In contrast to the dark walls, heavy metal music and grungy look of many tattoo shops, the Lilith Tattoo shop in Fremont is a well-lit space with a large window surrounded by white walls and soft music. “I feel like you have a calming presence,” Clinkenbeard says to Osajima, who says the same thing back to her immediately.

Stick-and-poke tattoo artist Avery Osajima.

This is Clinkenbeard’s second tattoo — but her first via the “stick-and-poke” technique. In this Instagram-popular DIY technique, the tattoo artist uses only the power of their hand and a surgical steel needle (as opposed to a needle powered by a machine) to push ink into skin. Having received her previous tattoo (the word “Glory”) via the standard motorized method, Clinkenbeard reassures Osajima that the stick-and-poke tattoo process is “exponentially more comfortable and enjoyable.”

Osajima is one of many queer artists in Seattle who work at a shop owned and operated by a queer person. Jude Vesvarut (who goes by they/them) opened Lilith Tattoo in 2017. Like many female, queer and nonwhite tattoo artists, Osajima prefers an environment that caters more intentionally to the LGBTQ community.

As tattoos have become more widely accepted in the mainstream, queer shop owners and artists say they are reimagining the culture as one that’s more inclusive and welcoming (rather than the old-school, rough-and-tumble rebel vibe). The stick-and-poke technique reflects this atmosphere because it’s less aggressive physically, moves at a slower pace and feels more intimate — partly because the lack of machine whir allows for close talking.

Among Seattle’s wealth of tattoo shops, at least 10 are owned by women, queer people or POC (including Tyger Wolf Tattoo, True Love Tattoo, Osprey Tattoo, Moody Tattoo, Damask Tattoo and Valentine’s Tattoo Co.), and openly welcome queer customers and artists.

Spaces like these offer judgment-free zones that feel safe to queer customers — not only accepting of all bodies but understanding of their scars and gender transitions, says Lilith’s Vesvarut.

“[Tattooing] is a very intimate thing, you’re in a vulnerable space and you’re receiving pain,” Vesvarut says. “If you feel physical pain and don’t feel emotionally safe it can be traumatizing.”

Just like LGBTQ people have reclaimed the word queer (which was once a derogatory word), so too have tattoos become a tool to empower the LGBTQ community.

Sylver Fawkes, a transgender artist at Lilith Tattoo, says tattoos allow queer people to put their “inside on the outside.”

“The more we can express our own individuality, the happier we are,” says Fawkes.

Vesvarut jokes that tattoos have become such a huge part of queer culture that it’s now more fringe if a queer person doesn’t have tattoos. “It’s helped reclaim and empower our bodies,” Vesvarut says.

On Osajima’s left middle finger is a hand-poked Japanese character of her father’s name. It’s the first stick-and-poke tattoo she did on herself. Osajima, who identifies as Yonsei (a fourth generation descendant of Japanese immigrants), says it’s incredibly rewarding to see her own experience as a queer person of color reflected in the work she does. A large majority of her clients are queer people, as well as Japanese Americans, including some employees of the local nonprofit Densho, which documents the experiences from within the Japanese internment camps during WWII.