THE RISE OF TATTTY

Two years. 14 stacks burned to the ground. One exploded laptop. Zero regrets.

TaTTTy has been two years in the making—and not the kind of two years where everything goes according to plan. This is the kind of two years where you build, tear it down, rebuild, watch a server provider delete your entire database, and then have your hardware physically explode thirty minutes before launch.

That actually happened. Same night. Ten minutes from the drop.

I kept going anyway.

14 FAILS. NO SCHOOL. ALL HUSTLE. 8th GRADE DROPOUT.

Before this machine became what it is today, it was rebuilt from scratch across more than 14 different tech environments. Some were almost complete. All were trashed.

I’m not a developer. I never went to school for this. Nobody taught me a single line of code. I grew up on the streets of LA—I didn’t know what a stable home looked like. What I did know was how to hustle.

For eight years I ran a street-level rental business serving tourists near Disney and Universal hotels. I sold it—all of it—to go all in on this vision. Two kids. Single dad. No income for two straight years. I broke two desks. I suffered a mini stroke. I went from a burning i3 Intel laptop to a machine that literally caught fire mid-build.

I don’t even fully know the specs of the setup I’m typing on right now. What I do know is how to patch pipes together and make them hold under heavy pressure.

TRICKING THE ENGINES

Dify, Zoho, and Shopify didn't fail me. Everything else wanted to be something it wasn't. These three let me build something unshakeable. The entire architecture is now completely production-grade—embedded, functional, and live—built by someone who had no formal business being in the room, but did it anyway.

378 repos on GitHub. Most incomplete. Two fully finished—both built for myself, both free, both done just to prove the world wrong. One of them was an 18-hour straight crunch with Gemini. No headaches. No rollbacks. A complete image generation pipeline with a fully exposed frontend interface.

The image generation runs on custom-trained models. When I trained the main one, I didn't know you were supposed to keep the training dataset down to 30 images. I packed 678 high-end tattoo styles into a single zip and threw it at the server. Replicate emailed me—I think they were ready to blacklist my card.

I replied: "No speak English." Never heard from them again. That model has 769 runs and counting.

I've manipulated and tricked AI models that didn't know how to output what the culture needed. I built workflows that didn't exist in textbooks. I figured it out because I refused to stop.

ZERO SUBSCRIPTION TRAPS

This wasn't built to lock people into an endless billing cycle. No monthly fees. No recurring charges. No credit card traps hiding in fine print.

You sign in, you get access. You buy credits when you're ready to create, and that's it. You generate designs, train your own custom models, and deploy the tools on your own time. You're never on the clock, never getting billed while you're sleeping, never forced into a tier.

I wanted everyone to be able to get in, explore, imagine, and build—without a monthly invoice hanging over their head. The gateway is just an account, not a paywall. That was a deliberate choice. Because I know exactly what it's like to have zero dollars in your pocket and still have a million-dollar vision. This was built for that person too.

FACETIME WITH THE AI

Right now, there's a feature live here that you won't find anywhere else: a real-time AI FaceTime agent. She can hear you. She can see you. She can inspect the finest line on your arm, your hand, or wherever you have ink—and she'll consult with you on your next piece in real time.

It's live. And it's only the baseline.