Megan Marie Turner ☪ Tattoo Artist ☪ 23
July 23 – Leo on the cusp of Cancer
Hometown; San Carlos, CA
Megan grew up solely at the hands of her father – her mother ran off when she was just three years old. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was only nineteen when she had Megan, her father Zach only twenty-one. At twenty-four, Zach knew nothing about raising a daughter, but did the best he could, with help from his mother and two of his close friends. As a result, he raised the tough, ass-kicking, tattooing young woman known as Megan. Zach had been working in a tattoo parlor when Megan was born, and after his girlfriend left him with a three year old, he moved into the apartment above it. He slowly worked his way up to owner of his own shop. When Megan turned sixteen, instead of buying her a car, he bought her her own set of tattoo guns, three bottles of ink, and twenty-five needles. The only thing written in her card was “The apprenticeship starts now. Meet me downstairs in fifteen.” Megan did as she was told, and by the time she was eighteen her dad had her tattooing all on her own. Unfortunately, also at eighteen, Megan followed in her mother’s footsteps and got pregnant. She gave birth to a baby girl, and decided to keep her. She named her daughter Eloise Melissa, after the only friend she had during high school. As tough as it was, her dad was extremely supportive, and now she’s got an amazing five year old who knows more about the long art of tattoos than most twenty-year-olds. Megan applied for a job at California Art & Tattoo, and got it, and she’s been happily inking there ever since. Now that she has the perfect job, and the perfect daughter, the only thing she really wants is that perfect man. Not that you’d see her admit it, of course.
(Camilla Luddington)
TAKEN BY; @callyourname-crossmyfingers

▪ How long have you been tattooing (or piercing)? What's your experience?
I’ve been tattooing for seven years now – I started an apprenticeship under my father when I was sixteen at The Mad Tatter in San Francisco. I got a part-time job there when I turned eighteen, and I worked there for about four years before I applied at California Art & Tattoo. 

▪ How is your relationship with the Stark sisters?
It’s alright. Kat and my dad are old friends – they talked a lot when she was trying to open this place. And Tatum and I get along pretty well – I have a lot of respect for her abilities, and I think she respects mine, as well. 

▪ What do you expect to get out of working in CAT?
Honestly, having a steady, well-paying job doing what I love. I expect that here I’ll be able to really completely hone my craft and create my own signature style. The chance to work under and with some incredibly amazing artists is amazing. You can’t get any worse working with gifted people – the only way is up. 

▪ Where do you see yourself in five years.
Hopefully I’ll still be here, with a steady stream of clients and a few regulars. My daughter will be ten, so I’ll probably be dealing with the beginnings of teenage girl-dom. But honestly, I see my self tattooing. No matter what. It’s my biggest passion, and the thing that I love to do more than anything else – besides being with my little girl. 

Answer these questions out of character:

▪ Why do you think you should get the part?
I think I should get the part because I’m really passionate about this roleplay – tattooing is a HUGE passion and interest of mine, and I love the idea of being able to explore that through my other big passion, writing. 

▪ How active will you be?
I’ll be pretty active – probably at LEAST two or three sets a week.

▪ How inspired are you for this role?
Incredibly inspired. Since this is one of two roleplays I’m in, I’m able to really get into both of these characters. I already have a bunch of ideas for Megan. I want to start this as soon as possible. Seriously. 

“Eloise, baby, come on, you gotta put your socks on!” I said, flopping down on my five-year-old’s bed. “We have this fight every morning. When are you just gonna do it?”
“I dunno...” she said, shrugging. “When socks stop hurting my ankles!” 
“Baby, how can they hurt? It’s just a piece of fabric.” 
“Too heavy.” Eloise crossed her arms and huffed out a sigh. “I don’t like them.”
“You picked these out in the store! You started crying when I said no!”
“They’re icky. You can have them.”
My shoulders sagged. I didn’t have the energy to fight with a five year old. And this particular five year old had inherited my own stubbornness. Not for the first time, I wished that the deadbeat that had knocked me up wasn’t a deadbeat. And that every guy I’d dated since the deadbeat (read: two) hadn’t bolted as soon as I explained that the little girl in the background picture on my phone wasn’t my niece, or a girl I nanny for, but my own daughter. 
A lot of people looked at me in pity when I told them that Eloise was mine. They subtracted her age from mine, and all of a sudden there was something new in their eyes, a mix of judgment and mourning for all of the things my life “could have been.” The worst part was the way they looked at Eloise – like she was a mistake, the product of two stupid kids, something that erased all of her mother’s potential to be great. Every time someone asked me a question to that extent, I snapped at them and walked away. Deleted their number. Ignored their calls. Didn’t return their waves from across the room. To say that Eloise was anything but the best thing that ever happened to me was an insult of the worst variety. 
I was overcome with a rush of love for my little girl, and leaned over and hugged her. “Okay baby. You don’t have to wear socks. You can put on flip flops, okay? But if your feet get cold, I don’t want to hear about it. Okay?”
“Ohkayyy, Mama. They won’t.” 
“Of course they won’t,” I said, smiling. But as she turned around to find her little flip-flops, I quickly stuffed a pair of socks and boots into my bag. It may be spring in SoCal, but that didn’t mean her feet wouldn’t get cold. 
“Alright kiddo, first up, grocery store.”
She pouted. “I wanna go to the zoo.”
“Eloise, we went to the zoo last weekend. Mommy can’t pay to go to the zoo every weekend.” 
“Aquarium?” 
“Same thing baby doll. I’m sorry.”
Eloise deflated, but quickly perked up again. “Can we go to the playground? That doesn’t cost money. And they have pretend animals. The rock ones.”
“They’re called statues, honey. And sure. How about we take a picnic?”
“Yum! Can we have strawberries?”
I nodded. 
“Can we go feed Frank?”
I laughed. Frank was the name of every single duck she ever saw. I don’t know why – maybe in a past life she had a pet duck named Frank – but she was consistent. I didn’t even call them ducks now, I just said, ‘hey baby, look at Frank!’ 
“Sure, we can feed Frank. We’ll have to get some bread from the grocery store, though. Think you can remember that?”
She nodded. “Frank is going to looooveeee us today, Mama.” 
“Who couldn’t love you, princess?”
She pondered it for a minute. “You’re right. Everybody loves me. Let’s go.” Eloise grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door. “Mama, come on! Frank is hungry!” 
I just smiled. To say that Eloise was anything less than a gift wasn’t just an insult, it was a complete and utter lie. 


{this story is kinda shitty. i'm sorry. i didn't want to write about being in the tattoo shop because i didn't want to take liberties with characters or anything so i wrote a short story about the second most important thing in Megan's life, which is her daughter.)
(also if i could reserve ryan gosling and theo rossi that would be great.)
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two comments

neusex
Wrote three years ago
(i love this!!)

callyourname-crossmyfingers
Wrote three years ago
@sophiaspastic

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