tell-me-if-you-want-anything-changed!

Strictly Professional

Summary: You recognized the problematic customers the second you saw them. Lin, however, took the cake with being the most memorable client you’ve ever had. (TattooArtist!Reader)

Paring: Lin x reader

Words: 4,428

A/N:Thank you to @strongenoughfoundation for being awesome and giving me tips for certain parts of the story (you’re the queen of dialogue)! Also, thank you to @how-could-i-do-this for proofreading (I’m glad i’m getting better at not switching tenses lol). I wrote this in celebration of my first tattoo lol! Thanks for reading!

Edit: @whenthingsgettoughdontpushmeaway - I remember you asking to be tagged when I posted. @buckybarneshairpullingkink - You already read it, but I didn’t forget (well, I did, but ya know lol)


“Is that him?” you mumbled to your coworker Liz as you emerged from your room to the front desk, watching the man that paced back and forth in front of the parlor.

You could always spot the first-timers the instant you looked at them. You could sense the excitement and nervousness rolling off them in waves, their bodies tense from the anticipation of the ink that would soon permanently mark their skin.

But him?

It was more like a tsunami of emotions, crashing and tumbling over his body as he questioned his decision to get a tattoo. You felt it before you even stepped foot into the same room as him.

“It’s so unfair that you always get the cute ones,” Liz whispered as she handed you his paperwork. She had an appointment in ten minutes, and with the piece being a fairly large and intricate one, she passed him off to you.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring her comment and scanned his papers, noting his name and birthdate. “Lin?” you called.

He spun on his heel at his name, his swift steps having him in front of the desk within seconds. “Hi, yes, that’s me,” he answered quickly.

You inwardly sighed, knowing exactly what kind of patron he was going to be: the spazz that spoke too much, asked too many questions, and would hold his breath until he turned blue. “My name is Y/N and I’ll be with you today. What kind of tattoo would you like Lin?” you asked, watching as he nervously drummed his fingers against the counter.

His eyes widened, looking at you disbelievingly. “You’re the one giving me the tattoo?”

The neck cramp that you got when you handled frustrating customers reared its ugly head. “Yes. This is a fairly small tattoo shop and you just happened to come in last minute, without an appointment…” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes and challenging him to say anything further.

“I didn’t expect someone that looked like you to give me a tattoo. I’ve always pictured a big, burly man and not a beautiful woman that…” Lin trailed off, sighing when he realized what an ass he must have sounded, “I’m just going to shut up now. Sorry.”

Keep reading

[ back to you. ]

ft. @kgjitae

when bang yongguk finds himself looking on to the crowd with an expression of boredom at the bar on a friday night, he takes a moment to re-evaluate his choices that had led him there in the first place. other agents had, unsurprisingly enough with their lack of funny jokes and originality, hit him with the classic ‘wow, i didn’t know you had a life’ to which he responded ‘i don’t.’ and there was a seedy sort of determination to prove that he wasn’t as socially stunted as people thought he was.

understandably enough the regret is seeping in when he finds that he’s probably arrived an hour too late and there’s nobody with the panache to properly make his night or buy him a drink. it leaves him looking despairingly lonely and after one last glance at his phone he decides that it’s better to be labeled as anti-social than pathetic

except the moment he decides to stand up and turn around, something (someone) shorter decides it’s the perfect time to attempt to walk right into him. there’s a split second of confusion before he feels the liquid down the front of his shirt and his irritation flares so quickly that it’s almost comical. he scoffs. “ are you fucki— ”

his eyes flutter down and. pause. suddenly, there’s a ringing in his ears and the sinking feeling of his stomach, anger dies down and his mouth suddenly feels dry.

“ah.” he says. “it’s you.”

An aesthetic for Neku Sakuraba (The World Ends with You) who misses his boyfriend Riku (Kingdom Hearts) with beaches/clear water, music oriented items, and soft things with a purple blue/turquoise theme. I hope you feel better soon Neku!

House to Home

When the doorbell rang, Steve was expecting Bucky. “Hey, asth-” He cut himself off, flushing with embarrassed surprise. Curse his Irish skin.

The businesswoman simply raised an eyebrow, silently inviting him to continue.

“Ah-” Steve fumbled. “Pepper, hi, I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I thought that you said it would take a month or so to find a suitable contractor…” He trailed off, hoping that the prompt would be sufficient invitation.

Pepper stifled a smile, taking pity on him. Steve and Bucky were one of the nicest couples she’d ever had to find a designer for. That she’d snagged a good one for them was genuinely satisfying. “Actually, I found one earlier than expected. He’s a good friend of mine, so he has ‘first dibs’-” Actual air quotes were made. “- on every project that comes across my desk. He liked your ideas and house, and wants to be your designer.”

Steve frowned. He was certain that anyone Pepper had befriended was more than competent- Pepper did not suffer fools. But their designer needed more than competence. They needed somebody that wouldn’t balk at making sure that the whole house was accessible in case Bucky’s prosthetic got damaged. They needed somebody who would pay attention when Steve told them about his issues with loud sounds and bright lights. And they needed somebody who wouldn’t break their bank. Better start with the first one. “Has he designed anything for disabled people before?” He ventured.

“Never.” Pepper admitted. “He has done buildings that are disabled-accessible in general, but never anything tailored to specific disabled people. But I did bring that up with him, and he thinks that he’s up for the challenge. If it helps, he has chronic pain, so he does know what it’s like to need accommodations.”

Steve nodded slowly.  Okay. This guy was beginning to sound like he might work. “Will he listen to our aesthetic requirements?”

Pepper laughed. “Sure. Just make sure to get everything. He listens really well to specs, but he tends to get tunnel vision if he has an idea that he really likes. But Bucky’s pretty outspoken, and you’re not too timid either. I think you’ll be able to rein him in. Do you want fish?”

“What? No, not really?”

“Then you need to tell him that straight off.” Pepper informed him. “He will put as many fishtanks as he can in anything that he designs.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a couple times. “Why.”

Pepper shrugged. “Well, he spoils his fish. He can’t imagine anyone neglecting them like many do. And he likes their aesthetic. Very fond of using glass, crystal, anything transparent. Is that all right?”

Steve considered. “That could be an issue. But like you said, Buck and I can probably set him straight.” He hesitated. “How does he charge?”

“By the project, on a sliding scale based on wealth. For yours, he says he’ll charge about fifty thousand.”

Stece’s eyebrows creased in a frown. That was the upper limit of their budget… “Can we meet with him and discuss the project?” He asked. “Or do we need to hire him before that?”

Pepper’s eyes went distant with thought. “Mmm… I’ll see what he says, and give you a call tomorrow. What do you want to do if he declines a meeting?”

There was a long, heavy pause. “What, in your professional opinion, are our chances of getting a more accommodating designer if we turn him down?”

“Close to zero. He’s eccentric, but very understanding and caring. He has a lot of energy, and is fully equipped to design a house that will be functional and beautiful.”

The prompt response sounded almost rehearsed. Pepper had come here ready to defend her choice of designer.

Steve hoped that she was right about him. “Alright. When should I expect the call?”

Her lips parted in a pleased smile. “Around eleven. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rogers.” Pepper turned on her heel and strode out the door.

A mildly ruffled Steve stood there for a couple minutes, worrying about if their designer would really be compatible with them. In the end, he shrugged, then went back to watching The Sound of Music. And hoped that Bucky hurried up with the damn groceries.

What do you think, Rei? I may have Steve be on the spectrum. It’s the main thing I think of for sensory issues. Tony has chronic pain because of a slightly, but not life threateningly, botched heart surgery that’s too delicate to go back in and fix. 

The fish are not major characters, but he has a tortoise named Dummy that he’s trained to fetch him tools. His two dogs, Butterfingers and You, are much more helpful.

You can publish this, ask me questions, and tell me if there’s anything you want changed. If you like, I’ll try to continue this. I’d prefer to publish it as an anon, so maybe tag it remodeling AU? Congrats, your blog may have a new AU and you’re not even the one writing it.

Man, this is beautiful. I can’t wait for more! (Traumatic brain injuries can result with sensitivities to light and sound of varying degrees but I’m actually really digging the idea of Spectrum Steve!)

Now this isn’t really directed at you, just an in general thing, but: If ya’ll are writing me something, I’m not gonna ask you to change anything!!! I’m so flattered you’re taking time out of your lives to write something for me, and I enjoy seeing all of your ideas! I don’t wanna stifle that creativity. :) (Tbh the only the I would ever ask someone to change is if there was some sort of sexual assault taking place and even then if you tagged it’d be okay.)

@valflame || Starter Call

    Today is the day, he has decided. No more hiding himself behind pillars or doors like a small child; no more pretending that he did not hear the man when he attempts to grab his attention; no more turning corners the moment he sees his form or hears his voice; no more avoiding his gaze in court; no more speaking to him through other people– today, he is going to talk to the older male, his father. What has come over the high priest, he knows not, however Saias finds himself standing before the grand entrance to the other’s study, grasping the body of a staff in a single hand as though it might be his lifeline. A heart which usually resides at a steady, comfortable rate gradually quickens, sending waves of nausea through his form with each and every pulse, unnerving the renowed tactician greatly, and in a manner not unlike a convicted thief walking towards their executioner. 

     For twenty-seven years, this man has felt like naught but a stranger in the high priest’s life, and with each passing day, such a feeling only grows worse. In his mind, the tactician fears that the other sees him as mistake he must distance himself from and forget about, and through years of self-doubt, amplified by the death of his beloved mother, Aida, the thought has become akin to gospel to the young man. Perhaps, by gazing upon his son’s visage, Arvis sees himself, or maybe doing so only brings back memories of his womanising father, and that is why the male has remained so distant. In that case, would he even want to see him? His bastard son– his firstborn child, conceived out of wedlock?

     Most likely not, Saias tells himself, yet this yearning in his chest screams to at least try to speak with him, even if the conversation harbours no true meaning. Thus, the tactician’s free hand moves to one of the doors, and collides with its surface but three times, each action evoking a sharp, loud sound before the male clears his thraot, and finally speaks up.

          “…Lord Arvis?”

     The word ‘father’ burns in his throat, fighting to make itself heard, yet with a harsh swallow, each sound breaks down into nothing, for if someone herd him usher that, the outcome would be disastrous. That being said, would the man even recognise his voice? Such a thought only paves the way for more doubts and worries, prompting pale lips to purse themselves into a tight, anxious line. How pathetic this is– someone with his reputation, terrified of talking to his own blood. A man who could lead an entire army, and hold in his hands the lives of hundreds, yet turns into naught but a little, frightened child at the prospect of talking with his own father. This should not be so hard, and yet it feels as though someone has asked him to walk on water– to achieve the impossible. There is no task harder in the world to this young man than speaking to his father; someone who seemingly distanced himself from his son, and the high priest now distances himself from like the plague.

    His pause is dragging on far too long– it must be annoying Arvis, or at least is lighting the fire that is his suspicions. Whether the older man recognises his voice or not– whether he lets him in, or rejects his presence, like the younger male fears he will–, at least Saias can say to himself firmly that he has at least tried to speak with him. Today, his greatest fear will either be realised, or proven wrong entirely. 
     He prays to God that it is the latter which the fates are favouring.

          “May I enter?”

- Hansol from Topp Dogg + pink MOODBOARD for @flightofthepigeon -

(cred. to the owners of the pictures)

I hope you liked it! Please tell me if you want me to change anything and i’ll do it as fast as I can ^^💕