Monday: Ink

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Good morning! I'm hobnailedboots and I'll be hosting this week. \o/

Prompts today must have something to do with ink: what's a character writing or reading? Is someone getting a tattoo? Is the darkness inky-black?

As always, remember the rules:

-No more than five prompts in a row. If someone fills one of your prompts, you are then free to prompt again!
-No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
-No spoilers in prompts!
-If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space!

Prompts should be formatted as follows:
-Fandom, Character+/Character, Prompt

Some examples that show both how to prompt and also that I have a thing about tattoos:

-Supernatural, Dean+/Castiel, End!verse: Dean knew Castiel had changed beyond recognition, but despite the orgies and the drugs he's somehow still shocked when he catches a glimpse of Castiel's tattoo.
-Harry Potter, any, even if he/she removes the Dark Mark people will always call him/her a Death Eater.
-Merlin, Morgana, she makes the druids tattoo her until she's someone else entirely.

Have fun, everyone!

tag=ink

Comments

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Dean+/Castiel, End!verse: Dean knew Castiel had changed beyond all recognition, but despite the orgies and the drugs he was somehow still shocked to catch a glimpse of Castiel's tattoo

[kim47.livejournal.com]

A/N: This is 2009!Dean/2014!Cas, hope that's okay!

---

It's strange, after seeing what Cas had become - the drugs, the orgies, the attitude - that this can still shock Dean, perhaps more than any of it. His hands, a minute ago tearing frantically at this Castiel's clothes, still, and he stares.

"What is it, why are you stopping?" Cas demands, his eyes too bright, his voice too brittle.

Dean brushes his thumb across the ink on Cas's chest, tracing the familiar shape of it.

"When did you... " he asks hesitantly.

Cas is silent for a moment.

"Right after the angels left," he says quietly. When I realised that I could never go home, is what he means.

It was clearly done in a hurry, the edges a little ragged, some scarring visible. It makes something in Dean ache, this final evidence that Cas is human now, that this body he inadvertently stole from Jimmy Novak can just as easily be taken from him.

"Who did it?" he asks. He can't stop touching it, running his fingers along the smoothness of Cas's skin, as if he can erase it if he rubs at it hard enough.

He hopes he knows the answer, hopes that despite the angry, lost person he's become in the future, he was at least the one to do this for Castiel.

"You did." Cas meets his eyes now, and he smiles. It's not the wide, disoncerting grin of earlier, but something smaller, just a tiny movement of lips. It's familiar. "You got me drunk first, and it still hurt like a bitch. Then afterwards we..." His voice trails off and the smile flickers and dies. "That was the last time."

Dean can't say anything to that - how do you begin to apologise for things you haven't done yet? - and instead he leans down to kiss Cas, to lick and suck and bite, to try and make him forget, just for a little while. He thinks he succeeds, from the way Cas pants and moans, from the "fuck, yes, so good Dean" he groans as he comes.

And after, Cas falls asleep, curled up against him, his palm resting over the matching tattoo on Dean's chest.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, any, even if he/she removes the Dark Mark people will always call him/her a Death Eater.

Filled

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

It's a stain on his soul. A visible manifestation of his family's fall from grace.

Oh they still get invited to all the best parties and no one would dream of refusing an invitation to one of his own. But no matter how well he charms them, how much he is seen doting on children, donating to charity and the like Draco can still hear the whispers.

They whisper to each other behind their drinks and little finger foods about how much Draco is like his father. About the cold arrogance he has learned to wrap around himself like a sheild against the world. He sees them glance at hs left arm, as though they can see the Dark Mark.

One mistake: almost immediately regretted but never forgotten nor truely forgiven.

No matter how many people fawn and coo and beg for Draco's favor behind his back they all whisper cruel words to each other about him and his family.

Draco almost forbids Scorpious his friendship with Potter's younger son, but his mind whispers that Potter had had the right of it in the end and so he says nothing.

People gossip, of course, and warn Potter about bad blood. Draco never bothers to learn Potter's reaction to that advice; too busy with the howlers that rain down on him: accusing him of plotting evil deads and corrupting Albus Potter.

Sometimes it's too much and Astoria will be entreated by a hysterical house elf to make Draco stop hurting himself. No matter if he scrubs until he bleeds, slices the skin away layer by layer or he simply hexes the mark away he can always see it just waiting to re-appear on the smooth pale skin of his inner forearm.

Draco knows others still see it too. Knows it in the way they make warding gestures as he passes on the street, hissing "Death Eater" at his back and to each other when they think he can't hear them over the music.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Morgana, she makes the druids tattoo her until she's someone else entirely.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Henriksen, they let him live because Lilith thought that would be more fun. He dreams of their ink-black eyes and her white gaze, but most of all he dreams of revenge.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

White Collar, Peter/Neal, cruel words that can't be erased

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Hawaii Five-0 RPS, Scott/Alex, inked up.

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

Grimm, Nick/Monroe - alpha!Nick, marks of ownership

No fic, but....

[hawk-dancing.livejournal.com]

I think you may have just exploded my brain. O.O

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

Glee, Kurt/Blaine - Kurt never would have imagined that Blaine would have a tattoo... or where or what that tattoo would be

Fill: Black Bird, PG 1/3

[nevcolleil.livejournal.com]

Kurt's never been a very big fan of tattoos. Even putting aside its relationship to the use of painful, possibly unhygienic needles, Kurt finds tatooing uncivilized. A tatoo is, essentially, an accessory one can never, never take off, and Kurt just doesn't see why someone would choose to limit themselves in such a way.

However...

It's hard not to find Blaine's tattoo sexy, when Kurt discovers it.

It's a small, intricately detailed bird resting in the hollow beneath the jut of Blaine's right hip. It's tiny, ink wings are not stretched in flight, obscuring more of Blaine's perfect, blemish-free skin than necessary, but rather curled as if just unfolding; as if the bird is only just thinking about taking flight, having decided upon its destination.

"It's- it's a commemoration," Blaine stumbles over an explanation, seeing Kurt staring at it. "Of discovering something I- I hadn't really anticipated finding. And never want to forget." He looks at Kurt with such intensity... Kurt is sure he's trying to say something with his gaze.

'Belonging,' Kurt guesses, brushing a fingertip over the bird's black feathers sadly. 'Once a Warbler, always a Warbler.' And the urge to apologize balloons in his chest. Blaine didn't leave Dalton just to be with Kurt... He's said as much, and although Kurt doesn't necessarily, one-hundred-percent believe him, he knows that Blaine has found ways to belong at McKinley as well; with the New Directions. With Kurt.

Still, it's a humbling thing - to have someone give up everything for him, and the tattoo bird reminds Kurt of Blaine's sacrifice. Only the purpose of Kurt's position, on his knees at Blaine's feet, deflates Kurt's sudden attack of the maudlin. (Who says 'I'm sorry' while giving his boyfriend a blowjob?) And the heat, the weight of Blaine in Kurt's hand, the stretch of him in Kurt's mouth... his scent, his taste... are exponentially more interesting than the discussion of body art, so Kurt lets the conversation die.

As the room fills with Blaine's soft 'oh's and quiet 'Kurt's, Kurt can't miss it.

[anidawehi.livejournal.com]

BBC Sherlock, John/or & Sherlock, If John had imagined Sherlock with a tattoo at all, he wouldn't have imagined it to be anything as frailly beautiful as a fractal tree (http://onlyfractals.com/image-Fractal_Tree.php)

[anidawehi.livejournal.com]

BBC Sherlock, John / or & Sherlock, Of COURSE he could identify the killer based on the ink on the bottom of the victim's shoe, but did he have to *lick* it?

FILL: Noodler's Eternal, Hunter Green - PG

[tj-teejay.livejournal.com]

"Honestly, Sherlock, did you have to lick it!?"

There was that look on Sherlock's face, the one that spelled exasperation, eye-rolling and sighing—all at the same time. "How else would I have been able to prove that it was Noodler's Eternal, Hunter Green?"

"And for that you had to lick it?"

"Fastest way of identifying it. Would you rather I'd had it sent to the lab and waited three weeks for the results, giving our serial killer ample opportunity to decapitate another estimated four bodies?"

"No," John quickly acknowledged. He drew in a breath and steepled his fingers. "So tell me, what does Noodler's Eternal, Hunter Green taste of?"

The triumphant glint in Sherlock's eyes was hard to miss. "Oh yes. Very distinct aroma. The bitterness on the tip of the tongue is quite unique, as well as the slightly musky flavour. It's easily mistaken for Montblanc's Midnight Blue, but the faint trace of its fruity undertone is what gave it away. Really very obvious."

Silence greeted him, which prompted Sherlock to look up and take in John's quizzical smile. With a hint of annoyance in his tone, Sherlock added, "I don't see what could possibly be amusing about that."

John tried to quickly wipe the smile off his face but didn't quite succeed. "Apologies. You're right."

"But...?"

"I'm trying to imagine you licking your way through how many brands of ink?"

"124."

The amused smile was back. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, very much so. If you don't believe it, I'd be happy to prove it to you."

"God no," John negated. "I perfectly believe it. Although I must admit the mental image of your tongue resembling the colour spectrum of a rainbow is certainly tempting."

There was only one thing that Sherlock could think of to respond, and it was a heartfelt, "Oh, shut up."

[anidawehi.livejournal.com]

DCU, Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne, Putting ink on paper and suddenly having a new father.

[anidawehi.livejournal.com]

Castle, The Castle family, A novel or a play or a forensics report... they don't have blood in their veins, they've got ink.

[anidawehi.livejournal.com]

Inception, Arthur/Eames, The loaded die isn't Arthur's only totem; he always dreams himself with a specific tattoo that he doesn't have in the real world.

[chiana606.livejournal.com]

Little Women ; Jo/Laurie ; Ink stains on his shirt after she hugs him

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, A taste of ink

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, The Illustrated Man.

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

Any, Any, making your own ink

[ciaimpala.livejournal.com]

Hawaii Five-0, Steve/Danny & Grace, Steve gets tattoos to show how much he loves Danny and Grace

Filled

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

It would be too easy to use a monkey to represent Grace but that is her's and Danno's special thing.

In the end he's not quite sure Grace understands the significance but when Danny sees the dog-tags tattooed over Steve's heart, one reading "Grace" and the other "Danny", Danny's temporarily struck speechless.

Then Danny starts fussing but Steve can tell he's not really serious: the small smile Danny can't quite wipe off his face says more than any words that come out of his mouth.

[livingtolaugh.livejournal.com]

any, any, ink-stained hands

Filled.

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

Gabrielle sifts the sand across the scroll to dry the ink, smiling in satisfaction. Another adventure preserved for future generations.

Standing, she stretches until her back pops and blows her bangs out of her face.

Gabrielle idly notices that ink stains her hands, though it's no great shock to any scribe or bard that ink splatters so easily.

Gabrielle realizes that it's been months since she's seen quite so much ink on her hands. It's not that she's been neglecting her writing but a she goes back through the scrolls in her bag she realizes that they were perfunctory reports at best, not the glorious tales she's truely capable of.

As she washes her hands Gabrielle wonders if she can convince Xena to stop for a month or two; just long enough to flesh out those scrolls into proper stories.

[livingtolaugh.livejournal.com]

The Tribe, Lex, Learning to read - the words just look like swirls of ink on paper to him

[evil-little-dog.livejournal.com]

Fullmetal Alchemist, Izumi, when she got her tattoo

[kyofujimiya.livejournal.com]

Filled

Sig held her hand while the needles pinched and worked her skin. Izumi tried to control her breathing, but every now and then she would gasp and he’d grunt when her strong fingers tightened around his. He watched the process carefully, ready to jump at the slightest mistake, but the artist was careful. He followed the woman’s directions perfectly. The intersecting lines looked flawless, and little by little, the outline of a snake wound its way around the shaft.

Truth was being branded into her flesh. She had seen it with her own eyes, felt it every time her hands came together for a transmutation. Izumi would always know that she had overstepped her boundaries as a human, broken the laws she had come to practice like her own religion. Grief had driven her to the edge and back; she would have sworn she saw hell. And while most would want to forget it, she always wanted to remember. When she looked into the mirror, Izumi would see the truth on her skin, over her heart.

When it was finished, Sig covered her up and despite her protests, carried her back to the butcher shop. Izumi huffed, but circled her arms carefully around him, hissing softly as it pulled the sensitive spot. He refused to let her work the rest of that afternoon, insisted that she could cook dinner tomorrow. Her husband lay a single kiss over the truth and didn’t let her go until morning.

[icarus-chained.livejournal.com]

Any; Any; "The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."

[livingtolaugh.livejournal.com]

Hope Star Wars is ok, and I hope the fic is alright

Burn

He still feels that heat on his face. Still smells burning hair and flesh. Feels the rage and sorrow and pain as if he were still there. Still there under the fire ...

Years later, on this pile of sand the locals call a planet, he can still see Anakin burning.

And he knows. He knows it was a mistake. He knows he should have killed the boy there. There are nights his hand grips the lightsaber and he moves. But then, and now, he just can't.

He knows that that anger, that pain, that momantary slip, might have damned them all but ...

But it was Anakin. And he had loved Anakin. Anakin was bright, and brilliant, and everything a Jedi should be, and in that moment, with everything gone, with his world collapsing and this man, his brother, the one who'd stood by him through everything, screaming of hate and pain at his feet ...

Obi-wan just wishes he wished he could change that moment. Take it all back. Kill Anakin or save him. Do anything but walk away and leave him there to become a monster. But ... He knows he can't. He can't make himself wish he could.

The Force was tainted by pain in that moment, yes. Tainted by anger and love, but not hate, and he's sure that the Force meant for it to be that way. It had to know what it was doing, and with the years behind him, and the wisdom gained, since that moment under raining fire, he has learned to hope that he did the right thing.

[truthwritaslies.livejournal.com]

Highlander, Methos/Any, Three letters: one written with a stylus and ink made from soot, one written with a quill pen and one written with a ballpoint pen.

[tigriswolf]

Inception, Arthur/Eames, there's a story behind each of Eames' tattoos, and Arthur knows them all

fill: tall tale (Inception, Arthur/Eames)

[(Anonymous)]

Tell me a story. He looks at you. His face levels flat as the table
of blueprints, fingerprints. Awhile it'll kill you, cobwebs over the triptych
of your man. Here dream city. There in the eighth country in six days,
spinning so fast you're not sure if his throat makes you dizzy, there
in the limbo where the punishment for suitcase stains and lungs like lace
open under your knuckles is never surety if he'll be here tomorrow.
Or it'll be someone else. One more life scrawled across his collarbone and
he'll be someone else.

About yourself, you say, too loud, and hope for not another voice
to memorize melisma over your name. Not other hands stop-red
with your blood. Not a life you haven't lived, falling into a shrug
in his arms, the maps of you together in the day, in the dark
dashed haphazard across his veins. You trace the blotch in your eyes
to remember, I know the story of this one. Mine and yours. Could
live it again, under wire. And what is a story, a blotch over his arm
to a discotheque lives changed quick as beats, to his body a bridge
orange and green. To the xylophone of his sounds, the Cadbury sweet of
the girl next door, sobs in neighbors' beds and bed a Bastille
under siege as the ceiling barrels in. The ceiling protects you from
your childhood monster, you purveyor of lucid dreams.

You thought you'd be safe in the machine. Hide from him,
live a paragon. Teach blond toddlers with no concerns but
the whereabouts of cookies and cream. Go somewhere where he'd have
a story about dictators and their limber daughters you hadn't heard.
Go where even he, all people, wouldn't see you.
Go until some festival in the desert makes even him less bleak;
go through the art world and the legitimate world and world at your feet
secure in knowing he is whoever, and you are only adream.

But he'll invert the world for you. Like a blue moon he follows.
Like your niece's drooping beagle, like knives, like debts
he breaks lives to get to you. So you can bite him like Communion
bread like you'll ingrain every moment in his skin
not with ink but teeth. Here you are, your fingers, your tongue
flensing him to the bone, and here are the bones of it:

When real are the queerest dreams, there's a power in
saying listen, I'll tell you my story, quiet
and fucking listen, my heart;
the people in these stories will never dream again.
The only story with you is dead before we sleep.

[tigriswolf]

Glee, Kurt/Blaine, a part of Kurt has always wanted a tattoo - and he finally gets one, during his second year in New York