#is it a binder or a tank top? who knows

[phantom-rats]

ex-soldier drip

[euphoricmigraine]

having a transmasc dan moment. was rewatching reanimator and got to the end where he gives meg his shirt and he’s got like a white tank top underneath. just imagining him running heroically with the axe covered in blood WITH tits out under the tank top. ahah. think with me

[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. 

[proseka-headcanons]

transmasc rui: an essay (/silly) by mod mizuki

made on june 7 2024. scheduled for (if i'm correct) exactly june 24 2024 12am JST in honor of rui's birthday

so. i talk a lot about transmasc rui. but i've never explained the headcanon. that is what i am here to do today because i've been meaning to make this post since *checks notes* ... april. oh wow and i only did this while half asleep on june 7... and then scheduled it for rui's birthday.... oh dear. well anyways. a lot of this is kinda jokey. in fact the first point is the only 100% serious one i think. but without further ado, here's why rui kamishiro is transmasc!

1. rui's connection to the cat plush in the wonderland sekai

this is a BIG one. it's pretty clear, isn't it? the cat plush is VERY obviously meant to mirror rui. the worry of being seen as weird and being ostracized for sharing his ideas? yeah. that's obviously rui. however, with this comes some trans coding. why? the cat plush is a calico. if you don't know, male calico cats are RIDICULOUSLY rare, and almost always sterile. a common statistic is that only 1/3,000 calicos are male, but it's unclear if that's the real statistic. either way, male calicos are so rare that when one is born, discovered, or adopted, there are news articles made about it. a big example being charlie unicorn (as he was nicknamed), a cat from colorado discovered in april of 2023 to be male and adopted in june of the same year.

^ that's charlie

male calico cats (as well as male tortoiseshell cats) are known as the unicorn of cats because they're just that rare. so rui (a canon male) being so closely tied to the calico plush... yeah seems like trans coding to me, accidental or not.

2. this fucking card

that's it. yeah. that card.

look his earring is trans flag colors okay. also. the costume. it's called fucking transition gentleman there's literally nothing more to say here moving on

3. his friendship with mizuki

i like getting opportunities to talk about them. so mizuki and rui are friends we all know this. and they bonded over being outcasts. but what if. they also had something else in common. transness or something idk. transfem transmasc solidarity is a thing and it's cool. if two trans people know they're both trans they're likely to get along well. they can feel safe because the other won't judge them for who they are. ... a lot of the time.

maybe he's an outcast for being autistic and a trans boy. you can't tell me otherwise. also them both being trans makes the dynamic so much better in my personal opinion :3

4. holy shit!!! a binder!!!

if you look closely, the thing he's wearing underneath the white shirt... has no sleeves. it has like. straps. it could easily be a tank top but it could also just as easily be a binder. i choose to believe it IS a binder. you can't tell me otherwise

i might be forgetting things, but i'm tired. i'm eepy. so thank you for coming to my ted talk. mod mizuki out.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Idk why but lately I've been thinking a lot about a reader who is some flavor of trans/didn't vibe with their assigned gender at birth. Maybe in a scenario where they were kinda neglected with the X-men they were worried being different like that would only make them more isolated/get reader in trouble. So in a scenario like in fallen snow au where they are separated from the yans for an extended period of time and find themselves free and living on their own, reader just goes all out with dressing and presenting themselves in a way that they feel like they couldn't before. Like, they look completely different from when they left/ran away from the mansion.

When the yans do find reader? Reader has gone all out, they realized theyre transfem? Reader is wearing all the girly clothes she always wanted to but was too scared to try. Reader realized theyre transmasc? He's cut his hair, has a binder and models his look after like- Ryan Reynolds or something. Reader realized theyre nonbinary? They be rocking the most slaying fit that reassures them of their androgenous identity.

Idk just- the x-men finally finding reader after a long time only to realize just how little they all really knew reader. The yans realizing just how badly they messed up bc only when reader was alone and away from the mansion did reader feel confident/comfortable enough to come out. Heck, maybe reader DID try to come out but the yans were just that neglectful.

The real question is if the yans overcorrect themselves and slather trans!reader with affection or just act like reader always presented as their preferred gender and the yans try to pretend they didnt mess up as badly as they did.

I was thinking about this as well-

If Creed Reader (or any Reader) was trans (transfem/transmasc/transenby), they'd feel like they could breath, could just be, foe the first time they're alone amd on their own. They have no one to please, no reason to pretend, nothing to hide or standards to reach or anything holding them back. So they get creative. Go all out.

They're transfem? Good bye nether region, hello lipstick and sleek dresses and skirts and appearing more feminine! They adore feeling this way, and enjoy becoming more of themself each day!

They're transmasc? Good bye chest, and welcome extra hair everywhere and wearing only shorts and trying different suits on and appearing more masculine! They appreciate the warmth they feel, and accept their new changes with open arms!

They're transenby? Well, they're doing whatever they want! Don't want a chest? It's gone! Don't like their lower regions? They're changing them! They want to wear tank tops and shorts and not be too curvy or muscular? Ha! It's no problem! They like being them, not necessarily a male or female, just them, scars and flesh and soul and all!

The platonic yans, upon seeing Reader for the first time in awhile, are shocked.

Reader is... a guy/woman/envy?

They know even less about them then they thought!

The platonic yans are bending over backwards to try and get their pronouns right, trying to appeal to their preferred wants and likes, calling them pretty or beautiful or handsome or gorgeous or cute or stunning, whatever makes them smile or feels good, they'll do it, just tell them! Reader likes skirts or shorts or pants? Oh, look, a whole closet full, each in varying lengths and styles and colors! Reader likes certain body sprays or perfumes or scents? Here's a new one to try each day of the year, in enough scents that any body or beauty store woukd be jealous! Reader wants to appear a certain way? Let them help! Be it braiding their hair or trimming it or shaving it off or growing it out or whatever they want, let them know, amd they'll accommodate it!

They're all so, so eager, and very, very overzealous in their efforts. They will NOT fail this time. And if anyone gets Reader's gender wrong?

That person will find a very p*ssed-off Sabretooth, Wolverine, Charles Xavier, Morph, and a whole herd of unhappy teens about to beat their *ss.

Reader is THEIR little sunshine, so they better treat them with respect!!!

[genderkoolaid]

I feel like “can’t be bothered to bind” rhetoric is so common, I’m sure if people who don’t bind realize how uncomfortable it is, and also how much it dictates your behavior. I’ve had a lot of conversations with other young adult trans mascs (like 18-24) about how everyone knows the “binding rules” you see online, but following them is so impractical. I used to bind occasionally in high school. If I were to follow actual good binding rules, I wouldn’t be able to run to class if the rooms were far apart without being late regularly, or go from the bottom floor to the top (4th) floor without moving at a snails pace without running out of breath, and I’d have to take my whole lunch break to stand binderless in the bathroom (of which there were only 4 gender neutral ones in a school of 2,000+ students) to not go over 8 hours at a time. And that is for an average school day, in a school that actual has a space where I could take off my binder if needed. Not even considering sports, or a labor-intensive job, or lacking a space where it is safe to take off a binder. Even if every trans masc who wore a binder automatically passed, which they don’t (I never did), we often put ourselves at physical risk to function in cis society and not be punished.

I think some folks view binding as like wearing a tight tank top or a sports bra, even if hypothetically they are aware that it has health risks. I don't wear binders anymore but when I did it was always uncomfortable and often painful both because, as you said, following the rules can be impractical, AND my nervous system already loves to translate the sensation of existing as pain. They view binding as just magically disappearing your tits into a pocket universe like it's the easiest thing in the world.

& ofc I'm sure if you brought this up someone would respond with "well uhhh trans tape exists so there 🙄"

[baby-trapped-boywife]

I keep fantasizing about, now that I’m finally comfortably passing, starting to forget my weekly T shots. I hook up with my fwb, this older guy who lives alone in a rundown trailer park a little outside my city. Neither of us think about using protection bc we haven’t had an issue yet. Until I get knocked up. I never wanted to be a father and now I’m carrying the bastard of some fucking divorced drunk. And, yet, it feels oddly right.

We talk options and I make my choice, which is surprisingly our choice. My baby daddy says he wants us to parent our baby together. It’s unexpected, but we decide to make it official and move in together. There’s not an expectation of a relationship, we’ll just be roommates and parents to the child growing inside me. I didn’t think my life would go like this. Truth be told, I’m struggling in the early months of pregnancy. I feel dysphoric and resent having to delay my transition.

He treats me like a queen, though, and I leave my full time warehouse job to work part time as a receptionist at his brother’s garage. Me and my baby daddy start spending a lot more time together because of this and because of living together. I start to think I might be lucky.

As I get further along, I find it hard to find clothes that fit my growing curves. I’ve gotten fatter and my chest has gotten more sensitive. My hips are definitely wider. I decide to try dressing slightly more femininely, it will make the whole ordeal easier. Doctors and nurses are frequently asking me if I’m excited to be a mommy and most people I talk to at work think I’m a tomboy who smoked a few too packs before letting herself get knocked up by a greasy old drunk who hasn’t even given her a ring.

‘I must be stupid if I’m carrying this man’s three babies without a band on my finger,’ I think the week we find out I’m carrying triplets. It’s a blessing, especially considering I wasn’t even supposed to be fertile. Or, so I’d heard. Maybe it was the missed shots. I’d been Icarus flying too close to the sun, only instead I fall to my knees in front of my new fiancé that night with a big garish heart-shaped shimmery ring on my finger.

With me spending every possible moment with my fiancé in his bedroom, I move out of my room in our trailer and start converting it to a nursery. My hair is a cute bob and I’m really enjoying giving into playing my new role as trailer whore. It’s not really me, just a sorta drag performance I’ve decided to lean into for the duration of my pregnancy. My fiancé finds it hot: me in a pair of flip flops, Daisy Dukes, and a tank top with no binder or bra as I answer the rarely ringing shop phone. I sit on his lap when we host over his friends and don’t object to the idea of being his bride.

I end up in a chic boho-style flowy dress that shows off my swollen tits and baby bump. As my husband takes me as his wife for the first time, I feel something shift inside me. I wasn’t playing some caricature anymore. I was officially the wife of trailer trash and that made me trailer trash too. If this was my life now, then I was going to have fun with it.

I keep growing out my hair, dye it blonde like my husband says he wants, and stop wearing any undergarments. I’m kinda a feminist that way, by freeing the nipple. These days milk is often leaking through my tiny tops. I still get spray tans bc my salon lady says it’s okay and hubby likes when I look sun-kissed orange. Before I know it, I’ve got a tramp stamp and hubby’s name tattooed on my crotch. Both were done by one of hubby’s friends in our living room. I’ll get more once I finally give birth.

Weirdly, the sex gets better as I lean more into looking like my husband’s dream girl. I find that I want to be whatever he wants me to be. Knowing that I’m his forever and free from ever making a decision again. I love what he’s done to me, how he controls me in every way. My old life is completely erased. Getting knocked up was the best thing a misguided girl like me could have done.

I basically had the best life ever. My man was obsessed with me and always giving me gifts of cute clothes and jewelry, watching me paint my fingers and toes at work when it was quiet, contorted to reach around my massive baby bump. I always giggle when I notice him watching me from across the shop, my hubby’s such a horndog and I’m the luckiest bitch in the world.

[rjalker]

Edit: Can't believe the irony of me having to say this, but I do apparently have to say this: Not wanting boobs and not wanting to be seen as feminine does not mean you are, or want to be seen as masculine. I'm not transmasculine just because I don't want boobs and don't want to be seen as feminine.

You cannot read a post where the point is having boobs does not equal being feminine and go oh! right. Because not wanting boobs equals being masculine! No!! I'm not transmasculine! I'm not trying to look masculine! Kill the gender binary that has a stranglehold on your views of gender!

Stop shoving nonbinary people into a new set of binary boxes!

___

the idea that having boobs gets you automatically and inherently classified as being "female presenting" and "feminine presenting" in so-called progressive circles makes me want to maul people.

I've said this before and I'll just keep repeating it forever: I'm disabled. I can't wear a binder. If I tried I'd dislocate several ribs and that'd be the least of my worries. Like. you know why ribs not being where they're supposed to be is dangerous? Yeah. Yeah. Use your imagination. That's a real thing I have to worry about.

I can't even wear a sports bra that's several sizes """too large""" comfortably.

And yeah, I can use trans tape, but that takes concerted time and effort to put on and take off, and every time you put it on you get different results, and you might just mess it up entirely and waste it, and it can get itchy if you're sweating with it on (and it's 90 degrees almost all the time it's not actively winter here, so that's...literally unavoidable. Even sitting in the living room. Because the electric company charges an arm and a leg for AC during the summer AND won't even give you enough to actually cool your shitty tiny apartment even with all the doors shut and curtains drawn!!!!!), and it's expensive to buy more of.

And especially because this declaration of "feminine presenting" or "female presenting" that gets shoved onto you is not only misgendering you, but placing the blame on you for being misgendered for not looking not-female enough. It's no longer the speaker making incorrect assumptions, they're now literally declaring that this is a concious decision you make. You are choosing to "present" yourself this way...by having a body that you have no control over.

And even when it comes to clothes, the idea that the clothes you wear is another purposeful, conscious Presentation™ of your gender...

Even if we ignore for a moment the fact that being disabled and poor severely limits the clothes you can wear and even just have access to, what about people who literally don't get to choose what their clothes are? Kids whose parents buy their clothes for them, people whose carers choose their outfits for them?

My gender is not "sun-bleached tank top and shorts with a reflective sun hat". That's just what I wear so I don't die of heat stroke every time I set foot outside, and so that my joints are not being painfully constricted every time I move. I literally can't take my hat off outside during the day without developing a headache (or are they fucking migraines? fuck if I know!) within minutes from the sun trying to murder me from my light sensitivity. And it took me years to even realize that it was light sensitivity causing this. I remember in middle school the substitute gym teacher asked if I was a vampire because I moved to the closest shady spot every time we moved to a new area.

And like. Let's be honest. Even if I could safely wear a binder...They're fucking expensive.

It's just really fucking annoying that so many people equate binding with being trans and so many people who are supposed to be allies are just so comfortable labeling other people, who they haven't asked, as "feminine presenting" just because of the presence of boobs. Like we have any choice in the matter. Like having visible boobs just means you're asking to be misgendered.

[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. 

[lostonehero]

I'm late to mermay, but well, uh, no excuses have Siren! Martin doing such a great job in the archives.

Tim loved going to the ocean. He loved the water in general, and when Danny was still with him, he would try and fail to convince him to try to go with him during the winter. Danny always quoted old legends, but Tim didn't believe in them. Well, he does now, but that's besides the point.

The reason Tim believes is the 6ft5inch man in his apartment who is technically his husband or mate in his words. Of course, this happened years ago he's now a much more jaded man. He works for the insistute now trying to get answers for his brother, and somehow, his husband works there too. He really doesn't understand how he lied about everything on his CV.

"Tim?" A male voice pulls Tim out of his thoughts. "Should I wear this one or this one? We work together now in the archives, and you don't want me to match you."

"The blue one is fine, Martin." Tim smiles softly. Martin wasn't human, and he's honestly surprised nobody has figured it out. He's also grateful for the face that he's his husband, even if he keeps it secret.

"Are you sure? You want our mate bond to be kept secret. I don't know if they can smell it.... I should wear one from the dryer." Martin sighs.

Tim chuckles. "Just because I wore that to bed doesn't mean you can't wear it. We humans don't have the same abilities as you guys."

"Yeah, but I don't know if everyone there is human." Martin huffs.

They have this argument about once a week, which is fine. It's better than the raw meat debate. Tim smiles softly. "Alright, alright, won't wear your jumpers anymore."

Martin huffs. "I didn't say that! You always do this."

Tim chuckles. "Maybe I like seeing you riled up. Seriously though, it's fine as long as we don't arrive at the same time." They've been together years at this point, so they both know when they are joking.

"I know the drill, Tim." Martin sighs. "Can we share the same bed tonight?"

"I'm not sleeping in the tub with you again it took weeks for my skin to heal, and before you suggest it no I'm not going in the ocean either we were both incredibly late to work." Tim raised his brow and pauses. "Oh wait, you meant my bed."

Martin rolls his eyes. "Forget I asked."

"No, wait, yes." Tim moves closer to Martin. "Then I don't have to wear things that smell like you."

Martin smiles. "You're already my mate. You do not need to scent yourself of me."

"What if I want to?"

"I suppose that can be arranged."

......

Sasha rolled her chair closer to Tim. "So Jon totally has a crush on Martin. I was talking to his ex, and she totally agrees. How about a wager? I mean, Martin is totally into him. Have you seen how aggressive he is about taking care of Jon?"

Tim chokes on his tea. "W-what?" He wipes off the mess the best he could. "Sasha, he's that way to everyone."

"Not you, and nowhere near that way to me or anyone else in this building. Besides, the timing is perfect. We have that mandatory institute day out on the beach. Sure, we're picking up trash and sending flyers out about the institute, but there's also games and food. We can totally set them up." Sasha claps her hands together with a smile on her lips.

"No." Tim could feel that green eyed monster rear its ugly head. Danny always made fun of him because he insisted he felt nothing of their marriage. Danny was right, of course. He was about to out them, and he had to think of something. "No, I mean well, what are the stakes? Is Jon's ex going to be there?"

"Oooo, that could be even better." Sasha smirks. "She can help us, and she is bringing her girlfriend. Tim you're a genius."

Tim gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

......

Sasha pushed Martin and Jon together. "You two can start at one end, and Tim and I will start at the other. Then we'll meet up and get some American fair food they have."

Jon raised a brow. He was in a binder with a loose tank top above it and a pair of shorts. He was also in boots and long socks. "Ok? I don't understand why Elias has this to be mandatory."

Martin looked like he was about to growl and hiss. They were so close to the ocean that the instincts to take his mate to the ocean screamed at him. "Yeah, it's an odd choice."

Tim grits his teeth as Sasha pulls him away. He was still mostly human, well it was slowly changing but he was still mostly human but even he could feel the pull of the ocean he can't imagine how Martin feels.

......

Jon rubs his brow as he looks over to Martin, who is carrying about six full bags of trash without breaking a sweat. It was impressive and kind of depressing that there's that much trash. "Martin, we can stop and drop those off, we have a ways to go."

"Why?" Martin tilted his head in a way that Jon thought was adorable.

"Isn't it heavy?" Jon sighs he only had two half full bags since Martin keeps taking the full ones away from him.

"No, not really. Are you alright? Do you need more sunscreen? We are nearly done with our side." Martin puts the bags down and takes out a bottle of sunblock.

"I'm dark skinned Martin I don't need that much." Jon, let's out a noise of surprise since Martin already started to put on a fresh layer.

"Dark skin still burns." Martin is quick but thurough. "It's better to be safe."

Jon blushes a deep red. "I uh right, of course. Let us continue. We're almost done."

.....

Sasha and Tim waved from the start of the stands. "Took you guys long enough!" Sasha laughs.

Jon frowns. "Martin insisted I drink some water and put on another layer of sunscreen. However, we did collect the most trash."

Martin nods. "Yes! We found a big pile someone buried under the sand. Also your health is important."

Tim looked between them, and something clicked. The green eyed beast was dead, and Martin was treating Jon like a pod member who couldn't care for themselves. He did this before with Danny when he was really into extreme sports. He felt the tension drain from his shoulders. "How about some weird American food? Heard double boss man got some cool stuff like pickled lemonade, and fried oreos."

"Good lord, that sounds like a heart attack." Jon scoffs.

"I would like to try that. Sounds like a perfect hangover cure." Sasha chuckles.

.......

Martin somehow ended up on a cliffside. He loved watching the waves from this high up, Tim was behind him talking to Jon's ex, um Georgie was her name. It was very nice and he really wanted to jump.

"Pretty view." A old man was next to him. His white hair was wind swept back. "You can get lost in just how vast it is."

Martin nodded, not realizing he was moving forward until he was tumbling over the edge. Well, he wanted to do this anyway.

Tim did a double take before he started to run. "MARTIN!" He went over the edge as well, and he could swear he heard an old man laughing.

Georgie and Sasha ran to the edge. They saw Tim hanging on grabbing Martin on a ledge.

"Holy shit are you two ok?" Sasha stared down at them wide-eyed.

Tim huffs. "I know you're making that face. I'm not dropping you." He did not hear Sasha, but she can hear the two men.

"But Tim, the ocean! Pleaseeeee I wanna go with you." Martin huffs.

"No, Martin, you're going to out us!" Tim groans his grip was strong but not enough for their combined weight. "Grab onto a ledge! Use your damn claws."

"I will bite you." Martin holds his hand out and then slams it into the side of the cliff and lets go of Tim. "You owe me!"

"We can go swimming when it won't out us." Tim rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip with both hands. "Now focus, we need a way back up."

"I'm not helping you." Martin sticks his tongue out and climbs the clifside like he was a lizard and stops above Tim. "You're also banned until I see fit from taking my clothes."

"Seriously? We're literally hanging from a cliff." Tim huffs.

"You are. I am climbing." Martin kicks off his shoes then his socks. "Last chance."

Tim looks up at the two women staring at them, and of course, they see Martin sink his claws into stone. "Fine. Not because I want to, but because Sasha and Georgie already saw you sink your hands into the cliffside." He lets go of the cliffside and falls with his arms crossed.

Martin follows in a diving position.

Sasha and Georgie screamed.

......

"Now, Sasha, let's not be hasty." Elias hums, walking by the bottom of the cliffside. "You also said Martin pushed his hands into the cliffside."

"I'm sorry, Sasha, but he's right." Georgie frowns. "I believe in the weird, but that's like impossible, and to fall at that height."

"Well, I hope the supernatural exists." Jon mumbles. "They could survive the fall right?"

"Not likely, water becomes -" Elias is cut off by laughter.

"Martin! Bloody hell!" Tim said through laughter.

Martin was carrying Tim. They were walking out of the waves. "Oh, I love cliff diving. We should do that again!"

The four people stared at the two with jaws open.

[turtleraccoonsoup]

different binding methods ranked for newboies (hehe pun)

By a trans man who's mom works at the post office, thus doesn't have a binder or trans tape. (I've been doing this for 3 years now)

§ one, layering sports bras § I know you see this one every where but it does actually work. If you have a smaller bust then 2 should work well. If you have a larger bust or you're not happy with how flat you are at 2, add another. The max should be 5 and anything above that is dangerous. You could also wear a +longer+ sports bra on top of the one you're already wearing and fold the top over. I've always tried to put the elastic bit over the largest part of my bust (nips for most)

§ two, layering tank tops § try buying some tank tops that are a bit small for you, wear at least three, and fold them up on top of each other. Works wonders when pressure on your shoulders makes you want to throw up after over binding once or twice (i have done this and i regret it more than being born a girl ngl)

§ three, wrapping cloth § of you get your hands on a lot of cloth you can (((+-+LOOSELY+-+))) wrap it around your chest. Go tight enough to be flat and loose enough to breath

§ four, making a binder § I've done this multiple times and most of them worked out relatively well. You can take a larger sports bra and sew it. If you're gonna do this make sure not to sew it to much in one place and throw off the balance.

NEVER bind for longer than 8 hours if you bind really tightly, and never sleep in it unless its tape, and if you're gonna use tape make sure its stretchy and at least sort of meant for the skin.

Thats all for now :) if this gets 100 notes I'll do more

[cerosin-bis]

Could I humbly request any nikodim hcs u have persnaps I want to hear more about ur trans nikodim talk pelase pelase holds my hands out eagerly

(puts one knee on the ground) anon thank you so much for this ask..... 🥺 rodion world's most special boy I love you so much. okay so. more Rodion headcanons, centered around the fact that yes I've been hcing him as trans from the start:

It all started because his default skin (as seen in the middle above) has a white, tight-fitting tank top under... his other tank top. so I said "that's his binder". the end.

He was out to his mum (who's always been supportive) before starting HRT or even being out to his friends. Like as a young teen he already felt #gender. he started medically transitioning in his late teens.

He went stealth in the special forces, but not in the military, because he wasn't publicly out (although on hrt and out to friends and family). He ~officially~ transitioned before passing the SF selection.

Literally no fucking one guessed.

Not everyone knows in the Armistice, even within Allegiance. Yegor was the first to know because at this point he's his adoptive dad LOL

Rodion is exclusively transitioning with HRT, no surgery because he doesn't really have dysphoria (yes, being buff helped him. bro started lifting when he was 18). he's just comfortable as he is. boobs are nice.

He goes to the medbay to get his T shot usually, but sometimes Nikto does it.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hey, I’m the person who was asking about binders. I was just looking at the underworks website and after measuring my chest I have realised I’m in between sizes.

What do you recommend, getting the bigger size or smaller size?

It’s literally 0.5 inches difference for both so I’m confused with what to do.

Also, I’m scared to get one bc I’m worried that a) when it comes in the mail someone in my family might see it and confront me about it and b) someone in my family will get suspicious as to why I have one/wear one. What could I do about this?

Thanks Cas, you’re a legend!! 🫶🏼

Hi love!

Always go bigger for binders. A smaller size could be too restrictive and cause damage. If you find that it's too big, check the return policy and see if you can exchange. But yeah, for binders, it's not safe if it's too small.

Most binder companies offer discreet packaging, so unless your family opens your mail it should be okay. You could always call customer service to see exactly how it's packaged, but if I remember correctly, the underworks binder was just a normal bag-type package with a small label with my name and address and the company's name "underworks" and address. Nothing super telling. However, because you're shipping to another country, checking with customer service could be good, as it could be coming from a different facility.

As far as family finding it, how knowledgable are they about binders?you could lie and say it's a sports bra/undershirt? I know that before I looked up binders, if I had seen one randomly I would have thought it was a strange sports bra or tank top.

Lots of love!

[artzychic27]

Now that all four posts are out, let’s see all the kids from the classes just being a chaotic family at Pride!

Nino, Marc, Nathaniel, Ayesha, Reshma, and Eri are just casually adopting pride kids like it is no one's business

When Adrien, Jesse, and Austin B go missing, you'll know because Candace, Soo-Yeon, Nino, Marc, Austin Q, Mireille, and Aurore are screaming so loud, that they sound like sirens

A scene no one will forget is when Evie and Aurore reenacted scenes from Star Wars with their parasols as lightsabers

Adrien, Aggie, Ondine, and Margo are always dressing as Disney princesses. They dressed as the Madrigal girls (Isabela, Mirabel, Dolors, and Luisa) to protest the fact that Mirabel was not included in the Disney Princess lineup yet

Margo, Reshma, and Marc just casually throw scarves they knitted into the crowd

Kendra and DJ are Anais' impulse control. If it doesn't throw a rainbow smoke bomb at protesters, then they will

Ismael, Aggie, and Lotta are just skating by on their skateboards and throwing confetti

Mireille and Roxie got into a friendly boxing match, making everyone get nosebleeds... In a good way

Some say the first glitter bomb fell from the sky... Others say Victoria threw it... Anyway, Austin T and Marc are BEASTS at the Glitter Wars

Victoria and Mona "accidentally" roll over protesters' feet

Brecken and Zoé dressed as Bonnie and Clyde (respectively) and Evie and Cosette couldn't handle how hot they looked

Soo-Yeon, Adrien, and Victoria teach kids how to sink a basket

Anthony, Eri, Missy, Roxie, and Juleka have a contest to see how many protesters they can scare by the end of the day

Candace, Nino, and Luka come up with the best cheers to mess with protesters

Staci and Chloé have a contest to see how many TERFs they can make cry before the day is over

Eloise and Max do the anime glasses thing

Marc and Ayesha are just walking pride flags

Max, Alix, Dot, Austin B, and Ismael casually do the splits while in AroAce colors, because that's the AroAce agenda

Marc, Nathaniel, Ayesha, Adrien, Alya, Luka, Eri, Missy, Jesse, Anais, Margo, Mona, Eloise, Ondine, Jean, Reshma, Myléne, Austin Q, and Beck all cosplayed as characters from Rock and Riot

Dot and Mason are here with their rainbow binders to ensure everyone stays on schedule... And maybe get some cotton candy

Aggie, Kagami, Lacey, and Alya have swords and are not afraid to use them

The tall people are here to LOOM over protesters and kiss their significant others or just any cute person

Mona and Simon make sure to capture their friends all on video. They may or may not have footage of who started the Glitter War

The truth is, no matter what you do, Marinette's gonna find a way to bedazzle everything you own

Nathaniel and Alya are just casually nerding out about Marvel and DC and making jocks simp

Nino and Dot have brought baby leashes for just about everyone

Anthony and Austin T cannot and will not resist their boyfriends' puppy eyes

Austin A, Rose, and Kendra cosplayed as Elle Woods

Chloé ever so casually dips Sabrina and kisses her in front of protesters while Spinelli throws rainbow confetti around them

Petra, Nathaniel, and Spinelli were commissioned to paint a mural for Pride

Reshma, Marc, and Denise have matching tank tops that say 'Glamazons'

Ivan and Brecken casually nod to each other as their girlfriends carry them

Roxie and Mireille are here to kick TERF's ass and kiss girls. And they're all out of girls to kiss! (with consent)

Juleka and Anthony casually nod to each other before kissing their short sunshine significant others

Some say that if Reshma, Aggie, Aurore, Zoé, Margo, and Juleka are together in the same spot, the island of Lesbos will rise to the sky

Rochelle and Nathaniel are just a couple of sugar fiends. If they have too much, they're likely going to start a cult

Beck wards off homophobes with their hockey stick

Jean and Austin T have a fan club

Austin Q drop-kicked some guy who tried to drug Aggie's drink. He was soon knighted by the Queen of Lesbians... Reshma

Parker, Denise, Ivan, Kim, Roxie Luka, Marinette, Austin Q, Ondine, Brecken, and Gia getting into muscle-flexing contests is good for no one's health

Austin T. and Cosette ride on Marinette's shoulders as they pass out cupcakes... And occasionally throw pies at TERFs

Reshma somehow got a kiss from both Margo and Lacey, and she promptly fainted

Denise and Evie yell at protesters in Spanish, and their boyfriends have no idea what they're saying, but they just look so gorgeous when they're angry

Cosette and Austin A both dress their pets in drag

Cosette, Austin A, and Eri have suitcases filled with just makeup in case anyone needs a touch-up

Evie, Mireille, and Mindy made everyone simp by singing an operatic rendition of Poker Face

Kendra, Missy, and Nathaniel spray-painted several protesters' cars. No one's ever caught them

Simon and Mona made sure to get it all on video! The moment when Austin A and Spinelli finally kissed!

The Dykes on Bikes adore Austin B, Marc, and Roxie

Rochelle and Austin B somehow got blackmail on fifty-five protesters, and they just gave them money to leave them alone

Petra and Nathaniel handle all your face-painting needs

Mireille and Parker teach the pride kids a few fighting moves

Austin B, Eloise, and Max all DOMINATE at the Gay-ming stations

Cue Max, Simon, Anais, and Gerard hacking into electronic billboards so they all play animatics made by Ayesha and Nathaniel

After a while, Dot and Mason say it's time for a break, and they all head to a cafe where a comedy drag show happens to be in progress

When the day is over and things wind down to make way for the after-hours party their teachers (and some parents)will be attending, they get rides from Rafael Béaureal, Félice Quinlan, and their respective friends in the backs of their pickup trucks (Because they both for sure have friends with pickup trucks) back home (Spinelli gets a ride from Beck on the back of their motorcycle, though)

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[our-transmasculine-experience]

Tw: body dysmorphia, body weight mentions, weight loss mentions, self-esteem issues, self-hate mentions

So dealing with either gender dysphoria or body dysmorphia separately is never fun, but dealing with both of them together sucks. Been there, done that. Luckily I’m at a point where I’ve accepted the body I have right now, so even tho I don’t necessarily like it, I don’t have the self-hating thoughts and feels right now. But there is something that makes me worry that those thoughts and feels will come back.

I’m bigger right now than I want to be for health reasons. I don’t think I look bad, but I know I would be healthier if I could lose weight. Plus maybe my butt and thighs could shrink and look less like “feminine curves”. But when I lose weight, my stomach will eventually get flatter. Right now, I don’t bind my chest or even wear a bra, bc wearing anything like that makes me uncomfy mentally bc bras are seen societally as “women’s clothing” and if I would wear a chest binder that would remind me of the fact that I’m afab. I just wear a tank top under a shirt and deal with the physical discomfort of feeling my chest moving. Right now, my stomach is just big enough that in a slightly baggy t-shirt, my chest and stomach all kinda form one line and I don’t really feel my chest moving as I’m walking. But if I suck in my stomach, I’m immediately much more aware of my chest. If I lose weight and my stomach does get flatter, then my chest will start making me feel dysphoric again bc it’ll be more visible and move more when I even just walk.

I’m also unsure about if I actually want to go on T bc one of the things I would want from T is the body shape that looks and feels more masculine to me. But since I’m so unsure about T, my plan is to try to lose weight, get to a healthy weight, work on building muscle and shit, and see if I can change my body shape in a way I like thru that way. Plus my gf wants to help me with all that, so I know I have a safe space to work on that, losing weight and getting healthy and gaining muscle mass. I’m really just complaining about the fact that losing weight will probably make me deal with chest dysphoria, and I don’t want to have to deal with that again. If my chest doesn’t move much and it’s not that visible in my clothes, I’m fine, and chest dysphoria can just exist in the back of my mind. But since I do want to lose weight and get healthier, I’m gonna have to just put up with it.

~wolfyboi

i’m so sorry that you have to deal with that. however, i’m really glad that you have someone who is supportive through all this stuff that honestly sounds like it really sucks.

best of luck, dude!

[emphasisonthehomo]

idk if you've talked about this before or not, but how would you think it would go down if steve and danny met at an earlier time in their life, maybe early transitioning stages still for danny?

Ooohhh I have not spoken about this, but this is an interesting concept.

An au of an au, I guess. If Rachel never decided to hit him with her car. OR if she did, then one where they never got Serious, and fizzled out after she went to England.

When Danny's like 22 and still Very Cognizant of How To Pass. His voice has started to change, but not that much. He's starting to get body and facial hair, but not quite at the level he will when he's a little older. If he's clean shaven and not careful about how he speaks and behaves, he occasionally gets clocked and it's terrifying.

And then idk spring break? For Convenience's Sake. Let's say spring break at *spins the wheel* MYRTLE BEACH. Because google says that's a popular spot on the east coast. Danny goes w/ a bunch of Queers™ he's buddies with, and like half of them have blue hair and pronouns, it's Tucker Carlson's nightmare.

Who else also happens to be at Myrtle Beach? Why Steven McGarrett and a whole mess of baby sailors. Freddie is going to wear a neon green tank top the entire time and yell HOOYAH at strangers. Catherine's ready to fucking go HOG WILD. Pun intended.

Danny splurged for his own hotel room, because he knows how his friends operate, and he's not interested in navigating any socks on the door situation. He’s here to party and get laid, he’s not gonna deal with a roomie. No fuck you Brayden, get your own room or share with Amethyst. This is gonna be his first spring break post top surgery, so he’s – he’s probably not gonna go topless. He does still hate the beach. But being hot and humid without having to wear a binder? Fuck yes. This is also gonna be his last Spring Break before he graduates and goes to Law School and he has to idk be More Responsible or something.

Steve’s gotten his own hotel room for many similar reasons. He’s seen how Freddie gets about trying to Eat So Much Pussy, and he isn’t interesting in being an unfortunate witness to such escapades. Besides, Steve also has plans to Eat So Much Pussy, and maybe. You know. Maybe suck a dick or something. At least make out with a dude, he thinks. Maybe these gay thoughts can catch him. Maybe he’ll let them.

Anyways, what I’m saying is that Steve and Danny’s rooms JUST SO HAPPEN to be right next to each other. The kind with an adjoining door. And the hotel isn’t the classiest, but it was the nicest they could get that was still close to the bars and reasonably priced. And lo, Danny and his friends and Steve and his friends JUST SO HAPPEN to check in at the same time.

They do that thing where they make eye contact with each other in the elevator. And Danny’s on edge because yeah that guy’s good looking, but he’s also wearing a t shirt that says Annapolis on it in big letters. Steve meanwhile saw Danny come in with a bunch of obviously queer people and is like okay. There’s a hot guy who I think is definitely maybe probably also into dudes.

And they bump into each other again at the bar, and spend almost the entire night dancing around each other. It’s just a bunch of drunk college students interacting. (Brayden is trying very hard to fuck Freddie and Freddie is straight boy oblivious.) You know who’s not being straight boy oblivious? Steve.

Because Steve’s doing his smooth dog schtick, even if he maybe hasn’t gotten that moniker yet. He’s flirty and charming and it’s driving Danny up the fucking wall. Like Steve keeps brushing his hand across the side of Danny’s waist or his lower back under the guise of passing by him to get to the bar. And Danny is like ‘okay if this is gay chicken so be it’ so he starts flirting back kind of aggressively, but instead of getting all deer in headlights about it, Steve looks so genuinely pleased at Danny’s attention.

Danny: “… Shit I’m gonna fuck this sailor, aren’t I?”

Steve: “… Catch me now Gay Thoughts.”

If they didn’t have hotel rooms right next to each other, if Danny didn’t know for a fact that he’s basically neighbors with this guy for the rest of the break, he’d just suck Steve off and deal w/ the sexual frustration of not getting his. Because telling random (presumably closeted jfc, Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is still in force) people about the trans thing is UHM terrifying.

But when Steve leans in close and whispers “Let me walk with you back to the hotel,” in Danny’s ear, and he’s so fucking tall and hot and clearly ripped, and he’s got nice hands, Danny’s just drunk enough to be like “…yeah.”

And because of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell they both go to their separate rooms. Steve immediately goes ‘knock knock knock’ on the adjoining door. Danny can’t believe he’s gonna do this, but at least if something goes Wrong he can probably run back to the other room and lock the door real quick.

So, he opens the door, and Steve starts kissing him basically from the get go. Kisses Danny deep and purposeful, and shit, shit Danny didn’t think this through.

“Wait, wait, wait-” Danny stops him while they’re both still standing in the open doorway.  

“Sorry?” Steve’s panicking just a little, because he thought that this is what they were doing, but now Danny’s stopping him and oh no.

And Danny just blurts out “I’m trans?”

Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to be a question. He’s. Very drunk.

“I’m trans,” Danny repeats. There. Gotta say it with conviction.

Steve just kind of blinks at him, because he’s also Very Drunk and uhhhhhh what?

"What?"

“… I don’t have a dick.”

It’s not the best way to explain this, but it’s what Danny’s beer addled brain comes up with, when he’s got a beefy navy cadet all up in his space. Steve doesn’t seem put off by Danny’s explanation, which is good. He just kind of blinks at Danny some more and then says:

“You don’t have a dick.”

“I don’t have a dick.”

Fuck.

This is awkward.

Danny’s made a mistake.

But then Steve just goes “Oh good, I’ve never sucked a dick before, I was worried I’d be bad at it.”

Danny’s about to. He doesn’t know. Tell Steve ‘well of course you’ll be bad at it’ because unless you’re some kind of cock sucking savant, you’re not going to be good at it on the first try. But it gets kind of lost because Steve just kisses him again. And again. And again.

And Steve does, in fact, get to Eat So Much Pussy. Danny practically sucks Steve’s soul out through his dick.

The next morning, they wake up hungover and sore. They go to waffle house. Then they go back to those adjoined hotel rooms, and do it all over again sober.

Instead of spending Spring Break in a drunken stupor, they actually spend it (mostly) sober fucking like rabbits or tangled together in bed and drowsily talking. They go through an improbable number of condoms. Steve’s 21. He’s got the refractory period get wild with it.

And then they just kind of. Stay in touch. After.

Steve goes back to Annapolis, and Danny goes back to Princeton. And they text and call constantly. And it turns into this weird ‘fuck buddies but also best friends but also long distance’ kind of situation. Steve goes on and becomes a SEAL. Danny goes to law school and then doesn’t become a lawyer.

They don’t see each other in person often, but when they do it’s usually like no one ever left.

Steve doesn’t have much of a relationship with his father. He’s not currently on speaking terms with Mary. So, when he’s got leave? He’s in New Jersey. He doesn’t go home to Hawai'i. He goes home to Danny.

Steve has his casual thing with Catherine, and yes he and Danny are also casual, but it’s Different from his relationship with her. And sure Danny also dates, but if Steve calls Danny up and is like “I’ve got 48 hours of leave in Manhattan” Danny will basically drop everything to go meet him there.

(Freddie refers to Danny as Steve’s ““friend”” quotation marks included, even after Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is repealed. Because they’re not dating, not really. But they’re, you know, Close.)

Steve goes off and does classified bullshit that he can’t talk about, and when he’s stateside Danny holds him in the long nights when he can’t sleep.

When Danny's PI cases get too gnarly, when Tilly doesn’t make it home, Steve bullies Danny into a gun range and teaches him the ins and outs of shooting.  

And it turns into this Thing, where they both are Convinced that it is only ever going to be casual between the two of them. And they just circle each other. Because Steve is a moron, but he’s also Danny’s best fucking friend. Because Danny’s a loudmouth, but Steve still isn’t going anywhere else when he’s got leave. And they fuck, and they argue, and they kiss soft and slow, and Danny makes Steve pancakes, and Steve knows Danny’s preferred brand of coffee, but somehow? They never make it to the point of talking about actually defining their relationship.  

It goes like that for years. For over a decade.

And then Hesse.

And then the funeral.

Danny flies out, for it. Steve doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that. Danny had never met John, only ever knew Steve’s father second hand from the (very) rare occasions Steve had spoken about him.

They’re both on a time crunch.

Danny’s heading back at the airport, when Governor Jameson drops the offer for a task force in Steve’s lap.

Danny’s making his way through security, when Steve’s breaking into an active crime scene and getting into an argument with Detective Hanamoa.

Danny’s sitting by the gate, when he gets a call from Steve, asking if he can stay in Honolulu a little longer.  

And Danny doesn’t hesitate, when he says “sure thing, babe.”

EDIT: Part II