#yes this is a reference to that lamb painting

[turquoisespace35]

King holding Francois

[lotussart]

@i-eat-deodorant things have escalated quickly

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — monkey tie at the exhibit

previous: teach me! | masterlist | next: something sweet

kageyama doesn't expect his friends to be so excited about this. quite frankly, he suspects they're more excited to go out for dinner afterward. nonetheless, anticipation nestles itself within the pits of his stomach.

the events of this morning are still fresh in his mind -- the grogginess lingering in her voice as she spoke to him, the small yelp she released when she fell, the smoothness of her skin when he rushed to inspect her. he's embarrassed, to say the least. he doesn't like being impulsive. but being concerned for her felt natural, overwhelmingly so. it bothered him.

kuroo parks the car in the center of the lot, against kenma's complaints. they all exit out in unison, and at the very front of the building, he sees her roommates huddled together. but not her.

he watches as his friends rush out to greet said roommates, their lives evidently interconnected in some way. slowly, he follows them inside, the dim lighting enveloping them whole. the walls are covered in art, some more intricate than others. and at the very end of the hall, he sees her, standing before what he assumes to be her own artwork.

everyone else is too enamored in their conversations with one another to notice kageyama slipping away to the back. she sees him before he can say something.

"oh, it's you. i didn't know you'd come, too."

"i was forced to, kind of." she laughs quietly at his remark, and he feels his chest bubble up with warmth. at the noise, all the morning memories dissipate. "is this yours?" he asks, pointing to the one she stands next to. it's a delicate painting, the colors soft and blended gently. a two-headed lamb sits in the center. above it is an array of stars.

"yes," she admits. she looks at him, then to the floor. she can't stop biting the inside of her cheek. "i finished it last week. i'm quite proud out it."

"you should be," he blurts out, the statement causing her to lift her head up to face him. "it's uh, really pretty."

the slight upturn of her lips is a sight kageyama's mind welcomes instantly. "thank you."

he doesn't know what to say after that. he doesn't know where to put his hands, how to stand on his own two feet, where to look. he's locked in stasis, and as if sensing that much, she starts to guide him towards her other works. she doesn't speak much, thankfully, only offering him a few tidbits of information about each piece.

he can't stop looking at her.

her hair is done neatly, with a small bow to compliment it. the dress she bears is simple, yet it draws his attention the most. it's different from who he saw yesterday. he has no complaints.

bokuto calls his name from afar, the echo of his voice shaking kageyama loose from his headspace. the rest of the group calls her, as well, and their footsteps fall into tandem as they walk down the hall.

talks of dinner and drinks float around his head as they gradually spill out of the front doors. kageyama admits to himself that he wanted to see more of her work, but he can't bring himself to voice his desires when everyone else is already heading into their cars. it's louder on the way to the restaurant, and he thinks back to the two-headed lamb to tune out the noise.

he's glad he came tonight.

𝜗𝜚 yn is heavily in denial. she has a bad history of getting attached and then pushing people away bc she hatesss being super attached to people. hence why she's very socially inept at times

𝜗𝜚 i hope u guys got the two-headed lamb reference <3

𝜗𝜚 the whole group was huddled like little penguins while they watched yn and kags walk around the exhibit

𝜗𝜚 speaking of which -- yn isnt very confident in her work but she's a pretty prominent figure on campus. which is why she was kinda hesitant to talk to kags abt her paintings

𝜗𝜚 tsukishima is the only one in his group with a car; kuroo and kenma have their own cars but the group loves kuroo's car bc its so spacious despite being an old hand-me-down

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks

[rottingandbleeding]

EDIT: UPDATED PATCH PANTS POST HERE!!!

yes i am posting my current patch pants at 2am…

(i need to add so many more base patches on the back ☠️☠️) but these pants have been torn apart and sewed back together soo many times it’s crazy.

my patches are as appear from left to right, top to bottom:

front:

anti-bomb/nuke patch, razor blade patch, tiny little reference to my favorite band…, an angel i drew and then painted, knocked loose patch, just a zipper, orchid patch, wristmeetrazor patch, (can’t see it but there’s a brass knuckles patch on the right(when worn) pocket), HKFY lamb, city of caterpillar patch, werewolf or vampire teeth(up to interpretation..)on the knee, thursday band patch, saetia patch, seeyouspacecowboy, the “cover heart” ep symbol from the band the saddest landscape(this is an original! how cool is that…), a patch that is an inside joke…, and a patch from the metalcore band dance of the seventh crow.

on the back: upsidedown peace symbol (“regular” peace symbol is technically incorrect and kindaaa… Used. to. be used by nazis…. history here) , mitch lucker stomp, another reference to not only my favorite band but my favorite album ever…, anarchy and equality patch, welcome the plague year (band) patch, on the very bottom: “all i wanted was a pepsi!”…

[storiesbyrhi]

Part Three: I used to think that was true about everything

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2923 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Night, October 29, 1995

Eddie sat at your vanity. The ceiling of the apartment leaked, rendering anything left behind rotted and ruined; it didn’t stop him looking for pieces of you. He avoided his reflection’s gaze, instead looked at the tragedy mask hooked over the mirror.

He couldn’t remember where it had come from, only that you would try to sneak up on each other, screaming BOO! with the mask on. Eventually, you’d grown so accustomed to the thing that its miserable face didn’t make either of you feel much.

Eddie clenched his jaw.

He remembered crawling across you on the couch in the mask. You’d laughed and kissed him through it.

He remembered curling up in your arms in bed. You’d say, “I love you,” and he’d make you say it again and again. You hugged him so hard his ribs hurt.

He remembered you standing in front of the stove, a pot on fire, and you failing to put it out. Eddie had come jumping through the room, throwing a towel over it. He’d looked at you and you’d just grinned. “Restaurant,” he’d said on a breath out, pulling you into him.

He remembered standing across the room from you, you noticing him and asking what was wrong. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna look at you,” he told you with a grin.

Eddie looked away from the mask. He pulled open the top drawer of the vanity. Waterlogged journals and entirely drowned photos. He could make out the shape of you in them and it made him ache. Beneath those, a bridal catalogue.

The night he proposed. The way you said yes like you’d been waiting your whole life to answer.

Your wedding dress. White and fluffy and not as Robert Smith chic as he’d expected. So, so beautiful nonetheless.

He remembered reciting creepy nursery rhymes in creepier voices at you, “Down with the lambs, up with the lark. Run to bed children, before it gets dark.” He’d chase you around the apartment while you screamed in delight.

All the time spent silently working on your own things. Eddie would write music or plan his next D&D campaign while you worked on puzzles, complaining whenever there was a piece missing.

He remembered fights with cans of whipped cream. Shared showers to wash it out.

Belts unbuckled and beds unmade. 

Eddie slammed the drawer shut, the mirror shattering with the force. He looked up at his splintered reflection. The tragedy mask a haunting echo of his own face. If that is what life wanted for him, he’d give it one hell of a show.

It wasn’t the first time Eddie had painted his face. Though grunge was taking over most of the bars he grew up in, Eddie was a metalhead through and through. The black and white was stark, unnerving, and unhinged.

He found dry clothes in the wardrobe, behind a couple rows of motheaten band shirts and your favourite outfits. Nothing smelt like you anymore. He couldn’t feel you in any of it.

Eddie walked to the window, the empty space framed by glittering glass and snapped wood. He looked out onto the city. The fires had started a day before Devil’s Night even began.

The knife thrower, Eddie thought. Andy. He’d be first. A show of strength to begin the campaign.

“Here’s to Devil’s Night… My favourite holiday,” Neil Hargrove said.

The men shot down cheap liquor and dared each other to swallow a bullet. They took turns, letting the metal sit on their tongues, then gulped it down like it was a miracle drug that would turn them into something more than men.

Other people in The Pit watched, half impressed with the commitment to show, half terrified of what they’d do next. Brenner’s men were untouchable live wires, prone to fits of rage and acts of cruelty. They were just as likely to pull their guns on each other as they were to erupt into their signature unison chanting.

Susan Mayfield shook as she walked over to the table, steadying herself not to spill a drop of their drinks. It didn’t matter that she shared a bed with Neil. They all scared her.

Eventually, when they got sick of each other’s faces, they stumbled out the bar and into the night. Their crimes would not end, but their individual brands of sickness necessitated time alone.

Andy had loaded his pockets with stolen shit throughout the day. He walked to the pawn store three blocks down from the bar.

Gideon, who had a good thing going with Brenner and therefore wasn’t afraid of his men, snorted at Andy. “What’s this? This got blood on it, Tin Tin?” He offered a couple hundred. “Take it or leave it.”

Begrudgingly, Andy took it, mouthing off and slamming doors as he left.

Outside on the street, the crow watched.

Through the bird’s eyes, Eddie followed Andy. He ran across rooftops, faster than humanly possible. The spaces between buildings collapsed for him. If all those assholes from high school gym class could see him now.

In an alleyway lighting a cigarette stood Andy.

Eddie tumbled from the rooftop, landing with a manic kind of laughter that said abandon all hope. He stalked towards Andy.

Andy watched Eddie’s figure come from the darkness. “What the fuck you painted up for?” he sneered. “Halloween ain’t till Tuesday.”

Eddie kept coming towards him, and Andy buzzed with excitement. Violence! He opened his jacket, pulling out a knife. Eddie lunged and the men fought. It was easy for Eddie. He didn’t lose his breath. When he took a punch, he recovered immediately. Andy, a mere mortal man, grew incensed.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared, slashing his blade through the air.

It was a one-sided fight that began to end when Andy dropped his knife. Eddie grabbed him, yelling, “Murderer!”

Andy snorted. “What?! I didn’t murder nobody, man. I don’t even fucking know you. What d’you want?!”

“I want you to tell me a story,” Eddie replied, voice low and gravelly. “A man and a woman in a loft, a year ago. I’m sure you’ll remember. You killed them,”

“Yeah, yeah. Some dude. Some bitch. Whatever.”

He’d remembered so quickly, so easily. Like it meant nothing. Eddie threw another punch, Andy’s head bouncing off the brick wall behind him.

“Her name was…” But Eddie couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say your name out loud. “You cut her. You raped her,”

“Yeah? Sure, yeah. You know what? She loved it!”

Eddie froze, the callousness catching him off guard. Andy took the opportunity and headbutted him. Andy stood, grabbed at whatever he could, hand finding a metal pipe in the trash piled up in the alleyway. He started to beat Eddie with it.

“Murder?! Let me tell you about murder, man. It’s easy! It’s fun! You’re gonna learn aaaaaallll about it!” He pulled two knives from somewhere within his coat. “I’d like you to meet some buddies of mine… And we… We never miss.”

The crow shuffled, waiting from its position on a fire escape.

Andy threw the first knife; Eddie was already up, easily ducking it. He came marching forward. Andy threw another. Eddie blocked, grinning at Andy.

“Try harder. Try again!” he mocked.

Andy screamed, throwing a third knife – his last. Eddie clapped his palms around the blade, catching it midair. He redirected it back, piercing Andy’s shoulder.

Eddie walked to him casually, reaching into Andy’s jacket to find more weapons. “So, Andy. Which is it? Murderer or victim?” Andy was trapped. “We’re not all murderers, you know. But, victims?” he posed. “Aren’t we all?”

The crow took flight as Andy’s eyes closed.

Neil pushed his way through the dancing teens. He didn’t understand why Brenner bothered with this place. Why he let bands like that – what is it? metal? grunge? who fucking knows – play at the club. “What is the fuckin’ world coming to,” he muttered to himself. “Get the fuck out my way!”

He jogged up the back staircase, arriving on the second floor mezzanine. Grange, Brenner’s right hand man, stood stoic and vigilant.

“Hey, did you hear? Arcade Games fell down. It went BOOM! How ‘bout that,” Neil boasted.

“Gather your soldiers. You’re on for tomorrow night,”

“Is the man in?”

“He’s taking a meeting,” Grange replied.

Hopper watched as Andy’s body was lugged into a coroner’s van. He had six knives sticking out of his chest.

“So, who’s this sack of shit?” Callahan asked.

“That’s Tin Tin. One of T-Bird’s little helpers. I think you can rule out accidental death,”

“Don’t any of your street demons have real grown up names?”

“Could be a turf hit… but it doesn’t look like your usual gang crap,” Hopper thought out loud.

“And… what do you call that?”

Hopper and Callahan looked over to the closest building, its bricks graffitied in blood, the outline of a bird clear.

Gideon was counting the cash intake; the days before Devil’s Night were always good for business. Something caught his eye and he looked up, a silhouette of a man at the door.

“Piss off! We’re closed!” Gideon called.

The crow cawed. Eddie knocked on the security gate with three even bang, bang, bangs.

“Go sleep it off somewhere else, dust head! Unless you wanna get mutilated!”  

Eddie ripped back the security gate and walked to the door. Gideon froze when he saw the painted tragedy mask through the glass. Eddie politely knock, knock, knocked.

Before he could do anything, Eddie was smashing his way in, looming over Gideon as the crow swooped, landing on the pawn shop’s counter. Gideon screeched in fright.

“Suddenly I heard a tapping, as if someone gently rapping – rapping at my chamber door,” Eddie recited.

“What-what the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You heard me rapping, right?” Eddie asked, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re trespassing! You owe me a new door!”

Eddie smiled. “I’m looking for something… An engagement ring,”

“You’re looking for a coroner, shit-for-brains,” Gideon said, pulling a gun and levelling it straight at Eddie. He unclicked the safety, aimed, and shot.

Eddie stumbled back a few steps but didn’t fall. They both watched as the blood quickly rolled back into Eddie’s chest, the wound healing in seconds. Gideon felt his stomach drop and he scrambled, swearing and terrified. Eddie grinned, picking Gideon up and throwing him well behind the counter.

Eddie jumped from the floor to the counter, counter to one of the racks on the ceiling holding pawned guitars and other stolen items. He hung upside down in front of Gideon.

“Mr. Gideon, I do not like your tone. And you’re not paying attention!”

Eddie grabbed Gideon, pulling him back to the counter. He dropped from the ceiling rack and broke the glass countertop, pulling a switchblade out and piercing Gideon’s hand, earning a breathtaking scream from the man.

“A gold engagement ring. It was pawned here a year ago by a customer of yours named Andy,”

“I don’t know a-”

“Tin Tin… He confided in me before he ran out of breath.”

Eddie began to pull boxes off the shelves, going through everything in search of your engagement ring.

Gideon tried to free himself from where he was nailed to the counter.  “What are you doing?!” he cried, unable to pull the blade out.

“Am I getting warmer?!” Eddie yelled back. “I like games, Mr. Gideon. Don’t you know this one?! Am. I. Getting. Warmer?”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you! The rings! They’re in a metal box under the shelf there!”

Eddie moved, finding the box. The world faded away as he sat cross legged on the pawn shop floor, holding the box yet apprehensive to open it, as if it belonged to Pandora herself.

Gideon continued to yell from the front of the shop. “Take them! Take them all! Chew on them! Choke on them! I don’t fucking care!”

Tentatively, Eddie opened the box and flicked through the jewellery. He closed his eyes and pulled ring after ring, feeling nothing. Then, it hit. The emotion washed over him.

You had been out with Max, a shopping trip to buy more grip tape and blank cassettes. When you unlocked the door and entered the apartment, Eddie jumped up from the couch.

“Hi…?” you greeted, suspicious of his mood.

He grinned.

“What did you do?” you asked. You looked around. Gabriel was sleeping peacefully under the coffee table. Nothing looked broken. There were no magic beans bought in place of real food.

“Why do you always ask that?” Eddie laughed, letting you put your bags down before pulling you into him.

“Because you’re you. And you have that weird little smile on your face.”

Eddie laughed again. “I have a surprise for you,”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

“Good. Always good for you, my love.”

He was definitely acting strange, but you went with it. “Okay…”

“It’s up in the attic,”

“If this is like the time you-”

“No! I promise! No tricks. It’s good. I promise. It’s good.”

Eddie’s big brown eyes were sincere, so you let him pull the ladder down and direct you up it. Slowly, you climbed, heart beating out of your chest.

You felt the warmth before your eyes settled on all the candles. The entire small space was filled with tealight and cathedral candles. Eddie tried to gauge your reaction from below.

There was something close by, your attention directed to it by a lack of candles between you and it. A small, dark box. A ring box.

You reached out for it. Inside was a golden ring, beautiful and ethereal. Like something the elves from Eddie’s favourite book would wear. Your breath caught in your throat and you took one step down the ladder to look at him.

Eddie said your name. Your eyes welled up with tears.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he started.

Gideon watched as Eddie poured gasoline across the shop.

“You have one chance at living,” Eddie told him as he picked up a shotgun and aimed it at Gideon.

“Take anything you want! Take anything!”

“Thank you,” Eddie replied too gracefully. “Now, you’re gonna tell me where to find the rest of Tin Tin’s little party pals,”

“The Pit! They all hang out at The Pit! All of T-Bird’s little potato heads hang out there! Funboy lives in a room above it!”

Eddie nodded, almost placated. He used the butt of the gun to smash at the remaining in-tact counters. He pulled a tray of rings out from the cabinet and began throwing them at Gideon.

“Each of these? It’s a life… A life you helped destroy.” One after the other, Eddie threw the rings.

Gideon begged for his life.

“I’m not gonna kill you… Your job will be to tell the rest of them that it’s time to roll for initiative… Tell them Eddie Munson sends his regards.”

Eddie poured the remainder of the rings down the barrel of the shotgun, pulled a guitar off the wall, and began to walk out of the shop.

“You walk outta here and they’re gonna erase your sorry ass! You hear me? You’re nothing but street grease!”

“Is that gasoline I smell?” Eddie quipped, looking back over his shoulder with a wicked grin.

Gideon froze again.

The crow followed Eddie onto the street. There were maybe five seconds for Gideon to free himself and run, then the ring-loaded shot set the shop ablaze.

Eddie watched for only a moment before he heard the cop car pull up behind him. He turned and watched Hopper get out, pulling his pistol.

“Police! Don’t move!”

Eddie took a step.

“I said don’t move!”

“I thought the police always said freeze,” Eddie wondered.

“Well, I am the police, and I say don’t move, Snow White. You move, you’re dead.”

Eddie shrugged and slung the guitar over his body. “And I say, I’m dead and I move.” He held his hands up but continued to walk towards Hopper.

“Not one more step. I’m serious.” Hopper removed the safety.

“Then shoot, if you will, Detective Hopper,” Eddie said, bowing before the cop.

“What are you, nuts? Walking into a gun? You high?”

“Not right now. You don’t remember me?”

“What are you talking about?” An eerie feeling was settling over Hopper.

Eddie said your name then. “What about her? Do you remember her?”

Hopper hesitated. “She’s, uh, dead, my friend… I want you to move over to the curb there. Real nice and easy… We’re gonna wait for backup… This is… It’s all getting too friggin’ weird for me.”

Eddie nodded, slowly moved over to the sidewalk and took a seat in the gutter. He looked up at Hopper. “Do you know someone named Hargove? He had a friend who shouldn’t have played with knives…” Eddie motioned to himself, to the coat he was wearing. “Like it?”

Hopper recognised it. Realised it hadn’t been with the body. “You’re… You’re the guy that killed Tin Tin?”

“He was already dead… He died a year ago, the moment he touched her. They’re all dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

With his pistol still on Eddie, Hopper glanced over at Gideon’s shop. Looters had already appeared, taking whatever they could carry. “Get away from there!” he yelled, his sights leaving Eddie a second too long.

When Hopper looked back, Eddie was gone.

“What the… Guy shows up looking like a mime from hell and you lose him out in the open?” Hopper scolded himself.

End Note: Thank you for the support thus far. I love all you little bleeding heart goths. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

All Eddie Taglist (open):solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @munson-blurbs

[cathedral-of-sinners]

Whispered Promises

Kinktober Day 1 - Dirty Talk + Yae Miko

Genre: Smut (MDNI)

CW: gn!reader but is referred to as a shrine maiden once in the form of a tease but still no actual pronouns or genitalia are mentioned, sub!reader, illusion to either lingerie or a sex toy, mentions of masturbation, public dirty talk, I’m literally shit at dirty talk so this is not my best 😭✌️also not proofread to the best of my abilities and very much lacking I’m sorry

Offering to help Yae around the shrine was beginning to appear more like a blessing under many, many layers of curses.

“You were staring little one, practically undressing me with your eyes,” the sly kitsune's breath tickled your skin as she whispered her teases to you, delicate fingers fleetingly dancing along your back. She sighs then, as if disappointed, “really, are you that needy? In the middle of the day no less.”

Yes, you think and while yes it's true you'd been casting... respectful glances at the Guuji's well hugged tits and displayed thighs, you thought you'd been at least a little discreet. Shame on you, you suppose. You should've known better that with her eye for details and awareness of her surroundings you’d be caught.

And yet, despite the lion hovering over her lamb, you decide to play dumb. If not to save some dignity then to at least keep the attention away from your easily misleading position. "I've haven’t the slightest idea what you're talking about Miko.”

Yae giggled - and what a marvelous sound it was, a sound almost powerful enough for you to fold - a mischievous smile painting her face, one you couldn’t see but definitely heard. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed that I caught you?” Her arm moved to slither around your waist, pulling you further flush against her chest, “you and I both know you don’t mind this one bit.”

A slight spike of panic courses through you as the kitsune’s hand begins to wander the expanse of your stomach, applying pressure here and there, causing a small noise of pleasure to bubble up, something you’re barely able to conceal. Here? Now!?

“Besides,” she continued, sensing your unspoken questions, “you were so bold in displaying such public lust, it’s only right for me to share some of my own thoughts about you as well.”

“Like,” she begins, a kiss being placed to your neck, “how well you look laying on my bed, spread for my own viewing pleasure. Oh I love how you squirm under my gaze.”

Leaning a little bit more weight onto your back, you’re pleasantly aware of her boobs pressing against you. “Or how you touch yourself when I tell you to, no questions asked.” Miko hums, as if contemplating a thought. You know she’s formed something in her mind when her eyes light up, “will you do that for me tonight if I told you to? I’m sure you would if I promised to reward good little shrine maidens like yourself.”

A gasp catches in your throat - shrine maiden? The nickname isn’t unwelcome and you guess it’s not too off from how your acting now, tackling various duties around Narukami Shrine. You can’t help but gaze at your forgotten task in front of you, hands flipping between hovering over it and gripping the edge of the table.

“Y-yes, I do whatever you say Miko,” you find yourself admitting, fighting to keep your voice low and steady, “I’m just like that, I follow your command and you reward me as you see fit.”

“Anything? What a dangerous promise,” her one hand lifts from your side and ascends until it looks over your chest. “Does that mean you’re wearing my little gift like I asked? The one that makes you oh so irresistible?”

The mere mention of it has your sex throbbing, “yes…”

Smiling at you, Yae finally places her hand to your chest, palm right over your hard nipple. Slowly she start to rub your hand along the fabric, brushing past the bud each time. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see you with it later tonight. Oh how I can’t wait to do to you all that I have planned. To rid you of these pesky clothes and eat you up all for myself.”

She presses a kiss to your cheek and as fast as it formed, the little space the two of you created shattered when her warmth receded suddenly. You couldn’t help the little sound of disappointment, turning to watch as she saunters off, presumably off to do work. You really can’t wait for the day to be over.

Tag list: @rain-soaked-sun || @the-purity-pen || @stygianoir || @the-massive-simp || @londonstylesxx

[kxngkasper]

INTRO POST

————————————

Some random ghost tells you about themselves (it’s me guys i’m the haunting spirit)

GREETINGS TUMBLR !!!!! here you will find my bips and bobs of what I do and how i’m working this whole blog thing

Please note that i’m new to this whole blog thing and didn’t really get into tumblr until a bit into this year so i’m still trying to learn how to do things

About me:

I’m kasper, Mostly known as Kas, I go by He/It/She pronouns and am aroace. I’m an artist and animator with dreams of becoming a storyboard artist. My focus is mainly on my health and school so if I cease to exist for a couple weeks that is probably why but other than that i’m trying to be as active as I can since I love sharing my art with people. I’m Neurodivergent, tone indicators are appreciated but not always necessary. My interests are minecraft, Mumbo Jumbo, TØP, Sherlock and Co, Cult of the lamb, Sky cotl, Pokemon, Ponytown, Music as a whole, animation, and OCs :]

My time zone is EST! I’m a first generation Mexican-American and the youngest of 2 other siblings. Yes, Hablo Español pero no soy tan bueno para escribir lo (I am bilingual)

uhhh i’m a furry boo be afraid rahh what else do i put here uh im 5’8 (1.73 meters) my birthday is january 7th uhhh UHHH OH SPEAKING OF BIRTHDAYS AND AGE

I’m a MINOR please refrain from commenting or saying suggestive things to me or about my content it makes me uncomfortable

I’m in the age range of 15-17 take that as you will.

My content:

I stick to posting full pieces and sketchbook stuff on here usually gonna do with my special interests but if you wanna see just vibe w me and see WIPS, reblogs, yaps and such then you can check out my side blog

@princepasker

don’t know why that won’t tag

Where can you find me besides tumblr? Bam I made a linktree because you can find me in too many places https://linktr.ee/kxngkasper

PROGRAMS I USE: Procreate, Medibang paint, Iartbook, Toonsquid, Capcut, Alight Motion, occasionally flipaclip (limited vrs)

TOS (TERMS OF SERVICE):

Please do NOT repost my work, I kindly ask that you don’t use my fandom work in Edits nor reupload them on any other platform. I run my own pinterest, I do not want to see anyone stealing what’s mine for no point when it’s already uploaded.

Using my art as reference is perfectly fine as long as I receive credit. If you wish to trace my work for learning purposes it’s fine but please keep any studies private, thank you.

Ask box:

My asks are mostly always open! You can leave doodle requests in there but I won’t guarantee I go through with it. Questions are also always welcome, I love to see em don’t be discouraged if I don’t get to it right away!

Mutuals feel free to goof off in my ask box

Random stuff:

spam liking is ok !! idm

Alright cool uh that should be it? If I remember anything else i’ll come back and edit this post but for now i hope yall have a good day :]

IM ON PONY TOWN!!

[catwyk]

3, 7, 12 and 35 for the artist ask game (:

3: what's a piece i like?

this painting of eleanor lamb from bioshock 2!!! its pretty old now, i mustve done it back in 2022(?) when i was still in the throes of style development (still am, but not quite so much)

7: what's easiest for me to draw?

well, i default to people and their faces generally. i find faces easy to draw but hard to draw consistently. if we're getting really specific, i LOVE to draw folds and wrinkles, both in fabric and skin, and my inclination to do so is probably a big reason why i never got super into stylized/cartoonish art

12: describe my drawing process

changes between style and medium, but generally it goes sketch -> refine details -> this is a bit shit isnt it -> erase huge chunk and fix it -> erase the rest to make it fit with the new bit -> this sucks. -> close the file -> open a new file -> draw a circle -> close the file -> open a new file -> draw a circle -> ctrl z -> draw a circle -> ctrl z -> draw a circle -> do the ACTUAL sketch -> ugh this would look better with color -> slap some colors on underneath -> refine sketch -> randomly start shading -> i need this bit to be refined + cleaned if i wanna shade it ughh -> repeat last 3 stepz until the picture is done

35: advice for my younger self

do more studies. copy some impressionists and try and emulate art noveau. stop floundering helplessly in style development and be proactive. yes it will look like shit compared to your reference. but it wont look shit forever

[ahsteria]

can we read the murder lesbians short story

!!!!! YES omg its under the cut <33 a little over 1k words and is one of my first attempts at creative writing would love if anyone read or gave feedback soooo much okk here it is

"define, desire":

To the outsider, Anna’s attention is failing. She sits alone at one of the library’s hexagonal tables, has turned the page maybe once in the past hour. What the outsider doesn’t understand, is that Anna's attention is an arrow with a string, sharp and resolute point embedded in its mark. It’s not her fault, really, how can she be expected to focus on East of Eden when God’s favorite angel is typing in her peripheral. Mari is wearing thin, silver framed glasses today, enlarging her already lamb-like eyes.  

Five months ago Anna’s mother passed, leaving her the pale yellow-painted estate and an ever-unsatisfied well wedged deep in her stomach, unrelenting thing. September was rain waving hello, through windows on slow train rides from Anna’s Brooklyn apartment to the quiet and innocuous woods of Seneca Falls. Her intention was never to stay, this was promptly ruined on a notably gray September Sunday: Anna subjected to tediously returning her late mother’s stack of overdue romance novels. Upon first glance, she mistook Mari for actual, inhuman art. It’s nice that the library is investing in the fine arts, she thought. Oh, oh but then the beauty blinked itself alive, flesh and blood, Pygmalion and Galatea. Silver-blonde hair ending at the dip of visible hip bones, her front strands framing those fucking doe eyes. When reading The Argonautica, she thought Jason's men stupid for being unable to resist the sirens’ call. She sympathizes with them now. Mari is desire personified, something sicker than yearning. Flesh and blood cannot look like that. Anna moved to Seneca Falls the following week.

Anna is not insane. She and Mari are friends. It began with books (Anna often watches Mari’s desk then purchases her current read from the local bookstore). Sometimes they’ll discuss art (Anna’s favorite pieces may, on common occasions, feature fair maidens with notably defined anatomy). Recently, they’ve been frequenting local events (she’s canceled three appointments now to attend said events with Mari). The two of them, in fact, went to the loveliest gallery opening last month and shared a slice of blackberry lemon-crème cake. Mari fed Anna a bite with her fork: a doubly bittersweet, indirect kiss. Mari mentioned a craving for it two days ago, red lips in a distracting, horrifying pout. So Anna, in a normal, nonchalant way, called the gallery with the intent of purchasing an entire cake. Tragically, she failed to locate the baker. The gallery was lucky enough however, to have a copy for allergy concerns, which was faxed over. Mari gifted her a kiss on the cheek for it yesterday: a bullet to rational thinking. And so, here is Anna, thinking about warm lips and delicate wrists and flushed skin as Steinbeck’s open pages collect dust. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

Mari has never been more beautiful than in Anna’s late-mother’s kitchen. It’s not the kitchen really, with its outdated black and white tiled backsplash, nor even the setting sun’s orange light placing a halo atop her head. It’s Mari suggesting they bake the cake together, Anna’s kitchen is bigger anyway, it’ll be nice, she had said. Suggested so casually, as if not filling Anna’s mind with sickly craving, sugarcoated daydreams.

The cake is cooling now, on the silver rack beside the knife block. They’re making frosting. It’s difficult for Anna to pay much care to anything besides the smear of buttercream on Mari’s forearm. She thinks of placing her mouth on it, saccharine skin. Mari smiles, full face, and it's then Anna realizes she’s been talking. 

“Sorry—missed that,” Anna says.

“Oh I just said the photo on your fridge, it’s nice,” Mari replies.

Mari is referring to a photo of her mother—loose brown curls and stress lines around the eyes, her smile is strained only slightly, it’s almost indiscernible. Anna is seated next to her, same strained smile but significantly less disguised. 

“Oh, thanks. That’s my mom, we took it over there.” Anna nods towards the blue velvet couch in the living room where they had then posed for the hired photographer. 

“Cute. You look like her.” Mari says. 

Soon the conversation moves to the new Margaret Atwood they’re both ‘coincidentally’ reading. The butter churns, loud and repetitive, like a third voice interrupting the discussion. Mari snacks on spare blackberries as they wait, her hands match Persephone’s, all stained red. 

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

It’s horrific, two toppling layers, collapsing under the weight of undoubtedly too much lemon buttercream; blackberries lazily clinging to swirled dollops. There’s a sheen to it, moonlight on the melting fat of the frosting. 

“It’s beautiful,” Anna quips. Mari laughs, taking a knife out of the block, eager to taste.

“It’s a scale model of the fucking leaning tower of pizza—” Mari says.

“You’re beautiful.” Anna interrupts, unable to help herself. Oh, she’s ruined it now. This was supposed to be a quiet, careful seduction—waves ebbing at rocks so slowly that the rock never realizes when exactly, it goes under. A sea stack.  

Mari’s eyes go big and pleased. She smiles, impossibly, wider.

Oh fuck, oh, oh fuck, Anna thinks. Does she know? Shit. Anna is sick, sick with want, poisoned by something carnal and consuming.

“You’re lovely,” Mari says, as if it’s simple.

She’s close, now, the warmth of her skin corporeal. The red nail polish of Mari’s fingers meets the cotton of Anna’s shirt. Anna gently claps her wrist, takes the knife out of her hand, a tentative touch. The whole thing is lovely really: the delicate press of bone against skin, Mari’s breath, soft against hers, and Anna’s knife, deep in Mari’s guts.

Desire: “to strongly wish for or want (something),” this “something” is undefined. Romance perhaps, sex, money, love, or, in Anna’s case, violence, flavored with sacrilege. When Anna first realized that Mari was not in fact, sterile art,  she was overcome with desire to kill something that is holy and also alive.  Mari is screaming, an angel’s chorus. Prey eyes thick with tears, the confusion of a calf raised by a butcher. Her blood is blackberry juice against buttercream, pouring out from the mouth, catching on the veins of her throat, pooling in her clavicle, then trickling back into the original wound in the stomach. Collapsing, strings cut, she fades into a beautiful lifelessness, ars longa vita brevis. Unrelenting hunger satisfied, Mari lies on the floor— Millais’ Ophelia. Anna is ecstatic, a bit in awe. She thinks herself a sort of artist, the corpse on the floor her undying masterpiece. High on ultimate hedonism, Anna notices blood splattered on the cake. She takes the frosting on her finger, metallic, sour, and too-sweet, it’s quite good. A shame, Anna thinks, that she never got to try a slice. 

[renee-writer]

February Prompts The Entire Story

AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62683564

It Is the first thing he notices about her. Her eyes sparkle with gold. They draw him in like a fish being pulled from the water.

 

She sits across from him, in the medical library. Placing the reference book aside, he stands and walks over to her.

 

She looks up at his approach. Tall, that is the first thing she notes about him. A mop of barely contained red curls on his head. Then there is his eyes.

 

“As blue and tumultuous as the sea.” Her voice is English but with something unexpected mixed in with it, like she is from everywhere.

 

“And yours, glow with gold like the wheat at harvest time.”

 

She grins and offers her hand. “Claire Beauchamp.”

 

He takes it. “Jamie Fraser. Your servant, madam.”

 

Her smile grows. “Nice to meet you Jamie with your old world manners. What is your specialty?”

 

He takes a seat across from her and reluctantly, releases her hand.

 

“Internal medicine. Yours?”

 

“Ah, you are a medical painter, dapping here, there and everywhere to find the wrong. I am a surgeon.”

 

“A more precise artist. Using a laser pointer instead of a paint brush.”

 

They grin at each other.

 

“It seems we both have artist souls, Claire, with interesting ways to express ourselves.”

 

“Yes, I think it as a prerequisite for medicine.”

 

He nods. “Speaking with our hands and not just our lips,” they both nervously lick theirs, “ah saying things only the soul understands. Where the truest healing comes from.”

 

“Well there you go again.”

 

“Doing?”

 

“Speaking so fanciful.”

 

He shakes his head. “This isn’t usually how I speak.”

 

“You weren’t  raised in luxury with fancy tutors?”

 

He laughs. “No,” lowering his voice when he gets dirty looks from the others studying near by, “a farm, well better qualified as a ranch. Lallybroch. We raise horses and cows. You?”  He wants to know the secret to her exotic accent.

 

“All over the world. My uncle and guardian is an archaeologist. From the age of five on, he took me to every dig.”

 

“Wow, how amazing your childhood must have been.”

 

She grins, resting her head on her hand. “It was. After my parents deaths I wasn’t sure who I could trust. I was only five. When Uncle Lamb showed up, looking so much like my dad, I knew he could be trusted to see to me.”

 

“I am so sorry for your loss.”

 

“Thank you. It was so long ago that  the loss feels quite distant. Uncle Lamb is both my mum and dad now.”

 

“A grand thing you have him.”

 

“Absolutely. Tell me about your family.”

 

He laughs before recalling where they are and placing his hand over his mouth. After a few seconds to get himself together, “How many generations back?”

 

“Your parents and siblings will do.”

 

“My man and da had my brother, William, my sister, Jenny, and myself. We grow up in the Highlands, at a family farm named Lallybroch. It is an old manor house that has been in our family for over three hundred years.”

 

Her eyes grow wide. “Wow! What it must have seen. The history. What it has been an audience too.”

 

His eyes crinkle. “You know, I have never thought about it that way.”

 

“I never had that type of stability. Once I finish medical school, I hope to be able to buy a house and finally settle down.”

 

“I can understand that ambition.” He nods safely.

 

“So do you have a plan for after medical school?”

 

Another nod. “The Highlands need more clinics. I would love to start one near my house.”

 

“Nice.”

 

“It is such a beautiful place,” he waxes poetically, “mam has planted sunflowers all around the house. They grow up around the old bricks.”

 

“Oh, that sounds really nice.” She sighs.

 

“To me, it is the happiest place on earth. There is no place else I would rather live.”

 

“I never had one.”

 

He frowns. “What lass?”

 

“A garden. I have always wanted one. A beautiful vase to place flowers in, that I have grown in soil I own.

 

I loved the way I was raised, don’t get me wrong, I just missed the normal childhood.”

 

He shakes his head. “There is no such thing.”

 

“Huh?” He grins at her.

 

“As a normal childhood. What you think of as one, might be completely different than for someone else.”

 

“What would be your definition?”

 

“A bit less evocative then traveling all over the world, as amazing as that sounds. I guess it would be a lot like my own. But,” he studies her noticing the strands of red and gold running through her brown hair, “to you and others raised by people other than their parents, then your childhood would seem normal.”

 

“So it is about your own experience, you believe?”

 

“Just so.”

 

“Your own experience, your own ownership is going to be what is normal for you,” she nods, “That makes sense.”

 

“That is how I see it. You know what you know.”

 

“I guess what matters isn’t  what our childhood was like. It is more important what you wish your own childhood will be like.”

 

“Aye. And whether you want them to experience the same type you had.”

 

“I think I want my future children to have a more stable childhood than I did. Not to malign my own raising.”

 

“I think that is fair. To make your own decision about what you want for your children is a right and responsibility.”

 

“What about you? Would you change anything about your raising?”

 

“Hum?” He turns his head as he thinks over her question, “I think I would want my children to follow in my footsteps. My parents wanted me to take over the running of Lallybroch.”

 

“They couldn’t  collar you into doing it, eh?” She grins as she rests her head on her hand.

 

“Nae, I love my land. My family. Lallybroch is dear to my heart. Yet, my calling has always pulled me towards medicine.”

 

“I get that. Certain things are encased in our dreams. We are pulled too. For me, being raised how I was, I saw so much need, so many things that a good physician could have fixed.”

 

“So you decided to follow that calling? Weren’t  tempted to become a archeologist?”

 

She laughs. “Not even a little.”

 

He is charming and sweet.  Beautiful in his love for his family and calling. Just handsome in physical appearance.

 

He Is thinking the same as he watches her laugh. No, he didn’t come to the library to find a lass. Wasn’t even thinking about a relationship. Totally focused on his education.

 

Her charm though, is drawing him in.

 

“Claire, ahh, I would love to see you outside of this library.”

 

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Her eyes sparkle under the artificial lights. How much more would they under the stars?

 

“Aye, I am.”

 

“A dinner. With linen napkins and red wine.” She twists her head.

 

“Absolutely, if you wish.”

 

“Or a walk under the stars.”

 

His eyes, as blue and deep as the ocean, light up.

 

“That sounds lovely.”

 

“It does, doesn’t it?”

 

“I know it seems fast.”

 

“It is okay. We can slowly move forward.”

 

It is crystal clear to them both that something unique is happening. It isn’t usual. 

 

They continue to stare at each other over the forgotten books.

 

Smiles slowly spread over their faces.

 

He moves first, placing his hand over hers. Both let out their held breath at the same time.

 

Impatient for each other’s  touch, their fingers entwine. Fingertips touch, pulse to pulse.

 

“I have never…” she softly says.

 

“Nor I.  My dad told me, when I was a mere lad, that I would know…” he trails off and she squeezes his hand.

 

“Please finish.”

 

“That I would know the right lass, a symbol of the rightness, would be seeing our future children in her eyes.”

 

Her breath hitches.

 

“Are you saying?” A whisper.

 

“Aye lass. It might be my ruination to say so…”

 

“No, no it isn’t .”

 

She concentrates on his reaction, watching his eyes fill with hope and relief. It had been an amazing brave thing to do.

 

“As insane as it is, I feel the same way. We were made for each other, to be in each other’s life.”

 

“Thank Christ! I thought the biggest thing in my life would be my career.”

 

She giggles. “Me too.”

 

“This,” he gestures around taking them both in, “is so much bigger than any career.”

 

“Yes it is. This is the beginning of something real.”

 

“Aye, a wonderful beginning, I would say.”

 

Grinning at each other, they move towards the middle, reaching for each other, as much as the table will allow.

 

A sigh as their lips touch.

 

She tastes of honey and sunshine. She tastes a hint of whiskey and porridge in him. Beyond it all though is a sense of joy and a peace to deep for words.

 

The throat clearing takes them awhile to hear.

 

When they come apart, one of the student librarians stands beside them, a frown on her face.

 

“Busted,” Jamie’s voice is hoarse, “Sorry.” To the lass. She nods and walks away.

 

“Claire, shall we head out. Maybe go get some tea or coffee?”

 

“A brilliant idea.”

 

He stands and takes her hand. They walk out together.

 

He thought this study session would just cost him a bit of sleep.  Instead he found all he never knew he needed.

[ceratatata]

LOOK WHAT I FOUND

It's her!!! It's Lamby baby!!!! (Picrew under the cut)

And yes there's a bell instead of her scarf; it would only let me have one or the other :< the paint is also canon to her! I'm just too damn lazy to draw it most of the time tho

Here's the picrew :3ccc

[raine-y-days]

let me take a moment of your time to share the funniest official shamura image in exisence

this is a shot from the release trailer

they're just

[angelcent]

𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃-𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐌

cw. implied age gap (nothing specific, sukuna is just older and divorced), food, established relationship, alcohol

thinking about big bad older boyfriend sukuna who shows affection with cooking of all things. first, it takes a few months of dating before he even allows you into his personal space; and when he does, your eyes widen at the sheer size of his pristine and expansive kitchen. high ceilings, marble counters, state of the art appliances, an array of culinary knives. like the rest of his penthouse, it's a tasteful mix of traditional and modern design.

your boyfriend is a wealthy and busy man, you had expected him to have a team of chefs who’d be preparing your dinner tonight. instead you see sukuna rolling up his sleeves, exposing his muscular forearms and the twin bands inked around his wrists. the ones in his left hand are partially covered by the watch you recently bought him.

sukuna is deft with the knives, smoothly chopping up vegetables and fresh herbs with ease; then he begins to lightly season the ribeye steak, carefully rubbing the spices into the meat. you shouldn’t find it so attractive, but your eyes are transfixed on his big hands; on the tattoos across his knuckles. only someone like him can make preparing dinner look so sensual. maybe it's the dim lighting, painting the room with intimacy.

you don't notice how long you've been staring until vermilion eyes meet yours, and he smirks arrogantly. “make yourself useful, dove. grab a bottle from the that closet over there. any red.”

the fact that sukuna has an entire small closet filled with wine bottles doesn't surprise you, but it's still impressive. you choose a full-bodied wine, knowing that he has a penchant for the viscous taste.

when you return, the kitchen smells like melted butter and roasted herbs as he sears the steak. "leather for you, right?" he chuckles, referring to how you like your meat cooked.

you snort, setting the bottle down on the dinner table. "sorry i don't like my steak mooing at me like you do." you notice that the table has already been set, and the attention to detail has uraume written all over it. "but yes, medium-well for me, please. it smells so good!"

"normally i wouldn't give a shit how a guest likes their meat cooked," sukuna murmurs, preparing your dishes to perfection. "but you're the exception, little lamb. for you, i'll bend."

butterflies flitter around inside your belly because you understand the weight of sukuna's words; someone like him would never bother saying something he doesn't mean. he's yours as much as you are his. he's referred to you as his spring, a new beginning after the bitter cold of the winter that was his marriage.

my morning light, is what he murmured into your skin when you first confessed your love to him.

the dinner he's prepared for you tops the countless five star restaurants that he's taken you to, but maybe you're just being biased. you realize that you're not though, once you sit sown and bring your fork to your lips. the food is delicious, carefully cooked to perfection and made with hands that hold your heart.

sukuna looks divine, almost regal as he drinks the blood red wine. he swirls it carefully before taking sips every now and then. he doesn't ask what you think of the food or if you like it—he knows. still, you feel the need to tell him, to gush at how talented he is and how much flavor is in every bite. he laughs in amusement, so you think he doesn't mind.

the wine is buzzing in your veins by the time you two are finished, and your limbs are loose as you get up to settle on his lap. his thick arms wrap around you as you litter kisses along the edge of his jaw. you continue up, kissing the lines of his face and you run your fingers through his peach and white hair. slowly, his hands settle lower on your hips, giving your ass a rough squeeze.

sukuna's mouth almost salivates at the thought of dessert, of the nectar between your thighs.

[inkandpen22]

First Meeting

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Y/N begins her 1st day as a member of the BAU and Spencer is immediately taken by her

A/N: I’m always adding new one shots for Reid so if you’d like to be tagged lmk!

Masterlist

Spencer

Garcia comes up beside me on my way to the meeting room, all excited and bouncy. "Did you hear we're getting a newbie today?" 

I stop in my tracks with a huff. "Wait, what? No! No one told me!" JJ walks by on her way to the briefing and I ask her. "Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?" 

"Hotch is bringing her up now," JJ grins over her shoulder. 

"Her?" I repeat, following her into the room. 

"Yeah, he's going to introduce her during the UnSub briefing," Morgan adds as he takes his usual set. 

"Did everyone know about this before me?" I sigh, plopping down in my chair. 

"Apparently," Morgan pokes fun. 

"Morning everyone," Hotch greets as he marches into the room. 

"Morning," everyone else greets as I set my stuff down. 

"Good-" My words disappear as I lift my attention away from my files toward the door and that's when I see her. 

"This is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," Hotch introduces. "She is of the most recent Quantico graduating class and will be joining our team." 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," JJ offers Y/N her hand. 

The girl shakes her hand with a warm smile. "You too! Thank you guys for letting me sit in," she announces to the group. 

I swallow hard. She's so young, she's like me. 

"How old are you anyway?" Morgan questions, leaning back in his chair. 

"Twenty-two," she answers. I knew it. "I graduated undergrad early." 

"Aw like Spence," Prentiss gushes. 

I don't even react to Prentiss petting my hair. Usually, I would swat her hand away. All I can do is stare at Y/N. I've lost all function like a robot missing a piece. 

"Spencer?" JJ says my name with a hint of worry. It sounds like background noise, so faint. 

Morgan chuckles. "I think Reid's head just exploded." 

"Earth to Spencer," Prentiss waves her hand in front of my face. 

I snap out of my daze and swat her hand away. "Stop it," I mumble. 

A blush forms on my cheeks, I can feel it. I clear my throat nervously and try to act normal as I open up my file. Y/N takes the empty chair across the table from me. She offers me a smile. I feel this weird feeling in my stomach like I've had too much coffee and am all jittery. 

JJ redirects everyone's attention to the screen. "Okay guys, let's begin. We've been receiving a series of calls from several police stations in Atlanta. There's been a series of livestock killings ranging from pigs to more commonly lambs. Each stabbed and hearts removed. Then, symbols painting on her foreheads and stomachs." 

"Go back please," Y/N requests, surprising everyone. 

JJ's brows scrunch together. "Do you see something, Y/N?" 

"The locals think it's a cult?" She asks. 

JJ looks over her papers and nods. "Yes actually." 

"It's not," Y/N states with the utmost certainty. 

My brows scrunch together as I begin to analyze the image myself. I wasn't paying attention before. I hate to admit it, but I was distracted. She's right, this isn't the work of a cult. 

"How can you tell?" Hotch questions with narrowed eyes. 

"The pentagram is wrong," I answer. My eyes meet Y/N's and she smiles. 

"We're more likely dealing with teens or college students, outcasts, trying to scare the community," she adds. "Is that a college nearby?" 

JJ skims her research and pulls out a sheet. "Yes, two." 

"Does one of a greater population of local students?" I ask. 

"Um..." JJ reads. "Yes." 

"I think we should start there," Y/N concludes. 

Hotch nods, rising from his chair. "Okay, wheels up in an hour everyone. Prepare," he instructs before heading to the door. "Good work, Y/N." 

"Thank you, Sir," she grins, evidently proud of herself. 

"Now there's two of him," Morgan chuckles as he gathers his things. 

Y/N laughs. "What?" 

"He's referring to me," I assure her. "The way you noticed the unfinished pentagram and narrowed down the profile, usually, I do that." 

"Oh, sorry!" She's quick to apologize. 

"No, no!" I wave my hands in a panic. "It's nice having someone else around who notices details like that. Makes me feel less annoying and a know-it-all." 

______________________________________

Y/N

Hotchner, Reid, and I stand on the other side of the one-way mirror as our next interviewee gets settled in by the police. He's a student at the local university and fits the M.O. A complete outsider, impressionable, a history of emotional disorders and animal abuse, it's a perfect match. 

"Sir, do you think Spencer and I could go in?" I request. 

Hotchner raises a brow. "Do you think you're ready?" 

"Yes, and just in case that's why I ask to have Spencer with me." 

"Spencer, what do you think?" The leader questions, watching as the cops release Brian from his handcuffs and depart the room. 

Spencer glances past Hotchner over to me. He nods. "I think she's ready, Sir." 

I suppress a smile and redirect my attention to our potential UnSub. 

"Very well, go ahead," Hotchner approves. 

"Thank you, Sir," I say as I head toward the door. 

Spencer holds the door for me and we step out into the hall. 

Before we enter the interview room, I had my file over to Spencer. 

"Here, could you hold this for a second?" 

He takes the stack nervously. "What... What are you doing?" 

"I have an idea." I remove my scrunchie from my hair and toss it around a bit. Spencer watches as I slip my scrunchie onto my wrist and begin to unbotton the top to buttons of my blouse. I readjust my boobs a little and pull down my blouse. I take the waist of my skirt and pull it up a little. "How do I look?" I ask the boy when I'm done. 

"I... uh... I..." He stammers. 

"Perfect!" I smile, taking back my things. 

I enter the room first, Spencer following close behind. "Hi Brian, I'm Agent Y/L/N and this is Agent Dr. Reid," I introduce as we take our seats across the table. 

"You two look like you could go to my school," Brian laughs. "How old are you guys anyway?" 

 I smile and ignore his question and stick to the topic. "We're just going to ask you a few questions." 

Brian smirks. "Well, can I ask you something first?" 

"Of course," I assure him. 

"Can I have your number?" He asks boldly. 

"I um..." I'm at a loss for words. 

"I don't think that's very appropriate." Spencer defends with a stern tone. 

"What? Are you her boyfriend or something?" Brian mocks. 

"Uh no, but this isn't a personal conversation this is an investigation, so let's stick to only necessary questions," 

Brian complies and I continue my interview. He gets off track here and there, but Spencer steps in. I'm thankful that Spencer is quiet for the most part, only when to redirect Brian back to the purpose of our interview. I feel calmer with Spencer next to me. For some reason, his presence makes me feel safe even though we may have a serial animal abuser and cult member across the table from us. When I conclude our interview, Spencer and I rise from our chairs. I tell Brian that authorities will be in soon to take more of his information. 

"So how's about a date?" He asks again for a third time within the last thirty minutes. 

I ignore him as Spencer opens the door for me. 

"What? I'm not your type?" The kid chuckles. 

I stop and spin on my heels to face Brian. I press my palms against the table and lean closer to the boy, startling him. "Frankly no, you're not. I'm into older guys and... well..." I eye him up and down and giggle. "You're nothing but a kid." 

He swallows hard, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. I smirk and step outside into the hall. Spencer joins me and shuts the door behind us. He wears a bewildered expression. I begin to tie my hair up again and button up my shirt. 

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," he voices as we head toward the door to the watch room.  

I shrug. "Eh it's okay, he's just a kid. Plus, I'm used to it." 

When we enter, Morgan and Hotchner are still observing Brian's behavior. Morgan steps closer to Hotchner, making room for Spencer and me. I catch a glimpse of Brian through the mirror and his head is in his hands. 

"Good work," Hotchner compliments us. 

"Interesting approaching," Morgan nods. "Seems to be working." 

"Thank you," I grin, bringing my arms crossed over my chest. "I figured it was worth a shot. 

A comfortable silence remains in the room as the four of us watch Brian slowly crumble. 

Spencer leans closer to me and I extend my neck out to him. "Is it true, what you said about being into older guys?" He questions quietly between us. 

I turn my head to look at him and his face is full of curiosity. "How old are you?" I ask. 

His brows scrunch together. "Twenty-seven." 

I smile, turning my attention back to Brian as he continues to fidget. "Yes, it's true." I back up to step outside and fetch a coffee. I suspect this will be a long night. 

Spencer

Right as Y/N steps out, Morgan sighs. "Aw Reid, you're in trouble man," he laughs. 

Hotch chuckles from beside him. 

I frown. "What do you mean?" 

"Seriously?" Morgan raises a brow as he turns his body to face me. "She just told you she's into you." 

"No, she didn't, she just asked me how old I am and told me-" I pause, reviewing our interaction just seconds prior and I begin to piece it all together. My eyes grow wide. "Holy crap, she's into me!" 

"You better jump on that, Big Guy!" Morgan pats me on the shoulder. 

Hotch wears a sly grin, pretending to be focused on Brian, but it's evident he's amused by us. 

__________________________________

Masterlist

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Infinity on high pt 2

Wave four reference design pictured above

Step four: bling it out

Once all the paint work was done and dry, there was little else this custom called for. I got my planet charm on one shoe and my silver lamb (yes lamb) for the other. I had to buy jump rings off of Amazon and thread the charms through them to string the laces through the charms to secure them to the shoe. It was a pain in the ass because the jump rings were, predictably, tiny. My hands were sweating from the effort of prying them open which made the situation worse but after about 20 minutes and a pair of tweezers, the charms were on the rings. After that I just had to lace the shoes up with the charms in place. The planet charm is from Amazon and the lamb charm is from AWaywithCharms on Etsy.