Here is an excerpt of Lars’ story, Dead Ink. It’s going to be more of a PNR than UF. This is unedited and will probably change a bit since I’m a habitual rewriter : ) Currently, this is slotted to release in June this year. That could also change!

“How’s it look?” the client asked.
“Shut up.” Lars preferred either complete silence while he worked or blaring music but never idle chitchat. The constant drone of a human’s voice was akin to a fly buzzing in his ear. He didn’t understand why the majority of humans constantly needed to vocalize every thought that popped into their brain.
He didn’t work with an audience. If they weren’t getting a tattoo, they weren’t allowed in the shop while he was tattooing because, like he’d mentioned, humans never shut the fuck up. If they weren’t talking to themselves they were getting all into his space oohing and ahhing. He didn’t care what some random asshole off the street thought of his work. Even if it was a chick he was considering having sex with later, and he got plenty of those in here.
“How long do you—”
“I told you. Shut. Up. Speak again and I won’t finish.”
“Hey, I won’t pay you if—”
“Shut up!” Lars said as he jammed the tattoo gun over a sensitive area of his client’s already battered skin. “I don’t give a shit about the money.”
The guy didn’t say another word. Lars hadn’t been lying either. He didn’t do this for the money. He did it because for some reason he felt compelled to.
When he’d first retired from his previous career, he thought a tattoo shop would be a good cover for him. There were always weird sorts hanging around these types of establishments. The kind of people who weren’t looking to blend in with society but to break the norms and live as they wanted.
In the beginning, he’d hired some artists to do the work but then he’d started dabbling himself. Then he couldn’t stop. It was the only time he felt completely at peace.
When the door opened, he didn’t bother looking up, just shouted, “Get out.” He dipped the gun in some more ink and started working on the details of the scales he was tattooing.
“Are you Lars?” a female voice asked.
The voice was high pitched and screamed of estrogen, just the way he liked a woman’s voice to be. He knew exactly what that voice would sound like if he decided to take her to bed, but he was working so he didn’t bother looking up. He’d had too many woman to get excited about just one, at least not while he was in the middle of a piece.
“I told you to get out.” She did have a nice voice. He knew she was cute without even looking. “Come back in a couple of hours,” he added as an after thought, still not bothering to look up.
“I can’t.”
There was determination in her tone. Lars sighed loudly and placed the tattoo gun down on the worktable by his side, accepting the fact that he’d have to stop working if he wanted to get her out of his hair.
He stood up, cursing himself for firing the last shop helper and not scheduling one of the other artists today so he could delegate this. He turned, an aggravated sigh escaping and looked at the unwanted visitor.
He froze. She looked like a wood nymph. Her blonde hair, too thick for her head, was wild and unkempt. Large turquoise eyes peeked out from a dirty face. None of that was why he nearly knocked into the table next to him. Whoever she was, she wasn’t human.
“Get out,” he said, this time to the man he’d been working on. When the guy didn’t move, he nudged him with his knee. “I told you to get out.”
“Huh?” The guy jerked his head up. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“But my tattoo?”
“I’ll call you. Now get out.”
The client scrambled to his feet and Lars shoved the guy’s shirt at his chest, nearly bulldozing him out the door and causing his unwanted visitor to jump out of their way.
He slammed the door shut and clicked the deadbolt into place.

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