#one of my coworkers suddenly changed her availability

[acircusfullofdemons]

My work needs to hire more people 😒

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for getting jealous of a dog?

Apologies if this is hard to follow. My boyfriend and I have been dating for about a year. He’s very sweet and I love him a lot, though he’s occasionally a little forgetful/inattentive due to his ADHD (which I also have). We’re poly and I have a nesting partner that I live with, and I generally go to my boyfriends house rather than him coming to mine (my nesting partner has higher sensory needs so I try to leave the space available for her to have more quiet time).

A few months back, he started working with a new coworker, a girl, who he got along with very well. I was glad he was making a friend, and even asked him a few times if he was interested in dating her as well, to which he said he wasn’t for several reasons, the most central of which being that she was, at the time, living with an abusive ex and generally dealing with a lot. I said okay, to let me know if that changed (as far as I know it has not and that’s not where this is going). He mentioned at one point that she might have a crush on him but that he wasn’t concerned about it, so I wasn’t either.

As I mentioned she was living with an abuser, and one day my bf told me that he had invited her to come stay with him so she could get out. He had seen his father abuse his mother as a kid and it triggered him a lot to see someone else going through that, so he offered it kind of abruptly. I was overall in support of this of course, but I was still upset for a few reasons, such as that he’d said she was interested in him (he told me he realized he’d probably misread it) and his apartment is not that big, meaning she’s not only there but usually in very close proximity, as there’s not a ton of space to sit and they’re both tall. She also does have family and other friends in the area, so he’s not the only option by a longshot, but he lives closest to where they work. He noted my concerns and apologized for the abruptness, and promised to do his best to make sure I didn’t feel sidelined by her being there, which he has done.

Now, due to both her suddenly living with my boyfriend and just general personality things, I don’t really care for her. She’s a little abrasive and sometimes insulting, not to me but about ppl in general, she plays TikToks out loud at full volume when we’re watching tv (previously my bf had banned TikTok from his house entirely but I think he didn’t want to impose harsh rules on her at that point), and is sometimes overly familiar with me and I think with him (she sometimes addresses him with an “ie” at the end of his name and addressed me as “beautiful” like the second time I met her). Obviously I recognize that her personality is affected by her circumstances; the year after I left my abuser I was a lot bitchier, so I haven’t said anything to her or him. But bc of these differences, I’ve not made a strong effort to be her Friend. I’ve been…I’d say nice but I often get read as meaner than I mean to so let’s say civil, for example if I make food for the house I always make enough for her even though she often chooses not to eat with us. But I don’t like, go out of my way to converse or give her any encouraging response when she shows me videos I don’t care about.

Recently, she has started bringing her dog over to the house. The dog had previously been staying with her mother, who has a large piece of land on the water about 40 minutes out from the city (again my bf has a two bedroom apartment with a roommate and no green spaces, although there are parks nearby). I generally like dogs, though I wouldn’t say I’m a Dog Person, but I think they’re sweet overall. The only place I have an issue is with large dogs, bc I’m a very small person (im almost 30 and I’ve never broken 100lbs despite trying for years to gain weight) and if a large dog wants to jump on me to say hello I Will fall over, and if they push me or corner me I don’t have a lot of ability to push back. This dog, I’m not sure about breeds per se but I’m 90% sure she’s part lab, part pitbull, not huge but a solid dog around my size, and thus not the type I usually try to befriend, though I’ll give her a head pat if she requests one. This means we’re up to five people and one person sized dog (he had another friend lose a job and have to move abruptly so he’s also staying there) in a two bedroom apartment. I, as well as his roommate, think this is too much, and prefer when the dog is not there. But she misses her dog and my boyfriend is a full blown Dog Person, so he loooves when the dog is around, and will spent hours playing with her if she’s over. I’m not a fan of this for both the obvious reasons and bc she often knocks into things while playing and it makes me very nervous; there’s a lot of glass in his apartment and some of it is mine.

So okay the girl’s there and I don’t like her much, and sometimes the dog is there and i don’t love that either, but I’ve never said anything and done my best to control my feelings and reactions to not show annoyance (my guess is that I have about a 35% success rate at this as again, I’m often read as more hostile than I intend to come off). Id say there’s a solid chance that this girl can tell I don’t like her being there, but I’ve never intentionally made the space hostile.

Recently, she’s started this joke of referring to my boyfriend as…her dogs boyfriend? She calls him her “mans” whenever he’s playing with her and has trained her to know who she’s talking about when she refers to “her mans”. She even recently referred to her as his “main gf” which he quickly shut down, but other variations of the joke continue to come up. I do not like this joke, bc I think the girl knows I don’t like her and is trying to make me uncomfortable, but of course that sounds very paranoid. I’m trying very hard not to say anything bc like, obviously my bf isn’t cheating on me with a dog, but like, it still makes me mad that this girl who is so ingrained in his life right now is talking about her dog as if she’s his main interest.

So like, based on all the info here, WIBTA if I asked her to stop making that joke or expressed discomfort at her behavior? I know this maybe seems like an obvious one but again I’ve probably been more outward about my dislike of her than I think and I don’t want to make it seem like I don’t trust my boyfriend, bc I do, so maybe I wouldn’t be an “asshole” but I’d still be in the wrong? Idk what do yall think

What are these acronyms?

[papurgaatika]

Knead Me, Need You

Pairing: Massage Therapist! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: you were overworked, overstressed, and long overdue to get a massage. You just didn’t realize that getting one would come with a very good-looking massage therapist or the thoughts that filled your mind every time he touched you Tags: no outbreak AU, massage therapist! Joel, no reader desc. Gentle Joel, dirty thoughts, Joel is a tease, the reader is pent up as HELL, mentions of fingering, no actual sex, LOTS of sexual tension, pet names (darlin’ and sweetheart are used), Appreciation for Joel's arms, 18+ Word count: 2.7k

A/N: I very desperately need to get a massage and woke up from a dream about it so there’s that!! Also a huge lovely shoutout and thank you to my wonderful beta readers (@joelsdagger @carlynkurin and my lovely Laur) who have saved me from making the weirdest grammar mistakes and also fuel me with comments such as “IM (S)CREAMING” yall are real ones xoxo

Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!! 🇵🇸

You hate your job. Okay, that wasn’t true. You don't hate your job, you just hate the commute. And sitting at your desk all day. And the fact that you always decide that heels look better with your outfits. So you didn't really hate your job, you loved being in charge, but your back was paying the price for it. Everyone in your life has heard you complain about your back hurting at least once. Some of your coworkers had found you with a stash of the stick-on heating patches in your desk and that led to the office pitching in to get you a certificate to one of the nicest spas in the area for your birthday. 

You weren’t sure if you would use it, you barely had time to sit down and fully wash your face. How were you supposed to relax for a full hour and a half with some stranger touching you? The answer came to you one Saturday when you rolled out of bed and could barely stand because of a crick in your lower back. A groan falls from your lips before you throw yourself back onto your bed and grab your phone, making quick work of dialing the number on the back of the voucher. You let out a sigh of relief when the receptionist tells you they have availability later in the afternoon, and you tell her you’d take the appointment. You’re just about to hang up before her voice comes through your speaker again “Oh, and just to let you know, your therapist will be male, is that okay?” 

You freeze for a second. On one hand, you didn’t love the idea of some random man touching you, especially considering it was a full-body massage. But on the other hand, you really didn't have a choice, your back was going to give out if you waited any longer. You mumbled out a quick “That’s fine, thank you!” before hanging up and making your way up to change your clothes. You decide to opt for something more casual, before grabbing your keys and wallet and heading out of the house. 

This place was fancy. Like much fancier than you had expected and suddenly your outfit felt too casual and you missed your heels. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you filled out the forms they gave you. No, you haven’t had a massage before, yes you wanted to focus specifically on your back, and you weren’t sure how much pressure you wanted. You hand the clipboard back to the receptionist with a smile and she lets you know that he’s just about finished with his last client and he’ll come back for you in just a few minutes. Your knee is bouncing of its own accord, nerves finally kicking in. You are about to be naked in front of a man who is then going to rub his hands into you. Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that it’s his job. He does this all day, five days a week. You keep reminding yourself that it’s just a massage, you’ll be okay. You finally start to believe that, nerves dissipating and your heart settling back to its resting rate, and then you see him. 

He’s all broad shoulders and a kind smile walking out to the main area, before turning in your direction, and your mind blanks for a minute to fully take in how attractive this man is. His arms were gorgeous and you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. His t-shirt was pulled tightly over his bicep, riding up just enough to let you see a peek of skin that was untouched from the Texas sun. His arms were thick, the muscles defined and prominent, veins standing out against the smooth skin. You were enraptured watching his arms move as he signed off on some papers and grabbed the clipboard with your forms on it. Images of his thick fingers in unspeakable positions flooded your mind; tugging at your hair while his other hand was on your hip, dragging over your lips and pushing them into your mouth, letting them curl into your aching cunt while he holds you down. 

You were lost in your thoughts until his voice was saying your name and pulling you out of your depravity. You smile at him shyly and stand up to shake his hand “I’m Joel, and I'll be your masseuse for today, it’s a pleasure to meet you darlin’.” if you thought that he was attractive before, hearing that accent made you weak in the knees. The slow drawl of his words was smooth like honey and sent butterflies straight to your core. He takes the paperwork from the receptionist and gives it a quick scan before tutting at you lightly. “Overworkin’ yourself? Don’t worry, I'll take good care of you today.” You feel your face start to heat up as you follow him back through the halls into his room. You stepped inside to be met with a dim warm light, and soft music playing through a speaker. 

“So is this your first time coming in for a massage?” he asks, half leaning against the door. 

“Is it that obvious?” you half laugh, heat rising in the back of your neck. You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes locked on his. He laughed softly with a shake of his head and you think you might die on the spot. It’s so unfortunate that he’s so hot. 

“No, darlin’ it said it on one of those forms they had you fill out, I just wanted to go over how it all works with you.” you nod and look up at the man, waiting for him to go on, “I know it said you wanted to focus on your back, do you mind goin’ a little bit into why?” 

You sigh and press a hand into your lower back, “So I sit at work a lot, and granted my posture isn’t great, but I woke up this morning and it was worse than it had ever been” You tell him about your job, about being overworked, about your stupid half hour commute. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, only dropping to flick over your waist for a moment, and then back onto yours. 

He lets you explain where exactly you were hurting before he glances at his watch and lets you know that you should get started sooner rather than later. “Just go ahead and get dressed down to your comfort level and then just lay down with your face in the cradle sweetheart. I’ll knock before coming back in and then we can get started.” You smile and give him a nod, taking a deep breath once the door shuts after him. You make haste to strip down and fold your clothes leaving them in a little pile on a shelf, leaving your panties on much too aware of the wetness that was pooling into them. You grab your phone and lay down on the table, scrolling through your email and replying to a few new ones from your coworkers, knowing fully well that they can barely get things done without you. 

A knock on the door breaks you out of your thoughts and you let out a small noise of acknowledgment that you were ready, slightly hesitant. You watch as Joel opens the door and steps in, eyes immediately flicking to your phone. “Can’t have that out darlin’, this is your time to relax” he says gently, grabbing your phone and setting it down on the shelf next to your clothes. “I’m sure work can wait.'' He shoots you a wink and your face feels flushed. You let your face fall into the cradle, eyes shutting before you feel his hands grazing your body over the sheet slowly. He’s barely touching you, his touch is feather-light, so why do you feel like your body is on fire? His fingers make small circles on your scalp as his thumbs press gently into the base of your neck. Your eyelids flutter softly, the pressure he was applying immediately melting away your stress. His fingers work on your neck, not pressing too hard but not so soft that it wouldn’t help at all. You feel him work in the same place for a few minutes to get rid of a knot, likely from staring down at your phone or hunching over your computer all day, before he takes his hands away. 

“Alright sweetheart I'm gonna move the sheet and start on your back, if that’s alright,” you nod into the face rest, letting out a deep breath when his hands hit your skin. You figured his hands would be as strong as the rest of him looks but he was surprisingly gentle and warm. The smell of roses and sandalwood fills your nose as his hands press softly between your shoulder blades. You let out a soft sigh when his fingers dig into your skin “That pressure alright darlin’?”

You manage to mumble out a weak “yes” and let your eyes fall shut again. You don't know why he’s doing this to you, why this man is making you all hot and bothered while he just does his job, but he is. His hands feel like heaven on your lower back, fingers creating circles to try and get a particularly nasty knot out right above your tailbone. A sound leaves your mouth, a little too close to a whimper for your liking and you feel the blood rush to your face but Joel doesn’t even mention it. 

“You're real tense sweetheart, it’s a wonder you didn't have to come in before today” he mutters as his fingers work their way back up your spine. A trail of goosebumps follows after his touch as your back almost arches into his hands. Almost. You catch yourself at the last moment, sparing yourself from what would be the most embarrassing experience of your life and would also likely get you banned from the spa, which would truly be painful because lord, did Joel know how to use his hands on you. His fingers were soft yet somehow held just the right amount of strength in them to work your pain away, the way the heels of his palms would dig into your skin when he focused on a specific area, he was just too good at this and it was making you a little bit crazy. 

Your eyes were still shut, your body more relaxed than it had ever been when you heard him tell you to flip over so he could work on your legs. In your half-asleep state, you seem to have forgotten that moving too fast will not only make your head spin but will also make the sheet covering you drop. You managed to catch it and pull it over your chest, eyes wide and staring at him. “Oh my god I'm so sorry-” you start but he cuts you off with a shake of his head before clearing his throat. 

“‘s alright sweetheart” his eyes flick down to where you were clutching the sheet. Your breasts were spilling out of the top almost obscenely, a small sheen of sweat from the warmth of the table (and his hands) covering your skin. “Just lay back down, ‘m gonna work on those legs now.” He turns to grab the oil again, and you weren’t certain because of the dim lighting in the room, but you could have sworn there was a light blush dusting his cheeks. You lay down with your head in the rest, still clutching the sheet at your chest before he takes it out of your hands and brings it over your chest fully, leaving just your collarbone and neck exposed. He moves to a corner before picking up a bolster to put under your knees to prop them up slightly. 

You let your eyes fall shut as you feel his hands skim your calf. You bite back a gasp when his hands, god his hands are huge, encompass your ankle and bring it up out of the sheet, bending it at your knee slightly. You wet your lips with your tongue and find your mouth drier than it had ever been as he moves your leg into a good position for him, your calf almost grazing his chest. You feel yourself clench around nothing and feel your panties dampen at the closeness of him. He lets your foot down, tucking the sheet under your hip so that it doesn't slip out from under you, and you can feel your heartbeat everywhere. His fingers were so strong yet so gentle on your calf, rubbing out the tightness in your legs.  As his fingers made their way further up your leg you felt like you were on fire. His hands were pressing into the muscles, nails softly tracing against your inner thigh and it made you feel weak. You couldn’t get the image of those same fingers the ones that were trying to help you relax, rubbing circles over your clit or digging into your hips as he held you in place, out of your mind. It was filthy really, how pent-up you were. How depraved the thoughts you were having about this man, this stranger, were, but you couldn’t help the wetness pooling between your legs from growing.  He presses into a specifically sore spot, dragging something between a yelp and moan from your lips. “I'm so sorry-” your words were quiet, barely audible over the light music he had playing in the room. “Don't worry about it sweetheart, just means I’m doing my job right” he was fucking with you. He had to know what he was doing to you. Had to know that while he was working on the muscles of your legs, you wanted those strong fingers inside of you, talking you through orgasm after orgasm with that sweet southern voice. 

You close your eyes again, trying to stabilize your heart rate and keep it from pounding out of your chest “Alright sweetheart, I'm gonna wipe you off and then I’m sorry to say, but we are done for the session” You nod your head before feeling the warmth of a hot towel wipe against your legs, attempting to brush the idea of him wiping you up after pumping you full of his cum out of your mind. You take a few deep breaths before he turns the lights up slowly, letting you adjust to the change. “Alright, I'm gonna step out and grab you some water. I’ll meet you up by the front darlin’” You smile at him and say thank you before moving to change into your clothes, knees slightly wobbly from just thinking about him. Your panties are embarrassingly wet when you stand up, and you press your face into your hands trying to shake this out of your system.

You manage to step out of the room without having your knees give out,  eyes still slightly blurry from being half asleep through the whole appointment, and walk back out to the reception. You blink a few times, adjusting to the much brighter lighting, and see Joel waiting for you with a cup of water. “Pleasure working on ya sweetheart, I hope I’ll see you again soon” You take the water and say your thank you to him before watching him walk back into the backroom, and oh my god was his butt always that cute? 

You turn back to the receptionist with a smile, when she asks how the session went. “Good, yeah no everything was amazing” You bite on the inside of your cheek softly, the ghost of his fingers still on your skin. You get checked out, making sure to give him a hell of a tip and book another session with him in a few weeks. You take his card and twirl it around your fingers as you sit in your car. Joel Miller- Licensed Massage Therapist- Austin, TX. It was going to be a long hard few weeks without seeing him, but you had some ideas on how to keep yourself, and that dull ache in the pit of your stomach occupied, and every single one of them included thinking about Joel Miller and his fingers. 

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.  Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

[8-dermestid]

it's like as if somebody was gripping my throat

relationship: eyeless jack x reader

word count: 6.2k

links: available to read on ao3

warnings: canon-typical violence

M. Eerie National Park is one of the most boring places to work. You hike the trails to make sure nobody is trying to stay after hours, clean up garbage, and befriend the local cryptid.

Nobody knows about that last part except for you.

(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)

“—Shocking news for M. Eerie National Park. Another victim, twenty-one-year-old Penn State student Ryan Sheppard, discovered on the property—”

You dig into your food, tuning out the broadcast as you scarf down your lunch and prepare for work. You rinse your bowl, toss it into the dishwasher, and move into the bedroom to change out of your pajamas and into your uniform. You pull up your cargo pants and pull on a green collared shirt with the M. Eerie National Park logo embroidered on the pocket. After deodorant, you pull on your hiking boots, grab your jacket and bag, and leave towards your car.

She’s a beat-up old thing, but she gets you to and from work without too much trouble. It’s a short, red, rust-damaged Honda Civic. Your car’s engine is strong, and it, other than the external imperfections and duct-taped-on mirror, has treated you well, and you’ve never felt the need to trade up.

(Nor the want, being a park ranger hardly gives you enough money to keep your head above the water, but you love it, and working an office job sounds worse than pulling all your toenails out at once with rusty pliers.)

The car sputters to life, rumbling beneath you in her comfortable and familiar way. You look down at the radio—the clock reads 14:37—you’ll be on time for the start of your shift. The drive isn’t exciting, and you’d take your boring drive over a three-hour drive to the office any day. Your job is so easy, too, a simple routine you follow every day—go in during the afternoon, hike the trails before closing, watch for lost folks and garbage, and close up the park. It’s easy, so easy that your job is almost dull. You walk into the break room, your lunch in your non-dominant hand, and stumble into a meeting.

“Oh. Hey guys.” You hesitate, creeping over to put your food in the fridge. Usually, the break room was empty, and Leslie, your superior in the standard uniform with her beat-up clipboard, was marching back and forth like a drill sergeant.

In the kindest way possible, you hope she retires. She’s been working here for so long and managing everything that she deserves some R-and-R. Leslie is the backbone of the team, and one would have to pry her position from her cold, dead hands (even then, it would still be a fight), but she should consider passing the job to someone else.

You plop down in one of the three empty chairs. Two of your coworkers transferred to another park (quite suddenly, too, no two-week notice or anything). It’s not good, especially considering they were the only other people working your shift.

“Alright, we can wrap up this meeting with a quick problem,” Leslie begins again, waving quietly to you. “Guests have been reporting stolen items more than usual, lots of jackets, gloves, boots, ooh—food, too,” Leslie jots something down on her clipboard, “To be honest, I think people are just misplacing things and blaming it on the wildlife, but if you see anything, just radio me, and I’ll come to help you sort it out.”

You nod. People leave things where they shouldn’t be all the time—you can't count the number of times families wake up with ransacked coolers because they leave them outside unprotected.

Leslie sighs, “And—look—there have been more than a few teens sneaking off into the woods before we close. Please, I don’t want another 24-hour challenge incident on our record. Keep an eye out for them. I mean it.”

Everyone affirms, whether with a nod or a “Yes, Leslie.”

The team filters out of the break room, and one of your coworkers (with wild, dark hair and stickers nearly smothering the Molly on her nametag) bounds to your side like a deer.

“You think it’s a bear?” She asks. She’s practically bouncing off the walls despite Park Ranger being the least thrilling job on the planet.

You shrug. You don’t carry the same energy that Molly does. She is just a wee sixteen-year-old at your side working her first big girl job, and any excitement at this middle-of-nowhere park is a godsend for her.

“Well, it could be a bear. But, I mean, a bear wouldn’t be stealing men’s jackets or boots.” she suggests, “Maybe not a bear, or maybe it’s those kids again… Remember the kids from a few weeks ago?”

Oh. Oh, of course, you remember those kids. Three of them, two girls and some in-between kid, all seventeen and seniors at the local high school (local being the closest high school, which was thirty miles away) that Leslie caught trying to stay overnight for some silly internet challenge. One of them, the in-between kid with the flattest hair you’ve seen in a while, brought an Ouija board because of some weird internet gossip about your park. It was strange—super, duper weird—because the couple (apparently, maybe? You aren’t sure) ditched the third girl to make out under an abandoned deck. Leslie only caught them because the third (a taller, more heavyset girl with colored hair) was terrified of some tall, slender man who scared her on the internet.

“God, don’t remind me.” You finally say. You still remember the three of them yelling at each other, Leslie dragging them out by the collars of their shirts like scruffed cats after they got caught (because one of the girls was a crybaby, their words, not yours).

Leaving the break room and finally feeling the sun this morning, Molly waves you goodbye and starts jogging down her favorite trail. She’s got energy for miles; if she were older and wiser, she could compete with Leslie.

Speaking of, Leslie pats your shoulder. Her grey hair shimmers in the sun, and she, with wrinkles showcasing her long and fulfilling life, smiles down at you.

“Afternoon, kiddo. You doing alright?”

You nod, more focused on the heavy workload you have in front of you.

Leslie pats your back like a coach would to her favorite player, “I know Josh and Ryan quitting hasn’t been easy on you.” Her voice is too solemn for a work transfer, “I’ll be working tonight, too, if that eases you.”

You perk up, half with relief and half because working with Leslie is the best. It’s comforting to have a superior like her around when people start getting wild in the woods; she’s good at grabbing people by the scruff and dragging them out, kicking and hollering.

“You can take care of the Southern Reach, yeah? You’re a big kid—you can handle it.”

You’re more than just a kid, but between her being near retirement age while you are fresh out of college—you are a kid in her eyes. You nod, already unhooking your heavy flashlight from its carabiner.

“That’s the ticket. I’ll take Northern. We’ll meet back up here for closing.”

“No, no, I’ll handle closing.” You persuade, “Come on, Leslie, I can handle closing a big gate. Just handle Northern and go home.”

She debates it, rolling the idea around in her mind before conceding. “Alright, kiddo. Just this once, though.”

At first, with the sun just touching the horizon, your checks go well, and you clean up a few empty beer cans along the southernmost trails. Your trash bag is light, which is a plus. You don’t need to pull your flashlight out until past seven in the evening when the moon peeks out behind you. You find an empty can of soup (chicken-noodle but with star-shaped pasta instead of noodles). The top looks messily cut, as if with a knife, which isn’t at all uncommon.

Except, well, this can has a pull tab disregarded by the previous user. You turn over the can in your palm, examining the shredded metal and paper label, and toss it into the bag with the rest of the trash.

Further, closer to the center of the trails, there is another disemboweled can. You pick up one, the lid is also ripped off, the pull-tab forgotten about, yet this soup can has more than half of it ripped off into a swirly shape, almost like someone was desperate for something to eat. It’s Campbell’s, not Grandma’s cooking.

There’s another can further into the woods, more shredded than the last, with a deep dent in the center; the can was clean, too clean, which is both weird and disgusting. Dogs shouldn’t eat this stuff concentrated—too much sodium.

Another one; there is a streaky, black substance marbling with some soup still sitting at the bottom of the can; another, and more of that black slime. You carefully pick up each one and add it to the bag. The next can has more of that substance—almost too much. The smell is putrid. It burns inside your nose, and you get a whiff of formaldehyde or something that reeks of death.

You keep traveling into the woods, finding more debris and litter, an old chewed-through sleeve, a jacket, and a glove smattered with that syrup-y oil. There’s something wet beneath your palm, and thank the stars you chose to bring your gloves this morning. It’s red, with a black slime marbled in it. It’s sticky between your fingers, and it smells awful. You follow the trail of red and black with your flashlight.

The source is the mangled carcass of a hiker wearing a high-vis vest. You suck in a breath and reach for your walkie-talkie. It’s sickening, and you can’t stop looking at the body as you radio for your superior.

“Leslie? Leslie, you there?” You plead, hands shaking and mind racing. Of all the people you want to pick up, it’s her. She’s been working here since before you were born—maybe she’s found a mutilated person in her time working the trails.

The silence stretches for an eternity until you hear a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?” She asks.

“Uhm, I don’t know,” You make the mistake of looking at it, at the remnants of a man, at the carcass before you. “I don’t even know what could do something like this.” God, it makes you sick, but you can’t look away.

“Come on, talk to me,” She barks, her voice firm with years of seniority, “What are you seeing? Talk.”

You swallow. “Some hiker got attacked. They’re not responsive,” You mutter into your little plastic lifeline. “I’m off Trapper’s—I don’t know—Christ, I’m going to be sick.”

“...Okay,” Leslie replies quickly, “Are you safe?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You swallow a lump in your throat as you look frantically for movement in the dark woods. Leslie says something, but you can’t hear it over the sound of your heart hammering away in your ears. You see movement between the trees, the primal part of your brain attempting to identify any immediate danger. Everything is spinning, it reeks of death, and Leslie’s voice is staticky because of the shitty speakers.

“Answer me! Come on, kiddo, where are you?” She shouted, her voice laced with harsh static.

Your flashlight flickers, and you hope whoever ordered these flashlights has something horrible happen to them. Something rustles in the bush. The only thing you have to protect yourself is a bag of loose garbage and your shitty flashlight. Leslie is shouting so loud you can only hear half of her words. Whatever emerges from that bush will eat you alive—you’re sure of it.

The stench of death gets heavier as a figure crawls out from beneath the foliage, wearing a dark hoodie and a blue mask. There’s blood and guts caked under their fingernails, and they look filthy and smell worse. They lock eyes with you and try to stand, stumbling and letting out a near-inhuman cry. You hold your heavy flashlight like a baton—all it’s useful for, considering the lightbulb works when it wants to—as the masked stranger lets out a wheezy breath and crawls towards you.

You grip the flashlight so hard your hands are shaking, taking careful steps back to maintain some distance between both of you. Their approach doesn’t stop. They reach and grab at your leg and pull you to the ground. Your head is spinning as it collides with the damp earth, and you feel two hands digging into your abdomen, sharp nails scratching and attempting to burrow into your stomach. You shout as their ice-cold hands scrape across your body, their claws raking across tender flesh.

You thrash and try to push them away, but they hold you down with one hand and remove their mask with the other.

You always said you’d know what to do if you were in a slasher flick. You always called the protagonists stupid for freezing up in front of certain death, never thinking about what it felt like, knowing you were probably going to die. You look them in the eye—more so what’s left of them, staring into two tar-filled sockets where their eyes would be—and unable to do anything.

You lay back, each breath barely making it in and out of your lungs. They stop, hands still pressed firmly against you. They crane their neck, probably just as surprised as you for simply giving up. They tug your shirt back down, pressing a palm over it and smoothing the fabric with their palm.

It reignites something in you because before either of you can register what’s happening, they’re squealing in pain as you hit them upside the head with your flashlight. You scramble away, pulling yourself to your feet and running blindly to the main trail.

You don’t stop, even after the demonic cries die out under the sound of the beginning storm. You push and push yourself until you nearly collide with Leslie.

“Stars—! Kid, where the hell were you? What the hell happened to you?”

She shines the light across your face, then brushes a leaf from your coat. It’s hard to think about speaking; Leslie knows you’re trying.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, I’ll drive you home, kiddo.”

“But the—”

“Don’t worry about it,” She says as softly as she can, “You’ve done all you can do. Anything about you that I should be worried about?”

You pat your abdomen, a few lines of brown blood staining the front. You shake your head, and Leslie holds off on grilling you for details.

✷𓃞 ✷

She drives you home in her big pickup truck (she even went through a drive-thru and got you something to eat on the way home). She pats your back as you dig through the bottom of the bag for scraps.

“Don’t think about coming back tomorrow—Partly because you’ve been through hell tonight—but also because there’s going to be an investigation. Look—take it easy, maybe go see your doctor, don’t come back until at least next Tuesday.”

Leslie pulls over to the side of your street and pulls out a box of cigarettes. “I mean it, take it easy. You do enough work while you’re on the clock; don’t worry about anything—I have people that can cover your shift if you need more time off.”

You nod, gathering your things and walking towards your house, digging your keys from your jacket to escape the rainy weather. You shut the door behind you, and Leslie walks towards her truck, a thin line of smoke trailing behind her.

You open the door, and a warm puff of air welcomes you home. It’s quiet and dark, leaving you on edge from tonight’s incident. Instead of relaxing—like Leslie practically ordered you to—you drop your bag at the front door and book it to your computer. It hums to life, and you punch in your password and open your web browser. Surprisingly, being attacked by a person-shaped thing did not perturb your furious web-searching.

Creature in the woods near me

Masked creature, person that tried to eat me?

Blue man— you hastily hit backspace as Blue Man Group auto-fills in your search bar.

You keep trying outrageous combinations of words, eventually finding a near-defunct blog with a picture of the freaky humanoid that almost killed you.

EYELESS JACK. Well, the name fits. At least you’ve finally got a name for that face. You read through this article, which recounts this woman—a hiker-slash-rock-climber, to be more specific—coming into contact with a human-ish guy. They had a few photos of deep claw wounds that scarred over pale on her dark skin. You jot down the name, continuing to dig into the incident recounted by this woman.

You pause and close all your curtains and turn off all the lights (and you get yourself a drink to keep yourself awake). Sinking into your chair again, you continue the deep dive into this Eyeless Jack fellow, feeling like a detective from some once-popular show that wasn’t that good. You keep searching—jotting down leads for your search—until the sun is peeking over the horizon, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Eyeless Jack has been around for longer than you first believed—they’ve probably been terrorizing after-dark visitors of your park for years, right under your nose.

Are there more missing-person cases? Did any of your coworkers who quit unexpectedly actually have a reason? God, this journey to the weirdest parts of the internet has left you with more questions than answers.

You look down at the big sticky-note pad you used for notes. It looks like you fell off the deep end with your feverish scrawling, smeared ink, and lots of quick notes about disembowelment, kidney removal, and even cult activity. You think this may need another night of internet excavation to answer those (and inevitably, come up with more, even crazier, questions). Based on a few accounts of unwanted kidney removal in their sleep, you think about getting something to eat—

—and staying as far from your bed as possible.

✷𓃞 ✷

You can’t even eat breakfast without being tempted by your thirst for knowledge; it’s unbearable. You don’t even want to think of spending more than a few days at home. Hopefully, the police hurry up and finish so you can start your investigation.

You quickly rinse and dry your empty dish, filling a glass of water and flopping onto the couch. Surfing channels and finding something mindlessly entertaining will probably take your mind off things.

The news is boring—talking about the recent storm off the southern coast—and some cooking show. A history documentary—about someone you don’t care for—a jewelry channel, another news channel, and a kids’ show.

(Tempting, but no.)

The local news, though not mindless, is entertaining. There’s an over-top camera view of the park. Dozens of police cruisers and K-9 units are parked—and you can see your car, your old, rusty girl in the lot—Cops are infesting every corner of your TV, some moving into the woods toward Trapper’s, others lingering to talk in the view of the helicopter. It cuts to a news anchor recapping the incident from last night. They think it’s a bear attack. Leslie says it was a bear attack. Your coworkers say it was a bear attack, and Wildlife Removal will deal with it.

They don’t know anything—Jack tore into that hiker like a wild animal—and left the poor guy’s insides all over the forest floor.

You don’t stop watching the news until they start talking about the weather, where you only half-listen. There’s going to be a storm tonight. The teams at your job are probably going to try to recover the body and bring it to the morgue before it starts raining.

You turn off the TV after that. You examine your abdomen, five short lines across your belly where their claws made contact. You decide to go to the bathroom to clean and dress them.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” You tell yourself.

After a few cotton balls soaked in alcohol and big bandaids later, everything is clean enough and about as well-dressed as you can, considering your supplies.

There’s not much to do at home, and trying to take your mind off things with your usual hobbies isn’t working. You even try scrolling mindlessly online, but you can’t stop thinking about last night.

Why did they stop—and so suddenly?

You lift your shirt and brush your thumb over the bandaids on your belly, the skin still too hot and tender. Maybe you were just lucky, stupidly lucky. You pick up your home phone and dial Leslie’s number. She at least deserves a warning about what’s out there.

“...What are you doing?”

“Leslie,” there’s some strain in your tone, “Hey, Leslie. How are things?”

“You’re calling about work? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

“I know, but—Look, it’s about last night. I know you specifically told me not to do any digging, but—”

“Kid,” She cuts you off. You can picture her frustration as she probably rubs at her temples, “Tell me you did not do that.”

Yes. Yes, you did.

She sighs dramatically. “You work too hard—even when I order you to stop thinking about work, you do it anyway.”

“Look, it wasn’t an animal. It was a guy.”

“...What.”

You pull the phone from your ear. You probably do sound crazy. And you will continue to sound crazy when you talk about what you found online from defunct blogs from 1999. No matter how you try to spin it—every time you start talking—you can not come up with the words to explain that the scary internet creature is real. Leslie will not believe you, and who the hell would?

“...Nevermind. I have to go. I have, uhh, laundry in the dryer.” You mutter.

“Well, feel better, and stop going on the internet—you’ll scare yourself out of your skin with stuff people make up for fun,” Leslie sighs, then her voice goes soft, “I mean it. Take care of yourself. We’re thinking of you, kiddo. Oh, and Molly says hi.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “...Well, let Molly know I said ‘Hi’ back.”

“Will do. Okay, see you next week.”

You hang up.

✷𓃞 ✷

It’s damp. The fallen leaves are starting to rot and turn mushy under their boots. Jack tears through another can with their claws and downs a mixture of soup and soaked-through chicken. They drink, grinding the sinewy chicken and too-soft between their teeth, swallowing harshly and curling up at the taste. Police swarming the woods like ants to fruit has been awful; Jack is tired. Everything burns, they’re tired of running, and they’re still so hungry.

Other foods are necessary to Jack’s diet—they can’t live off meat. They need carbs and stuff—but if Jack has to spend more time seeing faces, they will start digging for their kidneys. They collapse underneath a fallen tree, curling up like a woodlouse. If the police find them, Jack just hopes it’s quick.

They can hear men shouting somewhere nearby with their big, angry dogs.

Jack falls asleep there, eventually, and they don’t know what time it is when they wake up, just that it’s dark out again, and it’s so quiet.

They survive off stolen clothing and soup cans between stays at the manor. Though their vision is gone, Jack still lives with psychosis (one would figure getting their eyes melted with hot tar would prevent visual hallucinations). Eating human flesh, though a taboo solution to their symptoms, allowed Jack to clear their mind and function.

Jack sunk deeper under the heavy log when they heard footsteps and a whining dog.

“I know, boy.” A man says, coughing as the air smells of cigarettes.

Jack’s nose burns at the smell. The dog sniffs at the earth and knocks aside a pile of leaves with its nose, whining and howling. The officer kicks aside the leaves and sighs.

“...Alright,” He says, the metal bits of the dog’s vest clicking together as the dog grows restless, thrashing against it.

The man hunches down, the sound of a plastic bag crinkling in his palm, muttering something to the canine.

“Atta-boy. Come on, Chester, it’s damn creepy out here.” With the tug of the leash, the officer and his canine retreat out of the woods.

When the two are out of earshot, Jack squeezes out from under the log and feels around in the dirt, sniffing the air and only smelling wet earth. Their chest tugs in a sickened sort of way, and they sink back into their hiding place and curl up into a ball. The rain picks up again. Wind howls and thunder crackles in the sky, rattling the earth.

Their new jacket, which they snatched off an unsuspecting hiker, was Jack’s only protection from hypothermia stealing the heat from their digits. Jack breathes into their palms, hot air flowing across their stiff fingers (which Jack promptly stuffed into their underarms to warm them up).

The wind doesn't hesitate to rob Jack’s already-deprived body of what little it has. Jack can’t stop thinking about how hungry they are—and how they see faces melting in their periphery whenever their mind wanders. They pick at the raw edges of their sockets in a measly attempt to soothe. It doesn't work. Nothing works anymore, even when Jack can consume human meat. After only a few hours, Jack’s skin is already itching with the need to keep consuming, to keep eating, to stave off their psychosis by any means necessary. They tug—and tug, and tug, and tug until they’re shaking—at their raw skin, where hardened pitch meets seared flesh and patchy brows. It’s unbearably cold, it’s so fucking cold, and going back to that hellish manor sounds like paradise right about now.

But that’s not an option.

✷𓃞 ✷

Tuesday finally comes around, and you can return to work.

You pack two lunches today. Your bag is just leftovers in a takeaway container (dinner from yesterday), and the other is a sandwich with a few slices of Swiss cheese and meat (far more meat than you’ve ever used at once). It’s got other things on it; you aren't going to give some hungry person—who’s probably been living alone in the wilderness for who knows how long—a boring sandwich. Too bad if they don’t like mayo (Well, you hope they like mayo, lest they rip you in two for the offense of a condiment on real-people food).

You fill your water bottle, grab your keys, and head out the door.

Leslie’s truck is humming outside. Your car is still in the lot at work. You were not in any condition to drive after, and Leslie would not have let that happen. She moves her bags as you climb into the passenger seat. You set down your things on the floor, trying to conceal the second lunch you made.

“...Glad to have you back, got everything?” Leslie asks.

You nod, jingling your keys.

She flicks her turn signal to the left and drives onto the road, turning right onto the main road.

The car is quiet, except for the radio playing old 80s hits, thick with the tension that you almost died the last time you went to work.

“You can work wherever you want today. Molly’s willing to work with your plans. I can imagine not wanting to do trail walks after, well, you know what.”

“I’ll be okay,” You say, ”I’ll do trails today. Not a problem.”

Leslie grips the steering wheel tight. “You’re sure? After you know what, I figured you would want to quit,” She turns left, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m okay.” You say, looking out the window.

Leslie makes some noise like she knows you’re lying. Your brush with death should have turned you off from any outdoorsy work, but here you are, making lunches for the thing that tried to rip you open like an orange. Maybe your too-empathetic and hopeful parts hope this sandwich helps them out. Everything you read about them was far from pleasant—Some of it didn’t seem real.

“A mixture of blood and hot tar poured into the eye sockets.” You recall.

This stuff about Eyeless Jack you read felt like fiction, but what you saw that night was real. God, it sends shivers down your spine, makes you feel ill—you don’t know what you would do if put in that scenario (blinded, abandoned, and left to die in the woods with an insatiable hunger for human flesh? Jack has been active for years, all alone, you think, you’re not sure how you would last even half as long).

“...Did they find anything?”

Leslie sighs. “No. But it’s an animal, so it’ll return next time it’s hungry. We’ve got more people on watch. Hopefully, we can get Wilderness Removal or Animal Control on it, maybe kill it if we have to.”

You hope not. Leave the critter that keeps eating people alone; they should just leave a plate of food out.

“Maybe don’t try to hunt down the wild critter-person like an animal.” You think. The rest of the ride is silent. You pull up to the park and see Molly chatting with a guest. She spots you looking out the window and waves, delighted to see you again.

“I wanted to give you this in case anyone tries giving you trouble.”

She passes you a black cylinder that’s roughly four inches tall. The button on top and the spray nozzle tells you it’s pepper spray.

“...Thanks, Leslie.”

“Anytime.”

You pull on your coat and leave your lunch in the fridge, taking the other out. Then, you jog over to your car and abandon the pepper spray in the cup holder; you hope that this choice won’t get you killed tonight, but you need to start on a good foot.

Your day-to-day rhythm comes back to you. You warmed yourself up on the more populated trails, picking up cans and directing folks about. It’s sparse, only seeing small groups unfazed by the recent killings (perhaps through ignorance or a belief that death is beneath them). The dread is heavier when you walk an empty trail that’s usually lively with people, even during the day, when dangers lurking in the bushes are more visible. As the sun creeps across the sky—and lower towards the horizon—fewer and fewer people choose to risk hiking after dark, lest they get disemboweled like the last guy who tried.

By 19:00, it’s empty. There’s nobody around other than you. But you know they’re still out there, listening to your every movement (and every breath and every hitch).

You scan the edge of the woods where they’re probably hiding, carefully stepping over the foliage while you intentionally stray from the carefully manicured path.

The trails are well-kept. The landscaping crew works diligently and takes pride in their work, keeping them free of debris and roots that would make the footpath a challenging terrain. Beyond the edges of the dirt roads, however, the forest is wild; vines writhe and twist along the floor, every plant fighting for sunlight in the undergrowth, with bigger-than-your-head leaves and trees wearing thick coats of creeping ivy. You witness the cycles of life and death within this delicate ecosystem—young trees climb higher and higher, growing larger and larger; insects feast upon the trees, rely on the trees, live and die by the trees; the trees, after centuries of life, die and rot; the lichen and insects feast on the rotting wood and refresh the cycle anew.

It makes you feel small and insignificant, as the world around you lives and dies without even noticing your existence. It’s like being surrounded by other people’s ideas in a museum, thousands of other people, forgotten by time, remembered by their art, or their shoes, or their stories through other people’s mouths.

Your boot slips on slick earth before you can continue your mental spiral about your insignificance as one among billions. Your boots squeal against pulpy mud and you nearly slip down into a strange recess; the earth is slick with that same slime, though it is more grainy and pus-like in texture. You follow the streaks in the muddy ground, where it slips underneath a large, rotten log.

You shine your light underneath, spotting a shivering, cobalt-blue mask underneath layers of jackets and stolen fabrics.

Maybe they’re sleeping, and waking them up (though with the promise of real people food) may upset them enough to maul you like a bear and eat you for lunch instead.

They shift and wiggle into the recess they carved out for themselves, hearing some shuffling outside of their burrowing. They suck in a deep breath through their nose, and the smell of human sears the insides of their lungs like smoke. They hunch a little bit, curling into a more upward sitting position, sniffing the air, inhaling once, twice, then a third time until they have that scent burned into their hindbrain. They can’t stop drooling, salivating at the thought of finally feeling okay again, having something to cut through the smoky, blurry feeling. They hear shuffling, their prey slinking back as they curled forward. They can’t suppress the growl that rumbles in their throat, teeth licked behind the mask. They don’t move like a person in preparation for a chase. Jack slips out of their nook, their body curled forward and arms hanging limp.

Jack reaches up and peels the mask like a second skin, revealing tar-filled sockets that bore down at your scent.

Jack lurches forward like they’re on a leash, sinking their claws into your arm and digging in, etching out five deep grooves, each weeping a stream of blood that makes Jack’s mind run wild. Without thinking entirely, Jack pulls your arm forward and sinks their teeth into your bicep, leaning their body weight against you, knocking you both to the floor. There’s kicking and screaming, high-pitched whining as Jack’s teeth tear through skin and sinew, coating your arm in blood and spit.

You cry out, trying to pull their steel trap of a jaw out of your arm—managing to loosen their upper jaw, and by shoving them away with the heel of your palm, you manage to rip out their lower jaw, too.

They shiver, licking their teeth over and over again. Feral, animalistic delight rattles their whole body; they’re giddy at the taste of your blood, but they hold some restraint at the sound of their name.

Your breathing is frantic, and your heart is hammering in your throat. Jack’s breathing slows, and they quit licking their teeth. You’re not sure where to start. You hold your breath as Jack’s tar-filled sockets bore down into yours. Their breathing is heavy, and there’s saliva dribbling down their chin. You squeeze your arm, your skin clammy with blood and sweat, while Jack stays still above you.

Your mouth is nailed and twisted shut like you’re at the morgue. Jack doesn’t finch as they, strangely again, don’t tear you to shreds like the last guy. You sigh, which comes out as an exasperated laugh, your chest squirming like a bucket of mealworms as Jack’s warm, blood-soaked breath enters your nose. Their hair is long and matted, greasy and cool-brown in color; their skin is a deep gray like the living dead, bulked up by layers of stolen sweaters and pants to keep warm.

“I, uhh…” You start, “I brought you a sandwich if you want it. I didn't know what you liked, so I just put a little bit of ever—”

Jack’s knee presses into your ribcage as they climb over you, feeling around on the ground for your bag. A wheeze rattles from your throat, and they dump your belongings onto the forest floor unceremoniously, sniffing the contents like a tracker hound.

They pinch the bag between their claws, disemboweling the brown paper bag, the contents hitting the floor with a wet thud.

You watch them eat, tearing through plastic and paper with their teeth, eating with no sensibility nor dignity. The sandwich is shoved into their mouth and swallowed in about fifteen seconds, and a crushed bag of potato chips you forgot at the bottom of your bag perishes, too. They crack open the plastic container full of your dinner and hesitate, neck craned in your direction. It takes a few moments to find them, but Jack finds the metal utensils you packed for yourself, showing the container to you.

“Oh, well, yeah. That’s mine. My dinner, I mean. You can have it if you want.”

They shake their head in a fit.

They push it in your direction, a flatly affective expression on the remainder of their face, but their body language pushes your cold leftovers on you with a lot of force. You gingerly take the container from their claws, crack it open, and eat. Jack listens attentively to you, sockets trained on you, on the sound of metal utensils clinking against your mouth, the sound of you swallowing your meal. Their hands squirm and play with the dirt and leaves, excited to share a meal of leftovers with somebody they nearly killed twice. Your arm is throbbing as you carefully feed yourself, your jacket’s sleeve shredded. Hopefully, your emergency fund can cover a trip to the hospital for however many stitches you’ll need, as well as the antibiotics you’ll be taking (or paying for amputation if this gets infected, but you try not to think about that as this demonic forest creature is enraptured by you eating supper with them). You scrape the bottom of the container, not missing a single morsel.

They move their hand under their chin, and you recognize what Jack is doing. You took a few classes in uni, so you pick up on the ASL as soon as their hand collides with the other in a neat thank you.

“Oh! You’re welcome,” You say, “Was it good? I was worried if you liked mayo or not.”

They grin. It’s small, subtle, and hard to do with the tar seared to their skin, but there’s a quiet peek of teeth as they chuckle at being understood. They like mayo.

You laugh, too, exhausted and relieved. After so many restless nights worrying about getting your organs surgically removed in your sleep, you’re looking forward to a restful night after the day you’ve had. At the hospital, because you’re arm is looking pretty ugly.

“Look, I think I have to go.”

They tense up.

“I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise,” You sigh, trying not to look down at your bloody limb, “They’re still looking for you, though, so be careful. If you need food, I can try to sneak you some from Lost & Found.”

Jack pats at their pocket, pulling out an old, beat-up phone. They pass it to you, and you type out your number and put it into a contact.

“I’ll, hopefully, see you soon?”

They shrug. It’s probably for the best that they don’t make any promises. Jack walks into the treeline, eventually disappearing from view.

[suzuran777]

Review: Tokyo Satsujinki (Holicworks)

I finally finished the other new BLVN I bought recently, Tokyo Satsujinki! This game was released last month, by Holicworks who are known for previous games like Taisho Mebiusline, Tokyo Onmyouji and Tokyo 24 ku (yes they're aware of all of their similar sounding "Tokyo" titles lol). I guess this game might be a bit difficult to review because it’s extremely story-heavy and I would still like to keep this review spoiler-free, but I’ll try my best! Right now it's also only available in Japanese, but as Tokyo Onmyouji was translated, maybe this one will be picked up too one day.

The main character, Kurotori Yuzuru, is a civil servant who works for the Tokyo Metropolitan Government. He belongs to a countermeasure group who fights against a negative force, often referred to as "Aramatsuri". In this world, both Aramatsuri and Amaterasu are powers that reside within humans. Amaterasu brings positivity and happiness, while Aramatsuri is deemed evil and leads to misfortune.

Only those with special powers are able to see Aramatsuri, therefore these are also the only people who are part of the Aramatsuri Countermeasure Division, which Kurotori and some of the other main characters belong to. A common way of confirming that one possesses special abilities, is by asking them about the appearance of Yoyogi Park Clock Tower. Only those with special powers are able to see the big pink flower on top of it, which suddenly appeared one day and doesn't look like it's from this world. Especially the Kabukicho area of Shinjuku is heavily affected by the negative impact of Aramatsuri, so this is a location where a large part of the story in this game takes place.

The recommended route order is Tendo > Tsubaki > Isshiki > Inami, but don’t be surprised when you suddenly have to enter Inami’s route to make progress in Isshiki’s route. This games makes use of a flowchart which shows you where the endings are, and which ones you still need to get, but it doesn’t really tell you what choices to make. Especially near the end it’s a lot of trial and error, but it’s not too difficult and I kinda had fun figuring it out myself! On the other hand, I also saw some comments that it’s a bit annoying when you want to finish a route quickly, which I understand... so be prepared that the last two routes are long. I think you can also start with Tsubaki's route because plot-wise it won't change a lot, but I'm pretty sure the other two routes are locked.

A big part of the story in this game focuses on Kurotori, the protagonist. Kurotori’s powers are a bit special compared to the other characters because not only is he able to manipulate Aramatsuri and change it into any shape he wants (he often uses it to create a sword), he can also use the power of goddess Ame-no-Uzume. She's the goddess of dawn, meditation and the arts, and in Shinto religion, her story intertwines deeply with that of Amaterasu Omikami, the sun goddess who also plays an important role in this story. It is also not a coincidence that the positive powers in this game are called "Amaterasu" because some of the characters can use the powers of Amaterasu Omikami.

The first route I played is Tendo's route, Kurotori's coworker who also works for the Aramatsuri Countermeasure Division. He is one of the people who can use the power of Amaterasu, and his family specializes in using Japanese swords, so that’s his preferred weapon of choice. The Aramatsuri Countermeasure Division is a secret even many governmental organizations and the police don’t know about, therefore they can't carry weapons or fight Aramatsuri in locations where other people can see them. Their manager, a woman called Mikiko, is also an important character in this game (she's the one sitting in the chair in the image below!). Tendo's route mostly focuses on his brother's disappearance, who also used to be part of the same division. Before he went missing, his brother attacked and killed his coworkers during a mission, and now other employees seem rather suspicious of Tendo too, wondering if he will turn against them too. Tendo however, also doesn't know why any of this happened.

The next route I played is Tsubaki’s route, who's an aspiring actor who tries his best to find new jobs. Even though he tries his best to live a normal life, his family has a long history of unfortunate incidents, and many family members either died or went missing. If that wasn't bad enough, Tsubaki also gets regular visits from the god Sarutahiko Ookami, who wants to use Tsubaki to sever Kurotori’s ties with Ame-no-Uzume, Sarutahiko’s wife. Tsubaki doesn’t really want to do this, but there's not much he can do against the will of a god. In the common route of the game, Tsubaki tries to attack Kurotori while wearing Sarutahiko's mask, concealing his identity, but Kurotori kind of suspects that it was him. As he learns more about Tsubaki, part of him wants to deny this though, because he believes Tsubaki might also be a victim of all of this. I enjoyed the casual interactions between the characters in this route too because it shows that Kurotori doesn't really use smartphones or computers (other than for work-related reasons), so Tsubaki has to teach him how to use apps like Line...!

After this I started playing Isshiki’s route, a mysterious bartender who’s also an Onmyouji and can use the power of Onmyoudo. This technique allows him to cast spells using the powers of astronomy, and methods range from Yin/Yang, the Five Elements, shikigami (cursed spirits) an a whole bunch of other things (if you played Tokyo Onmyouji you probably know too!). He can also use the power of an Inugami who he calls “Kota”, the curse of a dog spirit. If you're familiar with Inugami.... you immediately know this route will be dark, because Inugami are beings that can only be created by humans, involving a brutal ritual, eventually killing the dog. As you can see in the opening movie it's not Isshiki's fault, but man this backstory made me sad.

I think this is the route I liked the most though because in most of the other routes Isshiki is kind of like the villain and his visions don’t align with the other main characters, so I really wanted to see his side of the story. After finishing his route it was almost hard to continue with Inami's route because both of them are always fighting and I kind of agreed with Isshiki's reasoning more, but I did want to see the final endings. A name that gets mentioned a lot in this route is Amatsu-Mikaboshi, a star god who would not submit to the will of the other Amatsukami (the kami of Heaven), and I think it's good to remember this name when you play the next route too.

So the final route focuses on Inami, who is another coworker of Kurotori. He can also use the power of Amaterasu, and is originally from Okinawa. Even though he's their coworker, the others don't actually know a lot about him. He's quite skilled and spent a lot of time learning about many different magic techniques. In his route, you finally learn a lot more about who Inami is, but there's also a lot of backstory related to Kurotori, which doesn't show up in other routes. Even though I do prefer Isshiki's route, it’s not like this route makes the other routes feel irrelevant or less important, which sometimes tends to happen when games have a "true" route. I'm not sure if it's the design or his behavior, but Inami did remind me a little bit of Misaki from Taisho Mebiusline lol! Though that could make sense because it's the same writer and company of course. This route has two really good ending songs by the way, which I keep listening to...!

Final impressions I think those who enjoyed other Holicworks games like Tokyo Onmyouji and Taisho Mebiusline will definitely enjoy this game too! I missed playing their games, so I was definitely happy to play this one. I think it might be a bit difficult to get into for those who don't want to read a super long story with only a few 18+ and romance scenes. It definitely took me about 50 hours to play all of the different endings. This includes trying to figure out what to do next though (I think some people already started making a guide, if you want to avoid that though, so check Twitter/X first). If something in the early routes feels left unexplained, there's a big chance it will show up in another ending. Sometimes I was surprised how even little details I never thought much about were somehow story-relevant.

Like most of their previous games, a large part of this story also references various terms related to Shintoism, and names of many of the gods/kami are directly mentioned in the story and play a huge role in it, so I think it would be a good idea to keep track of those to understand some of the references. However if you don't get all of the references, I think it's still not impossible to understand the story and the endings, I just think it's fun to look everything up! Talking about endings… This game has a lot of them, so be prepared to keep loading your save files.

As usual the music in this game is really good, I especially liked the songs by Lily & Morrigan. I liked the art too, especially the action scenes were cool and some of the CGs are animated. I'm a big fan of Kurotori's design too, I love the lower lashes, black nails and high heels!! If I had to complain about something, I guess the 18+ scenes sometimes felt a bit awkward, but that could just be a me-problem because I am very picky LOL (and each route only has like 2 of them).

I really want to see a continuation of some of these routes tbh! I think there's definitely potential for a fandisc. I got Isshiki's pre-order bonuses, which includes a short drama CD that takes place after his main ending, so I'm going to assume all the other characters also have this. I guess I'll end this with a fun fact, Isshiki’s bar in the game (Arca) actually exists in real life too, and I’ve already seen a lot of fans go there to enjoy the drinks. So if you're ever in Shinjuku, you might be able to visit! It's near Sanchome station.

[erikahammerschmidt]

So here's a my hot take about "social anxiety," and "being afraid to ask others for help."

After years and years of personal growth, I still get people treating my "aversion to asking for things" as some internal problem with my brain.

But let me tell you one thing.

You might be able to conquer any nagging sense that you "don't deserve" help from others. Then you might go on to vanquish any exaggerated idea of how much harm or trouble or inconvenience your request would cause someone else. And after that, you could totally wipe out any excess of anxiety about how angry someone else might be at you for asking.

But all this WILL NOT CHANGE the fact that:

Other people have lives of their own

Your requests usually are not (and should not be!) another person's first priority

People cannot be expected to have perfect memories and keep your request in their minds all the time

And therefore, if you have any ability to do a thing for yourself-- even something far outside both your skillset and your responsibilities-- even if it's very difficult to do on your own-- it's still very often MUCH EASIER than trying to get another person to do it for you.

Example:

I mention a project I want to do. I think I can do it with just a saw and hammer and nails that I already have. But my roommate, who has more woodworking equipment and more experience than me, says he'll help.

I say thanks, and ask him when. He says "well, I can't today, maybe Saturday?" So I wait til Saturday. At which point he's forgotten and planned something else, so he can't that day. Is Wednesday afternoon okay?

Sure (I put notes all over the apartment to make sure he doesn't forget this time). And he doesn't forget-- but he has to cancel anyway because the dog unexpectedly has to go to the vet that day. We reschedule for Friday. We get started on the project… at which point he suddenly concludes that we actually need a part that we don't have right now, and he'll have to buy it. That'll take a few days at least, so we have to reschedule again.

And now his schedule's busier than he thought, and he doesn't know when's the next time he'll be available. He says he'll let me know when. But weeks and weeks go by, and he doesn't. If I remind him, either he'll reassure me that he promised to tell me if he has any free time, and he's still gonna let me know when, I just have to be patient… OR he'll apologize for forgetting, and reassure me that he'll remember to tell me NEXT time he has a free afternoon.

Maybe a couple times he does message me, with less than an hour to spare, to give me a heads up that he's free now. But of course, on such short notice, I myself can't always arrange to be free-- and if he does this enough times and gets a "no" from me each time, he'll start feeling it's no longer worth trying and he'll stop.

At this point, my entire self wishes that I'd just done the project on my own, with my own inferior skills and whatever equipment I could scrounge up myself. It wouldn't be as good, maybe. But even if I had to try a few times to make it passably okay, then at least I would have learned something-- and in any case, it would be DONE now. I wouldn't be sitting here waiting, dependent on someone who does not have my project anywhere NEAR the top of his priorities.

Same goes for asking for something back that someone's borrowed from me. (Assuming my time is worth minimum wage, it's usually cheaper just to buy a new one.)

Same goes for asking my boss for an accommodation that would really help but I can sorta get by without. (I've seen coworkers having to remind management repeatedly about accommodations they get. It's almost a whole second job.)

Same goes for the colored pencils I just ordered while staying at my mom's house, upon which she reminded me that I really should have asked her first, because there are "tons" of art supplies in the house already. (Sure-- but how soon can you be available to look for them? And once looking, how quickly could you find them? And if they aren't quite what I was looking for, but you "feel certain" that the thing I was looking for "is also around here somewhere," then how many days should I give you to remember where it is? And how many times during those days should I check in with you, just to see if you actually still remember my request and are actually still trying to find it?)

In my experience, more often than not, asking another person for something (no matter how well-meaning they are) will put them in a position of oblivious, incompetently wielded power over me, long before they even begin to grant my request.

And in my experience, more often than not, that is a fate to be avoided if at all possible-- by any means-- up to and including doing things for myself that I "shouldn't have to do."

And no amount of therapy and self-help on my own brain is gonna change that.

[randomactsofpigeon]

Personal. Apparently I can't write until I get this off my chest so

My grandfather died a few weeks ago. We weren't close and it wasn't unexpected, though the final hours did come on a bit suddenly. He was my last living grandparent which feels a bit weird. My father--his son--is shattered, which is expected. I'm a bit angry at him though because when I saw my grandfather last summer, my dad completely monopolized him and I'm angry at myself too because I knew that would probably be my last opportunity to talk to him and I still let it happen. My dad doesn't have any emotional intelligence. Like I do love him but I've literally be in tears in front of him and not had him notice.

My dad's siblings are mainly assholes so somehow we're not having a funeral until June 17. I'd already promised my father we would go so I'm going, even though it feels...ridiculous, to wait that long. Apparently embalming will keep him fresh enough for two months which is horrific in its own right and reinforces my own desire for green burial but that's a whole other thing. My sister is backing out, who was going to be my sanity during all of this. My grandmother's funeral was an absolute shitshow and I'm concerned about that happening again. Exhibit A: My brother and his wife haven't told their 5-year-old that he died, and she's still talking like he's alive and ALSO attending a family event this weekend, where her five-year-old cousin is VERY AWARE he has passed and likewise talking about him often. That's not going to end badly or anything. Plus whenever my family gets together all of them talk about how they love their identical iphones and nespressos and blissfully child-centered lives and I'm just standing there like the odd thumb out like I've been since I was a kid. And my mom cries if I point out how much I always feel left out and like I don't belong in this family. But I'm not sure why she thinks I should feel any other way when, whenever I try to share any kind of relatable experience, everyone just pauses a moment to erase the contribution from their minds and changes the subject.

I'm totally burned out from this proposal at work that got dramatically sped up when we decided to partner with another company, so instead of the hybrid schedule I'm supposed to be working due to my depression I've been full-time in office, and having to mask...everything in a workplace takes so much energy it's unbelievable. I was looking forward to a break but my former coworker, who took over my work when I changed jobs, also had a death in his family and I'm literally the only other person who understands his work well enough to do it so I'm filling in. Surprise surprise his proposals are due on the 17th. When I'm in Mass for a funeral. Lovely.

One of my foster kittens, who is now 6 weeks old, is stubbornly not weaning. I don't even know what to do at this point. I've tried all the advice that's available online and offline.

I'm living in a shitshow of a house because work has me too burned out to keep up on anything. My plants are dying. I feel so effing useless.

And like I probably shouldn't put this one on tumblr because I don't want to be pathetic but like... I FINALLY got myself back together enough to start writing Lab again and hardly anyone is actually reading it. I got a bunch of welcome back comments on the first new chapter, which was nice, but like nobody came back to read it after. I got next to no comments on the second new chapter. And I don't blame people for feeling burned by the long gap or moving on or being in a different place where reading is not a priority. I really, truly don't. But it also fucking sucks. I thought I was passed this superficial crap as a writer but it has really knocked the wind out of my sails about something I was super excited about, even if I thought I was mentally prepared for it to happen.

I'm just so exhausted I want to cry and vomit. But I'm trying to start my big place exchange fic anyway because I don't want to go back to not writing again. It wasn't a good place to be.

I just feel like I'm failing literally everybody in my life right now, people, readers, pets, plants.

[godtiercomplex]

maya fertility journal #2

1/28/2024

alrighty.

i went ahead and bought one vial of sperm as i hit my weight goal—or so i thought. did an official weigh in on friday and according to the doctors scale i still need to lose 5-10 pounds. i’m saying 5-10 because i need to be underneath 260 but im weighing in at 265 at their offices. i’m weighing in at 260 at home so it’s about 5 pounds off. so for my sanity im thinking the closer to 250 i hit the better. so if i weigh in at home at 255 i’ll be at 260 at the doctors office. but if i hit 250 at home ill be 255 at the doctors office.

here’s praying for favors.

oh i just did a weigh in this sunday morning and forget what i typed up earlier. i'm weighing in now at home at 265 so maybe it's just the same as the doctor's office. maybe i don't need to lose an additional pounds to get to 250 and will be fine at like 255, 253....

we'll see!

anyway, i find it Hilarious that i got into TLT at the same time i'm narrowing down potential baby names cuz man a certain name was high on my list of baby boy names and now it's kinda... iffy

my sister's like jealous of a baby that doesn't even exist yet--she doesn't want me to stop spoiling her to spoil my kids instead. she's like 'i'm not ready to be an aunt yet. i'm only 9' ma'am and i'm 30. i'm ready to start my parenting journey lmao. she's just suddenly aware now that when i have kids i can redirect my funds toward buying them things and not always buying her things. it's so funny. she's so fun.

also, i saw the adult photos of my sperm donor and like i'm crying. dude has blond hair. and it's so poorly dyed. like sir! did you dye it yourself? i just find it funny that i was like 'yeah he's a pokenerd' and my coworker came over to see his photos and the first thing she said was 'is he a blond asian?' and i had no response cuz he is!

i personally never want to meet the sperm donor but i do want my kids to have the option so you know. it's nice to have access to all this data that i can save for them in the future.

anyway, overall i'm excited to almost have hit the goal weight and i think i'm gonna be plotting to have at least one of my kids be born in march so that way all of my kids can have bdays in march. leo's so funny. he's like 'oh you need to arrange for them to be born on march 1st' and it's like no. cuz my bday is march 2nd. and leo's is march 3rd. but he claims both the 3rd and the 4th so that leaves like any dates after the 4th available. but as we know babies don't come when you want them to sooo its likely that i'll just fuck around and end up sharing a bday with my kid which i don't wanna do.

as a pisces can i raise another pisces?

i guess when i DO get pregnant the tag will change to #maya pregnancy journal and then #maya parenting misadventures when they're born

god i'm excited

[nothingbutalgae]

Long rant, sorry. Just want to type this out and if someone wants to throw their thoughts about it to me, thats also cool.

I'm pretty annoyed and stressed ngl. So a few months ago I saw someone I met at a massage continuing ed thing at my pet store work. She asked if I lived around there and I said yes, and she told me she was trying to get her work to hire someone new bc she's swamped all the time and could use some help. So I gave her my name, phone number, where I work, etc, and she said there wasn't a position available but she would pass my info to her boss while trying to get her to hire another person. Well, didn't hear anything for a while (weeks/months I really don't know) until I suddenly get phone calls from the boss in question, she talks to me over the phone, tells me there isn't a position available still but she's working on it, we talk for a while, she says she will be in contact when they open one. Another month-ish passes, I get a call last Monday morning saying "hey sorry we haven't been in contact, position still isn't open because the admin has been out, let me know if you have any questions." And then calls a few hours later going "so can we schedule a time you could come in and talk and tour the facility?" And I was like ???? Bc it was like a 180 from a few hours prior when she just told me to call if I had questions. Didn't answer bc I was already at work so she left that as a voice-mail. She calls again while I'm still at work that day and leaves another voice mail about it. I'm already concerned and mildly annoyed at this point bc wtf is with this change? And I wasn't going to call her at 9:30 at night on her personal phone even if she said I could, so I didn't call back Monday at all, or Tuesday bc I had a phone interview somewhere else (bc after not hearing from them for so long I was like haha, just for fun, might as well see what's out there and get some interview practice, and then last week turned into me being stressed because all of the sudden I had a million things happening). So I called back on Wednesday and left a voice-mail. She calls back right before I'm going into work and I'm like ..... and let it go to voice-mail again. She called back again about 7 or 8 hours later, and I'm still at work and I had been looking at my phone when I see her calling and I'm like AAAUGH to my coworker and she's like don't answer it, so I don't, but then play the voice-mail and she's like "call me back up until 10:30pm! I want to schedule a time for you to come in" so I finally just go "screw it" and called her back at 10 when I got off work, and set up a time for 8am the next morning. I toured the place, talked to her, etc. She told me they still didn't have a position open, but essentially, it was a pretty informal interview I guess. But again, no position formally open so they couldn't tell me if I would be getting hourly pay or commission pay, and they didn't mention number of hours I would be working, etc. They said they would try to get a position open for me to apply for next (this) week. So she called on Wednesday, told me there was a position open, I didn't apply bc I wasn't feeling well and also had work. She called me again today, once again while I was at work and said she's not trying to bother me, but she wants me to apply so she can get everything started so I can start working there next week bc she's going on medical leave for weeks after this next one.

So basically went from not hearing from them for a month after inital contact (which was probably at least a month after i passed my info to the first person), to "let us know if you have questions, still no position though" to (a few hours later) "so do you want to come in and tour and talk about the possible position?" Twice in one day. I ghosted her for two days bc i had other stuff happening, called her back on Wednesday but she wasn't available so I left a message, only to get two more calls saying she wants me to come in in the next two days, I call back and agree to come in the very next morning, I go do that and am still told no position open but she'll try to get one open the following week and i can apply then. Position opens. I get two calls in two days to apply so that I can start next week bc she's leaving the following week. So the position says "on-call" on the website listing which.... uh? And it still doesn't list a pay amount/how they will decide pay (hourly or commission) and like??? Also they expect me to have a license to practice in the city bc duh (our state sucks for licensure of this bc we have to obtain a license for EVERY city we want to work in and renew them yearly), but like... I've never worked in this city before and before last week I wasn't even sure they were still interested in hiring me, so I never applied for this city's license since you have to pay to apply, and I'm pretty sure I said this, but now they want me to suddenly start next week and it's like hello????

I'm stressed, and I'm sure my anxiety isn't helping, but this seems red flaggy and I'm not sure if it's purely the anxiety or if I have cause to be concerned. Like it's a great opportunity and at a place I would like to work, but this has been so bizarre.

[charmingbrute]



The photoshoot has ended a mere minute ago, and both Yotsuyu and Ares were allowed to retreat to the dressing room to change into their own clothes. A sigh slips past her lips, muffled by the cloth covering the lower half of her face before she pulls it down, her gaze wandering to her coworker but a few yalms to her left. One would scarcely believe how exhausting their line of work is, although she does sometimes wonder if he feels the same way. He still looks as immaculate as he did this morning.

"If you have nothing else planned, would you mind accompanying me tonight? It's been almost 15 years since I started working with this agency, and I thought I might as well celebrate a little bit." 15 years of independence - a reason to celebrate indeed, and Ares is someone she's grown rather fond of. Yotsuyu has worked often enough with him to have grown comfortable in his presence, more so than with many others that she has to work with - and enough so that instead of calling for her manager, Yotsuyu approaches him as she undoes the clasps at the front of the tight outfit she's been put in. "Also - would you mind helping me out of this?" Turning her back towards the man, Yotsuyu gestures at the zipper running from her nape to her lower back.

As Ares removed his own garments from the long day of modeling, his chiseled physique was revealed. The beads of sweat on his skin glistened in the light, accentuating the definition of his muscles. Despite his exhaustion, there was a rugged charm about him that only heightened his allure. He moved with grace and poise, his weary movements only serving to make him more appealing to the eye. His countenance was that of someone who had worked hard and was deserving of rest, but still, he carried himself with an air of confidence and dignity. As they completed the long and arduous photography session, he was most pleased to be able to remove the restrictive mouth covering they had been required to wear. Its pressing constriction had made breathing a most difficult task, and his frustration at having to endure it was palpable.

He reached for his phone to peruse his schedule when he was suddenly interrupted by a query from Yotsuyu, asking if he would be available to accompany her on some spontaneous errand. He raised a brow, his expression filled with amusement at her request. He couldn't help but find her inquiry endearing, for she was a constant source of delight to him. The thought of spending time with her was enough to bring a smile to his lips, even if his schedule was a busy one. However, he decided to maintain a demeanor of nonchalance and merely scoffed at her question.

'Nothing else planned', as if he wasn't always a busy man.

"You expect me to clear the rest of my day to have a date with you?"

He let her believe that he was far too occupied to entertain such a notion, not wishing to reveal the true extent of his feelings. And yet, the idea of dropping everything to be by her side was not without appeal. He found himself... more than willing to clear his entire schedule just to celebrate with her, for she was worth any inconvenience. Besides, she was the only one who ever worked with him who didn't find him a nuisance. For what reason? It's a mystery even to him. As he returned his attention to his phone, he feigned irritation but he smiled as she approached him. Though he would never let her know, she always did have the power to make him forget about even the most pressing of engagements.

"Perhaps I will. If only because it's an important day to you."

Ares' gaze fell upon her, suddenly becoming aware of her charming attire. He didn't have the opportunity to look at it in its entirety until now. It was a shame, he thought, that she would have to divest herself of such a delightful garment. Skin tight and still leaving a lot to imagination. However, at her insistence, he obliged her request to assist with unzipping the dress from the back. Despite the presence of other women outside their room who may have been better suited for the task, she had singled him out, and he found himself more than willing to do it. As he carefully worked the zipper, he couldn't help but admire the expanse of her naked back. Her skin was smooth and inviting, and the beads of sweat only served to enhance her beauty. He found himself entranced by the sight, barely registering that it was already a done deal.

He cleared his throat and turned, "Where to tonight?"

[ellephlox]

hey elle i was wondering if you can do a oneshot of matt and fem! reader and age takes matt shopping with her and she tries on some new clothes and matt is just being very handsy. thank you❤️

Yes omg this is so cute and also makes my heart race??

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: Mostly fluff + intimate touching

Summary: You go shopping for a new dress, and... Matt decides to join. 

“What even is a summer solstice party?” you demanded, tearing through the bottom drawer of your dresser to no avail. “And why don’t I have any fancy summer dresses?”

“Don’t you have that nice silky one?” Matt said, leaning against the doorframe and listening to the ruckus as you emptied your entire closet onto the bedroom floor. “You know, the one that hangs low in the back?”

“It’s midnight blue. More wintry looking, you know?” You paused and gave him a look. “You just like it because the back dips low.”

“Does it matter? I don’t think anyone is going to care if you’re not wearing vibrant yellow.”

“‘Does it matter?’” you repeated. “Yes, Matthew, it matters! I have a reputation at stake! The entire office is going to be there and I promise you that every single one of my coworkers will be expecting me to fit the summer theme because they’re all absolutely insane. Remember last Christmas? They practically had a laughing fit because I apparently had the audacity to show up in a normal sweater instead of one of those dumb ugly sweaters.”

“I think I have an orange tie somewhere in the back of my closet. At least, according to Foggy, it’s a ‘Lorax-as-shit-tie’.” He lifted his fingers in air quotes. “You could sling it over your shoulder and call it a summer sash.”

“Brilliant, Matt. You really missed your calling in fashion design,” you said dryly. “Yeah. This isn’t working. I’m going to have to make a run before the mall closes. What time is it?”

Matt’s hand ran over his watch. “Almost five.”

“Perfect. I’ll head to Columbus Circle.” You spun around, looking for your keys. “What’re you going to be up to this evening? Will you still be here when I get back?”

“I’m not going out tonight.”

“You’re not?” You appraised him suspiciously. “Why? You didn’t get injured last night, did you?”

“No. I just have a scheduling conflict.”

“A scheduling conflict with your deviling.” You crossed your arms. “I don’t buy it.”

He caught your arm and pulled you in closely. “I was thinking of going shopping tonight. Columbus Circle seems like a good place to go.”

Your mouth drifted open slightly. “You want to join me?”

“Well, it’s just a coincidence that you were planning on shopping tonight, but I suppose we could go together, if that’s what you want,” he said, giving you a teasing peck on the cheek. “It’s been awhile since I’ve gone out with you.”

“It’ll be boring, I’m warning you. There’s a reason every mall has a couple couches in the center where there’s always a few stray men on their phones.”

“I want to come with you. I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I miss being out in the city with you,” he amended.

“I mean, I’d love to have you,” you said, bemused. “As long as you’re sure you want to come.”

Thirty minutes later, you had a better idea of why Matt had wanted to join you. You emerged from the changing room in a pastel orange slip dress, twirling for him as though he could see it. 

“Is this one okay?” you asked, ruffling the material for added effect. 

“How would I know?”

You gave him an indignant look. “Well, I assumed you were paying close attention to the wavelengths propagating from my twirl.”

The corners of Matt’s lips were lifted upwards in a smirk. Before you could blink, he was suddenly behind you and slipping his hands around your waist. 

“Feels good,” he said, and then he slid his hands down lower. “I approve. And as for the wavelengths, they’re... wavy.”

“Wavy? That’s all I get for a compliment?”

“Mm. I like the material. It’s soft, smooth.” He squeezed you and you gasped, glancing around surreptitiously. 

“No one’s around,” he assured you. “You should try on that other dress. The one with the lace trim.”

“It doesn’t exactly look appropriate for a work party.”

“Exactly." 

You rolled your eyes and returned to the changing room, giving him one last look before closing the door. He was seated on the bench, completely at ease and relaxed despite the atrocious pop music playing in the background and the baby wailing in its mother’s arms not fifty feet away. Surely the mall had to be painful for him. How could it not? You couldn’t imagine what it must sound and smell like; the constant cacophony of everyday life, all condensed within one building. 

Well. Doubtlessly he could use something else to listen to other than that crying child. 

“This goes way, way too low,” you said under your breath, grinning in spite of yourself at the way Matt was almost undoubtedly cocking his head to listen to you. “Definitely not appropriate for work.” You played with the strings on the dress, then smoothed out the fabric over your hips. It was almost painful not being able to see Matt’s reaction. You repeated the motion, drawing your hands out slowly as you passed them over every part of the dress, shaping it over your body. “Shit, did they mean for the dip in the back to go all the way—”

“Need some help?” Matt’s voice came from the other side of the door. Like a moth to light. 

“No,” you said, sighing dramatically. “It’s just taking me longer than expected. The dress has a thin, loopy back, and it’s all exposed, so I’m trying to tie the knot, but I keep slipping.” You actually had quite a firm handle on the knot and had already tied it. Whether Matt could tell was unknown. 

“Unlock the door and I’ll help.”

“Thank you, but I’m all set,” you said, holding back your laughter as you saw the shadow of his feet pace slightly on the other side. “I’ll just... I’ll try on the more work-appropriate dress. Besides, it must be boring for you to have to endure me coming out after each change, since you can’t actually see each dress, so I’ll spare you the trouble and just take this off now—”

His voice was a growl, guttural and low. “Let me in, sweetheart, before I kick down the door.”

There’s my devil. You popped open the lock, smiling weakly. “Ta-da.”

The door closed behind Matt as he entered, dropping the cane against the wall immediately and pushing your back into the mirror. He braced himself on either side of you, hands against the wall. You took a couple of shallow breaths; there was something about the way his jaw was tense, and the way the muscles in his lower arms were taut, that made your heart skip. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, moving his hands from the wall to gently push you down onto the seat. “Mind if I... feel your dress?”

He never fails to check in first. You smiled at him, warm love for everything about Matt Murdock palpitating in your chest. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to buy it if I wasn’t sure it felt nice, right?” you said, your voice coming out in a squeak; your composure was completely shattered by the strong and blazing aura rippling off of him. 

His hands traced the back of the dress and then up your shoulders again, feeling every bit of the fabric and where the dress clung to your body; then they moved to your breasts, lightly assessing the cowl fold of the neckline at the end as though that had been his intention all along. 

“I think you should buy it,” he decided. 

“Oh, really? And what am I supposed to wear to the work party?”

“This one.” Without turning his body he plucked the third dress from the hook behind him, feeling the shape of the dress. “It’ll fit.”

“Show-off.”

“Only for you.” He brushed his hand against your arm again. “I’ll be waiting out here.” 

Sure enough, you came out from the changing room one last time to see him sitting placidly on the bench, rolling the cane back and forth in his fingers. He was the image of innocence as he stood up and inclined his head towards you. “Ready?”

“Unfortunately for my wallet, yes.”

He kept up the charade until you were in line, with people watching. You lifted up both dresses, admiring them — both were, you had to admit, very beautiful — when Matt’s hand suddenly slipped up your shirt and grabbed at your hips. 

“Matt!” You fought back a laugh and swatted his hand away. “People are watching!”

“Good. They’ll know you’re mine.”

“And there are children around. We’re going to traumatize them if you keep that up.” 

He lifted both hands, a mocking smirk on his face. “Alright.” And then he leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hand curving around the back of your neck. Goosebumps ran up your arms. “But I have something planned for when we get home.”

[tennessoui]

hello 👋 I was catching up on your tumblr like it's my weekly newspaper of choice and, um, if you ever fancied writing a snippet of obi wan getting the call after a concert about fire fighter anakin getting hurt it would be much appreciated 🥺

alright yes of course!!! i always try to give my asks whatever they want 🥺🥺🥺 here's a snippet of singer!obi-wan getting an 'anakin is hurt' call

(1.8k)

When Obi-Wan gets offstage, the first thing he does is check his phone. That’s what he’s been doing for months now, ever since he and Anakin started dating. It’s not like he can look at his phone onstage in front of all the people who paid to see Obi-Wan Kenobi, rock star. He has to wait, to not carry his phone with him at all up to the stage in order to triumph over the temptation of seeing what Anakin is doing right now, what silly thing he wants Obi-Wan to see.

It’s almost better like this. He gets offstage and he gets little presents from his boyfriend: horrifically cooked meals at the station, complaints about one of his coworkers’ new taste in music, awful jokes his sister has told him.

Tonight, there’s nothing.

He doesn’t think much about it though, not when he doesn’t have his boyfriend’s work schedule memorized. Sometimes the firefighters’ schedules shift on random days; someone calling out sick, someone available to cover a shift they weren’t assigned….It’s a big city, but a small firehouse. Obi-Wan isn’t worried.

Disappointed, maybe, that he doesn’t get to see Anakin’s twisted, disgusted face at Jesse’s attempt at dinner. Or his string of laughing text emojis to accompany a joke from Ahsoka. Disappointed, but not worried.

He chats with Kit and Quinlan the entire time back to his dressing room. The drummer thinks the opening song could use a little more rehearsal. The guitarist thinks it’s fine. Obi-Wan hadn’t heard anything definitively out of place, but he’s always alright with more rehearsal. He wants to give the best performance he can to the fans. It’s that simple.

He’s alone for a few minutes when he changes from his performance outfit into his normal clothes. It’s just after ten p.m.

He thinks about calling Anakin, as it’s only 8 in the evening in his city. Surely that’s too early to go to bed, even for a night off-shit. He thinks about it the entire time he’s changing into jeans and a t-shirt, the entire time he’s wiping off his stage make-up--nothing drastic of course, but just enough to be visible in the stage lights, just enough to look a little ghoulish in the warmer lights of the dressing room.

It doesn’t take much to break him, he’ll admit. He really, really likes Anakin. They’ve been dating for eight months now. He’s almost completely comfortable saying that he loves Anakin, but he doesn’t want to scare the other man off. Sometimes he thinks that everything he feels is too big and too dramatic for everyday life, that being in the spotlight from such a young age ruined him for anything private and selfish ever again.

But loving Anakin feels private, feels selfish. It feels right, amazing, like he’s a bandit robbing a small bank and just hopping on the train leaving town. It feels like he’s getting away with something he never should have even expected to have.

Anakin doesn’t pick up.

This too is excusable, as Obi-Wan hardly expects his boyfriend to wait by the phone, anticipating his call. Anakin’s messages during his concerts are gifts for a reason. They’re not mandatory, they’re unexpected.

Going into a serious relationship like this, they’d both understood the importance of their already established lives. Obi-Wan could no more give up a concert in favor of a call with Anakin as Anakin could go off shift and call Obi-Wan.

He packs the necessities he’d carried with him into the dressing room and looks around, if only to make sure he has everything and he’s not leaving too big of a mess.

Ahsoka calls him on his cell, when he’s halfway between his dressing room and the bus. He almost doesn’t pick up because he doesn’t have Ahsoka’s number saved into his contacts. But her city area code is the same as Anakin’s, and he picks up the call.

“Obi-Wan?” Ahsoka sounds like she’s half on the call and half not. “I couldn’t unlock Anakin’s phone, but I saw you were trying to call him.”

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the wall. “Yes, I was,” he says slowly, his gut trembling with a bad feeling. “Why are you calling me, Ahsoka?” He hates sounding so abrupt, but he can’t help it. He needs to know. Perhaps Anakin is asleep, and Ahsoka is trying to ward off any further calls in order to let her brother sleep.

“Anakin’s in the hospital,” she says grimly and straightforwardly. Faintly, Obi-Wan thinks he can appreciate her no-nonsense attitude. She gets directly to the point, even though the point iis dangerously sharp.

“No,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, even as he slowly slides down the wall he’s against until he’s sitting on the floor. “No, he can’t be. I talked to him a few hours ago.”

“There was a call,” Ahsoka sounds so close to crying. No, Obi-Wan thinks. Impossible.

“But I just talked to him,” he says, clearing his throat. “I just….”

“There was a fire out on Temple Street,” she says thickly. “He’s in the hospital because a pillar fell on him. Trapped him in...in a burning house.”

Obi-Wan inhales sharply. If he hadn’t been sitting down already, he would have fallen to the ground. “But I--” I just talked to him, he thinks. As if it matters.

“He’s not critical anymore,” Ahsoka tells him. “But he’s still in surgery. Invasive, but. Not overly risky is what they told me.” She sniffles.

“I’m twenty hours away,” he says faintly.

“I know,” Ahsoka says into the phone. “I know. You’re almost on the other side of the country. But...they didn’t know to call you and I thought you needed to know.”

“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Obi-Wan hears himself say. He needs to move. He needs to catch a plane. No matter expensive. He needs to get to the airport, get to Anakin.

Anakin’s hurt. Anakin needs surgery.

It’s Quinlan that finds him in the hallway, guitar slung over his back.

“Obi-Wan?” he asks, offering a hand out without explanation.

“Anakin’s in the hospital,” he says blankly, staring straight forward at the other wall. “He got hurt in a fire.”

“Then let’s get you there,” Quinlan replies instantly, pulling Obi-Wan up. “Come on. We’ll get you straight to the airport. I’ll tell the fans of the next concert.”

“We need to give them a refund,” Obi-Wan says distantly as he lets himself be led out to the tour bus. There are screams of fans, but it’s like he can’t even hear them. He’s underwater. Nothing matters as much. Nothing matters at all. Anakin needs surgery. Anakin’s in the hospital. Anakin’s hurt. He’s in the hospital. He needs surgery.

“We will,” Quinlan reassures him, leading him onto the bus. He tells the driver something harshly, quickly, and then not even a minute later, the wheels are in motion.

Anakin is in the hospital. Anakin had been hurt. He’d been in a building when it’d collapsed. How had Obi-Wan never even thought to worry about this? He worries about everything, but he’d never even thought of Anakin, of what Anakin’s career means. Sometimes he doesn’t get out. Sometimes Anakin doesn’t save the day. Who saves him?

Obi-Wan only realizes he’s making a weird noise with his throat when Quinlan clasps his hand. “We’re going to the airport,” he says with absolute surety. “We’ll get you to him, alright?”

Obi-Wan nods. What else is he supposed to do? He just talked to Anakin. He was fine then. How can someone go from fine to needing surgery in less than three hours?

He calls Ahsoka within the next fifteen minutes, as soon as it sinks in that this is happening. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his head around it, but it’s happening anyway. He’s ten minutes from the closest airport. Quinlan’s already got him a ticket. He’s coming. He’s almost there. He just...he needs to know Anakin is….that Anakin is……

“He’s still in surgery,” Ahsoka tells him softly. She sounds so small, so unsure. He’s only met her a handful of times, but he knows this tone does not belong anywhere close to her. “I don’t know, Obi-Wan. Please get here.”

Around the sixth hour after his concert ends, Obi-Wan cries. He leaves the official announcement to Quinlan, because he’s a coward. But he loves Anakin enough to type out a tweet anyway. It’s nothing too dramatic, nothing too honest either. There’s been an emergency. He’s sorry. He’s not sorry enough to not go, but he’s sorry enough to talk to fans. There’ll be a refund, maybe a rescheduling.

His entire life feels up in ends, but he talks about rescheduling. He doesn’t know what else to do. When the flight attendant tells him to turn his phone off, he puts it down until she’s passed by.

He looks out the window of the airplane and he can feel his tears soaking into his beard. Anakin is alright, he keeps telling himself. Anakin has to be okay. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Anakin isn’t okay.

It’s suddenly so amazingly clear to him that if Anakin were to--to not be alright--Obi-Wan’s life would never, ever be the same. Never. They’re intrinsically linked together. Why wasn’t he contacted when Anakin was first brought to the hospital? He needs to know this. He needs to know as soon as Anakin is hurt. He can’t stand the idea that Anakin had been injured halfway through his set, maybe at the end, maybe before it even started.

He needs to know as soon as it happens, if it ever happens again.

He never wants it to happen again. He never wants Anakin to be hurt, to be unresponsive, to be so far from him that Anakin’s sister has to let him know what’s going on.

He needs to be something different, something more. Something that makes everyone understand that he needs to be informed immediately when anything happens to Anakin, his Anakin. His….

Husband. Husband would work. If Anakin were to marry him, Obi-Wan would get preference to every medical incident experienced. Obi-Wan could be there. Yes. Husband

Husband.

Obi-Wan wipes the tears from his eyes slowly as he stares at the backside of the seat in front of him. Husband. If he were to be Anakin’s husband, he’d never be third in the information chain. He’d know immediately when something happens to his...to his husband.

Anakin could be his husband. Obi-Wan would ask him. It would make everything easier. It would mean Obi-Wan would know anything wrong as soon as it happened. He’d be the first in the chain of information.

He wants that, he decides as he cries into his airplane food napkin somewhere over the Great Plains. He wants to be the first. He wants to know. He wants to be there everytime Anakin wakes up from an injury. He wants to hold his hand.

Nothing else will ever make him feel any better. He needs it.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Peter, Paul, and Mary

Alpha!Bokuto x Omega!female!reader x Alpha!Akaashi

Warnings: Omegaverse things [heats, ruts], alcohol, noncon/dubcon [coercion], implied mlm interaction [Bokuto x Akaashi], wlw interaction [Yukie x reader], threesome, fingering, lots of licking, blowjob, biased towards Bokuto, cunnilingus [with Yukie], bit of nipple play, asphyxiation

Kabukichō is well-known for it’s lively nighttime activities, hushed whispers of those who work in those frowned upon businesses. Even if the businesses seem shady, they care about their workers. Whether you’re singing lustful songs amidst a smoking crowd, sinful desires behind a curtain and closed doors, or even looking for a show to go with your dinner, every worker there is doing it of their own will and have safety measures in place to keep that.

There’s one place, down the lantern-lit streets and past the sweaty, common brothel that most people attend. Pink, purple, and red lights flicker and welcome guests into the building, one similar to a large western-styled house. Yet, upon entering, the display is one unlike anywhere else. The host offers services of the Omegas and what is and is not allowed. Tables have poles in the centers, a larger stage that offers seats of two rows, ones who come for a show, and two poles for dancers.

It’s an expensive place, offering brothel rooms for Omegas to service guests for 50,000¥ and even having an available VIP room for 100,000¥ for individuals who want a luxurious show just for them. Dancers can dance behind glass or in a cage, starting at 7,000¥ and can be removed at a few of 10,000¥. Only Omegas are allowed to work as dancers and performers, just as only Betas are allowed to work the kitchen and host positions. Alphas come in for a nice treat, expecting to get a show from their favorite Omega and pay for their services to relieve tension. Some Alphas try to come in during their ruts, but are turned away. This is not a brothel, this is a strip club that offers brothel services.

Working there isn’t as exhausting as it sounds. Tips start at 1,000¥ and can go up to as much as 50,000¥ on a regular night. The nights VIP rooms are reserved, workers find themselves getting tipped luxuriously by rich Alphas and Betas who are looking for a good time. Even someone as simple as you can work there and get a good wad of bills in your pocket, getting to go home and finally sleep after the exhausting night’s work.

Akaashi’s asleep when you get home, but Bokuto’s awake and humming as he cooks his breakfast. The showers at Akai Fukurō wash away all the unfamiliar scents of Alphas, even the ones who asked for brothel services, so he doesn’t seem too concerned as you enter the apartment. “Rough night?”

“Yeah, lots of tables requested me to serve them. Busy and exhausting,” you yawn at the end of your statement, rubbing tired eyes. Bokuto chuckles, a nice and comforting sound after the music of the nightlife.

“Maybe you should request daytime shifts? Graveyard shifts are strange for a waitress, anyways,” his concern shows in his voice, but you smile and wave him off.

“I sleep all day and work all night. I’m not ready to change my schedule anytime soon.” Neither Bokuto nor Akaashi know of your actual job. They think you work at a 24/7 restaurant in Kabukichō and not as a stripper, which is preferable. You don’t think you could bear the thought of them knowing you’re one of the people who sell their body for money. The work is looked down on, so you wouldn’t be surprised if Akaashi and Bokuto had that same state of mind.

“Well, I think you should at least consider it,” he smiles at you, then turns back to the stove. “Want some eggs?”

“Sure!”

The day goes by as they all do, but an unspoken tension hangs in the air. Living with two Alphas is straining, always having to keep your emotions in check so they don’t give into instincts. Even having alone time is rare, with Akaashi mostly working from home when Bokuto is gone. Living with the two isn’t stressful, but your heat cycle lines up with their rut cycles, which forces you three to find alternate living arrangements. You always leave the day before your heat starts, knowing that an Alpha’s instinct can tell if an Omega is ready to breed the day it begins. Even if your cycle begins at 9:00 at night, 9:00 in the morning rolls around and you’ll have Alphas begging to mount you and stuff you full.

Although, you’re not entirely opposed to the idea.

Akaashi and Bokuto are very attractive Alphas and are very loving to you, as if you were family. Your feelings for them were both intense, but you forced those feelings down a long time ago. With the way your job is, having a boyfriend or two is out of the question, which is why you are looking into leaving permanently. It hasn’t come up to either of the boys, but you might have to live with Yukie or at the club. They do offer rooms for Omegas, whether they need to freshen up or can’t be at home for personal reasons.

When Akaashi enters the kitchen, you find yourself slinking away. Bokuto’s scent gets stronger, just as Akaashi’s does. Their ruts are going to start soon, so they’re practically at each other’s throats. Despite their close friendship, your existence in their lives can change their demeanor when it comes to their ruts. Akaashi doesn’t talk, but he does nod and slightly bow to both you and Bokuto while he makes his morning tea. With the breakfast finished, you’re off to your bedroom to get some shuteye, knowing your upcoming week will involve lots of hours being awake and active.

Akai Fukurō has security for all their Omegas and safety is their priority. An Omega in heat can still work, but they become more vulnerable to pregnancy that can risk damage and harm to the relationships outside and inside of the club. Simple means to prevent pregnancy are optional, but there is always a possibility of it not working. The only effective method is not having Omegas offer brothel services while in heat.

The rooms on the second floor are completely brothel rooms, but the rooms on the third floor offer a room to stay in for the Omegas. However, similar to the dance stages, each brothel room has the ability to separate it with glass. Separation between the bed and the couch, where guests sit back and can watch the show. On the other side of the glass, an Omega presents themself on the bed and pleases themself while encouraging the guest to do the same. However, the fee for this situation is merely 35,000¥, with an extra 10,000¥ if there are two Omegas behind the glass. Putting on a show for the guest, two Omegas will pleasure themselves and each other and will accept requests of what to do and still can receive tips.

Most Omegas who engage in these activities are those with a close friend working there or coworker who is trusted. Yukie is the one who brought you here, so you both become highly requested during shows of this type. You’ve learned to be much more submissive while letting someone else take the reins, while Yukie has learned to take control every once in a while. An Omega such as you and Yukie need to be stimulated during the heat cycle, so it would make sense to have a safe alternative than have an Alpha or Beta take care of such vulnerable Omegas.

With it being the day of your heat, you’ve left the apartment and settled into the room you’ll be staying in for the week. Yukie rooms with you, her own luggage on her side. She lives with two Betas, so she only stays here for her own pleasure. When the fire of your heat settles deep in your gut, the slick pooling in your panties, you’re aware of the position you’re in. Your heat has officially begun and you need to take your stance in the brothel room. Once you’re in and have positioned yourself on the bed, Yukie follows in behind you with her heat soon about to begin. When she wraps her arms around you and her lips find yours, you can smell the beginning of her own heat. The familiar sound of the glass shield rising from the ground is in the back of your mind, only white noise, as your hands find themselves delving into her pink panties. The glass clicks into place, the pink light coming on and the door opening to have an Alpha enter the room. Settling down on the couch, he has a drink beside him as he watches with interest the scene playing out before him.

With the door officially being locked, the pink lights dimming as a low red joins them, you’re being pushed back on the bed and Yukie’s hands are diving into your own panties. Her hand works its wonders, your easily stimulated nerves finding the friction they so desperately crave. Your hand is removed from her panties, your nails digging into the sheets of the bed. A few rubs on your drenched clit, two fingers sliding up and down before diving into your pussy and suddenly you’re crying out for her touch even more, tears beading on your eyelashes. Licking her lips, you can tell her own heat has started, pulling her face to yours as you mesh your lips together. She moans into your mouth, breaking the kiss and putting her fingers in your mouth, letting your tongue lap at your own juices coating them.

Yukie’s heat has finally begun, so you lay her down and press kisses down her skin, tongue lapping at the sweat from the intense scent and heat of the room. Her eyes are focused on the Alpha in front of her, his hard cock in his hand as he pumps it, groaning. She smiles, then blows him a kiss, only to be broken with a moan as your tongue swipes over her folds. She’s just as soaked as you, practically dripping with slick as your lips press kisses to her folds, tongue flicking against the hot skin occasionally. Her plea of ‘more’ has your lips clasping around her clit and sucking, getting her to tug at your hair, only to let go and hold onto the sheets, one hand tugging and grabbing at her breast. Using your tongue to dive into her pussy and swipe along her folds, lips sucking on her clit, she’s absolutely lost in bliss from you just using your mouth. The introduction of two of your fingers in her has her back arching, crying out your name as she releases over your face. Removing your fingers, you use them to wipe any excess off and let her taste herself, her moaning around your fingers before you remove them and press your lips to hers once more.

Back home, Bokuto and Akaashi find their own ruts hitting hard and fast. Akaashi goes into your room to grab your dirty laundry you left behind, as he promised to wash them before you got back. The scent of your unwashed clothes is too much for the Alpha, his cock springing to life as he notices the black, lace panties on the top. Picking them up is wrong, but you’re not here and he can wash away his scent. He imagines what you’d be like, wearing those panties for him and begging for his cock, only him. It’s almost too much, him leaving your dirty clothes behind as he takes the panties with him, entering his room only to slam the door. Behind the door, he doesn’t lock it, too focused on stripping himself down bare as he inhales your scent, lingering on the panties. He’s so focused on your panties and rubbing his cock, the front door opening is ignored and he finds himself falling into the daydream and fantasy of you spreading your legs, whining for his cock. The mental image of your cunt dripping, desperate for him and all he can give you has his hand moving faster, a groan as he finally reaches his end, coming into his hand. Looking down, he separates his fingers to watch the liquid drip down onto his thigh and floor. Coming down from his high, he finally notices a different scent on your panties, pushing them back to his nose.

Bokuto went out for a jog, arriving home just before his rut hits. With the collar, he’s able to suppress his scent in public so he doesn’t disturb strangers, but that doesn’t help hold his rut back. Sniffing the air, he smells faint traces of you, his sadness immediate when he remembers you’re gone. But he can smell Akaashi — deep into his rut. Passing by your room, Bokuto finds himself needy and dives into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Taking off the collar, he lets his scent envelop your room as he lays himself down on your bed, stuffing his nose into your pillows. Your scent is strongest there, getting his cock hard as he whines, pulling down his shorts and boxers, large hand grasping his cock as he inhales more of your scent. He’s sure Akaashi’s indulging in his own fantasies of you, but he quickly pushes that away and focuses on a common fantasy of his — you begging for his cock while he drills himself into you. It’s such a common fantasy of his, but he loves imagining how tight you’d be, how loud you’d be, how you would wiggle your hips and cry out for more, desperate for more of him. Rolling his eyes into his head, he’s soon spilling his cum against your sheets, chest heaving as he imagines what it’d look like with his cum oozing out of you, how you’d whine for more. It’s enough to have him gritting his teeth, ready to go once more.

The weekend after your heat cycle, you’re heading back to the apartment with triple the amount of money you usually get from working the week. Yukie bid you adieu, going to her own home and sending you off with a prayer your roommates will be finished with their own cycles. The crisp morning air was nice, the beginnings of Autumn and a new volleyball season, meaning Bokuto would be busier in the upcoming weeks. Remembering how bright and cheerful he was whenever you came home, it made your chest ache. He wouldn’t be cooking breakfast when you got home and Akaashi wouldn’t be making the three of you breakfast before you head off to work anymore.

Once the haze from your heat settled, you confessed to Yukie that you were planning on getting a new apartment. Somewhere close to work, but you didn’t want to live with Bokuto and Akaashi anymore. She told you that she’d be there for emotional support, telling you that if they gave you a hard time then she’d send Kaori and Konoha over there to knock in some sense. Despite their status as being below your roommates, Bokuto and Akaashi listened when Konoha and Kaori scolded them. It hasn’t happened since Bokuto tried to jump you, with his rut beginning earlier than expected, but you hope it won’t ever happen again.

The lack of Bokuto and Akaashi’s scent outside the complex told you their ruts had ended. Sighing with relief, you unlock and push open the door, revealing a wrecked apartment living room. A common scene to come home to, seeing as Bokuto and Akaashi are both territorial Alphas that end up finding themselves trying to establish dominance over each other. You’ve never witnessed their relationship go beyond a close friendship, but a part of you is curious to see just how territorial they can get — or how rough they are with each other.

Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you move to your room, only to find it occupied. Bokuto lays on your bed, hidden under the covers but no doubt naked, with Akaashi curling into his chest. It’s such a sweet scene, you immediately take out your phone to snap a picture at them. With the dark of your room, the flash activates and wakes both of them up, you whispering curses to yourself while trying to apologize. “Sorry! You guys just look so sweet together, didn’t mean to wake you guys up,”

“‘S fine.. how are you?” Bokuto grumbles out, moving to turn towards you but stopping, adjusting himself properly and removing himself from Akaashi. Soon enough, his arms are wrapping around yours. It’s peaceful, holding him in your arms while he tries to wake up from his slumber. “You smell weird,”

“I’ve been with Yukie. She’s probably still on me,” you lie. You took a shower after your heat, so the scent is probably the sleazy Alphas you were passing on your way out. “By the way, why are you guys in my room?”

“Mm.. missed you,” he responds, before shoving his nose deeper into your neck. The bed moving takes your attention away, eyes catching on Akaashi who goes to hug you as well. You laugh at him, finding them both to be quite adorable so early in the morning. It isn’t until Akaashi pulls away and leaves the bed do you notice that something is around his neck.

“‘Kaashi, what’s that?” You point to your own neck, but Akaashi just shuts the door and locks it. “Um, Akaashi?”

“One of our collars. We didn’t want to scare you away,” he finally responds, moving closer to you. Out of curiosity, your fingers go down to Bokuto’s neck to find his own collar in place. If they have on their collars, it means that you can’t smell their full scents, just a watered down version.

They could still be in their ruts and you wouldn’t know.

“Oh— Oh my god, I-I have to go,” you get out, panic laced in your voice. Trying to get up from the bed, you find yourself pulled back onto the mattress with Bokuto’s arms wound tightly around you. “Bokuto, please, let me-”

“When were you gonna tell us you wanted to leave?” His voice is no longer tired, but rather he sounds angry and sad, wounded. “I found the different apartments you were looking at. They’re all single bedroom apartments, which means you’re trying to leave,”

“That’s— I didn’t know.. how to tell you,” You confess. “I felt it was better for me to leave, so I have been looking for apartments. I’m only here because I needed help with bills, but I don’t need the help anymore, so-”

“Because you’re a stripper.” Akaashi’s voice scares you, the lack of emotion. Panic once more runs through you, attempting to flee Bokuto’s grasp but he holds you firm. “Your clothes have a faint trace of other Alphas. Your graveyard shift is because the clubs are open at night. The large amount of money you have in your dresser tells me the truth,” he continues. You attempt to refute, but he continues, making your heart drop. “I thought you were better than that.”

Before you can say anything, Bokuto beats you to it. “We can take care of you. We’re your Alphas, y’know? It upsets me that you’ve been whoring yourself out to others. How many Alphas have been inside you, huh? I wanted to be your first, little Omega. Now I have to clean you of those Alphas’ stench,” Bokuto growls out, keeping one arm firm around you while the other leaves. Struggling is futile, but the familiar click of the collar coming off makes you cough from the intensity of his scent.

Your worst fear came true: he’s in his rut.

Mixed with his arousal is anger and sadness, but you try to close your nose with your fingers to not smell him, feeling your own slick begin to coat your folds. Akaashi’s collar is soon coming off, his scent just as overwhelming as Bokuto’s as he hooks his fingers into your shorts. “Please understand us, [Y/N]. We just want to show you why you need to stay with us. We love you and don’t want anything bad to happen to you,”

“Akaashi, no, we can’t, this is wrong—”

“What’s wrong? Having two loving Alphas? Them wanting to protect you? Don’t hurt our feelings, [Y/N]. We know how you look at us, but you don’t need to hide your feelings anymore. You don’t have to choose, you can have both of us,” Bokuto murmurs, lips against your scent glands. Nudging his nose against your neck, he licks a hot stripe against your skin. “We can take care of you,”

“Just give into it,” Akaashi says. His tone is comforting, no longer void of emotion. Eyes shine with love in them, a gentle smile on his face as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “We’ll make you feel good,”

“Please don’t leave us,” Bokuto says once more, his hold around you tightening. You heave a sigh, nodding as you relax your muscles. Both Alphas take that as their cue to continue with their ministrations. Akaashi has your shorts and panties off in an instant, Bokuto’s thick fingers rubbing at the sensitive skin between your legs. You find yourself relaxing into Bokuto’s hold, soft moans as he rubs your clit and brushes his finger against your opening, but he doesn’t push it in. No, Akaashi uses his long fingers to push into you, rubbing against your sensitive inner walls. A squirm here and there, but you pant heavily as he loosens up your walls, his lips pressing to your chest above your shirt. It was just a easy set of clothes to put on, some shorts and a t-shirt to get home in and sleep. The material is in their way, though, Bokuto’s fingers removing themselves from your clit and both of his hands tugging st the shirt.

“I can get-” you begin, only to be cut off by the material being ripped.

“No need,” Bokuto grunts, completely ripping the fabric off of your body. Now bare to both of them, you find your inner thighs coated in your arousal, Akaashi’s fingers removed as he licks them clean.

“Do you want to go first, Bokuto-san?” He offers, sitting in his heels. Bokuto gets eager, flipping you both over so he’s on top of you. “Remember, no knotting, Bokuto-san,”

“I know, ‘Kaashi,” he chirps, licking the sweat off your skin as he rubs his hard cock against your drenched folds. Akaashi sits beside you, guiding your head to his own hard cock, eager for attention. “We can save that for her next heat, right?”

“Mhm, since she’ll be spending it with us,” Akaashi’s hand caresses your cheek, smiling down at you. “Isn’t that right? We can still invite Yukie if you want, but we’re all about you, darling,” his hand moves up your cheek, into your hair and grabs the strands, tugging your head back. “Open wide,”

Akaashi pushes your open mouth on his cock, forcing you to take quite a bit so quickly. His tip hitting the back of your throat has you gagging, but soon you’re moaning as Bokuto inches himself into you. “Ah, you feel so good..” he moans, licking his lips. “It’s better than I imagined,” his hips buck involuntarily as he says that, hands gripping your hips as he forces himself to not force his entire length into you. Although you’re sure he wouldn’t be bigger than what you’ve had before, his girth and his continuous push into your cunt has you seeing stars, moaning around Akaashi as your eyes roll back. Bokuto’s knot is pushed against your entrance, but it doesn’t go in. He sighs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your back before he rears his hips back only to slam them against your ass, your hands flying out to hold onto Akaashi’s thighs as you jerk forward.

Bokuto and Akaashi don’t say much, both too focused on their respective holes. Akaashi keeps one hand in your hair, setting the pace as your tongue rubs against the underside of his cock and flicks over his slit. His other hand wipes at the tears cascading down your cheeks, eyes locking onto yours as he smiles, bring his hand to your nose and clamping down on it, preventing air from getting to your lungs. He doesn’t keep it there long, just enough to feel your throat constrict. With Bokuto thrusting into you, you need all the air you can get as he knocks the air out of your lungs. Akaashi doesn’t want you collapsing on them, letting you off his cock as you gulp down air and moan, pushing your ass back against Bokuto’s hips.

Bokuto is too focused on your body and indulging in his instincts to even acknowledge Akaashi right now. He lets groans and praises spill from his lips as they press into your shoulder, back, neck, anywhere they can reach. Hands tightly grip your hips, trailing from them to your breasts and pinching or tweaking the nipples, a stinging pain in his hips each time they slam against your skin, but he doesn’t care. He’s much too into it, eyes rolling as his hips buck and rut into your heat, tongue wetting his lips each time you let out a particular mewl, popping off of Akaashi to let them hear it. It just pushes him further, his cock getting thicker inside you before he’s whining out, telling you he’s gonna stuff you completely full of his seed.

With one more sharp thrust, Bokuto’s spilling himself into you, moaning as he ruts against the skin. The sensation of his cock completely still in you as his cum spills in has your walls clamping around him, making him hiss as you cream around his cock. You mewl around Akaashi, rolling your eyes back and catching the blush tinting his cheeks. Soon, your oxygen is cut off and Akaashi is forcing you completely down on his cock, save for the knot, letting out a perfect moan of his own while he paints your throat white.

Once the high has settled down, you’re lying on the bed, exhausted, with Bokuto’s arms around your waist. But Akaashi still has energy. “It’s my turn to indulge, darling. I’ve been holding myself back, so I hope you’re prepared,” the smirk accompanying his statement has your pussy clenching, Bokuto’s cum oozing from it and staining the sheets.

Author’s Note : Strip clubs in Japan are in the red light district (in Tokyo) so Akaashi works in Tokyo and Bokuto is a member of the MSBY Black Jackal which resides in Tokyo. I changed the canonverse so they could live in the same place to make things easier [I didn’t want to change Bokuto’s occupation] ; This is more than what was requested however the request gave me the excuse to write out a previous fantasy/daydream I’ve had with a few tweaks. So, thank you for requesting anon-chan ; brothels and strip clubs in Japan are different from the ones in America, so this involved a bit of imagination and research. The brothel/strip club hybrid is called Akai Fukurō which translates to Red Owl (get it bc it’s in the red light district? And BokuAka are owls? I’ll see myself out)

[nooblet-sims]

I’ve spoken about this before but with the current events I think it’s good to speak about again. I think everyone should have a choice with what I do with their body.

One of my former coworkers is anti-abortion, and I’m okay with her been so. Do you know why? She feels strongly enough about it that she gives up her time EVERY WEEK, and does phone support to expecting mothers. She doesn’t tell them not to get an abortion, she tells them about all the options available, including abortion. If the mothers decide to keep the babies, the company she volunteers at to do this phone support? They help the mothers financially support these children. If the mothers decide not to keep it, they provide any counseling or support services that the person needs. Not once has she ever looked down on any of these people for getting an abortion, instead she listens, provides options and financial support.

The TLDR? I think every person who is anti-abortion should be willing to put their money where there mouth is. I feel like a lot of people who are anti-abortion would change their tune if they suddenly had to spend 18years raising a child or financially supporting a child.

However I think no matter what it should be a choice for the parent, or parents to make. It really isn’t anyone elses business what people can and can’t do. I thought Americas core value was freedom? Doesn’t seem very free to me.

Also to add to my rant, if US is so pro-life why tf ain’t they banning guns? Y’all gotta have babies for them to be shot in school, it’s kind of disgusting

[johnsamericano]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 19:

ℓιυ уαиgуαиg

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @whathamelon @curieouscapt @unknown5tar @mrcarbonatedmilk @silent-potato @ajhdr @gjheaaa

warnings: an extreme plot twist 😭, things escalate way too quickly, a bit of angst, this is so weird I’m sorry.

“Welcome.”

You heard your coworker greet someone as you finished giving the final touches to the tattoo you’d been working on for a few weeks.

“Dang, Sungchan. You’re gonna look hella fine with this.” You wiped off the remains of ink over his skin, getting up from your little stool to admire your job from afar. “Wanna take a look?”

“Hell yeah.” The tall boy straightened his back, walking towards the full-body mirror to look at the daisies decorating his bicep. “My girlfriend’s gonna love it, thanks y/n.”

“No prob.” You covered the tattoo before biding him goodbye.

As you ordered your materials, you heard the doorbell ring. Assuming it was Sungchan leaving the shop, you didn’t pay much attention to it.

“Y/n, come here!” Your coworker and friend, Xiaojun, shouted from the front desk.

“Coming!”

As you exited the room, an innocent looking boy invaded your vision. A big, black hoodie shielded his body from the winter cold, making his body look tiny inside of it.

“He wants a tattoo.” He lifted his pierced eyebrows, as if the boy’s request was some sort of joke.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You extended your hand, allowing him to shake it vigorously. “Do you have any idea of what you’d like to get done...?”

“Yangyang.” He completed your sentence, an oddly wide smile imprinted on his face. “I actually have a picture of what I want.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket, unlocking it to show you the image of a beautiful woman smiling.

“Are you sure about it? It’s gonna take a while to finish it and I’m sure it won’t be painless.”

He blinked a couple of times before giving you another wide smile.

“I’ll be alright.”

“So I’m booked for the rest of the week, but we can start next Monday if you’re available.” You murmured while taking a look at your agenda. “If you’d like, maybe we can book the rest of your appointments in advance. And you can also send me that image so I can get started on the sketch.”

“That’d be great.”

It wouldn’t be until the next week that you finally saw the languid boy again. He was wearing a black tank top with a leather jacket on top.

“Ready?” You asked while pulling out your gun, Yangyang getting comfortable in his seat. “You can pay now or when we finish, whatever feels best for you.”

“Thank you.” He removed the leather jacket covering his naked arms.

His limbs were slightly built up, but most surprisingly, filled with intricate ink designs. You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your mouth, your fingers unconsciously touching the patterns over his fair skin.

“This is amazing.”

He giggled at your excitement, curious eyes gazing at you. Suddenly, you snapped out of your daydreaming.

“Sorry.” You shook your head, pulling out a piece of paper from your desk. “Here’s the sketch, we can change it if you don’t like it.”

“This is perfect, you’re really talented.” His eyes scanned the detailed sketch, smiling back at the drawn woman.

“Thank you.” You rolled up your sleeves, your ink-filled arms on full display. “Let’s get started.”

You spent about an hour in complete silence, only the buzz of your machine filling the room. Yangyang seemed to be handling the pain just fine, which made your job much easier.

“How long have you been doing this?” He asked out of nowhere, trying to start a conversation.

“When I was seventeen maybe.” Your eyebrows were knitted together as you drew shadows over the woman’s eyes. “The guy at the front desk and I opened this shop after deciding neither of us were attending to college. Guess studying wasn’t really our thing.”

“What did your parents say about it?”

“You know, the usual, but they got used to it after a while. They even got a couple tattoo a few months ago.”

“It must be nice having supportive parents.”

“Yeah, it is.”

The room went silent once again. Xiaojun turned on some music, the beat faintly reaching your workspace.

“So who is this woman?”

“My mom. She died from cancer a year ago.” You weren’t expecting him to say something like that so abruptly. Before you could open your mouth, he was resuming his answer. “Please don’t say something like “I’m sorry”, why would you be? It’s not like you knew her.” There was irony in his tone, which made you quite confused.

“Well yeah, but it must be sad for you.”

“She lived her life well, and that’s all that matters.” You hummed. That was a nice way of seeing it. “She actually helped me out a lot when I hit rock bottom a few months after we found out about her disease, even when she was at her deathbed all she did worrying about others.”

‘Why is he telling me this?’

“She must’ve been one heck of a woman.” A breathy laugh erupted from him.

“She was.”

“Well, I think we’re done for today.”

Week after week, Yangyang came back to the shop. The tattoo was turning out amazing and you couldn’t be happier with the results. Yangyang and you grew closer after that small, deep talk during your first session together, even going as far as exchanging phone numbers.

A few late-night conversations later, you were having your first date, which was followed by three more, every single one of them unique in its own way. The last one had taken place at the amusement park, the Ferris wheel serving as the perfect spot to share the sweetest kiss you'd ever received. Maybe it wasn’t very professional of you, but who could resist such a charming guy?

“Hey, y/n.” He greeted you with a small peck on your cheek, his silly smile pressing against your skin. After a small pause, he proceeded to take a seat at his usual spot.

You’d decided to wear a small shirt since the weather was getting warmer. Yangyang’s eyes were uncomfortably glued to your lower abdomen, making your hands clumsy as you prepared your materials.

“You’ve got a scar there.” A pinkish line crossed the right side of your tummy. For a moment, you were scared he’d think it was gross, after all, it wasn’t precisely a small scar, nonetheless, you carried it with pride. You were surprised to see there was no disgust in his look, instead, something you couldn’t really name.

“Didn’t I tell you? I used to have chronic kidney disease. I would’ve died if it weren’t for the transplant I received.” His mouth twitched the slightest, as if he was about to cry. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s continue with the tattoo.”

Halfway into your work, you felt a small drop of water staining your arm. It was Yangyang, he was desperately squeezing his eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears.

“Are you feeling any pain? I’ll try to be more careful, we’re almost done.” He shook his head. “What is it then, Yangyang?”

He pulled out his wallet, retrieving a pink card and placing it above your hand. As soon as you turned it around, you were met with a name you knew all too well, the name of the person who saved your life.

“How...?” Your words stopped as you realized that certain person and Yangyang shared their last name.

“I remembered your name from when my mom passed. One day, I googled you out of pure curiosity, what I didn’t expect was to actually find you, address and all.” A lonesome tear rolled down his cheek, staining his silver ring as it fell. “My mom would be glad to know her contribution is being used well.”

Your eyes watered at his words, giggling slightly at the odd turn things had taken.

“Thank you.” Your arms engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you so much.” Yanyang couldn't help but let more tears fall, he was finally getting the closure he needed. He could finally let his mom go.

Silently, he thanked his mom for having saved such a beautiful human as you, feeling as if her death hadn't been in vain.

“Crap.” You sniffled, nose adorably scrunching. “Alright, get up.”

You pushed him away from your body, grabbing your coat and swinging it above your shoulders.

“Huh?” Your hand was extended right in front of him, your pretty, pearly teeth on full display as you showed him the sweetest smile ever.

“I’m taking you out for ice cream.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 6

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Mulder stands at the coffee pot in the bureau break room, pouring a mug full of the shitty burnt bean water and thinking back to the look on Scully’s face as he told her about the Icy Cape X file.

Valerie had always shown interest in his work, but she had her limits. She listened politely, but if he mentioned details like black nodules she made a face and told him he was going to ruin her dinner. It’s understandable that people would be turned off by the nitty gritty of his work; heck, even the Gunmen ask him to tone it down sometimes. But Scully displayed only fascination and curiosity. He suspects he could tell her about the Tooms case and she’d be more interested in discussing the plausibility of a one-hundred-twenty year old man than she’d be disgusted that he stuck his hand in bile.

“Who is she?”

He turns to see Agent Kissop, one of the more senior analysts on the team, smiling at him over her bifocals.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“You’ve been staring at that coffee pot with a shit-eating grin on your face for the last ten minutes. Only reason a man does that is if he has a lady on his mind. So who is she?” Kissop asks pointedly.

Mulder blushes and her smile broadens.

“I’m glad to see you putting yourself out there again, Agent Mulder,” she says with a maternal pat to his arm. “Sweet guy like you deserves to be with someone who makes him happy.”

He smiles politely and escapes to his desk, disappointment gripping his chest. He’s got someone on his mind, alright, but he’ll never be with her. Trying to put Scully out of his thoughts, he logs in to check his email. Among requests for updates on various cases, a message from HR about his 401k, and a reminder not to store entire gallons of milk in the shared refrigerator, he sees an email that makes his heart leap into his throat.

He swallows hard and opens it, hoping against hope that it is what he thinks it is.

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: July 1, 1996 11:36am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: X Files

Hi Mulder,

I hope you enjoyed the rest of your sunday.

If the offer still stands, I’d love to take a look at those X Files of yours. Perhaps one weekend? It’s hard for me to squeeze anything in on weeknights with my commute to Quantico. It just occurred to me that I don’t know where you live, either.

Anyway, let me know. Take care.

Scully

If Kissop thought he was smiling like an idiot before, she should see him now. He feels like doing a fist-pump, or a touchdown dance. Oh god, she’s going to come by his apartment, he needs to clean. What if Priscilla takes one of her colossal stinky shits while Scully’s there? Jesus Christ, he’s getting ahead of himself.

He hits reply and spends forty-five minutes writing and rewriting his response.

————

She’d written the email the moment she got to the office at 7:00 am, then left it in drafts for hours, re-reading it and changing a word here and there, adding and removing different parts. Should she sign it “sincerely, Scully,” or maybe “regards, Scully”? Or should she sign it Dana? He doesn’t call her Dana.

Maybe she shouldn’t send it at all. Isn’t it inappropriate to meet with a male coworker alone in his apartment, given that she’s engaged? But this is about work. It holds scientific significance. She wants to see the files, not Mulder. Right?

Finally she couldn't take it anymore and hit send, immediately going to her outbox to see if she could still call it back, but it was too late. Now all she can do is wait. Wait, wait, wait. She checks her email compulsively between classes and autopsies. What if he never responds? Finally, just after 1:00 pm, it arrives.

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: July 1, 1996 1:19pm

To: dscully@fbi.gov

subject: RE: X Files

Scully,

I’d admonish you for discussing this via a monitored channel, but then you’d remind me that I very specifically told you to email me.

I’m free this Saturday, if you’d like to come by. Anytime is fine, but let’s say 6 so we can justify having a drink. I hope you’re partial to shitty beer.

I live in Alexandria, at 2630 Hegal Place, apartment 42. Don’t let the dilapidated exterior fool you; it’s a very respectable slum.

Talk to you soon,

Mulder

She bites at her lips, trying to fight off the flush of delight she feels as she reads his reply over and over. Should she just admit that she has a giant crush on him? Probably. It’s not illegal to have a crush as long as she has no intention of doing anything about it. Maybe his apartment will be filthy, or plastered with Star Trek paraphernalia, and it will effectively quash her affection for him. She can only hope. She hits reply, and this time doesn’t hesitate to send it right away.

———

Her reply is waiting for him when he returns from his lunch break, and he smiles before he even opens it.

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: July 1, 1996 1:31pm

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:RE: X Files

Mulder,

Forgive me for neglecting to speak in code. Perhaps we should establish one for future need?

Saturday at six sounds great. Who told you about my affinity for low-quality malt beverages?

I’m not overly concerned about your questionable neighborhood. I may not be a field agent, but I’m still typically armed. Consider that a warning.

See you on Saturday,

Scully

He leans back in his chair, his love struck-face shining up at the ceiling like a full moon. Why he is torturing himself by spending more time with her he doesn’t know, but he can’t seem to resist.

————-

“What about October thirteenth?” Ethan says, and she turns to look at him, confusion pulling at her face.

“What about it?” she asks.

Her mind was wandering again as they chatted over chicken and rice. Wandering back to Mulder, to their email correspondence and their plans for Saturday. Plans she hasn’t shared with Ethan.

“Dana, are you okay? I feel like you’re not listening to me,” Ethan replies with a wounded tone, his expression equally concerned and hurt.

She sets her fork down and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ethan, I’m just distracted by some work stuff. What’s happening on October thirteenth?”

She focuses on giving him her full attention.

“For the wedding, Dana. The church is available October thirteenth. It’s a Sunday.”

Suddenly she’s not hungry anymore.

“Oh. Um, okay. Why do we need to get married this year, again? Isn’t that a pretty short engagement?”

He makes a quizzical face. “I guess...when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible?” he offers with a soft smile.

When Harry Met Sally is one of her favorite movies and he knows it. She can’t help but feel a swell of affection for him, with a hefty side of guilt.

“October thirteenth sounds perfect,” she says with a forced smile and a squeeze of his hand.

Ethan beams. “Great. I’ll go by and put a deposit down to hold it for us. We have a date, babe, that’s big progress!”

She holds the smile steady, excusing herself to the bathroom as soon as he stands to clear the table.

That night he goes down on her for an eternity, and she is sure that she is the absolute worst fiancée that has ever, or will ever live. She does not deserve this man’s love, but she wants to. She’ll try harder.