#you can only make so much content from that before it just becomes So Redundant

[gaycaelus]

FAWKK

[tempenensis]

I know you don't usually weigh in on non-canon content, but I've seen a lot of people say 236 was a bad ending, or like gege joked, that things are moving too fast or he's missed a chapter (or 20, I'm personally annoyed that we jumped from Nov to Dec 24, I know gege wants the manga to end for some reason, but those three weeks of training/preparation would have been a great time to let us get re-invested in the student characters since the culling game arc felt like it was missing so much)

Do you have any feeling for what could have been a better way to end things, if indeed things are ended, for Gojou Satoru? Or do you agree that things have been moving too fast?

Sorry for this and please feel free not to answer if this is not the kind of question you want to entertain, I am just curious if you have an opinion you're willing to share since I feel you have a very good grasp of the jjk's plot and themes! I trained as a literature major, so my interest is always in whether character consistency is maintained and what a story is saying and whether that message is carried successfully or not and what that might mean for us as readers. I'm personally still on the fence about this particular twist because I'm trying to withhold judgement of the piece until we actually see it as a whole, but I am starting to feel that the narrative started to unravel a bit after Shibuya, like somehow we didn't see a lot of the characters to their full potential (like Nobara T.T my baby Nobara). Maybe this is just part of gege's notorious fast pace.

Some of this I believe is due to JJK's titular meaning of the issue of curses and what they represent being an "endless battle" but there's only so many times one can show hopelessness and loss I think before it becomes almost redundant. We actually haven't seen that many on-screen sorcerer deaths, but somehow it's been two of the most popular adult characters so far, and only direct mentors, which is a frequent trope of the hero's journey in western literature. I think that even though I really wish it hadn't happened, Nanami's ending made a lot of sense. Power-wise, Gojo's current death also makes sense, and he's not the kind of character who instantly changes his mind or learns something in his heart from a single experience, but I think it feels somewhat frustrating from my point of view because despite the bodhisattva imagery, he had more to learn as a living person, rather than continuing to believe he was like a flower and maybe no one had the right to ask him to understand. I don't know, it's just a bit frustrating for me because I think it feels character consistent (which I think gege tends to be pretty good at) but somehow incomplete too.

Again my apologies for the long ask, you're always the one I wish I could sit down and have a conversation about these things with!

-raindrop anon

Hi, raindrop anon,. Good to see you again.

First of all, I don't really think Gojou's death is particularly bad, but yeah, as you said, there might be something leaves to be desired in the plot - if jjk is a traditional shonen manga, that is. But jjk is different, which is also the reason for its popularity. I feel that jjk storytelling has always been fast-paced, and one thing that Akutami-sensei does really well is to stick to the main points that he wants to tell with his manga. The last time we have a non-serious non-battle chapter was probably chapter 64 lol - but at the same time, this also shows how jjk departs from the traditional shonen jump manga custom where the mangaka tends to drag the story to make the manga runs longer. Gege on the other hand, seems adamant to want to end the story sooner than later (if his last estimation is to be believed, only a few months left for jjk).

I don't actually have a strong feeling of how gege should end thing with Gojou, but it's been a habit of him to get to the.. shocking side of things; we see this with Gojou getting sealed back in Shibuya. Nanami's death. Then we see the Culling game, and Tengen getting killed. And lastly for Gojou to die. The longstanding status quo is going to be changed eventually. And the next one with status quo is already targeted; Sukuna himself.

As I follow this manga, "things moving too fast" has always been the opinion I saw a lot discussed here in my askbox for many, many developments in the manga. And this is more of a personal preference, but I actually like the fast-get-to-the-point-storytelling that Gege uses with jjk, exactly because how it breaks away from traditional jump manga. I feel that this fast pace is just how gege do his storytelling since the beginning lol

tldr is all I can say is jjk has always been different and fast-paced, gege is unpredictable, and I'm in the opinion that Gojou's death does make sense, unfortunately :')

[themsource]

Circus BSP AU

Soooo...had an idea that's been on my mind a while. Decided to share it because I know I haven't updated anything in a bit and I've been so busy with Secret Santas x_x

Anyways it's a long ramble from my ideas folder, not a real written piece, but I'm placing it below a cut ^^ This idea came to me while listening to Panic! At The Disco's cover of The Greatest Show a while back. I don't know if this has been done before but meh, just wanted to post my take on a circus au with the baddies

Rating: M

TWs: Mentions of torture, Kidnapping, Enslavement, Near Drowning

Nightmare and Dream own their own opposing circus rings. Dream recruits willing participants and their shows are always about love and positivity with graceful displays of athletics like ribbon dancing and aerial silk suspension, baton twirling and contortion, even godly fast speed painting with neon glowing soul magic to show an individual's ultimate dream even if they don’t know it themselves and store it in a personalized orb to take home as a memento for personalized viewing whenever you please. 

Nothing risky or seemingly life threatening/daredevil stunted.��

No, that’s Nightmare’s theme. 

In contrast he doesn’t recruit, he steals and binds individuals into contracts that can only be broken at his word or their untimely death should it occur. His ring has all the horrifying and thrilling shows that leave the audience anxious and on their toes, like sword swallowing/knife throwing/nail walking/fire breathing (Killer), Lions and Tigers - many dangerous animal performances (Horror), highwire/cannonball (Dust), and Motorcycle acts like the Wall of death and globe of terror (Cross). 

Nets and other safety precautions are ignored, this is the highlight and draw of Nightmare’s circus alongside the ability for one of your “nightmares” to be engraved on a stone tablet using soul magic so you never have to experience them again once the show is over.

Whereas Dream gives away positivity to spread through the worlds, Nightmare collects negativity in a personal vault for his own sustenance (the stone tablets) while still supplementing what he takes with the experiences his circus gives. 

This is the point of contention with the brothers. Dream doesn’t like how Nightmare still puts out negativity while also taking it away - it’s a selfish redundancy in his mind and perceived as unbalance, and Nightmare feels the same about how Dream puts out positivity with his circus but doesn’t take any away not only making his job more difficult to keep the flows even but causing him more suffering with how positive a world will be once Dream holds a performance.

The brother’s once owned a circus together but it broke apart with Nightmare’s downfall. 

Everyone was eager to see Dream perform but didn’t care for Nightmare’s escape acts and often boo’d and shamed him leaving the worlds they tried to equally balance always too filled with positivity. One day Nightmare almost died attempting to perform a dangerous escape stunt that he’d concocted to try and gain the audience’s approval, and just when it seemed to be working he ran out of magic (having not slept or ate well as he should’ve the night before when he’d been practicing) and nearly drowned. 

Dream was able to pull him free and save him but it took the last of their dead mother’s apples which proved too powerful and shattered Nightmare who was left horrified at what he’d become - a true reflection of ‘a demon’ as people called him, and led to him abandoning Dream to go his own way as the too much positivity started causing him pain and to go into frenzied breakdowns that he’d frequently black out through.

Since then Nightmare has not performed an escape act again and now solely plays ringleader. His innate trauma when it comes to performing is what led to him deciding to bring others into his fold to accomplish his goals, though he doesn’t let anyone know that. 

He contracted Killer, Dust, Horror, and then Cross in that order. Stealing them away from their own personal hells he found them in when noticing how fearless they were in the face of horrors far worse than what he had devised, and how equally terrifying their own appearances and auras were and would contribute to the overall effect he was going for. To get them to sign, he tortured them in never ending loops of nightmares, uncaring for how it affected them until they agreed. 

Killer was forced to experience going numb and filling with emotion on and off again repeatedly, the pain of switching so rapidly sending him into a spiral until he begged to be freed. 

Horror was forced to watch his fellow monsters dust and suffer the insanity inducing hunger wracking his frame as if fresh over and over as his brother kept mutating before his eyes. 

Dust had to watch his brother dust before his eyes repeatedly at his own hand no matter how much he fought against it, the pain of which was always too much each reset he experienced in his own world but in the nightmare without the time to breathe between each death and no goal of stopping the human in mind Dust cracked. 

Cross was sent into isolation, only it was so much worse as he didn’t have the ability to communicate with himself (even trying to think to himself and hold an imaginary conversation didn’t work) and could only experience the slow crawling of time as a sharp cutting sensation across his bones.

At first the gang all understandably despise Nightmare and what he forces them to do but he’s uncaring of it. However slowly the boys begin to find actual enjoyment in their work and bonding together as they come up with new routine ideas which they loathsomely try to share with Nightmare. 

Nightmare begins to feel impressed, even enthused though he doesn’t show it at their forwardness and makes recommendations for how to better execute their ideas while approving them. This causes the boys to begin feeling a sense of freedom and control they haven’t felt in years even before being stolen away but they still don’t soften to Nightmare even as Nightmare begins to soften just a bit to them at their willingness.

It isn’t until Nightmare and his trope encounter Dream and his that the boys end up feeling anything at all other than hate to the dark lord. 

They witness the exchange between Dream and Nightmare, the hostility Nightmare has when he and Dream argue over who has the right to be in this world first as Dream speaks in passive aggressive words about Nightmare’s awful decision making and unbalanced influence which Nightmare scoffs at before turning the argument petty as he remarks over Dream’s soft and impassioned performances. 

The second Dream comments about how his trope is a work of art while Nightmare’s is nothing more than ‘a glorified torture show’ the boy’s hackles raise - offended, not liking how Dream assumes they hate what they do (not anymore at least) which makes his trope’s performances more genuine and better since they’re willing. 

The boys witness the face Dream makes of regret at Nightmare’s bitter parting (dream’s words having surprisingly irked him) but don’t say a word. Instead they sneak in that night to watch Dream’s so called ‘better performances’ and are left feeling bored, and commenting on how it’s too bright, too sparkly and how they can do so much better. 

‘at least with us the crowd are actually on their feet.’ Killer huffs. ‘yeah, screaming too.’ Horror drawls. ‘I like the ribbons, not gonna lie.’ as Cross tosses back a handful of popcorn and earns amused scoffs from the others. Dust gives a rare smirk. ‘i have an idea.’ 

Nightmare is in his room, staring down at an old faded paper article that looks as if it might crumble into ash at the faintest breeze while he tries to ignore the pain in his chest from the positivity flooding the air. It’s a headline advertising his old act, the one that led to his transformation, when Killer walks in. Killer notices the article before Nightmare manages to fold it up and slip it into a breast pocket. It twinges something in him as he asks about it and Nightmare feeling a rare moment of openness blandly tells him of what happened. 

Killer is surprised and sudden understanding clicks but Nightmare dismisses it with ‘nothing more than childish hopes and pointless memories, what is it you want killer?’ 

Killer smiles.

It’s the first time Nightmare has seen that expression on Killer’s face and his socket widens. He feels something precariously close to a thrill race his spine as Killer hums, ‘me and the guys were talking…”

Dream and his friends are beginning to perform the big finale when suddenly the lights go off and Killer comes on over the intercom, ‘well as much as i love that hello kitty and fluffy rainbow shit like the next guy, how about we get a real party started?’ and the lights strobe back on in a kaleidoscope of flashing colors as Nightmare’s gang appear round the top of the stage. 

Killer flipping a jewel encrusted knife, Dust spinning an iron balancing rod as if it were a small plastic baton, Horror posed tall and looming with his one ear’d white lion and black tiger, and Cross on his sterling silver colored motorcycle revving the engine.

‘UH, DREAM? WHAT IS–” Before Blue can finish the boys are descending and taking the stage. Horror crowds them off with his animals as Cross races around the arena pulling shocked awes from the crowd and Killer blows fire setting the hanging ribbons up into a blaze of glory, Dust using his balancing rod to propel himself into the air and land on the lighting supports much to many surprised shouts of awe and worry. 

Dream can’t help but stare silently along with Blue and Ink as the show is stolen from them and negativity begins to seep in from the shocked and concerned onlookers who can’t bring themselves to look away, even clapping as Horror narrowly dodges being attacked by his own lion to allow the beast to burst through one of Ink’s paintings.

Nightmare watches in stunned surprise, amusement, and dare he even think it…

Endearment.

When all is said and done the crowd goes home excited and raving about the unexpected twist and Dream is left fuming as he goes off about how childish and inappropriate that was. Nightmare shrugs him off as he glances over his shoulder at his smug trope and comments about how it was no decision of his own making. Sure he knew, but he didn’t tell Killer no, but Dream doesn’t need to know that. 

When they go home Killer and the boys all gain a new bit of respect for their ring leader, and even a bit of fondness at how he let them do as they pleased. It’s a slow crawl from there. Each of them taking the time to get to know Nightmare a little better after also being told by Killer about his past, even asking him to join them for dinner one day where Nightmare finds enjoyment watching and listening to them go back and forth like a bunch of rowdy roommates. 

Horror introduces him to the animals, and manages to calm the tiger enough to let Nightmare pet it. ‘her name’s mira.’

‘...You named her?’ 

‘yep, her and bosco.’ 

‘Is Bosco the lion?’ 

Horror looks oddly fond. ‘heh, no, he’s the gator. the lion is kimba, killer named him.’  

Dust invites him to help him as he works on repairing and calibrating his canon, handing him tools and reciting blueprints. ‘need better bolts, these are starting to strip.’ 

‘I never knew you were so…hands on, Dust.’ 

‘cross’ fault. i saw him babying that bike of his and got tired of having nothing to do.’ 

‘I see.’ 

There’s silence, an uncertainty. ‘...i want to repaint it. i don’t like the colors.’ 

Nightmare considers. ‘...Alright, what colors would you like?’ 

Dust’s smile reminds him of Killer’s. ‘heh.’

Cross takes him for a ride and shows him just how fast his bike can go. ‘SLOW DOWN YOU HEATHEN! THIS IS NOT A SHOW!’ 

‘c’mon nightmare! live a little!’ 

Nightmare shivers at feeling Cross’s hand guide his to his waist, his voice reminiscent of a whisper into his acoustics. ‘i won’t let you fall.’ 

Nightmare averts his gaze. ‘Falling is not the point!’ 

Killer…killer brings him outside and sets him on a blanket beneath the only tree for miles as he sharpens his blades, handing nightmare one after the other and telling him what kind they are like a teenager. ‘and this is a messer! it’s german for knife but looks more like a dagger.’ 

‘Interesting. You’ve taken care of these well.’ 

Killer smirks. ‘i take care of the things i care about.’ 

Nightmare raises a brow as he echos. ‘Care about.’ 

‘i don’t have to feel it to know that i care about it.’ The shrug he gives is indifferent, but the look is another matter entirely, one that brings a foreign heat to Nightmare’s cheeks. It feels like a flirtation, but it can’t be, he knows where he stands with him - with all of them. 

‘An even more interesting notion.’ he whispers.

It isn’t until he stumbles upon Horror pining Dust to a wall in a small forgotten hallway with Dust’s legs around Horror’s hips as they kiss that Nightmare realizes there’s a deeper bond between the members of his trope that he never noticed. One that they’re starting to willingly let him see as he spots Cross and Killer not long after training together with Cross pinned to the knife board as Killer sensually traces patterns across his bones with the tip of a finely oiled blade. It’s shocking how they managed to get away with this, hiding the fluctuations in their emotions from his notice.

The understanding spurs something in him that’s…genuine. 

On equal footing.

Killer notices his staring and holds eye contact just out of Cross’ line of sight as he kisses the other skeleton. The emotions are there now, raw and unfiltered. Desire, want…teasing. 

It’s an invitation.

Nightmare turns away and hides in his room thinking. He doesn’t know what he feels, not yet. But he does find himself wanting to, maybe, get a little closer to them. To know them, just as they’re obviously trying to do with him. 

He likes watching Horror train his pets, he enjoys seeing Cross flip over ramps and twirl his bike beneath him mid-leap, he finds amusement in Killer trying to paint the sky with words made of fire, and he can’t resist staring as Dust pretends multiple times as if he’s going to fall only to stand back upright confidently and with poise. He can’t help wondering if this is what friendship is, companionship. He thought he’d known that once with his brother but he’d been wrong. The feelings are too different.

So he…takes the risk. 

The dinners continue, the quality time, with him contributing by inviting them to let him read aloud of his books and going out to explore the worlds now before performing, but it all starts to weigh heavy on him and this manifests in him one day suggesting as Killer and Dust put forth a duet idea to suggest they use netting…in case of an accident.

The boys go silent, staring at him. 

Nightmare feels judged, and it’s made clear that he is when Killer says rather carelessly, ‘since when do you care about our safety?’ It’s then made clear to Nightmare that no matter how hard he tries, and no matter what they open up to him and he them, that he can’t be more or get closer. 

They will always see him as nothing more than their owner, their master. 

‘Forget I said anything.’

Nightmare is left torn, does he put everything on the line by offering to release their contracts in the hopes that they’ll stay when it’s far more likely they’ll run if given the chance? Or does he hold on, and get left standing alone to watch as an outsider on the bond between them just as he’s always been to the universe at large.

He tried to run before he could walk. This is the obstacle between them and the first step that he knows has to be taken, the rest of the moments they share are empty so long as the contracts exist. And not only that but the leagues he’ll have to go to make up for what he put them through when he first found them, if they dare to even give him the chance.

There’s a bitter, terrifying, decision to reach. 

Nightmare is in unfamiliar waters as he feels the sting of indecisiveness that he hasn’t felt since he was a child.

[sery-chan-13]

Older Now

Ch. 14 of "My Sunshine" [Treech x Reader] Warnings: Swearing and suggestive content(Spicy poetry that implies but is not explicit)

You thought it was funny, hilarious even.

When the expected "no funny business" line was delivered from his mom, his face turned so red you thought he would die.

"Ma!"

Oh yes, you had missed this.

You giggled and looked up at him.

"It's alright, come on now..." you whispered. "You promised you would show me your poetry and I still have one notebook for you."

——

I find solace in sitting in the woods. The ghosts of our youth call out. I replay the memories in my head over and over again. Some days, I feel certain I see you, but you're always just close enough to trick me, yet too far for me to reach you.

------

When my name got called, I froze, I wondered if you were watching. So for that reason, I didn't cry. I marched up there and glared at the ''peace'' keepers. If you were watching, well, I didn't want to see weak in front of you.

The handwriting was messy and quick. He had hidden it haphazardly and ran back out before the Peace Keepers could pull him out. He hugged his Ma and promised he would be back.

-----

District Seven will always be home. No matter where I am, I will always go home. Home is the creeks rushing downstream, the tall trees and the smell of pine. Home is the dirt road and hiking trails we took. The still lake, the birds chirping, the frogs croaking. That is home. The wooden walls, your arms around me, our hands interlocked, and my head on your chest. The sound of your heart beating, your sweet words filling my ears. You are home. And district seven is not home without you.

You were proud of this one. One you'd give to him as soon as he stepped out of that arena. You gently put it on top of your desk.

____

I feel like a circus performer. I get dressed up and parade around making a show of myself. Capitol people love the circus. They love entertainment. What could be more entertaining than a district girl pretending to be one of them?

——

I've always wondered how I've survived so long without you.

There were no other words he wanted to say. That was the only sentence he could think to write. There was no space within him to write long beautiful prose about how much he missed you.

____

I decided to stop writing for a bit. My mind runs through everything. One second I feel like crying, at another time I am angry. How have I survived this long without you?

The writing on the paper was short, you admitted to yourself, but after a month of not writing this was all you could get out.

____

I play pretend like we used to. I pretend you never left. I pretend I'm not alone.

____

Most nights, you invade my thoughts. Your pretty hands, your lips, and those beautiful eyes. One hand on the pen as I write, the other distracted. Soon, it's one hand over my mouth; paper and pen forgotten as my mind runs wild with thoughts of you. Ink spills over my lap and I curse myself as I pick up.

He looked at the paper in shock as if he hadn't just written that. As if it just magically appeared. He groaned, running his hands through his thick dark hair, and hitting his head on his small desk. It shook and he winced hoping no one would wake up from the noise.

____

I sit and write at my desk till late. I fill pages and envelopes... fill other things. Until my hand becomes shaky and the writing falls off of the page. I force myself to continue, to focus. To write. The shaky letters will be obvious. When I give them to you, you will notice. I can't focus on that thought for long as I knock my ink over. It spills and covers my hands.

You stared at the writing, blushing, as if those words were not your own. What are you doing (Y/N)? you thought to yourself as you hid the poem.

____

Quick breaths. It feels like waves crashing against me. I'm glad my imagination can imagine things. Redundancy at its finest. I'd put this crudely, but you've always liked pretty words. So I'll write pretty words for the pretty girl. On every other paper but this one. Here, I'll say this: I want you. Hell, I need you. I need you to touch, to feel. I want you to need me to.

———

By the end of finishing each other's writing, your faces were bright red.

"I... um..."

"Yeah..."

You then laughed and hugged him, peppering his face with kisses. He protested, saying you were getting your lipstick on his face. In reality, he didn't care.

"(N/N) st-stop it!" He laughed, finally gently cupping your face.

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips before grabbing his hands from your face. You intertwined your hands with his and then put your head in the crook of his neck.

He let out a content sigh as you did this, placing his head on top of yours, and hiding his face in your hair.

"I haven't been this... happy... since... well, since you were here. And I mean, there's no objections to us... Ma loves you. And I'm sure Pa will be happy too. You know he used to say that when I finally opened my eyes and really saw you, I'd realize I was in love... I used to tell him that we were just friends and he was gross," he laughed. "But... after you left... well... I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder."

You smiled at him talking. Just hearing how he didn't sound exhausted or scared made you happy. There was the thought in your head that he would snap. But right now, he was ok. And when he wasn't, you would be right there to hold him, comfort him, and make everything okay again

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you holding on to each other. There was no talking needed for the words you were both thinking. The silence said all that needed to be said.

—

It was a few hours later when his father came home. He was overjoyed at seeing his son.

You had never seen anyone cry as much as they all did. It made your eyes tear up as you stood off to the side. They were so happy, and seeing them be so overwhelmed by the joy that they were crying made you cry.

No, you weren't upset about his reunion.

You were... jealous?

Seeing his family be a family. Loving and hugging each other. You hadn't felt your family's love since the beginning of your father's relationship with the Capitol. Your mother becoming a living ghost in your house. Elusive. Your father said that affection was unnecessary and only the lowly gave any comfort to their children. That affection was how you

They talked and talked and you quietly stepped out onto the steps in front of the house.

You should be happy! You should feel ecstatic about him being with his family again! The one thing he missed the most while in the Capitol were his Ma and Pa and now... Now you were upset? No not upset... you just longed for what he had...

You felt horrible. You should be inside celebrating his return, and helping him not feel like a horrible human being...

Yet you sat outside.

It was about two hours later when the door opened behind you. The steps behind you creaked and groaned as someone stepped down and sat next to you. You gave a glance and saw Treech.

"Hi..." you whispered.

"Where did you go? I mean we just noticed but um..." he trailed off.

Don't be upset, you have no reason to be upset don't be upset.

You kept repeating that in your head.

"I've been out here for about... two hours? I uh... needed fresh air," you whispered.

"Oh? Two hours? I'm sorry I didn't notice before then (N/N)..." He mumbled, sitting on the step next to you.

His hand found yours and you sighed, leaning into him. He brought your hand to his lips and softly kissed your fingers, then your palm, and finally the back of your hand, before looking up at you.

"You doin' ok?" He whispered, noticing how sad your eyes looked.

You could not, absolutely under any circumstance, tell him that you were upset. He had way more to be upset about, and you were supposed to be happy and be there for him. How come every time he needed you, you somehow seemed to need him in the same way?

"You can be upset... It's ok..." he mumbled.

You smiled and kissed his forehead, "I promise... Now, how did they react to the news?"

His smile widened, and he stood up taking both of your hands in his.

"They're excited. Both of 'em... But, they will kill me if they find out that I haven't taken you on a proper date. So, that is our plan for tonight sunshine," he said.

You blushed at the idea of going on a 'proper' date with him. Of course, you had only imagined the moment, but now that it was finally happening, you became nervous. The prospect of going out alone for the first time as a couple with him made you squeeze his hand tightly.

_____

It was later in the night, around 8, when you said your goodbyes and headed out into the woods behind his house. He had a medium-sized bag on his shoulder, and he would not tell you what was inside.

You remembered the path, one of the hikes you two used to take up to the lake. This one led straight to the old willow tree you spent so much time at.

"Is it still...?"

"Yeah, it is still there. And it is still just our secret spot. I never brought anyone else there," he reassured, offering his arm to you.

You happily took it, hooking your arm in his as he led you through the woods, a lantern being your only form of light.

There was a warm breeze flowing through the leaves, fireflies blinking around you two.

Soon, you reached the lake and the willow. You smiled widely at seeing the spot. It looked the same. Nothing had changed about the spot. Treech put the bag down and grabbed your hands.

"Ok, well, let's go," he said, spinning you around.

You laughed at him twirling you and looked confused.

"Let's go? But we just got here," you questioned with a pout.

He laughed, taking his hat and placing it on top of the bag.

"Sorry, let me rephrase that: Let's go swimmin'," he smirked.

"But I didn't bring any swim-"

"Don't need it. I brought some towels and a blanket for later. But if you want your clothes to stay dry then..." he gestured to you and your clothes. You got the memo.

"Let me get this straight... for our first official date, you take me to our spot and are asking me to go skinny dipping with you?" You said, a smirk playing on your lips. "If you wanted to see me naked you could have just asked."

His face turned bright red at your words as he tried to defend himself, panic-stricken that you thought he would only ask you out here for that. You laughed, and went over, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Treech, darlin', I was just teasin'. Now, I bet I can beat you in," You giggle, beginning by taking off your shoes and socks, and tucking them neatly by the bag.

He scoffed and laughed, "Oh you're on (Y/N)!''

You took your time, knowing that when he got competitive, he got clumsy. You were so cocky as to neatly fold all your clothes as it came off. You laughed and ran into the water, deciding to keep your underwear on. It could dry later. Treech did the same.

He shook his head and groaned as he waded over to you.

"Can't believe I lost. God damnit,'' he jokingly groaned. 

You laughed and kissed his cheek before grabbing his hand and pulling him a little deeper. You could both stand, yet were up to your chests in the water. He quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned his head into the crook of your neck. 

"I love you so fuckin' much (Y/N) (L/N), I can not wait to be completely and utterly yours," he mumbled into your neck.

"And I love you, Treech Mori, as much as there are stars in the sky. Hopefully, you can be as patient as them too."

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Another Day in Paradise, Chapter 4

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: E for eventual smut Content warnings (Series): It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Content warning- Chapter: None

AN: Eventually maybe someone will read this shit. Still riding the new fandom crack train.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

~~~~~<3

Amber hid in her room the rest of the morning and had herself a good cry. It was something that was becoming more common as she felt safer. Eventually, a knock brought her out of her wallowing though she couldn’t say how long she had cried for.

Charlie was at the door, a plate with a sandwich and some chips was placed on a try as well as a glass that looked to contain juice. It was so perfectly wholesome and out of place in hell.

“I thought you might be hungry.” She said as Amber stepped aside to let the her into the room. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to.” Amber said rather than admit that yes, she was starved. It was near lunch time and she had ran back to her room with her tail quite literally between her legs before having anything for breakfast. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Charlie said, setting the tray down on the end table by the bed before sitting down next to where Amber sat. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Amber couldn’t meet the girl’s wide and ever eager eyes and instead picked at the chips. Princess or golden retriever hotel owner, the woman was simply too good either way. 

“But you did,” Charlie insisted, “You took a risk. You gave it an honest try. You shared something so important to you. You could have taken the easy way out like they did but you didn’t. That means something and I am so, so proud of you for it.” 

That surprised Amber. Charlie knew. She knew they were half-assing their activities. She knew. But she cared, encouraged and loved them anyway. How could a being like Charlie have been raised in hell?

“Does it bother you,” Amber asked, “That you’ve only lived in hell?” 

“I mean, I’m curious about things top side, sure. But this is my home and I’ve had such a great life here. I mean, I know I’ve been privileged. There’s so much more to hell than just what you have access to here. But even this ring of hell can be pretty great. You can have a life here too, you know? A good one.” 

“I guess.” Amber shrugged.

“You’re already doing so good!” Amber smiled at Charlie’s encouragement. “You found somewhere safe, you’re making friends and t’s nice to see you not being so scared. I want you to feel safe here, I want you to have a life here. Inside the hotel and out.”

Silence settled as Amber ate. Charlie was happy enough to just sit with her for the moment. 

“Why?” Amber finally asked, when her food was gone and the glass was sitting in her hands. “Why are you so invested in helping me? Isn’t hell supposed to suck? Isn’t it supposed to be punishment? But here you are, insisting on helping.”

“I don’t know.” Charlie admitted, shrugging. “Sure, this place is intended to be a punishment for Sinners but who says it has to be? And you just don’t seem like you belong here. I can’t imagine what you did to get sent here.”

Amber laughed, “I’m far from sinless.”

“Sure, no one is.” Charlie admitted with a shrug. “But a bunch of little sins surely doesn’t get someone down here. And if it does, it shouldn’t.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter?” Amber stood up, not sure how to run from the conversation when she was in her own room. It was getting to be too much. 

“I’m sorry- I know most don’t really like to talk about what they did or how they died. It’s kind of taboo here and I overstepped.”

“It’s fine,” Amber lied. 

“What was your favorite thing top side?” Charlie asked, standing as well and making her way to the door. 

“Other than my daughter?” Amber mused as she thought about it. “Listening to the radio in the early morning, out on the porch with a cup of coffee. Before anyone else woke up. Before the day woke up. Before the day’s bullshit started.” 

A knock on the door started Amber out of her memory. Charlie had a wide smile as she enveloped the much smaller Amber in her arms. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It sounds beautiful.” 

“I should get that.” Amber mumbled into Charlie’s shoulder as the knocking came again, this time accompanied by a voice. 

“Anyone hooome~?” Alastor called in a singsong voice from behind the door.

“I should really get that.” Amber repeated, trying to ignore the way fear flooded her. “I don’t want to upset him.” 

Charlie ducked out of the room with a wave as Amber opened the door to Alastor. “Dearie, did you forget our plans already?” 

“No, I just- I didn’t know when.”

“Now.” Alastor answered, thumping his cane on the ground and leaning on it. “Is that,” Alastor wiggled his finger at Amber, “Acceptable to go out in?” 

“What?” Amber looked down at the over sized shirt she was wearing over leggings. “Is there something wrong with this?”

“It could be better.” Alastor said simply before deciding, “But I suppose it’s good enough for now.” 

“We’re just going to pick up the things from the tailor, right?” Amber asked, slipping her feet into the simple low heeled shoes Alastor had gotten her. They were more comfortable to walk in, rather than the heels and boots Angel had insisted on. Sneakers just didn’t seem to be a thing at the stores either had dragged her to.

“Among other things,” Alastor answered simply. “Come along now.” 

Alastor started down the hall without waiting for her. She was left scrambling to catch up to the one person she didn’t want to spend an undefined period of time being drug around the city with according to their whims. 

She didn’t know if she needed a coat or an umbrella or how the weather in hell even worked. It rained but the rain didn’t look pleasant. She’d seen people dissolve to the bone in the rain while she huddled under whatever shelter she had been able to find at the time. The weather had always been warm when she had been on the streets but Alastor always wore a overcoat. 

Going out wasn’t something she was used to and oh boy, was she overthinking it. 

She managed to catch up to him at the elevator, slipping in with Alastor before the doors closed. He had made no effort to hold the elevator for her. As soon as the doors opened onto the lobby, Alastor’s long legs carried him swiftly out. Amber was left scrambling to try and keep pace with him, struggling to stay within a few paces behind him. 

He had to know she was all but jogging to keep up. There was no way he wasn’t hearing the way she was panting by the time they reached the bottom of the hill or the rushed clicking of her heels against the stones contrasting to his smoothe relaxed steps.

“Now my dear, how should a lady carry herself?” Alastor didn’t even look back as his pace slowed. 

“Kind of hard when I can’t keep up.” Amber mumbled, trying to pull herself together according to his damn whims.

“Fix yourself.” Alastor commanded as he looked back at Amber. 

She pulled the hem of her long shirt and ran her hand through her hair trying to make it look like she hadn’t been near running to keep pace with his insanely long strides. Back straight and strong. Shoulders pulled back. Neck long. Chin up. Stand tall. Breathing slow and deep. 

It felt foreign. It felt wrong. It felt strong. 

It felt good.

“Very good.” Alastor remarked simply, continuing on his stroll at a much more relaxed pace.

Amber was able to keep within a few paces of him, trailing along behind him as he cut through fairly peaceful streets. Sure, there were corpses here and there, there were drug deals going down where the occasional alley shot off the main road. Monster sinners crossed the road rather than share the sidewalk with Alastor and eyed the woman who was in their eyes brave enough to share her time with the feared demon. 

Amber didn’t know what to do with her hands while walking in this new stiff posture. The day before, she at least had Alastor’s arm to busy one hand. She didn’t have a cane to fiddle with like him. She tried tucking her hands behind her back like he did but it felt stiff and awkward. Clasping her hands in front of her his felt better but still awkward, it reminded her of the timid life she had lived. 

In the distance, she could see the tailor shop. 

“Now, go get your package.” Alastor stopped, glancing at her before dissolving into the shadows, leaving her alone. 

“What?” Amber looked around and couldn’t find any sign of him. Oh hell no.

He took her out of the hotel and fucking left her alone. Defenseless and alone. Shoulders sagged as she debated if she could make it back to the hotel without having an unsavory encounter of some sort. Eyes fell to the ground as doubt swan through her mind. 

No, she couldn’t continue this way. At the very least she needed to complete the task Alastor had set her out on. Who knows what would happen if she didn’t at least get the clothes. 

“Step one, get to tailor. Step two, get clothes. Step three, I don’t fucking know.” Amber took a deep breath and again fixed her posture. Eyes up. Head up. One step at a time she propelled herself forward, down the sidewalk and toward the shop. 

Sinners didn’t cross the street for her. Some catcalled and propositioned but none actually touched her. A few sinners came close to touching her, reaching out to wrap and arm around her waist while trying to offer her something or another but she was able to sidestep them. 

She tried to pretend Alastor was walking with her. Oh, how she hadn’t expected to lean on the idea of him for some confidence. It was hard to wrap her head around how he made her feel safe while also making her feel the farthest thing from safe.

The air of confidence she struggled to pull around her was nearly totally false but it was something. Though it was illusion alone, it carried her as each step took her closer to the tailor shop. Just a block away now. Then a few feet. 

Her fingers trembled as she reached out for the railing as she prepared to ascend the stairs. It was here that she paused and looked around. In many ways, this was just another city street. 

Could she make a life here? Could she have some independence here? What a strange idea, to exist independent of those around her. When had she last been independent? Had she ever been sucessfully independent? She didn’t think so. 

Alastor was nowhere to be seen. Amber didn’t know what would come next but she wanted to believe she could get back to the hotel again, on her own if need be. 

Why he was helping her, she couldn’t fathom but he was and his lesson had been vital. What other vital lessons could he teach her, if she was willing to trust him?

Clean clothes, a change in how she carried herself and she was left largely alone in the same area she had once been accosted, chased and terrorized at. She was sure it helped that she had been seen with Alastor to some extent though. 

Closing her eyes, she tried to channel the way actresses would glide up stairs in the films she had watched in her life, not that she had gotten to watch many. Smooth steps as she made her way up to the porch and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. 

With a deep breath, she entered the shop.

“You made it!” Alastor’s singsong voice called out, rich static coloring the tone as Amber all but jumped out of her skin. “Good job!”

The small sheep demoness had packages bagged up and siting on the counter. She looked positively terrified to have Alastor lounging in her shop as he waited for Amber to make the walk. 

“How did you-?” Amber clutched at her chest as her heart hammered against her ribs. 

“Collect your bags, Dearie. I’ve got things to do, places to be and people to maim. We simply have to get going.”

Amber did as she was told, scurrying over to the counter and collecting the bags with a meek word of thanks to the shopkeeper. Any air of confidence she had managed to collect on her way in was gone, startled right out of her by Alastor. 

Alastor said nothing as he lead her out of the shop. She raced behind him as he descended the stairs. There was no way she could guess which speed Alastor would walk at and part of per mentally prepared to nearly run to keep up with the much taller man. 

Instead he waited for her at the base of the stairs, making her look ever more a fool as she stumbled to a stop in front of him. He looked down at her with eyebrow raised and hummed his weird musical hum. 

“This simply won’t do for the meeting.” 

“What meeting?” Amber wanted to go home. She wanted to go where Alastor wasn’t so she could get her bearings.

Alastor snapped his fingers with a flair and air rushed around her. Elegant red fabric draped itself over her. The flowing circle skirt danced around her legs, cutting a soft line a few inches below her knees. The neckline was high, it nearly felt like it was choking her but the back of the dress dipped low, leaving her feeling exposed in the least scandalous way possible as her hair tickled the exposed skin. Her tail fit perfectly through a hole that she was pretty sure wouldn’t be able to accommodate the fluff when it came time to remove the dress. 

“Did you just dress me up like a doll?” Amber spoke sharply before she had a chance to consider her tone or who she was speaking to.

“And there you have it, again she finds her claws.” Alastor laughed, tucking her hand around his arm to rest on his forearm as be began to lead her down the street. 

“Why are you doing this?” Amber dared to ask while he walked her swiftly down the street toward the heart of the city. 

“Boredom, as I said. Don’t you listen?” Alastor tapped her ear rather harshly with the microphone head of his cane. “These ears are for more than just decoration, are they not?”

“They work,” Amber flung her ears forward and back in a attempt to somehow swat the microphone away without having to outright challenge the much more powerful man. “But that dosen’t really tell me why you’re treating me like a pet.” 

“Getting braver!” Alastor chuckled but didn’t answer. “Good job!” 

Amber yanked her arm from where it was tucked around his, stepping away to put distance between them. “Seriously. Why are you helping me? I know Charlie believes in redemption and Angel just seems nice but you-?”

“Me?” Alastor pointed to himself, static thick in his voice again as his neck cracked, head twitching to an unnatural angle for a moment. “Do tell me what you think you know about me.”

“You’re powerful.” She stated plainly, deflating. “And creepy. Sadistic, maybe.”

“You complement me so!” Alastor all but preened, placing a clawed hand to his chest and standing tall before leaning into her space again. “Do keep going.”

“You could kill me with a flick of your wrist, probably wouldn’t even feel bad about it-” She continued, stepping away from him every time he inched closer until she almost fell off the sidewalk. 

“I wouldn’t.” He said though she didn’t know if he was confirming he wouldn’t feel bad about killing her or that he wouldn’t kill her at all.

She didn’t dare ask for clarification.

“You don’t get anything from helping me but what? A momentary entertainment? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Isn’t our afterlife little but a series of momentary entertainments to break up our hellish existence?” Alastor countered before his posture changed, standing tall again and ordering her to stay put as he dissolved into shadows.

“What the fuck.” Amber said to the empty space he had been. “What the actual fuck.” 

[not-poignant]

Do you have any stardew mods that you absolute *must* have (for any reason) or any QoL mods you'd like to recommend?

Hi anon!

I'm not really going to do a 'must have' mod list because you don't need any mods to play Stardew Valley at all, and actually many of my farms I never played with any mods at all. So instead I'm just going to list the mods I enjoy using the most, that make my time more enjoyable within the game.

They're not must haves, and I don't actually think just about anyone should use mods before they've played the vanilla farm/style of the game a few times (because that's also the best way to see if you'll need mods in the first place. I don't need them. I just enjoy them). The one exception is people who can't handle the fishing mini game. But I find that dead easy (except the octopus, fuck the octopus), so... I don't need mods for that anyway x.x

My main mods are the following that I use pretty much in every game no matter what (for these to work you will need another mod called SMAPI, and sometimes a mod called Content Patcher, each mod will tell you what it needs to run in the Requirements section):

Cosmetic:

Mini Obelisks - The standard obelisks look cool but are just too damned tall. This changes the size lol.

Hudson Valley Buildings - Look, there are a ton of reskins for the buildings in the game, I just like these ones.

Vanilla Tweaks - A texture pack that re-skins pretty much all of the objects in the game (fish / vegetables / fruit / nodes / minerals etc.), it's pretty!

Simple Foliage - One of the nicest tree/bush reskins, it's just pretty.

Quality of Life:

UI Info Suite - is one of my favourite QoL mods, because it just comes with so many different things that are so useful, and my favourite are that you can access the calendar and fetch quests from your standard menu, as well as the little pop ups under the day/time which tell you if the Travelling Cart is there, who's birthday it is, if it will storm the next day, and whether or not there's a new recipe. It also tells you which of your pets need petting etc. It pretty much made my Better Ranching QoL mod redundant lol.

Gift Taste Helper - Despite having like 1800 hours in this game, I never remember loved gifts, and in the heart menu, this allows you to hover over a username and see someone's most loved gifts automatically. So useful. Saves me visiting the Wiki 400 times in a playthrough.

NPC Map Locations - Tired of looking at the Wiki for their schedules? Just use this and you'll see all the people / where they are on the map. Great for gift-giving.

No Kids Ever - Your mileage may vary on this one but I don't want children in SDV ever with any of my spouses and I don't even want to be asked. This eliminates all questions around parenthood and means you can also turn the nursery into whatever kind of room you want. You'll never have to worry about kids. This is definitely a must have for me ;)

Ship Anything - It pisses me off that I can only sell weapons etc. through Marlon's because they open from 4pm and it's just inconvenient. Ship Anything allows you to ship swords etc. from your shipping bin, and also use your recycling bin. SO useful. Can also use it for furniture / wallpaper etc.

Other:

DeepWoods - One of my favourite 'end game' places and so enjoyable (and a good source of wood and hardwood), this is very much like the Skull Caverns, but instead it's the Deep Woods and 'what if there were levels of the Secret Woods and they were easy-to-really-fucking-hard.' The levels change, there's all these cool little secrets, but a warning, some of the monsters can oneshot you even if you're late game (have all the stardrops / Galaxy Sword in the Forge etc.). There are monsters here that are absolutely way more dangerous than *anything* you will ever find in the Skull Caverns.

This is kind of a cheat because wood and hardwood become so important in the mid to late game, so ymmv on how comfortable you are with something like that. But I love the DeepWoods. Just a warning, take a warp, because once you're past level 1, you'll need to warp home.

-

I've also started playing Stardew Valley Expanded but that's like 10-11 mods in total and tbh anon I only recommend going down that rabbit hole once you've played the vanilla farm a few times.

These days I will also occasionally play with CJB Cheats, just because I've played like 15+ farms now the 'hard way' and sometimes I want life to be a little easier, lmao.

If I needed to go without all these mods tomorrow, I could and I'd still enjoy the game, so none of them are 'musts.'

[tarysande]

i saw a post that you reblogged with a comment wherein you referenced working as an editor. i'm a college student looking to go into fiction editing, and i was wondering if you had any tips or suggestions?

I've written a few different posts about this in my "on editing" tag, but most of them are a bit old.

My path to editing wasn't a straight line. I have a BFA in theatre, film, and creative writing, and I took a lot of English courses. I've always been a voracious reader. I've been a writer since before I can remember. I basically started editing when friends came to me and said, "You're good at words. Can you help me with my words?"

I was also lucky enough to fall in with a group of excellent writers/betas/critiquers/editors when I was fandom baby back in ye olde X-Files days. I learned SO much from them. And most of what I learned, I learned either from being critiqued or from critiquing others. I cannot stress how much being an active member of fandom has helped me become the editor I am today.

Suggestions:

Get editing-specific training. You don't know what you don't know--and there's a surprising amount of stuff people don't know, even if they've studied English or writing. There are quite a few certificate programs out there now, but you don't need one of them to get work. You do need to prove that you know what you're doing, though. Usually by being able to pass editing tests or by providing excellent sample edits.

Read, read, read, READ. If you know you want to work with specific genres, read as much from within that genre as you can. Read books on craft, too, whether they're intended for writers or editors.

Find your people. There are some great Facebook groups for editors. There are also major editing associations where you can meet people, network, find possible job leads, etc. I, for example, am a member of Editors Canada and a Professional Member of the CIEP (UK). ACES and the EFA are a couple of major American associations. Australia's is the IPEd. You don't have to be from those countries to join their associations--but you'll probably find that the local ones have the most relevant content.

You DO need to find ways to hone your skills. If you don't want to do a whole editing certificate, you'll want to find courses or professional development related to the work you want to do.

Fiction editing (all editing, really) breaks down into different types of editing. You might like doing all aspects of this. You might find you only like SOME aspects of this. Generally, those types of editing are:

Developmental (sometimes called structural or substantive) editing: This is big picture editing. Are there plot holes? Do the character arcs make sense? Do scenes have a purpose? (Personally, this is my favorite type of editing. I just love getting into the guts of a story.) I do full developmental edits, but I also offer manuscript critiques (developmental editing lite; usually cheaper, but still very helpful for getting to the bottom of big picture issues).

Line/stylistic editing: This type of editing is often about the style and language at the sentence and paragraph level. It tends to be quite meaty. A line editor will offer suggestions for reducing redundancy or repetition, clarifying meaning, polishing dialogue, etc.

Copy editing: Sometimes copy editing and line editing get rolled up together, but if someone hires you JUST to copy edit, it means you're looking at the mechanical issues with grammar, punctuation, etc.

Proofreading: Literally reading the proofs before they go to print. The proofreader's eyes are the last ones on the document. These are the folks looking for the misplaced comma or the wrong page number. Have a crazy eye for detail? This may be your jam.

The various Englishes of the world have major differences. If you want to edit US, UK, Canadian, or other assorted varietals of the language, you have to know those differences--and they're more than just spelling and punctuation.

There's no one style guide for fiction. Publishers often have their own. That said, most of THOSE are based either on the Chicago Manual of Style (US/Canada) or the New Oxford Style Manual/New Hart's Rules (UK).

You also have to figure out if you want to pursue an in-house position or work freelance. Real talk: publishers outsource a ton of copy editing and proofreading to freelancers; some publishers even outsource the other styles of editing. Often, acquisitions editors at publishing houses (the editors who champion a work and try to get their publisher to buy it) do some of the developmental and line editing work.

I don't work in-house, so I can't give you a ton of info on how to break into the side of things. As I understand it, you usually have to be located in one of the big publishing centers (New York, London, Toronto, etc.). And you usually work your way in from the bottom up.

I've done all kinds of editing over the years. Nowadays, I mostly work in fiction, and I mostly work with independent authors or authors who are trying to polish their work before sending it out to agents. While it's true that a publishing house will edit your book (and foot the bill for it), the market is hard right now--especially for first-time authors. Publishers are less willing to take big risks or pour a lot of money into books if they're uncertain of a return on that investment. So, even if you're hoping to go the route of traditional publishing, it's in your best interests to get that first manuscript in the best shape before sending it out.

...this is already getting long! One of these days, I'm going to offer some training of my own, I think. Hopefully!

[shizuostrans]

Hey there~

Do you have a HC about Shizuos favourite pieces of media, be it a movie a series or a book (or all three) ?

YESYESYES!! I have a bunch of hcs about his favorite kinds of media, but my awareness of Japanese media is limited so I’m just gonna be a little... vague on exact titles outside anime.

I hc Shizuo being aggravatingly picky about movies and shows. Words have meaning and movies and shows are frequently filled with redundant dialogue to him mixed with too much other bullshit to keep track of. Except for Kasuka’s movies which it then becomes a feature. <3

He likes movies and series where the settings are more fantastical, more romantic, with characters he can relate to. I agree with @kasururigoth about him liking Ghibli films, particularly Princess Mononoke and Howl’s Moving Castle. He sees a lot of himself in San, and while he initially is annoyed by Howl, he comes to understand him the more he watches and was absolutely suckered in by Sophie kissing him at his most monstrous (rip shizuo i know you would’ve loved the shape of water). He's drawn to Miyazaki films in general because peace is a core message in nearly every Ghibli film and he appreciates that.

For similar reasons, I think Rurouni Kenshin is his favorite anime and he looked up to Kenshin as a role model as a kid. Before Traugott I guess. I doubt Shizuo had many role models that weren’t scared of him growing up lol

I actually think he’s less picky about books. They’re much cheaper to replace if he gets carried away, and he can avoid getting carried away by picking up and pausing where he’s reading more easily than with movies or shows. They’re also easier to process all at once, he doesn’t have to analyze the score or cinematography or the actor’s performance because the information is all laid-out for him. He usually doesn’t seek them out, but if his friends or Kasuka recommend something he’s much more willing to check them out.

His favorite genre of fiction is honkaku mystery and he has SO MANY opinions on it. He’s usually more of a I-like-what-I-like kind of guy, but since I hc detective novels being the only books he actively sought out from childhood, he’s developed a sense for the common themes within the genre. Avid hater of Sherlock Holmes and with good reason, his deductions don’t make any logical sense (they really don’t) and it pisses him off when he always magically pulls them out of his ass at the end. His favorite writer is Ranpo Edogawa and his titular character Kogoro Akechi was his inspiration to want to become a detective. He also has a complex that Izaya is his Endo Heikichi, but he doesn’t verbalize it.

His fave mystery anime/manga is Monster, and he has a weird admiration/crush on Tenma. Another one he loves and continues to catch up on Ghost Hunt, but he’s incredibly secretive about it and asks Celty to transport the volumes for him because it’s a shoujo series he used to read back when his mom was still buying him shoujo magazines.

Bonus Shizaya (kinda) hc:

I hc that Shinra, Shizuo, and Izaya are all attracted to the mystery genre because they like unraveling them. Shinra is very outspoken about the books he likes and will bring them up to Shizuo and Izaya both with an impromptu infodump. If he’s talking to Izaya (listening, asking questions about the content of the book) and it sounds interesting enough, Izaya will give it a shot. If he’s talking to Shizuo (half-listening, asking if it’s available at the bookstore on his way home from work/school) and it’s under 600 yen, Shizuo will give it a shot. Occasionally they’ll both be reading the same book and when Shinra asks about their thoughts afterwards, one of them will talk about about how they figured it out from a certain part of the book and Shinra lets them know that “hey, Shizuo/Izaya came up with the same deduction!” and kills the conversation in its tracks.

[demoreelrewound]

Episode 1 excerpt: Company Trailer

The screen shows TRAILER - DEMO REEL PRODUCTION STUDIO. The classic countdown plays.

Important sounding music starts- the logo moves as it does in the show intro, then match-cuts to a live-action clapperboard closing then revealing DONNIE DUPRÉ. He reads the contents of a folder in his director chair with an obviously arranged set of '"tools of the trade" on shelves behind him - some in boxes, some loose. There's an identical clapperboard to the one just used on the table beside DONNIE.

DONNIE looks up from the folder on his lap and smiles, at once charming and staged.

DONNIE: Oh, hello! My name is Donnie Dupré, and you've reached the official website for my production company, Demo Reel.

Now you may be asking, "what is Demo Reel?" Well, I'm glad you asked! We are a group of like-minded creatives ---

Shot fades as he continues. A selection of soundless clips play, showing low budget recreations of various films gradually zoom in, beginning with a scene of DONNIE laughing directly at the camera (laughing at the viewer).

These scenes include one or two clever shots hampered by very obvious set dressing, as well as cheap digital effects and actors who only stuck around for one film - this is made clear with two of them of the exact same build and ethnicity playing characters originally played by the same actor. (Likely a Black actor to call forward episode 2's focus.)

DONNIE (voiceover throughout): -- dedicated to crafting high-quality homages to some of your favourite movies, all in the name of furthering your appreciation of them. As you can see, we opt for a home-made, minimalistic style, so all the focus can go on what's most important, recreating memorable moments for a new audience...

The montage ends by going full view on a scene of Braveheart also including REBECCA STONE trying her best with the material she's got.

[Blogger note: I've not seen Braveheart so I've no idea which scene would be best here, but the parody is clearly in the self-referential style of Channel Awesome and HISHE-era YouTube parodies, only with slightly better production value. They're in a real woodland but the sky has been cut out as much as possible and changed to sunset with greenscreen. A flat orange filter has been put over the actors in post-production.]

The clip ends and we cut back to Donnie in the chair smiling proudly and nodding once.

DONNIE (wryly): Felt just like the real thing, didn't it?

The shot switches to that of another camera - this one has a tighter shot of DONNIE'S head and shoulders but you can see the very edge of the previous camera.

DONNIE: With the help of my talented crew of both local and international talent --

Beat. He realises his redundancy then shakes his head.

DONNIE: (regains confident mask) I hope to eventually take the Demo Reel Production Studio beyond the Internet and into the real world. And who knows, maybe even Hollywood!

The shot lingers just a bit longer than it's supposed to with his face still on the last syllable before it switches to a screen grab of a basic looking website.

DONNIE (voiceover): Here on our official website, you can access our trailers, contact information, and the opportunity to become a part of the Demo Reel VIP club, featuring a newsletter, exclusive behind-the-scenes content and previews for our upcoming releases.

The things said appear on screen. As well as DONNIE and REBECCA, one of the candid shots catches KARL COPENHAGEN in profile, intently working on repairs to his camera - he's turned his head away sharply enough to blur his face. Another shows TACOMA NEWELL smiling in surprise with a pen in his hand, having been going over a typed-out script to edit. One image shows all four, implying a fifth person, but it's followed up with a close up of a gross-looking microwave meal.

DONNIE: We hope you enjoy your stay on our little corner of the web, and experience the magic of movies all over again.

(Beat)

Demo Reel: we don't make films, we remake them.

DONNIE lifts the spare clapperboard.

DONNIE: Aaand cut!

It claps shut and the video ends.

[hoodssery]

Recommending Video Essays #1

I am currently sick and dealing with the constant bodily betrayal of having a chronic illness. This means I don't really have much to do (or much I can do comfortably), and am doing what little things I can and distracting myself with games like Battlefield and Arma 3 King of the Hill and video essays playing in the background of 24/7 Operation Locker servers.

Video essays are a pretty popular format for YouTube considering the design of all large scale social media platforms centers around a short attention span, click more things kind of philosophy that seems to be doing very well in the modern digital age. More than that video essays on all kinds of topics seems to be becoming the new form documentary is taking, with a notable amount of video essays even taking up the title of “documentary”.

But, that doesn't really matter because I'm sure you all can agree that what really matters is someone with 12 subscribers and no followers telling you what's good content to shove into your sensory holes that come standard with every human being.

The style and format of certain Youtubers have dramatically shaped not just my content, but the way I consume all media now. That's a pretty big deal because at the end of the day most of these people are schmucks like me who sit in their house, play video games, and say what's right and wrong. Even weirder is that I don't even know these people!

So in honor of these fellow weirdos, and because I don't have anything much better to do, I'm gonna recommend a video essay everyday of me being sick. And who knows, maybe I'll even manage find the little will it takes to do this less frequently after I can move more than 100 feet at a time.

Recommendation: God of War - Almost a Masterpiece by Joseph Anderson (https://youtu.be/pJPOvLvdugw)

POTENTIAL SPOILERS AHEAD FOR BOTH God of War (2018) AND JOSPEH ANDERSON'S VIDEO

For most of these people I will be recommending you may have already heard of them, or seen videos from them, especially if you're traveling in obscure enough circles to find these posts. Joseph Anderson may or may not be one of these people. I can say from first hand experience that for a long time, I only recognized his profile picture of an illustration of a Dragon from the cover of his book The Wizard and the Dragon. While I can't speak for his talent and merit as an author of fantasy novels, Joseph Anderson is someone whom I greatly respect for their work as a critic of video games. He has had a very consistent voice for gaming since his first his first set of five videos entitled Dark Souls Critique – Part One – Five. Since then Joseph Anderson has consistently gotten better at producing and making these essays, with his best work being multi-hour, in-depth critiques of games ranging from Super Mario Odyssey, to Bloodborne.

However, the one that I find is his best, and the one that I would recommend to people who haven't watched his videos before is God of War – Almost a Masterpiece. This is the video where Joseph Anderson's methodical, long form breakdown of video games shines through the most. Despite covering almost every facet of the game over just about three hours flat, the video remains very focused on his view of the narrative that is set up for later games in this new God of War series. Even when he does stray from the path of the narrative, it's never for nothing and provides a more interesting insight into the gameplay, open world, structure of side quests, and comparisons to the other game's stories and gameplay than I've seen from anyone else covering this game.

Joseph Anderson is a huge inspiration for me. There is very little waste in his videos, and what waste there is always is providing some information, even if it's redundant or excessive. He is someone I honestly cannot recommend enough even if he's never gonna finish that Witcher 3 video.

Other recommendations from his channel:

-The Villian of Edith Finch, a video I would recommend if you don't have time to watch a movie length video. (https://youtu.be/6bMn4CoyUkM)

-A Critique of SOMA, another short one. (https://youtu.be/J4tbbcWqDyY)

-Super Mario Odyssey – It's no Masterpiece, is a video I don't agree with, but is also a video where his arguments about the game make me analyze my own position on the game. In my opinion, the sign of a good critique. (https://youtu.be/kYJx5xt2cB0)

[annelpz]

This is my Lola's coat. My Nana died yesterday.

When someone suffers from a terminal illness, you think you’ll know what to expect when they eventually pass away; you like to imagine that you’ll be somewhat emotionally equipped for it. I was under this impression too, and for the most part I was right. I was composed when I received the message that she had passed, and when I arrived at her house and saw her afterwards, and when the doctor came to verify her death. I was composed when I kissed her forehead for the last time and watched the undertakers carry her away.

I held it together for almost the entire day. It was only as we were getting ready to leave her house that the silliest thing got to me; I caught sight of her coat hanging off the banister. It was the most profoundly forlorn thing I’d ever seen.

It had not been moved since she had placed it there, which was the last time she ever left her house, on Christmas Day last year. It was hung up when she arrived home like it would be on any other day, only it didn’t know that this was the last time it would ever be worn. There was something so hauntingly sad about seeing it hang there in its normal place like it was waiting to be picked up and worn again.

It wasn’t until this moment that I realised she was really gone. It dawned on me that ‘gone’ isn’t some throwaway term or vast black hole by which you can define the absence of someone; it’s the little empty spaces, like a vacant armchair or the slippers by their bed or a redundant coat hanging off the end of the stairs.

‘Gone’ is the half-finished scarf in my Nana’s knitting bag and the packet of jelly babies in her treat cupboard with only half the contents left. ‘Gone’ is the dreadfully trashy subscription magazines on her coffee table which won’t ever get to be read. ‘Gone’ is the hideous 1970’s electric fireplace in her living room that she’ll never switch on again. ‘Gone’ is the watering can sat inside her conservatory, painfully unaware that she won’t be using it to bring her beautiful garden to life this Spring.

When we lose someone, we scan our minds for the most striking memories we have; we look for the big and the brilliant, for the sentimental and the sensational.

In our search for these, we often overlook the charm of the wonderfully ordinary moments in between. I stand in my Nana’s kitchen now and I wish so much that I could just watch her fold her laundry or clean her dishes or make herself a cup of tea – inane, trivial things we take for granted but would kill to experience one more time when it’s all over.

I won’t end this on a patronising, platitudinous, ‘you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone’ kinda note. I’ll leave you with something a little more unconventional: appreciate it the next time you see your loved one put on their coat. Savour that second where they’re stood in front of you in the flesh; in glorious living form, touchable and huggable and real. Embrace the image of them cooking or drinking from their favourite mug or smiling as they walk through the front door.

These are the moments that string together each and every existence. These are the moments which punctuate every beautiful, understated day, so hold on to the value of each moment before it becomes a memory. Squeeze it tight in your heart because one day, unbeknownst to you, will be the last time you’ll ever experience it. One day you may just find yourself in the position that I’m in now; standing before an abandoned coat, wishing you could hug the person who was once inside it just one more time.

Until we meet again, Lola x

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.1

It's here fellas, the mutation sequel that I've mercilessly teased you with!

Content warnings: gore, torture, blood (like... lots), just a bunch of puking up blood, Miranda being her usual mad scientist self, torture in the name of science, Nicole be sick af (both literally and of crow mommy's bullshit), a little bit of blood drinking as a treat, medical procedures.

////

Tic toc tic toc

God that clock is so annoying.

Nicole wasn’t nervous. No. She chose this, at least for the most part. She had a long conversation with all her family, Alcina and Esteria both assuring her that it would work. It’s been years since the beginning of the experiments and by this point the process was almost perfected.

Miranda knew what she was doing.

That mattered little to her nerves though.

She instinctively pushed herself further into Cassandra’s side, who’s grip around her waist tightened ever so slightly.

The waiting was downright tortuous.

She, along with Cassandra and her two sisters were in her infirmary. The room mixed the ancient decor of the castle with modern medical equipment in a beautiful way. Not that anything less would be acceptable. Not that the familiarity of her workspace brought her any comfort either.

All their eyes snapped in the direction of the door when a heavy set of footsteps, with two lighter ones, were heard down the hallway outside. Soon the door opened with a barely audible creak and the two matriarchs entered, followed suit by Mother Miranda. Her presence alone was enough to make Nicole’s breath get lost somewhere in her throat, on its way to an exhale. The black wings, even partially folded as they were, did their job of making her look so much more intimidating than she was. Not that she needed them to begin with, a look from those icy gray eyes more than enough to send anyone to their knees.

Mother Miranda was, in all ways that mattered, a goddess.

A goddess that was about to infect her with the same thing that failed countless times in the past. The same thing that made the crawling mindless beasts used as guard dogs in the undergrounds. Or that made all the lycans.

Nicole gulped, a gesture gone thankfully unnoticed to anyone other than her painfully dry mouth.

But Miranda didn’t spare her a glance. She simply busied herself with some tools she had brought on one of the metal tables. With each clink the room seemed to close in on her slightly more, until Nicole felt as if she somehow ended up in one of Heisenberg's death traps. Spikes moving closer and closer until they would pierce her body and leave her in a messy pool of blood and entrails.

She shook her head and took a long inhale. No. This was going to work. She was not about to lose her family over a pesky thing such as mortality. She was not about to lose Cassandra. If getting infected by the Cadou was what it took to spend eternity with her lover then so be it. Possible side effects be damned.

Mother Miranda finally seemed to have finished, a now empty flask labeled Cadou sitting on the desk behind her while the parasite was writhing in her hand, thin whip-like tentacles extending frantically around itself. She called her over with a nod, and with a deep breath and a parting hand squeeze from Cassandra, Nicole forced her legs to take her across the room. Her steps didn't waver, she'd be damned if she'd show any hesitancy in front of this.

"Shall we begin."

It wasn't a question really, merely veiled impatience. Miranda did not like her, plain and simple. The fact that she was there to begin with was already a miracle. Miracle that wouldn't have happened were it not for the Ladies themselves asking for it.

"Yes of c-"

Before her words even had time to completely slip out of her mouth, golden talons plunged into the base of her sternum.

"Hopefully this can teach you that I don't like people going behind my back."

Nicole let out a choked gasp, hands instinctively wrapping around Miranda's arm, weakly grabbing at black robes. Ironically enough, those very talons were keeping her upright and, when they were removed from her flesh with a disgusting squelch of blood, Nicole curled in on herself, falling to her knees.

"Wha-... cking ki-... -er!"

Cassandra's voice reached her ears broken up, barely passing through the deafening ringing. Miranda also gave a reply and then seemed to address someone else but her much calmer tone meant that it only sounded like a vague mumble.

Not that Nicole particularly cared at the moment.

She curled into a ball, her hands almost clawing at her chest trying to find some sort of relief. It seemed as if vicious tendrils were making their way into every vein and muscle, tearing their way through any tissue they found. Her chest felt as if it had a hot iron pressed directly onto the skin, searing pain radiating in a cruel pulse matching her frantic heartbeat. By that point she was either sobbing or heaving, something that involved shallow breaths for sure. Her lungs were protesting fiercely, emptying of oxygen and then refusing to refill if not with great strain.

To make everything worse, the pain seemed to shift, now engulfing her spine and sending jolts that made her head spin and want to throw up despite her jaws being clenched shut so tightly that she was sure she'd start to taste copper soon.

She was only vaguely aware of hands shifting her body and soothing words that fell on deaf ears. She was now on a softer surface, but that did nothing to alleviate the assault on each of her senses. Probably she had thrown up at a certain point as her sinuses felt like being scraped by sandpaper with each shuddering breath. Her mouth too had a lingering taste of both bile and blood that made her stomach turn all over again. She would give anything for her body to finally shut down.

Why was she still awake and conscious god damn it. There was only so much her body was supposed to take before the brain shut down and she was reaching her limit of how much agony she could endure at a moment.

Please please please just pass out please.

She didn't though. Her body seemingly deciding to feel every single bit of the infection process, complete with the unending waves of pain and nausea that hit her more than she wanted to count. Any bit of sanity left in her would've probably disappeared had she tried.

---

It took two days for the agonizing pain to subside. Another two for Nicole to be able to form any kind of coherent sentence. Cassandra's soothing voice was of immense comfort, always there to tell her how well she was doing and how it would all be better soon.

God she hoped.

On the fifth day, her stomach still lurched at any movement too sudden. Her lungs seemed to fill with blood, courtesy of the still gaping wound at the bottom of her sternum, with any inhale too deep. The fact that she got used to the coppery taste rising up in her throat was disgusting in and of itself. At least there weren't jolts of pain shooting through every nerve and muscle in waves anymore though. That was something.

The fog in her brain was still clearing. It was hard to focus on anything, and each time Cassandra, or anyone else, asked her a question they would have to repeat it at least three times. It was beyond frustrating, the mind that got her through med school drunk half the time was failing the insurmountable task of saying whether or not she'd like some water. Glorious.

A faint knock on the door reached her ears. A redundant gesture really, as she didn't exactly have the clarity of mind to answer. Besides it was hard to catch her in a more compromising state than curled up in the fetal position, covered in sweat and most likely blood clots stuck to her lips.

Esteria came in, her one blue eye that wasn't covered looking at her with all the gentleness neither of her parents had ever offered her. Or it was just the cruel trick of a delirious brain. Either way, light barefoot steps took the Mistress to her bed. She sat in the chair adjacent to it and, with taloned fingers brushing strands of auburn hair out of Nicole's face, she spoke softly.

"How are you feeling today?"

Her voice was just as melodious as ever. It was the voice one imagines they would hear from an ancient being found deep in the forest. It made Nicole just a tad guilty when the only answer she could give was a pathetic whine.

Esteria simply hummed, talons running through the long messy locks of hair sprawled on the sheets.

"Would you like me to braid this for you dear?"

Nicole frowned. The Mistress was an expert at braiding, quick fingers able to make beautiful designs, both simple and complex. Comes with having floor length hair, her hazy mind guessed. On any normal day, Nicole would've accepted without a second thought. But now? Now she was painfully aware of the state she was currently in.

"It's filthy," she croaked, her voice raw and like stones in her mouth.

And it was. Her hair was waist length and right now it was slowly becoming a curse. It was greasy and sweaty thanks to barely being able to move a limb for nearly a week, which meant no showers. Not to mention how she lost count of the times she bent down to empty the contents of her stomach into a bucket, only to have some rebel locks fall in her face and get subsequently dirty. God she felt awful.

Esteria didn't seem to care too much though, as she simply helped Nicole shift slightly and talons started to work at some pesky mats. In no time, her hair was in a comfortable braid that started relatively high, keeping the locks away from her nape which meant just a tad less overheating. Not to mention it kept it in place and away from her mouth that she didn't trust in the slightest right now.

"Thanks," she actually managed to not let her voice crack this time.

"Oh it's no problem. Also," there seemed to be an odd strain in her voice, "Mother Miranda is coming this evening. She said something about an examination."

Nicole couldn't help but openly wince and curl in on herself a little more at the mere mention of the woman. Her chest seemed to pulsate painfully at the memory of the golden talons embedded deep in her flesh. Right now she wanted those hands anywhere away from her.

"What time is it?"

Esteria looked at the clock placed somewhere on the wall behind them. "About twelve. Still got time."

How hard would it be to drag herself to the adjacent bathroom for a quick shower? The only way her situation could get worse was if none other than Mother Miranda came in to see her in that state. She took a deep breath that her lungs protested against and pushed herself onto her elbows. At Esteria's skeptical expression she tried to sound less horrible than she felt.

"I need a shower."

Esteria pursed her lips. "Sorry dear but I don't believe for one second that you can stand for more than a minute. I'll ask a maid to draw you a bath."

Nicole only nodded weakly and let herself fall back into the cushion.

---

It took far longer than Nicole would ever admit to get herself fully clean. Her muscles were sore and protesting at every pass of the soapy sponge. Her hair was a whole other battle and she had to bite down on her pride and ask the maid positioned outside her door for help. It was a tortuous fifteen minutes until the poor girl managed to detangle the long locks enough to be shampooed and washed.

After she was content with the level of cleanliness of her body and the maid was dismissed, she stood there preparing herself to get out of the basin. In the meantime she looked down at the wound at the bottom of her sternum. Maybe wound wasn't the right word. It looked more like a gray and black scar with vein-like tendrils spreading across pale skin. It looked downright gruesome. Miranda really did not try to do a clean job in the slightest. Didn't even think to use anesthesia, like she had with most other experiments, according to Alcina.

She sighed and finally pushed herself out of the water with shaky arms.

By the time Mother Miranda arrived she was feeling slightly better. Why she came personally was still a mystery to Nicole. Maybe some sick sense of satisfaction in seeing her in pain.

Either way, by the time their so-called goddess came into the infirmary and told Nicole to lay down on one of the tables, she managed to shuffle her way over without her body protesting too much. Cassandra also quietly made her way on the opposite side of Miranda, gaining herself a glare.

"Must you hover over her like that?" Miranda's tone was as even as ever, but her eyes betrayed annoyance.

"Does it hinder you?"

Cassandra was not an idiot, the growl she wanted to add into her question was instead replaced by a tone not too dissimilar to Miranda's own, who simply tugged her lips into a grimace.

"Very well."

At first they went through a normal examination. Pupil dilation, reflexes, all things a normal doctor would do. Then Miranda told her to unbutton her blouse so she could take a look at the infection scar.

Nicole couldn't help flinching when thankfully gloved fingers would poke and prod at the sensitive flesh there. Her cold digits felt like hot coals were spread on her chest and nails dragged uselessly on the metal underneath her body for some sort of distraction.

Mother Miranda decided to get a tissue sample and that's when Nicole decided that maybe she would rather spend eternity as a ghost. She squeezed her eyes shut when a scalpel was brought to the overly sensitive skin. It took her back to when she would do autopsies, years ago. Tissue samples were always an integral part of her work. How ironic that she found herself on the other side of things.

It's fine.

She winced when the blade cut into flesh and sent a jolt of pain through her chest. Nicole couldn't help but think of the long days she spent agonizing while her chest felt like it was burning her alive and hoping that it wouldn't repeat. A sigh of pure relief slipped past her lips when whatever fake deity there was besides this woman, listened to her and the sensation died out quickly. She dared to open her eyes, only to see Mother Miranda frowning down at the small vial in hand.

It was quickly given to an assistant and she unceremoniously grabbed Nicole's wrist, dragging the blade across the length of her forearm.

Nicole gasped at the sudden sharp pain, and even Cassandra dropped a few choice words in romanian due to the surprise. No. No no no. What the hell-

Any questions, or less dignified reaction, died in everyone's throats as they watched the skin stitch itself back together. The repairing muscles gave a tingling sensation but soon the only proof that a cut had been there were thin trails of blood.

Mother Miranda chuckled and wrote down something in the notebook she brought with her. "Accelerated healing. That can be of use."

Nicole couldn't help but throw a glance at Alcina, who was sitting in one of the many chairs with Esteria by her side. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of conflicting emotions flashing in her eyes like rapid lightning. She would've tried to decipher their matriarch's probable thoughts were it not for the smell that was starting to assault her senses.

"Ugh what's that…blood… "

Coherent sentences were still not something her brain wanted to do apparently, but judging by how her nose scrunched up in a grimace, Cassandra got the gist of what she meant.

"Um… your arm," she pointed to the still fresh blood slowly dripping from her skin.

Right. Dumbass.

"Or damaged sinuses. Should go away soon," Miranda added from where she was noting something down and giving instructions to her assistant.

Also fair.

She sighed and tried to ignore it. Her sinuses still felt like sandpaper all the way to the back of her throat. Every time she swallowed, it felt like needles scraping the inside of her neck down to her stomach.

Ugh.

Thankfully, Mother Miranda did not linger for much longer. She wrapped up any samples and was out of the room soon after with her assistant in tow. Then, Nicole could finally go back to laying down in bed and feeling miserable.

And miserable she felt. Her body seemed to have decided to rewire itself into its new mutation. It didn't have any effect on her physical appearance, but the insides seemed to want to liquefy only to be mended back together. It was another week of basically living with a bucket in her lap and throwing up blood clots that seemed to invade her lungs and organs. How she didn't straight up asphyxiate was a mystery that she didn't think she wanted solved.

And to top it off, she was starting to think that humidity from some leaky pipe somewhere in the castle was causing a slight mold problem. Almost everywhere she went, there was this faint moldy scent lingering in the air and it was mixing horribly with the coppery feeling inside her still offended throat and sinuses. Nobody seemed bothered by it though, so maybe it was simply a side effect of the infection that was yet to go away. It wasn’t nicknamed the Mold for nothing, after all.

[mrskurono]

title: Sweetness || cult!Geto x sister!Reader

a/n: this is dedicated to one of my fav mutuals hopefully she’ll come back and see this ilysm babe <3 And if your mad about dark content, why you looking at dark content huh? ツ

word count: 1.6k

tags: incest, manga spoilers (if your not up to date on Getou’s entire backstory), mention of eugenics (these are villains mind you), oral (fem!receiving), handjob, cumplay, talks of breeding, dom!reader, language, pwp, semi unedited

character(s): Getou Suguru (jjk)

;| nsfw undercut |;

Getou’s mouth tasted no sweeter than the moments he had his lips around your fingers.

The only thing that would rid him of that horrific taste curses contained. Day in and day out. Searching for something to cure his aliment of such a cursed life steeped in sorrow. Until he found just what he needed. In his sister of all people. 

Footsteps announce his arrival before the two women tending to you do. You stop reading the second he comes into the room. Lavished to the teeth in things only those from money could technically afford. You don’t rushto look up from the book in your lap as Getou dismisses the servants that were at your side. He argued previously that they weren’t servants but those who served his cause. You would laugh but let your little brother do as he must.

Finally when he stands in front of you long enough, you fold the book and look up at the not so little brother before you, “...you look tired Suguru.”

Those words not even an invitation. But he doesn’t care. Alone in your shared room he drops to his knees and lays his head in your lap. Replacing the book all together with his mass of black hair draped over your legs. With a gentle tug you release the rest of his wonderfully silken hair from it’s messy bun. Letting your fingers dance along the fringes of his face until combing your fingertips through his locks.

“You could have asked the servants to draw you a bath.” You remind him softly when he sighs in your presence.

“...they are not servants, those who just seek to help our cause.” Getou muttered into your thigh. His face turning to press his cheek to the warmth of your inner leg. Eye naturally closed as he relaxed into the half embrace. His arms came up to your sides as he curled them around your waist and slumped into your touch, “...You smell nice.”

“Just for you.” It was true. At all times you tried to anchor your younger brother with a sweet familiar scent. You didn’t inherit his same curse technique but as he described it over the years the least you could do was offer him an oasis in the soft smell of your skin.

Getou hummed, eyes still closed, “If only every human was like you.”

“Every human cannot be like me. Unless they were to come from me.”

He leaned into your thigh, “I strive for a world with more of you in it...if people were more like you then-”

“Shhh.” You hushed him with a gentle touch, “That’s enough. You’re tired Suguru.”

That wasn’t false. Getou nodded as he lifted his face from the crook of your legs, “...I wish to give this world nothing more than someone like you...my beautiful sister.”

Charismatic with his words. It was so easy to see why so many people would listen to your brother. Words adorn with nothing but truth, you cup his face as you lean down. Placing your lips against his in a tended exchange.

Leaning up into you Getou’s arms tightened around your waist. Wanting the kiss to deepen in the very moment. Clinging to the taste of your lips as fleeting as it was. For as long as the rancidness of a curse lingered on his tongue. Your taste left him too soon.

Broken for a breath you look at your brother’s expression and hum something with a smile. Replacing your lips with your fingers. Drawing them along Getou’s bottom lip until he opened right away.

“That’s a good boy,” You mutter softly, feeling Getou swirl his tongue around you two fingers. Sucking at them with a hint of desperation. It isn’t until you feel the low moan from him that you draw your fingers from his lips. A dribble of spit following suit.

Turning his attention to your inner thigh, Getou began pressing kisses all along your inner thigh as his words came slowly between the kisses, “...please...let me fill you. Let us make a better world together...you understand. You’ve always understood.”

Once again you hush his exhausted words. Ones you’ve heard a million times since the village was destroyed by his hands. Words you wish to live but haven’t found the right time. And as Getou’s kisses creep up your legs once more. You find it less of a thought to continue the strive for a safer word but instead only consumed by the selfish want of your brother.

Your legs fall apart. Baring the nothing you wore under your robe. Getou’s kisses did not stop at the sight of your uncovered slit. Instead he leaned forward and drew his tongue along your inner most thigh as he caught a scent of your sweet musk mixed with your everyday softness. He relished it. Finding his mouth watering. Only to bite back and look up at you for a moment.

“Go ahead...I’ve always love my little brother’s work.” You smile, touching his cheek as you guide him back between your legs.

That’s all Getou needs to hear. Your praise and your intention to everything he’s done. Within seconds his tongue finds what it’s sought out. Deviling into your folds he moans with gratitude for your taste to wash away everything bitter in the world. The sweet muskiness engulfing his senses as Getou washes his tongue over your clit. 

Unmistakably greedy. He devours you in seconds. Mouth open wide as he sucks and slurps up your slit. More than accommodating when you hike one leg up on his shoulder. Hands continuing to run through his hair as Getou showers your most intimate parts in all his attention. Drawing closer and closer with a stomach tightening knot only made worse when his tongue slips inside you.

“Mmm that’s right....forget the taste of a curse. I’m right here, I’m all you need.” Your sweet musing are interrupted by moans. Falling past your lips as Getou looks up at you. His tongue writing against your entrance as his finger has found your clit. Leaving you nothing but a love drunken look down at him. Stroking his face until your fingers tangle in his hair. Tightening your grip as the wave of pleasure becomes a little too much to hold off.

A firm grip on your thighs to hold you in place. Your little brother rides out your orgasm with the slick of your cunt being licked up frantically. Getou refusing to waste one drop of your wonderful taste. Even as it’s smeared on his lips and infused in his nose. He doesn’t stop until the grip on his hair is loosened and he looks up at you. Chest heaving and smile on your lips. You touch down his face and draw your fingers over your juices on his cheeks. Wiping them clean before presenting them to his lips. Getou eagerly opening his mouth to lick them clean. 

“Come here,” You tap on your thigh, “You’re not too big to sit on my lap are you?”

A very redundant question. Even as adults he wouldn’t turn you down. Getou had to perch on the side of your chair but was more than happy to do so when your hands slipped past his robes.

“Sister...” Getou mumbled when he felt your touch against his cock. Leaving him little chance to hide the twitch in his already hard member as you took him in your grasp.

“Shh...you wanted to make a world filled with us right?” You ask, looking up at him as you slowly pump his cock, “So why not do just that? Give me all your cum Suguru, and we can have all the babies in the world.”

He groaned. Lewd words making him grip the edge of the chair as your hand squeezed him. He could feel every nerve in his body on fire. Pleasure from your hand, the taste of you on his lips and the sweet scent he only knew as his big sister. Left Getou a mess as he looked down fuzzy with pleasure at your hand.

With the way your fingers moved over his swollen tip. Smearing his precum as you went like it was second nature to do so you. No one knew his body like you did. Getou would not argue that. The way you made him feel. It was the reason you were the only surviving member left. He needed you as badly as he wanted you.

“S-Shit-” Teeth clenched Getou huffed in one ragged breath. Urging you to perhaps stop if you wanted to go further. But that fell on deaf ears. 

Your fingers curling around his cock tighter. You quicken your pace only a moment before you felt the throb to his cock. A smile crossing your lips as there wasn’t even a warning before his cum spilled all over your hand. Getou’s low rumbling moans filling the space between the two of you as he rode out his orgasm with each slow stroke of his cock. 

Even as the last dribble of cum oozed out of him. Getou was left taking a deep breath. Suddenly feeling as tired as you said he looked. With a half lidded look he watched you with his cum soiling you hand. For a second he didn’t realize what you were doing before you took his cum and smeared it on your cunt.

Feeling his cum slimy and sticky on your cunt. You make sure he’s watching as you dip your fingers inside and with it, Getou’s cum, “Lets make a world safe for us. Lets fill this world with nothing but sweet love Suguru.”

[guqin-and-flute]

[Modern 3zun Raising Jingyi Au] 

[fueled entirely by @little-smartass‘s 👀 on my first chicken post]

Squa-HAAWWWK! Squank! Squonk! Squonk! Squa-HAAAAAAWK!

“I’m going to have a fucking aneurysm,” Mingjue growled, grinding his thumb into his temple, leaning heavily on the handle of the shopping cart where A-Fu was beating the rubber chicken with the determination of someone completing a decades long plot of revenge. 

Every once in a while, he stopped to throttle it, producing a horrifically loud death wail. Squa-HAAAAAWK!

Xichen shot him a gently reproachful look from scanning the sugar content of the 2 cartoon-festooned cereal boxes in his hands. “Language.”

Squank!

“He’s one."

Squonk squonk!

“Some studies show that children can begin to understand what we say as young as six months,” Xichen warned, then sighed. “Should we get him the one with the marshmallows in it? He loved it when A-Yu babysat but it has so much sugar....”

SQUARNK--AHHHHH! 

A-Fu gave a hearty toddler chortle, kicking his feet up against A-Yao’s side where he stood right next to Mingjue and the din, seeming completely unaffected as he studied his phone. 

SQUAKSQUAKSQUAK--HAAAAAAWK! 

Mingjue stared at the horrible little face the chicken was made with. It looked shocked--like someone had jabbed it with a taser--and somehow, it’s stupid expression made the awful shrieks just that much worse. 

A-Yao looked up at the rabbit on the cereal box in front of him and asked in a faraway voice, “When did I become a suburban mother?” 

“Demonstrably, you are not,” Xichen said in a vague, placating tone, then continued under his breath. “27 grams....that’s practically obscene....”

“When did I start caring what BPA is and what has it?”

Squank! Squinky-squank!

“Technically this is a suburb,” Mingjue muttered, eyes following the trajectory of the chicken’s awful little head with his eyes as his son leaned over to beat it against the shelf. 

Squonk! Squonk! Squonk!

“I have a Target card and I own an ergonomic papoose whose instructions were originally in Swedish.” A-Yao had not moved, staring at the the rabbit mascot as if it had said something distasteful and perplexing. “How did this happen?”

SQU--

“I’m going to throw that thing,” Mingjue warned as A-Fu gleefully squeezed all the air out of its plastic gut, getting ready to let loose another wail of chicken-ish agony.

Abruptly, A-Yao turned and stuck his finger into the chicken’s open mouth with a wide, indulgent grin, muffling the scream to a whine. “Awww Fufu, chicky needs to go nigh-nigh. Nigh-nigh chicky! Oh, yes, there he goes, sleepy sleepy, under the blankets.” In an adept sleight of hand, the chicken went under the pile of shorts in the cart, over to his other hand, and around to the small of his back where Mingjue plucked it from his grip in passing, like an awful yellow football. 

The fussing was revving up behind him when he left the aisle to toss it onto an endcap, but had been miraculously stymied by A-Yao producing some sort of stretchy, antennaed ball in its absence. It was quiet, so that’s all Mingjue could ask for, honestly. His son squashed it and shook it and all that happened was brightly colored lights flashing inside. Silent. Heaven.

"Why did you give that to him in the first place? What were you thinking?”

“You didn’t just shove it somewhere, did you?” A-Yao scrunched his nose up at him, absently petting over A-Fu’s baby fluff.

“I’m not chauffeuring the goddamn chicken back home.”

A-Yao rolled his eyes and went back to his phone, leaning on the handlebar and cocking his hip out. “Never worked retail a day in your life,” he muttered, one eyebrow raised, lips pursed.

Xichen came up and tucked the sugary cereal next to the stack of teething biscuits, reaching out to squeeze both their shoulder’s. “Chicken crisis averted--produce next, please.”

“Thank god,” Mingjue huffed, wheeling the cart around. “So we’re getting the cereal after all? Teething biscuits seem redundant if we’re letting his teeth rot out of his head at the same rate he gets them,” Mingjue pointed, amused.

Xichen merely shook his head with great dignity. “It’s a treat. He’s allowed a treat. We are very careful when we brush our teeth.”

“Sure, sure. Working very hard to justify it,” he added with a grin.

“Don’t tease Er-ge, he’ll feel guilty,” A-Yao scolded absently, even as Xichen looked back down at the box.

En route, he convinced Xichen he was kidding and wrestled the ball away from A-Fu, smushing it against various parts of his face, making him laugh uproariously enough that a nice grandma cooed over his antics next to the squash. When they reached their destination, A-Fu wriggled and reached to be lifted, so A-Yao hefted him onto his hip and listened to him babble seriously about something none of them could yet understand with an indulgent smile. “Ah, I see... Oh, really? Mm, fascinating!”

“I’m culling the toy collection of squeakers,” Mingjue muttered darkly at Xichen under this cute patter, leaning down to put his chin on his shoulder. 

Xichen smiled, a little rueful. “Good luck. I don’t think even I know the extent of his toy collection, and I clean them up daily. I don’t even hear them anymore--they’re like background radiation.”

“Er-ge has been deafened to the particular squeaky toy frequency. It only took him hearing them 12 hours a day for a year, so it’s perfectly achievable. If you start now, you might even make it before he loses interest in them entirely,” A-Yao said dryly over his shoulder from where he and A-Fu were intently inspecting tomatoes.

“Ha. And what about you? You hate inane children’s toys. How are you not on my side?”

“Oh, I’m immune to this particular chicken.”

“How on earth does that work?”

He was given a knowing smirk. “Like I said; you’ve never worked retail a day in your life.” 

[sunlight-moonrise]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much. 

A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog​ and @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt​ for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins​.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness. 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Word Count: 6.4K

Masterlist

Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.

“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.

My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name. 

“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.

“No worries! What can I get started for you?”

As a Criminology major,  I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit. 

Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top. 

Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.  

I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.  

Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.

“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.

“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.

“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag. 

“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”

“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.

“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him. 

“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”

“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”

●●●

After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.

Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.

I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears. 

“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”

I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.

“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”

I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.

My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.

“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.

“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door. 

I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.

“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed. 

“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face. 

He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.

“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us. 

I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony. 

I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead. 

●●●

In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.

I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark. 

“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.

“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”

“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.

There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.

“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”

He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”

“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.

“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.

“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.

“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?” 

This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.

“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”

“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.

“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.

“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”

“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus. 

“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.

“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.

“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”

“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”

“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.

“I should get going.”

“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door. 

That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work. 

●●●

I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.

I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly. 

I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do? 

I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.

Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped. 

“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”

The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.

How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D? 

“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.

I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.

Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel. 

“Professor, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.

“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.

“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.

“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.

I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist. 

●●●

I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions. 

“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.

“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.  

“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.  

“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.

“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“

“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.

“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.

“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.

“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”

“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me. 

“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.

“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.

We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.

Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man. 

I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.

Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.

He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.

I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.

“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.

“Open, and do it right this time.”

I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.

“You’re using only your mouth.” 

Fine, have it your way, Sir. 

I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.

“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.

I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.

“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.

Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.

He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.

“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.

“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”

He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.

“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”

Gee, thanks.

“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion. 

“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.

Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.

Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.

He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.  

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.

“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat. 

“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point. 

“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.

“Try again, who’s fucking you?” 

“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.

“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”

“Professor Reid!” I cried out.

“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.

He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy. 

I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner. 

“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added. 

He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”

[ikroah]

Whiskey river, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me. Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I got, take care of me. —“Whiskey River,” Shotgun Willie (1973)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #15 - Vegas Outskirts

Collaborative Issue! Guest Colorist: @malpaislegate​ / @socksual-innuendos​

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

MAN that’s gotta hurt!! Volume 2 kicks off with a bang, literally if you count the gunshot and honorifically if you count Socks’ knockout color job on this issue. Look at those lovingly rendered bullet wounds!! Muah!!!

It’s been a relief having a month off from the comic as I handled a bunch of other things but there’s a lot to look forward to in Volume 2, as you can probably tell from that very forboding fist clench at the end there. Will Agnes and Cass get the revenge they’re looking for? Can they make it big in Vegas? Will it keep right on a-hurtin’? Find out next ish as Cass leads Agnes to meet the first of their new “friends.”

Original Pencils:

The pencils for this issue are like an autopsy report of all the things that can go wrong with your art if you don’t plan ahead and pay attention. Listen, friend, to my tale of woe, and learn from my mistakes so they don’t become yours!

First, you can see a lot of places where there’s floating objects, empty backgrounds, and incomplete heads. Part of this is because I always intended to just copy and paste repeated elements across each panel instead of drawing them multiple times, but other times I was forced to just because of my lack of planning. The top three panels on page two, for example, required me to draw the background I’d use for them on a separate page.

Second, you can probably tell that I actually had to flip the two raiders around in the final lineart because I forgot to keep the hands their were holding their guns in consistent—and since I couldn’t flip the middle panel on the second page without ruining the composition, I decided to flip all of their other appearances so that they’d be lefties. I doubt you even can seamlessly wield those particular guns left-handed.

Third, the size of the cart that Agnes and Cass are kneeling behind changes CONSTANTLY and is dramatically oversized from the third page onward. After inking these pages, it took a lot of work to correct the inks and shrink that cart in each panel, but fortunately it came out looking good.

And finally, I completely redrew the second panel on the fifth page because it wasn’t until I had already handed he pages off to my colorist that I realized having a second profile shot of Cass so soon after a first one was just...redundant and lazy-looking. So I went back to my sketchbook and whipped up a much more unique, striking angle (I also just wasn’t satisfied with the quality of my art on that panel, so I’m very glad I redrew it). But again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass and my redraw attempt wound up taking up a lot more space than I thought it would, so after inking it I had to basically surgically remove it from the other inks.

I’ll be honest with you folks: part of the reason that I work in such simple, thick, high-contrast lineart is because it’s very easy to make corrections and adjustments with stuff you could technically color in Microsoft Paint.

Transcript:

EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE MOJAVE, morning. AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand over the wreckage of a caravan, scattered over a dirt road.

CASS: Hell.

EXT. SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE MOJAVE, midday. Looking over a second wrecked caravan, at the bottom of a ditch.

CASS: Fuck.

EXT. PRE-WAR HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF VEGAS, mid-afternoon. AGNES and CASS survey a third wrecked caravan.

CASS: Shit. The proof is in the pudding. Or the pile of ash, rather. These attacks were done with Van Graff guns for Crimson Caravan caps. I'm sure of it.

As CASS explains her theory to AGNES, a short distance from the caravan two RAIDERS peer at the two of them from inside a barn at a ruined farmstead. They have snake-bite tattoos on the sides of their shaved heads and are holding rifles.

CASS: The scorchmarks and residue in the wreckages? That's energy weapon shit. Plasma and laser. Silver Rush special. Not like it'd be the Brotherhood. And Crimson Caravan must have bankrolled this fucked-up little hunting trip themselves.

The RAIDERS move out from the barn, sneaking up on two passers-by who’ve stopped at the caravan wreckage.

CASS: That explains why they bought me out...they needed the last loose end to saddle up back west with a tidy sum.

(NOTE: *Agnes delivered it and Cass signed it in IKROAH #7—Lou.)

CASS: It's a racket, Agnes: torch the local competition and it's win-win for both the f—

SFX: KRAK

A gunshot rips out from one of the RAIDERS’ rifles and sears across CASS’ shoulder.

CASS (gasping): —uckers.

CASS slumps down beneath the overturned caravan wagon on the road, clutching her shot shoulder.

CASS: —Aaggghghhhhhhh.

AGNES: Cass! Are you—

CASS: Fuck! Agnes, get down you moron!

AGNES ducks behind the cover of the wooden caravan wagon just as another gunshot splinters the top lip of it.

SFX: DTHWAK!

The RAIDERS advance on CASS and AGNES’ position, firing at them from off the road.

SFX: KRAK

AGNES leans over the top of the wagon with her pistol, returning fire.

SFX: BTAK BTAK BTAK

AGNES lands a shot right in one of the RAIDERS’ guts, and she drops her weapon and falls down.

SFX: SPLUT

CASS, leaning out the side of the wagon, takes as careful of aim as she can with her shotgun by holding it with her good arm. Trembling, she fires, connecting with the other RAIDER.

SFX: KBLAM

The would-have-been RAIDERS are dead.

AGNES: ...were those the Van Graffs?

CASS: No. Just some vultures.

CASS leans back behind cover to sit against the bottom of the overturned wagon again, wincing from her shoulder injury.

CASS: Ugghhn.

AGNES (slipping off duffel bag): Cass, your shoulder—

CASS: Yeah, it's been shot. I'm pretty fucking aware.

AGNES (unzipping bag): Quick, can you take your shirt off—

CASS: What!?

AGNES: —so I can dress the wound, Cass!

CASS: Oh! Good! So you weren't coming onto me on what remains of Griffin Wares Caravan.

CASS starts removing her shirt while AGNES produces a bottle of something from her duffel bag, and dampens a rag with its contents.

CASS: And since when are you a fucking field medic, anyway?

AGNES: 2269. NCR Certified.

CASS: What?

AGES: Yeah. I've been one kind of doctor or another since I was six.

CASS: What?

AGNES: Now hold still, this is antiseptic.

CASS: Since you were six!? I...shit, wait, hang on, Agnes—

AGNES pressess the rag onto CASS’ shoulder wound, and CASS winces instinctively. But, confusingly, there isn’t any pain.

CASS: ...isn't this supposed to sting like hell?

AGNES: No, not really. It's an acetic acid solution. Vinegar, basically.

AGNES begins cleaning the wound with the rag.

CASS: I thought you put alcohol on wounds to clean them.

AGNES: That's...a common misconception. It's good for tools, maybe, but too strong for skin. And it can complicate healing if you apply it directly.

CASS: So you're telling me, all my years, I've been wasting good whiskey only making my boo-boos worse?

AGNES: I mean...it's better than nothing in a pinch, but...

CASS: Well, then. Thanks for the lecture, doc. Can you just pass the whiskey anyway? Shoulder still hurts like hell regar—

AGNES hands her the whiskey bottle. She’d already gotten it out.

CASS: —dless. Oh. Thanks.

AGNES unspools a roll of bandages in her hands, then begins wrapping it over CASS’ shoulder and across her chest..

AGNES: So. It's a relatively minor wound, more of a deep graze than a real gunshot.

CASS: You'd know all about real gunshots, huh?

AGNES (unfazed): Uh-huh. I can suture it if necessary, but for now, these bandages will be fine. Just hold still. How do you feel?

CASS: I feel fucking pissed, Agnes!

AGNES recoils, taken aback slightly.

CASS: As I was saying before I got shot in the shoulder—which, however "minor" the wound, is real fucking close to my head, Agnes—this wasn't some random attack. These caravans, my caravan, got hit by the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan. It ain't just some tragedy anymore. Now I've got names. Places. Faces.

AGNES resumes bandaging CASS.

CASS: I told you—ow! Don't pinch my tit, dammit—

AGNES: I said hold still.

CASS: —I told you, when you told me about this guy who shot you...when I let you drag me out of that fucking outpost...and when we went to Boulder City...that I would do the exact same thing in your shoes. Now, it is the exact same thing. This fucker shoots your eye out, these fuckers ash my caravan...these same fuckers I sold my own goddamn name to on a piece of paper. I mean...what else are we doing out here, Agnes? Getting shot at by Khans and Raiders just for kicks? Are we just fucking around?

AGNES finishes bandaging CASS, then leans back, pensive.

AGNES: No...no, I really guess we’re not.

CASS: That's what I thought. Your friend in Vegas can wait. Help me get mine, and we can get that shitheel together, and that's a prom—

CASS raises her arm  to shake her fist as she speaks, straining her shoulder injury.

CASS: —mmmmmmghhhh. Ooww, oww, oww, oww...

CASS grabs her shoulder in pain while AGNES looks off in the distance and stands up. She looks out towards the horizon—towards VEGAS, and the pre-war casinos and hotels that still gleam and glitter in blinding sunlight.

Her fist clenches. Her brow furrows. Her body tenses, all over, staring at that city, that place.

The caravan wreckage remains alone on the highway, brahmin bones long picked clean by scavengers.

AGNES SANDS IN: IT KEEPS RIGHT ON A HURTIN’

VOLUME 2: MAKE IT BIG IN VEGAS