#its a case of trust the process okay

[tealares]

bunch of doodles from today ^v^ first pic is from yesterday..!!

[windupaidoneus]

this need for approval is a fucking disease it is absolutely mind boggling that i need feedback on what i say & post or my mind decides everyone takes a look at it & goes yep here goes this annoying freak again talking about his annoying freak things. & im not even like that with everyone. it literally does not fucking matter oh my goddd grow UP! im normal now. i understand my minds machinations. misto is nodding in approval at me

[foreid]

⊹₊ ⋆ ㅤ— “FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE . .ᐟᅟ ”

part 1 | part 2

wrd count: 1304

warnings: smut, fem!reader x josh, dry-humping, drinking, josh is a pervert, semi-plot, make out, drunk reader, smutty indications, aggressive teasing

a/n : my bi-monthly drop!!!! wrote this for my dear friend adri, and me :3 but also because i just finished until dawn and this sexy man is EVERYWHERE… will be writing more of him soon. stay tuned ! ;)

you knew your limits when it came to alcohol, what you could handle and what you couldn’t.

but joshua washington had to be the world's best sweet talker. because you’d convinced everyone at the lodge you’d be the most sober.

now you were the only one slurring out a random song with an empty bottle of expensive vodka wrapped around your perfectly jeweled up and manicured hand.

“jooooosssshhhhh…” you slurred to him, clinging onto his bicep that felt oddly larger than usual. all he could do was give that signature sexy laugh and shake his head at you.

he was gentle with you, still obviously teasing but not to an extent.

the boy knew you weren’t 100% yourself when you got this drunk.

“mhm, that’s my name.” he said to you, the two of you weren’t necessarily separated from the group, but you weren’t close enough to be in their conversations.

that was always the case when the two of you were together.

but to him, close was never close enough.

you were rubbing your face all on his flannel, cheek chubbying up and only looking up at him through your eyelids.

eyes big and full of drunken content.

to him, you were just so pretty vulnerable.

the way he was looking down at you was almost straight out of a cheap porno.

his wide eyes, now low and full of an extreme emotion that your weak brain couldn’t understand.

but you had an idea that it was what you were wearing, not to toot your own horn.

soft layers: a tight white tank top stacked with a hot pink zip-up that had fur on the hood and graphics on the back, your tight denim shorts and fleece tights that were meant to keep you warm, but anyone with a right mind knew they were just for show.

technically… you had packed more outfits like this for the trip, but that’s because you weren’t expecting the cabin to be so bitterly cold.

so it wasn’t really even your fault.

in reality, you were dressing this way on purpose.

okay maybe you were dressed like this because you loved the attention.

the peering looks he gave you anytime you walked by, the snarky comments that left his perfect mouth.

who were you to blame? look at that man.

“feelin’ clingy tonight, huh?” he taunted, laughing in your face at the way you were holding onto him and gawking.

“me—? clingy? y’r funny, washington…” all you could do was stutter and stumble on your words.

he made you nervous and you were so intoxicated you could barely think before speaking.

holding him like this made you imagine all the possibilities. all the things you could be doing to each other right now.

and it almost felt like he was thinking the same, like you were always riding on the same wavelength.

you know something else you could ride on.

it was stupid to imagine but there’s always been a tension between you two, so thick and palpable that it left you knees-weak every time he flirted with you.

“let’s just cut the bullshit. c’mon.” before you could even process that he was talking to you, a rough set of calluses were wrapped around your forearm, tugging you somewhere in the lodge that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

the second you heard a door close behind you two, you realized you were in the master bedroom,

only knowing this due to the sudden change of temperature in the room compared to the living room.

“wha- aren’t they gonna n— notice that we’re gone?” you were confused, but you trusted him.

despite the evident look of hunger and lust in his eyes. you trusted yourself in his hands.

“i don’t care. i just needed to get you alone.” his mouth made its way to your ear, slowly, as his warm breath came to touch with your skin,

your body froze up at the sudden attention, making you feel warm. “y/n. almost years i’ve been fantasizing about you, ever since we met,” he paused and cautiously reached for your hips.

his hands were warm and you felt safe, once you processed his words you became putty in them.

“huh?”

was all you could mutter out, keeping yourself in place by grabbing onto his triceps, looking up at him through your full and wispy eyelashes.

“i’m sayin’ i wanna fuck you, pornstar. your skin is so soft and warm. i wanna know,” he paused to straighten himself up and look at you.

“i wanna know what it feels like inside that pussy of yours.”

drunk, he was drunk this had to be the drinks talking. there was no way this was real.

even if he was intoxicated, that didn’t stop his words from going straight in between your legs. arousal pooling onto your lacy panties.

could’ve sworn your eyes started to roll back at the dirty talk, he was so good at it too.

“y’don’t mean that—“ he quickly cut you off, pulling you in nice and personal and grabbing at the plush skin that was covered by tight denim. “i do. with every fiber in me, i swear i do.”

the physical attention was overwhelming, and the verbal one was even more intense. you didn’t know what else to do but to give in to something you’ve been praying for for so long.

you couldn’t even suck in a breath before he was crashing his lips onto yours.

it was a kiss that made you dizzy, you melted into it though, wrapping yourself onto him.

he led you backwards, kissing you still while he was walking, pressing your back against whatever wall was close; stabilizing you with his knee between your legs.

you were holding onto the hair on the back of his head for dear life, loving the hot and messy kiss so much that it turned you on.

all the sexual frustration of not getting any in almost a year turned you into some horn dog.

your head was spinning, you could barely make out a thought. josh’s hand began to unzip your jacket, sliding it off your body while his lips started roaming down your neck.

“i ca— can’t take it,” a whine slipped out of your lips, head turned to face away from him to hide away your embarrassment.

this didn’t stop him though, you felt him smile against your skin and only itch on more.

rutting your hips for you against his clothed leg while he started sucking ravishingly against your neck, josh himself could barely keep himself from grinning at how much he’s won.

josh was the type for messy and quick sex. but when he thinks of having it with you, he wants it hard and slow.

painfully slow. so he can make you take in everything, make you feel everything all at once.

his fingers started sliding off the straps of your tight shirt, lips starting to make contact with the plush skin of your breasts.

“so fuckin’ sexy. just like i imagined. you g’nna let me give it to you? hm?” he was teasing, words muffled by the way he had his lips wrapped around your nipple.

“god i can’t wait to fill you up. gonna tell chris how good this pussy is.” josh snickered, grinning at the mess he was making of you.

and he hadn’t even fucked you yet.

he brought himself up to bite on your ear, hands teasing your breasts as your hips (which had minds of their own) kept grinding on his knee, the friction making your brain go into mush.

your mind was completely blown, blank and empty.

fingers were digging and wrinkling up his flannel as your mouth was agape.

you were all hot and bothered, needing and yearning for more.

if you felt this good only from foreplay, imagine how good being so full of his dick was gonna be.

you couldn’t wait.

you were letting out noises you didn’t even know you could make,

and he was barely getting started.

[wingfleur]

# — dick grayson as a desperate ex.

man, it’s my first time posting on tumblr in years, y’all... make some noise! but seriously, i hope y’all enjoy. more notes at the end. :) | wc: 1.5k words.

cw: suggestive content mdni (18+), gn!reader, implied childhood-friends-to-lovers-to-exes-to-fwb(?) energy here, reader is holding a mean ass grudge, i kinda leaned into fuckboy!dick grayson for this so it's a little toxic? (its rlly not that bad though)

thinking about dick grayson as a desperate ex. 

i find this scenario so incredibly amusing because, god, he would do nothing but push your buttons. he knows juuust what makes you tick, even if you two weren’t together for all that long. seriously– dick’s that one ex that you cannot get away from, and trust me, it’s not for lack of trying!

a few days after you two break up, you follow standard protocol and block him on everything. his socials, his number— even his email, in case richard.grayson@hotmail.com wants to get any bright ideas— but your mission still proves to be difficult. 

you find it quite hard to ice him out completely.

much to your chagrin, all you two share is mutual friends, and dick likes to act like he’ll die if he leaves you alone, so you never get to know peace at any group function. each time, you find yourself split between two urges: 1) the urge to enjoy yourself and cause no problems at all, or 2) the urge to absolutely kill the vibe and brutally rip out your ex-boyfriend’s jugular. at this point, you’re convinced it’s a humiliation ritual: whenever you and your friends hang out, you make an effort to pointedly ignore him, and you wish he’d at least act like your nonchalance deters him, but because he knows that’s what you want, he doesn’t. instead, he sports this stupid, boyish grin while hovering around you like a fly, boldly occupying your space because he knows you won’t go in for the kill. 

for your sake, and the sakes of those around you, you try to focus on your friends, but dick is on a mission to be distracting. unfortunately, he’s incredibly capable of whatever he puts his mind to; he waits until you start to get antsy, searching for the right moment to take a second to yourself and ease your nerves. the escape route you choose is the kitchen, and you quietly excuse yourself to go and get some water. unbeknownst to you, though, the moment you begin to move is the moment dick springs into action, trailing quietly behind you until the opportunity to cage you in against the counter presents itself. in actuality, all he wants to do is whisper in your ear– to whisper that if he stops bothering you like you’ve asked, you’d last only a few days before you start to miss him. 

but before you can say anything, dick’s presence is gone before you can process that it was even there, and the cup he grabbed while reaching over you sits delicately next to where you’re leaning against your palms. the worst part is that, objectively, he’s right: you would start to miss him, because despite the fact that he was a pretty shit boyfriend, and you want nothing more than to wring his neck, you and him have history and were thick as thieves first. 

you’ve been in the picture long enough to see most of his past relationships go up in flames, and weirdly enough, dick grayson is a charming enough guy to end even his most tumultuous relationships on decently amicable terms. it’s why when you started looking at dick like, “i want to be more than friends, if that’s okay,” and dick started looking at you back like, “we can give it a try, if that’s what you want,” you stupidly thought that you would be the exception to this rule and you two could make it out of this unscatched. you thought that because of your history, you’d be okay with the secrets, and the no-shows, and the sneaking around that seems to have only gotten worse by the time you two called it quits. you thought that even if it didn’t work, you two would make it out and still be friends on the other side.

but now, as you pull open the fridge and grab the pitcher to pour yourself a glass of water, you find yourself thinking, of course it didn’t work. the moment the two of you found yourselves alone, dick unable to ignore the way your his t-shirt slips off your shoulders, and you, the warmth of his body pressing into your side, it was over. 

you were doomed to be like the rest, you realize, naive enough to think that this time, things would be different. you bitterly down your glass of water as if it would dull the sour taste in your mouth, and for good measure, you pour yourself one more to take with you for the road. as you finally step back into the living room to rejoin your friends, meeting all their beaming faces with a smile while you pointedly ignore dick’s burning gaze, you tell yourself that all you need to do is make it through the night. then, you can put this nightmare of a scenario behind you and have a good night’s rest at home.

fortunately, you make it back home in one piece, but the unfortunate part is that you aren’t back home alone. you aren’t sure when the hell this happened– was it when he challenged you to a game of mario kart, leaning into your side to sabotage you like he did when you were friends? or was it when the drinking games came out and you took enough shots to allow yourself to freely laugh at his jokes? whenever it was, you have no time to figure it out because five seconds after your door clicks shut, dick is on you, greedy hands grabbing at your waist and his tongue slipping into your mouth.

“thought you hated me,” dick sighs against your lips, hands shamelessly sliding down your back to take two fistfuls of your ass. you gasp into his mouth and tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging sharply enough to make his scalp burn, which causes a low groan to reverberate in his throat.

god, you forgot this freak’s a fucking masochist. 

“i do hate you,” you spit back, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip as if meant to punctuate your reply. you can feel dick grin– a fact you want to make fun of him for, because despite his high and mighty act, he just wants to get bitched in bed– and slides his hands further down to grab at the back of your thighs to pick you up as if you weigh nothing at all. 

“clearly not enough to keep you from fucking me, though." 

dick’s voice is irritatingly sing-songy, holding eye contact as he runs his tongue over his lip. there’s a metallic tang to the taste– a result of you biting down hard enough to break skin and a series of cuts in the midst of healing you’ve disturbed on his lips– but dick finds that he quite likes how this feels– likes you, to be exact. dick grayson likes you, even when you act like you don’t like him, because he knows you better than you’d like to admit, and he knows your breakup isn’t enough to keep you two apart.

“it’s because i hate you that i’m fucking you,” you admit, bestowing upon dick a surprising shred of honesty as he walks you two down the hall. he knows your floor plan like the back of his hand because he’s spent more nights here than he can count, and that fact tugs at something inside of you that you’re currently too scared to identify. luckily, you’re quickly distracted— when dick gets to your room, he wastes no time in dropping you onto the bed, letting you settle on your back as he busies himself with taking off his shirt.

“i’m fucking you because i can’t get your stupid face out of my head, or get over how fucking good it feels when you touch me.” your eyes follow the trajectory of his shirt as he tosses it onto the floor, calloused hands reaching down to grab at the fat of your thighs. he unceremoniously tugs you down toward him. “this,” you hiss, gesturing quickly between the two of you, “is purely selfish. don’t get any ideas, grayson.”

dick snorts at your visible irritation and rakes his nails across your skin, watching as an involuntarily shiver wracks your body in reply. “mhm,” he hums, “whatever you say,” and his hair falls handsomely in his face as he busies himself with your jeans. one hand keeps your thigh anchored to one of his hips, and the other skillfully pops open your button, the zipper following soon after. “i believe you. love that my baby’s finally being honest, actually.”

you’re bristling with irritation long before those patronizing words come out of his mouth, but when dick finally looks up at you, he smiles so brightly that it’s almost blinding. you want it to make you sick, how charming and utterly him that grin of his is, but it’s precisely because of those facts that it’s inherently difficult to get mad at. 

“but opinions change all the time.” dick lifts your hips off the bed, pulling your jeans down your legs. “so i’ll be sure to ask again after i fuck you.” 

“you know,” he adds, a sly grin settling on his lips, “for good measure.”

a/n: i’ve had this blog set up for a week or so now, and i’ve been working on a longer project i wanted to use to launch it. alas, i simply couldn’t take the wait anymore (i’ve been getting drabble and thirst ideas nonstop and they’re beginning to pile up!!!) and had to do it now! but honestly, i had my mind made up about launching this blog and saying "fuck it" days ago, but i needed to wait until i got a dick grayson-shaped drabble one-shot idea since most of my drafts may or may not be about jason todd…

thanks for reading this far! your time is appreciated. <3

# — navigation

[love4ng1e]

࿐໋ Things I wish I knew before starting my shifting journey.

──

❦︎ 1. You aren't going anywhere.

Shifting isn't about traveling to another dimension. You aren't leaving your body. It's about moving your conscious awareness to another reality that already exists.

✶ 2. Every possible version of you and your life is happening simultaneously.

Think of it like changing the channel on a TV. The other channels (realities) are always there. You're just choosing to "tune in" to a different one.

❦︎ 3. You do not need to feel anything.

A lot of people think that in order to shift, they need to feel something. That is not the case. Shifting is a mental process, not a physical process.

✶ 4. Methods are only tools.

You do not need the perfect technique in order to shift realities. The power lies within yourself. Methods do not have powers of their own. You give it the power.

It's like a hammer and a nail. The hammer is a tool, but without you holding it, the hammer can not do anything on its own.

❦︎ 5. Everything is 100% real.

There's no "real" reality or "fake" reality. Your desired realities are just as real as this one. Your friends are real. Your family is real. Your significant other is real. You experience your desired reality with just as much authenticity as your current reality.

✶ 6. You are not bound to any realities you create.

The reality you wanted to shift to years ago might not be one you are interested in shifting to anymore. That's okay. There's no permanent attachment to any reality. It's important to remember that you are always evolving. What feels aligned today might not be the same tomorrow.

❦︎ 7. You do not need to script every little detail.

Let me ask you something. Do you know every single thing about this reality? No, you don't. So why feel the need to know everything about your desired reality? Your subconscious will fill the gaps for you. It already knows. Have a little trust in it.

✶ 8. Shifting doesn't require a perfect time.

There's no need to wait around for the "right moment." Your ability to shift is always available to you regardless of your circumstances.

──

Remember that your desired reality is within you, and shifting happens naturally. Kisses, Angie. - 𝜗𝜚

[hotchscoffeecup]

stuck

summary: stuck inside an elevator with your boss, aaron hotchner, isn’t what you had in mind when you left work late. perhaps, you can get your supervisor to relax just a little. SFW

tags: minor blood, stuck inside an elevator

pairing: hotch x reader

word count: 3k

a late birthday fic for muffin <3

“Alright, goodnight Hotch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Hotch, it’s late. I’m tired. It’s hotter than hell outside. Trust me, when I tell you that all I need is some late night takeout, a shower, and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.” You let out a short laugh. “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in farewell; offering a tired, albeit, tight smile before parting ways and moving toward his SUV a few spots down from your sedan. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. The rest of the team had gone home hours ago, but Hotch had volunteered to stay behind and help you on your case report. Your skin bristles at the thought of the last 72 hours and you feel the tension pulling each one of your muscles as you reach into your purse and feel for your keys. After a few seconds of rifling around, your brow knits together when you don’t come across the key fob.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, your shoulders slump. “Dammit.”

“Everything okay?” Hotch asks, pausing after opening his car door.

You incline your head and wave a hand through the air. “Yeah, I just left my keys on my desk.”

A car door slams and the sound of Hotch’s footsteps echo as he moves towards you. “I’ll walk with you.”

You blow out a breath and wave him off. “No, go home. It’s just going to be a few extra minutes. Go see Jack.”

“He’s with his aunt until tomorrow evening, then hopefully I’ll get to spend the entire weekend with him before duty calls.” He gestures towards the elevator. “It’s no trouble, really,” he insists.

You can’t help but feel like a nuisance, but you don’t argue any further. A humid breeze blows through the parking garage and thunder rumbles off in the distance. Hotch presses the button to summon the elevator and as the gears rumble to life both of your cells start pinging.

Hotch reaches into his pants pocket as you reach into your purse. You both check your cells where a severe thunderstorm warning flashes across the screen.

“Hotch, really, you can go.”

Hotch arches a brow, sparing you a look that says not-a-chance as the doors open. “Come on, if the weather kicks up before we get back down, I’ll drive you home.”

He stretches an arm out to hold the door and you reluctantly step inside, accepting that he’s not going to leave.

You push the button for the ninth floor and cross your arms over your chest. “My car can handle a little rain, Hotch.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “With the weather they’re calling for, your car will become a boat.”

“Careful, Hotch. That was almost a joke.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t reply.

The elevator pings as you ascend higher and higher. By the time the elevator crawls past floor four the sound of rain pounding against the building echoes inside the elevator.

“Damn,” you curse quietly. “I can only imagine what 95 is going to look like with this going on.”

“I’m sure it’ll—” A loud clap of thunder explodes outside, cutting Aaron off.

You startle, gasping loudly and feeling yourself immediately flush red with embarrassment. Your eyes flicker over to Hotch and he looks calm and collected, unshaken by the burst of sound.

Suddenly, the lights go out and the elevator screeches to a halt, throwing you off balance. You stumble as the elevator rocks violently and in your heels, you’re unable to catch yourself before you fall forward and hit your head against the wall; dropping your purse and scattering its contents in the process.

Pain splits your brow and your hand flies to your forehead. Blood, sticky and wet, trickles into your eye and you wince. The emergency lights kick on as you and Hotch both collect yourselves and stand.

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks.

“I hit my head.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

His hand curls under your arm as he uses the other to tilt your chin up. His eyes are hard in the dim red light.

“I can’t tell how deep it is in this lighting.” He presses his lips together and reaches for his cell. “Dammit!”

“Let me guess,” you say. “No signal.”

He snaps his phone shut. “None, what about you?”

“My entire life is on the floor right now,” you quip, gesturing at the ground.

“Right, sorry.” His eyes scan the ground and quickly locate your phone. He scoops it up and after flipping it open, he shakes his head with an exasperated sigh.

“Well,” you reply. “Guess we better make ourselves comfortable until the generators kick in.”

You kneel down and begin sweeping your belongings toward you. Hotch crouches and helps you without asking.

“Let’s at least see what you might have that I can use to help clean it up and stop the bleeding.”

“Oh yeah, let me just reach into my Mary Poppins bag here and pull out an EMT’s jump bag.”

He aims a hard look at you that he usually reserves for whenever Penelope makes a comment that teeters the line with HR.

“I’m the one with my head split open, I think I’m allowed to be sarcastic right now.”

Hotch breathes out sharply. “Split open, that’s a tad dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Two zingers in a row, Hotch. I’m impressed.” He shakes his head but even in the dim lighting, you don’t miss the smile on his lips. He picks up a couple of items and hands them to you. “Here’s your,” he pauses to examine the items in his hand. “Lipstick and tampons.”

A furious heat races to your cheeks as you snatch them out of his hand and shove them in your purse.

“Wait, give me one of those. I can use it to stop the bleeding.”

“Hotch, I’m not giving you a tampon.”

He levels you with another hard stare and when he says your name, you can hear the amusement in his voice. “It’s either that or your sweater, and I know that was a gift from JJ on your birthday. Besides, I was married for a long time. I’m not embarrassed by tampons or pads. You know I keep a supply in my desk, right?”

Your brow pinches, but a smile plays about your face. “Ok, I’ll bite,” you say as you pass him one. “Why?”

He pauses before tearing open the packaging. “You wouldn’t happen to have any hand sanitizer in there, would you?”

It takes you seconds to find the mini Purell inside your handbag and pass it to him. He squeezes some into his hands and scrubs it over his skin. “One time, Penelope dropped a file off in my office. She was in a rush and not acting like herself. I could tell she was stressed.” He tears open the plastic and pushes the cotton portion of the tampon out of the applicator. “I asked her if she was okay and boy, was that the wrong question to ask.” Hotch turns his head, looking around. “Ah, thought I saw that.” He scoops your half finished water bottle off the ground and pours a small bit of water onto the cotton to break it up. After working it into a small square, he gently presses it against the split in your brow. You wince and he apologizes. “She burst into tears and told me that her cycle had snuck up out of nowhere and she was unprepared and needed to run to the drug store. I told her not to worry and that I’d go for her. I’d forgotten to ask what exactly she wanted me to get, so I bought a little of everything. She took what she needed and I told her that I’d keep the rest in the lower left drawer of my desk in case an emergency ever arose again.”

“Hotch, that’s actually really sweet.”

He feigns a pained look, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Your use of the word actually cuts pretty deep, you know?” He lifts the makeshift bandage and inspects the injury. “It’s still bleeding. I’m afraid you might need stitches.”

You blow out a breath. “Great, and what do I tell them? Hey, I fell face first into an elevator panel. Patch me up!”

Hotch chuckles and applies more pressure to the wound. You hiss and again, he apologizes.

“It’s okay,” you say and realize this is probably the closest you’ve ever been to your supervisor. In fact, from this angle you notice just how long and thick his dark lashes are; the way his coffee colored eyes glimmer in the low lighting.

Holy shit, what are you thinking? That’s your boss you’re ogling.

“It’s hot.”

You blink out of your momentary stupor. “I’m sorry, what?”

“In here,” Aaron answers.

“Well yeah, the AC is out with the power. What do you think is taking the generators so long to kick in?”

Hotch’s brow furrows as his eyes flick about the space. “I’m not sure. It’s highly unusual though.”

You shrug out of your sweater and take over holding the makeshift bandage against your forehead, your fingers brushing against his hand as you do so. Bunching your sweater into a ball, you place it behind you and lie back.

Hotch laughs awkwardly. “What are you doing?”

“It seems like we’re going to be stuck here awhile, might as well make myself comfortable.”

He pushes himself to his feet and presses the emergency call button. You’re not shocked when the only response is static. You watch as he paces, pushing the button every few minutes.

“This is where Reid would say something like ‘the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.’”

Hotch tucks his hand against his belt and pushes his suit jacket back with his other fingers. It's a gesture you’re all too familiar with, the one he uses when he’s exasperated. He swipes at the perspiration beading on his forehead with his opposite sleeve.

“So, what, we just wait?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. This shouldn’t amuse you as much as it does, especially given the fact that you have a head injury and probably need to get checked out.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re so,” you hedge, searching for the word, “high strung.”

Hotch’s brow climbs toward his hairline. “Excuse me?”

Did you hit a nerve? It was a fairly bold statement to make. Situation be damned, he was still your boss. “I don’t know, Hotch.” You release a short laugh. “You can’t really be in control all the time, can you?”

“Doesn’t this team have an agreement to not profile each other?”

You roll your eyes and prop yourself up on an elbow, wincing as pain pulses behind your eye. Hotch’s lips part as he instinctively moves toward you and you wave him off. “It’s not about profiling, Hotch, look at you. Stop trying to solve everything all the time and just say ‘hey, this shit sucks!’”

He holds your eye for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“You’re right,” he says. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drops onto the floor beside you. “This shit sucks.”

You smile and he returns one. It looks good on him. It’s something he doesn’t do often enough.

“Let me check your head.” He leans forward and you let him inspect the gash in your forehead. “I think the bleeding stopped.” Placing his palm against your jaw, he tilts your head toward the red emergency lights. “Everything looks,” his eyes glimmer and drop to linger on yours. “Fine.”

Your lips part, but you don’t find words. Has Hotch ever looked at you like this? Well, that implies he's looking at you a certain type of way. You clear your throat and Hotch drops his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “Are you?”

He says your name then, barely a whisper. He’s so close, close enough for you to smell his aftershave. You feel your heart rate begin to pick up, pulse pounding in your ears. Hotch’s chin dips and his lips are a hair's breadth away from yours. Before anything can happen, the elevator’s gears suddenly grind to life. The sudden jolt of movement causes your foreheads to bump together and you groan as pain splinters behind your eye.

Hotch immediately apologizes and holds your face in his hands, making sure the minor collision didn’t reopen the wound that had barely stopped bleeding as is.

Your hand reaches up to cup his against your cheek and you meet his concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He holds your gaze for a moment before dipping his head. “Okay,” he says tightly. “Okay, let’s get you up. There’s a first aid kit in the break room.” He grabs hold of your forearm and loops an arm around your waist before helping you to your feet. You stumble as you rise to your full height, your blood not yet having the chance to properly circulate through your body.

Hotch’s grip tightens around your waist and you place a steadying head against his chest; fingers splayed against the muscular plane beneath the fabric of his dress shirt.

Only when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at the 9th floor do you remember that it's your boss with his arm around you right now. You startle apart and laugh awkwardly.

“Here, let me—” His voice trails off as he drops to a crouching position and sweeps the remaining items of yours off the floor along with his jacket and your sweater.

You walk in semi-comfortable silence, letting Hotch lead the way to the break room. When you arrive, you let him pull out a chair for you and take a seat. He moves quickly, rummaging through cabinets until he locates the first aid kit. He sits opposite from you and opens the white box. After pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, he makes quick work of opening several gauze pads. He squeezes rubbing alcohol onto the gauze and apologizes in advance.

“It’s going to sting,” he cautions as he begins cleaning the area around the wound and the blood that had dripped down your cheek.

“I’m a big girl, Hotch. My dad cleaned my skinned knees when I was a kid.”

Hotch chuckles, and it rumbles low in his throat. “I certainly hope you don’t see me as your father.”

You nearly choke on your own spit and feel a furious heat blossom across your face. Hotch sees this and the smile stays plastered on his face. He presses the alcohol soaked cotton to the wound.

You hiss at the contact and dig your nails into your palms. “Fuck!” you curse, though it’s mixed with sharp laughter. “I don’t remember it stinging that much!”

Hotch laughs as he apologizes and works as quickly as he can to clean the affected area. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He finishes up and applies two butterfly bandages, which effectively close the gash. He discards the gloves and soiled gauze. After washing his hands, he uses a disinfectant wipe to sanitize the table and replaces the first aid kit in the cabinet.

“Efficient, as always.” You observe.

“I’ll have to fill out an incident report,” he says as he wipes his hands on his pants.

“Yeah, but that can wait until Monday.”

Hotch presses his lips together, not liking the sound of that.

“Oh, come on Aaron!”

His brow quirks. “Aaron? You never call me by my first name.”

You smile and gesture toward your forehead. “Head injury, I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s nice,” he says, a dimple in his cheek on show as he smiles. His expression shifts immediately towards worry. “Though, you might actually have a mild concussion. We should probably get you to a doctor.”

You wave him off. “A doctor is just going to tell me to rest, take ibuprofen, don’t sleep the first night, et cetera, et cetera…Frankly, I’d rather avoid the bill.”

“There's a protocol for this…paper work, workers comp.”

You slap your hands against your thighs. “Fine!” you relent. “Let’s go!”

Hotch smiles, relief evident on his face. “I’ll grab the paperwork.” You scoop your sweater and purse into your arms as he dashes out of the break room.

As you make your way back toward the elevator, Hotch joins you. “Forgetting something?”

Your eyes widen and you feel like you could smack yourself. “My keys!”

Hotch tucks the manila envelope under his arm and fishes around in his pocket, withdrawing your key ring with a cheeky grin on his face. You quickly grab them out of his hand and shove them into your purse. “The whole reason I’m in this mess,” you grumble.

You slap the button to summon the elevator just as thunder crashes outside once more. You and Hotch exchange a look. “On second thought, why don’t we just take the stairs?”

“Good idea,” Hotch agrees.

As you descend the nine flights of stairs, you can’t help but think of the long night you’re about to be in for. When you reach the parking garage, you can smell the rain in the air. You press the button to unlock your car.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks. “No way, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Hotch, I’m going to be there all night.”

“Okay, so I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”

You freeze and Hotch does too. For a minute you just stand there holding each other’s gaze and in that moment, you both know something has fundamentally changed between the two of you. What that change is, neither of you can tell; but something in your gut tells you it’s a change for the better and you can’t wait to find out more.

[makingsenseofwhathappened]

Building a Support Network (when work gets messy)

Hello friends. Hello work week.

In the spirit of getting through, I wanted to start this Monday off by sharing a few quick thoughts about how to keep your head when something at work crosses a line (harassment, retaliation, just a gut-level this isn’t okay thing).

In my experience, it's easy to veer into full on self-protection mode. By either shutting down completely or oversharing too fast. That's normal, but trust me, it can backfire. One moment of panic or pressure can lock you into choices you didn’t actually want to make.

You need people who help you stay grounded and make decisions that are right for you, not reactive ones fuelled by fear or rage.

WARNING: I have a feeling this one might be a longer post than usual, but I think (I hope) it’s worth it!

Assess Your Workplace First: Before you confide in anyone or take action, pause. Does this place protect its people or protect itself? Have others been supported, or quietly pushed out? Taking the pulse will help you gauge how careful you need to be, and what kind of support makes sense.

Go slow with coworkers: Even the ones who seem safe and the ones who “get it” If you share too soon, you risk gossip, misinterpretation, or triggering a formal response before you’re ready. You deserve time to process and decide what you want to do.

Pay attention to who isn’t helpful: If someone dismisses it, changes the subject, or says “Are you sure it was that bad?” that may seem neutral, but I'd say it's a red flag. You’re not wrong to notice who makes you feel smaller.

Try trained support: Hotlines and harassment-specific services exist for moments like this, not just worst case scenarios. You don’t need a full story, just a place to think out loud with someone who won’t judge, push, or oversimplify.

Friends & family aren’t always it: Sometimes the people closest to you don’t know how to help. Start with someone who truly listens - who doesn’t immediately problem-solve, give ultimatums, or make it about themselves. Your needs have to come first here.

Look for survivor spaces: Online communities. like subreddits, Discords, private groups, can help you feel less alone. But a lot of advice is U.S.-based. If you’re in Canada, double-check legal guidance locally before taking steps at work.

Build a layered team: A steady friend, a trained listener, a survivor community. Each offers something different, and together they give you options and a feeling of control when things feel chaotic.

Rule of Thumb: Caution is wise and boundaries are healthy. Taking your time doesn’t make you weak. it makes you smart. And if you can find even one person who helps you feel clear, grounded, and believed, that’s a solid start. The rest? You get to choose.

TL;DR = Partly covered in this nice article.

And a really solid Canadian-based Reddit for support with workplace sexual harassment.

Take care & much love 🥰

[rosarykisses]

How to send a letter to your

desired reality s / o

yourself and / or your friends!

───

OKAY SO!!! I’m not an experienced shifter or anything like that— I’m still pretty new to all of this. So take this method with a grain of salt! But!!! This is something that genuinely helped me feel closer to my DR, and I wanted to share in case it helps you too.

You can write your letter however you’d like—on actual paper (which is what I did!), in a notes app, or even a Word doc. The medium doesn’t matter—your intention does.

───

STEP ONE : WRITE FROM THE HEART WITH FULL INTENT . . .

Say whatever you feel. I wrote how I was sorry I hadn’t made it there yet and how hard I was trying. You can talk about anything—how much you care for them, what you’re excited about, or what you wish they knew.

STEP TWO : TREAT THEM

LIKE THEY ARE REAL

BECAUSE THEY ARE!

Write as if you’re speaking directly to them. Be sweet, kind, respectful, loving—whatever fits the relationship. Whether they’re a slow-burn love interest, a close friend, a family member, or even your DR self, keep your connection in mind as you write.

STEP THREE :

INTENT IS EVERYTHING

Intent is the most important part of this process. If you don’t mean what you’re saying and believe it will reach them, it probably won’t. Your energy needs to be aligned with the idea that they’ll receive it. Affirm that this message is going exactly where it’s meant to.

STEP FOUR :

SCRIPT THAT THEY FIND IT !!!

Seriously — if you don’t script that they find the note or letter in your DR, they likely won’t. Be specific about how or where they find it if you want.

STEP FIVE :

ASK FOR A SIGN ( OPTIONAL )

At the end of your letter, you can write something like:

“If you receive this letter, could you give me a sign? Nothing huge, just something small like [ insert something specific but unusual you’d notice ].” Make it random enough that you’ll know it’s from them when it happens.

STEP SIX :

SEAL WITH AFFIRMATIONS

Once you’ve written your letter, say your affirmations out loud or in your mind — something like:

“This message will reach them. They will find it. They know I’m coming.”

───

WHAT TO DO WITH THE LETTER

If you typed your letter:

Say your affirmations, then delete it and try to forget about it. Obsessing over it or rereading it over and over may block results.

If you handwrote your letter:

You can burn it, rip it and release it into the wind, send it in a bottle, bury it, or even ( this sounds silly but it worked for me ) flush it down the toilet. Whatever helps you let it go with belief that it’s on its way.

───

JUST REMEMBER . . .

your belief, focus, and intent matter more than anything else. You’re not “just pretending” — you’re creating a connection that already exists in some version of reality.

Good luck, and trust the process 💌 Let me know if it works for you!

[d1etpeps]

i love your aesthetic!!! if i can request something? protective vi x reader? maybe someone is bothering reader in public and vi stands up for her. no violence or anything, just her telling them to back off and taking care of reader. some reassurance maybe? idk i trust your creative process

Headcannon. #3. Protect Me. Roommate!Vi x Fem!Reader, Vi protects you against unwanted attention.

authors note: thank you anon! sorry for the wait, but i wanted this to be perfect (considering you trust my creative process don't). I took it in a bit of a different direction, so hopefully it's worth it.

warnings: descriptions of anxiety/anxiety attacks, gross men and their unwanted opinions, not proof read!

The Last Drop was buzzing with loud voices and sweaty bodies, an unusual scene, although it was a Saturday night. It wasn’t what you’d expected. Every other night, the booths were full, bartenders wiping down one side of a bench just to dirty it again with missed pours of different spirits, but the voices carried conversations, with deliberate laughs.

But tonight? An unusual crowd had found its way through the streets of Zaun, finding one of the most beloved bars, popular for its decorated hero and owner, and began soaking in the spotlight of their makeshift dance floor. 

The music reverberated against the walls, at the demands of the people who found themselves up and around the bar, disrupting those hidden away in booths, just trying to enjoy their time nursing a beer. 

You, like many others, were tucked in a corner booth, lips wrapping around the black straw of your gin and tonic, taking small sips to soothe the bubbling pit of nausea settling in your stomach. You felt the gentle back and forth of Vi’s thumb on your wrist, friendly enough to not cross the line, yet still planting a small seed of doubt, readily awaiting its period to bloom. 

The thoughts in your head had only become a muddy mess of absolutely nothing a few minutes ago when the rushing bodies of Zaun’s most lower-class citizens had come bumping into you, splashing their drinks here and there, enough for Vi to have that twitch in her brow, telling you how frustrated she really was.

She just wanted this to be a nice night for the two of you, to celebrate you after completing a particularly difficult assignment, (she had heard the words molecular biophysics and biochemistry within the same sentence and automatically assumed that the assignment had in fact, been a bitch to hand in). 

What Violet had failed to notice was the way you were beginning to tune out to everything that was being said. She couldn’t blame you, it was almost impossible to hear her own voice over the chanting, dancing and brawls of the newfound crowd. 

You could see her lips moving, powder blue eyes taking hold of your own, attempting to trap you, in which case but this would have imprisoned your mind, willing to listen to her voice until the end of time. Instead, your mind was static. The world was becoming too loud for comfort, the stickiness of countless bodies rubbing against your own, despite being shielded by a booth, with blood feeling like it was draining from your head, there was a crushing heat taking its place.

When your skin started losing colour, replacing the pink of your lips with a sickening colour, Vi knew you were checking out. 

“Hey, Doll? Are you okay?” It was a dumb question to ask; she knew the answer, even if you were to stare her dead in the face and lie, swear on your heart and soul that you were fine, because honestly, you were not prepared for this. 

You tried shaking your head in a desperate attempt not to trigger the swaying of nausea in your stomach, but it was futile. the sweat was beginning to build along your hairline, the warmth of the bar's air only increasing in temperature. 

Vi wasted no time in interlacing your fingers with her own, assisting you on getting up on your feet. With broad shoulders and long strides across the floor, she was shielding your body with your own, always looking back behind her to make sure you were still with her, even though she could feel the radiating heat off your hands. 

When the back door of the bar was pushed open, you could immediately feel the night robbing you of your heat. The pressure of nausea, the thickness in your throat, and the tears welling up were all subdued, frozen in time along with the frost of Zaun’s winter. 

“Are you with me?” Violet asked, her hand brushing the stray pieces of hair framing your face to the side. 

Again, you nodded, less fearful of triggering the nauseated bubbles in your stomach. “I just need to sit down, that’s all.”

You softly hit the brick wall of the alleyway, sliding down slowly against the chilled concrete. Your roommate got down carefully beside you, watching gently at how the cool air kissed back the colour in your face, replacing the sickening feel with a slight brisk presence. 

She observed how you pulled your knees up to your chest, hugging the perimeter of your legs in an attempt to try to keep some warmth as the night's bitterness fed into your body temperature. Violet couldn’t help putting her hand forward to rest on your kneecap, picking up where she left off with the back and forth swaying of her thumb. She knew it was bordering on being more than friends, yet some part of her wanted to see if one day, your facade would slip and that maybe you would react. 

“The crowd-” you started, only getting so far before you chest felt like it was caving in, shallow breaths returning to the surface for just a split moment, before Vi gave a comforting squeeze, looking at you like you were her world, hopes an dreams, but that was something to decipher for another day. “They were all affected.”

Her lips dropped into a frown. She hadn’t wanted to say it or bring it to your attention, watching the glow of fluorescent purple illuminate the Last Drop. It wasn’t something you talked about, preferring to live in a bubble where things were peaceful and safe, almost hiding behind Vi as she protected you from every dark shadow that lingered around the corner.

Violet knew this. She knew that your biggest fear was an apocalypse, and as stupid as it sounds, she never made fun of you for it. Especially not when the distribution of shimmer began. In some ways, the epidemic of the drug infiltrating Zaun was equivalent to the dead roaming the land. Losing themself at the first taste, becoming something more than they ever should have. 

“We don’t have to stay,” It’s soft, something you just catch. But just for a second, you wanted to stay within the two walls of the alleyway, not minding the smell of rubble, as long as you had the girl that you loved appreciated next to you. 

Violet almost jumped when she felt your head rest against her shoulder, taking that as a can we just stay here, in this moment, together? Or maybe dreaming, that’s what was whirlling around in that pretty head of yours. 

Letting you stay perched up against her, she let her eyes flutter shut, just listening to the way your breathing was becoming spaced out at a more regular pace. It had always calmed her in some strange way, just knowing that you were there, even if you were as sweet as sugar; you scared all her monsters away. 

However, her utter concentration on the slow puffs of air you breathed out had distracted her from the fact that a lone man had stumbled into the confinements of the two walls you considered as yours. 

The low whistle snapped you both from the illusion of your own world. 

“Nice legs, gorgeous.” his voice dripped with paralysing venom. 

Vi immediately got up. She towered with her shoulders pulled back, slowly flexing her bandaged hands. You were waiting to get back home to help her wrap her knuckles with fresh bandages to rid the bloodiness of the old ones. 

“Do we have a problem?” Her voice is scarily stable, merely she commenting on his words. 

And, of course, when your head had raised to look at the man who stood only a few feet away, you were cursed by his eyes, watching how each movement of his head was followed with a blur of purple. 

You were scared. Not only of the man, but of what Vi would do. What she could handle and what she thought she could handle were two very different things. 

“I was just complimenting her.” He smirked. “Just take the compliment, sweetheart.”

Her fists clenched again, watching the muscles of her arms strain against her shirt, tauting up into power you were only used to seeing while she was in the pit. 

“Violet.” 

“You want to say that again?” Her voice wavers, cracking under the pressure of her irritation. Yet, it’s nothing short of intimidating.

“C’mon, why don’t you share that fine piece of ass around.”

Your desire to stay cowering down in some form of defeat was gnawing at your gut, however, your heart was telling you to not let this eventuate into something that could injure Vi. She of course, was insanely strong, but she had only ever fought against those who avoided the substance, or even if she had picked a fight with one of them, Vi had the technology that one of Piltover’s finest had gifted her. This was entirely out of her league.

"Violet."

Standing up on two shaky legs, you slip your hand into Vi’s. Intertwining your fingers with hers as best you could, as a silent depiction that whatever masculine energy he thought he was alluding, was not welcome.

The mans face scrunches up, watching as Vi’s eyebrows soften, firmly squeezing onto the hand in her own. 

Mercifully, whatever god above had protected you. You could see the glow of his eyes roll, highlighting the scowl on his face better than the shitty street lights that flickered as one of the undercities latest shimmer addicts disappeared into the loneliness of the night. 

Violet turned to you, a softness replacing the ferocity of her blue eyes. 

You couldn’t help but slip your hand against her cheek, cradling it as she hesitantly leaned into it, appreciating how the warmth of your palm contrasted with the ice of her skin. 

“I’m sorry.” She murmured.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Vi.”

Violet closes her eyes, allowing her arms to wrap around you, hoping that her embrace was enough to tell you everything that was rushing through her mind.

Her lips press to your head, offering a promise within a whisper. "You are nothing like what they say. You're my perfect, doll."

copyright© 2025 d1etpeps

[shimmershifts]

Hi ! Shifting didn't make much sense to me , but you explained everything so well and now I get it 🥺 You're one of the bloggers I would trust without questioning 🥹

Can you explain what what happens in detail when you shift ? Like what are the sensations you feel and what happens , in order ?

I'm sorry if this is invasive to you 😅 I'm just curious.

hii thank you so much! i do feel like you should always question everybody but i understand and appreciate the sentiment 🥹💕

i'm fine with sharing how i shift, because i think it is valuable to hear how shifting feels for others. but i do feel that no matter how much i say not to people will think they have to do it the exact way i do and then they'll shift. this... is not the case (probably.) we're entirely different people, and what works for me might not work for you! and shifting might "feel" totally different to others.

my method (down below the cut) is currently is a lot simpler than it used to be. when i was initially relearning how to shift, it was a process, to say the least. i also happened to be getting heavily into meditation already at the time. i was meditating for about 8 hours a day (broken up, not in a row.) you do not need to do this, and i wasn't just doing it for reality shifting reasons, but for healing and growth. i used meditation to process trauma, somatic experiencing, and exploring states of awareness and understanding the universe around me and the dimensions its made of. as a bonus, i do think learning to meditate helped me in my personal journey with reality shifting, but that's probably because meditation is something that works for me. i try to mention lots of methods that require 0 meditation because it's not the only way! this is all to say, "the shimmer method" if we can call that is highly specific to me personally.

how i shift:

first, i find a comfortable place and time when i feel like shifting. sitting, laying down, it doesn't really matter. i personally prefer to have a fair amount of "free time" ahead of me, because i like to shift back here to the moment i left and have time before i have to do anything else. like i don't wanna shift back here and have to go straight to work. or worse, shift back while at work.

next, i take three deep breaths. it sounds cheesy almost, but it helps me regulate my breathing and the overall tension in my body. i only need three to do this, but i used to do more.

then i do a simple body scan. this helps me detach my awareness from my 3D body. i move from toe to head, focusing my awareness on each area, and acknowledging whatever sensation is there without the need to change it. i move my awareness to the next section, letting go of the previous. i used to do this process much more slowly, but now id say it takes me a handful of minutes. now, here's the important bit, how does it feel? sometimes after this i feel completely "numb" and lose all awareness of my body. sometimes i begin to experience hypnogogic symptoms right away. and sometimes i dont. sometimes i feel "normal" after. it doesn't matter. my body can feel whatever it's feeling. i gently direct my awareness, and i move on.

next, i focus on my stream of thoughts. personally, i have adhd and intrusive thoughts, and a very active internal monologue. it's honestly so so rare for my brain to be quiet. i was literally surprised to find out that some people don't have an absolute constant stream of thoughts. but it's completely okay, because my brain doesn't need to silent. my thoughts can continue, just like feet probably still feel my socks. my thoughts don't get to demand my awareness. at this stage, i do like to visualize, but for a "visualization", it's not very visual. its more idea of it. if i have any really intense or bothersome thoughts or worries, i direct them into a mental box or current, or toss them off a mental cliff. work tomorrow? tax forms? argument? embarrassing moment of the day? i direct them into the box. i don't need to be aware of those thoughts right now, but they are perfectly ok to continue being. i can get them back out later. sometimes it helps to count, or imagine something, to give my awareness something to focus on. sometimes i don't need to. how does it feel? my brain continues doing all that thinking. it's a thinking machine, that's what it does, and that's okay. i'm shifting my awareness into a different 3D brain anyways. sometimes i get hypnogogic symptoms, sometimes i don't. sometimes i can still "hear" the mental chatter that im not focusing on, sometimes i can't.

now, i used to feel more comfortable shifting from the state of pure awareness, so id drop into that. but i generally don't feel the need to when im reality shifting now, so i don't bother. sometimes i experience other meditative states, sometimes i experience hypnogogic symptoms, sometimes none at all. i think because i've really practiced with everything and i have experience shifting from any of these states of awareness, it is no longer as consequential for me which destabilized state of awareness i'm in. like, initially, hypnogogic symptoms were really overwhelming for me, and even scary. i couldn't shift from hypnogogia because id panic and ground myself to my CR 3D, ending the attempt just to stop the hypnogogia. now, im more comfortable with it and i can unfocus my awareness from it like any other sensation.

i start to direct my awareness towards my DR, from whatever state of awareness i'm in (usually some form of destabilized awareness). how does it feel? i start visualizing or thinking about my DR, and the first change is that at some point, i start thinking as my DR self. this comes more naturally to me after i've already shifted somewhere before, but it can happen for a "new" DR as well. there's not a distinct moment, and i usually wouldn't notice it happened until looking back on it. this is important i think, as i feel some people expect their 3D to change first, like they're expecting to start feeling their DR with their CR body or something, which (for me) has never been the case. my awareness shifts first. i relax my awareness, and slip into my DR. if feels kind of like waking up, even if im already awake there. it's not a long dramatic journey of traveling, but sometimes there is a sense of.... "falling" is the best way to describe it, though to be clear it is not a physical sensation. it's not like i'm falling through space, it's like if your awareness could sink in a metaphorical or poetic sense.

and then i'm there. so, in a simplified way: i relax, i visualize, i repeat. my awareness shifts first, and then im in my DR 3D.

[jakesduskwood]

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC

Genre: Post-Episode 10 Duskwood, Post-Episode 1 Moonvale

Words: 8,916

Summary: It's been three months since the explosion in the mine. Three months since Hannah was found. And MC's accepted that Jake is never coming back. When she gets roped into another missing person's case, it makes for the perfect distraction. Jake is dead. It's fine. That is, until she finds herself on the phone with Alan Bloomgate who says he has something to show her. But it's fine. Jake is dead.

Until he's not.

EPISODE-1 MOONVALE SPOILERS AHEAD (MAYBE)!

[ A/N: Hello! :)

I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I finished Moonvale Episode 1 and if you've seen the ending (and used its Duskwood code), you know what happened and how excited I was to receive that bit of Duskwood. So, I took it and ran with it, and out came this extremely long fic. I did not proofread this as it took me literally almost 12 hours to write so it is completely and 100% me and my love for Jake and I hope you love it.

Side note: I suck with anything related to timelines, so I made one up on my own. I know Episode 1 of Moonvale takes place over the course of a day or two, but for the purpose of this fic, it made sense to make it longer, so it's not a typo, or me losing my mind, it's just the way my brain processed this.

Enjoy! :) ]

It’s been three months since the explosion in the mine.

Three months since Richy had been killed. Three months since Hannah was rescued. Three months since I had last spoken to Thomas or Cleo or Lilly or…or Jessy. I didn’t blame her then and I don’t blame her now. Any of them, really. I didn’t share the bond they had with each other. I wasn’t from Duskwood. It didn’t matter that we’d experienced a tragedy together—and yes, perhaps them more than me, but I loved Richy too. I had lost Richy too. And Jake—

But mostly, I think they just wanted to forget. To move on. They didn’t want to remember that their friend had been capable of…of that. And I was a constant reminder of that to them. So I understood why we didn’t necessarily talk anymore.

The one person I did keep in contact with from Duskwood, oddly enough, other than the occasional update from Alan Bloomgate, was Dan. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he allowed me to check in on our friends in a way that I didn’t know how to do with anyone else. Maybe because I thought he was the least affected among them. I knew he cared about Hannah, but he wasn’t to her what Thomas or Cleo or Lilly were. And he wasn’t to Richy what Jessy had been.

I’d learned from him that Thomas and Hannah had broken up. There was no bad blood, but Thomas hadn’t quite figured out how to accept the things he’d learned about his girlfriend when she’d been gone, and Hannah hadn’t quite figured out how to re-trust someone after Richy. Even if that person was Thomas. But I’d hoped they would find their way back to each other in the end.

I thought about reaching out to Jessy every once in a while—even just as an apology for everything that had happened. I’m sorry that Hannah was found at the expense of Richy. I’m sorry that he did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. We should have. We should have. We should have. I miss you. But I never send it. I’m not all that sure she’d respond anyway.

Cleo and I were never all that close. She has her best friend back, so I think she’s probably as okay as she can be. Helping Hannah find a new kind of normal in a time where her childhood friend had kidnapped her in order to prove a point. I don’t know how you come back from that—I don’t know how you come back from knowing that you killed somebody at all.

I hadn’t found the courage to ask if somebody had told Hannah about Jake.

Not that I think it would matter anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since before the explosion in the mine, which was, like I said—three months ago. I waited the appropriate amount of time—twenty-five days—before I broke down and concluded that maybe he hadn’t survived. Which just piled a shit-ton of guilt onto my shoulders because it was supposed to be me in that mine. He had gone in place of me and now he was dead.

It was the only explanation that made sense. I was used to Jake disappearing for days at a time, but never as long as he had been now. And he didn’t seem like the type to tell me he loved me and then leave without a single explanation. Not unless he had to. But it had been three months and as much as I missed him, as much as my chest ached with the thought that we would never eat Chinese food out of shitty motels and have that on-the-run ending we talked about, I had accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

I wonder if he had known about Richy or if he had died still thinking Michael Hanson was the one who had kidnapped Hannah. I wonder if his last thoughts were of me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of hope they were, because I’m pretty sure I’ll think about him for the rest of my life.

I wonder what it would have felt like to run my hands through his hair. To kiss him. To spend every waking moment with him and know it was because I loved him. Because I would have. Talking to Jake became about more than just finding Hannah. It became a part of my day I looked forward to more than anything else. He confided in me in a way that told me he never had with anyone, maybe not even Hannah, and I needed that from somebody. I needed somebody to trust in me the way that Jake did. I needed somebody to love me the way that Jake did.

It was strange—and maybe a little ironic—the thought that something so beautiful could come out of something so tragic.

Anyway, my point is: it’s been a long couple of months. Of thinking about my friends. Of thinking about Jake. Of wondering if I should have done things differently. I should have gone to Duskwood to help. Not even with the mine, but sooner. I could have. I could’ve gone when Jessy was attacked on the way home. I could’ve gone when the group made plans to cut out of town and hide away in the house Richy had found. Selfishly, I should have. In that moment, when they were settled around the fire and Lilly called me, I had never remembered wanting anything more. I should have grabbed Jake—metaphorically, maybe even literally—and rode it out with them to the end.

I don’t stop missing them after three months. Of wishing things could have been different. Wishing I could have done more. But exactly ninety-five days after the explosion in the mine, seventy days since I had accepted that Jake was never coming back, twenty-two days since I had last heard from anybody from Duskwood (Dan included), my phone dings with a new message.

And the cycle starts all over again.

It’s somebody named Eric, who claims he needs my help to find his friend Adam, who disappeared while he was waiting for a ride in someplace called Redlog Pines. And much like with Duskwood, I have never heard of Redlog, and the case reminds me way too much of Thomas’ first message to me, so much that it makes my chest ache, but I can’t say no because there’s somebody missing, and if I’d say no the first time, God knows where Hannah would be.

So, I say yes, and I help out where I can, and Eric decides he needs to bring about four more friends in on his little plan and I try my best to stay emotionally unattached because I remember everything that happened the last time and I can’t go through that again. I offer up information when I can and keep my words short and careful because I’m not ready to get attached to somebody else I know I might never meet.

I know how this ends.

Two days in, Ash, one of Eric’s friends, brings up my Duskwood past and the unhealed wound I’ve been trying to mend breaks open again. She asks about Richy, and about the mine, and then because I’m me and I can’t help myself, I tell her about Jake. She tells me the news never mentioned another body and I shove that thought to the back of my head because hoping for something that will never come true will kill me.

Four days into Adam’s disappearance, and the police not giving a shit—as Charlie, somebody who reminds me far too much of Richy for comfort, points out—my phone beeps with an incoming call from somebody I haven’t spoken to in a while.

“Go for [MC].” I answer my phone.

Ever since Hannah had been found in the mine and Jake had…you know, my phone had been more silent than I’d gotten used to. Until this new case. But even that—it was only a few days old and I didn’t want to go down the same path with them that I did with my friends in Duskwood. We didn’t really know each other that long, sure—even though sometimes it’d felt like it—but it felt like I’d finally been a part of something. Like, I had found these people who had chosen me for me.

And originally, maybe they had. Maybe they’d had every intention of keeping me around, but then Richy was the Man Without A Face and Alan Bloomgate had rescued Hannah and nothing was the same as it had been when we’d met each other. We knew too many secrets about each other by the time the town settled. Secrets we would have to take to the grave.

Or maybe I’m losing my mind a bit and I had really only been a means to an end.

Either way.

“Alan?” I raise my voice when there’s nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. “Did you mean to call me?”

His tone is clipped. “I found something.”

“You found something.” I repeat.

My heart clenches. For all I know, it might fall into my stomach. As far I know, from watching the news, from what Ash told me, Jake’s body was never found. Richy’s was. Or what was left of him to find, anyway. I had assumed that there just hadn’t been enough of Jake left. The thought left me nauseous, but it was better than hoping for something I knew I could never have.

“I’m sending it to your phone now.” He responds. “Let me know what you think of this.”

And then he hangs up.

That was a riveting conversation, I think as my phone dings with a message. I do my best to ignore my other messages—contacts from Duskwood I’m still not ready to acknowledge—and click Alan Bloomgate. He sent me a video that looks like—oh God.

Immediately, I’m overcome with emotion as an all-too-familiar forest pops up on my phone. It’s a video of Alan’s bodycam footage. He’s searching the Duskwood forest. A forest I’ve seen too many times in the background of other video calls.

I watch as he stumbles upon an object that’s too dark to make out at first. When he gets closer, it’s clear that it’s a backpack. It’s simple. Black. Nothing about it that screams this is mine and I left it here about anybody in particular. You stupid, stupid idiot, I tell my heart when it rattles against my chest in hope. He’s dead.

Alan stands and treks away from the backpack—I want to scream at him to go back, to open it and look through it and tell me if it’s what my heart aches to believe, but I can’t, because this is a video and I’m simply watching with wide eyes, waiting for…for something. But then. But then, he moves further into the forest and I watch as he stumbles upon an object that makes my knees tremble and tears rush to my eyes and my hands shake. A black hoodie. It looks like it’s been through hell, with holes scattered up the sleeves and dirt cakes into the hood, but it’s unmistakably his.

And then—Alan lifts the hood and picks up something that makes me sink to my knees with a sob that wracks my entire frame. Because I’m staring at Jake’s mask. The mask he doesn’t go anywhere without. The mask that protects him. And so my relief is short-lived, because I realize that even if he’s alive—which seems like a very big possibility at this point—he’s alive without the things that he needs to survive.

And then the anger kicks in. Because if he’s been alive, on his own, for three months—why has he not contacted me? Unless he survived the mine but he didn’t survive the after. But that didn’t make any sense. So, okay, he wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense either. He told me he wouldn’t let them catch him. Because catching that meant he would be apart from me. Did something happen that prevented him from being able to reach out and tell me he was at least okay? A quick text that said didn’t die in the explosion in the mine, you don’t need to mourn me, by the way, going off radar for another year. Did he think I would have given up on him?

I wipe my eyes and shoot a message to Alan.

ME: Recently?? Did nobody search the forests before?      

ALAN: Searched the forests for what, [MC]? The logical assumption seemed to be that if anybody was inside the mine when Richy set the fire, they would have perished alongside him. Officers were stationed outside every known entrance and exit. Besides, after the story you and your friends spun around this town, do you think anybody would have gone back into its forests?

ME: But it’s possible?

ALAN: I would say these items had been there for some time. But I would say it is likely he ditched them when he fled the mine, yes.

Another sob tears through my throat. Jake is alive. I don’t know quite what that means for us as of now, but I know it’s the best news I’ve heard since Hannah was found. Jake is alive. He’s out there somewhere. And even if it’s been three months, and even if I’m a little bit mad at him right now, I know that if he was here, I would throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him until someone dragged me off, and even then—I would fight kicking and screaming.

I close out of my messages with Alan and pull up a conversation I haven’t had the heart to look at in quite some time.

ME: Jake’s alive.

LILLY: …

LILLY: Have you spoken to him?

ME: Alan called. He found some of Jake’s things in Duskwood. I don’t know a lot of details. But I know he made it out of the mine.

Lilly types for a long while, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t take it personally. I think it’s probably hard for her to be happy that her brother’s okay while also trying to accept that her sister may never be okay again. Her sister, who had once-upon-a-time been kind-of-sort-of in love with their brother she didn’t know she had. I think that would probably mess with any family’s heads. And on top of all that, you throw in manslaughter and a kidnapping. I wouldn’t wish anybody, not even my worst enemy, to have had to go through what the Donforts had.

When it becomes adamant that Lilly isn’t going to respond, I start scrolling through messages with the rest of the group in Duskwood. I click on Jessy. I’m here if you need me. That had been the last thing I sent to her, a couple of days after Richy’s death. She hadn’t responded. I click out of Jessy’s contact and click on Thomas’ instead. Thank you for everything. That had been his last message to me after we found Hannah. I’d liked it. I hadn’t expected at the time it would be the last thing we’d ever say to each other. I click out of Thomas’ and click on Richy. So, you want to turn yourself in? I’d asked. That was before he called me. Before he lit a match and burned himself and the mine to the ground. Some people would call that heroic. I mostly call him a coward.

I click on Jake’s name. It’s been a while since I read messages between the two of us. Maybe before I had accepted—thought—he was dead. In that twenty-five-day period when I’d hoped with all I’d had that he would come back. I love you. That was the last message he sent me. I’d responded with I love you too, Jake. Then, four days later: Are you okay? A week later: Jake, please, you’re starting to scare me. I know you said you would contact when you could, but it’s been a week. After twenty-five days, when I had finally accepted our fate, I’d sent one final message: I hope you know that I love you, and I will always care about you, but I think it’s time for me to move on. I’m so sorry that I sent you into the mine. It should have been me. And I will probably feel the guilt from that for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, wherever you are.

After that, I had closed out of our messages and hadn’t looked back. Partly because I couldn’t bear the pain of it. It felt like I had given up on him. I hadn’t—if I had thought for a second that he was alive, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never sent that message. But holding out hope for somebody who I thought was a ghost at the time? That was slowly killing me.

It’s only then that I notice the screen flickering. Much like the way it used to whenever Jake would hack into my phone. I don’t think he’s much in the mood to be hacking right now, but somehow, I know it’s him. When had he done this? Recently? If I had opened our messages, would I have seen this ten—twenty—even fifty days ago? It hadn’t looked like this the last time I texted him. Did he see my last message about needing to move on? Was that why he hadn’t reached out to tell me that he was okay? Because he thought I was moving on happily without him?

No, my brain supplies. He wouldn’t. He would reach out anyway, because he knows how much the thought of him not being okay would have destroyed you.

The screen flickers once more and then a message pops up, bright and blue-tinted and clear as day on my phone.

[MC]

I WILL FIND YOU

And the world around me shifts.

--------------------------------------------------

Maybe it sounds crazy, considering I’ve never seen his face before, but I always thought that if I’d ran into Jake one day, maybe on the street or at one of those motels he stayed at or maybe even in Duskwood, surrounded by all our friends, I would know it was him. I would, because it’s him, and it’s me, and we’re the only two people who understand each other quite the way we do.

I still believe that.

I believe it when I book my flight to Duskwood (or rather, twenty miles outside of town, which is the closest airport). I believe it when I board the airplane and find a seat next to a mother with her screaming child and when I shoot off a quick text to Eric to let him know I’ll be MIA for the next few hours, but to message me if he needs anything—and I think about how much easier this case would probably be to solve if we had Jake.

Maybe it would have been harder to find Hannah without me, but I know damn well they would’ve never found her without Jake.

Dan picks me up from the airport. I haven’t told the others yet. Something about it felt off—like I shouldn’t message them and say hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’m booking a flight to look into why my maybe-slash-not-really boyfriend left his belongings in a forest we really wish we could forget about, and by the way, can I crash at your place?

It’s quiet on the car ride back into town. I’m looking through my messages from Eric and the group from Redlog Pines and thinking about how I’m Duskwood with this group and I want so badly to laugh because it’s ironic, but Dan wouldn’t understand. He might just call me crazy. Better yet, he would ask how I manage to get myself into these situations, and really, I don’t have an answer for him.

“How have you been?” I ask, just to break the tension, as Charlie, in my messages, tries to persuade his friends to head back into that creepy cave in the middle of the forest. He’s going to get someone killed, I think.

Dan looks over at me. “Are you still with Hackerman?”

My chest squeezes. “His name is Jake, Dan. And we were never really together.”

“Hm.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You already know mostly everything that’s been happening here. Thomas and Hannah called it quits. They say it was some mutual decision, but it’s hard to find them in the same room together. Jessy hasn’t been out with us since. I think we remind her too much of Richy. The group’s all changed.”

“And you?” I ask.

He gives me a cheshire-like grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m always the same.”

We make it to Duskwood just as the sun’s going down. Much too late for me to try and trek through the forest and retrace the steps Jake might have taken that night. Not that I think it would help give me any clues as to where he might have gone, but mostly because I wonder if it will make me feel closer to him. We’ve never been in the same place before, and even if he’s not there now—he once was.

“Can you drop me at the police station?”

Dan blinks. “The police station.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We answered their questions for weeks, [MC]. I don’t think anything you have to tell them at this point is going to help. The investigation’s closed. Everybody knows Richy did it. He died with the fire in the mine. Everybody’s trying to move on from that.” He works his jaw. “Did you come here to open old wounds after all this time?”

I try not to show the hurt look on my face. “This isn’t about Richy. Look, Alan called me. He asked if I could look at some things. I figured it was better for me to do it in person. That’s it. Nothing to do with Richy. Nothing to do with Jessy. Nothing to do with you.”

He sighs, and I’m not entirely sure he’s going to abide by my wishes until we pull in front of a tiny building—tinier than most—that says Duskwood Police on the sign. Duskwood must not have that much crime. Well, not until this, I suppose.

“Thank you.” I tell him as I reach over to undo my seatbelt and climb out of the car. “This is a nice ride, by the way.”

He raises a hand in some mock-salute. “Need me to pick you up?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll explore the town for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and then he’s off.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door to the police station. It wasn’t like Alan asked me to come down here. He hadn’t. Even during the investigation into Richy’s death and Hannah’s kidnapping, when he questioned us, he never asked me to come to Duskwood. We’d done way too many video calls and phone calls and at one point, I had asked if he thought it would be easier for me to come to Duskwood, to which he responded back, are you ready for that?

No, I hadn’t been. I’m not even so sure I was now. But knowing that Jake was alive, that here was the last place was, I had to try.

“Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk asks.

I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Alan Bloomgate. I’m one of—I was involved in the Hannah Donfort case. My name is [MC].”

Her eyes widen. “Give me a moment.” She stands and heads to some back office—which looks to me more like a closet—and then returns with a clipped smile. “He’ll be right out.”

Apparently, she isn’t lying, because not two minutes later, Alan is stepping out from the same door and staring me down. I hold his gaze and hope it says that I’m not here to argue. I will tell him my truth, but only my truth, not Hannah’s, not Jake’s, not anybody else’s.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” He says.

I shrug one shoulder. “Isn’t a few months later better than never?”

“Let’s go into my office.” He says, and leads me around the desk and back into the closet space he had come out of. He sits behind the desk and motions for me to take a seat opposite him. “I’m just going to guess you’re not here to talk about Miss Donfort.”

“I want to see them.” I tell him. “His things. I want to see them for myself. And whatever you want from me in return, I’ll give to you.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, [MC].”

“He isn’t a game to me.” I snap back and then sit back and try to relax. “I appreciate that you called me. It’s—I helped you find Hannah. I would do it again. Even with knowing the things that we do now, I would do it all again. That’s how much that group means to me. That’s how much he means to me. I’m not asking you to break any rules or to lie for him or to—to let him hide in your basement for the next five years. I’m just asking you to show me what you found.”

He stares me down for a moment. Then, he sighs, says “wait here for a minute” and disappears to another room. When he comes back, it’s with an evidence bag in his hand filled with the objects I saw on his bodycam footage. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I can’t let you touch them.” He says as he lays them in front of me.

I stare into the eyes of the mask. “Did you tell anybody that he’s alive?”

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” is all the answer he gives, which is an answer to my question. I slide my gaze down to the black hoodie, to the dirtied sleeves and muddy hood, and think about the fact that Jake wore this. I’m so close to him.

And yet I’ve never been further away from him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For—for this. And for listening to me about Hannah. If you hadn’t, I—I don’t know what would have happened. How much longer he would have gone on for. If he would have ever stopped.”

Alan’s silent for a minute. Then, he clears his throat. “You know, it was strange to me. Both Hannah and yourself swore to me that neither of you knew the other.”

“I don’t.” I swear.

It was one of the (albeit many) things that didn’t make sense to me. How Hannah got a hold of my number. How she sent it to Thomas. She’d told Alan she hadn’t really remembered texting him my number at all.

“I believe you.” He reassures. “I just think it’s strange. One mistake, if you can call it that, and you throw yourself into a missing persons case to help a stranger.”

“They’re not strangers.” Even though Hannah is kind of still a stranger.

“But they were.” Alan reasons. “You had no reason to say yes to helping Thomas. I doubt anybody would have held it against you if you turned the other way. But you decided to follow this until the end. To make sure they found Hannah. And you care about them. Maybe that’s why I find that I’m more lenient with you than maybe I should be. Why you’re sitting across from me right now calling the shots. Why I’m not asking you about the hacker.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m telling the truth.

He returns my gaze. “Maybe that’s the other reason.”

“Hm.” I acknowledge before I turn my gaze away—from him, from the objects that I know belong to Jake and it takes everything in me not to snatch them up and run. “Well. Thank you for allowing me to steal some of your time. For letting me—” I cut myself off before I say something that makes me break down in a fit of tears in front of him. “—just thank you.”

Leaving the station is easier than coming in. I’m still not any closer to knowing where Jake is than I was when I arrived here, but there’s a comfort in knowing he walked these streets. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here. He hadn’t wanted me to come to Duskwood when everything was happening…but now that it was over, would he be happy that I was here? That I had come to Duskwood to piece together where he might have gone? Would he track my location and come to find me and…or was I grasping at straws?

It felt like I had just gotten him back. Not really, not entirely…but knowing that he was alive, that he was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of me and looking for ways to come back, to live the life we talked about when he asked me if I was sure…that was worth it. The thought that we could maybe someday have that—even if it was a twenty percent chance.

I check my phone again to see a new message from Ash. She’s asking me if I’ve heard from Charlie in the last few hours. Apparently, he’s AWOL, and I want to help, really, but…it doesn’t really feel like that’s where I am at the moment. Not just physically—obviously—but mentally. We got lucky with Hannah. And that was really only because we had Jake. Adam didn’t have a Jake. Or…maybe he did and I just hadn’t met him yet. But I already had a Jake and I didn’t want another one.

Maybe—if I found him, I could convince him to help. That was a big maybe. Not because I thought Jake would say no. He would say yes to anything I asked of him. The maybe was whether or not I could find him. More likely, the maybe was whether or not he would find me.

Three months ago, I would have been able to come to Duskwood and have no shortage of things I wanted to do and people I wanted to see. Now, as I stand outside Duskwood’s police station, I feel nothing but loneliness. Nobody knows I’m here. I could pass Thomas on the street and he wouldn’t even know it. I could run into Jessy at the library and she would walk by me without even a second thought. Why would they? I hadn’t told them I was here.

So, with nothing left to do, I walked. Toward the town center. Toward the library that Jessy showed me on our walk through Duskwood. Toward the Rainbow Café where I knew that Cleo and Hannah had spent a lot of their time. Toward the Black Swan. Toward—

Ah, what the hell.

I had nothing better to do and The Aurora seemed like a great place to drown my sorrows. To think about my next steps. To figure out—now that I was in Duskwood—what I planned to do. The thing about Jake being so secretive (and on the run) was that I couldn’t retrace his steps. I wasn’t able to ask if anyone had seen him. One, because he would make sure nobody had. And two, because three months was a long time to forget somebody’s face if you didn’t know who you were looking for.

I pull open the door to the bar and step inside. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of whiskey and a handful of chatter. Duskwood’s a small town. And The Aurora definitely proves it. The bartenders move melodically around each other, serving patrons on the other side of the bar. If you walk down further, there’s a handful of tables.

And dead in the center is a table with my friends. Or, some of them. Dan and Cleo and Lilly. Could I still call them my friends? Ex-friends, maybe? Acquaintances? I didn’t know what they were. Or how to address them. It wasn’t like we had gotten into a fight. We didn’t stop talking for any reason other than that we did. We stopped talking.

I make a beeline for the bar to avoid a confrontation and plant myself on one of the stools. One of the bartenders—a girl cute with bleach blonde hair and brown Bambi eyes—asks what I want and I channel my inner Dan to order a whiskey—neat.

Looking over my shoulder, I focus on the table of them. On Lilly, who’s smiling at something Cleo said. On Dan, who’s the only one of them who actually knows I’m here. But even he’s focused on the conversation they’re having. It’s strange—to see Dan a part of something I’m not sure he would have been before. It’s nice.

“[MC]?”

I turn my head away from the table of my friends and focus my attention across the bar on someone I should’ve expected to see. “Phil.”

“I thought I recognized your voice from when we talked.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure, but I saw you staring longingly at them—” He nods towards Dan and Cleo and Lilly. “—and I knew. What brings you around here? I expected you to show up maybe a few months ago, but by now, I thought you’d moved on without us.”

I was tired of the words move on. Like I’d had a choice. Like the people from this town might open their arms and welcome me back into their lives. So I’d been part of the group who’d saved Hannah Donfort. So had a lot of people. It didn’t make me special and everyone here knew it.

I offer him a smile in return. “I’m looking for somebody.”

“Anybody I know?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. At least nobody you would recognize.” I pause. “How’s Jessy?”

“She’s—Jessy.” He answers, like that is an answer. “I don’t know if she’ll ever really be okay with the way things happened with Richy. I wouldn’t expect her to. Obviously. But I don’t know. I think I just thought she would have gone back to her normal life by now. And then I remember that most of her life revolved around him. He was her best friend. She worked for him. And I’m trying to be patient about that. But—” He shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m in town.”

“Okay.” He hums. “So, you’re not in town for my sister. And you’re not in town for your group of friends because they’re over there and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. There’s always Hannah, but I don’t think you knew her that well. Or at all. Would I be right to assume this is about a certain hacker who helped to find Hannah?”

“He didn’t help find Hannah.” I defend. “He was the entire reason we found Hannah. I would have never been able to do it on my own. Even with the others’ help. He’s the only reason we found out about—” I pause before I say something I maybe shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the only reason we found her. Everything I did was just dumb luck.”

“That wasn’t what the news said.” A voice cuts in and I turn my attention from Phil to focus on the stranger that slides into the seat beside me. Not too close—a couple inches away. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know him. But I don’t know every person in Duskwood. Maybe a total of like nine or ten. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you had a lot to do with finding Hannah Donfort. The news said you were some kind of hero.”

I offer him a tight smile. “That’s nice of them. But…if they knew my—friend—knew what he did to find her, I don’t think I would be as much of a hero as everybody says.”

“That’s noble.” He says, eyes meeting mine, and it strikes me at once how handsome he is. He has dark hair. Bright green eyes. Focus, [MC]. I scold. You have a…a someone.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC SENT A PHOTO.

ERIC: What do you make of this?

I sigh and click on the photo. It’s of—some object. Much like the one that was addressed to me on the envelope in Adam’s glove compartment. The image is a bit different—but I don’t know enough about what it means to have an answer as to why.

ME: Was this one addressed to me?

ERIC: Nope. Ash.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

I clear my throat. “I’m a popular person—apparently.” A thought strikes. “Have you ever heard of a place called Redlog Pines?”

Phil frowns. “No.”

I turn to look at the stranger. “You?”

“Redlog Pines is a small town about two hundred miles north of Duskwood.” He answers. “Known for their wooded forests, much like Duskwood.”

“Why are you looking into a place with forests as creepy as ours?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Didn’t you get enough of that with Hannah’s case?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You would think.”

“Hey, [MC]!”

I wince at the sound of Dan’s voice. Shooting Phil a look that screams please help me to which he shakes his head amusedly, I turn and plaster on a fake smile as I take in the shocked looks on Cleo and Lilly’s faces. I should have known better than to come to The Aurora and talk to Phil when the three of them were having a conversation across the room. I should have known they would sooner or later see me. I just hoped it was later.

“Hey.” I hop off my stool and make my way across the bar to them. “It’s, uh, fancy seeing the three of you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Cleo asks.

“I haven’t really figured that out.” My eyes meet Lilly’s. “It sounds crazy to say it out loud. But I was hoping that—I’m not sure if Lilly told you—”

“That Jake’s alive.” Cleo nods. “None of us ever really thought he wasn’t.”

I don’t think she means it as a dig—but it still feels like one. Like she’s saying you gave up on him you gave up on him you gave up on him even though she’s not and she didn’t really know him and the only person I can talk to at this table who even might understand is Lilly and even—Jake didn’t confide in her the way he did me.

“Right.” I acknowledge. “So I thought that maybe if I came here, I could trace his steps from when he was here and—I haven’t really thought that far ahead. It’s not like I thought he left me any clues in the forest or anything like that. I don’t think he expected me to be here. He hadn’t wanted me to be the last time we talked. But that was before everything happened.”

Lilly’s eyes track behind me. “Does Jake still have Nymos on your phone?”

“Uh.” I furrow my brows. “I think so. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I went back and read through our messages after I talked to Alan and…my phone glitched, like it used to when Jake had hacked it. And then this message appeared on my screen.”

“And by chance, can Nymos track your location?”

“What—” I shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t think I ever really asked him. It didn’t seem necessary at the time.”

“Uh huh.” She focuses on me once more. “Let’s say, for one minute, that Jake has access to Nymos who has access to your location.”

Cleo must catch onto something I’m not sure of. “Jake didn’t want you here.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She waves me off. “He didn’t want you in Duskwood. He had been adamant about that when we were talking about the mine. That’s why he went. If you showed up in Duskwood—”

“Nymos would have alerted him.” Dan finishes.

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure I’m on the same page as them. “So—you think that Jake found out when I came to Duskwood.”

“Correct.” Lilly beams like she just solved life’s greatest mystery.

“And you think he would—come find me?”

She smiles sympathetically at me—like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing what she has been trying to say sooner. “I think he already has.”

“You think Jake’s in Duskwood.” I deadpan.

“[MC].” Cleo grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “We think he’s in this bar.”

Stranger, as I had nicknamed him—AKA the guy sitting beside me at the bar, with Phil and Redlog Pines (which he probably only knew about because of me) and the whole Hannah being kidnapped and not taking any of the credit thing—was looking back at me. So was Phil. Like they thought I was the crazy one. Like it would’ve been so hard for him to look and me and say it’s me or anything that might have clued me into the fact that—

“Jake?” I whisper, because I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep over the past couple of months and I’m not one hundred percent sure what—or who—I’m seeing is real. “Are you here?”

He tilts his head and smiles at me. Actually smiles. A bit shyly, like it’s something he’s not used to doing, but maybe like it’s something he could get used to. And I think about how terrible I probably look right now because I’m not wearing makeup and my hair is tousled from constantly pulling at it and my clothes are wrinkled from the plane and the police station and I look like a mess. But our relationship has never been about looks. Clearly. I didn’t even know the person I’d been talking to until Lilly and Cleo and even Dan pointed out the obvious.

“If I—” I close my eyes and open them again. Nope. Still there. “I need you to still be there by the time I reach you because it’s been a—” I sniffle. “—it’s been a rough few months and I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

He stands from the stool he was sitting on and shuffles his feet. Like he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to stand. If he thinks about moving, I’ll tackle him onto the floor of The Aurora and then apologize to Phil later. It feels like everything I wanted is right here in front of me. And I’m scared to death that it’s not real.

“What’s one thing you would take with you if you were stranded on an island?”

His smile stretches. “My computer.”

And that—that’s what breaks me. I think I might start blubbering like an idiot but I don’t remember the time it takes for me to cross the measly twenty feet between us. All I remember is grabbing his black hoodie—because of course—and dragging him to me. I don’t kiss him, despite how much I want to, because I don’t want our first kiss to be tainted with my snot and tears. Instead, I bury my face in his collarbone and wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

Because I can. Because he isn’t dead.

“Y—You’re here.” I pull back and cup his face with my hands. “How are you here?”

“You came to Duskwood.” He responds, and then—hesitantly—he presses his lips to my forehead in a kiss. “Alan called you.”

“He found your things in the forest.” I whisper back. “He said they’d been there a while. The police hadn’t searched the forest because they assume you died in the mine.”

“They aren’t looking for me here.” He confirms. “I didn’t expect it to take so long for them to find my belongings, but I anticipated that you would find out. At the time, it wasn’t safe for me to reach out and contact you. They kept on my trail for a while before they assumed I died in the mine with Richy.”

“Why didn’t you contact me then?” I ask. “Is it because of what I last messaged you? I didn’t mean it—I swear, I thought you were dead. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited, however long it took. I wasn’t trying to give up on you.”

“Hey.” He places both hands on either side of my face. “I know. I know that, [MC]. That was never why I didn’t reach out to you. I know you said you wanted this life with me. But I didn’t want that for you. But I was selfish. I couldn’t let you go. So I was trying to find a way to make both of those things true. But I was always coming back to you.”

“And did you?”

“Come back to you?” He asks.

I sniffle. “Find a way to make both of those things true.”

“Not entirely.” He admits. “Nymos alerted me you had boarded a plane headed in the direction of Duskwood and I—” He shook his head. “I knew I would find you here.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

He lets go of my face and he feels like he takes my skin with him. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“It could have been.” I demand.

I’m angry again. Now that I know he’s alive and okay and that he could have found me, I’m angry that he didn’t. I told him I would choose that life with him. Over and over and over. He didn’t need to make the decision for me. He didn’t need to try and protect me. And yes, maybe the fact that he did makes my heart flutter a tiny little bit, but that’s besides the point.

“I told you before you left me.” I tell him and I’m aware it sounds like we’ve been in a relationship for five years and I’m aware that everybody in here is watching and listening in on our conversation and they probably all know we’re who we are, two people involved in helping to find the kidnapped Hannah Donfort, and maybe that’s all we’ll ever be in this town. But I would rather be the girl who found Hannah Donfort in Duskwood with him than be me anywhere else. “You told me you would let me go with you.”

“That was before I told you I loved you.”

My heart skips a beat. It screams I love you I love you I love you back, but I say— “What does that have to do with anything?”

He looks somewhat amused. Like he knows I would never hold it against him. It’s clear to both of us that I wouldn’t because even though I’m glaring up at him with my furrowed eyebrows and my lips pouted, I’m still pressed tightly against him. His hands—even though they’ve moved from my face—are now resting on my hips. Pulling my tighter to him. There’s no space in between us. If it was up to me, I’m pretty sure there never would be again.

“[MC].” He says, and oh god I wish he would say my name every day for the rest of his life. “Have I—in the short time we have known each other—ever struck you as the type of person who says I love you? But with you…” His words are a whisper against my lips. “It’s easy to fall back into old emotions with you.”

“I want to be angry with you.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agree. “But I might be if you don’t kiss me.”

He brought one finger underneath my chin and tilted it up until our lips were separated by a fraction of an inch. My eyelids fluttered. I didn’t care that everyone in here was about to see just how much Jake meant to be. I didn’t care because I had waited too long for this. And then—just as I’m leaning toward him to press our lips together, he whispers— “[MC]?”

“Hm.” I acknowledge.

“Who’s Eric?”

My eyelids crack open and I shove at his chest. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Here I am, in front of you, covered in snot and tears and who-knows-what-else because you’re here right now, and you’re worried about some guy I don’t even know?”

“Who’s Eric?” He repeats.

“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and take a step back. “I don’t know. He’s the other side of Thomas or whatever you want to call him. If we lived in a different town.” I glare back at him and try not to admit that I think his jealous side is a little cute. “He messaged me. Thought I picked up his friend from some parking lot and I didn’t, but his friend sent him my number, and it was Hannah all over again. I’m trying to help them.”

“This Adam has been sending you a lot of videos.”

“You know I hate when you hack my phone.” I complain, even though I really don’t. Even though I had prayed for him to help me with this case. “I really don’t know Adam. Like—even less than I know Eric.

“But you know Eric.”

“For like a week.” I reassure. “He added me to this group chat with him and like three other friends of his. They’re desperate to find Adam who has apparently dropped off the face of the earth and I don’t know what to do. I had you with Hannah’s case. And you knew her. And they—” I look over my shoulder at Cleo and Dan and Lilly, who are pretending like they’re not listening in even though I know and Jake knows they are. “—they knew her. And obviously Adam’s friends must know him but I don’t and you don’t and there is no Jake in Redlog Pines.”

“I don’t trust him.” He shakes his head. “Any of them.”

I laugh. “Jake, you didn’t trust half the people in this bar when we first started talking.” I look over at Phil and then Dan. “It doesn’t mean they committed a crime. If I had backed off when you asked me to help you find Hannah, we may never have.”

“I thought that was all thanks to me.” He sounds smug, like that little smiley face he loved to annoy me with (AKA make me fall in love with him). “Did he flirt with you?”

“No.” I deadpan. “I think he was focused on his missing friend.”

“I was focused on my missing sister.” He shoots back.

I close my mouth. Alright. He has a point. But I wasn’t flirting with Eric. He was focused on finding Adam and I was focused on mourning—and then finding—Jake. Maybe it felt like Eric and I were two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help him. Because I didn’t want to happen to him what I thought had happened to Jake—to me.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I say instead. “How do you think I could ever entertain the idea of being with somebody else when for the past three months—more than that if you count the time we have actually had together—I’ve been focused on you? On discussing Hannah with you and then talking to you about anything and everything and then worrying about you and then hating you a little for convincing me you should me the one to go into the mine and then mourning you when it was hard to even think about you and then finding you?”

His eyes are wide. I think I’ve rendered him speechless. Which—serves him right. I know he’s not somebody who serves their feelings up on a silver platter. I know that. Obviously, I knew that from the first time I spoke to him. Back when he was nothing more than ??? and I was almost convinced that Dan was right and he was the Man Without A Face—a thought that I now hate with everything in me. But I need him to trust me. Jealousy streak and FBI and the missing persons cases aside, he needs to trust me.

“Trust me.” I cup the sides of his face again. “He’s nothing like you.”

He swallows. “Some people might consider that to be a perk.”

“I don’t.” I say.

And then I’m kissing him and it feels like coming home.

[hellsslibrary]

I really liked your Epel and Riddle first time with male reader post bc I never really see top male reader content 🫂 if it's okay with you could you write a similar post for Kalim, Jamil, Floyd, Malleus, and Silver? I always appreciate your work ❤️🌈

✧･ﾟ:*Kalim, Jamil, Floyd, Malleus and Silver's first sex with M!reader*:･ﾟ✧

DNI : minors.

#a.n. : Oh god thank you!! I am very pleased to hear this. Well, Top male reader is actually a rare topic in general, so I'm glad someone is enjoying it!

!!Warnings : first time (obviously), fingering, praise, comfort, Floyd is a bit of a brat, pet names, gentle sex, reference to eel mating (yeah, get ready for biology).

Kalim.

Well... It was probably not even planned, to be honest, but it just kind of happened so spontaneously. Well, you know, just one of you will get turned on (or both of you) and the situation will just take its course.

He has been ready for a long time, so what else can he expect? Well, except for your consent, of course. But other than that, he doesn't need anything, so he's ready for you to take him at any moment.

Although of course he is nervous, because this is such a moment! His favorite boyfriend will deprive him of his virginity, it's so exciting for him! While he'll still be excited about it, he really wants you two to end up fine.

So he will give you control and dominance without any arguments. He wants to make you feel good, which means he will fulfill any of your requests/orders, just to make you feel good.

"Oh, that's so weird, you know? Not bad of course! But weird..." Kalim mutters as he watches your fingers disappear and reappear in his hole as he squeezes your shoulders in his grip.

You chuckle, spreading your fingers in him slightly, which makes him gasp for breath and squeezes your fingers, which makes you laugh even harder.

"I know, sunshine... You'll get used to it soon, trust me," he just nods vigorously at your words, enjoying your soft and slow movements.

"I believe, I believe! It's just... Oh, there!" he screams when he feels your fingers touch his sweet spot, which makes you smirk.

Of course, it was strange to feel your dick in him, and in general something inside him, but he was just in seventh heaven for happiness!

When he finally gets used to the feeling, he will let out something between a moan and a chuckle, pulling you closer and kissing your lips in a sweet and long kiss.

"Mmm, amazing... Don't stop, please!" he whimpers, wrapping his legs around your waist, bringing you even closer to him.

You let out a chuckle, nodding silently, kissing his shoulders, making occasional hickeys on his tanned skin as your hips move at a firm, moderate pace.

He moans, biting his lips in pleasure, burrowing his hands into your hair and squeezing around your cock from time to time.

"So... So g-good, oh, yo-you're so good..." he mutters, moaning as you squeeze his thigh, rubbing its inside painfully close to his bouncing, from your thrusts, cock.

He'll definitely bombard you with compliments after you're done, and he'll probably blabber about it to someone the next day (after all, how often does he think before he says something?)

Jamil.

I don't know. I kind of want to think that he probably wouldn't care too much about it, but at the same time I can't. I think that you would also discuss the most important aspects with him, just in case.

He doesn't worry too much. He's just about to lose his virginity to the guy he loves, it's just a little exciting, that's all.

But of course he will make sure that your first time will be wonderful and memorable! Just... Just in case :) .

Doesn't really want to give you full control, but will allow you to control most of the process, although it will still take control here and there.

And you will probably be doing this at night... You know, so that all sorts of princes can't distract your Jamil.

"Uhm... A little deeper, [Your name]... Mmm, yes, right there, okay..." he mutters, relaxing under your fingers.

He closes his eyes, his tanned fingers lightly squeezing the pillowcase beneath him as your fingers slowly but surely stretch him for the next experience.

"Are you sure you don't want to speed it all up?" you ask, covering his back with kisses along his spine.

"Do we have somewhere to hurry?" he asks a clearly rhetorical question, glancing back at you over his shoulder, causing you to shake your head in denial.

And, random headcanon, I think he will almost immediately get used to the sensations of your dick inside.

It's just... He's way too relaxed and calm during the whole act (well, as far as you can be when you're being fucked, of course).

"Ghah...I never thought it would be so nice..." he mumbles into the pillow, slowly moving his hips in time with your thrusts.

"And why? You never thought this would happen?" you ask, squeezing his buttcheeks lightly, running your thumb along his stretched rim.

"I thought I wouldn't have time, ah, for this in general, b-but... It's really ni-nice," his voice breaks slightly as he feels your cock touch his prostate.

And then the whole room is filled with sighs that grow into quiet moans when you deliberately start fucking him from this angle, earning a light kick in the side from him.

Floyd.

Well... Am I supposed to say this? It wasn't even discussed at all. It just happened. Both of you just got horny and just fucked. It's Floyd after all.

He doesn't care at all. Although he is still interested in how sex works in human form, because he probably does not know much about it. Eventually the eels reproduce (Probably. No one knows yet how the mating process occurs in eels) through clouds of sperm that fertilize nearby caviar, they don't even have a dick as such.

Actually... Whether he gives you control or not depends entirely on his mood. So hope for the option that you think is the best, imp.

But damn... It's a great feeling for him! He's also very loud, although you may not even be working on his lower half yet, so I suggest covering his mouth.

"Oh, Koebi-chan, hurry up, I can't stand it! Faster!" Floyd whines as he tries to push your hand away, but only whimpers when you press harder on his prostate.

"Shut up, Floyd. It's going to hurt if I don't stretch you, so be patient..." You whisper, pulling one of his legs over your shoulder, fingering his ass, causing him to squeeze the sheets underneath.

"You're so mean, Koebi-chan~," Floyd mutters, but obviously enjoys your touch.

Well... When your dick is in him, he will not pay attention to pain or strange sensations and will tell you to start fucking him right away!

In the end, it's such an amazing feeling... He even starts to love his human form more. He would never have thought that such pleasure was possible.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, right there! Hu-hurry—Mhm!" He screams and then furrows his brows at you in a playful manner as you cover his mouth with your hand.

You just continue your quick but gentle thrusts into him as you feel him bite your hand lightly, causing you to hiss and your other hand slaping his ass with moderate force.

"Floyd, shut up... And don't bite, or I'll put something in your mouth, got it?" you ask, stopping your thrusts by looming over him, and tearing out a desperate moan muffled by your hand as your cock pressed even harder against his prostate.

Malleus.

... I'm torn between two options that he knows too much about sex, or absolutely nothing, I just can't decide ... But since we're talking about virginity here, let's talk about the second option.

He probably doesn't know anything about sex except that there is a phallus and there is a hole. Like, really. So you should probably discuss this beforehand to let him know that sex is not just about instant penetration.

Definitely, he will look for any information about sex, especially about two men (I bet he did not even know that same-sex people can have sex).

And gladly give control into your hands, and also gladly take control into his hands, if that's what you want. He doesn't care as long as both of you are satisfied afterwards.

"Oh... Darling, that's... So weird, not described in the book at all..." Malleus whispers, holding his legs wide for you.

"I don't even want to know what book it is... But anyway, it'll be nice after you get used to it, I promise," you whisper, kissing him on the mark on his forehead, which makes him hum in satisfaction.

"I get it... Then I'll try to get used to it," he nods to himself, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of your fingers in him.

He probably won't even feel pain at the moment of penetration of your dick, like the truth. He will immediately get used to it, adapt and that's it.

Although he is very sensitive, yes. Considering that the boy is so desperate for touch and he gets the most intimate of them, this is too good for him! Although he is still quite collected.

"Oh, love... You're amazing. You know... Can you bend forward a little, please?" he asks you, and you raise an eyebrow, but you bend over him a little forward, digging a moan out of him.

"What you..?" you stop short when you notice how his fangs bite his lower lip in pleasure, which makes you smile, and continue thrusting in this position.

"It's just that in the wide-legged position, you have to bend over further, mhm, and there will be more pleasure, because the pressure of the ph-phallus on the prostate will be stronger, well, at least that's what I read," he mumbles, lying on his side.

"He's really over-prepared..." you mutter under your breath, chuckling, but take his left knee in your hand, spreading his legs a little wider, eliciting a whimper from him.

Silver.

Well, he definitely knows that sex is sex. He does not know the subtleties, but he understands the basics quite well. So, you still need to discuss it with him one way or another.

Absolutely not against doing this, although he is worried, of course. But not because he will lose his virginity (although this also worries him a little), but because he is afraid to fall asleep.

He will completely give control to you without pretensions and disputes, which is not surprising. And tell you to wake him up if he suddenly falls asleep, of course.

Although... I doubt he will sleep tonight. In the end, it's a new experience, a sensation for him, and also a slight fear that someone (we don't go into details ;) ) might hear you two and Silver will never see the end of teasing about it.

Only soft moans and whimpers came out of his mouth as he fidgeted on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position to lie down.

You chuckle at this, taking his waist with your free hand and pulling his body closer to you so that his ass rests on your lap and his upper half remains on the mattress.

He groans, but then relaxes, trying not to moan too loudly for fear that someone might hear you, so when he feels your fingers touch his prostate, he pulls you closer, kissing you and moaning against your lips.

He wasn't particularly tense during the act anyway, so it wasn't too uncomfortable when you entered him, although it still hurt.

"Oh, hush, hush, it's not that painful, you know?" you whisper soothingly, wiping a couple of tears from the edge of his sleepy eyes, to which he nods.

"Yes, yes... Continue please, I'll get used to it... It's all right," he smiles reassuringly, nodding weakly.

You nod, kissing his closed eyelids, which makes him smile tenderly, hugging your neck as you cover his face, shoulders, and neck in kisses, which makes him laugh at the tickle, moaning at your thrusts.

[yeokii]

excuse me.. do you have a tutorial on how you make the banners of your themes?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀• GFX TUTORIAL !

honestly a bunch of people asked me how to make banners like I do, but chat im gna be fr there's no set tutorial because if u check some of my headers, they're quite different! but ill try to explain my process heh

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒇 . how to make banners !

⠀⠀⠀₊˚ thank u anon for asking!! if anyone wants to make banners like these, hopefully this tutorial will help u!!

⠀⠀resources 𝑖𝑖.　 pinterest

i usually use pinterest for overlays and pngs like these u can check some of them out here in my pinterest or just type up gfx overlays and itll show up!

for pictures of idols when I make smau headers or navi headers, I recommend choosing photos that match!! In most cases, I use photoshoots of the idol I chose. for example if it was jake, I would use something like this!

⠀⠀inspo 𝑖𝑖.　 pinterest

most of my header ideas come from pinterest! they have many gfx edits on there and its very helpful if u don't have a solid image on what u want! you can check out my pinterest once again for some ideas ( here are some I found on pinterest )

another important thing is to have a matching colour scheme!!! guys im telling u thats literally what brings it together!! STICK TO THE COLOUR SCHEME like genuinely imagine ur colour scheme is like white pink and yellow and u go ahead and put like a blue png on there. executed on the spot.

take a look at the pictures above, they have a matching colour scheme that compliments the edit! pro tip if u have a concept on what u want ur header to be ( for example grunge ) use colour schemes that match the concept ( so for grunge you would use for example red black and grey )

⠀⠀software. 𝑖𝑖.　photoshop, procreate, ibis paint

now this is the part where u have to actually make it. I reccomeed ibis paint ( guys have u seen soov headers ) cuz its lowk mad easy to make stuff on there plus its free, but personally for me I would choose either photoshop and procreate ( I moved on from procreate to photoshop cuz the quality on procreate was buttcheeks ) icl I got photoshop for free ( @aewon my goat thank u ) and it took me like a few tries to get the hang of it ( okay I lied I made the gigi header on the first try ) BUT Its really easy honestly its just the system that looks intimidating.

　　　　　⎯⎯ anyways here are some things I like to add on my headers based on what I have already made

( shapes ) guys the rectangle shapes thing with a gradient in it always does it for me. they fill up spaces u dont know what to add in really easily. just put some text over it and align it and call it a day LMFAOOO

( pngs ) okay hear me out, pngs but only ones that FIT the concept. say ur making a game themed banner, I would put either pixel pngs or those cute game consoles yk!! I wouldn't slap a postcard onto it, that wouldn't fit the vibe

( texts ) the go to fonts I use is coolvetica, la graziela demo and retro gaming. honestly these fonts fit literally almost any concept!!! its lowk fire! something I like to do is use my cursive font ( la graziela demo ) and type one letter and zoom it in. it looks really cute trust!!

( effects ) guys pixelate effect is literally my bsf cuz why do I use it in everything!!! it literally is so perfect I use it in EVERYTHING! guys trust it brings it together so well!! especially when its like blending in to the unpixelated area! another effect I love to use is grain! chat I basically use it for everything. genuinely its like going out without any setting spray on like TF!! add ur grain, it makes it look so much more expensive ( but not that much, it just has to be really subtle )

( overlays ) okay this again! but these overlays are some I use for quite literally anything ( u can see it if u zoom hard enough ) but add them in the right places and put the blending mode on lighten and ur good to go!!

⠀⠀results 𝑖𝑖.　the finished product

well, if u have enough practice and a creative mind, it should look something like this!!

guys this was lowk so fun!! hope this helped u guys I literally pulled out every header I made lmfao 💭 lmk if u want one on how to make themes heh

[stonedtaemin]

she’s my five foot hurricane / my only ounce of pain

❕ period sex, blood, dirty talk, fingering, caleb is a freak, mc is on her period and annoyed | ao3 | wc 4.6k

caleb learns that orgasms help menstrual cramps

every month caleb did the honor of keeping track of her cycle. it was one of the many things she loved about her boyfriend. he was so thoughtful and caring, always checking in and offering to buy her anything she needed.

this month was no different. he had reminded her earlier that morning that she should wear a panty liner in case she started to spot. hell, he was starting to become an at home gynecologist at this point. it was adorable.

she rolled her eyes, but listened to him in the end. he always had great timing when it came to her period so she trusted his words.

this was the worst time of the month because her birth control usually helped relieve the visit. sometimes she would even have it for one day or so with minor spotting. the implant made it super irregular. still, caleb tried his best to keep up.

a few days later, her period is in full throttle. the flow had began to peak at its heaviest and the cramps were unusually hard to grit her teeth through. not even medicine or the heat pad could cure the inevitable pain she endured. she would have to just tough it out.

she woke up with cold sweats, groaning in discomfort. her arm gripped onto her lower abdomen, trying to contain the pangs in her stomach. it was no use.

it was so early in the morning that she swore it couldn’t be any later than 3 a.m. caleb woke next to her, rubbing his eyes.

“mmph… baby.” he groaned out of sleep, arm tightening around his lovers waist.

she grunted out in pain, grabbing onto his wrist with ferocious force.

“hey, woah. you okay?” he sat up quickly once he woke up more. he could tell she was super sore, her brows knitted together with sweat beading at the top of her forehead.

the windows to his room were illuminated by the moon reflecting on the sea of clouds outside. the only light source was dim but it was enough for him to see her face contorted in agony. his hand reached up to pat her hair and then put his fingers to her forehead. no fever, thank god.

“whats wrong, baby?” he asked, concern overwhelming in his tone.

she reached over to grab her water cup and gulped from it, water spilling down her chin in the process. caleb wiped with the blanket.

“my period is killing me. like hell.” she whined. she sat up once putting the water back onto the nightstand. the back of her head met with the headboard, facing the ceiling with a silent prayer. her eyes closed and she breathed deeply.

it wasn’t like she hadn’t experienced menstrual pain like this before, she just hated it every time. especially when she was trying to sleep.

caleb held her face in his hands, thumbs rubbing circles on her lower jawline. he pressed a bunch of kisses around her face, then slowly pulled back to stare at her softly.

“what can i do for you?” he asked sweetly. he was at her service.

she gave him a small smile that said “thank you”. she puckered her lips in an exaggerated manner, caleb chuckling in response. he leaned forward and pressed his lips onto hers firmly, a big smooch resounding in their bedroom. he pulled away with a big smile plastered on his face, petting her hair.

“kisses are unlimited. anything else?”

“any gravity evol you got up your sleeve to make my cramps stop?” she teased.

caleb pouted a bit, pinching her cheek.

“i wish, pip. i can give you a massage if you’d like? get you that heating pad too?”

she rolled her eyes in defeat, wishing caleb could take her pain away with the snap of his fingers. his kisses were good but this pain was on another level. it was hard not to become a bitch right now, her emotions going haywire and whatnot.

he got up anyways, not waiting for her response. when he returned from the hallway, he had a new glass of water with ice in it and medicine. he sat down next to her on her side of the bed. he handed her the items, patiently watching her down the pills. he handed her the heating pad but she stuck her hand up.

“i don’t want it. i’m already feeling hot.” she sighed.

he nodded, placing it back onto the nightstand.

“could always start stripping.” he smirked.

caleb could have sworn he saw a moment of consideration in his girlfriend's eyes, but she quickly resolved and punched him on the shoulder.

"i'm already in a tank top and underwear. i'm not getting naked, especially now that you've brought it up." she stuck her tongue out like a child, crossing her arms.

another sharp pang. she moaned in pain again, eyebrows furrowing. caleb reached out to her stomach, hand rubbing softly.

"you know, i was researching last night..." he started slowly, as if he were walking on thin ice (he was, mind you).

she peered up through her thick eyelashes, eyes narrowing as if to say "don't piss me off". he was probably going to anyways, the sorry state she was in.

"uh-huh. researching." she was clearly not mused. but she would let him get his piece out.

"yeah. read an article about how to relieve period pains. saw some pretty good ones on there." he tried to come off as nonchalant while at the same time staying mischievous. he knew what he was doing.

"okay… so what's your genius plan, caleb?" she asked, resting her head back onto the headboard. she placed a pillow behind her back to support her upright position.

he massaged down to her abdomen, fingers lifting up at her hem. they went under, working deep into her skin. her mouth parted softly to let a gentle rush of air out, trying not to moan. he knew exactly how to massage her. he was perfect and it was so annoying. the perfect boyfriend.

"they say if you orgasm you can relieve the strain on the uterus. something about releasing endorphins or whatever, y'know?" his voice was low and lacquered like honey. his eyes stared deep into hers, head lowering to lay a kiss onto her stomach.

she hooked her fingers into his hair and gripped hard. he grunted in pleasure.

"where the hell did you read this?" she asked with heat rising on her cheeks.

"some doctors blog. don't believe me? i can show you. the website, i mean." he was such a god damn tease. that shit eating grin on his face was enough to make her stomach flip.

"i— shit, caleb, i believe you." she gasped as he pulled up her tank top more, exposing her nipples to the cold air. his fingers lightly pinched them, rubbing them gently.

"it's up to you, though. i just want to help my sweet baby." he whispered, hands still working at her breasts.

"i don't know... i mean. won't it be messy?" she bit her lip anxiously.

"for sure."

"it's going to be gross. you're not going to like it, caleb." she protested.

there was simply no way caleb wanted to get blood on his hands and an even smaller chance he would want that anywhere near his dick. it was just a bad idea. he would never see her the same. although it sounded so incredibly fucking hot to her, she was nervous. self conscious, even. it was a rare feeling that she felt, especially around him. he always made her feel confident and on top of the world. this was so different and odd that she couldn't exactly gage out this might turn out. what if he ended up not being able to get turned on? what if he decided in the middle of it that he wasn’t into it?

she was racing through so many thoughts and caleb could see it plain as day on her face. in her eyes. he grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with hers. his mouth pressed firmly onto her knuckles.

"baby, i would never judge you. you know this." he reassured her.

she bit her lip hard, the taste of blood drawing.

"i want to try it." she whispered so low that caleb almost didn't catch it. his heart skipped a beat in excitement.

"but if you don't like it we can always stop." he nodded, eyes serious.

she nodded back in confirmation, gulp visible. in reality, she had known about this fact for a while. a few of her friends had talked about period sex and the benefits that came with it. some even joked about how it was like a power thing, binding their boyfriends to them forever. caleb was already bound to her so that wasn’t something she was worried about. she would have never asked him to try something like this with her, because despite his deep knowledge and appreciation for her womanhood, he was still a guy. still a man. blood probably didn't sound appetizing. this and the fact that it was period blood, which could smell awful.

she tried not to bury herself too deeply into her thinking traps. she had to trust that caleb wanted to do this. otherwise, why would he have brought it up?

a second later and caleb has his lips all over her neck, sucking and gently biting. her stomach kept twisting with pain and arousal, soft moans slipping out of her parted lips. his kisses sounded wet and needy against her skin. he would be the death of her.

"so beautiful. every part of you." he praised her as he lifted off her tank top, throwing it onto the foot of the bed.

his hands went down to the sides of her waist, tugging at her underwear to come off. she lifted her hips in response, allowing him to fully pull them off. his hand brought up the underwear to his face, inhaling deeply, moan rippling through his throat like an animal. her face flushed instantly, embarrassment washing over her. he opened his eyes into small slits, eyes heavy with lust.

"caleb!" she gasped.

she tried to reach forward and yank her underwear out of his hand, but he pulled it away, smirk on his stupid face growing.

"uh-uh. this one's going in the collection." he chuckled, leaning over and stuffing it into the mattress.

she rolled her eyes in defeat. she already knew he was keeping some of her used underwear but to keep one with blood spots on it... this was a new level of obsession. yet it made her so incredibly wet.

"whatever..." she muttered.

caleb wiggled his eyebrows in playful response, leaning back up to take his shirt off. there in his naked, six-pack glory he sat. she could have sworn she was drooling.

her knees were pushed together, blocking off her entrance. she still had a tampon in but it had been time to change it. the string began to get blood on it and it was the most uncomfortable feeling in the world. caleb's hand pushed her legs apart, revealing her more.

"i-i still haven't... taken out the old tampon." her words tripped over each other.

she moved to get up to remove it in the bathroom but caleb's evol overrided her. she was stuck in place. it made her gasp from the sudden grip.

"let me help you baby..." his voice sounded almost broken. he barely was audible, eyes fixed on her. he was so far gone into his arousal that it didn't matter.

he wanted to do this.

she nodded, feeling his evol dissipate.

his fingers went to her entrance. as he found the string, he gently tugged. his eyes flickered up to her, asking for permission. again, she nodded.

he pulled it out in one swift motion, revealing the soaked product. it was a deep crimson red.

she whimpered, embarrassment becoming too much to handle. the arousal didn't help. it was like everything felt so wrong and right at the same time. he tossed it into the bin across the room, evol helping it land in the right spot. he'll take it out later.

he felt her tremble under his touch and he caressed her inner thighs.

"it's okay, pip-squeak. hey, look at me. you're so fucking gorgeous. i love you. i love you." he repeated himself adamantly. like it was a mantra for him.

"i love you too..." her eyes shined at him, moonlight glimmering inside of them.

she was glowing and he was so far gone for her.

jesus.

he got up to stand at the edge of the bed to pull down his boxers. he did it so quick his erection slapped against his abdomen, sweltering hot with his arousal. he was unbelievably hard.

as he got back onto the bed he positioned himself between her legs again. his hand brushed her abdomen, then trailed down to her wetness. his fingertips prodded into her lips, her hips bucking at the intrusion.

"wanna feel my fingers, baby? hm?" he cooed at her. he sounded so proud of himself. like he knew how crazy he was driving her.

"y-yes, please caleb... need your fingers. please touch me." she begged, her eyebrows bowing.

he fully inserted his fingers inside of her, pumping them in and out with just two. then three.

her vision filled with stars as his fingers caressed her insides, biting her lip hard. the sounds were disgusting and filled with squelching. the blood made it sound thicker than usual.

he moaned so loudly it almost drowned hers out.

"fuck baby... so wet." he growled.

his thumb circled her clit, earning a loud yelp from her. each swipe made her lean more into his touch. she was so transfixed onto the feeling of his fingers inside her, rubbing against her walls. they were so long and thick. he was so fucking hot.

"shit, baby, yes, yes, yes, please!" she cried out, her hips circling up to meet his rhythm.

his fingers worked inside of her so precisely and deeply that she forgot about her cramps. all she could feel was him.

caleb watched his fingers go in and out, veins popping out on his wrist with each curl of his fingers. a bit of blood was already beginning to leak out. it was sinful.

"look at me, beautiful." he whispered.

she opened her eyes from her bliss, eyelids heavy. she watched him as he was propped up between her legs, arm working hard as he moved his fingers in and out of her. she lifted her right leg and propped it over his shoulder to feel him even deeper. her hips rose with the new sensation, his digits scissoring into her.

"fuck, i think i'm g-gonna cum, caleb. wanna cum so bad, please!"

he kissed the inner thigh that was resting on his shoulder, teeth sinking down into her plush skin. she screamed out as his fingers drew her orgasm closer.

"cum, sweet girl. let me hear you." he beckoned her.

"a-ah, yes, caleb, just— like— that... fuck, it's so good i-i can't..." she whimpered as his thumb swirled her bundle.

"let go baby. cum for me like a good girl. i know you can." he rasped out, breathing heavy.

and so she did. it was like everything in her had been lit on fire and melted. her orgasm felt particularly heightened, it dragged on for what seemed like forever.

"oh..." she sang out for a few long seconds, riding his hand.

"good fucking girl. listen to me so well."

he let her soak in her bliss, thumb still swirling on her. he watched the way her eyebrows bowed inwards with inexplicable pleasure. he swallowed hard, not knowing how much longer he could keep himself from just pushing his cock deep inside of her. he wanted to coat himself in her slick and womanhood. he was dying for it.

"wanna make you cum again, baby. think you can do that for me?" he hummed along her wrist as he kissed it.

her face was sweltering and chest rising and falling from her orgasm.

"yes, please. i need you, caleb." her voice was laced with the utmost desperation. he laughed in response.

"such a good little slut for me. yeah? let me hear you."

"yes!" she exclaimed as he pulled out his fingers.

she was in too much pleasure to care that his fingers were absolutely soaking in her menstrual. he moaned so low she almost didn't catch it. her eyes watched him as he took his covered fingers and starting smearing it on his dick, stroking languidly. she rolled her eyes back in pure elation to the gesture. he was so dirty it was going to kill her one day.

"so fucking hard for you right now. holy shit..." he growled.

his hand rose off of his cock to grip her chin, hand cupping her.

"spit." he commanded.

she watched him as she dribbled out saliva onto his hand, trail of spit following as he took the same hand and continued to touch himself with it.

"fuck, caleb. i need you, now." her demand sounded breathy.

"want you too, princess." he moaned softly, body stuttering at how well his dick was feeling.

her hands reached out to him, hands petting over his muscles. he was so fit and she loved every second of it. his abs were covered in sweat already, hair tousled from her earlier pulling. he already looked so absolutely fucked.

she watched in silence as he touched himself to the sight of her. her tits looked so good, gravity taking hold of them as they fell off to each side of her chest. her nipples were swollen with her lust, her crotch red from his earlier fingering. he could drink her.

he couldn't touch himself anymore, he had to have her.

"turn around on your stomach for me, baby." he grabbed a pillow from his side of the bed. she complied, flipping over. he stuffed the pillow under her abdomen to add support. her ass was propped up with this, her pussy folds raw and ready for the taking. he moaned at the sight, wanting nothing more than to stuff himself inside of her as soon as possible.

"gonna fuck you like this, okay?" he leaned forward, chest pressing against her back. his hands ran down her shoulders, caressing her arms.

his erection rutted up on her, eliciting a groan out of both of them.

"caleb, please... just fuck me already." she was so tired of waiting.

he let out a breathy laugh, kissing her neck. he complied.

his tip slowly inched itself inside of her, cock getting sucked in past her entrance like lightening. she clenched around him when he was all the way seated inside of her. he let out a long and shaky breath, chest pressed against her back still. his hips began to roll, cock pushing in and out of her with caution.

"wanna fuck you nice and slow." his words were slightly muffled by her hair, nose tickling her neck.

"mhm. caleb, feels so good. you're so— so big. holy shit. i can't—" she grunted under the immense feeling of pleasure coursing through her veins.

"you can, baby. done it before." he smiled against her.

his thrusts were lazy and sloppy, dick feeling every iota of her insides. he loved having her close to him as he made her feel good. loved seeing and feeling her get absolutely strung out under him. he kissed onto her shoulder, tongue sucking and leaving bruises across her skin. his hands reached to grip her hair and tug on it a bit as he looked down to see his dick pumping in and out of her. he could see blood slowly spilling out between their connection, a long moan coming out of his chest. it was so hot, he couldn't believe it was happening.

"god, you're so sexy. look at you. fuck." he gritted his teeth, knitting his eyebrows together.

his hips clapped against her ass with each motion, her moans coming out in rhythm with it. she was softly rising her hips up to meet his, toes curling.

"o-oh fuck. yes baby, right there. please, caleb, don't stop, don't stop, do-oh!" her words started to get caught by the pillow in front of her, hands gripping onto the sheets hard.

"pussy feels so nice and— shit, baby— warm for me. like i'm supposed to be inside you right now. you're fucking made for me."

she hummed as he praised her, each word sending shockwaves through her body. she could get off on his adoration alone.

he felt so incredible that he almost couldn’t believe it. her blood made it so cozy for him to be inside of her. he wanted to stay like this forever.

“taking my cock so well, shit, baby. pretty little thing.” his raspy voice etched into her mind as he fucked her as deep as he could.

her moans gradually grew louder with each time his hips met her ass, face buried in the pillow. she loved it when she didn’t have to do anything but just take him. his own little pillow princess.

his hand reached up to her mouth, fingers shoving inside her mouth. she sucked hard as he pounded into her, each moan vibrating against his skin. she couldn’t last too much longer.

“mmhm… fuck. so good… i love it…” she cried softly onto his hand.

his fingers pulled out, hand going to grip and squeeze her ass. she was so flush against him. he wish he could just crawl inside her.

“tell me how much you love this cock.” he growled, teeth nipping at her earlobe.

“lo—ove your cock so much, caleb. i can’t ge-et enough— shit!”

“love it when i fuck your bloody cunt, hm, princess?” he cooed into her ear.

she couldn’t even respond to such a thing. she had never heard such vile words slip out of his mouth. he had been known to say the most obscene things while they fucked but this? her cheeks were so hot she thought she might melt.

“tell me.” he demanded, evol snapping her head up a bit. enough for her to feel like she was getting choked.

“yes!”

“good girl.” he let go of his evol around her, laying onto her back once more.

his chest slid up and down with sweat against her skin, cock picking up the pace. she could feel the blood trickling down her thighs now. his fingers snaked down to rub her clit for her again, the sensation jarring. she screamed out so loud she thought she might wake all of skyhaven up.

he let out a snarky laugh but it was cut short by his own whimpering as she began to circle her hips. he was enjoying this far too much.

"g-gonna cum, ah! can i cum, please, caleb?" her words had never sounded so desperate.

"yes, baby. you can cum." he stroked her hair gently.

she let a long whine ring out as she let another orgasm take her, the sensation instantly relieving her again of any of her troubles. it really was like a medicine. one she could get addicted to.

"oh my god. so good, it feels so good." she cried out.

caleb's pace started to pick up, his own orgasm catching up with him. his fingers retracted from her bundle, overstimulation getting to be too much.

"i know— shit— baby, gonna cum too. let me cum inside of you."

she nodded her head feverishly.

“please, please, please!” was all she could muster up.

his hand reached out to hers, fingers intertwining tightly. she squeezed his hand, as if to tell him to do it. with a few more thrusts he let go, seed spilling deep into her. she could feel his cock twitch inside her as he came. his breaths were deep and heavy against her chest. it was so sweaty and slippery between their skin.

“shit… c-cumming so hard.” his voice dragged out each syllable.

he didn’t stop thrusting, wanting to keep feeling himself go deeper. he had to milk himself entirely. had to become a part of her being. the tip of his cock felt so incredibly sensitive against her walls, he thought he might die right there.

"i love you so much." he murmured on her lips as she turned to kiss him.

they pulled apart just barely, lips still hovering.

"love you so much, caleb." she whispered, fingers hooking onto his chin to pull him into another kiss.

the room began to smell of sex and blood. it was gross but so good at the same time. it made him cum harder than ever. he loved the thought of her blood marking him, tying him to her in ways that were beyond words. it was cosmic. he felt cosmic.

his chest still stayed slack against her back, breath heavy. they stayed like this for a while, cock still sitting inside of her. it still twitched from his orgasm, still suspiciously hard.

she grunted.

"caleb. get off of me." she needed to get off of her stomach. she tried to lift up but to no avail.

"mhmph. no. wanna be your tampon for you."

her eyes shot open wide, head snapping at him.

"you did not just say that. caleb!" her voice was stern with disbelief.

he smiled tiredly, eyes glossy.

"so serious." he muttered.

"you're actually crazy, you know that?" her cheeks were red with pure embarrassment. he would always say the dumbest things.

"aw. you're so cute when your being shy." his smirk was so annoying.

"can we please take a shower now? i'm tired of being sweaty." she completely avoided any idea of entertaining his weirdness.

he hummed, slowly pulling out. the emptiness hit her like a ton of bricks, a small groan coming out of her lips. he kissed her shoulder one more time before helping her sit up. when she finally looked down at their mess she gasped, hand slapping over her mouth.

"oh my god. we should have gotten a towel or something. fuck." the laundry was going to be awful. how would she ever get this stain out? not to mention just how crazy his cock looked right now. she would be lying if she said she didn't find it hot, though. seeing himself coated with her.

her, her, her.

he chuckled, playing with a piece of her hair. he winked at her, noticing her staring at his crotch.

"sheets are replaceable. how are your cramps, pip-squeak?" his voice changed to a more serious tone, genuine care. that was the point of this, after all.

she tucked her hair behind her ears, nodding her head.

"they're a lot better than before." she said sheepishly. it was like admitting defeat for some reason.

maybe it was because he was so annoying.

"so we should always fuck when you're on your cycle, right?"

she reached to pinch him hard, a loud "ouch" coming from him.

"wow, on my good arm?" he joked.

she had had it up to here with him.

"shower. now."

he threw his hands up in defeat.

“don’t have to tell me twice, baby.”

"if you stay quiet i'll maybe let you fuck me again in the shower."

he barked out a laugh. he was such a good looking fuck. again, annoying.

"you just wanna come again. what will we ever do with you, hm, pip-squeak?"

he wasn't wrong.

[the-lonelybarricade]

What Becomes of Curious Minds - Feysand AU

They'd all heard the stories about the girls who went missing, and it was an open secret that human slavery was becoming a commodity in faerie. The water well was on the closest edge of town to the faerie border, and so whenever they went out by themselves, they'd made a habit of painting red clay upon their skin. Feyre wasn't wearing paint. But she would be okay just this once, wouldn't she?

I can't resist a Group Project - tea shops still technically count right?

Read on AO3 or click the read more below!

-

What does it taste like?

Feyre bit into the small brown bean, feeling it crack and splinter between her teeth.

Bitter, she thought, exploring the fragments on her tongue.

Grabbing a nearby pen, she hastily sketched a disgruntled face beside her rendering of the bean. She hoped its meaning was clear: not pleasant when consumed on its own.

It would need some form of processing, she decided, to make the bean more palatable. Perhaps she could grind it and use the resulting powder in baking. Or perhaps it could be boiled, like a tea.

Yes, Feyre thought, pressing her pen to the parchment to draw a small teacup—her version of note taking, since she hadn't been taught how to read or write. Tea would be perfect. She could add honey to reduce the bitter flavor while retaining the effects of the stimulant.

She could already feel the energy thrumming through her her from just one bean. Or perhaps it was the excitement of her discovery that was making her fingers jittery as she turned away from her worktable to stoke the fire. Her good mood was doused slightly at the sight of the water bucket, which contained only enough for one more pot.

After she made the tea, she would need to trek across the village to refill her bucket at the water well. Or perhaps she could bat her eyes at Isaac Hale and he would do it for her. Feyre mulled over the idea, before dismissing it. Isaac would expect some return for his efforts, and if her knees were going to be sore from kneeling in straw in some decrepit barn, was she really sparing herself that much effort?

Once the water was boiling, Feyre grabbed the pouch of beans she'd haggled for at the market that morning and poured them into her trusted stone grinder. She worked the beans into a coarse powder, sweat beading at her brow by the time she was satisfied with the texture.

If she was patient, she would try shaping and pressing the powder into a cake, the same way Elain had taught her to make tea. But then she would need to wait for the cake to dry, and Feyre was simply eager to see if she could produce something drinkable. The process could always be refined later, if she believed the result would warrant the time investment.

It was all an experiment of trial and error, after all. As she dumped the powder into the boiling water, she considered that she didn't know the optimal ratio of water to powder, nor how long she should let it boil before the flavor became overpowering. She was treating it like tea, but as Elain would coach her, no two flowers were the same. Caring for an orchid in the same manner as a lotus would yield catastrophic results.

But you have to start from what you know, Feyre thought, stirring a wooden spoon through the brown, bubbling liquid. She could see clumps of powder sticking to the sides of the pot and tried to scrape them down. And build from there.

"Is Feyre here?"

The sound of her name in the front room drew Feyre's head from the pot. Her face was warm from leaning over the steam—flushed completely red, she was certain. She moved away from the heat source in case her sisters pointed the speaker in her direction, and his pride concluded her flush was a consequence of his presence.

"No," Nesta said, her voice flat.

Her sisters were in the front room, serving customers in the tea shop. It was a vestige of their family's lost fortune, when their father was once a renown merchant, retrieving exotics tea leaves and spices from faraway lands and bringing them back to supply his father-in-law's tea shop.

In a cascade of misfortunate events, Nesta inherited the tea shop. The excutor of their father's will had been less than thrilled to hand the papers over to a woman, but it was rightfully Nesta's by virtue of there being no other living men in their family line—a fact which spurred an unnerving amount of speculation from the village. It would go to Nesta's husband, were she to one day marry, but the eldest Archeron was intent on scaring off any suitors that darkened their door. Including ones who sought Elain and, less likely, Feyre.

Feyre didn't mind, on this occasion. Her midnight trysts with Isaac were becoming tedious (she was still finding pieces of straw in her sleeves from their last meeting), and she was far more interested in discovering what became of the bean water.

"Please," Isaac said. "It's about my father."

A sigh bubbled from Feyre's lips. Isaac's father was an old farmer, well past an appropriate working age to be cutting heavy yields and loading them onto wagons, but there was no cure for stubbornness. There was no cure for arthritis, either, but the eucommia bark she had in short supply could remedy the worst of his pain when seeped into a tea.

She could already hear the scolding she would get from Nesta as she gathered her last pieces of bark and folded them in cloth. We're a tea shop, Feyre. Not an apothecary. The villagers were wary of the practice. It was just science, but science looked too similar to magic through an uneducated lens.

And magic was a distinct trademark of the fae.

Feyre came to the door, catching Isaac's eyes on the threshold. Nesta was already wearing her disapproval plainly, casting her a scathing look that said, how many times do I need to tell you?

She ignored it, the same way she ignored every warning that came before it. Nesta seemed to think that if she hacked at Feyre's curiosity enough times, one day she could amputate it entirely. But it was rooted too deeply inside her, Feyre thought. To take it away would be to cut off her life force entirely.

What was the point of living, if not to take in the world around her and try to make sense of what she found? There was no religion in the human lands, but she'd once heard the Children of the Blessed preaching in the town square about the mother goddess the fae revered. They said the Mother sought balance in the world. Every person had their equal match. Every magic, its weakness. Every ailment, its cure.

She marveled on that often as she foraged the trees and bushes and creatures of woods each morning. Every object had its purpose. The nettles to sting, the dock leaf to soothe. Everything was an answer so long as you knew which question to ask.

What was her question, she wondered? Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she tried to imagine what it could be, the great mystery waiting for her. The question that she was the singular answer to.

Until she knew what it was, she found partial satisfaction in pairing smaller questions and answers together. Knee pain? Eucommia bark.

"Here," she said, holding it out to him.

Isaac looked more worn down than he had when she'd last seen him. Winter was fast approaching, and she knew that was a hard time for farmers. But she didn't think that was the cause for the dark circles under his eyes, or the feint crease of concern forming between his brow.

It eased slightly when he accepted the cloth from her. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching into his pocket.

She heard the jingle of coin and shook her head. "Don't," she said. "It's okay."

Their relationship had never been overwrought with kindness, or any kind of emotion, really. She could tell it perplexed him, left him feeling off balance and indebted to her.

"Let me repay you in some way," he offered. His eyes slid to the room she'd just come from, eyeing the bed she shared with her sisters rather suggestively.

On the other side of the room, Nesta snorted in disgust.

"We've just run out of water," Feyre said, steering him away from that line of thinking before Nesta decided to incite violence. "It would be a great help if you could fetch us more from the well."

The glaze in his eyes ebbed into visible disappointment, but Feyre wasn't sorry for it. Rumor said he'd been courting the blacksmith's daughter, and far be it from her to stand in his way.

"If that's what you wish," Isaac said with a resigned nod.

Feyre hummed, turning to retrieve an empty pale for him to use.

"Why don't you come with?" He suggested while her back was turned. "We could carry twice as much between us."

Then maybe we would have enough water for a bath, Feyre mused, trying to recall how many days it had been since her last one. More than she'd care to admit. It was getting too chilly to bathe in the streams, and she and her sisters spent most of their water supply on the tea shop.

Her eyes wandered to the bubbling pot on the stove. She'd gotten distracted and let it boil for too long. If she stayed, she might be able to recover the experiment, but Nesta would be furious that she prioritized her hobby over the chance for a bath.

And really, the three of them were starting to stink.

"Okay," she said, mourning the coin she'd spent on the ruined beans. "I'll meet you outside."

The least she could do was take the pot off the heat and decant the liquid into a jug for later experimentation.

Elain breezed into the room while Feyre was mid-pour, her apron tied artfully over her skirts, pristine and somehow elegant, despite its evidence of labor. That was one of the many puzzling things about Elain—how she managed to scrub the floors by hand and return without a hair out of place. She was flushed from exertion, but it made her look bright and vivid, a smear of color atop a gray canvas.

"Nesta says you're headed to the well?" She asked, slightly out of breath.

"In just a moment," Feyre affirmed, setting down the now empty pot. She pulled open a drawer in search of a cork for the jug.

"Let me paint you before you go."

Elain was already reaching for the pot of clay when Feyre shook her head.

"It's not necessary. Isaac's coming with me."

"Are you sure?" Elain dug her teeth into her bottom lip, a nervous habit. "It will only take a moment."

Unravelled yarn, a pot of ink, scraps of parchment… Feyre was certain there was a cork in here somewhere. She grumbled under her breath, pushing aside the clutter as she searched blindly with her fingers, feeling the point of something sharp. She winced. A needle.

"Feyre," Elain called, trying to get her attention.

"Ah!" Feyre beamed when her fingers curled around the familiar waxy texture of the cork. She withdrew it between two fingers, brandishing it proudly to Elain. "I found it!"

Elain's lips flattened, unimpressed. "I think I should paint you. Just in case."

With a shrug, Feyre balanced the cork on the lid of the jug and pushed until she heard a satisfying hiss of air.

"I'll be fine," Feyre repeated, seeing that Elain was still there. She set the jug on her worktable and gestured to it. "Don't let anyone drink that."

Elain's brows furrowed. "Why would…?"

If she finished her question, Feyre didn't hear it. She was gathering the empty water buckets and stacking them beneath her arm.

"You're not putting on any paint?" Nesta demanded as Feyre made her break towards the door.

She didn't respond. Pushing out through the front door seemed answer enough.

The paint was a precaution. They'd all heard the stories about the girls who went missing, and it was an open secret that human slavery was becoming a commodity in faerie. The water well was on the closest edge of town to the faerie border, and so whenever they went out by themselves they'd made a habit of painting red clay upon their skin.

Faeries weren't knowledgeable about human illness. At least that's what the rumors said. Feyre never met a faerie to be able to pick their mind about the subject, but it made sense to her. They couldn't catch human illnesses, and were largely apathetic to the plights of humanity, so why would they bother to educate themselves about it?

In their ignorance, if they saw a human girl with red lesions on her skin, they would think she was diseased. And if, at a glance, she looked undesirable, unlikely to last were she taken from her village, then perhaps she would be safe from the fates of the other missing girls. Like Claire Beddor.

As far as Feyre knew, it was mostly girls who were being taken, and they were usually the pure, virginal sort. If she was seen with Isaac, and they gave the impression of a couple, she thought she might be safe without the need for paint.

They walked side by side in awkward silence. He was never much for talking, but that suited Feyre. She preferred to listen to the chatter of birds, feeling comforted by their sound. Birds meant it was still warm enough to find bugs and worms and suitable nesting grounds. And if birds were singing, it meant they weren't afraid of alerting nearby predators.

Birdsong answered the question: is this a safe place?

Her sisters must have been successful planting seeds of anxiety with their insistence about the paint. Feyre hadn't realized she'd given them any merit until she felt the knot in her stomach unfurl. And then she was taking in a deep breath of the crisp evening air, tasting jasmine on the breeze, savoring the moment of peace.

Isaac glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "You seem in a good mood," he commented, intent on ruining it.

"I think I needed the fresh air," she said with a shrug.

"It's been a while since I've seen you."

Ugh. He fumbled his attempt at sounding casual, and the lingering look he added afterwards was that of a wounded puppy. So he noticed she'd been keeping her distance. She would have liked to save this conversation for the walk back. At least then he would have already committed to helping her carry the buckets of water

"I heard a rumor."

In the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten. "What rumor?"

She didn't want to sound jealous—she wasn't. But she was struggling to think of a way to broach the subject without implying that she was.

"I've heard you have an understanding with someone. I didn't want to get in the way."

Isaac was quiet for a long moment. She was convinced he wouldn't say anything at all.

Then, with a quiet that spoke of shame, he whispered, "She has a dowry that could help our farm."

Feyre put her hand up to silence him. "You don't owe me an explanation. I was never under any illusion about what this was."

It surprised her when he stopped walking. He was facing her now, his face pinched.

"And what was this?"

She blinked at him, uncertain how to navigate the anger she noticed in his eyes. He was usually so stoic, so reluctant to speak his mind.

If Elain was there, she would sense the tension rising between them and caution Feyre to be careful in her response. To mind the wound he was clearly revealing, and be gentle in the face of this misunderstanding.

It wasn't that she was intentionally trying to hurt him. She wasn't like Nesta, who faced the world with teeth first—better to hurt them before they hurt you. It was just that she was confounded, because she had always been under the impression that she and Isaac were on the same page.

"It was a distraction," she blurted, squinting at him in disbelief. "A way to make our bleak lives slightly more bearable."

Isaac set his jaw. She could see him absorbing that response, the way one would absorb a blow to the chest.

He swallowed, his throat working thickly. "I see."

Feyre frowned. She knew she'd upset him. But she didn't understand what he thought they'd had. Wasn't he the one seeking a new lover?

"Isaac…" she started.

But he already turned away, tossing her family's water buckets to the ground before storming off. She marveled at his back as he went, trying to tease out the question this moment answered.

How did Isaac Hale feel about Feyre Archeron? Apparently, she'd been more than a distraction to him.

Feeling strangely heavy, Feyre bent down to collect the water buckets. She was only halfway to the well. Without Isaac, she couldn't carry enough water for a bath, but they did still need more. She'd used the last of it on her experiment with the beans, and it was the least she could do to replenish what she used.

Even if that meant going to the well on her own.

The rest of the journey was quiet, with only her thoughts for company. Usually Feyre didn't mind the quiet, but today it made her agitated. She placed the water buckets—now stacked two apiece—on the stone lip of the well, her fingers feeling twitchy once she let go, devoid of something to hold, a purpose to soothe their restlessness.

Her heart was beating in her throat as she started to lower the water jug using the wooden crank. She didn't know why she was so unsettled. It was still quiet, no sounds of sighing trees or cracking twigs. No sign of company in any capacity, friend or foe, human or otherwise.

No sound of birds.

That answered one question, at least. Why did she feel unsafe?

It asked a different, far more pressing one. She tried not to think too carefully about it. They were just birds. And it was getting late. They were probably sleeping. It meant nothing. Besides, she was already at the well. She might as well collect the water and hurry home.

As she raised the water jug, she couldn't ease the prickling sensation that something was watching her. Feyre turned her head, scanning the thicket of trees up ahead. It marked the beginning of the forest that stood between herself and fae territory.

She cranked the wheel faster, deciding that one bucket would be sufficient. Nesta's ire was a more welcome opponent than the dread that was dragging her heart into her stomach.

Wind hissed through the trees, breaching the silence.

It was answered by the sound of her pumping blood, deafening her ears.

A branch cracked. A pebble skittered.

Feyre whirled, expecting to confront something from her nightmares. She saw nothing but open air. Was her fear just making her paranoid?

Then something seized her by the arm. A hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. In an instant, the sight of the well, the grass, the trees, were all swallowed into darkness.

This, at least, was the answer to a question she'd been wondering for years: what happened to the human girls who went missing?

[twoa-plus]

in paradise

(spoilers for beast yeast episodes 9 & 10)

eternal sugar is, to me, the most tragic of the beasts (so far, at least). the others became corrupted versions of what they once were - everything fades eventually, so it’s best not to care for anything at all; an exciting lie will always prevail over fact, so why bother defending the truth; change is a neverending cycle of rises and falls, so why not just skip to the falls. eternal sugar, though, when faced with the reality that happiness is fleeting, did not lean in to pain. she clung to her role as “bringer of happiness” like a drowning man to driftwood. her desperation for everyone to be happy is quite possibly the most genuine thing about her. however, she does not trust people to stay within the bounds of the “happiness” she gives them - in order for her dreams of everyone’s happiness to come true, she must control them. there’s the whole thing with the “air that makes you hallucinate eternal joy when you breathe it” of course, but even the actual, physical ways that she grants people’s wishes lead to their total dependence on her.

sugarfly’s flight is symbolic of her freedom, in every sense of the word. there’s the obvious physical aspect, but what i’m more interested in is the emotional. sugarfly came to the garden unhappy with her wings - unhappy with herself - and her wish was for eternal sugar to “fix” her. this wish was granted. however, eternal sugar does not trust this to keep her happy forever - what if when she leaves, people don’t like her new wings? what if when she leaves, she realizes that there are so many greater issues in her life? what if when she leaves, she gets hurt? the obvious solution is, of course, to not let her leave at all. eternal sugar grants her wish, yes - but she does it in a way that leaves sugarfly entirely dependent on the garden. sugarfly’s freedom of movement has been taken, but it’s okay, there’s no need to fly in the garden. sugarfly’s freedom of spirit has been taken, her personality replaced by constant expressions of gratitude, but it’s okay - she’s happy.

pavlova is more of a difficult case since we don’t know nearly as much about him, so most of this is just speculation on my end, but i think it fits here. pavlova, the child, views love and all its complications as nothing more than strings in the beautiful tapestry of life’s narrative. every good story needs its ups and downs, so there’s no point in being upset when tragedy strikes - it’s all just part of the excitement, after all. pavlova’s wish, i think, was to return to (or stay within) this childlike innocence, this core belief that nothing in life is truly bad. eternal sugar granted this wish by making him an actual child - someone who has never had to face the realities of loss, yes, but also someone who needs caring for. she needs him to need her - need the garden - so that he will not (cannot) leave. if he doesn’t leave, he won’t have to accept the everyday pains of life. pavlova may be deprived of the ability to grow into the person he was meant to be, but he is happy.

the whole point of beast yeast 9 & 10 is that idea at the end of “happiness cannot exist without pain as its shadow.” in order to pursue what would truly make her happy, sugarfly first needs to accept who she is to begin with - a long, painful process, starting with the acceptance of her so detested wings as part of herself. in order to pursue what would truly make him happy, pavlova needs to grow up - he needs to learn that life is not a fairytale & he should not be a bystander in its story, that he shouldn’t take its highlights for granted. they needed to go through that pain to reach true happiness. eternal sugar cannot handle the idea of anyone going through any pain, however, so she had to make them stay as they were. their joy may be only surface-deep, but at least there is no pain.

pavlova & sugarfly are based on eros & psyche, respectively - a married couple. they were destined to be together, their fates intertwined - but their tale has been tampered with. their red string is holding on by a thread, and with the slightest touch it might snap.

and the worst part is that none of it was malicious.