#+ file : interesting creatures

[wannaliveattheholidayinn]

so i was struck very suddenly in the middle of the day to make this and i finally just sat down to do it and,,,

[cynicalmusings]

now, listen, i’m not a wanderer person, but that quest likened him to me a little more than before…

[larissa-the-scribe]

Crispin: I'm going to assume it's probably best to not ask questions. Julia: Sometimes I worry about your lack of curiosity, O'Callner. Questions are very important for investigations.

Julia asked if she could bring a friend of hers along to supper. They were in a spot of trouble, she told Crispin, but still needed to socialize.

She apparently did not see anything else worth mentioning about her friend.

Meanwhile, Crispin, who has known her for a while now, is wondering why he's surprised.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

1, 8, and 18 for the asks~!

1: Favorite color to work with

Never really thought about it before! I don’t think I actually have a specific color (maybe greens or reds, but I’m not sure those aren’t just often-used as opposed to well-liked), but the eyestrain, bright yellow/red/teal/blue palette definitely fits the bill, it’s Very fun to use. Gold’s fun to render, too.

8: Show some art from 1-2 years ago

Boye. 1-2 years is a large time frame. I’m taking it to mean anything between one and two years ago, which pretty much lands everything in 2021. I’m not sure if this was supposed to be pieces I actually still like or an accurate representation of that year, I’ll choose the first, as I wouldn’t consider most of it terribly interesting.

Feb 18 - one of my very few lineless pieces, for a person I engaged in frequent art trades with

Sep 4 - yeah we sure are gonna skip seven months, here’s one of the first times I used a non-black color for shading/lineart: a beloved older OC, mosa :]

Sep 28 - A cropped screenshot from a time I tried pixel art again. Surprisingly, it wasn’t connected to any media or world of mine, I just had an idea for an animation (...that did become the basis for a lesser fictional world). Unfortunately the file’s autosave was overwritten and it wasn’t finished, so a couple screenshots and a video of my progress are all that remain of it

18: How long have I been drawing? When did I begin to call myself an artist?

Funny thing is I was just wondering about that. I've been drawing since I could hold a pencil, I've had long phases of experimenting with clay and origami and pipe cleaners, five years ago I made an art folder for school that was so filled by my various drawings and doodles it's now two inches thick (I carried it around with me everywhere, no matter the circumstance), four years ago I added pixel art to the menagerie, and yet I only actually considered myself an artist two years ago. That was when I was gifted an old art tablet, and thus began what I've previously described as a personal renaissance, as I was allowed access to tools I never used before, diversified and improved, forgot everything I thought I knew about art to learn it again. Fun times.

[uraharafiles]

file : interesting creatures #2 : endangered birds (list)

A

abbot's booby abbot's starling aberdare cistocola abyssinian longclaw aceh pheasant african white-backed vulture african black oystercatcher african gray parrot african green broadbill african penguin african skimmer agulhas long-billed lark akekee akepa akiapola'au akikiki ala shan redstart alagoas antwren alagoas curassow alagoas foliage-gleaner alagoas tyrannulet alatroa grebe albert's lyrebird albertine owlet aldabra brush warbler aldabra drongo algerian nuthatch allpahuayo antbird altamira yellowthroat amami jay amani sunbird amazonian parrotlet amber mountain rock thrush ambon yellow white-eye amsterdam albatross anambra waxbill ancient antwren andaman crake andaman cuckoo-dove andaman drongo andaman hawk-owl andaman scops-owl andaman serpent eagle andaman treepie andaman wood pigeon andaman woodpecker andean condor andean flamingo angolan cave-chat anianiau anjouan island sparrowhawk anjoan scops-owl ankober serin annobon white-eye antioquia bristle-tyrant antipodean albatross antipodes green parakeet apo myna apo sunbird apolinar's marsh wren appert's tetraka apurimac spinetail aquatic warbler arabian grosbeak arabian woodpecker araripe manakin araucaria tit-spinetail archbold's bowerbird archer's lark ascension frigatebird ash's lark ash-breasted tit-tyrant ash-throated antwren ashy antwren ashy storm-petrel ashy thrush ashy-breasted flycatcher ashy-headed laughingthrush asian dowitcher asian golden weaver (why does it sound like a spider) asian green broadbill atitlan grebe atiu swiftlet atlantic petrel atlantic royal flycatcher atlantic yellow-nosed albatross atoll fruit-dove atoll starling auckland islands rail auckland islands shag auckland islands teal auduoin's gull austen's brown hornbill austral rail australasian bittern australian bustard azores bullfinch azores wood pigeon azure jay azure-breasted pitta azure-rumped tanager azure-shouldered tanager

sources earthsendangered.com [link]

send an ask if you want more info, or if you've got more to share! please use this post as a source if you post or use information you found on it!

[sigilcatt]

your recent seb fic was so cute!! could i request some general sebastian dating headcanons :3?

☆ Sebastian dating hcs ☆

• The fact that you managed to get him as a boyfriend is a win in itself.

• I mean, at first you figured Sebastian hated you, considering the way he would constantly taunt you for your errors, blaming any failure on your incompetence followed by a snarky remark.

"I'm sure the door with breathing behind it is completely safe to open...Urbanshade must be very lucky they have you."

• But despite this, one thing lead to another aaaand now you're dating a 10ft sea monster! Lucky you!

• How did he even fall for you? His guess is as good as yours.

• He lets you stay in his shop as long as you'd like. Tired? Use his tail as a pillow and he'll gently wrap it around you, as if trying to shield you from the creatures outside.

• sometimes you don't even realize you've fallen asleep on him until you wake up to him glossing over a file before smiling down at you. "Sleep well?"

• He'll listen to you rant about whatevers on your mind, a few "Mhm"s and "Really now?"s being his only responses. It's not that he isn't listening, he just finds your rambling endearing and prefers to watch your face practically glow when talking about your interests.

• Petnames aren't too special- He'll randomly throw a "Hun" or "Sweetheart" your way when conversing. I dunno, he just seems like the type to prefer those.

• Prepare to be picked up and placed on his shoulder at least once when around him. He hardly ever gets to be eye-level with you due to the significant height difference, so randomly snatching you up without warning is his best way of doing so.

• He tries to be as gentle as possible, knowing his claws could easily hurt you. Sometimes he'll run a single claw softly down your back. Or maybe he'll use it as a gentle hook to pull you close to him.

• Don't expect the constant teasing and banter to end so soon-in fact, now that you're dating, it seems to have only intensified. But thats a mutual thing between the two of you.

"Give me that flashlight, I need it."

"Ask nicely, then maybe I will."

"Fuck you."

• Blind him with that flashlight of yours if he gets on your nerves, that usually shuts him up.

• But he does secretly get concerned when you leave the shop. He doesn't enjoy the lingering possibility that you could get hurt.

• He might even use a few excuses to get you to stay longer.

"You don't have to work yourself so hard, y'know."

"That crystal isn't going anywhere, why are you rushing?"

"Take your time, hun."

• If you do return to him looking insanely beat up and in desperate need of a medkit, he'll scold you out of concern.

• He can be a huge flirt, loving the reactions he can fish (ha, fish get it?? I'll shut up now.) out of you.

• More about that height difference, since I love that way too much:

• Sometimes you'll find that one particular item you need just out of reach so that you have to ask Sebastian for help.

• It's possible to get him a little flustered, too! Call him pretty/handsome/whatever, that'll do it.

"Yeah, yeah, you're cute. Quit looking at me like that."

• Overall perfect partner.

I'm sooo normal about him. Hahahah lollll *twirls hair* I'm so normal about this guy

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Sebastian (Pressure) fluff. I need it.

"I gotta ask, do you have personal beef with those Squiddles? Because you sure like harassing them with that light of yours."

"I don't do it on purpose! If that damn Angler stopped killing the lights in every big room, maybe I could see my own hand in front of me!" You scowled up at the sea creature while standing in his humble shop.

Why was Sebastian always taunting you whenever you died to something unexpected..only to act all friendly-like in this place?

Well, you had to be grateful he was the only thing down here that wasn't trying to kill you, and that no other monsters could barge into the shop when you least expect it.

So for once, you could breathe easy..

Until he decided to remind you of those creepy squids who were somehow always in your way.

He must get a kick out of watching you perish.

"Oh of course, blame everybody except yourself." He tsked. "You have more than enough clues on how to survive each creature you encounter...but maybe they should've spoonfed all the details to you instead-"

"I don't need this from you." You huffed. "My damn hands are cramped from holding a locker shut against Pandemonium, Eyefestation gave me a killer headache, nobody bothered to tell me about the people in the walls-"

"And don't forget about those Squiddles, hehe."

Silence.

"Okay, okay. I've had my fun. I'll shut up about them now."

"Thanks. You have any medkits available?"

"Right on my tail, buddy. Hope you got enough data."

"More than enough." As your eyes surveyed the items strapped to his tail, they eventually wandered over to the desk with batteries laying out.

But it wasn't them that caught your interest, but rather the file on the table. 'How curious..is this for a monster I'm gonna meet soon?' You went over to investigate.

"Is the document for sale?"

"Wow, you might be the first to ask me about that and be able to afford it! The others before you barely had enough for a flashlight." Sebastian chuckled, clasping his hands together. "If you're interested, give me a thousand data, and I'll have it ready for you to read when you return to the surface. And don't worry, it's all there. So I won't have to kill you to to reveal any information."

You blinked, realizing what he meant by that as you read the folder's cover and why he was asking so much for it.

Sebastian's Document

Of course, you knew he'd be recognized as a specimen, too, but to be put with Pandemonium, the Anglers, and all those other monsters that tried to eat you alive?

For some reason, it made you frown a little.

"This is your file, and they let you keep it?" You turned back to him.

"...I stole it. And I'm not gonna lie...I regret reading it." He muttered, suddenly looking a bit tense..and sad, even, although he was quick to mask any signs of vulnerability when he realized you were staring. "Anyways, it's a steep price. I'm sure you'd rather spend your assets on-"

"What if I buy it and take it off your hands right now?"

For a moment, his ear fins perked up with surprise, glowing eyes widening. But he was quick to give you a suspicious gaze. "Really? You're that nosey about my lifestory? Pretty weird if you ask m-"

"It's more of a courtesy to you."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I mean..you look like you're carrying a heavy weight just from that folder being there. You haven't stopped looking at it since I mentioned it." You pointed out, seeing his ears twitch again. "You've always told me "out of sight, out of mind" with the Anglers. Couldn't I say the same about you and that document?"

".....using my own words against me, eh? What're you, a damn psychologist?" He teased, although his words didn't hold as much spite or sarcasm as usual. "But no, you're right. I'd rather forget about it forever. So if you want it that badly, be my guest." His third arm made a grand gesture towards the table. "Just don't get caught parading it around. And don't come crying to me when you realize you needed something else instead of-"

"I won't, trust me." You exchanged the data, taking the folder. "I'll be on my way now. I got a crystal to find."

With that, you began ducking down to renter the vent and continue your journey into the abandoned site-

"Hey."

You paused and looked back at Sebastian, tilting your head as you wondered why he seemed nervous again--wringing his hands together.

"Um..thank you, genuinely..for taking that off my hands." He cleared his throat, sweeping back his dark bangs. "I hope that whatever you find in there doesn't..get in the way of our "partnership". I'd hate to lose my number one customer."

Nodding, you gave him a reassuring smile. "You won't lose my business, Seb. That I promise."

"..now hold on we aren't THAT close to start going by nickna-" He began to snap, but you've already disappeared into the duct. "Aaaand they're gone...hmph..well..least I don't have to worry about that anymore."

Sighing, he looked around the shop, wondering what he should do now.

What you did was certainly a nice gesture.

He only hopes you'll keep your promise and not be afraid of him.

[esthercore]

Inside the first cabinet of Ratio's study lies a thick file of research papers dedicated to you. It all started with a small page where he scrambled his thoughts on you when he first started getting infatuated, and slowly as you two grew closer, he wrote your interests, hobbies, behavior, clothing for that day, everything!

Then he will ponder over his observations and try to figure out what kind of stuff influences you to act a certain way, your pattern of speech with different people (blushed like a little school girl when writing how differently you talk with him - having more affectionate undertone, as if you two aren't dating), your body language with different people, and all that stuff.

And you deserve all the effort! You managed to catch the affection of such an esteemed genius so effortlessly, even becoming his obsession, his fixation. He craves understanding you, knowing you even more than you do yourself, such a fascinating creature you are to him.

It's really really sweet, if you ignore the tiny comments on the side, how he can influence you, make you act a certain way, portray someone else in a negative light so you distance yourself from unworthy pests, how he can gain more of your affection, how he can make dependent on you.

That's just the part of his research! Very normal stuff!

[pretzel-box]

I need Sebastian's reaction to some divers flashing little octo boy🙏🏼🙏🏼

SQUIDDLE ME THAT

words: 2,1k

tags: octopus hybrid reader, platonic relationship with sebastian, sebastian gets protective

authors note: I wrote the part before the flashing scene yesterday and had to add your request at the end, hope you don't mind some extra content!

Having a little octopus hybrid running loose was a challenge on its own. God forbid that Sebastian take his three eyes off you for even a second—you'd either wilt from loneliness or start creating a mess in a bid to reclaim his attention.

One such instance involved you folding his newly sorted files into funny little paper boats, which you then gently rocked over a random puddle that had started to develop in the corner of his shop. The first time you did this, Sebastian was initially impressed that you'd found something to do on your own. He even joined in, taking a sheet of printed paper and folding it into a rather shoddy boat, chuckling until he realized—these were his important assets!

Sebastian learned quickly from that incident. He made it his mission to keep you occupied, providing you with paper and pencils to draw pictures instead. Soon, his shop was filled with your artwork, pinned up on every wall. He couldn’t help but find your efforts endearing—most of your drawings were of the two of you, and they filled his heart with a warmth he wasn't accustomed to feeling.

“You know, I think you're starting to develop an eye for ar—” Sebastian began to say, but as he turned around, you were gone. You had simply vanished from sight. However, the trail of suction-cup marks on the floor was a clear indicator that you'd slipped through the vent and were now somewhere outside the shop.

Panic surged through him as he quickly made his way out, calling your name and checking every room. You were small and had a short attention span—surely, you couldn’t have gotten far.

And then he saw it. You were standing face-to-face with a Squiddle. The scene was bizarre: the Squid Monster hovered slightly above the ground, its ‘eyes’ locked onto you with what could only be described as confusion. You, on the other hand, were trying to mimic the creature, leaping up and attempting to hover in the air, only to be defeated by gravity each time.

Sebastian froze for a moment, his panic shifting to a mix of concern and disbelief. The Squiddle seemed more perplexed than hostile, perhaps unsure of what to make of this smaller, more enthusiastic "squid" that was now mimicking its every move. You, in your innocent curiosity, were completely absorbed in your game of imitation, oblivious to the potential danger.

Sebastian approached cautiously, not wanting to startle either of you. “Hey, buddy,” he called softly, trying to get your attention without alarming the Squiddle. “What are you doing over there?”

You turned to him, eyes wide and full of excitement, as if proud of your new friend. Sebastian's heart skipped a beat seeing how happy you were, but he knew he had to get you away from the creature before anything went wrong.

“Come on,” he coaxed, holding out his hand. “Let’s leave the big guy alone, okay? We’ve got plenty of drawing to do back at the shop.”

Reluctantly, you took his hand, casting one last curious glance at the Squiddle before allowing Sebastian to lead you away. The creature watched you go, still floating in place, before it finally drifted off, no longer interested in the odd encounter.

Back at the shop, Sebastian let out a deep sigh of relief. He knelt down to your level, ruffling the top of your head gently. “You’ve really got a knack for finding trouble, you know that?”

You gave him a sheepish grin, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Alright, how about we stick to drawing for a while, huh? Maybe we can work on some more pictures of us. Just... let’s keep the paper boats on hold for now, okay?”

You nodded eagerly, and Sebastian led you back inside, silently vowing to keep an even closer eye on you from now on.

Sebastian! You there?” a male voice called out as a customer clambered through the vent. Sebastian, already familiar with the type of people who usually wandered into his shop—rude pricks deserving their prison sentences—acted quickly. Without a second thought, he wrapped you in a blanket and gently but hurriedly stuffed you into a spacious locker, hiding you from the potentially mean human.

“Ah, welcome~” he greeted the customer with an air of nonchalance, shifting into his usual role as a shopkeeper. He led the man through a small conversation, maintaining his outward calm even though his thoughts were with you.

Meanwhile, inside the locker, you pressed your arms and tentacles against the metal walls, trying to push your way back to Sebastian. The dark, cramped space fueled a growing sense of anxiety. You didn’t understand why he’d suddenly hidden you away like this. Did you do something wrong? Did he stop liking you?

Fear and confusion spiraled in your little head until they became too much to bear. The only logical response, as far as you were concerned, was to scream. Tears streamed down your face as you wailed loudly, feeling abandoned and terrified. The darkness was cold, and being alone felt like the worst punishment imaginable.

Sebastian, who was busy trying to offload some junk onto the prisoner, froze when your piercing scream cut through the conversation. The customer blinked in surprise, glancing toward the sound. “What the hell was that?”

Sebastian’s mind raced as he tried to think of a plausible excuse. “Uh, faulty alarm system,” he lied, forcing a smile. “This place is falling apart, you know? I’ll get it fixed. Now, about that flashlight you were interested in…”

But the scream came again, louder this time, filled with pure distress. Sebastian’s heart clenched with guilt. The customer raised an eyebrow but seemed more annoyed than concerned. “You might want to take care of that. Sounds like something’s dying in there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll handle it,” Sebastian muttered, barely containing his irritation as he hurried the man toward the exit. “Thanks for stopping by, and don’t forget to tell your non-existing friends about the shop!”

As soon as the customer was out of sight, Sebastian practically “sprinted” back to the locker. Your cries were breaking his heart—he hadn’t meant to scare you, but in his haste to protect you, he’d overlooked how you’d feel being stuffed in there.

He flung the locker door open and immediately pulled you out, wrapping you in his arms. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, holding you close as you continued to sob. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You clung to him desperately, burying your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. Sebastian felt like the worst person in the world for making you feel this way. “I was just trying to keep you safe,” he explained softly, rubbing your back in soothing circles. “I didn’t want that guy to see you. But I shouldn’t have locked you up like that. I’m sorry.”

Gradually, your sobs began to quiet, though you still held onto him tightly, afraid he might push you away again. Sebastian continued to whisper apologies and reassurances, promising that he would never do something like that again.

Finally, you lifted your head, looking at him with tear-streaked eyes. “You’re okay,” he said gently, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

Your grip on him tightened, and Sebastian could feel the tremble in your small body slowly subside. He stood there for a long moment, holding you close, letting you know through his actions that you were safe and loved.

After a while, he carried you over to a cushioned seat, sitting down with you still wrapped in his arms. “You’re my little partner, okay?” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I’m always going to take care of you. Just… no more screaming like that, alright? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You nodded weakly, sniffling but feeling a bit better now that you were back in his comforting embrace. Sebastian gave a small, relieved smile, brushing your hair away from your face. “That’s better,” he said, rocking you gently. “Let’s just stay here for a while. No more hiding, I promise.”

——

It was an unusually busy day in the shop, with a steady stream of prisoners coming through the vents, all of them more obnoxious than the last. Sebastian had been on edge, keeping a close eye on you as you busied yourself with drawing on a scrap of paper behind some boxes to hide you out of the sight from the visitors. He didn’t want a repeat of the locker incident, so he made sure you were always within arm’s reach.

But even Sebastian couldn’t anticipate everything.

As a particularly rough-looking prisoner stomped into the shop, his eyes darting around suspiciously, you instinctively curled a little closer to Sebastian. The man was big, with a scarred face and a sneer that made your skin crawl. Sebastian noticed your discomfort and subtly shifted his body to block the prisoner’s view of you.

“What do you want?” Sebastian asked, his tone curt and to the point.

The prisoner didn’t answer right away, his gaze flicking over the various items on the shelves. “Just browsing,” he muttered, though there was a malicious glint in his eyes that set off alarm bells in Sebastian’s head.

Sebastian’s grip tightened on the counter. “We don’t have all day. Either buy something or get out.”

The prisoner’s sneer widened, clearly enjoying the tension he was causing. As if on a whim, he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small device—a flashbeacon. Before Sebastian could react, the prisoner activated it, directing the blinding flash of light straight at you.

You let out a terrified yelp, your sensitive eyes overwhelmed by the sudden burst of light. Instinctively, you tried to shield yourself, curling up and covering your eyes with your tentacles as best as you could. But the damage was done—the intense flash had disoriented you, leaving you scared and vulnerable.

Sebastian’s protective instincts kicked in instantly. Without a second thought, he lunged forward, shoving the prisoner hard against the nearest wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he snarled, his voice dripping with fury.

The prisoner barely had time to register what was happening before Sebastian’s hand was around his throat, pinning him to the wall with a strength that belied his usually calm demeanor. “You think you can just walk in here and pull something like that?” Sebastian growled, his three eyes narrowing dangerously. “You’ve got some nerve.”

The prisoner, now realizing he’d severely miscalculated, struggled to speak, his face turning red as he choked out, “It… it was just a joke!”

Sebastian’s grip tightened, making it clear he wasn’t amused. “That ‘joke’ could have seriously hurt them,” he spat, nodding toward you. “You don’t mess with my shop, and you sure as hell don’t mess with them.”

With a final shove, Sebastian released the prisoner, who staggered back, clutching his throat and gasping for air. “Get out,” Sebastian ordered, his voice low and menacing. “And if I ever see you here again, you’ll regret it.”

The prisoner didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled for the vent, shooting one last fearful glance at Sebastian before disappearing as quickly as he’d come.

Sebastian took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger still coursing through his veins. Then he turned to you, his expression softening as he saw you huddled on the floor, still reeling from the flash.

He rushed over to you, kneeling down and gently pulling your tentacles away from your eyes. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his heart aching at the sight of you trembling. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

You blinked up at him, your vision still blurry, but you could see the concern etched on his face. Slowly, you uncurled from your protective ball, reaching out for him. Sebastian didn’t hesitate—he scooped you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret. “I should’ve protected you better. But I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

You clung to him, your small body still trembling slightly, but his warmth and the steady beat of his heart began to calm you down. You knew Sebastian was strong, and as long as you were with him, you felt safe.

[lis-likes-fics]

The Sound of His Voice

Pairings: Spencer Reid x agent!Reader Word Count: 3k words Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/vague gore, mentions of death and murder, standard Criminal Minds stuff, fluff otherwise... A/N: I started watching CM a while ago and now I can't stop so enjoy this. There will be more, I dunno when. (Should I be working on my months-in-progress-wips? Yes, I absolutely should. Am I? Mostly. I'm trying my best)

Morgan rubs his temple, digging his fingers into the side of his forehead as he shakes his head. Tapping his pen on the desk, he tosses down his file. “But here's what I don't get,” he says, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. “If the unsub thinks of his victims as prey, even going as far as to torture the victim, why go through all the trouble of tucking them into bed?”

Hotch looks back at the picture in his own hands, where he had been analyzing the scene for the hundredth time in search of something he missed the first hundred. He shrugs, “Tucking them in can usually indicate signs of remorse.”

JJ motions to the pictures. “Yeah, but look at this guy. Does this look remorseful to you?”

You lift a shoulder, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Could be a second unsub.”

You are a relatively new addition to the team. It was your fifth case with them, but they already treated you like part of the team, like family. It was easy to sink into the ebb and flow of everything, especially when they trust your skills and instincts and let you know when you're doing something wrong so you know not to do it again.

But this case was difficult. Your unsub had a strange profile: an organized, white male, with surgical experience and the MO reminiscent of a cat. He kills men and women alike, and the only connection between his victims have been their smaller statures.

The age range itself was too wide, though there was a slight reoccurrence of ages between 25 and 35. But it was still too wide, either way, not enough to work with.

He ties up and tortures them before finally ending their lives with strangulation. He uses his bare hands to get the job done, which makes him a sexual sadist. As if that wasn't enough, he carves out the victim’s heart after death and takes it as a trophy.

He shows plenty of psychopathic characteristics, but he also fits the profile of a sociopath, so it's hard to make anything stick. His MO suggests a lack of empathy and guilt, but the bed-tucking… You always lose him with the bed-tucking…

Morgan shakes his head a little, humming. “But we already ruled out multiple unsubs,” he says. You nod gently. “Besides, if this guy is mimicking the hunting habits of a cat, he would hunt alone, wouldn't he?”

Reid’s head perks up. He points a pen in Morgan's direction as he shakes his head. “Actually, no.” He licks his lips, and he's grabbed your attention like a siren to a sailor. “It's a very common misconception that cats are loners, but it's untrue. Cats prefer the companionship of others just as much as a human being would.”

You lean toward him a bit across the table, watching him as he speaks, his hands moving to illustrate his words as he does. “People often think, because of their aloof nature, that they like to be left alone or actually despise the presence of other people, including their owners or other cats—which is why people believe them to be low maintenance creatures. But they are just as social as, say, a dog. Actually, it's interesting, big cats like lions, or sometimes even cheetahs, hunt in packs to take down larger prey. Domestic cats–”

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, making a cutting motion with his hand to his neck.

Your eyes turn back to Spencer, who seems to retreat in on himself a bit as he gives an apologetic smile and a small nod. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his lips in a wide smile.

You set a hand on the table, shaking your head. “No, keep going. That was interesting.”

Spencer looks at you with these eyes that seem to shine. Your heart feels fonder, warmer, at the sight of him.

“We really don't have time to go through all of this,” Hotch says, his tone final.

“I mean,” you continue. Since joining the team, you've grown a certain affinity toward Spencer and his genius mind. Every time he's gone on his tangents, you've become enchanted by the words coming out of his mouth like he's put some sort of spell over you. You lift a shoulder, gesturing toward him. “If this guy is basing his MO off the hunting patterns of cats, we should…know everything we need to know about them, right?”

Hotch looks at you, his face hard and unreadable. You're unsure if he's considering your proposal or just trying to intimidate you. But then he sighs, his crossed arms loosening a little as he turns to Spencer.

“Reid?”

Spencer looks between you and Hotch, relenting hesitantly as he starts off slow. “Well…I was going to say domestic cats are solitary hunters but sociable creatures.” He picks up his normal speed once more, “They can be very affectionate, especially toward their owners and other cats within their households. They're also one of the only types of cats who play with their prey before killing them, which could be a reason this unsub tortures his victims so extensively in his murders.”

“Wait…” Prentiss says, catching all of your attentions. “You said ‘affectionate toward their owners’.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods.

She waves her hands gently, “How do cats show affection for their owners?”

Spencer shrugs, “Um, bunting, purring, some scratch, sometimes they leave offerings, like dead rodents, around the house–”

“Right there!” Prentiss exclaims. “They leave offerings.”

You sit up, “The hearts.”

Hotch’s dark brows furrow. “You're saying this unsub is taking the hearts as an offering to someone else?”

Spencer thinks over that, nodding. “It's possible.”

JJ sighs. “But that still doesn't explain why we wouldn't have identified a second unsub earlier.”

Spencer holds out a hand, pointing with his pen. “Actually, it could. You see, cats also have the tendency to mimic the people they hold affection for. We might not have noticed a second MO because the submissive unsub may be mimicking the dominant one.”

“Or learning from him,” Morgan says.

“Learning?” Hotch asks.

Morgan glances around, “Well, if we're sticking so close to this cat thing, older cats often nurture the young and teach them to hunt.” He shrugs, “We could be looking at…brothers? Older and younger?”

“Or lovers,” JJ suggests. She points to a picture, the image of a chest carefully carved open to reveal a missing heart. “If the hearts are offerings, it could be a Valentine.”

“And the bed-tucking?” you ask.

Hotch picks up the picture of one of the victims, “safely” and securely tucked into bed…put to sleep. “Well, if the hearts are offerings for a lover, this unsub is sentimental. He could feel some type of sympathy or guilt for the victim and want to ‘put them to sleep’ after the torture.” He studies the image, a flash of unease behind his eyes that you know all too well. He sets it down.

“Okay, so how do we find them?” Prentiss asks, clicking her pen before setting it down to begin a definitive course of action.

Spencer points to yet another picture. “Look at these injuries. These incisions are surgical,” he clarifies. “So the dominant is a doctor or a—a veterinarian, which can be implied through his intimate knowledge of cats’ behaviors.”

“And the submissive might work under him as a nurse or an assistant,” you continue, adding on to his clever insight. He glances over at you, smiling almost giddily at your understanding.

Hotch turns to Morgan. “Do you think that's enough to work with?”

Morgan thinks for a moment, his shrug melding into a nod as he turns back to Hotch. “To fit in with the rest of the profile,” he hums, “I'd say so.”

“Okay.” Hotch nods firmly. “We'll present the profile ASAP. Morgan, get Garcia to search for any vets in the area with any records of assault charges.” He says this all while taking long strides toward the door, his red tie bouncing slightly with his movements.

Prentiss follows him with her gaze as he exits. “You think the unsub is aggressive?”

He turns briefly. “Look at the bruising on the neck. The torture alone is an indicator of anger and frustration, but the way the victim was strangled suggests force. Much more than necessary just to crush a windpipe. He's an organized killer with a lot of rage. If he moves more along the lines of a sociopath, our best guess is he's had some kind of trouble with the law at some point in his life,” he concludes. Glancing aside, he speaks again, a little more firmly. “Morgan.”

“On it,” he says, his phone already ready to contact Garcia on speed dial.

“And Reid,” Hotch says, focusing his hard stare on the younger agent.

He stiffens, straightening his back and awaiting his response. “Yes?”

There's a pause as Hotch examines him silently. With a single nod, he says, “Good work.”

He glances at you. A nod.

You nod back.

Hotch leaves in a hurry, and your gaze immediately and instinctively flicks to Spencer. He smiles at you, turning away as though he was shyly hiding that same smile.

~

There were two unsubs: a surgical veterinarian and his nurse. You caught them just in time, just as that knife was gleaming in the golden light of the lamps swinging above the three bodies down in the basement of the submissive unsub’s house.

And now you soared 40,000 feet above the ground with another killer put away for good.

Everyone's in their own spirit, placing you across the aisle from JJ and Spencer in their own booths, a crochet set in your lap as you continue one of your projects. Emily's eyes linger on JJ, watching the crease of her brow as she studies case files.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, setting her book to the side to shift her attention. Derek darts his eyes up from his own book, lifting his brow as he does it.

JJ looks up, breathing in and lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don't know about you,” she says, “but I know that if I got an actual human heart on Valentine's Day, me and my alleged partner would have some serious issues.”

Snorts and chuckles lift from multiple places among the seats, heads shaking and attentions shifting back to their own activities.

But as soon as you hear the first lilt of Spencer's voice, like clockwork, you're a fish on a hook.

“Actually,” he begins, “if we were set back thousands of years, that would not be a very unusual occurrence.” He licks his lips quickly, “You see, Valentine's Day’s origins actually go back to a festival called Lupercal, or Lupercalia. The festival was in itself a very violent and sexually charged affair that lasted roughly three days—from the 13th to the 15th—set in Rome. Its traditions were carried out in two separate locations, firstly–”

“Alright,” JJ rises to her feet, her eyes wide in annoyance as she closes her case file in a large announcement to Spencer. “I'm getting coffee. Do you want anything?”

Spencer purses his lips, that same wide, apologetic grin covering his face as he leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “Uh, no. All good here.”

She nods, turning to walk away, “Great.”

You watch JJ leave, your eyes fall back upon Spencer, who's pulling his book back into his palms to turn his focus back on the pages. His eyes flit over the words at lightning speed, absorbing the information and moving to the next.

Taking your crochet set in your hands, you stand and plop down in JJ’s old spot. Spencer's eyes darts up to you, glancing between you and his book as you set your stuff down and readjust your yarn.

Beginning again, you nod toward him. “You were saying?”

Spencer, his eyes wide and confused and his lips parted in wonder and his cheeks a little pink, stares at you. After remembering he had to respond, he sputters in an attempt to.

“Uh, it's-it's really not that…interesting,” he mumbles, trailing off at the end as he sets his book down, his fingertips pressing against the edge of the desk between the both of you.

“Well,” you look up at him, setting your elbow on the table and tucking your first underneath your chin, “I was very interested.”

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. His lips form the word before it comes out of his mouth. “You were?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

Looking at him for a moment—just looking at him for a moment—you take in the pretty sight of his bewildered expression, fascination and confusion and excitement crossing his face in a flurry of emotion.

You move your elbow from the table and pick up your hook, nodding toward him before training your eyes on your work again as you await his words. “Firstly?” you prompt.

Scrambling to organize his thoughts, Spencer nods. As the words form in his brain, he smiles as he thrusts himself into another rant, speaking a little softer so as not to aggravate the rest of the team.

“Well, firstly, the uh— The-the first location was in a cave called Lupercus—named after the Roman fertility god that the celebration was dedicated to—and the second is a public meeting place called the Comitium.”

You tilt your head toward him, smiling a little. “Like the word ‘committee’.”

“Exactly like the word ‘committee’,” he beams.

Your attention, as hard as you tried to split it, becomes entirely caught up in Spencer as you forget about your project and focus your gaze entirely on him. You set your arms on the table separating you and watch as he speaks, your smile definitely too love-sick to be a hint anymore. He seems to lean in closer.

“So how did Lupercalia become Valentine's Day?” you wonder aloud.

“Well,” he starts, prompting a larger grin from you, “in the late 5th century A.D., Pope Gelasius I eliminated it and declared February 14th a day to celebrate the martyrdom of Saint Valentine instead—although it's highly unlikely he intended the day to commemorate love and passion as it is celebrated now. In fact, some modern biblical scholars warn Christians not to celebrate Valentine's Day at all, due to its Pagan roots and rituals.”

You hum, your eyes taking glances at the stretch of his skin over his fingers and the way they move when he speaks.

“Do you celebrate Valentine's Day?” you ask gently, speaking slowly.

His hands fall back down to his lap, and he shakes his head as he straightens his posture a bit. “Well…I don't usually have anyone to celebrate it with, so… No, not really.”

Feeling the shyness slipping into your veins, you set your hands on the table and let your fingers slowly inch toward him, staring at them inside of his eyes. You don't want to see the rejection if it lives there, in his eyes.

You speak slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “Would you like to have someone to celebrate it with?”

He swallows thickly, letting one hand lift onto the table, still close to him but building up courage to maybe meet you in the middle. “Like…” he clears his throat quietly. “Like you?”

You offer a right smile, finally flicking your eyes up to meet his and feeling giddy at the light blush on his cheeks, the nervous wideness of his gaze. “I promise no actual hearts.”

You watch him, and again…his eyes, his Adam's apple, his cheeks, his lips. “Uh…yeah,” he stutters. “Yeah, sure. I'll be your…your Valentine.”

You smile, a wide smile that splits your face in two. Spencer's own grin follows suit. Looking past you, he catches the eyes of Derek, who smirks and offers a cheesy thumbs up, proud of him for securing you as he did.

His gaze falls back to you when you begin to speak, your voice just as song-ish to him as his is to you. You're both equally as infatuated as the other. “You know,” you trail off slowly, “supposedly, Saint Valentine might be so commonly associated with our day of love because there are rumors that he used to perform secret weddings against the wishes of the authorities in the third century.”

He nods slowly, his brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, that's right…” Licking his bottom lip, he speaks again. “You already knew all that stuff about Lupercalia, didn't you?”

You smile, your face squished a bit as you raise your hands and close your thumb and forefinger close together. “Maybe a little,” you whisper. But then you shrug and just keep looking at him. “But I like listening to you talk.”

Spencer suddenly doesn't think you're real, but he isn't about to question it if you aren't. There's someone who enjoys his tangents. He isn't going to jeopardize that.

“Oh,” is all he says.

With your crocheting long forgotten, you lean forward on the table and give him every ounce of attention in your mind. With a fond smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye, you rest your chin on your folded hands. “You should tell me about…” you pause, thinking, before you smile curls even more, “bees.”

His brows lift as he nods. “Okay, well,” he starts, “did you know the first civilization to practice widespread, organized beekeeping was the Ancient Egyptians, who began beekeeping around 2,500 BCE?”

Your brows lift in fascination. You shake your head, “No, I didn't.”

His smile grows. “Well…”

For the remainder of the flight, Spencer talks and talks and talks, his voice quiet and meant solely for you as he talks about whatever you want: bees and wine and marbles and Halloween. He keeps smiling at you, as you keep smiling at him. Somewhere along the way, he officially asks you on a date, and you both get off the jet together to get a cup of coffee.

You love the way he talks.

Criminal Minds taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[skelly-words]

Hey! If cool I was wondering if you could write tentacle smut. I’m not too sure on the plot but wanted reader to be very much in some sort of public setting with loads of people just watching as she gets railed by a tentacle. The kinks I wanted to ask if they could be in there is Voyourism (public sex), public nudity, squirting and/ watersports and overstimulation.

If not that is totally okay! I just wanted to ask :) and am exited to see what you come up with if your comfortable with writing this

okay cool so....

Not proofread, tags in the ask + spit a lil bit, ass eating, idk futa shenanigans, ahhhh milk (i kinda scared myself w/ this at the end)

My brain immediately went to big networking conventions that businesses have where the important people from the different corporate branches come together to drink, schmooze, and brag about sales numbers to each other.

Your boss asks you to come with her to help with the demonstration. The travel expenses and hotel costs are all covered, so you agree to spend the weekend on Wall Street with her.

I hate this, but there's the slightest bit of lore, so i ECOURAGE you to read the other parts first -> masterlist

MINORS DNI, stay away 18+ only

The presentation room of the hotel caters to corporate mixers like this. Circular dinner tables decorated with charcuterie fill out the hall. Your knee bounces nervously as people begin to file in. Saturday had been boring, spent bumming around the all-inclusive spa while your boss attended other company presentations not too dissimilar from this one.

"Relax." Your boss whispers. She sits in the squeaky folding chair beside you. Her hand lands comfortably on your thigh, stilling your knee with her warm touch. "All you have to do is bend over the podium."

You nod and try to emulate her flippant attitude. The bounce returns to your knee anyway because nerves are impossible to hide. The minutes slip by as people settle into their seats. The dimming lights act as a cue to hush the small talk and side conversations.

“Ready?” She gives your thigh a heady squeeze.

“Yea, ‘m ready,” you mumble.

Her gait is steady and comfortable up to the front of the room, and you trail behind in the shelter of her shadow. You smiled unsteadily at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Your boss tapped her knuckles on the podium, clearing her throat to get the rooms attention.

“Thank you all for coming,” she begins. “My branch is testing a few new methods of increasing productivity today. It’s all based on the same principle, ‘a happy mind is profitable one.’

“Of course, we’ll begin with the demonstration, just to prove how much it’ll help you focus on the rest of the presentation.”

An interested hum sweeps through the crowd as she leads you around the front of the podium. You aren’t wearing panties, only a skirt, which immediately becomes apparent as she lifts your waist up to the podium. The sturdy wooden surface slopes slightly up toward the room, propped up for dozens of eyes ogle your bare skin.

The position makes blood rush to your head, almost dizzy from the heavy heartbeat in your ears. Your skin feels hot and sensitive. The skirt tickles, sliding down the gentle slope of your back. You wonder if they can see how wet you are, cunt aching from all the attention.

The speech sounds so far away, like all your senses are dulling to make way for the electricity running beneath your skin. From the corner of your eye, you see a couple workers wheel three tanks up to the front of the podium.

The terrariums are large and damp, too fogged up from humidity to see anything through the glass. They're pushed into a neat line, starting at your side and progressing to the front of the stage in single file. The tank closest to you is the smallest. It's the only one you can properly look into because the creatures have suctioned themselves to the wet panes. Their round bodies flatten into mounds on the glass, little mouths busily opening and closing. You watch them, mindlessly observing them inch in little circles, around and round, maybe spirals if you spent enough time staring. You shiver, imagining the pattern it could suck into your skin. From your position now, you wonder if you look anything like that mouth on the glass to that polite crowd of people.

You feel a warm hand skim over your ass, inviting your neatly pleated skirt to drape over your back completely. The gauzy brown fabric went well with your blouse, and you remember packing it for this conference a week in advance. It feels silly now, to think what you're wearing matters when it's really the demonstration that's important.

The first tank slides open with a squeak, and your boss pulls a writhing blue tentacle out with a cloud of steam following it. You can barely see what's happening in your peripheral vision and only when you turn your head to the side. She wastes no time at all, taking the companies limited resources into account, the conference room was only reserved for an hour. Her other hand traces up and down your back, nails first, to scratch gently through the layers of fabric.

"You're doing great, hun." She whispers the reassurance into your ear, low and husky so only you can hear it. In one motion, she presses the end of the tentacle into your butt. It's bigger than what you had at home, which is what you prepped for. Her hand flattens to soothing circles when the pain comes through in your groans. You quiet to a whimper as the thing flails, twisting to orient itself inside you. It still hurt, but you were adjusting quickly to the pressure in your ass as it slithers down to find your pussy.

Now, no matter how you turn, you can't see what's going on. The suckers drag against you, that much is easy to discern from the sense of touch. The rest of your senses besides that have gone totally useless, so you watch the hypnotic pattern that the specimens in the last tank trace in the condensation.

The blue tentacle pushes into you. It's fat, thick and showy so the people in the back can see. Your eyes might be crossing from the way it slowly stretches you out. A shiny blue slime drips from every pore, sucker, and gland on the thing, making you squish obscenely from every movement. In. Out. In. Out. And your boss is still talking, you can even see the slides she flicks through when your eyes roll back, but it all sounds like white noise as the monstrous size shoves into your cunt, slipping out to momentarily attach an oozing sucker to your clit. Then it squirms right back into your hole, so slick that it runs down the inside of your thighs.

It's hopeless to imagine paying attention to anything else.

"But that's when we ran into the issue of hygiene. Clearly, this doesn't fit corporate dress-code."

That cuts through your thoughts, followed by light chuckles. The second tank slides open with a thunk, and you don't have to crane as much to see the pink tentacle calmy wrap around her arm.

"Oh, f-fuck," you finally make a sound audible over the disgusting squelch of that blue monster. She's trying to press the thick bulb at the end of the pink one into you, leaning real close, almost cheek to cheek as she forces it further past your rim. A glob of spit falls from her lips, you groan as she smears it around with her tongue.

"Just relax for me." And you're not even sure she's talking to you in that raspy tone. The hand on your back has inched lower to keep you pinned in place, and it's making you sore from how the podium’s edge digs into your hips.

Your sounds fall freely now, turning to whines as she licks you to ease the stretch. The hand on your back lightens up as the fat plug slides into place alongside the blue one. An affectionate smack lands on your ass, rubbing her warm palm over the spot as she watches the pink tentacle unfurl and flatten.

You can't see it, only whine as the weight shifts and adjusts inside you. The blue tentacle stops moving as if to behave and play nice with a friend. The gummy feelers attach as the pink tentacle latches on. It cups your swollen pussy, cleaning up the appearance quite nicely to the audience's disappointment. But your moans grow louder, echoing to let you know the sound made it to the back of the room. The little fingerlings lining the pink tentacles interior are so active. They pinch at your clit, making it slip between the soft jelly limbs while the others started playing with the rest of you.

"...And when properly stimulated, this specimen can be prompted to release its reproductive material on command." That faint comment reminds you of the eggs.

Your gasp is mixed between startled and concerned when her hand begins to brush the tentacle wrapped around your crotch. Being stuffed with the twitching blue tentacle makes you wonder where all the slimy eggs will go.

At her light brushes, the tendrils start to pull you apart. They slip inside you, just barely, enough to make your legs start to shake. You can feel them start to pour in as her thumb pushes down, squeezing out the soft spawn like horrific toothpaste as she slides the digit up from the base.

The blue tentacle comes back to life now, helping push the pink jelly into your poor pussy. You can feel the tiny limbs scoop and blue suckers fuck the eggs up against your sore cervix. And still, nobody can see. Your boss stands over you. Her hand trails between your thighs, tapping in the drying slick that's become tacky. She tugs at the tip of the tentacle, pinching firmly at the pink appendage and peeling it back.

Not all the eggs made it inside, rolling down your thighs as the mess is exposed. She's slow with her reveal, trailing her fingers through the juices to try the combination. You've gotten quieter, trying to keep your whimpers silent now that it's easier to hear. She starts to pull at the plug, and you have to bite your lip to keep it down. It doesn't wanna come out of your ass, still pulsing from so recently releasing eggs. Still, she tugs, making you squirm and clench your cunt. You've been on the edge for so long, and feeling the stretch to your rim makes your thighs squeeze together. They can barely shut to rub around your throbbing clit.

"I might as well introduce the last one then." She gives up on freeing the pink tentacle with a frustrated sigh and finally steps behind the podium to reach the tank in your eyeline. "They fit perfectly under your bra, so we'll both be demonstrating."

Your eyes follow her hand, from the lid, to inside the tank, to the buttons on her shirt. You strain to look up at her because she's standing so close, watching with jealousy as that thing sucks on her nipple. Her breasts look bigger too, spilling from her bra when she tries to squish them back into her shirt. A glance back down makes you blush. A bulge starts to bubble from her pencil skirt. It wouldn't be very noticeable if it wasn't a few inches from your nose.

"My turn?" You look up at her from between watery lashes, bending to smiling crescents when she nods. She lifts your chest just enough from the podium to let the green lump latch onto you. It doesn't seem to mind being squashed against the wood when she lowers you back down. They feel good, sucking at your breasts in a perfectly alternating rhythm. You start to feel weird, hotter as your tits get sore. The mouths pinch a little, not enough to hurt, barely more than a warning bite. You groan, the throbbing in your ruined pussy is getting worse. It makes you imagine what your boss is feeling. The pre dripping into her underwear. You probably could take her cock too if she asked you. She's still giving a presentation, talking through a slide as the buttons on her dress shirt strain. Her hand slips back to your butt, where it was yanking the bigger plug out of you.

She braces the opposite hand on your asscheek, rocking the pink tentacle back and forth to coax it out. You can barely hold sound back, dissolving into pitchy breaths when the fat blue fucker decides to start up again. It starts slow, but that pace doesn't last. After packing you with eggs, it's eager to let its cum out. Every loud thrust makes the eggs probe deeper. You can feel it in your tummy, pressed flat to the uncomfortably hard podium.

Your sensitive nipples pulse in time with the relentless suckers. You can't even care to be surprised as they spurt milk, moaning instead from the toy twisting in your ass.

The pink tentacle finally slips out of you, put back in its tank where it belongs. But you're sore, hole left gaping for the blue one to fill in as it swells. It gets bigger in your pussy too, larger with each beat. Even as she talks, her fingers can't stop playing with you, either pinching at your skin or dragging a digit through your slit. Her microphone is ther only thing keeping her intelligible over your cries, strung out from the pleasure.

Her fingers swirl around your clit, so sensitive. The touch isn't any more than light nibbles on your chest, but it makes you gasp and jump against her hand. You start to cum when she twists harder. The moans inside you spill out in one cry as you squirt. The pinch to your clit makes you spurt all over the front of her clothes.

She gasps in disgust and yanks you off the podium. The flooring is carpet, soft enough for your sore ass when you slump against the sturdy wood.

Your boss brushes off the interruption like nothing, simply indicating the conclusion of the demonstration as the slides flick to a new segment. She steps carefully between your legs when walking back to her place behind the podium.

The front of your blouse is halfway unbuttoned, however much was needed to get those creatures on, and now you notice how swollen they made your tits. You whine as the blue thing keeps moving between your thighs. There's more leverage at this angle and you don't know if you should moan or cry. In a few stunted thrusts, cum starts to fill you up, thick ropes of it that still somehow leak out from between all the eggs and the fat tentacle.

The pretty blue sheen coats your inner-thighs and the conference room floor. Something’s still wrong though. The ache between your legs isn't gone, not completely no matter how much your sore body begs to stop. It's the milk, or the hormones that come with it asking for just a little more. The demonstration portion is over. You're done, everyone's supposed to be focused on the woman speaking.

You slip a hand to your clit, circling the bud with shaking fingers. Just one more, and you'll be fine. Your boss doesn't even notice the room's eyes drifting lower. The blue tentacle indulges you, lazily moving in your cunny along with a few pumps of its warm seed. You can look at the lump it makes in your stomach from this angle.

This time, the orgasm builds fast and you have to muffle soft pants against your hand as you cum. Your poor pussy hurts, but you still need another and the tight circles on your clit don't let up.

There can't be that much more time before the hour is up and she has to get these things off you. Yet, your wrist is getting sore and weak dribbles of piss leak out of you at each peak. You notice people in the crowd hiding their arousal, and that somehow makes your crazy mind even hornier. Your abused clitty gives a heartbeat to your thumb each time someone palms their crotch or crosses their legs, still trying to be politely discreet.

The lights brighten as the presentation ends and a few odd bursts of scattered applause break out at a few tables. You still don't have the decency to leave your needy cunt alone, finally closing your legs around the blue tendril still curled up inside you as the people leave the room to pick a brochure up.

I had another anon ask abt going to find a new tentacle with the coworker from pt.2, but I kinda decided they were aliens (pink and blue both would normally use a host for mating and the suckers kinda do the same thing but for food, ig they're all just parasites sorry if that's gross), so i added a new variety into this one for you <3

A/N- how'd she do that? i would've gone ngh~ *squish* IMMEDIATLY, sry can you tell idk anything about an office job? oh well, stfu and enjoy the smut then (this is way over the top 😭) Also why did i give myself the displeasure of two (2) unnamed characters, give me names for Ms. boss or i'll start adding y/n (a threat)

[avoxrising]

The Feral One - Prologue

I had an idea for a mini Finnick x reader Tumblr series so I wrote a short prologue to gage y’all’s interest. Lmk if y’all want to see more!

“I want you guys to forget everything you think you know about the games,” Haymitch states as the District 12 team sits down to eat.

“Last year was child’s play,” Haymitch continues. “This year, you’re dealing with all experienced killers.”

“All right. What does that mean for us?” Peeta asks.

“That means you’re gonna have to have some allies,” he replies.

Peeta starts, “ok I think that if we…”

“Whoop,” Haymitch interrupts. “You’re not the problem.”

“No,” Katniss states as she stares at the pair, seemingly upset that they even suggested allies.

“Look,” Haymitch sighs. “You’re starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years.”

“That just puts us higher on their kill list,” Katniss states.

“Do it your own way,” Haymitch tells her. “But I know these people. You go it alone, their first move is going to be to hunt you down. Both of you.”

“Katniss come on,” Peeta sighs.

“How could any of us even trust each other?” she asks.

“It’s not about trust,” Haymitch responds. “It’s about staying alive.”

After the group eats they move to the lounge to watch the recap of the reapings. Haymitch proceeds to give his tributes a rundown of their competition.

“Cashmere and Gloss,” Haymitch states. “Brother and sister, District 1. They won back to back games, capital favorites, lots of sponsors. They will be lethal.”

He clicks to the next clip. “And the other half of the career pack, Brutus and Enobaria.”

“What’s with her teeth?” Katniss asks, noticing the abnormally sharp teeth in her mouth.

“She had them filed into fangs so she could rip peoples throats out,” Haymitch explains.

“She’s committed, I’ll give her that,” Peeta declares. Haymitch moves on to the next clip.

“Wiress and Beetee,” he states. “Not fighters, but brilliant and weird, real tech savvy. He won his games by electrocuting six tributes at once.” The tributes absorb this information as Haymitch moves on to the next clip.

He moves onto the next clip and Katniss speaks out. “Finnick Odair right?”

“Yes, he won his games at 14, youngest, ever, extremely humble,” Haymitch replies.

“You’re kidding,” Katniss gapes.

“Yes, I’m kidding,” Haymitch sighs. “He’s a peacock, a total preener. But he’s the capital’s darling, and they love him here; charming, smart, and very skilled at combat, especially in water.”

“What about weaknesses?” Peeta ask and Haymitch skips back to the escort calling out the female tribute’s name.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Haymitch states. “Known in the capital as ‘the feral one’, winner of the 69th games”.

Katniss and Peeta shrink deeper into the couch.

“Isn’t she, um, a serial killer?” Peeta stutters.

“Well technically most of the victors are,” Haymitch responds. “But yes, she has killed outside of the games. She’s a deeply misunderstood creature.”

“Why is she Finnick’s weakness?” Katniss asks.

“She was Finnick’s first victor that he mentored,” Haymitch explains. “It’s hard not to get attached to the ones you bring home, especially your first. However, those two are a bit more complicated. I’d says it’s probably more of a… situationship… than an actual relationship but if you mess with either of them I can assure you that you’ll be dead pretty quickly.”

“So we should avoid them,” Peeta states, taking a mental note of Haymitch’s explanation.

“No,” Haymitch states, confusing his tributes. “The best move is to ally with them. They’re your biggest competition in the arena besides the careers, but they’re arguably more reliable and you don’t want to get on her bad side. They call her feral for a reason.”

[lostwords-found]

So that last post by Alesis Newman, the one that was locked by "BetterTheNew", was dated January 3 2018. Eight months before her previous post.

The police files on Dr Samuel Webber were dated April 3 2009. Eight months before the date in his journal.

Dr Samuel Webber murdered his ex and then was turned into a tree. We don't know what happened to Alesis Newman's ex before she turned herself into some kind of coral creature, but she was taking bereavement leave at the end. Out of death, something is trying to be born. Or reborn...

...Oh yeah, and let's not even go near this other (lonely, eye-encrusted) rabbithole, let alone down it:

Norris read Dr. Webber's case, about a man who murdered his lover rather than lose her and then was trapped alone in a walled garden, in denial about what he had done and eternally haunted by her voice, with only a small piece of himself remaining aware and perpetually terrified but unable to voice its fear. Cool! Yeah. That's definitely... that's definitely not significant or deeply upsetting in any way.

But Chester... Chester read Alesis Newman's case, about a woman who intentionally destroyed herself in the wake of a lover whom she saw as trying to change her into the person he wanted her to be--and replaced herself with something new and inhuman. Something that has her eyes.

And by post 13, using her paralysis computer, Alesis is writing with her eyes. So is that actually her writing? If it's not, when in that sequence of posts did it stop being her? What does "no longer her" actually mean in this context? Certainly, she's becoming something that the Alesis of eight months earlier, the Alesis of the immediately-deleted fourteenth post, would no longer identify with--if some part of her still existed.

Cool. Yeah. That's definitely not significant... or deeply upsetting... in any way.

OK but I said let's not go down that rabbithole, so let's forget I just said any of that and go back to talking about the post dates, yeah?

Yeah.

So, sometimes some of these cases have some interesting correspondences with TMA statements, so there might be something there. Alesis started that thread, opening up to everyone about her journey to creating a better her, on June 20, 2018. I wonder if there were any TMA statements dated June of 2018?

Case #0181206 (June 12, 2018)

Statement of unknown bystander regarding an encounter with The Archivist.

...Oh.

Okay, well, that's... interesting, but not necessarily meaningful. Let's try this: the last date in her transformation/replacement, the last point where maybe there was still something left of the original "her," was September 3, 2018. Anything interesting happen in TMA in September of 2018?

Case #0182509-A (September 25, 2018)

Original recording of events leading to the disappearances of Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Alice Tonner and Peter Lukas.

...Ah. Ha. Um. Well, that could also be an interesting coincidence. What about that deleted 14th post that was somehow eight months earlier, back in January? The one with an Alesis who still tried to cry out against the thing she was becoming?

There's nothing in January, but... oh... right.

Case #0170908 (August 7, 2017 )

Statement of Elias Bouchard, regarding the dreams of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive.

...

Case #0181502 (February 15, 2018)

Statement of Oliver Banks, regarding his dreams and trying to run away. Statement given directly to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, currently unresponsive.

...January of 2018, Jonathan Sims was in a coma. September of 2018, the Archivist received the final mark that would enable Jonah's ritual.

January through September of 2018 in the world of Protocol, something was trying to be born into a physical form, replacing Alesis Newman.

Cool, I say through gritted teeth. Yeah. That's definitely not significant, or deeply upsetting, in. any. way.

[meanbossart]

Well, now I'm so curious! Baahlist Drow, does he have plans for Astarion besides keeping him around? Is it sort of a cat and mouse thing, where he's waiting for the mouse to start to struggle and make the kill fun? Or is he content to keep Astarion on his arm to trot out at murder parties, and, in his mind, be freaks together?

Oh definitely not cat and mouse situation. DU drow is as hopelessly in love with him in that scenario as he usually is, and Astarion has essentially replaced Orin as the new object of his very, very intense affections. He hijacks the ascension not to harm him, or even to "keep him in line", but because in his mind Astarion shouldn't need any power for as long as he has him - and will only love him for as long as he is weak and needs his protection.

His plans include taking Astarion with him all the way to the very end as Bhaal takes over every land they step foot on, assuming his plan continues to go accordingly. So yes - lots of murder parties, some sprinkling of political games and strategy, eventual total world annihilation, the works.

In-game, Sceleritas also suggests that with a partner by your side you ARE able to procreate regardless of gender. No clue if that is anything worth looking into or just a slight oversight by Larian (I kinda doubt it, though - this is wizard-land, if i can banish a dude off to the netherealms for two turns I don't see why I couldn't find a way to smash two dicks together and make a guy, somehow) but it's DEFINITELY something DU drow thinks about a length regardless. He wasn't interested in children before, but there is something almost prophetic now about spawning a child out of a murder demi-god and the undead creature he loves - definitely something he mental-gynastics into becoming a part of Bhaal's plan, not to mention pesters Sceleritas tiredlessly about. THRALL! Have you progressed in your task of finding a way for me to concoct a baby out of my dead beloved's seed and mine yet? Well then why the fuck are you wasting time filing in my taxes!

It almost doesn't sound too bad until you remember that Astarion has absolutely no way out of this relationship now (DU drow would rather keep him unwilling than let him go, he's not committing the same mistake as he did with Orin), no say over what they do, and that DU drow is in no way whatsoever the quiet, charming, loving weirdo he fell for. He talks over him, shows him off like a prized possession, talks about Astarion like he wouldn't last a minute on his own and requires him to constantly look content about his situation lest he becomes altered and puts him down further.

[chiiroptereh]

[Please zoom in, there's a lot of detail! And a massive file size...ouch]

Hi guys, long time no post! Been working on Art Fight and life stuff, but I've got something kinda fun for you.

This is a compilation exploring how a mortal Bill may interact with our world if there were still some kinda Euclidean instincts buried in there. Y'know, before the Book of Bill ruins all my headcanons >:P (EDIT: IT HAS BEEN READ. YAHOOOOOO)

Also quite an experimental piece as you can probably tell. Lots of details on both said headcanons and the art stuff under the cut, but I invite you to study the colorful texture yourself beforehand and think about what it might be representative of, just for fun because I got some really cool answers from my friends when asked :]c

TL;DR: the headcanon is that Euclideans have exceptional eyes for geometry. They find things like symmetry, tessellating patterns, graphs and fractals very aesthetically pleasing. If pushed into our 3D world, they feel comforted by the familiarity flat objects/spaces bring, as well as high-contrast patterns. Shadows especially are a familiar dimensional reduction that may bring them much comfort.

Bill would surely not be happy about these inclinations, constant reminders of a past long gone, but I'm not sure he's even aware of them here :P I think his ego gets in the way to the point where he just views these interests as common sense, which, of course, us lame humans just don't understand because we aren't nearly as cool as him. Of course he likes perfectly symmetrical leaves and staring at the kitchen floor, it's called taste, look it up!

And yet, he can't seem to shake the strange sense of melancholy he gets from viewing his own shadow.

~ End of TL;DR, long version below! ~

🔺 Headcanon Development

So, the catalyst of this idea was in relation to my friend and I's AU ( @love-triangles-au ). TL;DR, Bill's brought back mortal, meets another triangle named Y.V. (it's his hand holding the paper in the piece, actually), at some point they fall in yaois together, you know how it is. And, in writing a pair of triangles (or, more broadly, writing from the perspective of a different species), something I've had to consider was that you really can't get much further removed from a human being than sentient geometry.

The anatomical aspect was mostly figured out (see my piece on Bill's eye-mouth), but I wanted to consider what psychological differences might be at play. I wanted them to be weirder, more alien, double-so for Bill. At first I explored these possibilities through the lens of Bill and Y.V.'s relationship, specifically the question "what might a triangle find appealing about another triangle?"

Well, really the only things that came to mind were straight lines and symmetry, anything related to the geometric form of such a creature. That's more-or-less where that ended until the thought struck me that there's no reason this aesthetic appreciation couldn't extend to the rest of the environment, and then further when I realized, "wait, this is a species that is designed to live in a 2D environment. Like, they should seriously be really weird. I need to push this like 200% more."

So...yeah! I did some thinking and brainstorming with others and came up with a pretty long list of things a Euclidean in our world may be inclined to enjoy or find some level of comfort in. It's worth noting again that in this piece specifically this is a mortal/powerless Bill, so he can't really escape this Earthly environment. IF he's aware of these instincts at all (and that's a big "if"; when have you last been cognizant of your own instincts let alone known where they were stemming from?) I think he'd have snuffed them out in immortality and/or purposefully gone against them; he doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

In order from left-to-right, top-to-bottom, here's an explanation for each!:

Flat objects such as paper are something he may find particularly engaging. It's basically 2D!

Tessellations are especially fascinating, and our world has them everywhere in the form of tile floors. Symmetry and such a predictable pattern...as the infinity of the starry sky might for us, the infinite potential of tessellations might invoke a similar sense of awe in him. Add on the maximum contrast of black on white kitchen tiles and the forms are only even better defined! A sensitivity to contrast would be very helpful for a 2D being navigating their environment.

Fields are flat and open, much like Euclydia itself. Laying flat may make him feel a little more at home.

More tessellation in the honeycomb of hymenopterans (bees, wasps and friends)! It helps that pain is hilarious.

The city is an absolute treasure trove. Rectangular buildings, precise architecture, square sidewalks and straight lines abound...he may as well be looking at a rainbow or an art gallery! I think a Euclidean's brain is very fine-tuned to mathematics, especially in regards to trigonometry. What may appear to be a straight painting might appear obnoxiously crooked to him.

Zebras are high-contrast :]

Another flat surface, another relaxing space <3

I think graphs are about as high as high art gets to most Euclideans.

I've touched on shadows before, and for good reason; truly they must be something borderline magical to the Euclidean and perhaps bitterly nostalgic.

This one kinda speaks for itself. Dweeb.

🎨 The Artsy Stuff

Lately I've been trying to find ways to fit more color into my work, as color is perhaps one of my favorite things in the world. My wardrobe is rather garish; my dad jokes that you could see me from space. My fursona is obnoxiously bright for a reason -- I feel my soul is a very colorful one!

I also realized recently that I don't actually know the exact style that speaks to me. I could talk about the phenomenon of the "style crisis" that many artists have all day, but in my mind the best cure for this feeling is to go against it entirely and begin stealing as much as possible.

So, I've tried to keep an eye out for more sources of inspiration everywhere I go, physical and digital. I've tried to train my mind into making a habit of considering, "can I do anything with this?" everywhere I go, and it recently paid off!

The glittery rainbowy texture you see plastered all over Billiam is this one, a photo-manipulated set of fruit stickers. I must confess I've been obsessed with this image for the past 72 hours, and this seemed like a good excuse to try it out!

I worried throughout the process if it might be so abstract that it loops back around to being horribly deliberate, if that makes sense -- like each sparkle was not a piece of a whole but rather an object in itself -- but it seems like that hasn't been a problem, so I'm grateful for that :Dc

I hope it can dazzle and delight you as it does me, but as long as you find it fascinating at the very least then I consider it a success! I really enjoyed hearing my friends' interpretations while workshopping it, and got tons of amazing answers from opal to kaleidoscope to fossilized bone marrow! I truly believe that the best art has some room for interpretation and it really excites me to be surrounded by that kind of creative energy that follows said pieces. That definitely adds to my pride in this work. It's weird, it's colorful, it's detailed and yet ambiguous. I'm feeling pretty autistic about it

Alright, I think that's about it. Thanks for listening!