#xray search

[abyssalowls]

Gastly Wailord fusion!

[linkedinxraysearch]

Master LinkedIn X-Ray Search: Unlock Hidden Profiles and Talent with Advanced Search Techniques

Learn how to leverage LinkedIn X-Ray Search to uncover hidden profiles, find top talent, and gather crucial information without needing a LinkedIn account. This guide covers advanced search operators, best practices, and step-by-step instructions to help you maximize your recruitment, sales, and networking efforts using LinkedIn's vast professional database

[istherewifiinhell]

anyway. perceptors scope <3

[ID: Transformers Victory (89 anime) screenshots.

1. An extreme close an optic lense surrounded by a shiny metal casing, and a ring of blue gray painted metal. It the the lense of perceptor's scope.

2. The subject of what he's viewing, Star Saber's head. An x-ray or similar affect rending the internal compotents in techincal drawing like detail. END]

[writeasblog]

The Strategic Importance of LinkedIn X-Ray Search via Google

In today’s professional landscape, where digital connections significantly influence career paths and organizational success, effectively navigating networking platforms is essential. LinkedIn has emerged as the leading platform for professional networking, enabling individuals to connect, share, and advance their careers. However, many users fail to fully utilize LinkedIn's capabilities due to limitations in its native search functions. This is where LinkedIn XRay search through Google becomes a powerful strategy, enhancing visibility, improving recruitment processes, and fostering meaningful connections.

Understanding the Limitations of Standard LinkedIn Searches

While LinkedIn's built-in search features provide tools to connect with potential contacts and job opportunities, they often fall short due to factors like privacy settings, algorithmic biases, and limited filtering options. Users may struggle to locate specific profiles or information, leading to frustration and missed opportunities. Recruiters, in particular, may overlook qualified candidates who don’t fit traditional profiles or who are not actively seeking new positions.

These inherent limitations can narrow the view of available talent and networking possibilities. Many professionals are unaware that they can leverage external search tools to enhance their LinkedIn experience. By employing X-Ray search techniques, users can bypass these constraints and improve their ability to connect with the right individuals.

Enhancing Recruitment Strategies

One of the primary advantages of LinkedIn X-Ray search is its capacity to transform recruitment strategies. The challenge of sourcing qualified talent is a common concern for many organizations. Traditional recruitment methods often focus on candidates actively seeking employment, resulting in a limited talent pool and missed opportunities to engage with passive candidates—those with the right skills who are not currently looking for new roles.

By using X-Ray search techniques, recruiters can proactively identify and connect with individuals who meet specific qualifications. This broader approach enhances recruitment efficiency and improves the overall quality of hires. Organizations adopting this strategy can align their talent acquisition processes more closely with their business objectives, leading to better employee retention and enhanced performance.

Expanding Networking Horizons

Networking is crucial for professional success, facilitating connections that can lead to collaborations, mentorships, and career advancements. Traditional networking often relies on existing connections, limiting exposure to new professionals and diverse ideas. X-Ray search broadens networking opportunities by allowing users to discover influential figures and potential collaborators beyond their immediate circles.

This expanded visibility fosters a culture of collaboration and knowledge sharing, enabling users to connect with a wider array of professionals. Such connections not only enrich individual careers but also contribute to a broader community of innovation, allowing diverse perspectives to drive creative solutions to challenges.

Gaining Competitive Insights

In an ever-evolving business environment, understanding the competitive landscape is vital for any organization striving for success. Companies can utilize X-Ray search to gather insights about competitors, industry trends, and emerging skills in demand. By analyzing profiles of professionals in similar roles or within competing organizations, businesses can identify strengths and weaknesses in their talent acquisition strategies.

This competitive intelligence informs strategic decisions regarding workforce planning and development. By staying abreast of emerging skills and market demands, organizations can better align their recruitment efforts and professional development initiatives, ensuring they remain relevant and competitive.

Boosting Efficiency and Productivity

Time is a critical factor in today’s fast-paced business environment. Both professionals and recruiters must seek ways to maximize efficiency in their workflows. X-Ray search enhances productivity by streamlining the process of locating relevant profiles and information. By leveraging Google’s advanced search capabilities, users can quickly navigate vast amounts of data to find the insights they need.

For recruiters, this efficiency translates into shorter hiring cycles and faster decision-making processes. The ability to swiftly identify qualified candidates or valuable networking contacts allows organizations to adapt quickly to changing business needs, fostering agility in a competitive marketplace.

Broadening Discoverability and Reach

LinkedIn boasts a vast user base, presenting both opportunities and challenges. While the platform hosts millions of professionals, many profiles remain hidden due to privacy settings or algorithmic biases. X-Ray search empowers users to expand their reach and discover profiles that might otherwise go unnoticed.

This capability is especially beneficial for organizations seeking to diversify their talent pools or for professionals wanting to connect with individuals from varied backgrounds. By broadening their networks, users can gain fresh insights and foster inclusive environments that promote creativity and innovation.

Precision in Targeted Searches

The ability to conduct highly targeted searches is another significant advantage of X-Ray techniques. Users can tailor their queries based on specific job titles, skills, locations, and other criteria relevant to their goals. This specificity ensures that individuals can locate exactly what they need, whether it's a candidate with niche expertise or a professional contact in a particular industry.

Such targeted approaches are particularly valuable in specialized fields where the talent pool may be limited. By identifying and connecting with the right individuals, users can create more effective networking strategies that align with their professional objectives.

Conclusion

In conclusion, integrating LinkedIn X-Ray search via Google is a vital strategy for navigating today’s complex professional environment. By overcoming the limitations of traditional LinkedIn searches, users gain access to a wealth of information that enhances recruitment efforts, fosters meaningful networking, and provides critical insights into industry trends. As the professional landscape continues to evolve, mastering these search techniques will be increasingly important for individuals and organizations aiming for success. By harnessing the power of X-Ray search, professionals can unlock new opportunities, drive innovation, and position themselves for long-term success in a dynamic marketplace.

[shahid-1994]

A Comprehensive Guide to LinkedIn X-Ray Search

Introduction

LinkedIn has become an essential platform for professionals, recruiters, and businesses looking to network, recruit talent, or connect with like-minded individuals. With over 900 million users globally, LinkedIn offers a vast pool of talent and networking opportunities. However, accessing the full potential of LinkedIn’s database can be challenging, especially with the limitations of LinkedIn’s own search functionality. This is where LinkedIn X-Ray Search comes into play.

X-Ray Search is a powerful technique that leverages the capabilities of search engines like Google to search for LinkedIn profiles without needing to log in or rely on LinkedIn’s internal search tools. This article will explore what LinkedIn X-Ray Search is, how it works, and provide a step-by-step guide to conducting effective LinkedIn X-Ray Searches.

What is LinkedIn X-Ray Search?

LinkedIn X-Ray Search is a method of using search engines to find LinkedIn profiles, company pages, and other LinkedIn content. The term "X-Ray Search" is often used in the context of recruitment and sourcing, referring to the ability to "see through" the surface of LinkedIn and access data using specific search queries on Google or other search engines. By using advanced search operators, recruiters and sourcers can bypass LinkedIn's restrictions and locate profiles more efficiently.

Why Use LinkedIn X-Ray Search?

Overcoming LinkedIn Search Limits: LinkedIn’s search capabilities, especially on free accounts, are limited in terms of the number of searches you can perform, the filters available, and the depth of results. X-Ray Search provides a way to bypass these limitations.

Accessing Hidden Profiles: Some profiles may not appear in LinkedIn’s internal search due to privacy settings or LinkedIn’s algorithm. X-Ray Search can uncover these hidden profiles.

Efficiency: X-Ray Search allows you to search for profiles directly on Google, using powerful search operators that can target specific keywords, locations, companies, and more, making the search process more efficient.

Broader Search Capabilities: You can combine LinkedIn X-Ray Search with other search criteria to find profiles across various websites and platforms, not just LinkedIn, broadening your talent pool.

How LinkedIn X-Ray Search Works

X-Ray Search works by using Google’s advanced search operators to query specific parts of LinkedIn’s domain. The key to a successful X-Ray Search is understanding how to structure your queries using these operators.

Basic Search Operators:

Site:

The site: operator restricts search results to a specific website or domain. For LinkedIn X-Ray Search, you use site:linkedin.com.

Example: site:linkedin.com

Intitle:

The intitle: operator searches for pages where the specified keyword is in the title of the page. For LinkedIn profiles, the title typically includes the person's name and possibly their job title.

Example: intitle:"John Doe"

Inurl:

The inurl: operator searches for pages with a specific word in the URL. This is useful for finding LinkedIn profiles, which usually include /in/ in the URL.

Example: inurl:/in/

Quotation Marks (" "):

Quotation marks are used to search for an exact phrase or combination of words. This is useful when searching for specific names, job titles, or skills.

Example: "software engineer"

Minus (-):

The minus sign excludes certain words or phrases from the search results. This can help narrow down the search by removing irrelevant results.

Example: -intitle:"John Doe"

[cubicalone]

X-Ray Search Like a Pro: 5 Tips to Navigate the Web with Precision

In the vast expanse of the internet, finding specific information quickly and efficiently can be a daunting task. Regular Google searches often inundate us with a flood of results, making it challenging to pinpoint the exact data we need. However, fear not! There’s a powerful tool at your disposal – Google X-ray Search. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll walk you through the ins and outs of…

[vague-humanoid]

Two Harvard students recently revealed that it's possible to combine Meta smart glasses with face image search technology to "reveal anyone's personal details," including their name, address, and phone number, "just from looking at them."

In a Google document, AnhPhu Nguyen and Caine Ardayfio explained how they linked a pair of Meta Ray Bans 2 to an invasive face search engine called PimEyes to help identify strangers by cross-searching their information on various people-search databases. They then used a large language model (LLM) to rapidly combine all that data, making it possible to dox someone in a glance or surface information to scam someone in seconds—or other nefarious uses, such as "some dude could just find some girl’s home address on the train and just follow them home,” Nguyen told 404 Media.

This is all possible thanks to recent progress with LLMs, the students said.

"This synergy between LLMs and reverse face search allows for fully automatic and comprehensive data extraction that was previously not possible with traditional methods alone," their Google document said.

Where previously someone could spend substantial time conducting their own search of public databases to find information based on someone's image alone, their dystopian smart glasses do that job in a few seconds, their demo video said.

The co-creators said that they altered a pair of Meta Ray Bans 2 to create I-XRAY to raise awareness of "significant privacy concerns" online as technology rapidly advances.

[hotchscoffeecup]

tied up in knots

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

rating: m (mdni 18+)

word count: 3.6

summary: after dropping a less than subtle hint (a book on shibari bondage) into your go-bag, prentiss suggests a new and exciting sexual endeavor for you to explore together as a couple. after solving the case, she sneaks into your hotel room to bring this vision to life and you’re more than happy to play into the fantasy.

tags: shibari bondage, vaginal fingering, strap on sex

“Are you alright?” Spencer asks, eyeing you curiously.

You blink out of your momentary stupor and look at your boots before glancing back up at the jet. “What?” You feign a laugh. “Sorry, just wondering what’s taking the stairs so long to descend.”

“I’m just asking because you’re holding onto your bag there like it’s going to grow legs and run away” Reid inclines his head towards arms, which are currently cradling (okay, clutching) the tote bag you usually let hang casually off your shoulder. He snorts a short laugh, “Which is of course impossible.”

You force a chuckle and thank God when the jet doors hiss and the stairs descend. The rest of the team arrives and you don’t miss the intense look Emily levels at you from beneath her long lashes as she silently passes you to ascend the steps onto the jet. Her vanilla almond body wash envelops you and it alone is enough to bring a furious heat to your cheeks.

Or maybe it’s the fact that she’d slipped a book on shibari bondage into your bag in passing in the bullpen like it was a totally normal thing to do. You felt its weight like a stone and worried that everyone around you knew what haughty material you were hiding.

Emily had said nothing when she’d dropped the book into your bag. In fact, you’d not even realized what she’d done until your personal phone buzzed, which was odd. You almost never received any texts or calls while at work that didn’t go directly to your work cell. Prentiss’ name had flashed on screen and you’d wondered momentarily if she’d meant to text your work phone.

I got you a present.

Brow furrowed, you’d bent down to check your bag and found a small book with a black and white cover titled: Shibari 101: A Beginner’s Guide to the Art of Japanese Bondage and immediately panicked, allowing the magnetic snaps of your tote to snap back together and hide it from sight. You’d managed to smack your head against the bottom of your desk and yelped in pain, drawing the eyes of all of your coworkers.

Derek had arched a brow and leaned back in his desk chair to investigate the source of distress.

“Everything ok over there?”

You’d nodded and rubbed at the back of your head, cracking a smile and shrugging. “Clearly, I just need another cup of coffee.”

Derek smiled and returned to his work. “You and me both.”

You swallow nervously and relinquish your grip on your bag, allowing it to swing by your side and remind yourself that none of your teammates have xray vision.

After securing your go bag into the overhead bin, you slump down into the nearest seat and tuck your tote back behind your legs.

Hotch wastes no time passing out Manila folders to everyone. As the plane kicks up speed and soars into the air, he briefs the team on the case they’re heading to in Cheyanne, Wyoming to investigate. While his balanced tenor drones on about what they know so far, you feel your phone buzz in your lap. You carefully click the home button to wake up your screen and read the message from Emily.

I’ve got big plans for you. Check page 102 for a sneak peek.

You gulp nervously and nearly jump out of your skin when Hotch says your name.

You drop your phone back into your lap and look up, eyes searching and landing on Hotch, who looks less than pleased. “Anything you’d like to share?”

Emily snickers softly across the way and bites at her cuticles before pretending to read over the case file.

You shake your head. “No sir, sorry.”

He presses his lips together and nods. As he returns to what he was saying, you shoot Emily a dangerous look and she only smirks in response.

“Thanks everyone,” Hotch says in dismissal and everyone breaks up to return to their preferred in-flight activities.

Reid cracks open a well worn Chaucer novel, Morgan slips on his favorite pair of Beats headphones, and JJ and Rossi join Hotch towards the front of the plane to continue coordinating what will happen when they touch down in Wyoming.

You abruptly rise to your feet and shuffle towards the back of the plane where the coffee pot light blinks warm and invitingly. The coffee mugs clink as you pull one down from the locked cupboard overhead and pour yourself a fresh cup.

Emily sneaks up behind you and passes a subtle hand across the small of your back.

“Have I ever told you how good you look in blue?” She asks smoothly.

You cut her a sideways glance and ignore her as you tear open a packet of Splenda and pour it into your coffee.

“Oh c’mon,” she croons with a playful jab at your ribs. “I gotta be honest, I’m hot just thinking about it.”

Your eyes fly open and you take one step into her personal space, so close that you can feel her breath on your lips.

“Jesus, Emily!” you hiss. You glance over your shoulder and no one is looking in your direction. You grab her by the wrist and abandon your coffee on the counter to drag her further away towards the restroom. “You can’t just drop bondage books into my purse while we’re at work!”

Emily looks down the slope of her nose at you and licks her lips daringly. “Adds a little something to it though. Makes it all a little bit more naughty.”

A furious heat blazes across your cheeks as her tongue pops on the last syllable of the word naughty.

“There it is,” she says, lowering her voice. Her words are all feline as she speaks. “That basal instinct that comes with sex and the urge to explore the more clandestine parts of our hedonistic needs.”

You swallow, feeling her words slide over your skin and elicit goosebumps across your arms.

“Page 102,” she whispers in your ear before stealing your cup of coffee and sashaying back down the aisle towards her seat.

Blowing a strand of hair out of your face, you brace your hands against the counter and wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. Are you wholly and utterly enamored by Emily? Yes. Have these last six months of secretly dating been the most exhilarating (and somewhat stressful hiding it from the team) experience ever? Also yes. She was brilliant and daring with a beautiful mind and body to match. Sometimes you just felt…inexperienced, but you loved exploring your sexuality with Emily. She introduced you to such fun and tantalizing behaviors in the bedroom. Hell, you’d never known pleasure like the kind Prentiss delivered. Just thinking about it sends a rush of heat through your core and you have to bite back the smile spreading across your lips.

“You look happy.”

You startle, smile fading instantly as you clutch your chest. “Christ, Morgan.”

He chuckled and reached over you to get a coffee mug. “Lost in a daydream, huh?”

You glance over his shoulder and see Emily taking a sip from your coffee and a small smile returns to your face. “Yeah,” you answer, letting your mind wander to whatever might be awaiting you on page 102. “Something like that.”

•

You heave a sigh of relief as you step out of the bathroom, a fluffy white towel wrapped around your body while you towel dry your hair with another.

This case had been a whirlwind, but at the end of the day the team had managed to save two women and brought the man responsible for their kidnapping to justice. It wasn’t often you got to see victims return home to their families. It was a victory unlike any other in your field of work.

On top of the win, you’d been able to spend more time working with Emily. Hotch had paired the two of you together to interview the families of the two young women who had been kidnapped. You’d learned a lot from watching Emily and Derek work together and Emily and JJ. Sympathizing without becoming overly attached, knowing what to say to avoid making someone angry, knowing what to do when someone inevitably gets angry because the situation is out of control and you’re the only one that can help bring them a modicum of peace. This was something Emily does with ease, likely the result of growing up under the tutelage of an ambassador.

You don’t even realize the smile curving at your lips as you think about Emily and the way the baby blue scoop neck she’d been wearing clung to the curve of her body.

A knock at the door causes you to jump and you stumble to the bed where the contents of your go bag are haphazardly strewn about.

“Just a second!” You call out as you search for something to throw on.

“It’s Emily!” Her voice is muffled behind the door.

You relax a little and stop frantically throwing your clothes about. Holding your towel tight to your chest, you cross the room and unlock the door.

When you open it, Emily flashes you a smile; her teeth white against her berry lipstick. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, the dark fringe framing the delicate arches of her cheekbones. You look down either side of the hall for signs of the team before pulling her into the room.

Emily chuckles as you close the door to the hotel room and lock it. She inclines her head to kiss you and you let her steal a quick kiss before you step back and point a finger at her.

“You have been extra flirty this week, what gives!”

Emily arches an eyebrow and huffs, though a smile still plays about her lips. “Damn, I knew I should’ve been insulting you instead of complimenting you!” She snaps her fingers and shakes her head. “That’s how you win the girl!”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s the sweetest. I guess I’m just not used to so much affection being directed my way. It’s—” You take a step towards her and reach for her hand to intertwine your fingers with hers. “It’s nice.”

You press a kiss to her lips and glance up at her dark eyes from beneath your lashes. “I like it when you’re nice.”

“Yeah?” Emily asks. Her lips brush against yours as she speaks, “And what if I wasn’t so nice?”

Your brow furrows at the question and when you meet her gaze again it’s filled with lust as her eyes study your body.

Your pulse quickens as your mind flits back to just before you showered. As you’d pulled out your toiletries kit from your go-bag, the evocative book Prentiss had subtly gifted you had fallen out onto the floor. You’d forgotten you’d hidden it beneath all of your clothes deep inside your go bag the minute you’d keyed into your hotel room. It hadn’t been until you noticed the steam rolling out into the bedroom that you'd forgotten you’d already turned on the shower. You’d just gotten so absorbed in the outrageously complicated positions and knottings of ropes around limbs and wondering where she’d stumbled upon it.

A thud pulls you back to the present and your gaze drops down to your bare feet where Emily dropped her go-bag.

“Do you want to know what I packed?” She asks, her voice taking on a feline quality.

You swallow as you stare down at the bag and images of page 102 flash across your mind’s eye. Biting the inside of your lip, you nod and feel heat pool inside your belly as Emily smiles at you wickedly.

You gasp into Emily’s mouth as she steps forward and captures your lips with hers. Her hands clasp either side of your face as she pulls you in closer and your hands instinctively wrap around her waist.

You taste her vanilla chapstick as your tongue slips between her lips and she chuckles against your mouth as she walks you back towards the bed. When your legs bump up against the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto the bedspread; sliding your legs up and around Emily’s ass to pull her down on top of you. Her lips find the corners of your mouth before trailing down the column of your throat before pausing to suckle the top of your breast. Your right leg stays hooked around her waist and you pull her in closer as she pulls aside the towel and sucks your nipple into her mouth.

You moan as she teases the taut peak while her hand moves to palm and tweak the other between her slender fingers.

“Were you thinking about me?” She asks, voice husky as she releases your aching nipple. “In the shower?”

She rubs the pad of her thumb over the swollen area in slow, teasing circles and you whimper out a stilted, “Yes.”

Emily hums satisfactorily as she presses her lips against the soft flesh of your breast. She leans back and pulls the towel away from your body, exposing the rest of your bare skin now pebbled with goosebumps. Her dark hair falls over her shoulder as she tilts her head to admire the curves of your body and when her gaze drops to your core, you can’t help but feel the steady pulse deep inside of you drum harder and she hasn’t even touched you yet. You bite your lip and rock your pelvis back into the mattress to try and assuage the ache, but it only makes you that much more aware.

“You’re glistening for me,” she says, her lips curving into a sinful smile.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You challenge, though it’s extremely hard to keep your composure.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow and you know there’s no escaping whatever she has planned for you as she turns to scoop her bag off the floor.

You lick your lips as she reaches into the bag and your eyes widen as she withdraws several coils of black satin cords.

“Page 102?” You ask.

She smirks in turn, “If you’re still game.”

You nod, feeling excitement stir in your belly. “I am.”

“Then just lie back,” she says, “and relax.”

With soft, knowing hands she guides you into a kneeling position with your legs spread wide. The air is cool against your slick heat and you stir impatiently as she weaves the cords in and around your calves and thighs, binding them together so you’ve no choice but to sit back on your heels.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” You ask breathily, your chest already heaving with want.

Emily doesn’t lose focus as she threads the cord around your wrist and tethers it to each ankle, but her berry colored lips curve into a smile. “Would you believe me if I said the internet?”

The laugh you breathe out ebbs into a moan as Emily pulls the knot tight, drawing your wrists down and forcing your chest out. Your breasts ache to be felt by her and a needy whimper eks past your lips as she takes a measured step back to admire her handiwork.

You ought to feel vulnerable, spread out and exposed like this; but you only feel wanted and desired. That isn’t hunger in Emily’s eyes as the deep brown of her gaze admires your figure. No, it’s more than that, an all consuming reverence and you know that she’s about to worship at the altar of your body.

You rock back on your heels and whimper as the bonds tighten around your legs, sending a shiver of need up the length of your spine.

“Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to come fuck me breathless.”

A daring challenge enters Emily’s eyes. Without breaking eye contact with you, her hands tug at the belted waist of her trench coat. As the garment comes loose and falls about her ankles, a throbbing pulse beats deep in your pussy.

A black lace teddy hugs her figure, accentuating the muscular curve of her waist. The ribbed framing pushes her tits up and all you want is to press your lips against the soft skin of her breast and taste her, but that’s not what surprises you most of all.

You swallow and feel your breathing increase as Emily’s elegant fingers trace the leather straps of a harness down to where a thick, purple strap-on is fastened against her pubic bone. She curves her fingers around the shaft and pumps it gently.

“I think you’ll be more than breathless when I’m done with you.”

She kneels on the bed and crawls slowly towards you. You squirm beneath the binds and watch a devilish grin form upon her face as she presses herself up to kiss you. Your mouth automatically opens for her and as she presses her lips against yours, you naturally fall back into the pillows stacked against the headboard. You feel the heat of your desire slick down your inner thigh and you simper against her mouth as you feel your arousal mounting without her even laying a hand on you.

Emily’s lashes flutter as she glances from you to your slick cunt. “Are we ready?”

You bite your lip and nod resolutely, a needy, “Yes,” gliding off your tongue.

Emily slides one finger into your core and you grind against the movement. Slowly, she pushes in a second and then a third. You take a sharp inhale of breath as you adjust to her fingers stretching you, but there’s very little resistance from how wet you already are.

“God, you’re incredible,” she whispers as she slowly begins to glide her fingers in and out of your core, making sure to curve just right against the soft spongy cleft within you. Each pump of her fingers against that sensitive spot sends electricity through your veins and you can’t fight the moans she easily elicits from you. The pace is wickedly torturous and you need more. You crave more. You rock against her hand, though your movement is restricted by the binds she so expertly wove.

When her thumb begins to circle your clit, your brain dissolves into nothing more than TV static as your body becomes a live wire under her electric touch.

You feel your pleasure mounting, a wave cresting higher and higher beneath her undulating hand. A furious heat blossoms in your chest and tears through your entire being as your heart pounds against your ribcage. You try to stifle the moans erupting from your throat, but it’s hard to control any part of your body as your muscles go rigid and your orgasm rips through you. The cords stretch as you pull against the power of your climax and before you can even catch your breath, she takes to one knee, positions herself up against your core, and slams the strap into you.

You rear forward and bite into the flesh of her breast to keep from screaming out as the strap fills and stretches you. Stars dot the corners of your vision as she grabs the headboard behind you and uses it to propel her hips forward, driving it in deeper with each thrust. Before you know it, you’re climaxing again, but she doesn’t relent. It isn’t until she wrenches a third orgasm from you, that she finally slips out and catches you as your spent body falls forward against her.

Her thumbs splay across your cheeks as she praises you for taking her so well. She presses tender kisses all over your face as she loops her arms around your waist to undo the ties binding your wrists. As soon as they’re free, you reach up and pull her face to yours, kissing her fervently.

You stop and rest your forehead against hers. “So that was—?”

She nods, smiling. “Page 102, yeah.”

You lick your lips and nod, confirming the information. “And how many pages are in that book?”

“About 200.”

“Let’s keep reading it.”

She flashes you a grin. “Yeah?”

You kiss her again. “Definitely.”

She helps untie the remaining cords and slowly helps you stretch out your sore and aching limbs. She massages lotion scented with jasmine deep into your muscles and you groan languidly as she digs into knots you didn’t even know you had.

After wiping you down, she calls for fresh sheets from housekeeping and helps you dress in your favorite pair of sweatpants and borrowed FBI academy sweatshirt. You’d stolen it long ago and she’d never asked for it back.

You sit in the lounger in the corner of the room and watch as she changes into her own comfortable clothing and hides away the evidence of what you’d just done away in to her go bag; the strap already washed and dried. When housekeeping comes, she strips the sheets and remakes the bed and you just watch with a lazy smile plastered to your face.

“I can feel your eyes on me,” she says teasingly.

“I like watching you,” you respond easily.

“Well, why don’t you come crawl in between these sheets and choose something to watch on Netflix.” She pulls your laptop out of your backpack and places it on the bed. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

And so you stand up and crawl into bed. You power on your laptop and choose an early 2000s rom-com and as Emily clambers into bed beside you and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you in to nestle against the crook of her body, you know there isn’t anywhere else you’d rather be than in this bed, sharing these moments with her…even if you were on a case.

But you’d worry about that later.

[3liza]

On the off chance you've come across this in your own medical research, my partner (POTS, joint hypermobility, ND) needs to crack/pop her joints several times an hour, especially her fingers, wrists, ankles and knees. She specifically remembers it starting when she was 16. It's not really a problem except that if she can't pop a specific joint the feeling develops into pain, and sometimes she just can't get it to happen for a few hours. Is this something you've heard of in connective tissue disorder literature? Doctors have been, as you would expect, totally useless about it, and while it seems harmless now...

this is off the cuff; i havent heard about this but it does just sound like one of those things that could theoretically happen to someone with weird joints. on the other hand joint "popping" is something most normal people also can do, and in the last research on joints popping in those (non-hypermobile) cases that i read (which was a while ago so maybe out of date), it was discovered that joint popping isn't really "doing" anything, it was just making a bubble of gas and a sound using a vacuum basically, but it seems to have a powerful somatic effect which is why chiropractors use it. it's also a really, really common stim for various ND people. i wouldnt assume your partner's joint popping is purely somatic/habitual though, who knows what's going on in there or how it differs from non-hypermobile people

my concern would be that in 99% of the cases of "weird human tricks" that hypermobile people can do, doing those weird human tricks will loosen and damage tissue further and doctors agree that you should absolutely not do them unless demonstrating a symptom to a doctor or something. i would be concerned about continuing the joint-popping habit for this reason. but at the same time, pain is a really strong indicator in the opposite direction. so who knows.

actually now that i type all this out i am reminded that when my neck or hip gets out of joint i have to pop them back into place. i dont know for sure that this is a subluxation (minor dislocation), because im not standing inside an xray when it happens, but thats what it feels like. i do know that this happens to a lot of hypermobile people. the problem with trying to search for the term, which is a real medical term, is that chiropractors (fucking again) have decided that everyone on earth gets subluxations (false) and also that chiropractors can heal every disease by "aligning" your skeleton with powerful blows (false, especially for hypermobile people, who should avoid chiropractors even more dedicatedly than normal people). this is bullshit and can be safely ignored. however, many hypermobile people do actually get minor dislocations frequently, because the connective tissue holding joints together just isnt doing its job. ribs are a really common one. for me its the neck tendons and femoral heads.

i dont think a doctor will have any idea what youre talking about. maybe a physical therapist would be more helpful though, even just to ask questions and see what they think about the "joint popping is possibly damaging my joints further" vs "not popping my joints causes pain" situation

[salmonballsss]

The Violet Hour

(Chapter 9)

You are a young, awkward historian obsessed with the Salem witch trials. One name repeats through obscure documents: Agatha Harkness. She's not supposed to exist anymore. But when you find a book authored in her name and follow the trail to a remote New England town, you're met with a woman who looks nothing like she belongs in your century—and who wants absolutely nothing to do with you…

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Masturbation

You didn’t protest when she shifted again, this time sliding her arms fully beneath you.

“Don’t—” you started weakly, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“I said you’re not fine,” she muttered, voice low. “Stop arguing.”

Before you could respond— not that you had the energy—she lifted you like you weighed nothing. You felt your limbs dangle, loose and uncooperative, your head falling lightly against her shoulder.

She was so warm… 

The walk back to the bedroom was slow and steady. Agatha’s steps were careful, every movement measured, her grip unshakable. She nudged the door open with her hip, eased you down into the covers like she’d done this a thousand times before. You sank into the mattress with a trembling sigh, blinking up at the ceiling as she adjusted the quilt over you.

Then she lingered.

She sit near you, watching you with that same unreadable focus—like she was listening for something beneath your breathing. Waiting to see if you’d puke again. Pass out again.

Your eyes drifted closed, just for a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. Quiet. Firm.

You cracked an eye open, surprised by the softness in her tone. Agatha reached out, brushing a hand through your hair, fingers searching for something behind your scalp. You winced when she hit a sore spot near the back of your head.

Her fingers paused.

“Hold still,” she murmured.

She parted your hair gently, tilting your head. You heard her make a small sound in her throat—half relief, half annoyance.

“No blood,” she said finally. “You didn’t tear anything.”

You blinked up at her, dazed.

She raised an eyebrow. “So unless you managed to vomit up a demon, I’m guessing the noodle theory’s bullshit.”

Your lips twitched, despite yourself. “Just… really bad soup.”

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Please. My soup’s divine. You probably summoned something and tried to eat that .”

You didn’t laugh. But you didn’t deny it either.

That made her squint harder.

But instead of pressing, she pulled the quilt higher up your chest, smoothing it over your shoulder. Her touch lingered there a moment too long.

Then she sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. Guarded. Quiet.

Waiting.

Like she knew the real story was coming eventually.

You shifted on the mattress with a wince, your voice rough. “Did you find my things?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just looked at you—head tilted, brow furrowed slightly, as if you’d started speaking in tongues. Her eyes flicked over your face, unreadable.

Then finally, a hum. Low. Noncommittal.

You frowned. “Is that a yes or a no? You can’t just hum at me and expect me to read your mind.”

Her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything soft.

“You’ve been trying to read me since the moment we met,” she said, stepping closer. “Thought you liked puzzles.”

You stared up at her, not quite matching the fire in her voice.

“…I like answers more.”

Agatha didn’t answer. Just squinted at you, like she was trying to xray your soul.

You scowled, suddenly too raw to hold her gaze. “Stop looking at me. Did you find it or not? That’s all my research and—”

“Yes,” she cut in sharply, voice flat. “It’s downstairs. In the living room.”

You blinked. The answer landed harder than expected—not because it was what you wanted, but because she gave it so easily. You nodded, then closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. You were starting to feel better… slowly. Less nausea. It was like that notebook had caused this reaction.

Agatha’s notebook.

Did you dig too deep? Had you finally gone too far with your research? And why did Agatha seem so dead set on keeping you safe all of a sudden?

You sighed and looked back up—only to find her still staring.

“What is up with you?” you asked, not used to this behavior from Agatha , of all people.

She muttered a small, “Nothing.”

Then, after a pause, “Did you take the pills I left for you on the counter?” When You shook your head slightly, Agatha sighed, rubbing at her temples like you’d just told her the sky was on fire.

“You never listen, do you?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Well excuse me for fucking fainting on the floor and not being able to move!”

Agatha stopped, her eyebrows furrowing.

“…Right.”

Silence.

You and Agatha just stared at each other. Eyes locked. Neither of you moved. You held your breath, heart starting to race as her blue eyes bore into yours—sharp, unreadable.

Then she tsked her tongue and stood up.

“I’ll get you the medicine. And your things.”

You barely got out a quiet “Okay” before she disappeared from the room.

As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to the notebook. Before the pain—before you hit the floor—you were on something. A trail.

Several trails, really.

Especially the one that screamed, Agatha wasn’t in her 40s. Not even close. You could ask her. But that’d only make her more suspicious. Of what happened. Of what you’d seen.

Did she know you snooped?

You had left the notebook on the floor after you dropped it… and probably the study door wide open like a damn neon sign.

You shifted upright and coughed.

Something landed on your sleeve—well, Agatha’s sleeve, technically, since these were her clothes.

A thick smear of bloody, black gunk.

You stared at it, confused. What the hell was that ? Was it something you ate? But the only thing you’d had in the past two days was soup. Just soup.

Was it… from the beast?

You didn’t remember much from that night. Everything was still hazy. Maybe you could call Irene and ask? Though… that might be a little weird.

"Hey, I know I tried calling you a few days ago. I saw something terrifying in the woods, blacked out, might’ve thrown up demon goo. Anyway—what did the police find in your husband’s corpse?" 

You snorted to yourself at the absurdity of it all.

Just then, Agatha walked back in, youtr duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Oh… thank you,” you mumbled, as she approached and set everything down near the nightstand.

Then she turned to you again. “Here’s some medicine. Then I just need to check your stitched up side. If you were throwing up like that, the heaving might’ve pulled something.” Her eyes scanned your form, sharp and methodical. You shifted, wrapping your arm back under the blanket—too late. Her gaze zeroed in on your wrist. On the mess you’d coughed up.

“Yeah, okay. Just let the medicine kick in first,” you said quickly, already moving to hide your wrist again—only for her hand to snag it mid motion.

“ Really ? On my sweater?” she asked flatly.

You gave her a sheepish look. “…It was an accident.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. Just held your wrist, eyes locked on the gunk like it had personally insulted her.

You shifted awkwardly, trying to pull back. She didn’t let go.

“Well,” you muttered, voice dry, “it’s not like I aimed for your sleeve.”

Still nothing from her.

The tension in the air shifted. She wasn't bickering. Not rolling her eyes or making one of her usual backhanded comments about how delicate you were.

Just staring. You squirmed.

Finally, she released your arm with a strange sort of gentleness—like she hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding on. Agatha stood up straighter, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Let me… check your side now.”

You blinked at her. “Now?”

“Yes. Before you puke up anything else corrosive and rot my mattress.”

There she was.

But even with the bite in her voice, something felt… off. Her eyes didn’t match her tone. Her hands hovered for a beat too long before she moved closer to the bed. You didn’t argue. Just nodded faintly and began shifting awkwardly under the blankets, untucking the edge of the sweater to expose the stitched side.

Agatha crouched beside the bed, a hand resting on the sheets for balance, the other slowly moving to lift the hem of your shirt.

Except it didn’t.

Her hand paused.

Unlike before—back when she’d changed your bandages, this timeher fingers hesitated.

She didn’t touch you.

Just hovered.

Your breath hitched.

“Are you gonna—?”

“I’m looking,” she said, cutting you off, but it came out low. Not annoyed. Almost like she was trying to convince herself of something. You felt her knuckles graze your ribs. Just barely. And then she pulled the fabric up. Her breath caught before yours did.

The stitches were still in place. Still holding. But around them, spidering out from under the neat line of thread, were veins—dark, not red. Not bruised. Black. Like ink. Or tar. Crawling under the surface of your skin like something alive was pressing from underneath.

You stared. Blinked once.

Then twice.

“…That’s not normal,” you said, way too calm.

Agatha didn’t respond. She was still crouched, still holding your shirt up, but her eyes had gone wide.

Wide for her. 

Her jaw was tight.

“Is it… infected?” you asked, voice wobbling now. “Because it doesn’t feel infected—”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Not infected.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your stomach twisted.

“Agatha,” you said, slowly, “what the hell is it, then?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Her hand was still frozen near your side, the fabric of your shirt clenched between her fingers. You could feel the tension in her knuckles, the strange war in her expression—like she was trying to hold something in. Like she was trying not to panic .

“…Agatha?”

Finally, she blinked. Stood up fast.

Too fast.

“I’ll run you a bath.”

“…What?”

“You’re sweating. And you’re pale. You should soak,” she said briskly, already turning on her heel. “It’ll help.”

“I don’t think soap is gonna fix my black demon vein infection, ” you snapped.

“Do you want to feel worse or better? ”

That shut you up.

She was already halfway to the bathroom, not looking back. You stayed frozen in place, arm over your middle, fingers pressed near the weird mark like maybe you could stop whatever it was from spreading if you held it hard enough.

The nausea came back, but slower this time. Duller. Still—your heart was sprinting. The sound of running water echoed from down the hall. The pipes in this house moaned a little, creaking like they hadn’t been used in years.

You tried not to hyperventilate.

What the hell had you summoned?

And more importantly—what the hell had it left inside you?

You stared down at the marks on your side, breathing fast.

This wasn’t normal.

This was not academic, historical weirdness. This was… other.

Footsteps padded back into the room. Agatha again. She stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, eyes flicking to your arm, then to your face, then back down. Her jaw tightened again “Come on,” she said softly this time.

Not commanding. Not annoyed.

Just… there.

You stared at her. “What?”

She extended a hand.

“I’m not gonna carry you.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then move.”

You stared another beat longer before sighing and peeling yourself off the bed with a dramatic grunt.She didn’t help, but she also didn’t walk away. You winced with every shift of movement, side screaming in tight pulses. The dark veins were still there, still quiet, like something sleeping just under your skin.

You tried not to think about it.

Agatha waited until you were mostly upright before gesturing stiffly toward the bathroom. Inside, the room was already full of steam. There was something herbal in the water—you couldn’t name it, but it smelled sharp, calming. Not quite mint. Not quite lavender. Something else…

Weird.

You stood by the edge of the tub, blinking down at the swirling heat. Agatha lingered in the doorway.

“…Do you need help getting in?”

You turned slowly to face her. “Do you want me to get naked right now and die of embarrassment on your bathroom tile?”

One of her eyebrows twitched. “You fainted in your own vomit less than an hour ago. Let’s not act like there’s any dignity left between us.”

You let out a snort, despite yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “Just… hand me a towel or something.”

She did. Wordlessly.

Her fingers brushed yours again. Brief. Warm.

Your breath caught.

She didn’t say anything else, just nodded and turned to leave. You watched the door close, listened to the soft click of it latching behind her.

You didn’t move for a second.

Just stood there.

Steam curling around you, the veins on your side pulsing with slow, sick rhythm. Whatever this was—it wasn’t normal.

But Agatha knew something, and you weren’t sure if that made it better… or much, much worse. You hesitated, hand gripping the towel at your side, the other still pressed against your ribs.

Slowly you set the towel on the sink counter, and slipped off agathas sweater, then came the sweatpants. with a grunt that felt way too dramatic for your age, you lowered yourself in. The heat bit at first. Sharp and too much—your breath hitched—but then your body adjusted and—

Oh.

Oh. 

The pain didn’t vanish. But it shifted. Blunted. Like the edges of it were being shaved down by something thicker than water. You slumped back, jaw slack with shock.

Okay. That… shouldn’t be working.

You let your head fall against the cool porcelain lip of the tub and exhaled through your nose, slow. Long. You hadn’t realized how hard you were clenching every muscle until they all started to unclench at once.

The water moved around you, thick with whatever Agatha had dumped in—herbs or salts. It helped. You shifted slightly, letting one arm float near the surface, the other trailing fingertips along the inside of the tub—just to anchor yourself. Something about the silence was louder than it should’ve been.

Your fingers brushed a rough edge.

You blinked, looking down.

Nothing.

But when you touched the spot again—just under the waterline—there it was. Faint. Like shallow scratches. You couldn’t see them. Not really. But you could feel them.

Not names. Not shapes, exactly. Just… lines.

Marks.

Your stomach turned, but you told yourself it was probably from age. Old porcelain or cast iron. Just wear and tear. Not carvings. Not something deliberate. Still. Your hand moved over them again.

Slow.

The water shifted in response. Not violently. Just… knowingly. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Jesus.”

And then— A sound outside. You opened your eyes again, breath catching mid chest. Not loud. But clear. A door. Somewhere down the hallway. Soft click of it closing.

What room did she go into?

Agatha hadn’t said a word since helping you in here. She hadn’t come back. But she was definitely moving around out there. And if that sound really was what you thought it was, then—

She was hiding something.

No. Not hiding.

Retrieving.

Preparing?

You leaned back again, shaking your head. You needed to calm down. Just relax. You took three deep breaths and closed your eyes. Maybe Agatha went into her study? Would she know you went in there and snooped around? Perhaps she’ll see the notebook of hers you’d dropped on the ground and burst in to yell at you… though that means she’d have to see you naked.

A little blush hit your cheeks thinking about that.

You relaxed back a little, thoughts drifting to the bathroom. Those flashes. What had they been about? There was some at the Salem witch trials… one of Agatha sticking your head underwater… or was that Agatha? You didn’t know. The whole thing was one big fever dream.

Then there were the ones of you and Agatha together.

You shifted in the tub, your hand resting on your thigh… Visions of you raking your nails down her back… You gulped, your breathing coming in a bit quicker.

Her eyes locked onto yours… violet, not blue… Violet like people had said throughout history… You groaned softly, your core tightening with simmering arousal. The one where she’d kissed you as if she’d been starved… it all felt so real.

So— good. 

A small whimper left your lips.

Would she kiss you like that? Desperate… overwhelmingly possessive with a mix of longing… Slowly, your hand rubbed up your thigh and to your navel.

A bed. Moonlight. Her fingers ghosting over your skin. 

Her mouth trailing lower. 

A moan—yours. Half sob, half prayer. 

“Mine,” she breathed against your stomach, voice shaking with something far deeper than lust. 

“You’ve always been mine.” 

The vision replayed in your head. Your hand trailing where her mouth had been. Imagining it was her.

Agatha. 

As if continuing it for her. You imagined her mouth trailing further down. Kissing her way lower, eyes locked onto yours as you squirmed under her. God—her stare. That violet glint. Like she owned you. Like she’d always owned you. Not just your body, but your thoughts, your breath, your pulse.

In your mind, she kissed your hip bone. Soft. Lingering. Then the other. Her hands smoothing up your sides, slow, almost reverent.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she'd whisper against your skin.

You whimpered, tilting your head back in the water. The warmth of the bath now nothing compared to the heat pooling in your gut. You could feel her breath ghosting over the inside of your thigh—close. Too close.

Your toes curled against the porcelain. She wasn’t even real right now, and still—you were falling apart for her. Her lips brushed your skin, teasing. Deliberate.

Drawing you out, pulling soft gasps from your mouth.

Agatha... 

You could almost feel her smirk. See the way she’d tilt her head, fingers digging into your legs just enough to anchor you.

“Is this what you wanted?” she’d say, voice low, smug and breathless all at once.

Your back arched in the tub, neck tipping, the vision so strong you swore it was real. Every nerve lit up. Everything inside you begging for more. And still she didn’t move. Not yet.

Just mouth after mouth, kiss after kiss—your thighs, the crease of your hip. Circling around the place you needed her. Refusing to give it. Your hand clutched the edge of the tub, knuckles white. You gasped, shaky, breath fogging the air around you.

“Please,” you whispered aloud.

Small. Barely a sound. But it echoed anyway. As if on cue, you imagined Agatha’s mouth on your sopping cunt. A moan slipped out, soft and shaky, at the first brush of your fingers rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clit.

You tried to keep it gentle—tried to savor it—but your body couldn’t take it. Not after everything. Not after a whole day spent on edge, nerves frayed and every glance from Agatha leaving you aching. You thought of her pinning you against the couch.The way her eyes bore into yours. The heat of her breath so close to your mouth—

“Fuck,” you whimpered, hips jolting.

Your fingers moved faster, each stroke dragging pleasure out of you like a tide pulling at the shore. In your mind, Agatha’s tongue worked in slow, torturous circles, flicking, sucking, her mouth relentless as she moaned into your pussy like she was starved for you. Your back arched sharply, the ache in your side forgotten. Drowned. Only the pleasure remained.

She was everywhere in your head. Murmuring filth against your cunt, lips glistening, voice thick with hunger—

“So wet for mommy…” 

You could feel her fingers now. Long, veiny, deft. Sliding under her chin before plunging into you—And you mirrored it, slipping a finger into yourself. Thrusting in quickly. Then slowly. Curling. The heel of your palm catching your clit just right. A breathless moan tumbled out. Your head tipped back. Eyes fluttered shut. You imagined her watching you like that. Half-lidded gaze. Smile curling dark and knowing.

“Keep your pretty eyes on me, baby.” 

You cried out, biting your lip hard to stifle it. Just in case. But the risk—the thought of her hearing—it only made the heat worse. Your cunt clenched around your fingers, wet and desperate. Your other hand slid up to your breast, pinching softly, then harder.

You gasped.

Would Agatha moan when you touched her like that? Or would she stay quiet—stern, commanding, her voice like gravel and sin? Would she guide you with gentle praise, coaxing you deeper? Or demand it?

“Faster. Deeper. Don’t stop until I say.” 

The image shattered your restraint. Your fingers worked harder, faster, the water splashing around your hips as your thighs tensed tight around your hand. All you could think about was her. Her mouth, her hands, her voice—

Agatha. 

Agatha. 

Agatha. 

Your breath hitched as the pressure in your stomach coiled tight.Your chest heaved, heartbeat pounding in your ears. The bathwater was too hot. Or maybe th at was just you. You turned your head, panting into your shoulder, your skin slick and flushed.Whimpers spilled from your mouth—helpless, involuntary.

Then—your fingers curled. Right against that spot.

And the whole world splintered.

You keened.

Your entire body tensed—

And then you shattered.

“Ah—f-fuck!”

Your orgasm crashed over you in violent, rolling waves. Twitching. Writhing. Gasping for air. Each wave more intense than the last, cresting until you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, smothering the cry tearing from your throat. You kept going, riding it out, chasing every last drop of it.

Until it was too much. Too sensitive.

Too everything .

Finally, finally—you stilled. Blinking your eyes open. Your fingers sliding out slowly, soaked and trembling. Chest still rising and falling in sharp, ragged breaths. You slumped against the tub, spent and dazed. Then you lifted your hand, watching the wetness glisten on your fingers. Still catching your breath.

All of it for her.

All of it because of her.

---

You stayed in the bath for another ten minutes, your body slack and warm, eyes half-lidded as the steam clung to your skin. Every inch of you still hummed. Eventually, your limbs started to feel heavy with the kind of fatigue that came after something… intense. You sighed, finally pushing yourself up, wincing slightly as the cool air kissed your flushed skin. Wrapped a towel around yourself. Tucked it tight.

You paused in front of the bathroom door, hand hovering over the knob, trying to smooth your face. Your breathing. You didn’t look like someone who just moaned Agatha Harkness’s name while fingering herself in her bathtub, right? God. You ran a hand through your damp hair, trying not to groan into the steam-thick air. Your legs still felt a little shaky beneath you, towel clutched in white-knuckled hands like it might somehow protect you from the sheer mortification if she—if Agatha—

No. She hadn’t heard anything. Hopefully.

You slowly cracked open the door. The light outside was dim, just a soft amber glow spilling from a candle on the dresser. Her room was hushed and still. No movement. No footsteps. Just the steady sound of a page turning.

Agatha.

There she was. Sitting in the same chair she had when you’d begged her to stay. Crossed legs, ankle dangling over a knee. A light brown sweater clung lazily to her frame, sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. Her hair was mussed in a way that felt… effortless. Like she'd run her fingers through it once and left it that way.

You wanted to go right back into that bath and put your hand to work again—just from the way she looked at rest.

You wrapped the towel tighter around yourself. The steam still clung to your skin, leaving you flushed and far too warm. You cleared your throat—not because you wanted her to look at you. Not because you wanted her to see you in a towel. Just so she’d leave. So you could change. Into your clothes this time. Not hers.

Though… you wouldn’t mind wearing hers again.

Agatha looked up slowly, unhurried. Her eyes moved from your face—then down. Down the slope of your neck. Over your damp collarbones. Further. Down. Then lazily back up.

A smirk played on her lips. Subtle. Barely there. But enough. You felt it like static running over your skin.

And for a moment, you were completely convinced.

She’d heard you.

You froze where you stood. Eyes locking on hers. Heat climbing from your chest to your face. God, she had to have heard you. That tub wasn’t that far from the door. Her bedroom was connected. The walls weren’t exactly soundproof. And you hadn’t exactly been quiet. You thought back—flashes of your voice, your moans, the breathy way you’d whispered her name. Her name.

Your stomach flipped. You pulled the towel tighter.

She heard you. She heard everything. And now she was sitting there. Looking at you. With that look on her face. The smirk. The silence. The casual page turning like she hadn’t just listened to you fall apart for her in a room away.

Oh god. Oh god.

You took a small step backward. Unless—unless she’d gone to her study. You’d heard the door. Earlier. That soft click in the hallway. She’d said nothing since. She hadn’t come back in until just now. Had she?

Maybe she’d been in the study the whole time.

You clung to that. Yes. The study. Far enough away. Maybe the door had been closed. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything.

You nodded once to yourself, desperate for that reality to be true. That had to be it. Right?

You lifted your chin. “I need to change,” you said quickly. Your voice sounded small. Strained.

Agatha raised a brow, the corner of her mouth still tilted, but said nothing.

You motioned toward the door, your voice a little firmer this time. “Can you give me the room for a minute?”

She blinked once. Then uncrossed her legs slowly, closing the book without hurry. That unreadable expression on her face never shifted. No teasing remark. No protest. Not even a joke.

She stood. Her gaze slid over you one last time—slow and heavy. Then she moved toward the door, And then she was gone. Door clicking shut behind her.

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding, towel still clenched in both hands. Heart hammering. Mind racing. Skin still aching from the memory of your own touch.

You were not going to survive this woman.

You headed to the duffel bag she’d brought up for you, pulling out clothes and setting them on the dresser. Dropped the towel. Your eyes went straight to the blackish veins blooming faintly across your ribs.

You ran a hand over them, wincing slightly. Why was this happening?

You slid your clothes on, mind still reeling. Why was it that the second you arrived in Hollow Wood, everything strange had started happening to you? Back in Washington, you got to study in a library… write your thesis. Maybe go out with Billy. Life was normal.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d been shaken upside down and wrung out to dry.

You glanced at the bed. Agatha’s bed.

Were you allowed to sleep in it?

Did she have a guest room?

Was she expecting you to just… crawl under her sheets like it was nothing?

God.

You weren’t sure what was worse— sleeping in her bed or asking if you were allowed to. It’s not like you hadn’t slept there already. The past two—maybe three—days? You’d been passed out cold in those same sheets, body aching, mind fogged, her chair pulled up close like she’d kept watch.

But this time you were actually awake . Actually aware . Not sick or unconscious or halfway to the other side. She hadn’t tucked you in. You’d have to do that part yourself.

You stared at the bed a long time, still clutching the edge of your shirt, frozen. Not breathing. Not blinking. Brain looping with the quiet static of What now? What now? What now? 

You could… go downstairs?

Yeah.

Meet Agatha there. Eat something. Pretend like you weren’t thinking about her bed. Or her voice. 

Your stomach rumbled faintly, like it agreed with the idea.

Right. Food. Distraction.

You could even grab your other things—she’d said they were in the living room, hadn’t she?

Yes. Yes, that was a plan. A good one.

Anything but standing here like some overheated ghost haunting the edge of her bed.

You exhaled slowly, wiped your damp palms against your sweatpants, and moved toward the door.

You walked quietly down the stairs, the wood warm beneath your feet. The house was dim, cozy—just the crackling of the fireplace and the faint sound of kitchen drawers opening and closing. You followed the smell before the sound, something buttery and familiar drifting toward you. Comforting.

Agatha was in the kitchen, back turned, sleeves still rolled up from earlier. Her hair had fallen a little more, soft waves brushing the line of her shoulders. She moved around the kitchen with unhurried confidence—light touches, small glances, like she was half listening to music only she could hear.

You hesitated at the edge of the room, one hand skimming the wall, trying not to startle her. She didn’t turn, but her voice reached you all the same.

“Back from your dramatic bath exit?” she asked, almost idly, like she was just pointing out the weather. “Or did you come down here to steal more of my clothes?”

You blinked. “I—I was just… I thought maybe you said my things were down here. And I was kind of… hungry?”

Agatha finally turned, leaning a hip against the counter, one eyebrow arching in clear amusement. “Hungry,” she repeated, like it was the most suspicious word in the English language.

You nodded. “If it’s not too much trouble. I can make something. Or, I don’t know, scavenge. You probably have crackers.”

“Crackers,” Agatha said dryly. “What do I look like, a raccoon in a retirement home?”

You smiled, awkward but soft. “It’s okay. I can forage.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. “Sit down before you humiliate yourself. Again.”

You pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, sinking into it with quiet relief. The wood was warm, just like everything else in her house. It didn’t feel like a place meant to impress anyone. It felt lived in. Real.

“You’re making something?” you asked, watching her work.

“Mashed potatoes,” she said. “Easy for you to digest. Thought I’d spare your delicate constitution.”

Your brow furrowed. “That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

Agatha turned just enough to flash you a grin over her shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”

She went back to peeling something, the scrape of the blade rhythmic against the sink. You sat in silence for a moment, listening to the soft thud of her movements, the clink of a spoon, the low bubble of water on the stove.

It was… peaceful.

Domestic.

And somehow that made everything worse .

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d done in her bathtub less than an hour ago. How your thighs had trembled. How her name had sounded in your mouth.

You bit your cheek.

And then—there it was.

Agatha lifted her left hand to sprinkle something into a small bowl of melted butter, fingers flicking with a precise, almost elegant motion. Her wrist rolled just so. Her fingers moved with intent. Sharp and fluid and—

Your throat dried.

That exact movement. Her fingers. That—

You looked away fast, face heating.

Nope. Not thinking about that. You were not going to think about the way she could use her hands. Absolutely not.

Agatha didn’t look back at you, but you swore there was a flicker of something—amusement?—in the set of her shoulders.

You tried to recover. “So, um… do you always make mashed potatoes at night for exhausted houseguests, or am I special?”

Agatha snorted. “You’re lucky I didn’t feed you toast.”

You smiled into your sleeve. “I would’ve accepted toast.”

“Of course you would’ve,” she murmured, tossing the peeled potatoes into a pot. “You’ve got that desperate, polite thing going on. Like if I told you to go chew on a paper napkin, you’d thank me and ask if it was gluten free.”

“I would not,” you said, indignant. “Probably.”

Agatha finally turned around again, crossing her arms, leaning back against the counter. “Mm. I’m not so sure.”

You looked up at her, the kitchen’s warm light making her hair catch gold at the edges. She was watching you with that lazy, unreadable expression again—like she already knew what you were thinking before you thought it.

You shifted in your seat. “I’m not that polite.”

“Oh?” Her brow quirked, lips twitching.

“I mean,” you tried again, “I don’t let people walk all over me.”

Agatha hummed. “Just let them cook for you, clothe you, bring you home, give you their bed…”

“That’s different,” you mumbled. “I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“No,” she said, moving back to the stove, “but you didn’t exactly fight me, did you?”

Your mouth opened. Closed. You had no idea what to say to that.

She chuckled to herself as she stirred the pot, then added softly, “Relax. You’re not that easy to take care of. I’m just good at it.”

You blinked. Something warm curled in your chest.

You watched her in silence as she mashed the potatoes with fluid, practiced movements—quiet, unhurried. Like it was the kind of thing she did every night.

Maybe it was.

You sat back in your chair, head tilted slightly.

This woman was impossible. Sharp tongued and unreadable. But then she made you mashed potatoes at night. Worrying about your stomach. Worrying about you , even if she’d never say it aloud.

And god help you, but it was kind of the most attractive thing you’d ever seen.

You cleared your throat. “Can I help with anything?”

She didn’t look up. “You’ve helped enough for one day.”

You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Agatha just smirked, spooning a heap of soft potatoes into a bowl and sliding it across the table toward you.

“Eat,” she said. “Before I change my mind.”

You looked down at the bowl. Steam curled gently upward. Warm. Comforting. Safe.

You smiled.

“Thank you,” you said, voice soft.

Agatha leaned her hip against the counter again, folding her arms as she watched you take the first bite.

“That polite thing again,” she said, shaking her head.

You just shrugged, mouth full of buttery goodness. “Told you. I’m not that polite.”

She laughed once. Low and warm.

Agatha plopped down across from you with her own bowl, but hers was noticeably fuller—steak, vegetables, a glisten of something richer than potatoes.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” you said, pouting dramatically.

Agatha rolled her eyes with exaggerated patience, already taking a bite. She chewed leisurely, eyes half-lidded like she was doing it just to spite you.

“It is fair,” she said around her fork, “because I’m not the one who tried to summon a beast and almost got myself killed doing it.”

You huffed. “That was an accident.”

“So is eating glue, but we don’t hand out medals for it.”

Without thinking, you shot right back, “I wouldn’t be so sure—I heard from a little bird you and Harry—”

Your words caught midair.

Your eyes widened. Your mouth snapped shut.

Shit.

Shit.

Fucking shit.

Agatha froze for the briefest moment, fork still hovering near her mouth. Her eyes narrowed just a bit—sharpened, but not hostile. More… curious. Watching you like she’d just found something shiny beneath a rock.

“Care to finish your sentence?” she asked, voice light but deceptively smooth. That silk-over-steel tone that made your spine straighten.

You shook your head, suddenly very interested in the potatoes. “Nope. I’m good.”

She leaned forward just slightly, chin propped on one hand, elbow on the table. “Come on. You can’t just dangle a mystery like that and not follow through.”

You stabbed your fork into the potatoes, desperate for a distraction. “It was nothing. Just… some old notes. From Irene. I didn’t even read all of it.”

“Irene?” Agatha repeated, her tone shifting ever so slightly. There was an undercurrent now—something tight beneath the casual lilt, like a bowstring being drawn just a hair too far.

“Uh, yeah… just some… lady I met. Well, actually, on the bus to Hollow Wood and—” You glanced up. Agatha was staring at you, still as stone, those sharp blue eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Then I met her at a coffee shop,” you went on, trying not to fidget, “and… kind of went to her house.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, like that might ease the heat crawling up it.

Agatha clicked her tongue softly and went back to eating, her expression unreadable again.

You blinked. Was she jealous? 

No… no. No way.

Still, something about her silence begged to be poked at. So, you did. Carefully.

“She said she knew you…”

Agatha didn’t look up. She didn’t flinch. But you caught the faintest pinch between her brows. Just a flicker.

“She mentioned the moonflowers, too,” you added, voice light, tilting your head. “Sounded like it meant something.”

That got her.

Agatha’s eyes met yours again, the weight of her stare immediate. Her lips were parted slightly, like she might say something—but she didn’t. Not at first. Her gaze drifted, just for a second, toward the far end of the kitchen. The window? The corner? You weren’t sure.

And then, with a sigh that sounded like she’d finally decided not to launch a fork across the table, she set it down and leaned back in her chair.

“She talks too much,” Agatha muttered, dry as dust.

You stifled a grin. “So you do know her.”

Agatha gave you a look. “I know a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I want them giving out my résumé to every history major with a soft voice and a pair of wide eyes.”

Your face flushed, but you tried to keep it cool. “I don’t have wide eyes.”

“Sure you don’t,” she said, smirking into her water glass.

You scoffed. “Don't deflect. You do know her. Meaning you know her husband… Harry. Right?”

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

Her fingers, idly curling at the rim of her bowl, stilled. You watched her jaw shift slightly—subtle, but tense. She blinked once. Slowly.

You pushed. “The one that was mauled just past the cemetery? The same one you just happened to find me near... hm? You still won’t tell me why you were out there…”

Still no answer. She just set her spoon down with an exaggerated, delicate clink. Her posture didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flickered. Something old. Something tired.

“Why does the little historian care?” she asked, the corner of her mouth curling upward again. But it didn’t reach her eyes this time. “You seemed pretty happy to see me then.”

You stared at her.

“I know you know Harry,” you said, firmer now. “Because you were mentioned in his notes. And his research. Far too many times to be a coincidence.”

That got her.

Agatha didn’t smile this time.

She sat back slightly, folding her arms across her chest. Her fingers tapped once, twice, against her bicep. You watched her weigh something—words, maybe. Or the risk of speaking them.

“Harry liked to dig,” she said finally. “Dig too deep, if you ask me.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

She looked past you then, her eyes unfocused, somewhere else entirely. “Some people… get obsessed with the wrong questions. They think if they pull apart enough threads, they’ll find something meaningful underneath. Something real. ”

Her gaze snapped back to yours, piercing. “Usually, all they get is tangled.”

You opened your mouth, but she cut in before you could speak.

“I didn’t hurt him.”

The words came out flat. Final.

You blinked. “I didn’t say you did.”

“No,” she said, voice a little softer now, “but you’re thinking it.”

“I—” You faltered. “I just… want to understand.”

Agatha exhaled, slow and heavy. She reached for her glass again, turning it in her hands without drinking. “You won’t. Not yet.”

You looked down at your plate, appetite gone. The mashed potatoes had gone cold around the edges.

There was silence. Not heavy, but something close to it. Like the kind that settles between two people who are suddenly very aware of how much they don’t know about each other.

Then Agatha stood up with a small huff. “You want more potatoes or what?”

The question was so abrupt, so domestic in its delivery, it knocked the breath out of you.

You blinked. “What?”

She raised a brow at you like you were the unreasonable one. “You barely ate. If I’m going to be accused of conspiring with dead men and dragging grad students into murder plots, I at least deserve a clean plate in return.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Just a little. A quiet breath through your nose, more a release than anything else.

“I guess… I could eat a little more,” you muttered.

“Good,” Agatha said, already turning toward the kitchen. “You’re going to need your strength.”

“For what?” you called after her.

She looked over her shoulder, that smirk back in place. “Surviving dinner with me again tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart—traitor that it was—fluttered anyway.

Next Chapter

[foster-the-world]

Anyone

Anyone been to Santa Fe, NM in August? Wondering if its too hot. The internet says its not bad. I've always wanted to go. Thinking I could get a home exchange and use miles for free flights. But we will have to rent a car - which I really prefer to avoid. My Mom would probably drive.

I'm still waiting to hear from a free, community Julliard camp we applied to. They said they would tell by early May and still nothing. Need that week booked so I can book everything else around it.

Baby boy home sick. Asthma flare up. Unfortunately, it generally makes his behaviors much worse. So far not giving his inhaler. It does not seem to provide any relief and I wonder if its the cause of the bad behavior? It should not be but he is super, super sensitive to all medications. The last flare up passed pretty quickly so hoping for the same.

Had a call with Tiny Health - the company that did a stool sample for Bee. She has chronic constipation pretty much since birth. Does not bother her, no stomach pain, etc. However, they tell us its the reason for why she still wears a diaper at night. She's never been dry for one night in her life despite being fully potty trained by 2.5yo. No daytime toilet issues. We have another appt next week for an xray to see if our efforts have reduced the back up. We added in fiber and a prebiotic. Plus, have really improved her diet at home. All veggies and other healthy whole foods all of the time when with us. At school's a different story but I can only control so much. She's def pooping more. The call suggested a ton of other supplements, etc. Feel like it may just be throwing money down the drain but brief searches tell me none of them will hurt. They can only help. Trying to get her out of diapers by summer camp. If she's less backed up they will have her try the hormone pill that makes you stop peeing at night. They said they don't want to do it if she's still backed up because it won't help. Could also try a chiropractor - as some people (including a not crazy family member) tells me it works after 1-2 visits. Worse case I think she'll be fine at camp. We can get some pullups that look underwear like. She can throw them in the bin every morning. She seems slightly worried but not that worried. We will also lecture Rebel that she'd better be standing up for her sister if anyone did find out and make fun of her.

[chimeraartist]

Hey everyone! Have you ever seen those "Let's Make A Character Together!" posts before? I thought it'd be fun to make an Outlast-specific one!

Feel free to share this with your buddies, and if you make a reagent please tag me! I'm gonna make a reagent based on the comments of this post, too!

Elaboration under cut. Happy trials!

Let's Make A Reagent!

If you haven't seen this before, here's how it works! First share the picture to your friends, then one person makes a comment per details. Let at least one person comment before you comment again; the collaboration is half the fun!

Confused? Here's a rough guide to help you craft your guy:

1st Comment: Skin Tone

What's their skin tone or ethnicity? Are they from somewhere in Europe, or perhaps South America? Maybe they have vitiligo, or are covered in freckles!

2nd Comment: Eye Color

Pick an eye color. Do they have eyes so brown they're almost black? Do they have heterochromia, resulting in one red eye and one green eye? Do they even have pupils at all??

3rd Comment: Hair Color

We got hair dye here in this part of Sinyala. Any color under the fake sun is reasonable!

4th Comment: Hair Style

How's their hair? Do they keep it natural? Get as specific or as general as you'd like. Pick a hair type, say they've got some curls, describe how they tie it up, or even just say they shaved it all off!

5th Comment: Scars

No one makes it through Sinyala unscathed. Did they get lucky and get no scars at all? Did they get nicked across the nose? Did they lose some fingers in a compactor, or lost a leg to an Ex-Pop? Get as extreme as you'd like!

6th Comment: Outfit

What's their fashion style? Do they cling to a trend from outside Sinyala? Do they dress modestly, or provocatively? You could even pick a specific outfit from in game: maybe they wear the Shivered Unit, or the Lunchlady, or even the Dreadful Mess!

7th Comment: Rig

Rigs say a lot about about a reagent. Do they look out for their team with a heal rig? Do they nail their targets with stun, or look for documents with XRay? Pick from one of the six in-game, or even come up with a brand new one!

8th Comment: Amp

Contraband's easy to acquire if you know where to look. What's their favorite? Backpack, Strong Arm, Slippers, Lockbreaker, Short Circuit? Pick just one to bestow, or give them a full loadout!

9th Comment: Favorite Trial

What's their favorite trial? Do they like searching for codes in Empty The Vault? Do they enjoy the ambiance of the Fun Park? Do they exclusively play psychosurgery Coyle trials? Do they run escalation until their legs give out? Or is their favorite part when the trial ends, and Easterman shares a few choice words?

10th Comment: Random Detail

Here's the wild card, anything goes! Give an extra flair to our reagent. Do they make moonshine in their sleep room sink? Do they have a secret crush on Noakes? Do they hold a grudge against the Pusher for ruining their A+ streak? Anything goes...

Once you're all done, give the fella a name and let them loose! If you'd like, draw your new reagent, or recreate them in game!

I love these kinds of collaborations, so I really hope you all enjoy ^^

[nagichi-boop]

I appreciate the fact that my mum has been more supportive of my health issues recently, but today reminded me that she would still always believe a doctor over me.

I am pretty sure I have POTS. My echocardiogram, two xrays and two ECGs have all been normal. I have done many poor man’s tilt table tests at home with my Apple Watch, and they always show 30+ bpm increase from laying to standing that lasts for the full 10 minutes (in fact, it’s actually more like 40+ bpm) - or when I haven’t tested for the full 10 minutes, it’s because I get nauseous/dizzy and have to lay down.

My mum has made comments in the past like “you can’t say you have autism without a diagnosis” and such. I know that a diagnosis is important, but believing that a doctor knows everything about every condition and is never ever wrong is not helpful. I thought she had gotten over that mentality recently, but I was wrong.

She mentioned to me that someone we know suspects they have POTS. I asked her if she had told this person that I have it, and my mum said something like “well, I said you were being tested for it and that your tests so far have been inconclusive.” This is just not true. As I said, the tests on my heart came back clear, but those aren’t to assess POTS anyways. I have had two ‘stand tests’, but they were done incorrectly both times. A quick internet search shows you that a stand test for POTS involves laying for 5 minutes and checking your heart rate, then standing for 10 minutes and measuring your heart rate after 2, 5 and 10 minutes. When I’ve had a doctor do the test in clinic, my ‘resting’ heart rate was taken immediately after I had just moved from one room to another (aka not my resting heart rate) and then I was immediately made to stand up and have my heart rate tested. Then of course they say there’s not much of a change in heart rate.

To an extent, I could justify this attitude. But you know what makes it worse? My dad somewhat recently told my mum and me that he believes he has ADHD. No plans for a diagnosis, just that he thinks he has it. I figured my mum would not pay any attention to this. But then one time after my dad did a task that involved a lot of focus, my mum was like “you did so well considering it must have been hard with your ADHD.” Like wth? She never accepted me as autistic when I told her I was sure I had it, even though I am seeking a diagnosis. She doesn’t believe my POTS either. I assume she won’t until I’m diagnosed. But my dad just randomly announces he has ADHD with no plans to be tested and the whole family is just…on board with it? Why??

[notahorseindisguise]

okay. last things to do in the morning are get into my plane clothes, grab a plastic bag and put my film camera and my spare film in it (cant go through the xray so i need them to search it manually so i want them separated) need to put my switch stuff and my chargers in my backpack . think thats it really

[retro-system]

i know quite literally nothing about electromagnetism, but a quick google search tells me that different wavelengths result in different effects, namely: radio, microwave, infared, visible light, ultraviolet, xrays and gamma rays. so i guess past sam's powers could've directly corrolated with that, like radio allows him to listen in on conversations anywhere, and xrays allow him to see through objects (particularly walls, but i also love the idea of him using it on max and going "ah, so that's where our spare change's been going for the past seven years" or, if the writers were really brave, "is that his...? well, it's as he put it: 'way more storage-efficient than keeping it on my finger'"). lotta interesting potential with him that i imagine this fanbase has tapped into plenty enough already.

[cubicalone]

How I Use LinkedIn XRay Search Effectively

LinkedIn X-Ray search is a powerful tool that allows me to find potential candidates with specific skills and qualifications on the LinkedIn platform. Here’s how I effectively utilize LinkedIn X-Ray search to enhance my recruitment efforts. Defining Search Criteria: Before starting the search for the best candidates, I carefully and thoroughly outline the important requirements. This includes…