#my boney black hole

[thegaymer-c0mms-open]

mrow

[queenimmadolla]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat. 

  Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I��m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

  You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her. 

  And a large hole in their wallet.

  “It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

  “This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

  It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

  You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

  “You got a number we can reach you at?”

  You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along. 

  “Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

  God, I hope so.

  The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

  You’d learned. Eventually.

  Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your bag and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed. 

  Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

  Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

  It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

  A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

  The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

  You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

  With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

  ─

  Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

  His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door. 

  “Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

  Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

  Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

  “Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

  “A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

  “Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

  He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something. 

  “What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

  “Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again. He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group. 

  Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred—with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through. Henry had to go.

  Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

  “I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”  

  “Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more. 

  A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

  The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

  A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

  The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles. 

  Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling. 

  That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh. 

  It’s intimidating. 

  They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

  But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

  “Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

  “Yup.”

  “See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

  “I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

  Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

  You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them. 

  People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

  Someday, that would be you. 

  You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last. 

  Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

  The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

  “What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

  “Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

  “Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

  “Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

  “Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

  As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

  The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

  Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

  Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

  You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

  He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

  He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

  The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

  Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

  But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

  Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

  When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

  Someone who looked like their art.

  You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

  You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

  Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

  “Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

  Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

  What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden? 

  He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. 

  Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

  Professionalism, he reminded himself.

  “Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

  “Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

  Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn’t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

  Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

  You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

  There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room. 

  On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

  “Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

  Sure you haven’t.

  “Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

  “You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

  He had no idea how right he was.

  “The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

  “And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

  First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

  “But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

  Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

  “You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

  “Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

  You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

  “Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack. 

  “Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

  “Did your tattoos hurt?”

  Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

  “A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

  “Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

  Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

  No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

  He was getting hard. 

  Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

  Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

  “Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

  You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

  The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

  “What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

  A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

  He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

  “That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

  You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

  Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

  “Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

  “Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

  “I’d be stupid not to.”

  You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

  “Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

  Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

  “Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

  “Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.” 

  “But I thought you said—” 

  “Me.”

  Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

  You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

  “So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face. 

  You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!” 

  He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

  “You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.” 

  Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

  “Wait—this is paid?”

  “Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

  Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

  Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

  The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you. 

  You’d have time to get there.

  “Hey, Deidre.”

  “Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

  He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

  “We’ll see you soon?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

  You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

  “Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile. 

  You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

  It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

  Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

  Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

  He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

  He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids. 

  Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

  “Need a hand?”

  Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

  Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

  “Are you offering yours?”

  She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

  “Mmm, not just my hand.”

  All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick. 

[daisysundae]

I have this fantasy that keeps running through my brain…

It’s late at night and I finally get home from work. I can finally make myself a little something to eat!

I turn on the stove and start to boil a pot of water or put a pan down.

I’m so relaxed and tired I don’t even hear the sound of him walking up behind me.

At least not until he grabs the back of my hair and puts his knife to my neck.

“Don’t move. Don’t Scream.” He says as the knife presses into my skin, but not yet enough to break my skin…

He pulls down my pants and moves his hand from my hair to over my mouth. He takes that knife and moves it lower. Against my cunt, he starts to gently rub the blunt end of the blade,.

I hear his heavy breathing in my ear, noticing his huffing and puffing through his black mask.

He begins to gently grind against the back of my body.

He’s almost hesitant with how delicate he’s being with my body.

I still can’t move. Stricken with fear…but my panties began to be come moist and gooey all at the touch of that blade.

He seems to notice and drops the knife before desperately pushing his gloved fingers against my cunt. He pressed at my leaky hole and seems to huff louder in my ear. His body letting out shaky little moans.

It’s like he doesn’t want to hurt me but the animalistic part of his brain just can’t resist..

He jolts, his hand dripping from my pussy and to his belt. I move as if to try and run but his one hand once again takes hold of my fluffy brown hair. He pushes the pot or pan on the stove aside and pushes my head down over the open burner.

I can feel the over whelming heat start to rise up against my cheeks so close to being burnt. The sound of a belt jingling barely filling my ears.

Tears begin to run down my face and sizzle, as they land on the stove burner. The hand in my hair carefully holding me just a few inches away.

I feel his long, boney fingers force my underwear to the side, before suddenly entering inside me. Wiggling around inside of me.

It was only for a moment before he pulled them out. Wiping the two fingers on my hips before tightly gripping my side.

I feel him jolt and push himself into me. Starting to roll his own hips against me, pushing himself in and out of my gooey little body.

tears roll down my chubby little cheeks still burning up on the hot stove burner.

The hand around my mouth gripping tighter as my cries start to vocalize.

“F-fuck- I-I’m sorry-“ his awkward voice squeaks out of the mask, between his huffs and moans. “I-i can’t help it- I had too-“ all while he thrusted harder in an out of my wet pussy.

His hand on my hip drifting down. Making its way to my clit, that had been so lonely up to this point. That little stimulation to my most sensitive parts began to push me over the edge. My body clenching around him as I cried.

My body finishing as he r@ped me over the stove. His own body becoming weak as I clenched around him. His moans and apologizes all spilling out as he just pressed his dick against my cervix, just letting himself cum inside. He continued to hold me still for a moment after he came, before slowly pulling himself out.

He fully let go of my body, which just dropped to the floor. All beaten and abused, just thankful to not have my skin burning up over the stove..

[thesoulesscollection]

The Kinsley Family Reference Sheets

I decided to update my reference sheets for my Ocs, The Kinsley Family, at least, Choc, Honey, & Cherry mostly because the old one is terribly outdated now.

Name: Chocolate Fudge Kinsley

Nicknames: Choc, Fudge, Pops, King

Age: 59yo (in 2015); born April 1st, 1956

Gender: Cis Male; Genderfluid, Uses He/Him, They/Them, & It/It's, Rarely She/Her

Sexuality: Aromantic Pansexual Alignment: Chaotic Neutral/EvilAffiliation: Toppat Clan

Job Title: Semi Retired, Former Enforcer, Current Undercover Agent/Spy

Ethnicity: French (on Mother's side) & Slavic & German (on Father's side)

● Height: 6’3”

● Weight: 125 lbs

Appearance:

● Sun kissed skin that's covered in a plethora of scars, burns, stab/bullet holes, stretch marks & progressed signs of age

● Blackened limbs by magic use being corrupted, so often wears bandages to treat it and lesson the damage

● Gold teeth. Unnaturally sharp. With distinctive scarring across his mouth and lips. His gums are a dark gray while his tongue is pitch black and goopy

● Droopy gold eyes, heavy bags lay underneath with horizontal slit pupils that are white in color

● Sunken in features,

● Thick dark brown wavy hair, natural color is a light blonde that's shown in the roots, a bit in the brows, and slight facial hair. Starting to go gray

● Is unhealthily skinny and boney. Long limbs and primarily all legs. Naturally a lanky, lean body type more built on speed rather than strength

Powers:

● Aura Projection

● Shapeshifting & Puppeteering

● Mental Control & Manipulation Illusion

● Voice Mimicry

● Corruption Touch

Health Conditions:

● Chronic Pain & Illness

●Significant Hearing Loss/Hard Of Hearing

● Eating Disorder (Unspecified)

● Semi Permanent Paralysis

●Hypermobility; joint Hypermobility syndrome

● Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

● Empathy Deficit Disorder (EDD)

● Corruption Effects

Relations:

Honey Kinsley: Sister

Cherry Kinsley: Daughter

Candy Kinsley: Grandmother (Deceased)

Truffles Kinsley: Mother (Deceased)

Ronald Kinsley: Father (Deceased)

Leslie Fernández: Ex-Partner (Deceased)

***

Name: Honey Sweets Kinsley

Nicknames: Hons, Bee, Bumble Bee, Sweet Drops

Age: 56yo (in 2015); born February 14th, 1959

Gender: Cis Female; Uses She/Her

Sexuality: Bi (Preference Leans Towards Masc People/Men)

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Affiliation: The Royals

Job Title: Leader of her own clan; Ex Toppat Member

Ethnicity: French (on Mother's side) & Slavic & German (on Father's side)

Height: 5'11”

Weight: 175 lbs

Appearance:

Warm, cream skin. Very little scars reside. But there's freckles and a few beauty marks.

● She looks like what her age entails but has high standards on her appearance (and that of her family).

● Resting bitch/angry face

● Rose gold eyes. Once was a vibrant gold like her brother & niece. She does have noticeable bags under them from lack of sleep and long work hours.

● Naturally dirty blonde hair, more a light brown. Gets Blond highlights to hide gray hairs. Naturally straight hair that's been styled pretty often.

● Sharper, angular features. Wrinkles and crow's feet.

● Body type is a square that's stacked with experienced muscle

Health Conditions:

● Anger Issues

● Depression

● Anxiety

● Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

● Insomnia

● Paranoid personality disorder

Powers:

● Boosted (inhuman) strength

● Mental Control & Manipulation

● Smoke/Cloud & Crystal Manipulation

● Illusion

***

Name: Cherry Kinsley

Nicknames: Cher, Doll, Princess

Age: 26yo (in 2015); born December 31st, 1989

Gender: Trans Female; Uses She/Her

Sexuality: Demiromantic Omnisexual, Poly

Alignment: Neutral Good

Affiliation: Toppat Clan

Job Title: Non Active Member, Apprentice (for her father), (Anxious eager) Helper to any department

Ethnicity: French, Slavic & German (on Father's (Choc) side) & Dominican, Caribbean & Egyptian (on her other parent's side)

Height: 6’9”

Weight: 235lbs

Appearance:

● Smooth, dark brown skin with freckles and scarring and first & second degree burns all over her body.

● Scars, most noticeable are around her neck, shoulders, and most primarily on her back caused from her first raid, as she unfortunately got ensnared with shrapnel causing most of her current injuries and burn marks.

● Very clumsy though so she does have other minor injuries and scarring all over her body as well.

● Round, nearly baby faced features and physique. Fat & muscled. An apple shape body type

● Big Gold eyes, almost doe like, thick lashes

● Looks far more like her other parent then she does share similarities with her father, Choc

● Naturally curly (4a) hair, ebony black in color with some faint purple highlights

● Has laugh lines from always having a smile on her face no matter what her actual emotions are

Health Conditions:

● Anxiety

● Depression

● Chronic Headaches

Powers:

● Enhanced Strength

● Future Vision, A Seer

● Most Powers are repressed & Unknown

Relations:

Choc Kinsley: Father

Honey Kinsley: Aunt

Terrence Suave: Family Friend

Leslie Fernández: Other Parent (Deceased)

[shedontsmelltoogooddarious]

ChromeskullxOC (SMUT)

Shameless self indulgent first time writing actual smut between my OC, an eldritch mafia boss and Chromeskull from Laid To Rest. Two bad rich older men sdhdhdhd

(Black is trans)

He picked the most upscale club in town to discuss business with his partner, within a private room, drinks going in and out as Ivanov barely paid attention, his wallet was too fat to care. He lit another cigarette, offering one to the man sitting across from himself. He took it, his mangled face lowering to light it- barely acknowledging the desperation bursting through the mafia boss’s seems. “So tell me, are those girls beneath your knife satisfying you enough?” 

Black purred, prompting Jesse to look up, his hands suddenly going into motion; “Very much so, thank you for asking.” He signed, before smirking- knowingly at the face of danger. If he wanted, Black could snap the experienced serial killer like a twig. 

“Nice to know that our rendezvous meant nothing to you, but I guess we’re here to strictly discuss business.” 

He poured himself another drink, taking a swig before slamming it down to the table. “Preston emailed me about you needing another place to “play”, I supposed I could allow you to have free reign on one of my properties in the city- but why should I give you that privilege?” 

“Because you still want to fuck me.” 

Jesse signed once more, before taking a drag off his cigarette, smoke whisping out of the holes where his nose should have been. A low growl could be heard, his human form slipping. But Jesse remained nonchalant, ignoring it like his former lover ignored him when his face melted off. 

Muffled techno music could be heard, filling in the silence between both men. “You’re right, and I always get what I want when I want,” 

His hand shot across the table between them as he grabbed Jesse’s shirt, ripping expensive silk in the process as his lips feverishly collided with his ex’s. Instead of fighting back, he allowed it- his long, boney fingers entwining with Ivanov’s black hair. The don was expanding, sickly popping and crunching sounds being heard as he contorted into his true, monstrous form. Tendrils wrapped around Jesse’s legs, parting them, the sharp blade of a knife suddenly against Black’s throat. 

“No.” An electronic voice commanded, the blade biting into his skin- right above his jugulars. Don Ivanonov was shoved down to the floor, a human dominating a monster, a predator of his species. He undid his belt buckle, his cock throbbing out as it was erect. Jesse’s free hand traveled down to Black’s pants, undoing them to reveal a familiar sight, his fervid pussy already seeping. His face flushed in embarrassment as he turned his head away, forgetting the blade held to his throat before feeling sharp pain as Jesse shoved it deeper. 

“You’re so pathetic- look at me!” He growled, before his black leather glove hand grabbed his bottom jaw and forced him to look into his mangled face. “You’re mine- you’ve always been mine.” 

WIthout warning, his member slid inside Black’s warm insides as he needily thrusted into him. How long has it been since he last was inside one of the most notoriously dangerous dons in this city? Too long. The knife against Black’s throat trailed down to his own dress shirt, cutting it open as the blade slid across his skin, causing inky black blood to bead out against his pale white skin. 

The thrusting gradually turned to a steady pace, syncing with the rhythm of the music outside, stretching Black’s insides out as his claws dug deep into the tiled flooring, leaving deep grooves behind. Jesse lifted his partner’s hips up, gripping his large thighs tightly, shoving himself deeper yet. “I’ve heard you’re whoring yourself out in this city- tell me, what happened to your playthings Ivanov?”

Jesse growled, sparing no mercy for Black as he continued, going faster with the tempo. Black gritted his teeth, his pride now in shambles as he was drunk on pleasure and pain. 

“Answer me!” His fingers dug deeper, Black’s tendrils going limp. 

“You killed them.” He moaned, recoiling in disgust internally. 

Jesse grinned, going slower with the tempo change, but still keeping a firm hold on the man larger than himself. His cock throbbed, he knew he was about to come soon- but he wanted to keep going, to reclaim what was his and his alone. “You’ve been fucking around with my toys as well, you can’t share can you? You’re a greedy old bastard.” 

He was about to come too, his legs shaking- insides clenching around Jesse’s cock. They squeezed, kneading against him. He needed more. His claws found themselves in Jesse’s shoulders, gripping for dear life as his lips once more collided with the human’s, but this time his sharp teeth were prominent. He bit down on Jesse’s lower lip, instantly drawing blood, savoring the familiar taste. “You’re like a damn drug.” Black snarled, 

Jesse was unable to hold it back any longer, his back arching as he came into Black, his hot seed spilling deep inside. As if on cue, Black too came, his name sake’s goo spilling out as it leaked from every orifice, mixing with his partner’s crimson red blood. Black made an attempt to pull away, but his partner had other ideas. He locked in his grip, coming again into Black before thrusting once more. 

“What are you-” 

“I want you pregnant.” 

A new track was placed down, faster and harder.

[p-artsypants]

Blurb #68

“Snotlout,” Heather began. “I really don’t appreciate you bothering my customers.” 

Snotlout was about to retort, when the Rider spoke, “I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

“...You were?” 

“Yes.” The Rider stood, and carefully pushed his chair in. He approached Snotlout and reached into his cloak. “I have something for you.” 

Astrid wanted to intervene, to tell the Rider Snotlout didn’t deserve any sort of gift for the way he treated him yesterday.

But the words stilled as he pulled a sheathed sword out of his cloak. 

“Here, this is for you.” He handed it over, handle side out. 

Snotlout just stared at the sword before taking a trembling grasp of it. “I…I don’t know why you would want to give me—why does it have my name on it?” 

The other teens scrambled to get a look, and saw clearly inscribed on the pommel was the name ‘Jorgenson’. Except the sword didn’t look new. The handle was worn, and part of it was gathering a tarnish. 

“A guard needs a sword,” said the Rider. “And this one belongs to you.” 

Snotlout continued to stare at it, two puzzle pieces in his head rotating to try to fit together.

“It belonged to your ancestor,” the Rider explained. “He was a general, and a great warrior.” 

Snotlout’s breathing picked up, as he squeezed the sword in both hands. “This is my family’s? Where did you—?”

“In the castle armory. My father recognized your name and told me to look for it.” 

This bit of information grabbed everyone, and they looked at him in shock. 

“You have a family?” Asked Fishlegs. 

“Yes.” 

“Why have we never seen them?”

Astrid was about to explain that they were also cursed, but the Rider readily answered. “They can’t leave the castle.” Then, in a softer voice, he added. “They can’t even walk.” 

Astrid wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, as she raised her hand to rest on his arm. 

But she didn’t actually touch him. Little vapors of steam filtered out the holes in the mask. The acid green fire of his eyes had gone out, leaving black shadows in the skull’s empty sockets. Then, a rivet of black liquid trailed down his jaw, the only part of his face that was visible. It traveled down his gray skin, leaving a line like ink behind. 

“He’s crying…” Snotlout noted, bewildered. 

“I am sorry,” said the Rider. “For a moment, I felt tremendous grief.” He lifted his long boney fingers and wiped under his mask.

[ya9amicide]

James Buchanan Barnes [MCU]

View the Marvel Playlist Masterlist here: click me!

View the Playlist Masterlist here: click me!

View the full playlist here: james buchanan barnes.

[smilingangel582]

A small stomach...?

Hiii! I got a lot of anon questions going on. Ask me anything... I can write anything 😌 well... I just hope it's something I know... I might now know some famous anime, bl or even games.... but I know plenty.

I want to do a genshin impact, especially another for Aether since I chose him.

Enjoyyy!

"Traveler, Paimon's hungry again"

Sighing, Aether heard this the third time after breakfast. Sure, he loved to treat paimon to something good, but... he just wished she would stop wasting mora since commisions have been going a little less on his plate.

"Paimon, seriously, do you have the black hole inside you?"

Pamion gave a nervous giggle, "Maybe...?"

"Wait, just a minute..." he smiled weakly, "I'll see if I can get something from the wanmin restaurant..."

"Yaaay, you're the best!"

Seeing her happy is something nice to see.

He took a small dish of grilled fish rather than the large jueyun chillie chicken, which was closer to xinyan's spicy rockstar taste. She must have had at least three plates of that and two mora meat.

"I'm stuffed!"

Aether smiled back now "so much for fattening my emergency food,"

"Heeey!" Paimon huffed. They finally paid the bills and decided to stroll around the Jueyen karst. Of course, Aether began speaking about her large appetite being quite disturbing, "Are you really having a black hole inside you?"

Paimon gasped in offence. "Paimon has a normal stomach like any other being! And you on the other hand...?" She flew towards him, not seeing her properly, he whipped back but she grabbed his sides to prove her point "you look skinny and boney! Do you even eat at all?"

"H-Hey! I d-do just... nohot as much as you!"

He moved away from her, still feeling the ticklish touch of her small fingers. Paimon tilted her head in confusion, but seeing him blush, she knew what was going on...

"Well?" She poked his other side, making him jolt away again."You barely eat more than two servings of food... that's like barely a quarter of a paimon's meal!"

"Ahaha wahahait stohohop ihihit... ihihi don't hahave -suhuhuch a bihihig stohohomach! Uhuhunlike yohohou!"

"Are you mocking Paimon...?" She warned him by pausing her playful attempts. Shrinking front and raising his arms to shield himself, he nodded with a giggle "Yehehes?"

He was asking for it... but seeing her pout in rage was hilarious. Aether collapsed to the grass when Paimon unleashed her wrath vigorously on his stomach. "Ahahah Pahahaimon! Thahahat tihihickles!"

She grinned victoriously "this is for all those times you teased me! So now it's Paimon's turn!"

"Ahahalright! Ahahahre yohohou fihihinallt -AHAHAHA WAHAHAIT NOHO!"

"Aha! Knew your hips are bad! Paimon can tell!" She snickered, grinning evilly as she wiggled her fingers and grabbed at the hip bones. He arched his back and began to cackle loudly, "AHAHA NOHOHO, IM SOHOHORRY! I -ARCHOHOHONS! PLEHEHESE!""

Paimon stopped and then resting her hands at her sides triumphed she smiled widely "so? The great traveller was taken down by tickling... that's something interesting!"

Aether giggled now holding his sides "Yohou... wihihill nohot gehet any mohohora from me!"

"Noo fair! I want to make you take back what you said and now you're not paying for Paimon's food! So unfair!"

Aether frowned in confusion "Unfair -ahahaha nohoho dohont! Nohot agahahain! Ahahah sohoho unfahahair!"

Aether had somehow wondered if he wanted her to stop. He had never felt carefree in a long time...

[canisonicscrewyou]

Playlist: the Master’s party shuffle

message me a made up title of a mixtape/playlist and i have to pick 5 to 10 songs i think would go on it

say “playlist: title” in ur ask so i know what its for (always accepting, probably.)

Taking no criticism at this time. Went over the song limit mostly because the 5 songs canon to Dr Who don’t count, obviously, they just need to be there.

The Master’s Party Playlist

Bonus; I Can’t Decide - Scissor Sisters / Voodoo Child - Rogue Traders / Rasputin - Boney M / Hey Mickey - Toni Basil / Toxic - Britney Spears

DONTTRUSTME - 3OH!3

Hard out Here - Lily Allen

brutal - Olivia Rodrigo

Sexy Naughty Bitchy - Tata Young

Super Psycho Love - Simon Curtis

I Don’t Want It At All - Kim Petras

Witness- Mindless Self Indulgence

Maneater - Nelly Furtado

Bad Romance - Lady Gaga

Dancing On My Own - Robyn

I’m So Hot - Chrissy Chlapecka

The Sharpest Lives - My Chemical Romance

Lay All Your Love On Me - ABBA

Like A Prayer - Madonna

That’s Not My Name - The Ting Tings

Love You Madly - CAKE

Just A Girl - No Doubt

Supermassive Black Hole - Muse

bad idea right? - Olivia Rodrigo

Bubblegum Bitch - MARINA

Under Attack - ABBA

Gimme More - Britney Spears

[megashadowdragon]

the greatest akainu theory @bottlepiecemuses

youtube comments

Personally I’ve always felt it was clear that his idea of “absolute justice” will be born of a sacrifice of a loved one, like every other backstory. I assume that, by compromising on something, someone close to Akainu died, and he vowed to never let any death go in vain. During Ohara he would have said, if one person lives then all of the others who we killed would have been in vain and that’s disgusting to him

A cool thing to mention is that in the official song Red Dog Red, sung by Akainu’s voice actor for a one piece album released quite a while back, the main chorus has him repeat the line “Battle without honor!”. A cool callback from Toei to their earlier series and a fitting line for a character who will rain down hell from above, swim under the ground, and blast a hole through you to get to what he wants.

Great video, a deep dive on the hottest man in One Piece. I appreciate you actually discussing the filmic influences behind all the admirals. Before the Imu reveal, that long stretch of real world time after Marineford but before Reverie, it was always difficult to square which of the two Big Bads, Akainu and Blackbeard, Luffy would punch first, since they both represent the apex of opposition to him in vastly different ways. This analysis helped me to answer that question, even taking Imu into account, but we reach different conclusions. Instead of MarieJois echoing Marineford, it'll reverse things in a way. Blackbeard will arrive to steal what he wants, but this time he won't be the one to kill the king at the last minute, because the dog will have already bit his face off, leaving the empty throne actually empty. Then Blackbeard mercs Akainu leaving his victory a hollow one, because black holes get it? or because magma rapidly cools after finally erupting get it? Then I guess like, Luffy vs Blackbeard happens shrug. My imagined scenario is obviously not as well thought out as yours, hope it wasn't too annoying to read.Show less

admiral akainu being the guard dog puts him in the position to bite their throat out

I think Akainu is really gonna snap back on the world government in some way. When I see him, I think of the story of Sensui from Yu Yu Hakusho. Light/Dark and no grey, but something happens that snaps that line. I don't know what that will be exactly though.

Akainu is Oda's pawn for killing what Luffy won't. Eliminating the World Government from within. Thank you for the video this was great!

What if Akainu is actually the real leader behind Sword? Remember how he's revealed as "an insurgent in the Marines" by Spider Squard when he explains who told him about "Whitebeard's betrayal"? Could've been a subtle nudge of things to come. Then we have the fact that Sword members act without having to be worried about orders from the upper echelon because they're "about to get fired". The fact that Jewelry Boney managed to get away even though Akainu personally came to pick her up, means he likely let her go. And then we go back to the tattoos that Akainu has. No, not the Yakuza one on his left arm, but rather the one on his right that completely stands out: A simple sword.Show less

Interesting! I had never considered that Akainu could only have accepted the fleet admiral position because he didn't want to serve under Aokiji, who he doesn't like. But it does make sense, as I can't really see any other reason for he to be doing paperwork instead of fighting on a battlefield.

Great video and analysis. Another things interesting about akainu’s post time skip design is his snipped ear, which is something that people do to their guard dogs to make them more intimidating. This tiny design change just further emphasizes the fact that he really is the WGs dog

kizaru's "unclear" justice can also be translated as "grey area justice". fwiw i think this gives another perspective on things. it's less that he applies his justice in an inconsistent or unclear way, but more that his justice deals in the grey area of what is legal or "just"

I think nothing would be more interesting than finding out that Akainu's Home Island is none other than Hachinosu. For a man that dreams of Justice, being born on an Island that is the definition of anarchy and chaos. Seeing Piracy be revered as the Way and seeing countless attrocities done to the non-pirate population (mostly slaves, but also traders and other dark deals) Yet the population keep flocking, including his own parents. Corrupted by the desire of wealth and fortune. Akainu being a survivor of Rock's Island during his prime. Would explain why he's the way he is. He probably became somewhat of a vigilante, killing Pirates at Hachinosu. But at the end of the day Rocks always knew, and never did anything about it because he found it amusing. And with a single display of power, shows Akainu that only the Strong can change the world. He even fueled his hatred by letting him live and continue to do his thing. Eventually during a raid by Garp, he manages to catch Garps attention and becomes a Marine officially. But the words Rocks said to him that day and his display of power made him realize, that if he is to change the world to his views, then he needs to have the power to make it happen. Would be interesting. Blackbeard got inspired by Rocks, while Akainu got traumatized by Rocks. But at the end of the day his Will is the one they inherited. Truly painting Rocks as the villain that even dead still affects the world.Show less

Given the implied closeness of Dragon and Sakazuki I've had the idea that Sakazuki was raised by Garp's assistant Bogart

Maybe if doflamingo gets out, sakazuki will come to his realization while in battle with dofi and literally has to cut the strings of a celestial dragon while coming to terms with deciding to not be a puppet to them anymore

I think saka is going to betray the world gov to keep pursing his own justice more, his only equal did it, His thematic animal is constantly threatening to do it His movie characters do it He has every reason to do it Makes the story more interesting to do it It makes senseShow less

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

THE UNIFIED DEFINITIVE, CONCLUSIVE, COMPREHENSIVE AND UTTERLY CORRECT THEORY OF SKELETON WORLD DOMINATION AKA.......EXTENDED FONT FAMILY!

[ Plaintext: The unified definitive, conclusive, comprehensive and utterly correct theory of skeleton world domination aka.......Extended font family! ]

Don't you just fuckin. LOVE concept art?

Well if you don't...WORRY NOT!! BECAUSE I DO!!!! AND I SPENT OVER TEN HOURS OVER THE COURSE OF SUMMER MAKING ......

(Plaintext: Well if you don't...Worry not!! Because I do!!!! And I spent over ten hours over the course of summer making ......)

Well, listen. UwU

[ ID: Photo of a page from creator Toby Fox's notebooks containing Undertale concept art. The first design seen is a skeletal figure with huge teeth that clamp together and also show a bit of the jaw holes. His eyes are simple black holes. Tobys notes read: 2nd boss is a skeleton. Named Papyrus( The name Times New Roman is crossed out). To the crossed out text an arrow point and reads "I was raised by a newspaper". The proto-Papyrus says some lines in signature all caps. " I take what I want, when I want it. " " I'm a man's man."

'Wears a fedora when you date' is the note above a drawing of the design wearing a fedora. He says " How do you like my style." Someone else cuts in with " Russ, we need to talk." More lines say," Hello my darling, I've made spaghetti." He crunches on it and says " It's a little rare."

A far off note reads " has a brother named comic sans" and then blacked out text shows " and a....named..." only clippings of words. End ID]

This is PAPYRUS....later to be known as PAPYRUS SENIOR, alias RUSS. His personality is pretty on display in the page given. Since he's based off Dedan from OFF for the face, maybe he has a rude, irritating streak too?

[ ID: Photo of a page from the Undertale concept art book for Sans' concepts. A concept of him labelled 'firstsans.png' with a more frog-like face possessing a big skull, an odd mouth that is straighter at the edges but inflates at the center, thinner nose, eyes with big pupils is circled in red. End ID]

The one circled in red is his brother, firstsans. He owns an illegal casino somewhere out of sight. His outfits the same as the unused one for Sans that is open jacket, visor cap, trousers, sneakers.

[ ID: A concept art of Papyrus showing him with a smoother head, a fedora, prominent eyebrows above eyeholes with rectangular-slit pupils and mediumly sized teeth framed by fangs. End ID]

This is Russ' husband, TIMES NEW ROMAN. They bonded over their mutual obsession of My Little Boney, their fedoras fell in love, and they tied the knot. They still argue over whether Twilight Sparkill should've ascended to immortally rotten lichdom or not though. Anyway, Roman himself was raised by a newspaper.....

Said newspaper is none other than GRANDPA SERIF, a once-powerful publisher of few spoken words himself who may or may not also be involved with mob activities.

Russ and Roman have babybones in whatever way monsters do, and their fonts are found out to be comic sans and PAPYRUS( JUNIOR ). Papyrus kind of hates the junior part though so he usually drops it.

There is a third brother, the oldest of the three and the oddball font in the family, because he was adopted after being found lost in the Human-Monster war( Wait up I just realised it was like Centuries ago. Maybe Gaster kind of just took up the role of older bro later on to fit in more cuz it felt right??? IDK man, monsters weird) . His speech is usually fast-paced, scattered, and punctuated with a great-many hand motions( Papyrus picks these up later to dramatic heights). He is also of a scientific temperament, even working with Sans later on. His soon-to-be forgotten name...is WINGDING GASTER.

[ ID: A simple headshot sketch of fanart involving my own Gaster interpretation. He has a long head interrupted by upwards-facing spikes protruding from the cheeks. The bottom head part is much like a Gaster Blaster's mouth with a middle split. His eyes are long and form a stretched beanlike downward-heading shape. His nosehole is like a long, thin upside-down heart. He wears a fullbody covering black Howie lab coat. End ID]

Anyway, Sans and Papyrus live away from their family now but they see them over reunions. They also re-meet a few more members...they don't really know how exactly they're related to them but they show up anyway.....

[ ID: A tweet from @ tobyfox with more Papyrus concepts that have a Toriel added beside them for reference. The tweet says " These were @ tuyoki's first attempts at Papyrus's sprite. He looked too cool and not goofy enough though, so I changed his eyes and scarf. "

The sprites are near-identical except for minor variations such as height and teeth size et cetera. Their basic design is similar to Papyrus' overworld sprite but with more gaping black eyes, a tattered scarf that flares out like a popped collar. Overall a more serious look. End ID]

These cool looking skeletons form a IDENTICAL QUINTUPLET QUINTET BAND. Name pending if anyone has any suggestions pls drop

[ ID: A page with a lot of Papyrus concepts much closer to his final version. However they look off with sketchy poses and body parts, crudely drawn faces, and a bunch in the middle performing what appears to be some sort of dance move or attack. Most of the ones with a clear undergarment look like a skirt or some mound-shaped underwear. The last one is the crudest concept, standing fashionably with his hand on his hip and a smile. He is basically a stickman in white filled by pixels. End ID]

Most of these persons, collectively known as PAPYRII, are skeletons of a much older age from when monsters and humans lived in harmony. Many of them also fought in the War or were involved somehow. Now they harbor a host of old injuries, and a somewhat generally different countenance to the newer-born generation. They're kinda wary of Sans:

[ ID: Meme of the girls in the party holding soda cups, the girls are turning and looking judgementally at whoever came in. End ID

Kids these days. Yanno.

[ ID: A closeup image of the last Papyrus concepts as described before. End ID]

However firstpapyrus is usually a much chiller sort than the Papyrii. He is rumored to be one of the first skeletons ever created. He refuses to wear clothes because he claims their natural state is to exist nudely, slurp spaghetti, and make art. Don't be fooled though he's Seen Some Shit.

--

[ GIF description: A low poly skeleton head holds a trumpet and doots it, slightly turning around and back again. End description]

Thank you for reading, undead conspirators

[ Plain text: Thank you for reading, undead conspirators]

BTW I dunno when I'll do something with all this stuff so if anyone wants to use these ideas go ahead! Just ask me before hand first, give some basic detail, and credit.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: my fav little hater was upset about my post getting interactions again so they flagged it to be incorrectly labeled, meaning it's hidden from the majority of people so repost time! there is no mature content in this chapter, suck it. based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat. 

  Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I’m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

  You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her. 

  And a large hole in their wallet.

  “It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

  “This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

  It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

  You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

  “You got a number we can reach you at?”

  You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along. 

  “Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

  God, I hope so.

  The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

  You’d learned. Eventually.

  Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your back and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed. 

  Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no cool air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

  Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

  It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

  A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

  The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

  You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

  With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

  ─

  Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

  His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door. 

  “Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

  Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

  Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

  “Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

  “A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

  “Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

  He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something. 

  “What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

  “Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

  Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again.He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group. 

  Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred–with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through the wall. Henry had to go.

  Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

  “I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”  

  “Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more. 

  A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

  The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

  A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

  The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles. 

  Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling. 

  That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh. 

  It’s intimidating. 

  They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

  But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

  “Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

  “Yup.”

  “See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

  “I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

  Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

  You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them. 

  People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

  Someday, that would be you. 

  You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last. 

  Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

  The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

  “What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

  “Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

  “Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

  “Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

  “Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

  As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

  The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

  Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

  Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

  You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

  He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

  He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

  The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

  Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

  But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

  Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

  When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

  Someone who looked like their art.

  You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

  You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

  Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

  “Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

  Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

  What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden? 

  He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. 

  Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

  Professionalism, he reminded himself.

  “Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

  “Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

  Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn’t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

  Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

  You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

  There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room. 

  On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

  “Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

  Sure you haven’t.

  “Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

  “You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

  He had no idea how right he was.

  “The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

  “And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

  First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

  “But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

  Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

  “You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

  “Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

  You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

  “Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack. 

  “Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

  “Did your tattoos hurt?”

  Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

  “A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

  “Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

  Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

  No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

  He was getting hard. 

  Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

  Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

  “Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

  You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

  The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

  “What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

  A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

  He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

  “That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

  You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

  Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

  “Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

  “Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

  “I’d be stupid not to.”

  You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

  “Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

  Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

  “Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

  “Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.” 

  “But I thought you said—” 

  “Me.”

  Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

  You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

  “So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face. 

  You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!” 

  He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

  “You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.” 

  Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

  “Wait—this is paid?”

  “Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

  Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

  Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

  The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you. 

  You’d have time to get there.

  “Hey, Deidre.”

  “Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

  He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

  “We’ll see you soon?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

  You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

  “Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile. 

  You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

  It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

  Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

  Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

  He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

  He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids. 

  Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

  “Need a hand?”

  Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

  Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

  “Are you offering yours?”

  She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

  “Mmm, not just my hand.”

  All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick. 

[vainglory-esque]

Last night I got like suuuuuuper into researching a certain very popular in the 90s rap group from Memphis (hint hint) and the conspiracy that they literally worship the devil

and I find it so fascinating from the standpoint of how opposed it is to the spiritual values of groups they were kinda lumped in with musically during their heyday, the most known (boney) group has a pretty notable beef with the members of the supposedly devil worshipping group and he's made public statements about his experiences with them personally and why he doesn't fuck with their beliefs. Also, I found out that half of them have passed before age 50, and all 3 of those who passed did so in the city where they supposedly sacrificed someone for the asking of fame and glory— that's fucking wild and I'm not a big believer in coincidences personally, especially concerning these matters.

There's also some recent interviews of the less famous (for lack of a better term) remaining member of the three, and he fully admits and goes into detail about their attempts to invoke dark forces, and how they really weren't just fucking around for shock value when one of them called herself The Devil's Daughter.

I'm so morbidly fascinated with the rumors of the sigils named for their home city and the purpose of them as someone coming from the opposite end of the spectrum concerning all things otherworldly, it's so fucking interesting what makes people want to perform black magic (for lack of a better term).

My partner grew up in a similar community as the artists and sought out similar ✨ dark ✨ things as an adult and spent time around people who called themselves priestesses of dark matters, so I made them spend a solid hour explaining it all to me and where the rumors come from, what people consider evidence of the validity of the idea and opposing points to the notion, and it's really so fucking interesting— I highly recommend this rabbit hole if anyone is also into 90s hip hop and black magic/demonology

[cosmiccanidae]

FULL NAME. Raisu Alexeyevich Sovez NICKNAME. N/A ALIASES.‏ N/A PRONOUNS. he/him HEIGHT.‎‏‏‎ 5'7'' AGE. 98 ZODIAC. Scorpio SPOKEN LANGUAGES. Russian, English

‎‏‏‎ ‎𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 ―

HAIR.‎‏‏‎ Completely white at this point, kind of fluffy. FACIAL HAIR. None EYES. An unnatural fiery orange, though his right eye looks grey thanks to leucoma. SKIN TONE. Very pale BODY TYPE. Generally thin and boney aside from some fat carried on his midsection. VOICE. Mid-pitch, has held onto his native accent pretty strongly despite how much he's travelled. You can hear some age in his voice but it's still pretty strong. DOMINANT HAND. Right‎ POSTURE. ‎Bad. He's hunched over a lot of the time. MOST NOTABLE FEATURES. His eyes, both because of how piercing his orange one is and the fact that the other one always seems to be half closed. His large ears are notable and his flowing tail that contains stardust.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 ―

PLACE OF BIRTH. Russia HOMETOWN. idk SIBLINGS. None PARENTS. Alexey Sovez (father) and Eva Sovez (mother), both deceased.

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ―

OCCUPATION. ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎Space Pirate and Anarchist Terrorist Activist CURRENT RESIDENCE. Mostly on his ship but also has a secret house on earth. CLOSE FRIENDS. His crew, basically. He's also one of those 'my wife is my best friend' people. FINANCIAL STATUS. Good enough. DRIVER’S LICENSE. He no longer has a valid license of any kind. He probably shouldn't be driving anyway his eyesight sucks. CRIMINAL RECORD. He's got a death warrant on his head for a long list of things including treason, smuggling, hijacking, aggravated assault, and other things. VICES. Does a preoccupation with revenge count?

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Heterosexual PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. Gonna be honest, I don't actually know what this means. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. ‎Wouldn't you like to know?‏‏‎ TURN OFFS. ‎Nope TURN ON’S. Nope‏‎‏ LOVE LANGUAGE. Acts of service and quality time RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. ‎‏‏‎ ‎Very loyal and attentive. He would do anything for his partner and gushes over them.‏‏‎

‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 ―

CHARACTER’S THEME TUNE. Supermassive Black Hole HOBBIES TO PASS THE TIME. Reading, dad jokes, poker, obsessing over the plan to get his wife back which really shouldn't count as a hobby but- LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Left-brained‎‏‏‎ SELF-CONFIDENCE LEVEL. High but not to the point of overconfidence. He has a good grasp on what he is and isn't capable of.

[savagesneversleepnyc]

GREAT DAVEY JONES LOCKER

(25 GREAT JONES)

Sitting on the rain guard

Making my bones on GREAT JONES

Hearing a clamoring of profane PARAMOURS stunting interior antithesis

Equations presented like chocolates

Dusted in famous and familiar dust

So desirable in fact…

Most hide their aspirant

In pure intent or lack there of

But as below so yo above a CROWN

Adorned in magnificent light

That isn’t bright at all…

But a polar vortex hole

That he knew was actually

A bottle full of gasoline

Not sweet brown whiskey

As the THING inside the BLACK HOLE

Of the unknown falls as the sun

Chases the moon and touches

Fading tips of branches kissing

The finger of the creature from the black lagoon too soon in monsoon moonstruck

Alley cat LOVE AFFAIRS as

HERCULES appears AIRES

AIRS grievances and deed upon

PAWNS UPON A BORED

PACK OF FELINES

the thumb of the MAGIS to heavens.

THE thumb of the EMPEROR casting volley

To HADES as the wretched masses

Throw rotten words and stones

Dipped in sand and molasses

The VERDICT was VERDUN

and KING would become shallow and swallow

Hallowed be they ONE against the

BLINKING singing of

VOLUPTUOUS HARPIES STAR STRICKEN

with DR MARTEN’s unGODly concoction

As rocks turn to sand and the

hands of TIME whip

Command slips into the glove of LOVE

I place on SOFT HANDS that only

HURT as we stand back and watch the

WEALTH of CURRENCY actually become the

GRAVITY they must TOIL THROUGH TOO

For DEATH SUBS set sail

From DOCKS and PORTS

We care NOT to recall

The TOTALITY of the 20,000 LEAGUES

Of excuses for all the ways we could have incinerated the same currency in kindness not blindly trying to refund the pack

At the TARGET we hit

Riding the great beast upon the line

As BONEY ROOKERS TOOK HER

ALL THE WAY TO THE FOOT

OF GREAT DAVEY

JONES LOCKER

1:34 pm 25 GREAT JONES, NYC 6.27.24.00000093 OGI

[queenlessbee]

i cannot tell you the fear that grips me wrapping its boney fingers 'round my core tighter tighter it holds me there paralyzed captivated lost in the terror in the excitement lost in endless possibilities and i drown in the doubts so many reasons why not why not why not but that pull from you to me that overwhelming attraction like a magnet like a black hole swallowing me whole and i want to fall into you so badly disappear in your depths sink into your core and radiate love and light from within your insides out and i want to taste your soul devour your flesh pick your bones clean i want to give you new definitions for feelings of pleasure for pain for what it means to be home of feeling safe but i am so full of fear that i am too old too damaged not enough too fucking much when you are so perfect so pure and you feel just right in my arms in my gaze in my thoughts in my dreams i just want more and more and more and more to know you entirely utterly and completely every inch from head to toe from heart to soul and i hate myself for all this wanting for wanting more more than the friendship we have the repore the love the respect i dont want to lose any of it but i just cant help but want more