#cm poc

[joannasteez]

the sex life of evie moore - nightingale

summary: evie, after some encouragement from rhea, gets comfy with damian priest.

authors notes and warnings: minors do not interact pls! purely self indulgent. contains explicit descriptions of sex and talks of relationships, romantic or otherwise. descriptions of alcohol use.

word count: 8340 (what'd i say? no baby food this go round)

genre: alternative universe - college

"...it felt like breakin' up all over again...", her tone more somber than expected. even with the words known and leaving. 

...sex is polarizing. an un-categorizable system of communication. it's loud. frivolous. quiet. intimate. soft. the greatest liberation. a prison. bending with time to conform to new space. a dimensionless void of possibility. sex is a ladder. a door. the terrible silence of a grimy alleyway. drips of rain and those wicked scuffling boots just beyond the corner. a full breath in the lungs after much time without air. a sacred crossroad where bliss meets the impossible...

abra dezttone is many things. the department chair of the philosophy department. professor of a myriad of elective courses. old. beautifully grey. too tall for such a slippy, delicate voice, and haunting. in the sense that she gives her eyes like she would her hands for a firm shake. an unrelenting contact, with all the knowledge there is to be possessed about one's life from the give of a simple look. real trippy shit that evie does not have time to unpack. 

but most of all, professor dezttone is a lover of fucking essay's. an essayist in her own right. 

the laptop computer screen brightened to such a sharpness that the stabbing pain of it has gotten to be a bit of a normal sensation. momentum waning in evie's fingers. tired and over-worked from all the curt, bent maneuvers and the awful mental ache that comes with running out of brilliance for words. 

...sex is a game. sex is law. used to determine laws. sex is everything. sex is nothing—a box that takes the form of flesh and bone, lined with the terrible nerve of ideas and blood soaked with thoughts and needs and desires...

"am i missing something?" rhea—evie's dorm-mate— stops mid-cut to look up. a faux lost expression slipping in the eyes. "i thought you two broke it off well enough ago". the scissors in hand continuing to crop the shirt she'd been messing with. "who gives a shit about what he's got to say. your body your choice right?" 

a snort cuts, evie closing the too bright laptop screen. "says the woman dressing me up like a metalhead meat puppet just so she can promote her little band". 

"hey". a playful warning singing through. rhea grabbing a wayward piece of fabric to throw at evie's head. "we're not little. we're just...too niche for the normals...an acquired taste for like...more refined palates n'shit...", her manicured nails easing the blade of the scissors against the front of the shirt till its ripping with a bit of a curve. "...plus you made the design. the least that can come of it, is you wearing your skills...". and whatever d.i.y. trick rhea had found online apparently involves safety pins. meticulously piercing them along the cut path she'd made. like a deconstructed mending of the large cut. "...and, i can help out with your little problem".

evie's brows pull together. confused. 

"my problem?"

"getting you out of your comfort zone and head first into a bit of self-service...", a sparkle in her eye that isn't so unfamiliar. twisting gears and a smirk that troubles evie's belly only slightly. "...or rather ass first considering you—"

"whats the plan?" 

"to get you laid obviously". rhea's aussie accent meshing well with bits of sarcasm. holding up her handy work to assess the quality. "but its less "what", more "who". her eyes peaking from behind the few-of-a-kind band-tee. "you know damian well enough right?"

well enough would be a slight overstatement. there was a baseline cordiality set at best, but nothing overly familiar to categorize her knowing him as 'well enough'. a ordinary share of 'hi's', 'goodbye's' and such. he'd—maybe till this very moment— always been a part of a part of a whole, compartmentalized as 'rhea's drummer friend', and set aside to the recesses of some miscellaneous corner of her mind. due to no fault of his own either really, but evie had never been much of an eye wanderer while with punk. even amidst the year long stint of romance-adjacent, platonic confusion that followed. but the odd loyalty harvested was just from a planting of some self-made guilt. twisting pits in the belly from the anxiety of moving on. that was obvious now.

damian would be new and uncharted. a free hand drawing, playing it by ear, on the fly sort of thing. 

evie pulls the pillow she'd had propped under her laptop closer till its in her lap and hugged up in her arms. "he's kinda intense rhea". 

"in all the nice little ways that count...", she counters. moving about evie's room comfortably. opening a draw to pull out a pair of black short-shorts. the fabric at the ends of the denim pant legs frilled a bit. "...and intense could be good for you. a change of pace maybe. damian is a passionate guy, he'll take care of you".

"and you know this how?" 

rhea tosses the shorts across to land next to the shirt she'd cut and adjusted and pinned to her liking. pulling out a pair of fishnets from evie's sock draw. "nightingale has it's little flock of...admirers...to put it nicely...". picking at the small selection of silver jewelry sitting on evie's dresser. a full outfit for the nights festivities manifesting as rhea wanders about the room. "...they tend to winge about a little too much for my liking when the guys figure they've had enough, but they make for good sources on the gossip". 

evie scoffs a bit. amusement dirtied and coarse. "so you're trying to set me up with community dick?"

rhea's mouth breaks into a bright smile, chuckling as she lays out her styling choices for the night. "dominik is the one with community dick. gives full service like one of those curbside food pantries", her fingers joining to wave about blasé like. because—regardless of how not so well she knew dominik—evie knew that the rather infamous electric guitarist of 'nightingale' got around quite a bit and quite frequently. so to hear of his...valiant...service to the community wasn't exactly unheard of. rhea shoves open evie's tiny closet with a push of her foot, bending to consider an array of boots and sneakers. "damian on the other hand...much more selective...a bit picky actually...", huffing as she rises with a pair of chunky black platforms. "...but tested". 

"why do you know he's tested?" 

rhea shrugs. "the same way i know you're tested and vice versa". 

if they collectively had a nickel for every time they'd bought on a wretched trip to the campus clinic from a pregnancy scare, they'd have 3 nickels. but three was enough. it'd always be enough. 

"touche". 

"he's also asked about you before". 

evie's belly drops. "what?! when?! why didn't you say anything?" 

"it was a few months ago. you were in the middle of your thing with punk and i didn't want you getting confused".

and this was only slightly terrible, but slightly was enough when it felt like the world had gone under a shift after some abrupt unleveling. at least thats what being perceived feels like doesn't it? a slight tug of the rug from beneath the feet. not enough to up turn the body but surely enough to make one well aware that the up turn is possible. 

evie takes to looking over all of rhea's efforts of collecting and matching. clothes and shoes and jewelry sprawled out and ready to be worn. 

"what'd he say?" 

rhea smiles. an excitement evie feels tired from already. "he asked if you were single". 

easier access. the short shorts were a fine pick on rhea's part, but evie figures—already half dressed and running warm from anticipation—she should at least make the maneuver of undressing a little less of a hassle. assuming of course that she won't be the one having to make quick work of peeling her clothes off. the leather mini skirt gives easier access. a zipper just at the back that slips open with a salacious little undoing. and it works well enough with the rest of the outfit. rhea's reconstruction of the band tee leaving just enough to the imagination for intrigue. the curved cut held together by safety pins, exposing skin and teasing parts of her breast. and of course more instructions followed. 'no bra!!', the text message coming in an hour or so after rhea had left for sound check. 

her top isn't so cropped that she cant get away with it either, but cropped enough for some peaks of skin. the heart shaped piercings through her nipples making for an eye catching outline. again, rhea knew what she was doing.

...seduction is art. it is method. a delicate configuration. a form made true with eyes and silence and words and lips and sly touches. seduction: the sister, the mirror, the doer... 

the boots make evie taller. the air warmer just from the four inch lift. or maybe it's that rigid bite in her fingers. doubts, uncertainties and all their nasty associates. the mirror painting a portrait that rivals her old normal. the droning, late night buzz of tattoo guns, blonde box dyes, old torn sketch books and that mainstay, oddly endearing snark. punk had been her normal. a comfortable standard. seduced by her matter-of-fact tones and gritty inflections. a little fast, a little loose, a little crazy. 

slithering out of that stagnation, it'd be a bit of a pivot. a little different, but nothing impossible. no more impossible than the fifteen page papers and midterms and all the other hellish things dressing up as collegiate obligation.

'he's just some guy'

a plate of crinkle cut fries sit along the tiny kitchenette counter as evie corrals a buckled bag made to carry photography essentials. the snack left by rhea, she's sure. covering all the bases. the starchy taste doing well to soak up and dampen that sick, drunk, twist turning her gut. 

'he's just some guy'

the september autumn night air is breezy, but not too cool. those last little lingerings of summer steeped in that give her enough leeway to go jacket free. patient, heeled steps leading off campus and some minutes away to the location rhea had heavily debriefed her on how to get to. but the venue, oh the venue is a lot a ways from that almost chilly bite of cool outside air. a sticky heat blanketing evie's skin as she pushes the creaky door of an almost rundown building. the inside walls graffiti'd to hell and in need of extensive renovation. this is definitely the address. ill-tempered bass shuddering the five story walk up and almost too dim lights flittering the hall way. 

a table just before the entry door to the madness. money littering a jar till it threatens an overflow and that undeniable thick smell of weed. a few freshman-in-the-face kids littered about passing around a blunt and watching easy over the table and handing out check coat tickets and such. 

evie struts up to the table, the under rubber of her boots lifting a little sticky and the hot air rolling over her skin, stuffing a loose $10 bill into the jar. "anywhere i can find rhea?" 

"evie right?", a girl asks. the sound of it almost comfortable, like she'd drilled evie's name into memory as to never forget it for the sake of keeping convenience. her hair undercut with a cute summery orange color and her brows pierced through. 

"they're about to play now, but you can drop your bags off with their stuff". a tattooed finger stretching to point across from where the table sits. another darkish hallway with walls that vibrate from the tough play of music. "last door down on the left". 

evie throws a "thanks" and rushes on quick. that unmistakable drawl to rhea's voice sounding out over the blast of the speakers. her usual fiery introduction, before 'Nightingale' breaks into their set for the night. a routine to get the crowd pumped again. and the almost closet-like break room is a mess. like the slight whip and whirl of a tornado had pulled through and settled everything to some odd function of what had to be controlled chaos. but theres no time to think about the clutter, not when the first drum beats of a crowd favorite play. her chunky boots stepping over till she's breaking open into the hallway and down and about to slither into the crowd.

and a meticulous maneuver around a forming mosh pit has never proven itself easy for evie—the times she's found herself drug from under the covers to see rhea and the guys perform—but she manages. 

haze and a controlled rage. both making for cool, textured digitals. the small stage lights illuminating just enough to catch the essence of things. sweat on the skin and hot clings of hair. the energy burning away that tease of winter air from the cracked windows. 

evie's finger hits the button of the shutter. microphone to rhea's lips and her face caught amidst that performative flow. she'd always been the mainstay of 'Nightingale', since even before the inception of—gigs, standing crowds and droning admiration—everything. a long ranged mouth piece. vocals and songs and ideas. always with something to say. the type of draw with a force made to comply with. 

and buddy, her red-headed bassist of a boyfriend, is as cool and mellow as his guitar. easy flicking strums of his purple near black bass to match his disposition. 

dominik was everything of the opposite. what with his mullet and mustache and that air of mischief about him. a bright sparkle of it in the eye. shredding pitchy, electric tones that bleed something static-like and lively. a sound and an energy living only to rival himself. 

and then of course, theres damian. "priest", as rhea likes to call him. a dark mystique about him. black penciled liner beneath his eyes that make his stare dark. penetrative and daunting. the break and beat of the rhythm all kept in his care as he makes no qualms about smashing cymbals and roughing into the kick drum. 

the crowd tumbles and sways and moshes something feral. an endless melody of motion. an artful madness worth all of it's appreciation.

the ice water doesn't do much. gives evie's hands something to hold onto in place of her camera and cools the tongue off for some few seconds before that sticky heat creeps up again. packed bodies and breath and cap-less beer bottles. the type of heat that rises up youthfully and yearningly so. sex-ish. if thats even a word. if so, evie'll use it for her paper. and no, she isn't hiding. just a slight tactical separation. a strategic retreat of sorts into the corner to catch her breath. a maneuver and a half of getting around the growing crowd to set her gear down in the safety of that back room before she'd squeezed her way to where she is now. settled and moderately eased and tucked away with a dripping cold cup of ice water. right, no! this isn't hiding. just a simple caching till a good enough game plan rolls in. any minute now...

because falling into something with punk those 2 and a half-ish years ago had been fairly easy. both of them a little fiery eyed and eager for something exciting. he'd given his smiles and his snark and his boldness and she'd done similar. the light perpetually on green with a heavy foot on the gas and no speed limit in sight. a little fast, a little loose, a little crazy. but beyond the quick 'hi's' and toothy smiles evie doesn't know much about damian. doesn't know much about his ticks and his likes and his secrets and all the under the surface things that make him. that break him even. but then again, she wouldn't have to would she? long gone from the tangled mess of a relationship and all those minute details. this'll be a delicate maneuver for sure, what with the small talk and flirting and all the physicalities to follow, but inconsequential nonetheless. right?...

hope. sipping from her cold cup and surveying the floor. she can only hope so. 

"you're stalling". 

a slight digging pinch into her hip that makes her flinch and that down under accent that dresses up all rhea's words with a bit of a drawl. her face, makeup-less now and eyes a little blown. her smile wide and a hand taken up. colored cups full and the slosh of it, something that smells all too much like trouble. and yes, maybe evie is stalling, but that word sounds too much like a great exposure. too forthright. 

she sighs. "i'm looking for an opening". stealing a glance across. damian posted up near the makeshift bar at the other side of the space. a flock of folks trying hard to act like they're not vying for a bit of attention. spewing the usuals—'good shit', 'loved the set', 'lets connect', etcetera— evie is sure of it. 

"this is post-gig standard evie". rhea taking a generous sip from one of the red solo cups she'd mysteriously come into ownership of. so different from the crazy scatter of cheap bottles and cans of beer circulating. "it's all blood smelling sharks and too deep water. regular college shit". her eyes rolling as she shifts evie quick with a tough pull. a fast save as some too-drunk-already freshman wobbles and swerves to the music. drops of beer just missing evie's shirt as it splatters to the floor. "listen...", rhea guiding evie along to a better section of the wide room. "...he's 6'5, tattooed, a drummer, and not a complete dick. there is no such thing as an opening really. with priest, the strategy is pure vibe". 

evie scoffs. a pout pulling at her mouth. anticipation warm and burning and stoked the more people dance and sway at all sides. like some great big mocking of fun almost. "i'm elevator pitching my pussy at this point".

"breathe". a little chuckle playing as rhea swaps evie's cold cup of water for one of hers. "you're 23. s'not a husband hunt. just samples, taste tests and a little window shopping". all laissez faire like. "did you eat?"

"yeah. the crinkle cuts you left out". 

"good. carbs are good". tapping the filled red cup she'd placed in evie's hand. "take a shot". 

and rhea is and possibly will never be terrible at hiding her mischief, because she indulges herself far too often to care about it being hidden. 

a teasing curl of a smile taking her lips. "it's fall time...". the soft bump of her shoulder. something sisterly. playful. "...every girl needs a proper jacket". 

and of course, before the present, beautiful, sagacity of junior year—not that theres much of it to revel in considering her current circumstances—evie had soldiered through many a weekend along side rhea. freshman faced and jacket-less amidst the solid cold of an unbearable late fall semester. liquor sloshing their bellies so terribly well that it burned through to warm up the skin. the true form of a grade a type of fuckery only made possible by the self proclaimed invincibility of newly made young adults. weekends of "proper jackets" and monstrous hangovers, followed by colds unbreakable. thank God for on campus nurses and antibiotics. 

the hardwood bends beneath evie's feet. heavy bass and an itch to fall into the rhythm. the liquor steeping her tongue along with bits of sweetness. rum and a splash of something fruity. 

and he's still there, posted up at the makeshift bar. slabs of dark wood stacked and drilled to shape into something not half bad and useable. backless highchairs littered close by for the too-cool-to-dance types and a newly puffed out stream of haze to shroud the air. 

his eyes underscored and attentive. drifting over the crowd till they fall and find her looking already. some seconds of a nameless expression before his lips pull. a tick of a smile before he's pulled else where. heat going on in her belly, and yes its probably the swash of rum but the bass doesn't disconcert her common sense enough to persuade her that it isn't the idea of him either. 

rhea bumps her shoulder again. "what are you thinking?"

"am i moving too fast?" 

rhea takes the emptied solo cup to set down against a nearby windowsill. sincerity corralling quickly. "tonight is about doing what you want. fuck him. don't fuck him. he's like a brother, but he's still just some guy at the end of it all yeah?" 

'he's just some guy'

its a mantra at this point. lends itself to a truth thats partial enough to make evie feel good. feel better. or maybe it's the impatience to do something different. stepping out of boxes and comfort zones. possibly a mixture of both. one thing informing the other. circular and never ending till she's nodding to agree. 

both girls smile silent. rhea's giddy and evie's daring to match. 

"you're enjoying this too much". a light gripe and then a calculative turn on her heels. readying to step off a long rested on stagnation.  

an encouraging pat to the hip is all she gets before she's easing into the crowd. tunnel visioned for the makeshift bar. the slow wind up and over of colored lights. the tease of sweat at her cheeks. thick haze and hoppy alcohol biting the nose. skin slipping on skin. dancing and the slurred song of some flirty speech as the bass holds the room together. tensions lifting quick. fiercely. persuasion steeped in the music enough that it bleeds into the blood. matching and every heel toe. drawing an easiness in the eyes and the penned frown in her lips—etched up by the anxieties of approaching a man—erased to a faintness.  

he's a sharp looker, damian. focused and unabashed. curious and existing big in evie's peripheral. but a little something is needed before the big approach. call it a crutch, but a small drink in hand gives the body a nice center point. a task that lightens the full weight of doing. 

but theres only beer. lagers and ipa's. 

"got anything besides beer?", she gives over the music. 

and the bartender-not bartender—familiar faced and moving away too fast for evie's liking—pushes two types of beer up into her view. an irish accent quick amidst the droning party. "sorry, it's all i got". fingers full of crinkled five's and ten's and cold cans. 

an eye roll doesn't fix much but its a quick expression. disappointment in the fingers and that taunting urge for a second drink after the first. but it doesn't last long. a hand waving in past her peripheral to signal the bartender-not-bartender. damian and his shadow lined eyes. "yoo finn, she's cool, she's with me". a smooth pull up right next to her. the type of bass in his voice that pinches her nerves quick with excitement. "what do you like?"

"sweet". she gives. "not too strong". 

a nod. lingering eyes and a twitch of a smile. like he's just gotten confirmation on something she's yet to be aware of. "he'll hook it up for you". 

so much for only beer. 

but the four inch lift does wonders. gives evie less of a hard time meeting the sound of him. his eyes and that strength of whatever cologne he's got painting over his neck. "thanks for the pull". 

"you're rhea's girl, i gotchu". the heat and height of him surely only tolerable due to low lights and spiked spirit. a charged eagerness made true by the short taste of mid-shelf rum from some almost rundown, always cheap, liquor store. looking down on her with an unhurried study. waiting and testing patience. a slow prying apart that flutters something dangerous in the skin. and he levels with her too, sits in one of those backless high chairs to come down into her view better. long legs parted enough to step and fit right into them. "you two in the corner schemin' on something?"

evie smirks. a short peak at rhea before she's shifting to meet him. slipping wholly into his stare. and God what a strange intensity. strong and absolute but hurt-less. something to fall into. "you're giving me too much credit. m'not devious enough to scheme". drifting to catch the pull of his smile and the way his cross necklace sits. looped through a thin choker and perched at his neck. the metal thick and silver and adorning. "you know how it is with rhea though. she gets bored and gets the brightest ideas. likes to set up entertainment for herself". 

"dolled you up just to push you into the deep end huh?" 

an implication if she's ever heard one. 

"sink or swim right?" his arm resting along the protruding deck of the makeshift bar top. her finger falling faint over his skin. toying with a short stray piece of thread at the wrist lining of his top. a thin, long sleeved mesh shirt that leaves for no curiosity. lean muscle and a load of tattoos for decoration. "i like the motivation though...", evie gives. retracting her hand. teeth stressing softly over her lip. taking a study of her own. "...i mean, if someone asks about you, it's good to make an appearance right? show face. if i knew the drinks came free off just that, i'd have come to another show a lil sooner". 

"they come free with me", he clarify's. 

ego. got to love a little male college ego. 

"look at you being all important". something snide mixed in with evie's laugh. an eye roll to cherry top. "i'll let you get back to your meet and greets then?" the toe of her chunky boots making to pivot and step away. drink-less still and unsatisfied. 

"alright that came out bad, m'sorry". a firm hand at evie'e arm. neither harsh or overdone, but a little pleading just the same. "c'mere". pulling soft before his fingers trail to clutch at her hand. a generous touch and an obscene size difference. the type of contrast she can feel without giving any quick peaks or once overs. taking little steps near him with some faux begrudged flare. cologne steeping her nose and this incontrollable urge to steal a look at his mouth again.

and he makes no real qualms with himself about where his own eyes lead. where they stick and prick and slip at. her lips and the safety pin styled band tee-shirt. a tight enough fit about the skin that leaves impressions in the fabric to reveal heart shaped piercings. these milliseconds of once overs that feel like a millennia. the loss of a quiet game, evie's eyes breaking to stare off at finn. that saving grace of a drink not yet given. like somehow he knew that she'd use it to quell her anxieties and was punishing her for making him go out of his way to prep something other than the crack open of a beer bottle. 

damian also hasn't let go of her hand just yet. an intentional hold that leaves his thumb pressed into the base of her palm. short sweeps and hot skin. his metal rings cold and tingling nerves. to keep her close surely, where his eyes can fall and take in and overawe. "that check in was months ago by the way". 

the music thumps and drives and drowns out. evie leaning in to let her words catch him well. "is this where i plug in my apology for making you wait?" 

"nah". a tug of a smile. surveying the mass of bodies before he's studying again. flitting between the eased set of her eyes. thanks to the rum in her blood. a somewhat cool, collected air to mask the disquiet that has yet to shake. "it just seemed like you had your hands full...", a funny thing now. considering he's found the opportunity to occupy one of them. unflinchingly so. "...not gonna lie, it felt like a waste of breath but i was curious". 

that year long stagnation had done a number obviously. leaving her blind and oblivious to other possibilities. very tall, very fine possibilities. 

and compliments to the dj. a segway into something smooth and melodic . a temper down of the rhythm that makes space for a more rage-less air. haze pluming slow to curl through the litter of colored lights.  

cedar wood and tobacco. hints of sweetness that scatter through the depth. heady and intoxicating. college boys and their cologne experimentations will be the death of her. a good death nonetheless. fingers maneuvering to fold in between his. a closer step into intimacy. nerves aflame. "and m'guessing with all of this...", motioning a finger to the inches of space between them, "...there's some residuals left. enough worth mentioning". 

"of course". 

she hums. lets the notes and undertones of his cologne work thoroughly. 

a red solo cup startles the moment. finn and his shitty timing. setting her drink down in between where the lean of her arm threatens to touch damian's. a little straw added for those waiting troubles. 

"sorry about the wait", he throws. loud and heavy accented over the music. returning to the fray of college students. 

that hand embraced with damian leaves finally. an unhurried departure as she makes to sip. mostly sugary juice and bites of that cheapish rum. enough to taste but not enough for judgements to be overdone. she'll need those for later. if there even is a later. but this—standing at the beginnings of his long legged manspreading, close enough to exist in a middling orbit—is comfortable. the room hot and lively as ever. taunting still. like she's missing the dangerous allure of dancing. 

punk wasn't, isn't, a dancer. didn't, doesn't, do clubs. so it's here, sipping sweetened rum and feeling the mellow tremble of the music, that evie realizes she misses dancing. the party kind. low lights and a smile thats helpless to form. those few awkward missteps before the rhythm cements itself beneath the feet. bodies like puzzled pieces. breath and the lyrics to suggestive songs sneaking on the tongue. 

he reels her back in. "so what's up witchu? how you been?" shifting to the edge of the backless stool he'd eased on earlier. the set distance—enough to breathe without a full consumption—too far in between. legs smoothing out like a barrier, turning in to face the bar. the whole of him angling her in just right to let all her words catch his right ear. 

but this is all too crafted just to preamble small talk, surely. bodily maneuvers to corner her. to fill up his eyes with her face and the more nuanced expressions. maybe even to test her nerves. it was only right to meet him with some collectedness. even if the make of it is a semi-desperate shot in the dark. messy with an inner trembling. a swirl in the belly and tough weights in the chest. 

"toughing it through the semester...regular college shit". seconds of a dramatic sigh. an eye roll to top the cake. "post-boyfriend bullshit crisis averted thankfully". 

"it's time for some antics now huh?" his lips pulling up. a toothless amusement he tries to hide, but evie can recognize the gears turning over. a glint there in the eyes working to reveal the renewal of snuffed out ideas. 

she laughs. "see, you get it". 

"where is he anyways?"

"doing what i'm doing...". a few sips to sprinkle in suspense. his curiosities strung up and tattered with eagerness long before this tip-toe of a moment and waiting to be relieved in full. "...minding my own business. whatever i want with who i wanna do it with". 

a smirk and a hum deep enough to live beyond the bass of the music. 

"what about you?" playing with the tip of her straw. stirring and standing on the other end of that suspense she'd just given him. "i have a feeling i might've skipped the line a little. anyone i should be worried about?"

he shrugs. "i do my thing every now and then but it's all safe". an interesting, vague turn of phrase she's too unwilling to decipher. "nothing serious". 

"good". thats all she needs. a confirmation of the insignificance of all of this. sipping down the last of her drink before she's pulling him up. "lets go". 

a reward for all her steadfast, overthought troubles, that's what this is. an alluring tempo, curious fingers and the simple seduction of his cologne. a little rum swimming in the blood to tap the senses. some minor elevation. she could kiss whichever genius saw fit to create platforms big enough to give her height this much of a lift. a sweet rhythm in her hips, held firm in his hands. and all that residual love, she'll adorn rhea with later. the cut of her top perfect. a slim distance between the edge of the fabric and the waist of her skirt. enough for thumbs and slipping trails. thick palms and settled intentions.

a charming hum riding along the music. just there in her ear. arms thrown over his shoulders and the play of his nose along her neck. just where perfume blooms on the skin. taking advantage of all the exposures to skin. keeping the dance in her body close and the smell of her closer. 

damian makes it easy, makes falling into him far too easy. 

and the music doesn't do much else but fill the urge to leave. a flow beyond the brim. pride in the body, zipping fast and talking sweetly. a readiness, more prominent than those fickle little bits of doubt. 

"...you find yourself wanting to roll around with someone else, don't stop on my account..."

damian priest is card board cut out material. dreamy sighing daydreams. 2 AM, keyboard smashing, group chat sharing, story time gold. and no, not because he's worthy of a malicious little laugh session. no, damian is reserved for those, peaking from beneath the covers, giggle ridden, hot cheek feeling, the girls'waiting with bated breath' moments. because an explanation has got to be given. questions will be asked anyways. evie can feel the skin attempting to rise already on her neck. soft suckles at her pulse and his thick, wide palms taking their sweet time. cupping her face, at her nape, smooth down her arms, firm and urgent in her hips before he scares her. lets his tongue slip from her mouth and lifts in one go. hands at her thighs and an easiness rushing in to his face to match up against the alarm in hers. 

getting picked up like nothing is scary business, and if she were anymore delusional than the rare, obligatory amount, he'd have her thinking she was featherweight and too delicate to ever touch the floor again. 

but she's laid out on the bed before anything can rise up fast enough that sounds like an objection. remnants of beer on his tongue but nothing real to complain about. not when he's hiking her thighs up and about his waist. jeans on her comforter be damned. "sorry about the—the bed, s'really small". fucking cheap college twin mattress. 

"you're good...", an octave below tenor, and the way it plays, akin to purring. breathing at the seam of her lips. smiling, the affects obvious. letting a hand wander at the make of her fishnets. shoes forgotten and an endless shiver riding her bones. "...ican makeit work...", confidence taking up residence between his mouth as he purses. gentle and lingering, like maybe he's trying to temper down the fret shut up in her skin. he can feel it can't he? "you ok?" pushing up to look over her. 

her legs relax. "mmm, yeah i—", releasing him a little less quickly than she'd have liked too. clinching eyes and labored breaths. "...i just...", scrutiny bleeding it's way under her cheeks. because even if he isn't judging her, who'd tell her she's wrong to believe he is?  

"talk to me". 

and oh the fucking compassion. of course he'd give her this. let her make space for herself well enough for a heavy eyed spotlight. darkly penciled and pretty lashes. sitting up tall, even when against his knees. waiting for her to perform the ever terrible procedure of having to give loose thoughts life. "this is uh—happening a lot sooner... maybe a bit easier than i thought it would", giving a quick whip to the braids falling over her eyes as she moves to lean against her elbows. mumbling and avoiding. "...didn't really think up to this point much...".

planning to get laid and actually getting laid are two very distinct things. 

"you callin' me easy?" 

a weight plummeting to the bottom of her belly. "oh shit, no?! ..i mean..", voice wavering with a sliver of consideration, but the quirk in his brow is enough. "no!! i'm not". 

damian smiles. pulls up the hem of his mesh shirt till it's over his head and flopping to the floor. tattoos more clear to her now. muscle lines and the unhurried rise and fall of his chest. "s'not far from the truth". chuckling some. the harsh thud of his shoes kicking off, snapping the better of her attention back to his face. something observatory in his stare as it trails about her body. clothed still but hot and jittered some. an assessment to confirm already made thoughts she won't know unless she builds the courage to ask. belt pulling through and out the loops before it joins his thin shirt. "at least for you".

he moves. patient. sure. precision like second nature. the size of the mattress an easy obstacle. 

"meaning?"

and even with the audacity of all this sudden uneasiness, it doesn't exist well enough for her to stop him. to swat or kick or flinch. his hand gripping her calf to tug her to the center of the bed, thighs split and spread to accommodate his kneeling between them. but there are no caressing touches otherwise. no deep breathes taken from her skin for more of her perfume. no tender kisses and the type of moans that give her belly a good kind of troubling. 

"meaning, i'm down for leaving...", a shrug of something near indifference. not so apathetic. collected but with interest still. like her ending the night wouldn't end his interest but he'd surely comply with her wishes. an inference she's hoping is true. "...but also down for the fun of getting to touch you, if that's all it's gonna be...". this other possibility waking her senses anew after the bit of severing she'd caused. "...meaning we do whatchu want, how you want it".  

...sex is ego. too much. too little. the need for a faultless performance. expressions. impressions. meets and greets and tryst. the hair, the face, the clothes and lack thereof, the body. tough noise and more simple ones. words and the forever nature of outdoing...

it's inconclusive. a part of a whole. ushering him in, in a similar fashion to how he'd done her. closer and careful. testing her mouth against his for something delicate. thumbing his cheek and tasting remnants of beer still.  

he leans over in full, her legs pushing to bend with the motion, as a some years old comforter and pillows urge her to relax beneath him. short, pecking kisses still. interested but lacking. waiting still. his words falling in the midst of breathing and a hand returning to sweep and knead her inner thigh. "don't leave me hangin on hearing what i need". this twist in her belly, a gradual wringing out of already settled thoughts too shy to leave. he squeezes tight though, compelling. "don't get me used to this voice like that just to take it from me". 

the re-approach to intimacy. that's what it is, isn't it? is what makes her shiver and threaten to shrink. having to reconfigure all over again with someone new in the name of pleasure. 

giving to get. 

"i want you", a bright whisper. simple and effective. not too brilliant sounding but, shit, fuck it. no one ever said consent had to sound sexy did they? just clear enough for understanding. 

he enjoys it though. letting an earnest moan speak for him. tongue slipping in past her lips with that timeless ease it seems he's perfected, but it's more unhurried here. deep breathes in the nose for air and a little less than tempered running of her nails into his skin. a curved descent. tough groans from his chest and the float in of that funny notion she'd thought of earlier, back when the heat in her cheeks lived less full than now. short shorts and skirts and which proved more undemanding. but damian isn't bothered by any of the particulars. not the sudden lack of surety she'd taken on before discarding it, or the task of maneuvering her how he likes. 

a steady control, reaching that zipper at the back for a swift, curt opening. lifting to join her legs, pulling the material up and off. 

"easy access". evie mumbling warm at the corner of his mouth. 

he gives a smile. amusement reaching his eyes.

and evie has yet to feel the true blight of desperation—far too young for that type of pitiful bullshit—or at least thats what she thinks. has yet to yearn for something absolute. so hopefully this isn't the first moment of that? wispy sighs stretching into moans and his touch playing at the seat of her panties. ears full of the lower than tenor noise he makes. whatever this is rolling over the skin, it's just a slightly less refined go of things. the normal obligatory urges and needs. her soft tongue and a lazy curl up at his lips. kissing his mouth and her fingers nailing ticklish at his nape. enough to make him hum and shiver and press pass her underwear. the barely there taste of cheap rum and hoppy beer between them. 

a soaked nose and stained lungs. every breath full of his cologne still, more than before. falling out of the daze of his kissing and into the way his thumb catches onto her clit just right. parted lips for her moaning and near closed eyes. palms playing over him, the sort of touch that asks for more without saying. 

thick air and his hair sticking to his skin. satisfaction singing heavy in his chest as he makes to slip a finger in gently. patient enough to save from the trouble of discomfort, but to savor too. the way she melts and clings and pulses, tender and a little more than greedy. 

"you ok?", the question fanning at her pulse. 

and sure, he's sincere. takes her lack of words and wispy sighs as something to quiz. something to draw up concerned about. but even evie, regardless of how fast her brain is turning to mush, can detect the scattered pieces of pride. his teeth grazing and mouth kissing wet at her lip. a partial posturing, to lure her into building his own esteem. fucking college boys. her belly tightening, his finger pressing in till it fits at the base of his knuckle. and it shouldn't be this good for her, not nearly but it is and part of her is springing up with resentment. a very small voiceless, barely breathing resentment. 

a bite out of a whimper. "yeah", curt and small. head tipping into the edge of a pillow, nearly knocking into the wall. the running tip of his tongue at her throat. salty, sweet smelling skin and vulnerability. probably his favorite. 

her crop top lifting, with no guidance of her own. judgements and urges stalemated by the tender play of his finger. heart shaped piercings on display and her hips canting along with a whine. a signal for something more. sounding bright and fragile like the action of asking hurts to give fully. like he shouldn't make her to suffer that much. a short retraction before he gives in again, wet and thick and curling and—"fuuuck", a drawling exhale. a burst of a feeling. his tongue trying itself at her nipple. slow swirls to start, acclimations and such, before he's licking in to hold over and suck. hallow cheeks and stretchy moans. 

and evie hopes the flutter in her belly isn't a warning of the end already. that'd be bad. embarrassing. 

but it feels good. that building anticipation before something complete. 

her nails dull and combing through his hair, curling up from the heat and smooth to the touch. bursting sensations dying on the skin before they bloom again. endless fluttering and breath catching stirs at her clit. about her nerves. a meticulous tempo to dictate the rhythm. playing her well. in his time. a percussionist surely. "when'd you get these?", all casual and unbothered. giving her piercings a generous kiss. 

he expects her to answer doesn't he? 

"why?"

his mouth pursing lazy, more delirious than expected, along the valley between her breast. labored breaths buts its all just some reverencing. an appreciative groan. finding the perfume she'd rolled there before the nights festivities started. "never seen em". the noise of the pillow near her head twisting as his grip burdens it. an excitement maybe, from heart shaped studded piercings and the warmth of spicy sweet perfume. 

evie can't help the shy snort that leaves. his audacity showing, even amidst the heat and pleasure. "my titties aren't an exh—", breath caught short. a tight gasp and her hips rolling mindless for a clumsy rut. a second finger to join the first. cooly paced and so damn good. "oohhshiiit damian". 

"mhmm...", an appreciative groan. for praising his efforts. for roughing him closer. for clutching at his fingers with a greediness he can admire and rise up from with a better made esteem, not that he needs it. breaths drawing on her chest still. lax and wanton and taunting. "they're not a what?" retracting his maneuvers like she wasn't on the cusp of something nice. 

"an exhibition", evie huffs. rolling her hips to rekindle things. a recall to action and such. purposefully denying amidst the throes is dickhead behavior but she'll wade through it for the sake of a good finish. but not before a bit of truth. "i wear em for me...", his mouth drifting up to hers again. sitting at the seams. "...so if you see em, it's cuz i let you". 

"i should be saying thank you". 

"you should". 

and maybe the way he resumes his ministrations and slips his tongue into her mouth is his 'thank you'. fingering thick through her pussy and drawing fervent pass her lips. a kiss made to savor. to suffocate. an attempt to steal the air in her lungs and the moans that try at forming something more melodious. lewd noise prickling her ears and shuddering her skin. evidence of a pleasure stained with need. with a craving she hasn't been able to satiate alone since her chat with punk. making space between them for the sake of not falling into old habits too quickly. 

if she's free to do whatever, then it'd be better to look for something different right? 

well this feels different. tumultuous in the body. curt breaths and her nerves dragging rough and wild amidst exactly what she'd been looking for. the pads of his fingers snug just there, where the bliss grows a little terrible with how great it is. undeniable and wrecking. seizing quietly, held up and reeling. sinking dull nails into his skin from the break of it before the relief washes over. 

blood thumping in the ears a little. evie's breathing underscored with whines. fragile and stressed. 

and you'd think he'd be gracious enough to let her collect her damn bearings, but he doesn't. eases his fingers from the mess between her legs and makes quick work of savoring it. slipping against her till he's off and kneeling at the plush carpet. an abrupt jerking tug to her leg to pull her in. 

evie moore nearly hangs off the edge of the bed. dim eyed and already blissed out. what more could the oh so talented percussionist do to shake her down into nothing but sweet noise? 

she should stop wondering about things just before their inception. it plays like jinxing after a while. lands her in situations like these. spread thighs and the flat of his tongue licking through all the mess he'd just wrung from her. on the verge of a hiccup from the shock. 

a threat in her legs to close. the impact far too grand and rich for still over-boiled blood. she hasn't recovered just yet from the first. her fingers curling deep in the sheets for a sure enough anchoring and her eyes twisting to close. tough breaths and whatever this is pulling through lax and mindless. "...damian...oohhfuuck...". a plead or a warning or a mixture of the two. this is no place to decipher scrambled thoughts for words absolute. 

a full gasp. full lungs and a groan to match the intensity. his mouth wrapping about her clit to suck and his tongue pushing over. a professional method that isn't worth investigating but fuck if it isn't practiced and perfect. 

"ohhmmyy—mhphm", quivering erratic. arched up off the sheets and a barely graceful roll in her hips spurring to meet his mouth. 

but the man is all coordination isn't he? keeping time and playing in the pocket. hot touch lifting her up from where she almost hangs off the bed. ushering her hips into his mouth with a pace he likes. 

and she can't manage much anymore but wordless noise. an abundance of pleasure building again to ruin her. a tired ache in her legs and more of that recking fullness. till the damn breaks. evidence of the end dripping past his tongue and tainting the sheets. laundry issues to figure out later. a heavy hand attempting to push the eagerness of him away to maintain whats left of her sanity. obviously he wants her dead—admonishing the mess of her folds with licks and kisses—and if not dead..

than maybe some rapturous incapacitation...

[vhyunjinverse]

Pink

poc f!reader x Derek Morgan (18+)

summary: frantically looking for a specific pair of panties, you stumble upon them in a way you didn’t expect

warnings: masturbation, oral (male receiving)

“Derek have you seen my panties? The pink ones?” You groan, searching through the drawer of lace underwear. You and Derek were going out later and knowing yourself and time..you started getting ready two hours early. The shower was running, you were mid skin-care routine, walking around your apartment in nothing but one of Derek’s shirts you found lying on the floor.

“Baby?” You call out. Silence. You huff and stand up, closing the drawer with your foot. You walk past your clothes on the bed, making sure everything was there. Everything but the underwear. It was stupid- you knew, getting so worked up over panties you’d take off eventually that same night. Still, it was part of your outfit choice and you were pretty stubborn and wouldn’t get dressed until you’re dressed down the way you wanted to. Plus they were Derek’s favorite pair.

“Fuck man.” You groan and go back to the bathroom, you had no time to waste or you wouldn’t go at all. You didn’t have time to look for Derek, who was somewhere in the living space. It frustrated you, truthfully. You always seem to have a crisis before leaving to go anywhere. He knew this. Derek was well aware. “Fuck..”

He grunted softly. The thin material in his hand while he stroked his cock..such a large one too. He moans, brows furrowing while he listened to you call for him. Sweat beaded his forehead, he could barely open his eyes it felt so good. They smelled like you too. One of many of his favorite parts of you. How wet you’d get while his tongue ran over your clit. How you’d take his juicy cock with ease in such a slutty hole fit only for him. “That’s it..good girl.” His voice trembled, feeling his cock twitch.

“Really?” You stand in the doorway of the laundry room, watching Derek moan and cum on the panties. You watch that cocky smirk of his, rubbing the material over his now sensitive tip. He glances up at you, scanning you over. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Bullshit.” You walk over, taking the panties from his hand and putting them in the clothes bin. You get on your knees, looking up at your lover. He reaches down to rub his thumb on your cheek. “Think we’ll make it in time?”

“Don’t start with me.” You roll your eyes, taking the thick cock in your mouth.

[damnhotmsimmons]

Derek Morgan in Empty Planet-2x08

[tornoaserjo]

I'm about to have a breakdown halfway to an online internship application

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET TEN - ROUND TWO - MATCH FOUR

"I am Happy Because Everyone Loves Me" (1928 - Louis Wain) / “Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581” (c. 1883-1885 - Ilya Repin)

I AM HAPPY BECAUSE EVERYONE LOVES ME: It makes me want to live! I AM happy! Everyone loves me! I'm tired of living life where I don't care if I live or die- I don't want to do that! I don't just "not want to die-" no, I want to live! Life is beautiful and I'm a part of it! (anonymous)

IVAN THE TERRIBLE AND HIS SON IVAN ON 16 NOVEMBER 1581: bc i have seriously never seen more evocative and haunting eyes ever like ever. bc his son's dying thoughts are of forgiveness. bc the weapon is in frame bc the lighting is that of an entirely normal day outside. (@that-one-queer-poc)

(”i am happy because everyone loves me” is a ink and chalk piece on paper by Louis Wain, and is held at the Bethlem Museum of the Mind along with most of Louis Wain's other works. It measures 14×10.8 cm (5.5 x 4.2 in)

“Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on 16 November 1581” is an oil on canvas painting by Ilya Yefimovich Repin. It measures 199.5 cm × 254 cm (78.5 in × 100 in) and is on display at the Tretyakov Gallery.)

[razeisveryhungry]

Hey I'm Raze. I've been struggling on my weight loss journey for years and have never gotten to my gw. I finally decided I want to lock in this time. Partly because I want to finally feel validated in my Ed and I’d like to finally feel pretty and partly bc my ex and I just got into a sort of open relationship and the girls he’s with are really attractive compared to me and I need to outshine them in some way as the main. Ik this isn’t healthy but idc rn I just need to finally do this for myself and I’m starting this blog to force me to stay disciplined (and no one ik irl uses tumblr so my dis0rder isn’t outed). This blog is also just a mental dump too and for my life updates and rants and other interests too (like shifting and owl house :3) and other beautiful fairy dis0rders I have so anyone can interact as I will also have lighthearted and more normal posts but I will put a trigger warning on any more serious topics I post on here. Loveee 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

Anyways here are my current stats: (may fluctuate)

GW: 65kg (143 lbs)

UGW: 60kg (132 lbs)

CW: 80kg (176 lbs)

Height: 170 cm (5 ft7)

Waist: 31 inches

Hips: 43 inches

Age: 17

** SIDENOTE: I am POC so please no racism thank you **

!!!Please do not report just block or ignore!!!

TW FATSPØ (attaching a body ch3ck at my CW to this post)

[elrakoonz]

hi! a little about me! :]

☆ i go by sel or rak

☆ minor | any pronouns | queer poc

☆ MULTIFANDOM (main dteam) -DTQK, tinakitten, awesamdude, deargia, tmnt, cm, etc!

☆ not new but wanne be more interactive!

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Black women stop muling for the POCs and white women

[that-silly-raven]

OKAY GUESS WHO DREW (and wrote) THIS STUFF FOR THREE DAYS STRAIGHT? Anyway enjoy this new post with my girl's characteristics, physical features, and personality yippieeee

I didn't count exactly, but there's like about a thousand words about her under the cut, so just warning you guys 😔

⚠️ Mention of blood, injection, poisoning, alcohol, drugs, death and vomiting (not as awful as it could be, but it can be unpleasant!)

Physical data and notes:

Pronouns are he/she, towards herself uses "she" or "I, me, myself" but don't mind to be referred to as "he". Tomboy, but doesn't feel the need to be a male (I don't know how to explain it properly, sorry)

Age fifteen to nineteen (I'm still thinking about it), essentially still in his teens.

Wiry, flexible but angular body (remember the long teen cat joke), lean build, masculine body type, height 135 cm.

Euge's weight varies by 30 to 45 kg, but his normal weight to body proportions should be a MINIMUM of 50-55 kg.

Long, unevenly colored fur, fluff covers his entire torso from the front, noticeable on his elbows, knees, and cheeks. His haircut is always disorderly.

He has scars all over his body, but I haven't drawn them yet because I'm thinking about where to place them.

Ears are sensitive, mobile, susceptible to loud or unnatural sounds.

Body movements are sharp and precise.

Eugene's voice is clear and expressive, but quiet (androgynous or unintelligible type).

Accelerate by feline standards (although he looks like an Oriental cat compared to, say, Blaze's body proportions, I don't think he has any breed affiliation, BUT his look was based on Russian Blue and Siberian cat :] ).

Specifies and Experience:

Tech, specializes in repairing the running gear of cars, bikes and airboards.

Can drive cars, airboards, bikes, trucks and buses.

Knowledgeable in medicine, about the level of a nurse, but no formal training.

Knows how to use technology (like a PC or phone) better than the average user, but very far from a hacker.

Good at singing and drawing, but it's not something he'd rather talk about.

Actually a total humanitarian, but he was lucky enough to be taught physics and math, so he's good at it.

In general, can be a good therapist despite his own mental health issues😔.

Can play acoustic guitar, knows chords and basic music notation. Sometimes picks up tunes by ear.

Sewing, knitting, good cook.

Knows plumbing and electrical. Changing the siphon under the sink and changing burnt wires is not a problem for him.

Skills and Combat Experience:

Combat skills mostly gained on a couple not-so-legal jobs, also when fighting robots.

Possesses the ability to sense, accumulate, and manipulate any ebergy type, be it electricity, chaos control, nuclear, or biological (living creatures, earth, plants and the energy they produce when growing and moving). Hides this ability well and uses it when absolutely necessary or accidentally shows it when strongly emotional, as controlling it takes a lot of his energy.

Psionic, has many talents, but half of them are unknown. At the time of his adolescence, he can control people's emotions and compel the weak-minded.

Eugene's body rejects any poison. If you inject this in, the liquid may start to protrude through his skin or simply fail to penetrate. If you poison food, his body will give it back out within a short time. If it's gas, it may burn his respiratory tract, but it won't poison him. If it's alcohol, the body will also give it back. If you do manage to inject him with a poison/drug, his body will fight like a fever: cold sweats, vomiting, fever temperature, rapid heartbeat, sometimes nose or throat bleeding. If it is a drug, he's may hallucinate and delirium, but it will not have the same effect as on a normal person. With proper hydrating and nutrition he will recover quickly.

Good with firearms, sniper's eye. Possesses two hands when shooting. Owns three handguns, one Colt Mustang Pocketlite (for self-defense, carries under his clothes), one Strike one (or rather, a pistol based on that design), and one Walther P99Q (it has such a cool design hoouh). The best of the carbines will be able to handle the "Saiga M3" because of its size and less recoil. In terms of maintenance and handling it is best with the "Barret M82" sniper rifle, but won't be used often due to its bulky size.

His combat knowledge and techniques are not as well developed as Sonic's or Shadow's, but this is compensated for by his attentiveness, agility, logic, and quick thinking in combat situations. Euge is quick to learn additional ways to fight.

When threatened, he's rarely will fight back, usually trying to avoid trouble or will threat you with a weapon. If you manage to challenge him to a face to face fist fight, he will proceed cautiously, study you, and try not to attack first. Thanks to his medical knowledge, Eugene knows where the main pain points are and tries to hit rarely but accurately, but sometimes lacks strength and experience in hitting.

Ideals and Opinions:

He holds personal conclusions and opinions about government, law enforcement, and civil rights. Bases his views on personal, rather bitter experiences and observing the system of government from the outside.

Very incomplete and disjointed notions of honor and conscience, but somehow he manages to adhere to notions of morality.

Supports the principle of "an eye for an eye" or "instant retribution", but is not enthusiastic about revenge.

Fine with murder and violence if someone deserved it, though avoids doing it himself if possible.

Character:

When interacting as a stranger he will react acutely or dangerously to irritants, is embittered, teasing and manipulative when communicating, and doesn't let a single word pass without complementing it with sarcasm and snide remarks. Will put himself above others and inflate his ego. This should work to repel you when you try to show him undue attention. IF you will be patient, polite, friendly and observe enough, it won't take long to notice that he has a patient, polite, quiet and non-confrontational nature. But that doesn't mean he will be soft with you. Acrimony will be his weapon in trying to alienate you for fear of betrayal, fear of getting close and loving and then losing you like so many others. If you eventually break through walls, that he has erected for fear of hurting someone, earn his attention and trust, Eugene will prove to be a gift from heaven: charming and kind, understanding in conversation, supportive at every moment, attentive to your preferences.

He's aroace, and will therefore be attached to you as a family member, soulmate or friend. Does not show interest in romance or falling in love, but is aware of the concept and is adept at recognizing any type of relationship. When in the mood, may tease and accidentally create a flirtatious effect, but it doesn't happens on purpose and Euge hates it.

Some facts about Eugene to help you better understand his nature:

Doesn't like to be touched, but it all depends on the situation.

Inculcated an inferiority complex, accepts as true that differences from the standard type of appearance such as scars, disproportionate body or face, altered limbs and mutation disgust others and attract too much attention, so hides scars, body and face with baggy clothes, bandages and such.

He's knows English, Russian, and a little bit of Spanish and German. Russian is the best, he's perfect in it, verbally and in writing. English is slightly worse, but it is mostly felt only verbally, with accidental stiff and weird pronunciation. Euge's embarrassed by it, so he's quiet and taciturn. Spanish is mostly on ear, interjections, greetings, pronouns and some simple word combinations (like "go to break" "it's bad" "help me please" "I can/can't", etc.), which he understands by sound (some unfamiliar words he can also guess by ear), in writing he can't speak at all, shy to say something verbal. German is the worst, literally a couple sentences and greetings by ear, he knows this language coincidentally.

Usually smells like rusty iron, dust and fresh earth, if he brushes his fur and showers he smells like buckwheat honey and pine board. Rarely when perfume is applied will bring out the scent of apple blossoms and notes of cinnamon.

Have good experience in handling and caring for children of all ages, pets and farm livestock. Despite this, dislikes children up to about 12 years of age.

When awake, his coat is always slightly raised and fluffed up, making him look a bit bigger, healthier weight and stronger. This indicates that Euge is always tense. When he falls asleep or relaxes, his ears become floppy and his fur is smoothed out.

Rarely falls into a deep sleep, sleeping sensitively and nervously. Wakes up from any noise, often sleeping much less than it should. Occasionally (in deep sleep), sleeptalking and may spoke on conscious topics. Often suffers from nightmares, can damage the environment when awakening from it.

Sensitive smellsight and hearing, good eyesight (+ night vision) and he often suffers by city gases, because a keen sense of smell, and wears a gas mask all the time.

Prone to anorexia (his body does it on its own, Eugene himself can't handle the reactions) due to nervousness and lack of quality food. Likes heavy, nutritious and rich foods like meat, beans, mushrooms, peas, buckwheat, wheat, etc., but unfortunately can rarely afford them. Generally unpretentious in food, thinks that something like pineapples on a pizza or olives weird but edible. He have a craving for creamy-sweet-salty, can stir his milk with sugar and salt to a fierce taste, likes salted caramel and nougat, you can say that this is his favorite type of sweets.

Adheres to a healthy lifestyle based on his own experience of unwanted interactions with addicted people. He is afraid to panic and disgusted of people who are drunk or on something, but if he sees that such a person needs help, he will provide it. (Disclaimer: I'm not judging anyone for their life choices or circumstances, this was written for purpose of characterization of Eugene's life choices.)

That's all for this time, thank you for reading and goodbye!

[joannasteez]

the sex life of evie moore - “are you still in love with me?”

summary: after a tumultuous relationship, with a more than cordial ending, evie moore seeks to spend the rest of her college experience having a bit of fun

authors notes & warnings: this is purely indulgent. contains explicit descriptions of sex and talks of relationships, romantic or otherwise. super big shoutout to @harmshake , she is inactive but has been an immense collaborator in terms of plot points and ideas.

word count: a chill 2,000. if you look through my masterlist this is baby food. can't promise that for the later parts.

genre: alternative universe - college

mentioned characters include but are not limited to, cm punk, damian priest, roman reigns, cody rhodes, rhea ripley... so on and so forth. aforementioned characters are not owned by myself.

evie—the formality of yvette is a little too wiry for this sort of thing isn't it?—knows punk—he goes real stiff when he hears "phil"—pretty well. well enough. maybe a little too much. like an overconsumption that dampens the taste of a thing almost. almost. she knows his blonde box dyed hair, the forever chipped polish coating his nails and that metal labret hanging off his lip that gives his face more personality than he needs. because he's a fucking well of that shit already. an obnoxious pepsi logo tattoo taking up residence on his arm, bags under the eyes that make him look more teasing than unwell, and this growing 'turn all my shirts into tanktops' obsession she can't quite understand just yet. 

vanilla on his skin. warm. like autumn. and mint on his tongue. always. evie knows punk, not enough for it to be banal, but like it's routine. the sun rises, the earth rotates, and unless some God level event stops that meticulous flow then it'll always be that way won't it? but what about the unknowns. the new. the different. the must be found. 

other fishes in the sea, other stars in the galaxy, that sort of thing.

cm punk's queen sized bed has an evie sized dent in it. 

the break up was a year ago. 

"are you still in love with me?'"

he's mid-kiss, shirtless and already half-hard. tucked intimately into her neck. mint lingering on the skin from his mouth. but he's huffing now. the sort of emptiness that comes from interruption. releasing the sure-to-bite—the kind she likes— grip on her thigh he'd have if he held on any longer. "don't do this please". 

"i'm being—"

"serious...", eyes rolling with the rest of him to splay out. "i know. that's the problem". 

and evie scoffs, because never has her delusions about their...relationship...taken her so boldly as to be wrong this bad. there has to be something there. a deep infatuation lingering maybe. a full year removed from calling it quits but scheduling sessions for sex still and saying things that sound a little like 'i love you'. he had to be caught up somewhere in that terrible storm of affection, even after all this time. right? turning over to reach for a used up sketch book. and if he wasn't then why did he— 

"you still draw sketches of my pussy".  

the pages sound with a quick whipping slap. like the memory of seeing her vagina drawn in such meticulous detail—shadows, highlights and the like—is too much of an unusual thing to forget or be regular about. 

the part of his lip where his labret sits, lifts. a lopsided smirk thats all arrogance. the type that tends to bleed off talent. the type that goes on unashamed and blemish-less, even when evie shoves the sketch in his face for some faux disturbed dramatic effect. "you're gettin' up in arms about grade A georgia o'keeffe inspiration babe". 

and she just has to laugh. a snort that works a bit dirty, because even his seriousness is so damn unserious. pulling up to kneel next to the casual way he lays against the bed. sinking into that evie-shaped-dip like he's comfortable. thats the problem. too comfortable. "this is the birthmark on my vulva dumbass". 

"that you didn't even know existed till i told you". snatching up the book to a close. access to vagina portraits suddenly denied. a scowl etching just enough to be seen, and just enough to make those natural bags beneath the eyes less teasing and more full of brooding. like maybe there was a life of pride living for those little drawings. for the musings and bits of details that took a particular sort of painstaking effort, considering it all must've been from memory. a life—at the hands and words of evie moore—that so abruptly faced a deep erasing. "y'know how many chicks would dig me sketchin' their pussy?"

"you mean you're $25 pop up shop, vertical ID, groupies?" 

"you were 19 when we met at a pop—"

the fluff of a pillow snatching up in her hand before its smushing against his face. hushing those lies that aren't lies really. her thighs drawing up over him to straddle for a better angling. "a month, i was a month from 20, and you were salivating for crumbs of attention...", she jokes. whacking him with the pillow before he's rolling to get over on her. a smirk fighting not to pull it's way across his mouth. "...practically begged for my number".  

his fingers pull against her thigh for a pinch. the tease of the act making her jump before he's easing up along the bed and her body again, assuming a similar position to where he began before the dropping of that fully loaded question. hooking into the band of her underwear for a short tease of a tug against the cotton. "you were thumbin' down your miniskirt for a hip tattoo just so i could see the color of your thong", that sure smell of mint curling closer till it lingers in her nose. the metal hooking his lip, a cool ghost of a sensation as it makes to touch. a test of a kiss. shy and fresh tasting. 

her eyes roll, knowingly even. "what color was the thong punk?"

and this smile can't be helped much. the sort that breaks even and eager from memory. toothy and unrelenting. the sort he attempts to hide in the safety of placing a deeper kiss at her lips. a simple slotting pull. because if he's sketching her vulva and all the intricacies thereof from memory, then surely he'll remember this. 

punk's teeth snag at her mouth, the slight of it playing at something prickly, for his own amusement, before he's slipping tongue and curling it over for a short languid kiss. mumbling, "that's not the point...", settling into his own satisfaction with a moaning hum. evie's body warm and so naturally ready. eager. her legs moving under his touch to wrap about him and her fingers this gentle file through his hair. "...it was baby green, but thats not the point...", chuckling as he moves to kiss elsewhere. a wet trail to her pulse. tugging with those hooked fingers again at her panties. pressing and sweeping between her legs till he's pushing and prodding at the seat of them with a circling thumb. 

but evie hates this. her inabilities anyways. never able to be quiet. because any suggestive touch is met by breathy little nothings that urge him forward into something more sure and exacting. and never able to stick to her guns either. or at least as far as punk is concerned. the many off again-on again periods of their romance, and then the post-called it quits rendezvous', serving as bittersweet proof. tender noise strumming up her throat even now, from the steady touching and petting and amorous maneuvers. surely to quiet her questions. a lax press into where the blood is beating at her neck, wet and smooth and rolling enough till she's squirming and squeezing him closer. 

"...salivating implies a ton of shit that sums up to lies...", he hums. amused. pushing off to bring himself further down the bed and between the heat of her thighs. pressing gentle to spread. the cool metal hooking over his bottom lip playing at the tempered skin. "...because if i remember correctly, not too long after, i was the one changing pillow cases and sheets, 'cause a certain somebody couldn't keep her mouth shut long enough to stop the drool from comin' out".

a sharp breath cuts. a heavy exhale that almost feels like relief, if not for the inhale to follow. her hips hitching as punk lets his tongue run warm at her inner thigh. 

her words breathy and unstable. "you want me to apologize for enjoying dick?" 

"you could actually stand to sing my praises more often". 

a huff.  evie coming up to lean against her elbows. brows pulling in. a dissatisfaction coloring her eyes that clues punk in on an undesirable outcome of blue balls. "s'not like im singin' anyone else's".

theres no use in rousing her up is there? inspiring a pleasure she won't enjoy much, not when she's in her head and picking at her thoughts to the bone. but that somber streak about her face does the same to ill him a bit as much as the possibility of blue balls. does even more maybe. "this isn't a 'lets get back together' talk is it?", he asks, moving from between her legs and off the bed to grab a t-shirt. 

it isn't at all some mortifying ordeal, but it is a terrible one, given past instances. the lovers quarrels were interesting to put it lightly, and endless to put it plainly. 

evie's legs pull in to cross. "no". 

"ok, good...", plopping down to lay beside her. a run of something under his skin, inklings gathering from that far away, thoughtful look to her that she can't shake. "...talk then. what's goin on?"  

and maybe, this is why, despite the numbered futile efforts at a deeper romance, punk would never truly leave evie. because to leave, would mean forsaking these moments; pitfalls into an uncovering of some long time introspection. thinking so harshly that her over-thoughts are overthought. his hand reaching to her arm with this pulling sort of caress. an invitation. intimacy with no complicated elements to follow. her body shifting into him in such a way that her head lays to tuck into his neck. warm breaths that stick sweetly to his skin. a leg thrown over his waist that waits for the comfort of his hand. 

they were at their best this way. in the quiet of some uncategorized affection. 

punk gives in rather easily. melts into the her-shaped dent of his bed, an arm coming around to hug her in and the other letting his fingers take to that leg falling over his waist. a simple touch that finds her hip. thumbing to draw beneath her panty line at the shape of a tattoo. 

a small, thin lined, bunny etched into the skin, done up from way back during the first try of their relationship. 

"you're my first for a number of things", she gives. pulling up to look him in the eyes. 

"i am...", his thumb falling away to hook into her knee. pulling her closer. "...for most things". 

"i don't know, i just—", the words attempting to form at an uneven pace. "i feel like i'm lacking in experience. like the only person i know in this way is you and i'm missin' out on other people because we—"

"you feel like i'm forcing you to have sex with me?" 

"no! no", rushing in to salvage her thoughts. or trying to at least. her forehead falling to rest at his chest. a heavy exhaustion coming from all the inner over-scrutinizing. "thats not what i'm saying". 

but if punk were to say that he's completely clueless about the matter, that'd be a lie. caught in this liminal space for quiet a while. a year to be exact. months of a stagnant comfort they'd made into a resting place. functioning like the couple they'd always hoped to be, but formed like something else. never able to shape and mesh just right enough to make the work of it long lasting. 

the arm he's got hugging her in drops to let his palm run a course along her back. "we might've blurred the lines a little".

evie snorts. 

"a little bit yeah". 

because no shit. 

"listen eve...", stitching sentiment together with the delicate pull of a needle. and the tenderness as he begins here catches her up so well till they're stuck at the eyes. "...you know i got a lot of love for you, considering all the sketches of your eyes and your nose and your vulva...", the both of them smiling at his choice of inspiration. "...but we both know how terrible it gets when we try making sense of anything past this...", his finger motioning about the bedroom. "...the sparks always fly a little too hot for our own good before somebody is left burnt. you find yourself wanting to roll around with someone else, don't stop on my account thinkin' it'll hurt me". 

"it won't?"

punk brings his mouth to place a kiss against her forehead. the warmth lingering as he makes to answer. "no". 

[blackbird-brewster]

Tara Lewis Fanfic Stats

It's incredibly frustrating to see how this fandom treats Tara as an afterthought, if they think about her at all. I wanted to take a look at the stats on AO3 (bc I'm a nerd). [See this post for all CM fanfic stats]

Tara Lewis was in nearly 100 episodes (about 1/3 of all eps), but she's so largely under-represented in CM fanfiction. Furthermore, she is the ONLY canonically queer character in Criminal Minds' SIXTEEN seasons and yet, there are very few fanfics exploring her queer identity.

Overall Stats:

Character Tag: 1187 total

Out of 36k+ fanfics on AO3 Tara is only tagged in 3% of all fics. This includes any fic where she's been tagged as a character -- keep in mind, in many of those fics she's only featured in the background.

Tara doesn't even make the Top 10 most popular characters in the CM fandom, despite being in six seasons of the show.

Actually, on a list of all 18 Main Characters (profilers) from the total run of the show, Tara lands at #13. That's a lower ranking than five other characters who were in far fewer episodes.

Relationship Tag: 242 total

Out of the 1187 fics with Tara, she's only listed in the relationship category in 242 of those. Which is a measly, 0.67% of all CM fanfiction. Our ONE canonically queer character doesn't even make up 1% of ship fics in this fandom. (Reminder, this stat also includes any fic where her relationship is background/minor)

Tara Lewis in Femslash:

Femslash only makes up for 12% of all CM fics. In the femslash category, Tara is tagged in a relationship in 242 fics. That's about 5% of the total CM femslash posted to AO3.

To put that in a bit of perspective, there are nearly TEN times more Jemily fics (2376) than there are of Tara in ANY queer pairing.

Tara's top 3 relationship tags: Tara/Emily (139 fics), Tara/JJ (27 fics), Tara/Reader (24 fics)

Tara's canon relationship with Rebecca Wilson is only featured as a main ship in FIVE fics. Including background Tara/Rebecca, there are only 12 fics with this pair

In Conclusion:

I have watched people beg for a canonically queer character FOR YEEAAARRRSSS in this fandom. After Kirsten revealed Emily was originally supposed to be sapphic in a 2015 interview, the fandom pleaded for it to be addressed in canon. Of course, that never happened.

What we got instead was a queer confirmed Tara Lewis and after all the years of begging for a queer main -- the fandom went silent.

Why? I think it's mostly because Tara is a queer Black woman (and one of only four POC who have been main characters in eighteen years of this show). Racism and misogyny have run rampant in this fandom for as long as I can remember, so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise when everyone saying 'Give us a canon queer character!' actually meant 'give us a white queer'.

I'm never gonna shut up about HOW IMPORTANT it was for Tara to be our first queer character. I only hope that people start to understand why this representation matters and why it's worth writing and exploring Tara more in fanfiction.

[ssa-sapphic]

Pairing: Emily Prentiss × (POC)fem!oc

Next Chapter: part two

Summary: When the bodies of several women show up all around LA, it's Garcia who aids the team in making the shocking connection that all of the victims look exactly like one of her favorite actresses, Sloan Hudson. Upon making this discovery, the team soon realizes that this famous celebrity might just be the unsub's final target, meaning that she is now in grave danger and needs to be protected. Unfortunately for Emily, her days of being a profiler are soon put on hold when Hotch assigns her to be Sloan’s personal bodyguard.

Warnings: Basically all that an episode of CM consists of. I don't really know what to specifically list, but if you have any additions or specific triggers, please let me know

Word Count: 4.3k

"Fairy Tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." - Neil Gaiman

A bright burst of lightning lit up the empty streets of San Francisco, nearly blinding a young woman who was running through the pouring rain. She had just clocked out of a late night shift at the local diner, and from afar, one could only assume that she was in a hurry to escape the cold rain and get home as quickly as possible. In reality, however, it wasn’t exactly the severe storm that she was trying to run away from at all.

Due to the overly obnoxious thunder—which seemed to echo indefinitely—it completely deafened the heart-wrenching screams that were escaping the young woman’s lips, as she quickly rounded corners and leaped over the puddles in her path. She didn’t dare look back, knowing that it would only slow her down and that the figure in the dark hoodie was more than likely still chasing after her. Besides, she didn’t need to glance at her attacker in order to know who he was. She already knew.

It was him.

The very same man she had seen earlier in the day, watching her closely as she waited on tables. She had felt his eyes on her as she carried plates of food to and from customers, yet, the mysterious man had vanished just when she was about to take his order next. She had thought that he just changed his mind about wanting to eat there. However, it was clear now, that the man hadn’t actually left like she’d originally assumed. Instead, he had waited patiently across the street until her shift was over, opting to watch her through the open window of the diner.

When closing time came around, she waved goodbye to her colleagues like she did every night, before she walked over to the bus stop.

Unfortunately, this night hadn’t ended up like the ones beforehand, where the woman would catch the public transport, find a window seat somewhere in the middle, and plug in her earbuds to provide herself with a little source of tranquility during the lonely ride home. No, this night completely took a turn for the worst, because as she waited at the bus stop, the mysterious man had followed her and took that opportunity to grab her from behind, attempting to shove a rag over her nose and mouth. It had completely surprised the young woman, and she immediately tried to yell out for help, but her sounds of distress were muffled from the piece of cloth covering her face. Within seconds, she had found herself getting lightheaded as the chemicals seeped through her nostrils and infiltrated her lungs.

Thankfully, though, with one last burst of energy she had managed to elbow her attacker in the gut, before fully breaking free from his grasp. She instantly ran in the opposite direction back to the diner, hoping that her colleagues hadn’t all left yet. However, deep down she knew that those odds were slim-to-none.

Her drowned out screams of help soon turned into agonizing cries as she finally arrived back at the restaurant, only to find it completely dark and deserted. Everyone had already locked up the doors and left for the night, meaning that she truly was alone, with no one there to help her. No one there to save her from the hooded figure that was drawing closer with each and every sob that broke past her paling lips. Any hope that was lingering in her chest, had now vanished, leaving her consumed with nothing but anxiety and trepidation. Her limbs trembled as she continued tugging harder and harder on the diner’s doors that just wouldn’t budge. She was locked out of her safe haven, like a sinner locked out of heaven itself.

She knew that she had to move though. She couldn’t continue standing there like waiting bait, she had to keep running. It was the only way to make this nightmare end. She prayed that some convenience store or shop would still be open at this hour where she could find refuge. Then she could borrow their phone, call the police, and finally be rescued from the sick bastard chasing her. It would all be over and she could go back home to where she knew her parents would probably be worrying themselves sick, wondering why she had yet to return.

But unfortunately that wasn’t the case for her, because sadly, the young woman took a wrong turn and was immediately met with a dead end. A dark and closed off alleyway that was ironic for the situation she had found herself in. She’d seen the movies, the crime shows, it never ended well for someone who was trapped in an alleyway after a suspenseful chase. It was definitely not what she had in her plans, but then again, none of this was. She didn’t plan to be stalked and attacked by some psychopath. Does anyone really?

All she knew for certain, was that she didn’t have enough time to turn around and go back the other way. In fact, she knew that she probably didn’t have much time left at all, because he was already drawing near. Whatever luck she had left was slowly dwindling away with each and every second that passed, and it didn’t seem like there was any other way out for her. At that point, she knew that she only had two options:

Surrender, and accept her unknown fate. Or, hide and get ready to defend herself with whatever makeshift weapon she could get her hands on in the junk of the alleyway.

It was now a life or death situation for her, which didn’t take a genius to figure out, and the young woman wasn’t about to give up just yet. At that moment, her initial shock and fear took a back seat, finally allowing her survival instincts to take the wheel. No matter what was to become of her fate, one thing was for certain, she’d be damned if she didn’t go down without a fight.

“Hey!!” JJ whined in protest, her mouth full of buttery popcorn. “Pen, why would you pause it right there? She was just about to kick his ass! ”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Emily gave her a doubtful face. “The guy’s totally gonna kill her.”

JJ looked at her peculiarly, her hand halted in mid-air after pulling out more puffed kernels from the bowl in her lap. “Wait, are you actually rooting for the bad guy here?”

Her question immediately made the brunette return the same look. “Of course not, Jayje.” She deadpanned. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. I mean it’s so predictable. You know what? Garcia hit play, would you? 5 bucks says I’m right.”

“Sorry gal pals, I paused it because this queen needs to take a trip to her privy chamber. Be right back!” The blonde replied, apologetically, before tossing the remote on the coffee table and making a beeline for her restroom.

“I told you not to drink the rest of the wine!” Emily called out after her, teasingly.

Penelope only waved her off as she reached the door at the end of the hallway and quickly disappeared behind it, leaving the other two agents to bicker with each other some more.

The three ladies were currently having a girl’s night consisting of wine, snacks, and gossip, something that certainly wasn’t new to their friendship. It had been Penny’s turn to choose what they watched next for the evening, and it was no surprise when she ultimately decided on a dark thriller starring one of her favorite actresses. JJ and Emily hadn’t seen it yet, nor any other movie that the actress starred in. However, they were already hooked on the one Garcia had queued up for the night. It was entitled, “Dining Out”, and though Garcia had spoiled half of the movie already, they still were intrigued to see how it would end.

Within minutes, the flamboyant blonde had returned and was quickly taking back her previous seat on the leopard-printed sofa.

“Alright, I’m ready.” She cheered, reaching for the remote once more.”

“Wait a minute,” Emily stopped her. “What’s this actress’s name again?” She wondered out of the blue.

“Sloan Hudson. Why?” Garcia answered immediately, before a sly smirk slowly made its way to her face. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

The suggestive wink that Emily received next threw her off guard and made her stumble on her next words. “Oh, uh, well yeah...sure. I-I mean, I guess, but that’s not why I was asking.”

“Mhmm. Really?” Penelope questioned, doubtfully. “So you weren’t planning on searching her name up on google and stalking her IMDb profile?”

“Or setting a photo of her as your new lock-screen?” JJ added on to the teasing, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Alright, you two. Knock it off.” Emily rolled her eyes with a smile, as she pretended to throw popcorn at them. She knew that they were just messing around with her though, so the atmosphere still remained lighthearted.

Truth be told, Emily had recently come out to the team, though they already had their suspicions about her preferences for women. (I mean come on, they’re all profilers. Of course they knew. That, and the fact that she wasn’t very good at hiding it anyway.)

Since then, however, they had soon become aware of her “type” and it was clear that this “Hudson” girl definitely fit into that category. Her hair was dark, and her eyes were light, a contrast that balanced so well against her warm and evenly toned skin. Her features were soft, yet accented with perfectly sculpted cheekbones and nicely shaped eyebrows that made it seem like she was personally chiseled by the finest renaissance artists in history. Her raw beauty was natural and effortless, which was something that Emily always found herself drawn to in a woman. She fit her type to a T, so of course JJ and Penny would tease her about it.

“I swear, I wasn’t asking with creep-like intentions.” She defended herself. “I just thought she looked familiar. I don’t know, maybe I actually did watch something she was in before.”

“Well she’s done a little modeling too.” Penelope added. “You might’ve seen her face plastered at the mall or something.”

Emily thought for a moment, trying to wrack her brain for a possible answer. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe that’s it.”

“Shall we get back to the movie? Perhaps it will jog your memory a bit more.”

“Actually, we might have to take a rain check.” JJ cut in, looking down at her phone seriously. “Hotch just texted. Looks like we have a new case and we need to be at the BAU first thing in the morning, which is weird considering nothing came across my desk yesterday.”

“Wait, what?” Garcia pouted. “But you all just got back from a case. Now you have to leave again? We were supposed to have brunch tomorrow and everything.”

“Sorry, Pen.” Emily sighed, patting her thigh comfortingly. “I promise we’ll continue where we left off as soon as we get back, okay? Right, Jayje?”

“Yes, of course.” The blonde smiled reassuringly. “I still gotta know if I was right or not about what happens next.” She added, nudging the brunette’s shoulder with her own. “But until then, duty calls. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The next morning, the team arrived at the BAU and wasted no time in filing into the roundtable room just as requested. They had no idea why their presence was needed on what was supposed to be their day off. However, they were certainly aware of what their job consisted of, so they knew it had to be serious. Hotch was already in there when they took their seats, and being the one in charge of the briefing, he stood at the head of the table and wasted no time diving right into it.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry to call you all back in, but you know I wouldn’t do so if it wasn’t urgent.” He stated, before clicking a button on his laptop, making three different images instantly pop up on the large monitor behind him. Each image held the face of three different young women seemingly young, all with dark hair, bright eyes, and tanned skin. “Jessica Dunning, Rina Mendes, and Sofia Lombardi, all went missing a week apart from one another at the beginning of the month, and each of their bodies were found the exact same way: A single stab wound to the chest, and various traces of poison in their systems.”

“Well it’s clear this unsub has a type.” Rossi pointed out, noticing the similarities in each of the victims. “Was there any signs of sexual assault?”

“So far, none.” Hotch quickly clarified, before clicking to the next slide depicting pictures of the actual crime scenes. “But the unsub did position all three of their bodies in the same way, post-mortem. They were found laying on their backs with their hands crossed over their midsection, and a bouquet of flowers in their grasp.”

“Seems like a sick and twisted version of Snow White, if you ask me.” Emily mumbled. “Only the prince never showed. Maybe it's linked to the unsub’s childhood? Could’ve read the story as a kid and favored it over the other fairy tales for whatever reason.”

“That would actually be a plausible theory.” Spencer chimed in. “Afterall, in the original story the Evil Queen orders the huntsman to kill Snow White using a dagger, which could explain the stab wound in these victims. Not only that, but she later on uses poison as well in the apple that she gifts her. It seems highly unlikely for those two specifications to be coincidental.”

“Why is it that crazy psychopathic killers always have to ruin sweet little innocent things?” Garcia mumbled to herself.

“Guys, maybe the unsub is a woman.” JJ spoke up. “I mean, if we’re really linking this to the fairy tale, it could all be an act of vengeful jealousy where the unsub is targeting women who might seem more privileged or better than her in some way.”

“That could very well be a possibility.” Hotch replied, nodding in agreement. “After all, the acts of remorse and tidiness shown here are typically all signs of a female’s work, so until we know for certain let’s not rule that out. Whether this unsub really did get inspired by a childhood fairy tale or not, there’s definitely a pattern here.”

“Uh, Hotch?” Derek questioned, suddenly catching the attention of the other agents in the room. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree that there’s obviously something going on here, but you mean to tell me we were called in for only three murders? Doesn’t it usually take more bodies to show up for us to be even thought of?”

“Normally yes, which is actually what brings us to our main concern.”

Hotch clicked the button on his remote and immediately a different young woman with dark hair just like the others showed up on the screen. “This is Kayla Shafer. She was reported missing last night when she never returned home from her usual late-night shift at the diner.”

“A d-diner?” Garcia stuttered out, nervously, before glancing at the other two women in the room.

“Yes, that is correct.” He nodded, before continuing the briefing. “She’s been a waitress there for a little over a year now. Her parents just assumed that she had gotten caught up in the severe storm that occurred last night but when she never made it home, and they never received a message from her, they called the police. It hasn’t been 24 hours yet, so they couldn’t file a report, however it’s safe to assume that the unsub has her. Meaning, that we only have a few days to find her before its too late. The LAPD needs all the help they can get so that’s why the Chief has requested our immediate assistance. We can discuss more on the flight there but for right now we need to leave as quickly as possible. In the meantime, Garcia, I need you to run background searches on all of the victims and see if they have anything in common.”

“Yes, Sir.” The blonde replied, already beginning to type away on her laptop.

“Thank you. Everyone else, please collect your things and meet at the jet. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch stated, before exiting the room and leaving the others to gather their files.

As everyone stood up and dispersed, Garcia managed to quickly grab ahold of JJ and Emily, pulling them to the side.

“Okay, please tell me I’m not the only one who is rightfully spooked here!” She whispered, anxiously.

Frowning, Em glanced over at JJ in confusion, before turning to face Penelope. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the latest victim, Kayla Shafer! She was attacked, in the rain, after her shift at a diner. That doesn’t seem the least bit familiar to you?”

“…Ohhh, the movie we watched last night…” JJ slowly came to the same realization. “Wait, are you saying you think that it’s somehow connected?”

“I don’t know, you guys are the profilers, you tell me!” The blonde exclaimed. “I mean she even looks exactly like the main character!”

“Hold on a minute,” Emily put her hand out to try and calm her. “I’m sure it’s just a crazy coincidence. It would surely cause alarm if all of the victims were waitresses at diners who were abducted the same way, but Kayla was the only one.” She pointed out, before flipped through the case file. “You see? Jessica was a barista, Sofia was a wedding planner, and Rina was unemployed.”

“Emily’s right, Pen.” JJ rubbed her shoulder, comfortingly. “It’s just a crazy coincidence. But if it makes you feel any better, you can tell us how the movie ended so we can be aware if anything else suspicious comes up in the field?”

“Yeah.. okay.” Garcia sighed. “I guess th— wait a minute. Jennifer Jareau, you better not be tricking me into giving away the ending! Our girl’s night shall resume as soon as you all get back, and only then can you find out. Emily, don’t you dare look it up either! As a matter of fact give me both of your phones. I need to install a firewall that will prevent you both from researching spoilers.” 

The two laughed as they sidestepped Penny’s awaiting hands, and began rushing away. 

“Oh, I see how it is.” She called out after them. “Just remember that I can hack into your search histories!”

The flight was around 5 hours, so there was enough time for the team to come up with a game plan. Together they all gathered towards the center of the jet as Garcia’s face popped up on the tablet before them.

“My sweets, you have been gone a total of 4 hours and I already miss each and every one of you. This building is not the same when all of your presences are lacking from it.”

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke in a friendly, yet stern, tone that told her she needed to focus back on the case.

“Right! My apologies, Sir. So, I ran the backgrounds of each victim like you requested but they literally have zero connections to one another. I searched from A to Z starting from the day that they were born, but the only thing they seem to have in common is just their physical appearances.”

“Alright, so he chooses random targets who all look the same.” Emily voiced her thoughts. “It could be that the victims remind them of an ex-girlfriend or family member in one way or another. Or, maybe they do remind him of a fairy tale, and he felt obligated to come to their rescue in some dark and twisted way?

“Actually,” Spencer cut in, meddling with his fingers. “I was thinking more about the Snow White theory and some of it just doesn’t add up. The huntsman never actually harmed the princess, he let her go. So if this really was related to those key details, it doesn’t make sense that each of the victims actually had stab wounds because that wasn’t in the story. Not only that but according to these reports, the poison found in their bodies wasn’t ingested, but rather, inhaled. If this unsub really is trying to replicate the story of Snow White, they’re surely doing an awful job at it. I mean, it’s completely inaccurate.”

“Well, Snow White was known for her purity and innocence right?” Derek asked. “It could have something to do with religion. Just like Mary was criticized for being a pregnant virgin, maybe the unsub is targeting morally clean women who he thinks are actually sinners.” He shrugged, before looking down at the tablet. “Garcia, were any of the victims tied to a church or youth group of some kind?”

“Give me one second,” She uttered, as she began typing away on her keyboard. “No, they weren’t. But fear not, my beloveds, because after a bit more digging into their lives I did find out some very interesting things. Jessica Dunnings, the 24 year-old barista, also doubled as a babysitter for her next door neighbors, Darrin and Claire Anderson.”

“Alright… so she was just trying to make a little extra cash. How is that important?” Derek questioned, causing Garcia to smirk.

“Well Sugar, if you call ‘doing the devil’s tango’ with Mr. Anderson while his wife is at work a way of getting a ‘little extra cash’, then consider her heavily rewarded.”

That piece of information made every one of the team member’s eyes widen in surprise. They knew Garcia was never one to beat around the bush, but her lack of a filter never failed to catch them off guard.

“Ah, okay.” Derek nodded, in understanding. “So you’re telling me these girls were the opposite of pure, huh?”

“Not necessarily,” Garcia replied. “Rina was actually as innocent as they come. She had good grades all throughout high school and even graduated with honors and multiple scholarships. She literally had no mean bone in her body and was actually a volunteer at various homeless shelters.”

“Definitely seems too good to be true.” JJ commented under her breath.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Garcia continued. “Her life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. When she was 15 she was diagnosed with Leukemia and the doctors didn’t think that she’d make it to her 18th birthday. It was an uphill battle and she was constantly in and out of the hospital, causing her parent’s medical bills to skyrocket. Thankfully, she beat the cancer and made it to adulthood, and she even started a GoFundMe page to assist her parents with the bills.” Garcia’s voice suddenly fell quieter, as a slight whimper was heard from her end. “But it wasn’t even a month after her birthday that she was murdered.”

“God, that’s terrible.” JJ sighed, deep in thought. “I can’t imagine what her parents must be going through. The poor girl didn’t even get a real chance at life.”

Emily suddenly sat up, and let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding before quickly trying to change the subject. “Okay, so you were right, Garcia. These girls have literally nothing in common, other than the fact that their lives could literally be made into movies. I mean, the mistress and the cancer kid. I can probably think of five different films with those same story arcs. I don’t even have to hear about Sofia and Kayla to know that they probably had similar eventful pasts.”

Everyone nodded at her words, but it was Garcia who was immediately hit with an epiphany. It was a stretch, she knew that, especially given what Emily and JJ had told her before they left. However, it was seeming less and less like a coincidence. Now, she just had to muster up the courage to share it with the group without sounding ridiculous.

“The only accurate lead we have is in knowing that this unsub is clearly targeting young women with dark hair and light eyes, all with similar skin tones and features.” Hotch concluded what they already know. “They have a designated type. That means whatever the motive is, it’s most likely personal for the unsub, and we can see that they continuously show remorse with the bodies. Garcia, I want you to run traces of every woman in California that resembles the victims.”

“But Sir, that’s probably gonna result in thousands of women--”

“I know, but we have to start somewhere. The killings didn’t start until the beginning of the month so look into specific women who have any significance to the time frame. It’s a needle in a haystack, I’m aware. However, until we can gather more information at the scene enough to narrow it down, it's all we have to go on.”

“Well, actually, I, uh, may have some valuable information already for you.” Garcia mumbled, nervously. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the lives of these victims all seem extremely familiar to me. Like Emily mentioned, it's almost as if their lives could’ve all been the main plot to major-hit movies, and…I kinda think they were.”

“What are you saying?” Hotch asked, his interest certainly piqued.

Meanwhile, JJ and Emily both glanced at each other knowingly, wondering where she was going with this. They had assumed the latest victim was just coincidentally similar to the main character in the movie they watched last night, but they couldn’t deny that each and every one of the victims looked exactly like the famous actress that starred in it. Which is why, Garcia’s next words didn’t surprise them at all.

“Sir,” She continued. “I think this unsub could possibly be targeting a famous actress named Sloan Hudson. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but the resemblance to all of the victims is uncanny. The real kicker, though, is the that it seems like every victim so far has lived the real life of some of the fictional roles she’s played in the media. For instance, Kayla Shafer was a waitress at a diner, and Sloan’s character in the movie “Dining Out” was a waitress at a diner too, both end up being attacked by someone. I originally believed it was just a coincidence, but after more digging and finding out more information, it’s not the only one. Sloan was also casted as a mistress, just like Jessica, in another movie entitled “Secret Secretary”, as well as a cancer patient, similar to Rina, when she guest starred in a surgical tv drama. I know it’s a stretch, and I’m probably not even right. It was just a thought, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”

“You know, I actually think you might be onto something, Garcia.” Reid assured her, sitting up in his seat and already coming up with different theories himself. “If I remember correctly, Hudson was also casted as a wedding planner in that romantic comedy you dragged me to see last summer, and Sofia Lombardi was a wedding planner as well. So, without any other current leads I think it’s safe to assume that the unsub could very well be targeting her.”

“Okay, so I’m not just going crazy,” Garcia smiled to herself in relief. However, it wasn’t even a moment later that her smile completely faltered, knowing that Sloan was one of her favorite actresses. “Oh no...Hotch, if this is true we have to warn her. She could be in danger!”

 Hotch furrowed his eyebrows in thought as the others looked towards him.  “Alright,” He nodded. “This is definitely something we can work with. Do you know where she resides?”

On the other line, the rapid clicks of Garcia’s keyboard could be heard, and in less than a minute she already had her answer. “According to Google, she owns a luxury apartment in New York, but she’s currently in LA for her next film.”

“When does the filming start?”

“It actually started filming a few weeks ago. Her fans have been buzzing about it all over social media ever since the beginning of the month.”

“Well it fits the timeframe. So that could have been the trigger.” Emily pieced together. “It definitely seems personal. Perhaps an obsessive fan? Though, that still doesn’t explain the M.O or the end goal for all of this.”

“I think it’s safe to assume that Sloan is his end goal.” Hotch added, before turning to everyone. “Alright we need to know more about each of the victims and why this unsub positions them the way that he does post-mortem. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you both at the latest crime scene. Rossi, Reid, you two head to the M.E facility and examine the other bodies. JJ, you're with me as we meet with the LAPD. I need you to ensure this doesn’t reach the media before we get in contact with Miss Hudson. And Garcia?”

“Yes?”

“Good work.” He gave her a small smile. “Find a way to reach Sloan’s management team if you can, but in the meantime, I’m gonna need you on the next available flight to Los Angeles. You’re officially on this case.”

A/N: i’m really excited to continue this, so please let me know your thoughts and what you would like to see happen!

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET EIGHT - ROUND TWO - MATCH THREE

"How To Look At Art" (2016 - Lynda Barry) / "St. Sebastian" (1525 - Il Sodoma (Giovanni Antonio Bazzi))

HOW TO LOOK AT ART: this lynda barry comic gets me every time. the meta quality of it is super successful i think. as someone with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts i have had many struggles with figuring out how to look at and consume art “correctly” and this is just the one that makes the most sense. (@peanutgallerist)

ST. SEBASTIAN: bc something something horny catholicism. something something turning to god for your erotic release. something something vulnerability. something something angels something something naked men bare and bleeding. (@that-one-queer-poc)

(“how to look at art” is a comic posted by Lynda Barry to her tumblr in 2016.

“St. Sebastian” is an oil painting by Il Sodoma. It measures 206 x 154 cm (81 x 60.6 in) and is held by the Uffizi Gallery in Florence.)

[missmitchieg]

i remember in 2021 when there was talk about cm coming, there was people commenting about how they hope Tara and Matt become unsubs or get killed off and fortunately many in the fandom called out how gross it was villainize the poc like that

Neither of them are allowed to be killed, actually. I've decided.

(Also I don't think the show writers could ever write one of them becoming an unsub in a way that is... In ANY way good or satisfying. Sorry 'bout it.)

[starantulas]

tagged by @cairenes thank u silky for the tag <33

1. Are you named after anyone?

no

2. When was the last time you cried?

6 days ago because of sensory hell 😻

3. Do you have kids?

my adopted underclassmen yes

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

yea, from time to time

5. What sports do you play/have you played?f

i used to play soccer and basketball, the only sports i still continue are taekwondo and boxing

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

their face tbh, also any distinct clothes or makeup

7. What’s your eye colour?

dark brown

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

scary movies with happy endings 😋

9. Any special talents?

i have hypermobility syndrome so i can bend most of joints in weird ways, cool party trick lol

10. Where were you born?

florida 🧍🏾‍♀️

11. What are your hobbies?

wikipedia rabbit holes, annoying my friends, cooking/baking, lifting, boxing

12. Do you have any pets?

no :(

13. How tall are you?

5'3.5 inches/163ish cm

14. Favorite subject in school?

i loveddd comparative government but i alr know the history classes im taking next year will take the spot. also latin bc i've been doing it for 5 years now

15. Dream job?

history teacher omg. would def do it if the working conditions in the states werent shit

tagging @that-one-queer-poc @httpghostface @bathtublawyer @swaggypsyduck and anyone else !!!

[unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix]

It irritates me how tons of comments under videos or any promo for cm:e are filled with people asking for Reid and Hotch (sometimes even Morgan and Gideon) instead of talking about the characters and actors that are still on the show.

You and me both, anon! The actors in the season 16 cast are just as amazing, and probably more notable in other things outside of CM and CME (Paget in comedy, Aisha in talk shows and comedy, AJ in Final Destination and The Virgin Suicides, Joe as a veteran actor, and Adam in CSI and Magic Mike).

This cast alone is already well-known on their own, so there’s already more recognition for them and they really don’t need Matthew or Thomas’ help with promoting the show. Plus, the storylines would be terrible for either character. What are we going to do for Hotch’s character? Another Scratch arc?? We put Reid into another traumatic storyline that makes no sense for his character? Idk why the show wants to even bring Gideon up again when he’s already dead (I’m ignoring the whole Rossi-Gideon thing as a reason, too).

Anyway, I really love seeing the cast lineup for s16 because it could’ve been the potential of having limited number of people on the team that gets their spotlight but for some reason, Erica Messer (and ig Breen Frazier too) want to focus on the white male characters rather than the diverse cast of women and POC for personal storylines *sigh*. However, I do think the season was a step up from the last few seasons with cinematography and procedural storytelling. But yes, this cast was absolutely incredible and worked so, so well together. I think there’s so much to develop with their characters and I wish we get to see that more.