogwarts, after Auror training when Harry has enough experience to lead some missions or go onto the field on his own without an older supervisor.
He, Ron, Hermione, and a smattering of others from their lines of work gather every other Friday at their favorite bar tucked into the edge of Diagon Alley. It’s how they unwind after a long week at work, catch up when life becomes too hectic to know what everyone’s up to. And it’s not too popular which allows them to relax without worrying about press or excited citizens.
It’s late, and mostly everyone has decided to head home, but Harry is just tipsy enough that he knows he may get sick after floo-ing home and he can’t concentrate enough for what’s required to apparate. So he exits the bar and wanders down the darkened streets of Diagon Alley to clear his head, thankful that everyone is too wrapped up in their own business to care that Harry Potter is in their vicinity. A few people gasp, nod, and wave at him, which he tries to minimize and keep moving.
He stumbles upon the tattoo shop by accident, ducking into the nearest door when he hears a sharp “Oh! Wait! Is that–?” from behind.
The shop is empty save for a light coming from a back room, and Harry considers leaving again before whoever works here comes out to see him in their shop, but then movement against the wall catches his eye and he’s mesmerized into stillness. The walls are covered with prints, various small designs and occasionally larger pieces scattered all over in a similar aesthetic common in muggle tattoo shops, except these tattoos move. They twirl and interact like the paintings in Hogwarts, though they’re silent while doing so. He sees tiny broomsticks zooming across the walls, butterflies, birds, owls, and even dementors flying alongside them. There are hearts that actually beat, flames that flicker, typewriter text that repeatedly appears and disappears. There’s a whole section of ladies who giggle together, waving and winking when they notice him noticing them. One of the mermaids whispers to her friend and Harry finds himself blushing at artwork, wondering if they can actually gossip in whatever plane of existence these things exist in.
“Sorry mate, we’re closed,” a gruff voice announces behind him and it takes all of Harry’s training to prevent him from flinching or looking like he just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. The man from the back is dressed very casually for Diagon Alley, in a sweater with rolled up sleeves and dark jeans. Before Harry can even register his face, however, his eyes zero in on the moving images on his forearms. He’s not close enough to see details, but he thinks he catches sight of a rose blooming and wilting in a continuous loop. An actual moving tattoo.
“You hear me?” the man asks again, his tone making it clear that Harry isn’t welcome at this time.
“S-sorry,” Harry stutters, still feeling the after affects the drinks. His brain feels slow and clumsy, like he can’t keep up with this new process of information.
He knows he’s recognized as soon as the man’s eyes flicker to the scar on his forehead. Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to care all that much about who he is. “Boy savior or not, we’re closed. I know I didn’t lock up yet but we aren’t open until 11 tomorrow. If you want a tat I suggest you come back then.” There’s a pregnant pause and the man’s eyes seem to see through him. “When you’re sober.”
“I wasn’t looking to get a tattoo,” Harry tries to explain.
“Then you’re really in the wrong place.” He gestures to the door and Harry turns to leave, not wanting to get on this guy’s wrong side or continue invading a closed shop.
Right as he’s about to open the door, a flash of gold jerks away from the handle and Harry’s eyes (tipsy or not) are fixed on the familiar movement. He follows the shiny blur as it streaks across the walls, avoiding all of the other designs with ease before settling in the back corner, nearly disappearing within a pot of gold at the bottom of a rainbow. A snitch. He hasn’t played quidditch in so long…
“If you change your mind you can come back tomorrow, kid. Closed means no more customers.” Harry considers making a comment about not being a kid anymore but decides against it, leaving the shop and walking out onto the thankfully empty street.
Harry returns to the bar and uses their floo to make it back home. He thankfully doesn’t throw up but he lays awake in bed that night thinking about that tattoo shop, imagining all the different pieces of art people could have moving on their bodies.
He can’t stop thinking about the shop. It’s been a month and he’s still thinking about it. His brain has started to imagine different moving pieces on his own body and he spends a much longer time shirtless in front of the mirror considering what it might look like. He asks around, and not many people seem to have these sorts of tattoos. “I’ve heard about it,” Auror Johnson tells him, “But I think it’s new. Tattoos have always been more popular with muggles.”
Hermione tells him that tattoos, permanent markers, have always been something wizards are cautious of. Something about ancient runes and the connection between artist and canvas.
Ron scoffs loudly and explains the story of Bill and Charlie’s little adventure to get tattoos years back. How his mom had been furious and forbade any of the rest of them from even thinking about doing the same. “She’s popped in on us in the shower before, just to make sure.” Harry doesn’t have to ask to know that Charlie probably has a wicked dragon tattoo somewhere on his person.
The more he thinks about it, the more anxious he is to return to the tattoo shop.
He goes back three months after the accidental entry. He’s walked past the outside numerous times, always passing it when he’s in the area getting drinks. The bright neon TATTOO sign out front is magical, the winding neon strands changing fonts and colors as it hovers in front of the shop. It’s calling out to him, literally and metaphorically.
He makes an appointment that night, right before closing, and the shop owner warns him against drinking beforehand. Because 1) he won’t do a tattoo Harry will change his mind about and 2) it doesn’t actually help you ignore the pain like people think it will. Magical tattoos don’t hurt any less than muggle ones.
Harry figures if he can die and come back to life that a tattoo won’t be so bad.
That night he goes home and immediately strips off his t-shirt, standing in front of the mirror, smiling at the reddened flesh on his ribs that’s wrapped up and in a still position until it’s healed enough. It should be ready within a few days, the shop owner had said. Harry stares at the design in the mirror, giddy with excitement at his reckless decision for the first time in too long.
It becomes a game of sorts for Harry to play a Seeker’s game in the mirror after a shower or when he’s brushing his teeth. The golden snitch flits around his body with speed that’s startlingly accurate, wings fluttering at a pace that’s nearly invisible to the naked eye. It disappears behind his back, around his arms, hides itself in his hair. His hand jerks out to catch it right as it ducks down his neck, chest, under his pants. Harry laughs, feeling comfortable in this skin with it’s new companion.
He wakes up the next morning with the sunlight streaming into his bedroom through the light colored curtains. His vision is blurry without his glasses, but he sees the snitch tucked in his right palm, wings folded inside almost as if it too is sleeping. Harry curls his fingers, mouth twitched into a sleepy grin, and falls back asleep.
with mercury in sagittarius the universe is enlarged through a kaleidoscope of symbolic glow. the individual seeks to apply philosophy to experience as the pot of gold at the bottom of every intellectual rainbow is found
Hello my lovelies! It’s Saturday which means… another Otayuri fic rec list YAY!!! I’m SO, SO proud of this fandom HOLY SHIT I can’t believe that within a month since episode 10 of YOI aired, we’ve already churned out this much amazing content…!!! I love you guys so much!!! <3
Okay, now get ready for my weekly screaming (tho I’m going to try, key word being TRY, to be more coherent)…
WELP. IF I THOUGHT THE FIRST PART KILLED ME THEN THE SECOND PART KILLED ME EVEN MORE UMMMM HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE??? Dawnstruck is probably one of my all time favorite fic writers their writing is SO gorgeous and exquisite I’M SOBBING GO READ HER WRITING RIGHT THIS INSTANT I DEMAND YOU
I SPENT THE ENTIRETY OF THIS FIC DYING YOU DON’T EVEN UNDERSTAND I STILL CAN’T COHERENTLY EXPRESS HOW AMAZING THIS FIC IS (also… the writer is an AMAZING ARTIST how the fuck are people so multi-talented I swear to god)
THIS IS SUCH A CREATIVE AND BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN FIC??? Oh my god, the characterization is so great and it’s so awesome watching Otabek and Yuri’s relationship progress over the years…!!! A+++ WOULD RECOMMEND