Handwriting tattoos

Tattoos

2008.06.24 03:01 Tattoos

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2008.06.15 05:00 Welcome to r/tattoo

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2012.09.13 05:52 BBS- Penmanship Porn

Penmanship Porn
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2024.05.22 20:55 hannahrose124683 made tattoo appointment, now just need jack to draw it

hi!!! so like the title says, i’m going to be traveling with family in july and my uncle is going to take me to get tattoos! i just confirmed the appointment and everything so like i really really need jack to write what i want LOLLLL its kinda a long shot IK but i really really really want “IWGB” in his handwriting! i will be at the salt shed chicago on saturday and im gonna try to bring a sign that says “draw me a tattoo?” so DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY TIPS TO GET HIM TO NOTICE AND DO IT??? im so so so nervous and im only 5’0 so im short idk if he will be able to see me if im not barricade and IDK HOW TO GET BARRICADE PLSSSS someone help me!!
submitted by hannahrose124683 to bleachers [link] [comments]


2024.05.22 18:27 Fun_Professional_864 Everything Has Changed parallels

Everything Has Changed parallels
Wanted to see if anyone else bites with this theory. There are a lot of parallels in this MV.
1st. Image: they are watching a video of the Eiffel Tower on a projector, reminiscent of obviously both of their songs Paris. Seems to have a significance to both of them, maybe Paris is where they go in their minds, or they actually physically went and spent time together. Also reminds me of the projector at the top of the Lover house.
2nd image: Reminiscent of IKYWT and Robbers, the boy playing the guitar for his blond love interest. ;)
3rd image: ILL BUILD YOU A FORT ON SOME PLANET / Matty’s fort
4th image: Painting their faces in the mirror, just like them both wiping off their faces in the mirror in separate music videos. They paint their faces or put on masks.
4th and 5th image: She is tattooing his arm, but this reminds me so much of the IKYWT video where she watches the Matty stand in get “Love” tattooed on his arm. The whole “love” tattoo theorized to be in Taylor’s handwriting, or the one who tattooed him even?
Final images: dancing alone in the gym. Both of them have many references to the two of them dancing alone with no one else around. Reminds me of the whole delicate debacle and scenes in Lover, as well as many the 1975 MVs where the two leads dance alone together.
Please let me know what you guys think or if you can pick anything else out :) excuse any grammar mistakes I wrote this furiously on my break in my car lol
submitted by Fun_Professional_864 to taylorandmatty [link] [comments]


2024.05.22 07:35 TheJoshingYou Shut up Sukuna, lime green

Simply put, the honored one, our true goat, is returning (not using Lime Green). But in all seriousness, we will be seeing: "UNLIMITED VOID" at the beginning of 261. (Big ol' sacrificed one of the six eyes to be brought back?)
HAZARD_LEVEL_SEVEN will fail, I can already see the strained wrist from all that handwriting.... And I'm looking forward to my note.
This is no theory, but I'll add some fun to game: 1. WHEN. not if. When Gojo returns in the coming chapter (whether that be 261, or 26X after some Hakari smashing androgynous twinks for a few chapters) I will get a tattoo, to honor the truly Honored one; so that my skin will permanently be a shrine to the man I would drag my dick through molten glass to be pegged by.
Or
  1. If Greg be fuckin with us, and Gojo doesn't fully return (not gonna be the case), I will still get a small tattoo, on my left butt cheek, and at the mercy of HAZARD_LEVEL_SEVEN (small words? meme? fraudkuna? Who cares, it won't happen)
Gojo Dick riders rise up
submitted by TheJoshingYou to Jujutsufolk [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 15:18 Taraptor_17 Next Tattoo

Heyo all, I’ve got a question. So im planning for my next tattoo and I want it to be a Markiplier quote. One that I was thinking was “You may fail, but you fail in a wonderful way.” He said that to Ethan in the Markiplier Makes Pancakes. It makes me feel happy, cause I often make mistakes or fail stupidly, but it’s typically pretty funny. I was also thinking, the most stupid thing, putting “You Right” on my right wrist. There’s just something so stupid but so funny about that, and it could be helpful(I somehow forget rights and lefts). But if anyone has some other, clean as it will be on my body forever, awesome Markiplier quotes that could be a cool tattoo, please put them in the comments. I also plan to have my mom write them in her handwriting to make it extra special.
submitted by Taraptor_17 to Markiplier [link] [comments]


2024.05.19 08:06 Mantis_Shrimp47 The monster in the sand dunes turned my brother into a bird

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.
submitted by Mantis_Shrimp47 to nosleep [link] [comments]


2024.05.17 13:52 Clean-Dog9354 Sufjan's handwriting?

I'm looking to get a tattoo of some Sufjan lyrics and was looking for anything with his handwriting but can't find anything?
Thank you x
submitted by Clean-Dog9354 to Sufjan [link] [comments]


2024.05.16 23:51 honeyblood2001 Handwriting Tattoo Recs

looking to get a tattoo of my grandmother’s handwriting soon. I have the handwriting from a card that she gave me for my birthday a few years ago. I know technically anyone can do handwriting tattoo since they just scan it and stencil it on, but wondering if anyone has any recommendations since it will be a special tattoo for me (:
submitted by honeyblood2001 to Sacramento [link] [comments]


2024.05.16 00:43 LPChick Can anyone please make these letters in plain b+w to spell out mine? I don’t want to lose the handwriting, It’s for a tattoo ❤️ thank you ❤️

Can anyone please make these letters in plain b+w to spell out mine? I don’t want to lose the handwriting, It’s for a tattoo ❤️ thank you ❤️ submitted by LPChick to PhotoshopRequest [link] [comments]


2024.05.15 03:25 eli-the-egg Recs for a handwriting tattoo?

I want to get handwriting from a note that a family member wrote for me tattooed, but would like to know if anyone has gotten any that they really liked/healed well, or could recommend an artist that could manage it. It's pretty thin script and only 4 words. TIA
submitted by eli-the-egg to ColumbiaMD [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 22:41 wubbalubbadubdubber handwriting tattoo recommendations

I'm looking for someone who does handwriting tattoos, not a man, ideally a trans woman as this tattoo centers around my being trans and I'd like someone who Gets It to do the ink.
submitted by wubbalubbadubdubber to madisonwi [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 00:26 fxck_off762 memorial tattoo!

memorial tattoo!
i got this for my papaw, and yes the handwriting is supposed to be shakey!! he had very shakey hands, so his writing looked like chicken scratch. i just wanted to share and let everyone be aware, coil machines are NOT good for your skin (neither is a 75 year old dude) he was extremely heavy handed, not straight lines. my artist has fixed it up a little on the very bottom like but i'm going to get it touched up next session. coil machines literally will tear your skin, cause blowouts, and unfortunately if used incorrectly leave it feeling bumpy forever. i just need some reassurance, does it look fixable? i know this tattoo is awfully done but please be respectful to ME, ya'll can shit on the artist all you want because he retired.
submitted by fxck_off762 to tattooadvice [link] [comments]


2024.05.13 00:21 CheekyGeekyStickers D&Dollies S2 Tribute - the SonDads

D&Dollies S2 Tribute - the SonDads
So I had to add the name tattoos to Lark & Sparrow because it’s CANON, but I have really bad handwriting so I got nail stickers instead. I’m hoping sealing the tattoos with matte acrylic spray will make them look better.
Also Nicky is a DEMON so I had to make him horns, but I didn’t want to make them permanent so I made a headband version. Then also gave him tattoos 🤣 I know both of the horn shapes aren’t perfect but I think it blends in well enough with his hair to look realistic!
submitted by CheekyGeekyStickers to u/CheekyGeekyStickers [link] [comments]


2024.05.12 00:20 _r_pinto_ Best placement for script tattoos that don’t take away from larger areas?

So i’m not normally a person that gets tattoos that have meaning, but there’s now two script tats i want that do have a ton of meaning (they would be in family members handwriting) and im wondering where i can place them so they don’t take away from a larger piece. i am currently working on a american trad patchwork sleeve on one arm and have it about 40% done. i just started on getting one leg sleeved out and want to cover my chest/ stomach too. what are some placements for a small quote that wont take away from these or look awkward?
submitted by _r_pinto_ to traditionaltattoos [link] [comments]


2024.05.11 19:13 Socksfrommars Newly done tattoos!

Newly done tattoos!
Recently got these two done! song title is written in my mother’s handwriting as twenty one pilots is both of our favourite band! can’t wait to see what the future holds for top tattoos!❤️
submitted by Socksfrommars to twentyonepilots [link] [comments]


2024.05.10 18:03 SaraTyler OTD in 1990 Good Omens was first published and I made myself a present

OTD in 1990 Good Omens was first published and I made myself a present
Maybe some of you may remember the tattoo I got after Season 2. I decided to add another bit to it, and I booked next appointment for today, not remembering the anniversary.
But it seems a really poignant and cute coincidence, isn't it?
New fragment is Neil's quote in his own handwriting, what do you goblins think?
https://preview.redd.it/5wu7evwogmzc1.jpg?width=720&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3cc0d9d25d6560bfa0172c4391a71a048276527b
submitted by SaraTyler to GoodOmensAfterDark [link] [comments]


2024.05.10 12:06 Vrehvycnrvx 31m/nb - throwing this into the ether

Hi! Every once in a while I get some sort of yankering for connection, so here I am. I don’t always have the most bandwidth, but I’d love a friend.
I like listening to music and going out to shows when I can, watching films and tv shows, hiking, riding my bike, looking at art/photography, tattoos and piercings, roadtrips, baked goods (and most food), walking around new cities (especially overseas), and I get especially excited when exploring cool shit like abandoned buildings and cemeteries.
I generally like learning new things, even if I rarely have the capacity to read a novel, and I pretty much always have 150+ internet tabs open at any given moment.
I have pretty left politics, I think, and I try to exercise kindness and empathy in my daily life. Im not an optimist, but I still try to give people the benefit of the doubt.
I’m definitely somewhere on the ADHD and autism spectrums. I suppose it’d be helpful if you were also neurodivergent, even just vaguely, but also these things seem to matter less online than in person, so it’s not a big issue.
I also struggle with depression, and if that’s something you could relate to, even just vaguely, I’d probably feel more comfortable! But, I mean, shoot your shot anyway.
I’d say that I’m vaguely gender-nonconforming, though I realize that 99% of people will code me as a man, and I guess these days Im more accepting of the fact. That said, I do generally prefer they/them pronouns.
Feel free to reach out if any of this spoke to you. I’m fine with messaging on here but I especially like writing long-form e-mails, especially in the getting-to-know-you stage but also not exclusively. Like a penpal for someone who loathes handwriting and has too much executive dysfunction to mail a letter.
18+ definitely, 25+ probably, but it doesn’t have to be a strict thing, we can just see what our comfort levels are.
Thanks for reading!
submitted by Vrehvycnrvx to MakeNewFriendsHere [link] [comments]


2024.05.10 04:16 60beesinatrenchcoat Finally got my forest tattoo!!

Finally got my forest tattoo!!
I got my forest tattoo :) the word “forest” is also written in Tyler’s handwriting !!
submitted by 60beesinatrenchcoat to twentyonepilots [link] [comments]


2024.05.09 21:56 DavidRcv13 goner tattoo in tyler's handwriting

hello everyone! i was wondering if there's a picture or something of "goner" in tyler's handwriting? i wanna get that tattooed but he forgot to write goner on his latest post on instagram w all their records.. and if i don't find that, i should be able to get the letters from the other songs written by tyler and put them togheter to say "goner", right? thank u all!!! -/
submitted by DavidRcv13 to twentyonepilots [link] [comments]


2024.05.09 18:52 Jamolameo sza handwriting for good days tattoo

Does anyone have or know where to find the handwritten lyrics of good days or just “good days” in her handwriting?
My two friends and I want to get matching tattoos because we all became friends when we were the only people in a bar belting the lyrics of good days :,)
5 years later and we still are screaming sza at every bar.
If anyone can help I appreciate you!!!!
submitted by Jamolameo to sza [link] [comments]


2024.05.09 07:12 Winter_Pitch_1180 Best advice for handwriting tattoo?

Best advice for handwriting tattoo?
Hi! My grandma passed away a month or so ago and she was like a mother to me. My mom found a card my grandma wrote me and never got to send so she sent it and it has some beautiful sentiments in it and I’d like to get it tattooed.
Anything I need to consider? I’m hoping to have it pretty fine but I have another tattoo that was incredibly fine lined when it was done and now 5+ years later has blown out (idk if that’s the right term) a bit (pic in comments) Should I expect that with any fine tattoo? I have a fairly fine one on the back of my arm but it’s also more recent so idk how to compare.
I’ve also read on here a bit about tattoos getting raised in response to allergies or possible immune disorders. I don’t have any known immune issues but I have crazy allergies and one of my tattoos does get raised up from time to time
Attached a pic of the handwriting, I’m thinking of using “your natural state is joy” and doing it on my forearm.
submitted by Winter_Pitch_1180 to tattooadvice [link] [comments]


2024.05.09 03:25 lashedcobra Tattoos of handwriting

So I'm almost asking out of curiosity, but I had a friend who wanted to get her mother's handwriting tattooed on her. The artist said that the way the handwriting was that it would fade quickly and be difficult if not impossible to touch up. Why couldn't the artist have just made the font bolder? Is there something about handwriting tattoos I'm missing?
submitted by lashedcobra to tattooadvice [link] [comments]


2024.05.08 22:16 spideysensesorautism I’m waiting to get a tattoo that says always keep fighting and I’d like it to be in Jensen, Jared, and misha’s handwriting I saw this online anyone know if it’s actually in their writing?

I’m waiting to get a tattoo that says always keep fighting and I’d like it to be in Jensen, Jared, and misha’s handwriting I saw this online anyone know if it’s actually in their writing? submitted by spideysensesorautism to Supernatural [link] [comments]


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