#anatomy crimes have been commited

[chikinan]

noi drawing with zine printing in mind 💭

[ohkkotsuu]

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒! utahime iori.

ৎ୭ PAIRING: utahime iori x f!reader (she/her pronouns, afab anatomy)

ৎ୭ ABOUT: you and your boyfriend, satoru gojo, have been fighting for a while now. he has been paying too much attention to other girls, breaking your heart and ignoring your needs. when it gets back to utahime, she sees the opportunity to help you, like a good veteran.

ৎ୭ CW/TW: [ NSFW ]. college au/no curses au, cheating (reader cheats on satoru, implications he cheated too), reader is multi, shoko is a bad friend to satoru here i think?? she and utahime talk about fucking you. geto flirted with you (off-screen). utahime is head over heels for you without even noticing. tbh gojo is a bit of a jerk here, but everyone acts like jerk, ngl. utahime was originally going to do it out of petty revenge but she really started to like you. there's a gay vibe between shoko and utahime (they joke about a three way with you), and between gojo and geto. everyone is kinda multi implied. everyone is on college (around 21-26)! reader is a sophomore, gojo is a junior, utahime is a senior. honorary mentions: nanami is a freshman, geto is a junior, shoko is a junior. ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I'M NOT A GOOD SMUT WRITER, I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS — this is my first time writing anything along these lines (smut) im sweating buckets, not proofread

PORN WITHOUT MUCH PLOT; fingering, facesitting, 69, mentions of previous sex (among reader and gojo), exhibitionism, possessive behavior (utahime towards reader), praise/worship kink, getting caught, a bit of cuckolding?? nicknames (pretty, darling, princess, lovely, angel).

＃TAGGING: @maisieisbae • thanks for your support! <3

UTAHIME was sure that living with satoru gojo was a kind of divine penance. payment for crimes she committed in a past life. there is no other explanation for how terrible it is to have to deal with a man like him.

and it only got worse when satoru gojo, the worst man she's ever known, got a new girlfriend. you. and oh, you. you were perfect — you are perfect, but you're gojo's. he doesn't let anyone forget, and that makes utahime angrier than any of his lame jokes.

because he could never do you justice.

the first time utahime saw you, she reluctantly found herself at a party she didn't even wanted to attend. that's what she gets for betting against shoko on poker night (she always wins, after all). however, she made the most of the situation by settling into a cozy corner, sipping on her drink while chatting with shoko about anything on mind. exams, people being jerks, the hot girl shoko wants to call, — and utahime's motivational support was important, of course — anything, really.

from her secluded spot, she couldn't help but observe her younger peers recklessly flirting, which added to her growing disdain for the party. she just wanted to de-stress from exam week, but the environment only added to her headache. she was ready to punch any idiot if they made a move on her or her friend. prying eyes and drunken men quickly turned away from the woman's aggressive gaze, making shoko laugh.

as she scanned the room, utahime noticed a familiar face — geto, one of the popular idiots (as she sweetly called them), talking to a group of girls. his flirtatious attitude is usual, what is unusual to see him without his equally well-liked best friend. that damn satoru gojo. utahime couldn't help but feel curious about why he was alone this time. it was strange not to see the partners in crime together.

“is gojo fuckin’ a girl on the second floor or something?” she asks curiously, making shoko raise an eyebrow. “the trash there is all alone.”

shoko giggles, snatching utahime's drink from her hand, earning some protests of her, to take a sip. the alcohol burns in her throat, but she loves anything that burns after all. she stares at her friend and shakes her head no.

“haven't you heard? satoru got a new girlfriend. real cutie.” utahime finds herself interested, tilting her head to encourage her friend to continue. and speaking the truth this time. “okay, you got me. she's hot. like, I mean it. not going to lie, got me really jealous. she's just my type.”

“you got any pictures?”

while shoko searches which coat pocket her cell phone is in (she can never find it at first try), utahime watches who enters through the door. she scowls, rolling her eyes. speak of the devil — satoru gojo himself, but he's not alone. utahime doesn't expect much as he pulls whoever it is along with him to join the party, heading to the dance floor.

gojo always has a girl, or more than one, around him. he is like a light bulb, effortlessly bringing the moths to him. be a girlfriend, fling, sneaky links. it is never lasting. he's the kind of asshole who won't settle for just one girl, and ends up breaking the hearts of several and just disappearing. sometimes he and the other trash (geto) seem to forget they're in public, and act like two hormonal assholes with those girls.

honestly, utahime doesn't know why so many girls find them attractive. what's so special about them? for her, they're cute at best. physical appearance does not make up for the fuckboy attitude. instead of settling down for guys who would care for them, take them on dates — like that freshman, nanami, the kind blonde —, they choose to run after whoever will break their hearts after a good fuck.

then, she sees you. oh, you— good lord. utahime can't help but stare at every step you take, arm in arm with your boyfriend, with him grinning from ear to ear as he guides you through the party. you are the most beautiful girl she has ever seen. with a sweet smile, well-done makeup, in a tight party dress — holy fucking crist. she doesn't even realize that her jaw has dropped or that she's in a trance until shoko nudges her.

“told you.” she has a smirk on her face, and utahime can feel her face heating up in jealousy. “pretty, isn't she?”

“pretty is an understatement. c'mon. what is she doing with a stupid fuck like gojo, anyway? damn, that dress. i can see her thighs.” iori watches you from afar, as your boyfriend asks drinks for the two of you. “how long have they been together?”

shoko thinks for a moment, rummaging through her phone. utahime peeks over her shoulder and she can see that she is searching for your instagram page.

“two months, i think?” shoko laughs when her friend let out an impressed whistle. “It's a new record for satoru, I know, but damn. a girl like that, I would also be with for long. check her insta.”

utahime blames the redness of her cheeks on alcohol. while shoko shows her your page full of selfies, she has to restrain herself from picking up her cell phone and immediately following you. there are so many pictures — pictures of you in baggy pajamas, chilling at home with your boyfriend. bikini photos at the beach or pool. a photo at night, in the stars. and you're so, so pretty in all of them. god damn satoru gojo. always getting the best out of the best.

“don't even look at me with that face, I haven't tasted her, and I won't.” shoko says with a pout. utahime's eyes are still focused on her phone — she's liking a picture of you in a bikini, in what seems to be satoru's house for a pool party.

“what do you mean?”

the music at the party background seems irrelevant. after seeing you, utahime can only hear her own heart hammering in her chest. goddamit, she thinks. im acting like the trash.

“y’know, satoru is always sharing his girls with suguru. they never invite me, though, those assholes.” she says without much resentment, shrugging. “I had asked to go along this time, only that suguru told me that he asked to have her too, and satoru wouldn't let him.”

“you're kidding.” utahime says, shocked. that can't be true. shoko laughs.

“I know, right? they share everything. but i think satoru really likes this one. he doesn't want to leave anything to geto. or me.”

utahime turns her head to see you again. the beautiful girlfriend of satoru gojo. who's actually being ignored as mentioned jerk is paying more attention to his phone than to his girlfriend. utahime feels anger burning inside of her. if she had a girlfriend like you nothing could hold her attention.

“you wanna hit it? i think she's very faithful, so you might wanna avoid being direct.”

“oh, please, shoko.” utahime crosses her arms. “she's that idiot's girlfriend. she will be unhappy with him, look at her face, she's unhappy already. every unhappy woman can use a helping hand, can't she?” both of them smirk at that. “besides, he seems to be getting tired of her already. two months is too much for him. the biggest commitment gojo ever made was a tiny tattoo or something.”

shoko laughs at that. “true, true. why don't you invite her over? i have her number.” she says in a sing-song voice, but utahime shakes her head no.

“i have a better idea, but thanks.”

ieiri just shrugs and smiles at her. the partners on crime can be terrible, but these two know how to misbehave too.

“any chance you invite me, too? three is much better than two, huh?” utahime gives her a light push as a joke, and they both laugh. she looks at you again, smirking slightly, more to herself than to anyone else.

“nah. veterans first.”

utahime's plan actually starts with a simple motive: petty revenge. gojo is the worst of all juniors — since she was a sophomore and he was a freshman, she had no peace. unfortunately, the coming of shoko on her life brought the coming of this imbecile along with her.

there were always reasons for satoru's jokes or mockings. he had this constant joking tone, but she understood how cruel he could be. always bragging about his perfect grades, his good results in sports, how he managed to be captain of the debate club before she could, and of course, bragging about how he could get good pussy without lifting a finger. he had no respect for seniors (or any authority figure, frankly), especially utahime. so teaching him a lesson was the only necessary way to sent a message.

It started in a cliche but simple way. you were at the library, having trouble looking up a stupidly specific book — needed in a research essay required by one of your classes. the library index looked more disorganized than anything, although it's function is exactly the opposite.

it would take half of an afternoon just to find the research materials, and who knows how long to get everything you needed for the essay. not to mention sitting down and writing it all down.

“do you need help?” you hear a voice calling from behind you. you turn on your heels to see a woman. you recognize her. is that woman who is always with shoko, satoru's friend.

“that would be lovely, thanks.” you smile, and she moves close to you to offer assistance. “you're a senior, right? utahime? thanks for the help.”

she nods. god, you're so sweet, she thinks. satoru doesn't deserve you. you introduce yourself quickly and she smiles at you. after a good few minutes of searching and casual conversation, she pokes your shoulder.

“so, this is what you're looking for?” she hands you a heavy book.

“yes! that's it! oh, thank you. you just saved my life on this essay.” she giggles, giving you a reassuring nod.

“hey, no worries. that subject was hell when I was a sophomore. but im good at it now.” she puts her hands on her hips. “are you having difficulties? I can be your tutor, no problem. you don't even have to pay me. courtesy to a friend of shoko's.”

your smile widens, and iori swears her heart skips a beat. in fact, the idea was perfect. satoru and you have been fighting over the last few weeks with the attention he's been giving to random girls (usually in miniskirts). shoko is busy always studying or cheating, and geto — well, he's geto. satoru's best friend who will always side with gojo. so things have been lonely around your house.

plus you know utahime is one of the best in her class. a veteran's help that fell for you at the right time, like a gift from heaven.

“i would be very happy about it, actually. thank you so much! wait, take my number. let's schedule it on days when you're free, okay?”

“uh-huh. perfect.” utahime feels herself smiling like a fool while you exchange phone numbers.

it was the beginning. the preparation of the land. now utahime had to move on to the next part.

tutoring took place every wednesday night. a day you originally planned to spend with satoru at the beginning of your relationship, full of dates and romantic promises — until he starts to get tired. being late for dates, not showing up to them, being seen or photographed at some party instead. then wednesdays nights as a couple just stopped happening. the frequency was decreasing until it stopped completely. you don't even want to see satoru's face after your last fight. he's been acting like a jealous asshole, freaking out at anyone who talks to you. when you try to do the same, he acts like you're insane.

this is one of the concerns you share with utahime. it's been almost five weeks since she's been helping you with the subject — she was the first person you told about your straight A on the essay —, and you have become close. she carries your stuff sometimes, walks you around campus. you text each other late into the night, laughing over silly cat videos or talking about preferences. she's not just a tutor or a senior, she's your friend.

she is a much better listener than satoru. especially in recent times. he rarely visits your apartment now, and you're giving him the cold shoulder. you even started avoiding geto, not wanting to hear through him how your boyfriend is sorry and he is going to change or whatever mess he makes up this time. utahime is the first one you share everything with now. she is happy for her achievements, celebrates with you for them. she's always checking up on you — if you are drinking water, resting. if you can't sleep, she calls you during the night and you laugh until you pass out from tiredness. she makes your anxiety and sadness go away when she's around.

satoru knew how to tolerate, utahime knew how to listen. an important and crucial difference: while moving away from your boyfriend, you grew closer to utahime. every little message or request to do something, even if it was drinking at a random bar, warmed your heart. it was always crowded at first, with even a few freshmen. but then, she reduced the group, and now it's customary for just the two of you to go out.

when you're together, utahime doesn't pay attention to anything else. nobody else. no girl in a miniskirt attracts her attention. her cell phone could beep for minutes and she wouldn't even spare it a glance when you're in the same room as her. she is kind, respects your limits, does her best to help you with everything and is happy when you are happy.

and honestly, she's beautiful. you can't take her gaze away even when you should be paying attention to what she says, not her appearance. she is wearing dark jeans, a black tank top that shows a lot of skin. so simple yet so elegant. her hair is tied in a low ponytail, and she's sitting by your side on your couch, pointing to something at your notebook screen.

she's saying something, but your brain can't quite process the words. the way her lips move is kind of hypnotic.

“and here, you have—” she snaps her fingers in front of you with a smile. “are you listening, angel?”

petnames became a thing. you let her call you that a few times and now, utahime seems addicted to it, even though she doesn't do it in public.

“yeah, no, you got me, sorry. can you repeat that?” she shrugs. normally, she would be irritated by someone who doesn't listen to a tutoring session. but with you?

iori has all the patience in the world and then some more when it's about you.

“i think we could use a break anyway. five minutes and we start again, all right?” you nod as she leans in to kiss your cheek, like she usually do to reward you for a good answer.

as utahime gets up to fetch some water from the kitchen, you start thinking about your relationship with her. the word sounds more serious, something beyond friendship, but there's nothing more fit to it. you realize that you and she are definitely getting closer than usual friends. you feel comfortable in her presence and enjoy her company, and she clearly enjoys yours. in fact, you have noticed that your senior really likes closeness and physical contact, and it's interesting how much you do too. you wonder: this is just a coincidence or if it's a sign of something more?

satoru, always appearing when uninvited even in thought, flashes through your mind. in the beginning of your relationship, he was as lovely as utahime, but things cooled down over time. you start to compare your current relationship with utahime to your past relationship with satoru. you realize that while things may have started out strong with satoru, the passion eventually fizzled out. with utahime, however, you feel a deeper connection that continues to grow with each passing day. could this be something more than friendship?

the guilty of thinking about this when your boyfriend is away consumes your insides. but there's this sparkling though, that question whose answer you so ardently want: what would utahime be like as your girlfriend?

“hey.” she calls, moving closer to you. her glass of water was left on the table on your living room. “you ok? what's on your mind?”

she's so sweet. so sweet and worried all the time, trying to make you comfortable and happy. she would make an wonderful girlfriend.

“yes.” you have to shake that though. what are you thinking? this is utahime, your kind senior. and you have a boyfriend. “just— got stuff on my mind.”

“about you and gojo?” she sits down beside you, worried, watching you nod. “that asshole doesn't return your calls, does he?”

you're never imagining the contempt in her voice. for some reason, utahime really doesn't like satoru. but it's understandable. the way he's been acting lately, doubts about your relationship with him are sprouting like fruit on a tree.

you feel tears well up in your eyes. utahime let out a gasp, worried as hell now. where is the satoru who would bring you flowers and spend hours talking to you when you can't sleep? could he really have just gotten sick of you? got bored?

that's what everyone said it would happen. satoru is not a one woman man, he never was. and judging by the look of things, he never will be. your relationship has just gone downhill steadily over the last few weeks. if you had someone like utahime, none of this would be happening.

“hey.” she calls you gently, whispering your name. utahime puts a hand on your face, tilting your head to look at her. her thumb is wiping away your tears. “don't cry. please. that jerk doesn't deserve you, he doesn't deserve your tears. you could do so much better. you only deserve the better.”

there is an odd consensus that you sense when you look into her eyes. something you two are thinking about. the best is not him.

you're trying to get some words out, to figure what to do next— when utahime leans in, looking you on the eye. her voice is a gentle z soft whisper you thought you wouldn't hear from anyone else. your heart skips a beat.

“can i kiss you?” there's so much despair. so much desire to have you in her voice, like you've never heard from anyone else. something that goes beyond a passing lust or a quickly acquired love.

instead of saying anything, you put your hands on her face, pulling iori close. you smash your lips against hers, letting out a soft sigh against her mouth because of how good it feels. she kisses calmly, a controlled and subtle desire — that's still there, but there is no rush.

there is no explanation for how good this moment is. when you pull apart, she looks at you. what do you whisper sends shivers down her spine.

“again.” her eyes widen. “kiss me again, utahime. and don't stop.”

she leans in, practically smirking against your lips. “whatever you wish, princess.” and she does exactly as you told her.

even though utahime is in no hurry, she gets bolder with every brush of lips. her hands wander around your body and settle on your waist. she pushes her tongue against yours out of the simple desire to be that close to you. it's not a rush. there's desire there, but it's more than that, more than just a passing desire for a good fuck. more than you ever felt coming from satoru.

oh, lord. your boyfriend is travelling and you're here. it's late at night and you're making out with utahime on the couch in your apartment, moaning against her mouth because how good it feels when she sucks your tongue, how she grabs your waist.

iori leans back again, licking her lips — a bit coated with your saliva and hers. the way she looks at you, with that much adoration on her eyes...it makes you forget about gojo in a heartbeat.

“wanna take this to the room, pretty?” and you never said yes so fast in your life.

just once. just this once, just tonight, you promise yourself. what a good liar.

not even you can blame withdrawal on the lewd way your body reacts to hers. utahime undresses you gently, laying you down in bed. the lights on, the curtains drawn, blotting out the sky outside and leaving just you and her. not even the stars will be a witness to it. no other people, no doubts, just you and utahime. the door was left slightly ajar, and she is enjoying each new inch of skin she sees, layer after layer of fabric being leisurely removed. she'll dedicate this whole night just for you, and every other night you want her.

you pull her hair tie, watching the strands coming lose and letting her hair down. she chuckles as she leans down to kiss you again. gentle, soft pecks. you are being treated like glass, like the most precious thing on her life — and it's making you really, really wet.

ever since satoru simply disappeared from the map and only left a message saying he was going to travel, fulfilling your desires all on your own has been an arduous task. she's undoing the clasp of your bra, admiring how your body looks in underwear. better than her sexiest dreams.

“black lingerie, lovely?” you blush and nod, helping her get rid of the rest of your clothes and panties. “i love it.” she whispers, lips pressed against yours, eyes wandering down your body. “help me undress, pretty? it's not fair if you're the only one naked, although I really enjoy the view.”

she chuckles sweetly, seeing your hands move to help her out her crop top, while she's undoing the buttons on her jeans.

“utahime, you're so pretty.” you whisper is like something heaven-sent, just for her.

“am i? you're the pretty one here darling.” utahime wants to give herself a self-control medal for going so long without kissing you. and now that you're naked underneath her, she wants nothing else than to touch you.

but she forces herself to be patient until you two are naked. she gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, whispering a “good girl” as her hands move to cup your breasts. the sensation is quite new, her fingers twisting and pulling your nipples, making moans erupt from you. your tits were never the focus on any previous sex you had.

“mm— ah, utahime, this is...”

“no one played with your nipples before? you seem quite sensitive here.” she pulls one nipple slightly, delighting in the way you moan.

god, you're so pretty she can't decide where to touch first. you're laying down on the mattress, with her sat and settled between your legs. the way you look at her makes her whole body shiver, and utahime bites down her lip as her eyes and one of her hands wander down. her fingertips graze over your stomach, lower abdomen, and—

“is this okay?” she whispers, and you look at her, surprised. “we can stop if you want. we can always stop.” she's so sweet, looking you in the eyes, searching for any sign you're uncomfortable.

but you've never been so comfortable and worked up, really. you nod, looking at her hands.

“yeah. yeah, please— keep going.”

“okay, pretty.” her hand moves down, index finger sliding among your folds, relishing in the wet sound. that gets a moan out of you and a smirk out of iori. “you're so wet. is this all for me, angel?”

“mmm.” you nod, biting down your lip and yelping when she pinches your nipple.

“don’t hide your noises. I'll start touching you now, okay?”

when she gets our approval, her fingers tease you, opening your cunt for a better view. utahime licks down her lips — for weeks now she has been wondering what it tastes like. but patience. she can't have everything in one night, if she wants you wholeheartedly.

she needs to make you want more. and that's exactly what she does, thumb playing with your clit and her other hand giving some special treatment to your breasts. as she ordered, your mouth falls open, letting out lewd noises. it's like you're doused in gasoline and utahime is a spark. her touch sends flames throughout your body.

she gets you panting in seconds, and stops. utahime chuckles meanly at your whines of complaint. “relax, princess.” she instructs, raising her hand to lick of your juices from her fingertips. “i'll start using my fingers just a bit. tell me if it hurts, alright? and help me here when I touch you.”

she coats her fingers in saliva, bringing them down to your entrance again. she massages you, slowly entering one finger as she looks you in the eyes. she can't believe she had to wait so long to see this. your flushed face and erotic moans make every second, every night full of wet dreams of that moment, every minute desiring you more than anything — it's all worth it. she has you now.

she checks that you're okay and starts moving her wrist. you're so wet, the noise of her finger entering you enough to make your cheeks burn. she's trying to find something, her fingertips pressing your insides gently, here, there, until—

“ah!” you moan when she hits your sweet spot.

“found it.” she adds one more finger, pressing onto that spot again and again, making you squirm.

“uta— hime! utahime!” the hand on your chest moves to your waist, helping you grind against her. utahime uses her thumb to play with your clit, making your back arch a bit. “i'm close!”

“yeah? go on, lovely. make a mess on my fingers.” the stretch of a third finger being added is quickly forgotten as your orgasm wash over you. your legs shake, your back arches fully off the bed, and you're grabbing the sheets for dear life.

she doesn't stop immediately, like your boyfriend usually would if he wasn't cumming. she helps you ride out your high. utahime pulls her fingers off you slowly, licking the mess on her fingers, putting them entirely on her mouth while keeping eye contact with you. erotic. half of your brain doesn't fully function. this was so good, better than any orgasm you had before. she found all your weak spots and hit them perfectly.

utahime caress your thigh gently. a nod of approval, which she usually did to congratulate you on a correct answer in tutoring classes. always rewarding you. utahime leans in to give you a kiss, making you taste yourself on her tongue.

“was that good?” she asks as she leans back.

“you’re kidding me?” you're still trying to catch your breath. is she insane? can't she see how perfect this was? “it was amazing. really, really good—” you hesitate, but she smiles at you.

“go on, angel. tell me what's on your mind.” she gently encourages, voice a bit husky.

“can i do anything to make you feel half as good?” you suggest, shyly.

the glint in utahime's eyes would be dangerous if it weren't so attractive. she tilts her head to the side, pretending to think about something — but you two know. she's been dreaming about it for weeks. she is just choosing what to do.

“there is something, yes. we only do if you want it, though.”

you nod, waiting for her to continue. “what is it?”

“did you ever tried facesitting with a woman?”

that's how you're laid back, with utahime hovering over your face. she smells sweet, addictive even. you wonder if the sex is feeling so good because of how you two get along. but that doesn't matter that much now. she's turned so she can touch you, making your legs wide open, facing the door.

“i'm not going to put my full weight on you, but if you need to breathe, tap my thighs or my waist three times. three times, you hear me?” you hear her voice from above you.

“mm-hmm.” you confirm, hands on the top of her thighs, pulling her to you and giving an experimental lick on her cunt. utahime moans softly, and you see that as permission to continue. you feel her taste on your tongue, and it's so good.

soon the gentle, kitten licks you're giving her are becoming more hungry, desperate ones. iori closes her eyes and let her mouth hang open, letting out moans. her hands are flat against your stomach, trying to steady herself.

“oh, that's it, angel.” she praises. “that's so good, keep licking like that. mmm.”

she's on heaven right now, she's sure of it. satoru gojo's cute girlfriend is eating her out just like she dreamt about for weeks. one of her hands move down to your cunt, just as wet as hers.

utahime licks her lips and moves down to lay over you, taking some hair out of her sweaty face and starting to return the favor. you grab her hips, her ass, giving it a light squeeze.

the feeling is electrifying. there is no other way to describe it beyond that. she makes every nerve in your body burn with the flicks of her tongue, as you do for her. she grabs your thighs, pulling them apart. you can feel her muffled moans against your pussy, the vibrations rushing straight to your core.

and the feeling of your tongue on her cunt is the most perfect she ever felt. utahime smirks to herself, thinking about ways to convince you to do this more. but she won't have to. one night has already turned you two into addicts. existing without each other will become impossible after that.

and that's where the best part happens. utahime is giving kitten licks on your clit when she raises her look, looking at the door. her eyes widen as she sees who's standing there: satoru gojo himself, watching you two through the opening with a terrified look on his face.

there is a bouquet of flowers in his hands. the poor thing is pale and utahime would feel sorry for anyone else. she realizes that, from your position, cunt on your face, you can't see him. you don't even know he's there, since gojo didn't make a sound. then she leans back from your cunt, feeling you whine against hers. she doesn't even have to try hard to look happy. you make her so happy.

and she'll make you happy like this idiot never did.

utahime returns to the original position, grinding her hips against your mouth, bringing a hand to finger you and replace her tongue. she looks satoru straight in the eyes as she moans loudly. it's so obscene.

“oh, pretty, just like that. you love licking your senior's pussy, don't you?” your hum of annoyance almost makes her cum on the spot. the way you grab her hips and pull her more to you is driving her insane. but she still has a secondary goal.

she smirks seeing gojo grimace like that. in years, she had never seen him so upset, so angry. and she can guess why. i think satoru really likes this one, shoko said. he broke so many hearts without giving a damn, provoked utahime several times — and on the day he finally, truly likes a girl, his senior is fucking his girlfriend.

well, after tonight, you'll certainly won't be his anymore. utahime will make sure of that. she enjoys the fact that her back arches when you lick her so eagerly, to stare right at him mockingly.

“told you, y-you could do so much better than him. atta girl. perfect little girl, i want your cunt all to myself now.” she shivers as you moan in agreement, her dirty talking turning you on. “haah— you're really close, aren't you, angel? it's okay. I am, too. i wanna cum on your mouth, okay? you'll let me? ‘going to let your senior make a mess on your tongue?”

“uh-huh!” it's hard to talk when you're so overwhelmed by her taste, by the sound of squelch squelch squelch her fingers make when they enter your cunt again and again. she leans in to spit on it, making you moan and shiver, trying to pull her back to you.

“you're never going to let him hit it again, right, princess?” her question makes a vein of anger pop out on satoru's neck. she never saw him so bothered. so, utahime continues, lifting her hips a bit so you can talk, but not see. “who does this cunt belongs to? remind me and I'll let you cum.”

you whine when she's off you, quick to answer and get your release. “yours! yours, utahime! a-ahh— please go harder! i wanna cum!”

she lowers her hips back down, moaning when your mouth eats her like that. she tilts her head to the side, spreading your legs more for gojo to see how much of a mess she's making you. her thumb plays with your clit again, and she starts humping her hips against your tongue, moaning loudly.

“that's right.” she licks her lips and looks the man right in the eye. “all mine, princess. now go on. cum for me.”

her words are the final push that sends you over the edge. your eyes roll to the back of your skull, and the way you moan against her cunt is obscene. utahime finger-fucks you during your high, making you squirm, undecided if he's trying to run away or lean more into her touch. you thrust your tongue inside of her and that's when she loses it.

she cums almost at the same time as you, riding your face while looking your boyfriend in the eye. you two ride out your highs, and she lifts her hips slightly to help you breathe more easily. your eyes are closed, and you're panting. she's breathless too, trying to regain control do to one last thing.

she bites down her lip, and when things are calming down and he's about to leave, pissed, utahime moves her lips to him without making a sound. a phrase she'd said hundreds of times to him before, but he'd never listened to her.

“respect your senior.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀> there will be no part 2.

©OHKKOTSUU on tumblr.

[meanbossart]

Ask Compilation: Advice, influences and Misc.

Apologies for taking so long on some of these, admittedly I'm much more likely to entirely forget about asks that are about me and my interests 💃 Thank you for all the questions regardless! And thank you specially to everyone who just drops nice messages into my inbox out of kindness.

I'm brazillian and a native portuguese speaker!

I'll probably return to twitter eventually, but a) I hate that place and b) It didn't make much sense to me to turn it into a BG3 account out of the blue. I am considering making an Instagram or a new twitter just to have more places where people can follow in case they don't care for tumblr, but it's just been a very busy year so far and so that's kind of low on the list of priorities. If I ever do that I'll be sure to announce it here. Have a nice day yourself!

Sorry to hear that! I've gotten a few messages before about this issue, and the problem is that since I am myself not from the US, my options are also limited :( a lot of patreon alternatives don't work for me because they either don't go through paypal, take insane currency conversion fees, or just straight up block me from signing up.

Speak for yourself, I just assume everyone I speak to online has committed some sort of atrocious crime until proven otherwise. Except for me - of course. I have never done anything bad in my life.

I still have a lot to learn! But I will basically use whatever works for me at the moment, as well as make a sincere effort to learn about musculature and anatomy so I can understand those components and how they move, instead of only knowing what they look like when still - that's how you get better at drawing from memory. Volume mostly comes from coloring and understanding light, which is it's own beast but can very much be learned from similar reference materials and observing it IRL!

My favorite places to get reference are medical diagrams, weird pictures I take of myself, 3D software (often Virt-a-mate) and questionably phrased image google searches.

My favorite artists are Jason Shawn Alexander and Sean Murphy, but I'm not sure how much of it reflects in my art nowadays! I generally seek to pick up techniques from artists rather than to emulate style.

Honestly I love that you guys generally do the thing he would hate the most: take him very non-seriously LOL

I've been in a real Chelsea Wolfe and Amyl And The Sniffers kick lately! But usually you'll also find me listening to stuff like Boy Harsher, Swans, FWF, JK Flesh Lingua Ignota, Nick Cave, David Bowie, and so on. Music for the weird gays, basically.

I went insane and wrote a 23-chapter-long-and-still-ongoing fic in like four months. But also - I'm not that good, I'm just shamelessly pretentious LOL

Hm. That's a good question, but I'm not really sure. Sincerely not trying to be a edgier-than-thou here (in fact, this has made me a little self conscious at one time or another) but a lot of art that I don't mean to be horror-y in nature at all has been associated with the genre. So perhaps I don't know what I'm doing either, LOL.

I think just leaning on making things look slightly "wrong" or "ugly" on purpose is the way, but I also find that if you just seek to depict people as they are instead of idealized versions of themselves, you will arrive at that either way.

Thank you for reading! Honestly, I'm guilty of having not read much at all since I was in my late teens, and the style I'm employing for ANE is very different from the things I would call "influential" for me, or even that I used to enjoy reading at all before. I read a lot of Chuck Palahniuk as a youth (and, no slight to people who do like him still, but nowadays I'm not sure why I ever did. His stories don't speak to me at all anymore) as well a lot of weird experimental lit that I didn't even care to remember the name of. My last book stint from one or two years ago was composed solely of historical and medical literature, and last year I got really into Cormac Mcarthy thanks to the internet.

So, all in all, I'm absolutely all over the place LOL if you put a gun to my head and told me to list my favorite books, I'd say The Indifferent Stars Above and Blood Meridian.

(Consider the reading portion of the question to have been answered above) I really really liked Beau is Afraid and think it's a really great "horror" movie. Sue me.

[newrhys]

im insane and a nigel defender for life so heres my theory/take on like minds

i truely think that its likely Alex was the manipulator and nigel was the victim (to a degree).

this is kinda all over the place and just my thoughts so take everything with a grain of salt im just bored

we all agree that Alex is an unreliable narrator, and when it comes to the interrogation, it would but likely that Alex changed the story for a “solid” alibi to seem at least not guilty, which is very common behavior for people, especially younger people who have committed a crime to do.

most of my reasoning for this comes from the fact that he makes sure to include the detail that *somehow* nigel got into his room in the middle of night (assumably) and put a bloody knife and playing card on his desk.

it could be very likely that he had this whole alibi, that he "missed" his date with susan was entirely made up, that he made it seem like nigel was the one who planted the knife for "for fingerprint insurance” making nigel seem like this criminal mastermind to a degree.

that and also the hand that nigel “gifted him” could have also been a cover up for (maybe) that alex could have very likely been the reason why his friend let go of the train, by messing with his hand. idk on this one tho for sure honestly, though i feel like nigel care a lot about anatomy and dissection that it would be out of character for him to sever a hand.

AND that when alex was asked “how he was sure it was his friends” he said that it wouldnt make sense otherwise (or something along those lines) which honestly is kinda strange bc i would rather rationalize that its not my dead friends hand and just some fucked up prank but maybe thats just me.

you can look into real interrogations and its not unusual for people to make up these crazy complex and wild stories to victimize themselves to seem innocent, even when the story is strange or off putting or has holes.

especially because this is a time when the attention is all on them and what better way to ganer sympathy and attention that alex could have possibly lacked in his childhood then now in the interrogation. with someone who alex could have possibly seen as some sort of mother figure, because she listened to him, and embraced him when alex talked about nigel.

“well susans body was “disected” it had to be nigel” it could have also been alex copying in the way of something that nigel would have done to again, make the evidence point at nigel.

now, this theory is a bit spotty and honestly its not great I KNOW its just my thoughts ive had that ive wanted to share, because honestly i dont have a great reason for why nigel would have invited alex over to his house if not for nigel being a little shit, but who knows, that could have also been made up, and alex really was planning on killing nigel, and just happened to show up at that time

but that being said, im also not saying nigel has never killed anyone, i am just saying alex’s series of events is a bit weird, i do think nigel has some issues, but those probably due to the obvious abuse he as suffered as a kid, and his weird interest could be a symptom of that and his curious for dead things, i wouldnt be surprised if he had witnessed death early as a child seems how it was mentioned in the show that it can result in mental illness.

which kinda leads me to my next point, at the end, when alex totally doesnt kill nigel, and nigel kills himself, alex has a sort of smile at the end, that either he was happy nigel died or that he, really *did* kill nigel and he “enjoyed” it.

to add onto this, alex never really cried when he talked about his friends dying, he cried when he talked about how it made *him* feel and how when nigel had wanted him to get “freaky” per say with susan, he was crying in the interigation because it upset *him* and it was something bad that happened to *him*. im not a professional at all and i only know a little bit about mental illnesses but in certain personaility disorders,, its not uncommon for people to have intense feelings when it comes to something that effects themselves, and apathy towards other people.

and at the very end of the show, it shows that alex clearly has a pattern of this behavior, of manipulating people in certain ways. that its not something unusual for him to do, when he asks the teacher if it’s possible to get into someones head, its likely because hes the one who, atleast thinks, he has control of nigel.

anyways thats kinda just my collection of thoughts ive had about this movie for a long time so i thought id throw them out here, do with this as you wish. dont be too mean tho i am dyslexic and not the smartest lmfao. i just like yapping. obviously i dont know everything and i likely got information wrong which like whatever.

anyways im sick and bored and wanted to yap so maybe someone actually read this

[wingsdippedingold]

At the end of the day that entire ACOTAR pregnancy plot point was bullshit. It was a breaking dawn rebrand and somehow worse.

It could’ve been written very differently and properly come across as concern for both mother and child AND coincide with the power to choose in a way that would be beneficial to the story. Instead Sarah decided to throw in a nonsensical plot point (because if Rhysand is as smart as she says he is, he would’ve considered the risks of having unprotected sex in a different form that literally has a wings beforehand, argue with the wall) to push some sort of agenda on the nature of women’s rights politics. She isn’t some intersectional feminist queen, she’s a privileged white women who used and continues to use her books to spread her own ideologies.

Obviously every book has their author’s own biases ingrained in them, but it’s the fact that she tried to write what Rhysand did as a morally correct option. It doesn’t matter that Feyre was like “Oh thanks Nesta for telling me,” he didn’t face any consequences for keeping critical medical information from Feyre. In fact he never faces and substantial consequences.

Feyre is a grown women (while I don’t think she should be a high lady or a mother at this point in her character yet) the narrative tries to convince the reader that she is, and yet acts as if she’ll drop dead the second she hears about the complications. Which is it? Is she an empowered, intelligent woman capable of leading a nation and marrying a man further in age from her than she is from her child, or is she an irrational innocent girl who can’t handle her own medical information? Feyre isn’t a sheltered dove, she has been through a lot, it’s absolutely nonsensical to pretend like there’s any reason for her not to be aware of the risks.

It’s not “oh Rhysand was going to tell her eventually” how eventual? It’s pretty clear there wasn’t a solution he could’ve made, so what, will he tell her while she’s in the middle of labor? He should’ve told her the second he knew, and so should have Madja, the medical professional.

SJM literally made the characters know what lactic acid was, but not a c-section. It was entirely intentional to frame the arc in this light. We don’t know for a fact that SJM is pro-life but it’s pretty obvious. The only reason people seem to agree with it is because it worked out in the end. If it didn’t I actually don’t know what they’d do, because SJM has never written Rhysand or Feyre to commit a crime that wasn’t justified in some way.

ALSO WHY THE FUCK WOULDNT THEY IUST HAVE HER SHIFT BACK TO ILLYRIAN FORM TO GIVE BIRTH??? she shifted fine in early pregnancy, which is more dangerous, but she can’t do it again? We know shifting doesn’t affect the baby in any substantial way since he was still born Illyrian (even though it absolutely should idc if it’s magic she’s changing her anatomy and guess what’s attached to that anatomy)

This was a reblog initially but I’m reposting it here because it’s long and I feel bad making people scroll

[undertale-fic-librarby]

This is the anon of the UT! papyrus/reader fanfics that are the ebodiment of that one lalalala sound that shows up when u see baby bill on tiktok

Basically its just

Silly

I want a silly fanfic with cute stuff

Just wanted to clarify so its easier

Okay thanks byebye💃

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Heart of Gold by SapphireWolf1122 (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

You are a journalist who is curious about the monsters who have been roaming around. After some pushing, you get assigned to write about some monsters that have been going missing. You soon find yourself making friends with them but an old friend has come back into your life and she is determined to take revenge one specific monster for a crime that should have been impossible for them to commit. As more monsters start to go missing and you do what you can to help your new friends, suspicions start to rise and loyalties tested. But as investigations and shocking discoveries are made, you can't help being drawn to one particular cinnamon roll skeleton...

The Scarf That Smelled of Spaghetti by Tan (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

As an art student with a passion for anatomy you one day find yourself stalking a skeleton. Regardless of the excuses you tell yourself you wonder if this deep interest in the skeleton man goes beyond just art. Before you have a chance to question these feelings his brother begins to plague your nightmares confusing you even more. -- Takes place an ambiguous amount of years after the barrier is broken. Characters have matured in their own way over time from being exposed to the human world. Plenty of Undertale character cameos mixed in. Story reads similar to a rom-com manga/anime where the main story arc is the reader's relationship with the skeleton brothers and other sub-plots mixed in. Primarily a PapyrusxReader story with SansxReader moments. Each chapter is about 3k words, give or take.

They Help You Put A Little More Backbone Into Life by liltreede (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Do they really have to play Christmas music already? Is it REALLY NECESSARY? No! No it isn't! They need to stahp. Fluff fic because Pap doesn't seem to get enough love in my humble opinion and Christmas music already playing on the radio made me both bitter and inspired. Previously Titled: It's Not Even F*king Turkey Day Yet! Changed title because I decided to make it a multi chapter story instead of a series of one shots. Surprise! This actually turned into a semi serious story with like actual plot and stuff. ;)

In love with the color green by Yours_truly_Oll (General Audiences, Incomplete)

You always liked hiking. People? Not so much… So when the opportunity to move away presented itself you gladly took it. What opportunity you may ask? A new place close to the mountains and numerous hiking trails and with a cheap rent to boot! Why was the rent so cheap? The answer is simple: this town was right next to the infamous mt. Ebott and right now was mostly populated by monsters who came to the surface a year ago. A year had passed but most people still couldn't accept that fact, hence the price of the house you bought. You needed a big move on and that was just that. You hoped you would get along with your new neighbors…

Slumber Hearty by ToiletPaperPrincess (Teen And Up, Complete)

You've been having problems with nightmares lately, but if there's one thing Papyrus loves, it's solving problems. (Can be read as platonic or romantic, with a specifically romantic alternate ending. UPDATE: Now with epilogue!)

Here's a few more fics that are similar to what you're asking for!

[brothermouse-skeleton]

Idea for a thing: it starts out set up like a true crime podcast about a string of murders believed to all be committed by the same person. The victims are all married men and they are all connected because each body has a rib removed, earning the killer the name "The Adam Killer".

As the podcaster goes through the known Adam Killer murders, starting with the most recent and working backwards, you learn more about what the authorities suspect. Like, they have reason to believe that the killer is a woman, and that she targets men who she believes are abusive to their wives. She likes to keep the crime scenes neat and tidy. She has an excellent eye for detail. On more than one body she's mended torn or damaged clothing after the kill but before dumping the body. She likes to kill in one location and dump the body somewhere else. She has an excellent knowledge of human anatomy, particularly of the major arteries. She likes to switch up the method of death, stabbing, strangulation, shooting one guy with his own hunting rifle, drowning, beheading, electrocution, but not poison. Never poison.

The podcaster keeps going over the details of each suspected murder and at some point you realize that these murders are going back pretty far. A few in the 2020s, some in the 2010s, a small drop off in the 2000s, a bunch in the 90s, 80s, and 70s. The earliest suspected victim is from 1969. Some made to look like accidents, others clearly murders, all missing a rib. So now the podcaster talks about how either this is a string of copycats, or there's some 60+ year old granny running around killing men. Then they drop a real bombshell: the rib thing is just one of two distinct traits of the Adam Killer. The second trait: the noticable lack of blood.

In every incident there is not a drop of blood to be found. Not at the crime scene, not where the bodies are found, not on the weapons, not even inside the bodies. The authorities have been reluctant to release this fact, they never knew how she drained the bodies, but suspected that this was actually a cult like group of women that ritually drained the blood of their victims.

But the podcaster knows the truth. The Adam Killer is a vampire. A bold claim, to be sure, but they have the receipts. That first case back in 1969? Shortly before his death, the victim's wife was seen talking to some pasty white "beatniks" about getting "what they had". Cops initially thought it might have been a drug deal gone bad and the beatniks killed the husband in retaliation, but neither drugs nor the beatniks were ever found. The wife was later cleared of suspicion.

The podcaster then shows us a consistent stream of comments by the neighbors saying that the wife must have an excellent make up/skin care/exercise routine because she always looked so young and vibrant.

The podcaster shows us how this woman likely faked her death in the 80s, how in another town a woman matching her description showed up just before more Adam Killer incidents occurred there.

With each set of murders the podcaster is able to find a woman matching there description who arrives in town before the murders start and leaves just after they stop.

The podcaster is convinced that the Adam Killer is actually an immortal vampire who has been feeding off of abusive men for over half a century.

In the final episode the podcaster reveals that they have confirmed all of this with a very reliable source: the Adam Killer herself.

She agrees to an interview where she goes through, point by point, every theory the podcaster went through, congratulating when they were right, correcting them when they were wrong. She fills in the gaps, confesses to previously unknown murders, explains the rib thing, explains that there was a drop off in the early 2000s because she was vacationing abroad. She talks about the "beatniks" who she convinced to turn her into a vampire like them so she could "take care" of her husband.

Podcaster talks about how they took all this evidence to the authorities.

They didn't believe it.

Because of course, nobody will ever believe it.

Because vampires aren't real, of course.

[adriartilol]

[SPOILERS] Mischaracterizations of Connor Thomas

Heyo, I'm a member of the Shipwrecked 64 Discord, I've been following stuff BSB related since 2022, I've heard there's some pretty big mischaracterizations regarding Connor in these tags, so I wanted to clear that up + add in some extra info people might've missed.

"Connor made stuff up to slander Broadside."

False. In Shipwrecked 64, we learn that Connor has access to the files he does due to a drive he left behind being infected/tampered by a Starling (Starlings can canonically influence digital/electrical devices by unknown means). The photocopied pictures of Olivia, Gary and Nathan's anatomy were in that infected drive alongside the countless coverups Broadside committed.

"Connor was fine with keeping the stuff in Shipwrecked to himself as long as he was getting paid."

False as well. Connor would release the content he found inside the disk either way, hidden in such a manner that not many people would be able to find it.

"Connor is egotistical/lying/a manchild."

Throughout Shipwrecked 64, we see first-hand the mental deterioration of Connor, to the point where he breaks and takes his own life. The first Wulf Watcher found in the game is Connor sometime-to-late Shipwrecked development, clearly unstable due to the things he's had to witness and keep his mouth shut.

About the 'lying' claims. These are factually untrue as well. All of the stuff Connor found is real, this is further corroborated by the existence of the Broadside Beach Film Fest and Broadside Beach series in general. Refer to the claim above also.

"Connor is selfish for killing himself."

Connor goes out of his way to not tell his coworkers to *keep them safe.* Connor took his own life not because he was selfish, but because Mark could've sued his life away had he been alive when Shipwrecked released. He was dead either way, he just wanted to soften the blow on his family (Pat was still a baby/child when everything happened)

As a last statement, I would like to add that Shipwrecked, as well as The Great Stampede, were key parts in the downfall of Broadside. Had Shipwrecked not release for that 3-day window, we wouldn't know Broadside's crime in as much detail as we know now.

If you have any questions, feel free to leave them below the post (still don't know how Tumblr works), I'll try to answer to the best of my ability.

[galvanizedfriend]

Fic: The Unexpected Grace of Falling Apart

Summary: AH/AU. It's Tyler's wedding weekend and Caroline is back in Mystic Falls for the first time after the most traumatic and depressing year of her life. And it's about to get even worse as she's made to share breathing space with Klaus, The Worst Guy Ever. Except they might have to join forces to save the wedding, and to the discovery that things might not be what the seem. As Caroline teeters on the edge of a breakdown she'd been trying very hard to conceal, an unexpected savior appears to help her through the haze.

---

About a year ago, Caroline met the worst guy ever.

No, really. The Worst.

Men are, as a general rule, pigs. If women were to make in-depth pro-versus-cons evaluations of every guy they met before deciding on whether to hook up with them or not - well. Let's just say the perpetuation of the human species would be in serious jeopardy.

There's only a handful of guys out there of a certain age, still single, who are really worth any woman's time, and Caroline hasn't had the pleasure of meeting many representatives of that rare, dying breed. Those are the real-life unicorns.

It doesn't help that Caroline seems to be a walking magnet for the dudebro kind. She doesn't know what it is about her that gets them to crawl out of sewers and holes in hell to greet her with their Hey there, gorgeous or Have I died and gone to heaven?s whenever she walks into a bar. It's probably the blonde hair. Men tend to get friskier around blonde women for some ancient misogynistic reason.

There have been moments in her life where her faith in the male half of humanity was so deeply shaken that she even - God forbid her - considered going a few shades darker. She's a natural blonde, though, and it takes her hours (and a small fortune) every few months at her colorist's chair to achieve that perfect sweet spot between kissed by sunshine and blessed by the angels for her to commit that crime against herself. Caroline's hair is the one part of her life that has remained absolutely flawless even when everything else around her has fallen apart, including her mental health and self-esteem. She refuses to dye it just because men can't bother to put some honest effort into updating their lame pick-up lines and yet, somehow, still expect her to have sex with them.

And the sad truth is, catch her on a bad night, and she just might. Horny melancholy is where a woman’s dignity goes to die.

It's exhausting to be a twenty-something woman in the XXI century. There's the pressure of making it in this godforsaken world as an adult, there's the pressure from society's understanding that a woman of her age should be looking for serious commitment with marriage in sight, and then there's also the pressure that stems from the very human needs of her hormonal body. It's a jungle out there.

Things would be so much easier if she didn't need men at all, not even for the specific parts of their anatomy that appeal to her. She really hopes next life brings her back as anything other than straight.

In the meantime, in this lifetime... The Worst Guy.

Caroline has met her fair share of jerks and idiots of all shapes and colors, so it takes something really special to shock her. As a seasoned woman in the woes of the dating market, she can 100% state that this guy is no ordinary asshole. This is a king among douchebags. And that's not just her personal opinion; she has shared the evidence with all her friends, and the friends of her friends, and all the women at her work, and even some random people at powder rooms at bars and parties. Basically, every woman in New York's grapevine who was willing to listen.

The collective response to her tale is always a disgusted gag sound, followed by Please, tell me you punched that son of a bitch or Did you gouge his eyes out with a hot poker?

If you discount abusive, aggressive and violent men, who are criminals and not in the same category as everyday lame-ass men, he really is The Worst.

Caroline doesn't like to say she's not over it yet because it implies bestowing a level of importance to His Royal Dickshness that is not merited. The guy was a friend of a friend - her best friend, yes, but still only a notch above a complete stranger. She’d known him for less than a week and, technically, they did no more than make out for a little bit, so it's not like they had any kind of relationship going on. He's not important, just some guy who did something astoundingly douchebaggy, even by someone whose standards are sadly low.

The whole incident was bound to go down as a funny anecdote to be shared among friends, a Oh, you think you've had the worst hook-up ever? Hold my beer kind of story. Provided, of course, that she never had to see him ever and could just wipe him out of her life and memory for good. Given that they live in different time zones, it shouldn't be too much of a hassle.

That is precisely why Caroline is livid when she emerges from the arrivals area at Richmond airport to find Douchebag, in the flesh - sunglasses indoors and all, like the proper jerk that he is - holding up a sign that reads Clarisse.

Read the full story here

--

For four years, this was known as Random Fic, and so if you have been following me here, you might have heard me whine about it at some point. I've just decided on the title ten minutes ago. lol I can't believe this is finally done!

Thank you @definedareasofuncertainty for hearing me talk about this for almost as long as you've known me and never telling me to shut up.

As always, your kudos, comments and reblogs mean the world and have been feeding my fic-writing soul for four years so that I could get a grip and round this up. ❤️ Ty and if you read it, hope you enjoy it!

[indefinitely-sealed]

Greetings, greetings! At the behest of my two very very good friends @cosmogone-spectacles and @peliginspeaks I have finally made my own sideblog for Flondon :) Do keep in mind I will likely be doing a lot of character work, for the most part, simply because I have been sitting on a lot of them for a long time now and I am simply too fond of them hehe.

My main account is @luckybird7765 and you can see my main Fallen London account here. Feel free to send a calling card!

Character introductions beneath the cut -

Primary Skills: Watchful; Monstrous Anatomy / Artisan of the Red Sciences / Disco̷̱̭͂̊̔̔͂̾̈͜ŗ̶͔̳̤̎͛̐̍̊̓̀̾̅ḑ̷̝̘̹͚͔̝̼̜̳͔̺͉̹͋̓̏͆͠a̷͈̹̟̘̥͈͙̠̞̫̪͘ņ̵̧̢̥͈̞̼̮̭̺̳̹̜̘̀̐͗̃̉̄͂̎́̆̉̇̕͝͝c̴͔̣̜̫̭̠̿͒̇è̸̢̓̿̽

Captain Reginald 'Ren' Haarsink, 36 (though who can say when the year never marches forward), a longtime academic in the corresponding arts (specifically speaking, the interactions between correspondence and forms of zee life, but he has branched into its medical uses too) is one of those stranger looking fellows, more eagerly described as a 'creature' by most not used to the Neath's wilder denizens. He cannot help but be immediately identifiable by the fins that he has (and, if you look even closer, gills as well!) in place of ears, and the scattering of scales upon his skin. No drownie is he, he still appears hale and hearty as much as someone who lives in the Neath can be, but he doesn't really take kindly to the nosy questionings by London newcomers. They were attained in an accident at zee, nothing more.

Haarsink is generally quite a private individual, though he has a well established presence in the academic circles of the reality-altering labs at Benthic University, curiously absent presence in the Benthic University correspondence division despite being apparently quite accomplished credentials that nobody can verify. He is a near life-long Neath resident, having moved to London when he was around 5 years old with his mother, who had had him out of wedlock with a vagrant sailor and needed the freedom that a life in the Neath offered. As such, he is very rarely surprised anymore by what this world has to offer, though he has a very long list of things to dread and fear at his disposal.

He doesn't make friends easy, and doesn't exactly have much of a presence beyond his work in the laboratory that he does not own̶ ̴d̷o̵e̸s̶ ̷n̸o̵t̵ ̶o̷w̴n̵ ̷d̷n̵͎̞͌̈́̀ ̵͕͌͆d̶͕̎̕ǫ̵͖̈e̵̬̘̯̓͒s̷̬̗̹͐͛͑ ̷̳̝̕͝ņ̴͓̅͘͜o̷̤̿͊͂t̵͔̔ ̷̞͈͐ẁ̴͈̺̇̚n̷̩͕͛̑ ̸̳͕̈́̂͛d̴̼̓.

To those who know him, he has a loyalty far too fierce for mere words, and a streak of caring that goes beyond what any sane person would want. He also has the focus and stamina to push to get what he wants with his own two hands, no matter what.

He has committed crimes against reality itself. Parabola as a whole hates his guts (inasmuch as it can, it tries) for what he has done to it, leaving him with no Parabola-altered dreams, no reflection in a mirror that is not of him burning to death. The Dawn Machine would blast him to ash if it were able to reach him. His own lungs have twisted themselves inside out and stretched his throat in unlawful geometries for the blasphemies he has spoken with them.

He dreamed once that he could become a god in his own right. The worst part is that he nearly succeeded.

He is also my silly fish and my soggiest little meow meow. He lives in a big snail shell by the zee and his favorite food is ship biscuits. He absolutely refuses to wear a shirt unless strictly required (though whether that is because he hates the texture or if he is simply THAT proud of his chest tattoo is anyone's guess). He can contain multitudes, after all.

Not on speaking terms with one D. T. Oversol (@cosmogone-spectacles) , owing to some previously mentioned crimes against reality having been inflicted directly upon himself. Would be friendly with one Dola Hallowrove (@peliginspeaks), except the other crimes against reality were inflicted upon them as well, and that could get a little awkward to discuss.

(anyways. god knows i have far too much stuff on him at this point, it's actually quite a relief to be sharing it somewhere at last <3 )

[bloghrexach]

🤔 … Francesca Albanaese has conducted a study: ‘Anatomy of a Genocide’, very telling. Here are some facts. — and still the world leaders/powers look on. Not the ‘younger generations’ though!!!

By: LaillaB, founder of ‘Reclaim the Narrative’, from LinkedIn …

“Israel has destroyed Gaza’

By analysing the patterns of violence and Israel’s policies in its onslaught on Gaza, the “Anatomy of a Genocide” report concludes reasonable grounds to believe that the threshold indicating Israel’s commission of genocide is met.

One of the key findings is that Israel's executive and military leadership and soldiers have intentionally distorted ‘jus in bello’ principles, subverting their protective functions, in an attempt to legitimise genocidal violence against Palestinians.

In this report, Francesca Albanese, the Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights in the Palestinian territory occupied since 1967 (“oPt”), addresses the crime of genocide as perpetrated by the State of Israel (“Israel”) in the oPt, specifically in the Gaza Strip, since 7 October 2023.

As Israel prohibits her visits, this report is based on data and analyses from organisations on the ground, international jurisprudence, investigative reports and consultations with affected individuals, authorities, civil society and experts.

Since it imposed the siege on Gaza in 2007, which tightened the closure imposed since 1993, Israel, the occupying power, has carried out five major assaults before the present one.

By Day 9, this assault had already caused more deaths (2,670) than Israel’s previous deadliest war against Gaza, in 2014 (2,251) . Only a fraction of the mass killing, severe harm and ruthless, life-threatening conditions inflicted on Palestinians over the following months of assault can be captured in this report.

UN experts, 5 scholars, 6 and states, 7 including South Africa before the International Court of Justice (“ICJ”), 8 have warned that acts committed in this latest onslaught may amount to genocide.

The ICJ found a plausible risk of “irreparable prejudice” to the rights of Palestinians in Gaza, a protected group under the Genocide Convention, 9 and ordered Israel, inter alia, to “take all measures within its power” to prevent genocidal acts, prevent and punish incitement to genocide, and ensure urgent humanitarian aid.

In its defense, Israel has argued that its conduct complies with international humanitarian law (“IHL”).

A key finding of this report is that Israel has strategically invoked the IHL framework as “humanitarian camouflage” to legitimise its genocidal violence in Gaza.

The context, facts and analysis presented in this report lead to the conclusion that there are reasonable grounds to believe that the threshold indicating Israel’s commission of genocide is met.

More broadly, they also indicate that Israel’s actions have been driven by a genocidal logic integral to its SETTLER-COLONIAL project in PALESTINE, signalling a tragedy foretold.

“It’s my solemn duty to report” -

GENOCIDE: ISRAEL: COLONISATION!!

“I say to all those leaders, do not look the other way. Do not hesitate … It is within your power to avoid a genocide of humanity.” — Mandela! … 🤔

A tragedy foretold —.🕊

#reclaimthenarrative — 🍉 — 🍉 #FreePalestine … @hrexach …

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

Holy shit I was working on this since late October, and I'm the most proud I've ever been of a picture I've drawn?

Details and graffiti transcriptions below the cut! 'Cause I worked on that shit for like three entire days, and I'll be damned if I don't show off some environmental storytelling word crimes.

So, first we have a couple closer looks of Sasha! Their outfit was pretty fun. I haven't done modern outfits in... probably ever, and it was nice having a lot more references to work off of.

Their sefirot necklace was fun to draw because I have one almost exactly like it. The flannel was the first time trying to do plaid by hand with a new little technique (Base colors+Multiply layer for dark stripes+Overlay layer for light stripes) but it went way faster than the god damn quilt?

All in all, my favorite detail was doing cosmetics, because I got to do little chips missing in the nail polish, and that's probably the first time I've drawn eyeshadow and willingly shown the result! : D

Next we have the little rat family in the background, with the wall-dwelling Rat King peeking through the wall, which is where I did dipped into tracing a couple photos instead of just looking at references.

Generally my process has been doing anatomy lines over a reference, then working off of those for about... three to four layers for body->clothes->hair->Full sketch, then another with whatever brush I wanna do the lineart with (usually a watercolor detail brush from one of two sets on Krita), but I'll note where I skipped that process and committed some art crimes.

The two background rats (Pestis and Mortar) are from a pair of stock photos from Getty, while the one in the foreground (Yersinia) is a mix of a pic that pops up in meme dumps from time to time of a smoking rat and a few bits that weren't in the original image. (Jewelry, the legs that were covered by an ash tray in the original pics, the "Buns and Roses" lighter she clearly stole from Sasha.)

Time for some graffiti transcriptions! Most of the variation in the graffiti came from switching the size of my brush and trying to mix up my handwriting, but there's a few segments where I use a font, then outlined the font with a 2px across brush to make it fit more into the art. Mostly, this was through screenshotting google docs, but some of the fancier fonts are from cooltext.com.

Top:

This is really high

No it's not?

Top Right:

A drawing of a clown that clearly used to be titties

"What's wrong with Bipo's eyes?" (Referring to the tape over the nipples)

"Their titties, bro"

"What about them?"

Top Left going down:

"Hail Satin" written next to a six pointed star

"Rong star, dumass"

A sticker reading "Apologize to your English teacher"

"Yeah, get a brian, morans!"

"You're just as bad as the other two!"

<The URL for the Wikipedia page on sarcasm>

Bottom Left:

Gazebos ate my ass

Bottom center:

"My sister turned into a bird but no one believes me."

"That's rough, buddy."

Bottom right:

A sticker of a possum with "Live Weird" written on it.

A sticker of a more poorly drawn character wrapped in blankets with "Seep eeps" written on it.

...So I made up a fake BDSM club for this one and named the majority of the bands dirty jokes, but I will die on the hill that there should be an all-trans metal band called "The Book of Dead Names."

CHOKE POINT

PRESENTS

LIVE MUSIC

THIS SUNDAY

CUNT MUNCHIES

THE BOOK OF DEAD NAMES

SOME GUY NAMED STEVE

FIST FUCK DUMP TRUCK

WOLFGANGBANG

THE PENIS MIGHTIER

A sticker with a set of vampire fangs that says "Got Blood?"

"Parasitic fucks"

"U got beef w/ Count Chocula?"

"Bro, vamps suck."

"Duh"

"So does your mum.

A sticker of a cross made out of a bunch of interlocking parts with some mirrored Hebrew in the middle. (I'm really proud of making this shape up on the spot. I had an idea for a religious monster hunter group named after the Watchers from Enoch, but I've got no idea if this story will ever happen.)

"Your Hebrew is backwards, you twatwaffle"

A sticker reading "Deus Vult"

"I fucking love Powerwolf"

"VULT DEUS NUTS, GOTTEM!

A cut off poster telling people to vote for, I presume, their favorite chainsmoking rat, clearly.

A sticker of the Autism Creature

"Rizz 'em w' the Tism" with the last S being the one everyone draws in school, but also backwards.

"It's like if Kirby was a centaur"

"I will never unsee that."

"It looks nothing like my vaccuum"

A paper with "Missing Printer" and a cut off phone number written in sharpie.

A meme of a bear in a suit (Partially a trace of the actual meme template) with "You have seasonal affective disorder because you need Vitamin D. I have seasonal affective disorder because one of my ancestors fucked a bear. We are not the same"

"Is that how it happens?"

"Oh, sure, this dude's ancestor fucks a bear, he gets a meme, BUT WHEN I-"

"Going insane by yourself, handsome?"

Three pieces of paper with "Yes" "Yup" and "Yass" written on them, two stuck on with tape, while the third is stuck to a wad of chewing gum.

"You guys seriously pay to print out memes just to vandalize shit?"

"No, I stole the printer, too."

"YOU"

"Paulie never died"

A sticker of the Mothman

"TAX FRAUD"

A large printout with a dramatic portrait of Mitch McConnell with "ARE YA BREEDING YET?" written below it. Several tear off strips are missing, but the remainder all say different variations of "Yes"

A cut off sticker of a smiley face

A sticker of a machete

"BURGLE TURTS"

A sticker of a crying laughing emoji.

A sticker of a pot leaf

A sticker with a picture of bigfoot with pasties on her boobs walking up to a stripper pole with "I want to believe" written in the X-Files font

"Whoever gave Bigfoot tits will never enter the Kingdom of God"

Three notes pointing to the previous message with "Noticed the tits first" "Weirdo" and "Your preoccupation with cryptid mammaries betrays your discomfort with your own sexuality. Consider meditation, therapy, or possibly fucking yourself!"

"Weirdo" pointing to the previous paragraph before being crossed out and replaced with "BASED"

"K, but y tho?"

"No one insults the Bigfoot big naturals on my watch"

(She has them in the Patterson-Gimli footage, too)

"BIGFOOT BIG NATURALS" "NOW LORE ACCURATE"

A swastika being covered up by a peace sign

"Degenerates should be purged" "AMEN" "U FIRST."

A drawing of a penis that's been turned into a weasel in a familiar pose with "Dick weasel" and "Had to do it to 'em" written next to it

A sticker of a stalk of corn labeled "CORN"

"See? Iowa is with us!"

And, finally, "Does reading this hurt your back, too?" which was the last thing I added because I literally spent two days just doing graffiti for this shit.

So, the map behind Sasha is made up on the spot, with some inspiration from a map of the Seattle Bay. Kinda proud of just how dirty this fucking place is, but the final, and greatest achievment in making this picture look grimy...

THE RUST

I didn't exactly nail the perspective on some of these (The sketchy layer for the floor grating was done once, then dragged into place and warped with the perspective... and then completely fucked that up) but god DAMN do I love texturing the fuck out of things!

There's like six Multiply layers scattered about because it turned out it's a phenomenal way to make the shading of multiple textures make sense without losing that texture, and I feel so god damn powerful!

Oh, right, the posters.

Not much to say about them. The righthand one was 95% traced from a mafia stock photo, while the hands in the left came from another stock photo.

Honestly, I drew the frames, then had no idea what to put in them. There was briefly gonna be a pic referencing a cosplay photo I have of myself, but eh...

The rats and the guy in the wall were originally referencing a Vampire the Masquerade character I had named Pretty Paulie, who was a mafioso turned nosferatu who dubbed his crew the Rat Pack. I figured if there was some kind of dramatic, Scarface-esque movie about him, he'd definitely find a way to keep the poster nearby, and I wanted to slap in one of those "Give blood!" posters from the Red Cross except... not from the red cross.

I don't really feel like I put in much effort into these (compared to the Graffiti-a-thon with several subplots), but hey... they covered the tile, which before shading was boring and very flat, so they did their job.

I'll leave you with some zoomed in textures, because I do feel proud about those! I make them via a combo of oil paint and watercolor brushes, usually with a whole lot of different coats of varying opacity until it looks like the thing it's supposed to be. :)

I've only just started drawing again this year (I've been editing a looooot longer) so there's a lot of spaces where I have hiccups, but I'm figuring out the areas I do well in.

...Also sweet Jesus this started as me trying to figure out what a character looked like. It says 3 full days worth of editing was done in Krita on this file, and I don't think it's counting the idle time.

[grotto-esque]

Albanese begins with the historical context of the genocide, even rooted in Israeli pre-state colonialist intents, and then charts out how Israel has committed three central facets under the crime of genocide — the killing of members of a particular group of people, causing bodily or mental harm, and creating destructive conditions of life. There is also a section concerning intent that chronicles some of the countless, unambiguous, genocidal expressions of Israeli leaders.  Then, midway into the report, and constituting almost half of it (points 55-92, out of 97 points), is a section dedicated to the idea of “Humanitarian camouflage: distorting the laws of war to conceal genocidal intent.”  This section is subdivided into five central themes: 1. Human Shields and the logic of genocide 2. Turning Gaza as a whole into a ‘military objective’ 3. Indiscriminate killing as “collateral damage” 4. Evacuations and safe zones 5. Medical Shielding Albanese demonstrates how the three central principles of IHL — distinction, proportionality, and precaution — have been subverted by Israel in an attempt to obfuscate its genocidal acts and to provide a legal veil for illegal, indiscriminate acts. 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Anatomy of a Fall (2023)

Of all the legal thrillers I’ve seen, Anatomy of a Fall feels the most genuine and relatable. While there are big revelations about the people involved and technically, they come suddenly, this isn’t a story of accidental confessions, surprise witnesses, or even earth-shattering pieces of evidence. Something happened while there were no witnesses present. The court must decide whether a crime was committed or not based on the evidence. That's it. In the process, the film peels back layers to reveal the truth and half-truths that comprise relationships.

Sandra Voyter (Sandra Hüller) is woken from a nap by her son, Daniel (Milo Machado-Graner). Her husband (his father), Samuel Maleski (Samuel Theis), has fallen from their roof and died. She insists it must have been an accident - he was working on the roof when she went to sleep. The authorities are not convinced and she is indicted on charges of murder.

There’s a particular line in the film that summarizes what a nightmare this situation is. It's something like “What you hear, it’s just a small part of the whole”. As we're presented with testimonies from experts and people who knew Samuel, as more evidence is brought forth, we're given a version of Sandra and Samuel's relationship. In a way, it’s not even Sandra who’s on trial; it’s her marriage. If she and her husband fought a lot, if someone was unfaithful, if someone was planning on leaving, then it probably means Sandra killed him. It’s not even if the whole relationship was bad; it’s if it was bad recently. We're not talking about "a rough patch" or something they could've overcome. This fragment is now the whole.

In a way, the trial is a matter of life and death. The jury is deliberating whether Sandra killed her husband. It’s also about an intimate subject you could call mundane in the grand scheme of things: two people’s marriage. Drawing a conclusion from the snippets presented is an unfair way to judge their relationship but it’s also the best way to see what it was like because you get the “highlight reel”. By the time this film is over, you feel like you know these people so well that they're no longer characters in a film. Then, you remember that quote from earlier and you second-guess everything. Do you really know? That sentiment is amplified by the revelations that come up during the trial. They’re not the sort of bombshells you’re used to seeing in these legal dramas, but they’re just as earth-shattering and revelatory.

The film is as absorbing as it is because of the excellent script by Justine Triet (who also directs) and Arthur Harari and the performances. There are so many character moments in Anatomy of a Fall that I see it as the kind of film you would come back to in the future, despite so much of the suspense coming from the uncertainty of the final verdict. Even some of the minor characters I keep thinking back to, like the two forensic analysts who bring to the stand completely different interpretations of three drops of blood found outside. It makes you wonder if they - despite having no investment in this narrative whatsoever - somehow made up their minds about the case anyway and brought in their biases. Why else would they be so combative? Many characters are deliberately unlikable, but not in a way that makes them villains. Wait. Did I dislike them because of who they really are, or because of the way I perceived them based on the evidence presented? hmm.

Anatomy of a Fall is a film of complex emotions. There are so many details in the case, the way the characters behave or relate to each other that you forget everything else around you. The performances are excellent, as is the script. You've never been put on trial for murder before but you'll know what it must feel like once the end credits roll. (March 27, 2024)

[monsoon-of-art]

As promised, here is my Long Fiction piece with my Superheros!

"Two Wrongs do Make a Right"

It was generally accepted that Superheroes do not steal.

Superheroes have a verbal contract, as it were. Unstated by most but very well known; to protect their city and the people inside it. Methods and motives vary, but this rule kept things simple.

Dragonfly planned on breaking that rule.

She had never liked being conventional, truthfully. She didn’t work with cops, rarely worked with the local government. She didn’t have powers from the heavens or radioactive spills, and she certainly wasn’t rolling in cash right now. She protected her city and she protected her people, she just did it her own way.

And while she was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and all different kinds of technology, actually robbing a museum was beyond her normal capabilities.

So, here she was. Dragonfly in all of her neon glory, pacing on a rooftop. Her blue goggles only added to her insect-namesake, her thick curls trimmed short. “I just worry about the security. And the cameras. Security cameras.” she rambled. “Being physically seen robbing a museum wouldn’t be ideal.”

“Mhm. No. I imagine it would not be.”

With her was her partner; Clay. A being made of ever-shifting liquid earth, his voice often flat and monotone. Even now, as she nervously paced on the rooftops, he sat idly by, letting bits of himself drip onto the floor with a half-lidded expression.

“Dragonfly.” said Clay, his voice heavy like syrup. “I have never been inside a museum before. It cannot be that difficult. I think you are stressing yourself out. I will take care of the cameras.”

“I think it’s more the robbing- wait. Wait, you've never been? Holy shit, OK. When we’re done with this, I promise I’ll take you to a museum.” she said with a faint smile. “One with lots of hands-on stuff for you to play with.”

“I would very much enjoy that.” Despite the kind offer, Clay’s tone didn’t change. “I am still unhappy with the main part of your plan. Working with. Him.”

Right. Hayday.

Dragonfly and Clay didn’t have many people they could trust. Another terrible truth that came with the job. Dragonfly had no other living family, and Clay’s origins were a total mystery. Their flippant attitude with the local cops and government did them no favors.

And in a sea of criminals, smugglers, gangsters, mobsters, murders, aliens, eldritch beings, and whatever other nonsensical weirdos that had it out for the pair, Hayday was…an exception.

Hayday was a bit of an enigma. No delusions of grandeur, no plans for world domination. As far as Dragonfly and Clay could tell, he was just a dude who dressed up like a scarecrow to hide his identity and commit petty crimes.

“Yeah, yeah. I know you don’t.” Dragonfly sighed. “But please, give him a chance? It’s either Hayday or cops.”

Clay relented on this, if only slightly. “...I do not like cops. But I also do not like Him. The first time we met him-”

 “I believe in second chances.” She said, quietly. “Besides. We need him-”

“-Cuz ya don’t know how to pick locks.” Clambering up the fire escape to join them upon the roof was the man himself. In a striking contrast from Dragonfly's slick, modern look, Hayday looked like he stepped right out of a cornfield; dirty overalls, wide-brimmed stetson hat, a burlap mask that covered most of his face.

Clay stood, shoulders - or what could be generally considered shoulders given his anatomy - tense, brow furrowed. "You are late."

"In case ya haven't noticed, Clay-Dough, but we are currently on top of the museum? They don't exactly want people on the roof. D'ya know how hard it was to climb up here?" Hayday shot back. "Can we maybe meet up somewhere closer to ground level next time?"

"I hope there will not be a next time." Clay hissed, voice dangerously quiet. "And my name is Clay."

"The building schematics says this should be a maintenance entrance." Dragonfly brushed aside their comments with a brief explanation. She gestured to a locked door, no doubt guarding a stairwell. “It’s locked, and you’re the best lockpick we know.”

“You are the only lockpick we know.” Clay clarified.

Hayday looked between the locked door and the two. “Why not have Clay-Dough break down the door?”

“I could-” Clay began to say.

“No.” she said sharply. “I don’t want any real damage here. I want a quick in-and-out operation.”

“Operation? Don’t be so coy, now.” Hayday said with a sneer, rummaging in his pockets. “You’re stealin’. Stop actin’ high and mighty.”

Removing some thin tools from his pockets, Hayday gave the door a cursory glance. “Hm. I’m gonna guess a double cylinder deadbolt. Should be easy.”

Dragonfly and Clay couldn’t help but try and look over his shoulder, seeing slivers of silver tools inserted into the lock. If they focused, they could hear subtle clicks beneath the rumbling city ambiance.

A clank. Hayday pulled back, the door opening with him. “There.”

“How did you do that?” Clay demanded. “That took no time at all!”

Hayday gave him an unimpressed stare. “Ya ever hear the phrase ‘a magician never reveals his secrets’, Clay-Dough?”

“No. What does that mean?”

“It means ‘tough shit’.” Hayday turned to Dragonfly. “Right. Pay up. I helped ya, and now ya owe me-”

“We’re not done?” she said, tilting her head slowly at him. “You said you’d help, and we’re not done? This is only step one.”

Even with the burlap mask he was wearing, the confusion was clear on his face. “...care to run that by me again?”

“We asked for your help with taking the Dragon’s Eye Ruby, currently housed on the first floor of the museum. I got a tip that Snake Eyes planned on taking it, so Clay and I decided to take it before them-”

“And plant a fake, yeah, yeah. I got that part.” Hayday hissed, gesturing for Dragonfly to stop talking. “And I did help. I unlocked the door. What else do ya want me to do?”

“Help us take the ruby?” Clay offered. “You have experience, do you not?”

“I suppose. Experienced enough to know that I’ve already triggered the silent alarm.” he said with a wry smile. “Y’all got about twenty minutes. Thirty if traffic is bad - and let’s be honest, it always is.”

Clay’s form began bubbling like a pot of water. A rare flash of anger crept into his voice. “You knew this, but you did not tell us?!”

“Clay, cool it.” Dragonfly said, placing a hand on his ‘shoulder’, not caring for his goopy nature. “We won’t be that long, with any luck. Besides, we’re at stage two now, and that’s you.”

Taking a deep breath, Clay steadied himself. “Right. Right. I am sorry. I will go in and destroy the cameras.” He turned to Hayday, pointing at him. “If you try anything while I am away. You will regret it.”

Without another word, Clay completely melted. His humanoid form sloughing away like a warm candle, slithering through the door like a mud-covered snake.

Hayday waited a moment before turning to her. “I’ve done my part, Dragon. Pay up. I don’ wanna be here any longer than I have to.”

“Not until the job is done.” she replied. “Once the ruby is in my hand, I’ll give you what you want.”

He glowered at her. “Yer killin’ me, I hope ya know. What do ya want from me? Ya want me to hold yer hand the entire time? What’s yer angle?” His voice grew softer, more hesitant. “I didn’t think ya’d ever wanna see me again, after…”

“You tried to kill me?” she asked, looking up at him. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. She continued. “But you didn’t. That’s the key thing. You had the opportunity. But you said it yourself. You couldn’t.”

Finally, he met her gaze. “It’s…that’s just not who I am.”

“Who are you, then?”

He didn’t respond to that.

Her goggles lit up, the soft blue glow illuminating her dark face. A police report flashed on her heads-up display. “The cops are on their way.”

“Great! Great! Perfect!” Hayday began pacing. “What are ya gonna do about the rest of the security measures, dare I ask? The guards, the proximity alarm?”

“I’ve been carefully tracking the pattern of the security for several days now. If worst comes to worst, we can knock them out-”

“WE?!”

“- As for the proximity alarm, hopefully we’ll be gone by then. The cops are already coming, what are they gonna do? Send more?”

“YES?!”

Clay opened the door, gesturing for them. “The cameras have been destroyed. I have caused a distraction for the guards on the first floor-”

Dragonfly interrupted. “They’re still alive, though, right?”

He blinked at her. “Yes. My distraction caused no damage. As far as I am aware.”

“Clay-Dough, that is not reassurin’.” Hayday wheezed, sounding like a strange combination of a laugh and a choke.

“While normally I would question that statement to Hell and back, we’re really short on time here.” said Dragonfly, glancing back at the police report on her HUD. “The case with the Ruby should have a lock on it.”

She gave Hayday an expectant look. “Please?”

Hayday glared back. Clay glanced between the two of them, unsure which side to take.

"Fine. I'll stick around for now. But so help me, if there is even a whisper of trouble, I am gone. Understand?" Hayday finally said, his voice a quiet, strained hiss.

Dragonfly seemed pleased. "Thanks. We really appreciate it."

"I hold no strong feelings on this matter." Clay muttered. "Do not drag me into this."

"Ladies first." Hayday said with a wave of the hand, encouraging Dragonfly to take the lead.

She rolled her eyes at that, but stepped forward to enter, her faint glow of her goggles and gloves illuminating the dark stairwell. Clay followed, his footsteps quietly sloshing behind her. Hayday went last, closing the maintenance door behind them.

“What happens if Snake Eyes finds out?” Hayday whispered in the darkness of the maintenance tunnels. “He and I aren’t exactly on good speakin’ terms.”

“Why?” Clay twisted his neck like an owl to ask directly.

The man hesitated, fiddling with his hat. “I…erm, well, he offered me a job. I wasn’t able to do it, and I kinda…haven’t spoken to him since?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

Snake Eyes had men in every little nook and cranny of the city. The fact that Hayday had managed to avoid them all was both impressive and concerning. You couldn’t just ‘not speak’ to Snake Eyes; not forever, at least.

“That was not smart of you.” Clay finally said, swiveling his head back to normal.

Dragonfly slowly opened the door to what looked like the storage area, wincing at the creaking metal. “This should be the first floor. Let’s go do the switcheroo, and then we can bail. Don’t touch anything.”

“She is referring to you.” Clay whispered, giving Hayday a look.

She nudged Clay with a grumble. “Be nice.”

“I’m not stupid.” Hayday shot back. “Most everythin’ will have a proximity sensor.”

The three of them stalked through the darkened museum, taking care to stick to the shadows when applicable. The displays seemed practically ghoulish in the low light, with some of the displays quite literally looming over them.

"I do not want to visit a museum anymore." Clay whispered.

The Dragon's Eye Ruby, being a new exhibit, was very prominently displayed. The gem itself was a brilliant gradient of reds, purples, and oranges, and about the size of a large fist. Right in the middle of the room, contained within a glass box. The bottom of the box had a lock on it.

"Hayday, can you please-" Dragonfly began to say.

But Hayday pushed past her before she could finish. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it. But ya better be ready to make the switch. Once that proximity alarm goes off, it's going to be loud."

As he began carefully stepping closer, a loud boom shook the museum. The ground and walls shook, the various exhibits clinking and clattering in their cases.

"...Dragonfly." Hayday slowly turned to her. "When was the heist supposed to happen?"

"Not until tomorrow…" she slowly trailed off. "Shit."

While Dragonfly wanted their version of the heist to be as clean and neat as possible, Snake Eyes and his goons had no such qualms about collateral damage.

Sirens screamed throughout the museum. "I didn' do that!" Hayday yelped, stumbling backwards.

"They must have moved the heist date." Said Clay. "They are going to take the gemstone. I would also guess they will not allow us to leave-”

"Wait, wait! This is a great thing!" Dragonfly grabbed onto Clay's arm, fingers sinking ever-so-slightly into him. "We can just fight them here and now and really send Snake Eyes a message! With the three of us, I bet we could totally-"

"Hayday is leaving."

Dragonfly glanced over to where Clay was pointing, seeing Hayday already having picked the window lock and beginning to open it.

"H-Hey!" She called after him. "Don't go!"

"No! I told ya! I did NOT sign up for a fight! I was here to pick locks!" He snarled, already swinging one leg over the threshold to climb out. "Look. The job Snake Eyes gave me? Was to kill you. If his men see me with ya? I'm in for a world of hurt!"

"If we work together and scare them off, imagine the message that’ll send! With your help-"

"Ya still want my help?! Then take my advice. BUZZ OFF.  Yer not gonna win this fight, Dragon. Give up. Ya lost. If ya stay here, you’re gonna get killed."

Dragonfly stared at him for a moment, before her mild surprise twisted into a deep frown. “You knew this…and your first instinct was to get yourself out of danger? You were completely content in leaving Clay and I to die?”

There was an unpleasant silence that followed.

“W-Well. No. No.” he eventually stammered, trying very hard not to make eye contact. “I-I would’ve-”

Whatever he was trying to say, she didn’t let him finish. “You were! You were! You were going to ditch us to die! I get wanting to leave, and I get being hesitant to help, but you were fine with! With!” 

“N-Now just hold on-” Hayday had almost appeared to shrink into himself, partially trying to climb out the window and partially trying to put distance between him and Dragonfly.

She leaned in close, her voice a near hiss. “Earlier, I asked who you were. You’re a cowardly, spineless thief. And you may not like blood on your hands, but you certainly don’t mind it splattering your boots as you run.” 

Leaning a bit too far out the window in response to the verbal lashing, Hayday yelped as his hand slipped, and he promptly fell backwards out the window. There was a great clamor of noise - glass bottles, metal cans, crinkling of plastic and paper, the noises of trash. Even after everything, Dragonfly struggled to resist the urge to check on him, to make sure he wasn’t hurt.

She forced herself away from the window, turning to her partner. “Clay, I know this is silly to ask, but are you ready for a fight?”

“Yes. Yes. God, yes.” He answered, fists already raised. Then he thought for a moment. “Where is Hayday?”

"He left." Was all Dragonfly said. But Clay knew her tone of voice well enough to get the picture.

"Ah. I am not surprised. He is a criminal. All criminals are the same."

She felt like she should've disputed that. She instead settled on giving him a disapproving look.

Dragonfly had more important things to focus on right now. Such as the suspicious shuffling from the closed door just to their right.

"How many of them do you think there will be?" Clay whispered, fists raised.

"I'm going to guess six." She replied, turning on her combat gloves. When active, they could deliver a terrible electrical shock, usually just enough to stun. Even as the wielder, she could feel the familiar tingle run through her bones.  "You know how Snake Eyes loves his dice motifs."

"Ah. True."

The henchmen burst down the door not a moment sooner, some of them expressing surprise at the pair being there first. The rest of them merely gripped their weapons a little tighter.

Eight of them. She was a bit off on the numbers. Thank God none of them carried firearms, so sure that they wouldn't face any resistance, they had only brought crowbars. Of course crowbars still had the capacity to hurt, something that Dragonfly hoped to avoid.

(Clay, as far as she knew, seemed completely impervious to physical damage. The crowbars would just thunk into his body, leaving a strange indent, but nothing more.)

Living up to her namesake, Dragonfly was constantly moving. Darting across the room, looking for a weakness in their defenses to strike. The room was far too small to use her wings, but even without them she was quick. 

But even as they fought, they couldn’t keep track of all the crooks at the same time. In the corner of her eye, she could see one of the men start to pick the lock to the ruby’s case. “Clay!” she shouted, narrowly dodging a crowbar.

“Currently occupied!” Clay shouted back, grabbing two of the men by their collars to restrain them.

The man grabbed the ruby from the case, sirens screaming all the while. Upon seeing an opening. She shouted, “Clay! Take over! Like we practiced!” she said, thought for a half a second, then quickly added. “Do NOT kill anyone!”

She bolted as Clay lost all pretense of human form, shifting into tendrils to grab and disarm like a horrifying claymation octopus. She normally did not like leaving him alone in fights (especially like this), and not because she was worried for his safety. But seeing the thing she came here specifically to protect currently slipping from her fingers prompted her to temporarily disregard this concern.

Nearly slipping on the museum floors, Dragonfly chased after the crook with the ruby. “HEY! Stop right there!”

He did not stop. Dragonfly wasn’t sure what she expected.

She certainly wasn’t expecting the handle of a broom to swing from a doorway to beam the man in the face, knocking him to the ground. The ruby clattered to the floor, doing more damage to the floor than the actual gem itself.

Sliding to a stop by the groaning man currently slowly writhing on the floor, she looked to see who was holding the broomstick. And she was honestly surprised to see Hayday standing there, panting as if he had ran a mile.

“You came back-”

“WHY ARE YA STILL HERE?! What part of ‘If ya stay here you’ll get killed’ did not get through to ya?!”

Dragonfly blinked at him, baffled. “Because I don’t run from fights?”

Huffing, clearly not happy with that answer, Hayday gestured to the ruby with the broom. “Well, get the stupid gem and let’s split.”

“We may not need to.” she picked up the ruby with careful hands, holding the cold stone close to her chest. “If Clay managed to beat up the rest, we can simply say that we got here only moments after and stopped the robbery. The police and the news don’t need to know our original plan.”

“Lyin’ to authorities, breakin’ and enterin’, taking’gems from museums, are ya sure you’re a hero, Dragon?” Hayday asked with a lopsided grin.

Dragonfly did not answer, stiffly turning and starting to walk back.

“H-Hey! Hey!” he quickly gave chase. “Are ya mad? Yer mad. But I came back! Look. Look. I’m sorry. Really, I am!” Hayday said. Maybe it was the lack of the smarmy attitude that he had since the very beginning. But something about it sounded genuine to Dragonfly.

Genuine or not, his timing was poor. “Let’s have this talk when we’re not in a museum full of sirens with the police on their way, kay?”

“Good plan. Good plan.”

Returning to the room where the ruby was originally kept, Dragonfly and Hayday were met with men unconscious or in stages of stupor, lying around like ragdolls. “Holy shit.” Hayday quietly muttered. “Clearly ya didn’ need me-”

Clay reformed upon seeing Dragonfly, taking his human shape. “They are still alive. I have checked.” he quickly reassured her.

“That’s awesome!” she said, carefully returning the ruby to its place. “You’re making great progress in not doing that.”

A rare smile graced Clay’s face. However, the smile died almost immediately upon realizing Hayday had returned. “Oh. I was hoping you had left. For good.”

“Yer not gettin’ rid of me that that easy, Clay-Dough.”

The sirens of the museum proximity alarms were replaced with the sirens of police cars. “And now it’s time we leave!” Dragonfly said, placing the glass box over the gemstone. Finally, she placed a small, plastic dragonfly on-top.

“Do ya just carry those around?” asked Hayday.

“Ever heard of a calling card? Have some class.” she replied.

Once the plastic dragonfly was set in place, the three of them bolted for the maintenance stairs. And once on the roof, they kept running; traveling from rooftop to rooftop until the red and blue lights and police silence blended into the usual city rumble.

Dragonfly and Clay turned to Hayday, who was currently wheezing like he had just run a marathon, hands on his knees, almost doubled over.

“For someone so quick to flee. You do not have good stamina." Clay muttered.

“Why’d you even come back?” asked Dragonfly.

“Because-” he said between breaths, “Because I didn’ mean to leave ya.”

Dragonfly crossed her arms over her chest as Clay loomed behind her, the pair of them silently urging him to continue.

“It’s just.” he stood straight, kicking at the cement under his feet. “I’ve been workin’ solo for…years now. When shit started hittin’ the fan, I worked on instinct. And my instincts told me to hit the bricks. You two didn’ deserve that. ‘M sorry.”

“OK. Where is the rest of the apology?” Clay said slowly, eyes narrowing.

“...what else am I apologizin’ for?”

“Being a thief. Being a criminal. Attempted murder-” Clay began to list on his fingers.

Hayday sheepishly smiled, “Oh. Yeah, I ain’ apologizin’ for that.”

“I appreciate the apology.” said Dragonfly with a nod. “And I’m appreciative for the help. My plan wouldn’t have worked without you.” 

“It was an alright plan.” Hayday admitted. “I’m sure it would’ve gone off withouta hitch, if they didn’ move the date of their heist.”

Dragonfly snorted. “Yeah. ‘Moved the date’. Sure.”

Hayday paused. He opened his mouth, closed it again, thought for a moment, then finally managed to ask, “You…you knew they were coming today, didn’t ya?”

She smiled. “Course we did. We’re no rookies, we know what we’re doing.”

“So ya lied to me? Told me that they were coming another day, manufacturing all of this? For what? I don’t get it.”

“I told you why at the very beginning. I wanted to know who you are. A test of character.”

"I tried to convince her otherwise." Clay added, his voice slow and languid. "But I could not sway her."

Hayday stared at her, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted and mouth slightly agape. 

But she continued regardless. “I remember, when you tried to kill me. You were shaking so bad, you know. You said you couldn’t do it, and you vanished off into the night.”

“I think…” Dragonfly looked him up and down. “...you’re a good person. I think that deep down, underneath all the sarcasm and snark and everything. You are a good person.”

Hayday continued to stare. She wasn’t sure if it was confusion, or disbelief, or maybe she had just broken him. “You honestly think. That after everything. That I’m a good person?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of contemplative silence. She could see him working something out in his head. Then, with a deep, rumbling sigh, he reached into his pockets to pull out a jewel-laden necklace. “Here. I swiped it earlier, when ya weren’t lookin’. Take it before I change my mind.”

"I knew it." Clay hissed. "He is a thief. He will always be a thief."

"I gave the damn thing back, didn't I?" Hayday snapped. "I could've kept it!"

"You really shouldn't have taken this. Like. The entire point of asking you to help us was to prevent museum theft." She said, carefully taking the necklace from his hand.

"Ya didn't say I couldn't steal." He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me. You owe me. And I'd like to collect now."

Dragonfly sighed. "Clay. Wallet please."

Clay shoved a hand into his own body, not unlike how one would rummage through the mud to find a missing shoe. After a moment, he pulled a wallet from his chest. "Here."

The two silently traded, Clay inserting the necklace into his body for safekeeping as Dragonfly rummaged through her wallet.

(Hayday was silently disgusted by the entire exchange.)

She handed over a plastic card. He snatched it, proceeding to give it a confused look-over. With absolutely no emotion in his voice, he asked, "...is this a fifty dollar gift card to IHop."

"I enjoy their cinnamon roll pancakes." Clay said, confirming Hayday's question.

"You wanted payment. You never specified how. But if you don't want it-" Dragonfly reached over to take the card back.

But he quickly put the gift card in his pocket, "Nope, nope, mine now. In the future, I'd like something a bit more rewarding, mind."

Dragonfly beamed at him. "Next time, huh?"

Hayday paused, as if he only just realized what he said. "Look. We ain't friends. I ain't a good person. I'm only doin' this because I'm in a good mood. Got it?"

"Buuuuut?" She pressed.

He waved his hand dismissively. "...but I wouldn't be completely opposed to working with you two again. But in the future, don't lie to me, and I don't take gift cards."

She took his outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake, much to his confusion. "It's a deal!"

Dragonfly finished the handshake, glancing at Clay expectantly. But he just slowly shook his head. "We should be leaving. The police will be searching the area soon."

"Right, right!" Dragonfly chirped, her smile near infectious. "This was a good day! Tomorrow we'll return the necklace." 

Her backpack whirred to life, two pairs of neon blue wings forming from electrical components tucked inside. Clay had already left, using his semi-solid form to quickly dart off to another rooftop.

"I'll keep in contact." She told Hayday, wings buzzing as she lifted off the ground.

"I'm uh. Sorry for trying to kill ya." He shrugged. "Way back then."

"It's alright." She smiled. "I forgive you."

[girlactionfigure]

WITH EYES FULL HORROR Thoughts on the Hamas massacre of Jews

I deliberated on whether to write this. It seems obvious to me that in times of war we should abstain from things that can demoralise and immobilise. But on reflection I don’t think it does that. As our greatest warrior was also our greatest poet, King David, I think we are a people uniquely constituted to be tough and soulful at the same time. We’ve seen a lot of horrific footage from the massacre perpetuated by Hamas. It is not weakness to have tears - it is holy. God forbid we should become unfeeling, numb bastards that engage in the kind of butchery these Islamic fundamentalists celebrate. They will think it’s a victory that they have caused us pain. They will whoop and halloo and bear their teeth in wicked, wolfish grins to see us suffer and think we are weak. Oh, how pitiful is their blindness to the depths of experience life has to offer. They will never understand we are the people who turn every curse into a blessing and that there is no horror we can’t walk through in utter confidence a better time will come.

So I am going to write this. 

At the same time, if we each process an ounce of trauma here and there, we’ll be able to get on with the task in hand - defeating our enemies - whilst keeping our heads in a relatively good enough shape to get the job done.

So I tried to avoid seeing grisly footage from the massacre. I wouldn’t open any videos. I’d squint my eyes and scroll past photos. I thought to myself that I know something horrific has happened - seeing specific imagery is not going to enhance my intellectual or emotional insight. I’d obviously get glimpses of nightmarish forms. Barbecued people. Deformed anatomy of twisted girls. But I wouldn’t focus. They were blurred glimpses of horror I kept in a fog so that I could try to shield myself from trauma. But of course it seeps in. And you inevitably see more than you intended. And you inevitably watch more than you should. In the end I saw the dead bodies. And I saw some of the horrors real people endured.

My grandma died earlier this week and her funeral is tomorrow. I haven’t really been able to connect with my sadness over that because of everything that has happened - the crisis that has demanded action and the saturation of hellish crimes that have accompanied it. I’m just low level pissed off and can’t be bothered with anyone. I just took a shower and started crying as images I’ve seen this week emerged in the mist of my mind. But it wasn’t the imagery of dead bodies. It wasn’t the imagery of corpses. It was the imagery that has really haunted me. More than dead bodies, what has really haunted me were the images of living people experiencing fear. People whose souls were still in their body and who wanted to live. It was their faces. And above all their eyes. There’s one video of teenagers at a music concert huddled in a bunker with shot children groaning on the floor. A young man films with his phone. Why? Instinct? Believing he was going to die and that people must know? To try and make a nightmare less real by watching it through a screen? And then we see his face. I’ve never seen such eyes. I have never seen such eyes. No creature should know such fear. Another video sees a hostage tied up on the floor gazing at his tormentors. And his eyes. The widest eyes that could swallow the stars.

These are eyes I never want to see again. I never want to see those eyes. But they’re inside my head looking at me tonight. I don’t know how to pray, to wish, to magic away their fear. I can’t abide their fear. I can’t abide their fear. For the love of God, fill those eyes with everything they’ve ever dreamed of and everything their family have ever dreamed of for them and turn that fear into a speck so small it is blown away on the wind beyond the ocean and never found again.

I can’t imagine what those eyes were seeing. But in those eyes I could see the swirling fear of every sin that has been committed since Cain killed Abel. These were eyes gazing at every horror that’s taken place under the sun.

My eyes are dripping as I write this. No amount of tears will cleanse away what we have seen. 

Oh God, what they did to them. What they did to them. 

There has never been a more necessary mission for the Jewish people than to destroy Hamas - and anyone who seeks to hurt us - so that no eyes will ever hold such fear again.

LEE KERN