Invictus

Meaningful

Some people didn’t bother to find a deep meaning behind their tattoos. Magnus didn’t mind it. After all, everyone was free to dispose of their body as they pleased and if someone wanted to get stars just for the sake of having a tattoo or because they liked the drawing, then so they should.

But it was the people who had a meaning for it, a whole story that went with the tattoo, that he loved the most. It could be hard. Those stories usually weren’t happy ones and Magnus had learned throughout the years that more often than not, being a tattoo artist was a lot like being a therapist.

People would bring their most devastating memories, heartbreaking moments of their lives, painful remembrances, and ask him to turn them into art, art he would later imprint on their bodies forever.

Magnus had tattooed all kind of people, from reckless teenagers who had just gotten legal and wanted to celebrate with a tattoo to veterans of war who came back home raw and wounded and seeked a refuge in his form of art.

Being a tattoo artist meant being able to leave your own problems at the door and listen to what a complete stranger had been or still was going through, and turn it into something they would later cherish, something that could, maybe, help them move on.

It was what Magnus had loved the most about it when he had first learned the art with his mother.

He recalled with perfect clarity sitting in a corner of her parlor, watching her work with and on customers - when they were okay with his presence there, which hadn’t always been the case. He had been ten the first time, and he couldn’t remember the face of the woman his mother had tattooed, but he did recall the drawing itself - a beautiful tiger that had spread on most of her thigh - and he did recall the story behind it, how she had recently lost her father, who had always called her ‘little tiger’ even when she had long past childhood and teenage years.

Magnus had heard many more sad stories, and it hadn’t stopped when he had been through his own sad stories, or when he had started practicing himself.

It had never managed to make him lose his passion, however.

Because when he built a relationship with a customer, through weeks or months of planning, different sketches and seeking perfection, and when they were satisfied in the end, he could see it in their eyes, that he had somehow brought them something worth more than words could tell. That his art had soothed something in them.

It made it all worth it.

He was relaxing in the waiting room after a particularly long work. It had been a two-hours sitting, and his back ached - another thing he had ignored until he had become a tattoo artist: it killed your back. His head was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, when the front door swung open and the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking on the floor caught his attention.

His eyes fluttered open. Jace was standing in front of Simon's desk, a gorgeous woman next to him, hands on her lips.

Magnus straightened up on his seat but didn't bother standing up. “Blondie,” he called out, and they both whirled around in perfect synchronisation.

The woman looked a lot like Alec, all dark hair and sharp features, but where he had a soothing, quiet but nonetheless gorgeous hazel, her eyes were a deep brown, beautiful and fierce.

She marched to him decidedly, glancing up and down at him with nothing but determination in her gaze.

“You are hot,” she announced matter-of-factly, and Magnus had a feeling he was missing something.

“Um, thanks?”

Jace rolled his eyes, pushing her aside. “Do you have a portfolio? Something where we can see your previous works?”

Magnus lifted an eyebrow, now genuinely intrigued and rose to his feet, motioning for them to follow him. They walked through the corridor, past the door behind which Clary was currently tattooing a young woman and a second one that served for Maia’s piercings. He led them to the last one and opened it without preamble, gesturing vaguely to the walls.

“Wow,” Jace breathed out, his eyes widening.

Magnus smirked, watching as they navigated through the room, scrutinizing the photographs and drawings of his work through the years littering the walls.

“Izzy,” Jace whispered after a while, breaking the heavy silence as he shook his hand to catch the woman's attention. “Look.”

She was next to him in a fluid movement that seemed far too graceful for someone wearing such high heels.

Magnus followed their gaze to see which picture had caught their attention and a small, almost tender smile graced his features.

The so-called Izzy turned to look at him, something like awe in her eyes. “What's his story?” she asked, and he knew she spoke of the man in the picture.

“He was a veteran from Iraq,” Magnus explained. “His squad walked into a trap and his arm was blasted off by a bomb. He asked me to cover up his shoulder and his stump with art as a symbol of him moving on even though he would never be the same person again.” He looked away from her eyes to stare at the photograph instead. “He had no idea what he truly wanted, but he had mentioned how he still woke up extra early in the mornings to watch the sun rise. He said “you know you have another day to live as long as you see the sun rise”. So I went with this.”

For a while, there was only silence. Jace was still focused on the photograph, but the woman's eyes were boring straight into his.

“I'm Isabelle,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “The better-looking Lightwood sibling.”

“I don't know, darling,” Magnus smirked. “I can think of another Lightwood sibling who can compete for that title.”

“Thank you,” Jace exclaimed proudly.

Magnus didn't have the time to correct him because Isabelle snorted loudly - but somehow still elegantly. “He meant Alec,” she told him unapologetically.

“I did,” Magnus confirmed.

Jace gasped in affront, but he was grinning the next second.

“So, would you tattoo him?”

Magnus frowned. “Shouldn't he be the one to ask me?”

Isabelle smiled a smile full of fondness that Magnus knew wasn't meant for him.

“He will, eventually,” she said. “He needs some time to do it himself. But his birthday is coming up and Jace and I wanted to get him something meaningful this year so we'd be paying for it.”

Magnus’ interest was now irrevocably piqued. “What does he want?” he asked.

“We don't know,” Jace replied absently. “He didn't tell us, but he's been thinking about it for a while.”

“Well, that doesn't give me much to work on,” Magnus commented, lifting an eyebrow.

“You can work on earning his trust first,” Isabelle said, the challenge evident in her voice.

Magnus hummed pensively, letting his eyes rake over the various photographs and drawings on the wall.

Surely, it couldn't be that difficult.