Damian Pierce

death tw

Damian Pierce was the first and only child Trisha Pierce ever had. He grew up in a single parent household, but his mom loved hard enough to make it feel like he was never missing anything. He was the product of what started as one fun night and turned into a handful more, something that, for Trisha, meant a lot more than it ever did for the man involved. She fell for him in a way that stuck, the kind of love that does not really loosen its grip. By all accounts, they could have been something solid. Regardless of the fallout with his father, she was his biggest cheerleader, in life and in spirit, but she made the decision not to tell him about Damian.

In her mind, she was protecting his future, letting him chase his career without anything tying him down. Still, she never let Damian grow up without knowing of him. His father lived in the stories she told, half real and half softened by memory, and Damian learned early on not to ask too many questions, even if he had plenty. Instead, he poured himself into helping his mom however he could while she worked double shifts just to keep them afloat, quietly carrying both admiration and curiosity in equal measure.

From a young age, Damian had an eye for art and more importantly a need to leave his mark. It started with sketching anything he could find, then quickly escalated into something a little more permanent, or at least as permanent as a Sharpie could be. Teachers began to know his name for all the wrong reasons. Kids walked into class clean and walked out with designs creeping up their wrists, across their knuckles, hidden under sleeves. What got him in trouble for most people was the same thing that made it clear he had something real. His lines were steady, his ideas intentional, even back then. As he got older, that impulsive creativity turned into something sharper. Ink replaced marker, and what used to be reckless turned into skill. It even became a way for him to bring in a little extra money, taking small under the table jobs and slipping cash into his mom’s purse or brushing it off like it came from somewhere else so she would not feel guilty. He did not talk about it much, but everything he did circled back to making sure she was okay.

Life did not exactly slow down for him either. His mom fell ill when he was twenty three, and everything else took a backseat. Whatever plans he might have had got traded in for long hours, medical bills, and making sure she was not alone through it all. Tattooing became less about expression and more about survival, steady income, something he could rely on when everything else felt uncertain. When he was twenty five, Trisha finally showed him a picture of them together with his father, putting a face to all those stories he had grown up with. Two years later, she passed from health complications, and Damian was left with more questions than answers and a kind of quiet grief he never really put into words.

He spent the next year drifting, getting into the kind of low stakes trouble that kept him moving without asking too much of him. Somewhere in the middle of a bar fight that turned into an unlikely friendship, he found himself being pushed just enough to finally look for the man he had only ever known through stories. Two years ago he settled into living at Ellswick Tower, hoping he’ll find some clue as to where his father is one day.

HEADCANONS

was drinking buddies with devon. the guy probably knew him better than damian cared to admit.

loves a good party. probably a little too much.

gaming, legos, horror, he likes it all. he has a nerdy side that never really gets shown, except to a select few.

gym junkie. loves going there to destress.

is constantly sketching something. on napkins, notebook paper, a random surface, honestly whatever he can doodle on he will.

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