#acme paper

[ghostlymallow]

A little animation I did for school

PROCESS NOTES

I did everything on paper, fountain pen for the foreground, and I used my shitty uneven ink brayer to coat the backgrounds with linoprint ink for that ~texture~

then I scanned it and composited everything digitally. for the beginning I copied and cut out all the foreground elements and used a plastic sheet to layer over the bg in the scanner (which is why it's Like That). I used OpenToonz to sequence everything and reframe some timing issues as well as to do some basic comping. (the part where he pulls out the diamond is on 3 animation layers, not including the bg) then in After Effects (i don't like Adobe, but that's what's available at school), I resized everything and added the zoom out at the end. I realized that I made the opening square too big, so I had to resize everything again, but that meant that the margins of my animation (with all the notes and frame numbers and messiness) would show, so I layered up some texture files to create the vignette effect.

Afterward, I used DaVinci Resolve to add sound

Notes for next time:

x-sheets and timing charts are a godsend! -- while animating, I had no way of viewing playback, so I just had to trust that the "math" would check out, and it pretty much did! I still had to adjust some timing, but less than I feared. considering that this is the first thing I've done on paper in like 3 or 4 years, i'm glad

double check the math on sizing -- yeah, I made a few errors that bit me in the butt

scanning takes way longer than you think it will -- it took like 5 hours to scan less than 120 frames of animation. also, apply that to inking, especially if you're relegated to only working after you get home.

having individual assets will save your ass -- I am SO glad that I had the warewithal to do this

resize everything at the same time if you want them to match up -- I resized all the animation in opentoonz and then the bgs in AE, don't do what I did, kids. even if you have registers, it's still a pain, it won't be exact

reserve some time to learn your software with small things first -- i think the only reason I was able to pull this off without staying up into the wee hours of the morning was because I was at least partially familiar with all the software already, also old forums are still my best friend. I think I want to learn Fusion next

FINAL THOUGHTS

in all, I'm proud of what I've done, this is the longest animation i've ever done, the first thing I've done traditionally in YEARS, and I did quite a bit of troubleshooting

i am so so tired, so I think it might be a bit of time before the next one, but as much as i might bitch and whine, I LOVE this process, it's so much fun, and the frustration was just part of the challenge.

just, I think next time I'll try not to leave myself with a 1 week turnaround lmao

[ricky-mortis]

Ok but Agent Curt Mega with long hair though?

[thedragonagelesbian]

Wish me luck yaaaaaall im doing my first in-person conference presentation today

[acmeprintopac]

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

One of America’s most corporate-crime-friendly bankruptcy judges forced to recuse himself

Today (Oct 16) I'm in Minneapolis, keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing. Thursday (Oct 19), I'm in Charleston, WV to give the 41st annual McCreight Lecture in the Humanities. Friday (Oct 20), I'm at Charleston's Taylor Books from 12h-14h.

"I’ll believe corporations are people when Texas executes one." The now-famous quip from Robert Reich cuts to the bone of corporate personhood. Corporations are people with speech rights. They are heat-shields that absorb liability on behalf of their owners and managers.

But the membrane separating corporations from people is selectively permeable. A corporation is separate from its owners, who are not liable for its deeds – but it can also be "closely held," and so inseparable from those owners that their religious beliefs can excuse their companies from obeying laws they don't like:

https://clsbluesky.law.columbia.edu/2014/10/13/hobby-lobby-and-closely-held-corporations/

Corporations – not their owners – are liable for their misdeeds (that's the "limited liability" in "limited liablity corporation"). But owners of a murderous company can hold their victims' families hostage and secure bankruptcies for their companies that wipe out their owners' culpability – without any requirement for the owners to surrender their billions to the people they killed and maimed:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Corporations are, in other words, a kind of Schroedinger's Cat for impunity: when it helps the ruling class, corporations are inseparable from their owners; when that would hinder the rich and powerful, corporations are wholly distinct entities. They exist in a state of convenient superposition that collapses only when a plutocrat opens the box and decides what is inside it. Heads they win, tails we lose.

Key to corporate impunity is the rigged bankruptcy system. "Debts that can't be paid, won't be paid," so every successful civilization has some system for discharging debt, or it risks collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/bankruptcy-protects-fake-people-brutalizes-real-ones/

When you or I declare bankruptcy, we have to give up virtually everything and endure years (or a lifetime) of punitive retaliation based on our stained credit records, and even then, our student debts continue to haunt us, as do lawless scumbag debt-collectors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

When a giant corporation declares bankruptcy, by contrast, it emerges shorn of its union pension obligations and liabilities owed to workers and customers it abused or killed, and continues merrily on its way, re-offending at will. Big companies have mastered the Texas Two-Step, whereby a company creates a subsidiary that inherits all its liabilities, but not its assets. The liability-burdened company is declared bankrupt, and the company's sins are shriven at the bang of a judge's gavel:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

Three US judges oversee the majority of large corporate bankruptcies, and they are so reliable in their deference to this scheme that an entire industry of high-priced lawyers exists solely to game the system to ensure that their clients end up before one of these judges. When the Sacklers were seeking to abscond with their billions in opioid blood-money and stiff their victims' families, they set their sights on Judge Robert Drain in the Southern District of New York:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/23/a-bankrupt-process/#sacklers

To get in front of Drain, the Sacklers opened an office in White Plains, NY, then waited 192 days to file bankruptcy papers there (it takes six months to establish jurisdiction). Their papers including invisible metadata that identified the case as destined for Judge Drain's court, in a bid to trick the court's Case Management/Electronic Case Files system to assign the case to him.

The case was even pre-captioned "RDD" ("Robert D Drain"), to nudge clerks into getting their case into a friendly forum.

If the Sacklers hadn't opted for Judge Drain, they might have set their sights on the Houston courthouse presided over by Judge David Jones, the second of of the three most corporate-friendly large bankruptcy judges. Judge Jones is a Texas judge – as in "Texas Two-Step" – and he has a long history of allowing corporate murderers and thieves to escape with their fortunes intact and their victims penniless:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#shoppers-choice

But David Jones's reign of error is now in limbo. It turns out that he was secretly romantically involved with Elizabeth Freeman, a leading Texas corporate bankruptcy lawyer who argues Texas Two-Step cases in front of her boyfriend, Judge David Jones.

Judge Jones doesn't deny that he and Freeman are romantically involved, but said that he didn't think this fact warranted disclosure – let alone recusal – because they aren't married and "he didn't benefit economically from her legal work." He said that he'd only have to disclose if the two owned communal property, but the deed for their house lists them as co-owners:

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/24032507-general-warranty-deed

(Jones claims they don't live together – rather, he owns the house and pays the utility bills but lets Freeman live there.)

Even if they didn't own communal property, judges should not hear cases where one of the parties is represented by their long term romantic partner. I mean, that is a weird sentence to have to type, but I stand by it.

The case that led to the revelation and Jones's stepping away from his cases while the Fifth Circuit investigates is a ghastly – but typical – corporate murder trial. Corizon is a prison healthcare provider that killed prisoners with neglect, in the most cruel and awful ways imaginable. Their families sued, so Corizon budded off two new companies: YesCare got all the contracts and other assets, while Tehum Care Services got all the liabilities:

https://ca.finance.yahoo.com/news/prominent-bankruptcy-judge-david-jones-033801325.html

Then, Tehum paid Freeman to tell her boyfriend, Judge Jones, to let it declare bankruptcy, leaving $173m for YesCare and allocating $37m for the victims suing Tehum. Corizon owes more than $1.2b, "including tens of millions of dollars in unpaid invoices and hundreds of malpractice suits filed by prisoners and their families who have alleged negligent care":

https://www.kccllc.net/tehum/document/2390086230522000000000041

Under the deal, if Corizon murdered your family member, you would get $5,000 in compensation. Corizon gets to continue operating, using that $173m to prolong its yearslong murder spree.

The revelation that Jones and Freeman are lovers has derailed this deal. Jones is under investigation and has recused himself from his cases. The US Trustee – who represents creditors in bankruptcy cases – has intervened to block the deal, calling Tehum "a barren estate, one that was stripped of all of its valuable assets as a result of the combination and divisional mergers that occurred prior to the bankruptcy filing."

This is the third high-profile sleazy corporate bankruptcy that had victory snatched from the jaws of defeat this year: there was Johnson and Johnson's attempt to escape from liability from tricking women into powder their vulvas with asbestos (no, really), the Sacklers' attempt to abscond with billions after kicking off the opioid epidemic that's killed 800,000+ Americans and counting, and now this one.

This one might be the most consequential, though – it has the potential to eliminate one third of the major crime-enabling bankruptcy judges serving today.

One down.

Two to go.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/16/texas-two-step/#david-jones

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[oldquiltsquares]

Happy Birthday, Gary Burghoff!

“Weep onward child of poet’s song, Pasteled in hues of bluish void. Weep onward child of Poe and Freud, And dream your dream of sorrow.

The news is bad again today, The papers sweet with deadly truth. Weep onward child of twisted youth, And more will come tomorrow.”

- A Poem by Gary Burghoff

I will always be grateful to Gary for his portrayal of my all time favorite character, Radar O’Reilly.

For the celebration, I thought I’d share some fun little nuggets I’ve found of Gary Burghoff on the internet.

Here’s Gary Burghoff presenting the award for Top Female Vocalist at the ACM (CMA) Awards in 1975. “You too can sell shoes-“ comedic genius. 🤌🏻✨

Everyone knows this one but god, I love it. 100/10, babygirl is so talented. 🎀

I am speechless. Everything about this is comedy gold. I live for old people drama. $17,000 generators? Girl, get your fancy equipment. 💅✨

Gary Burghoff RV lore is actually so deep. Also, oh my god, the sexy sax, white vest, and soft red lighting in the second video. I AM SHOOK.

The fact that we never got a MASH musical episode…BLASPHEMY. 🤜🏻🔥

“LET ME TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT YA, DEAR.” *punching the air* Impeccable animal impressions, as always.

This is a video was posted two years ago ON Gary Burghoff’s birthday. This guy, King William, plays the MASH video game WHICH I HAD NO IDEA EXISTED. Hearing the theme song in ear piercing 8bit is crazy. Also, I lost it at the pixilated soldiers lying on the ground, soldiers you’re supposed to pick up with the chopper. Just…just look.

Alaright, I’ll stop with the internet rabbit holes. Happy Birthday, Gary Burghoff. ❤️

[doomingthenarrative]

im going to be so honest here i think carmen sandiego would’ve been 10x funnier if almost every character had some sort of complex of thinking that ANOTHER character was closer to carmen than they were.

let me explain

tigress scoffs when she learns paper star managed to steal the acme card from carmen [oh come on she let THAT freak get the better of her? … why do they fight like that. what’s so special about her. i could do that too carmen i’m BETTER than her let me be your number one enemy]

paper star pretend she doesn’t care that tigress and carmen have a history together [whatever i was in a class with her two. what do you mean carmen didn’t ignore her. they got to spar together that’s so unfair how come she was so muted in my year. i’m obviously a better nemesis]

devineaux thinks julia and carmen secretly meet up (they do) [what was she doing in miss argent’s office… have they MET UP SECRETLY? miss argent got to INTERVIEW CARMEN AND I WASNT INVITED?? shes had opportunities to bring the thief to justice WITHOUT ME??? how could they do this] (he’s a little confused)

julia is jealous of how often devineaux has actually caught carmen while investigating [how is it he always runs into her and i don’t??? is she avoiding me?? how is he so good at finding her?????]

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[cfiesler]

New research alert! Research about research, actually!

A couple of years ago we recruited here (and elsewhere) for interview participants for a research study about fat people's experiences online. As part of that study we also asked for thoughts about how to ethically conduct such research, both in online communities and in human-computer interaction research more generally. This short paper was presented as a poster at the ACM Conference on Computer-Supported Cooperative Work & Social Computing. Led by PhD student Blakeley Payne, this also won the conference's Best Poster Recognition! <3

"How to Ethically Engage Fat People in Research"

(1) Choose respectful language. Use participants' own self description in conversation and reporting. Consider the connotations of euphemisms and medicalizing language. We recommend "fat" as a default term to use until participants or the context indicates otherwise.

(2) Consider positionality and practice reflexivity. Fat people are not a monolith but are experts in their own lived experiences. Engage with the history of fat oppression, especially as facilitated by research and medical institutions. Consider your positionality with respect to this history.

(3) Rethink assumptions around weight loss. Don't assume fat people are unhealthy and/or want to lose weight. Interrogate "weight loss" as an embedded design value and its potential for harm. Use notions of health that are weight-neutral such as Health at Every Size.

(4) Engage fat people in research. Fat people want to be engaged in technology design and research! Center fat people's voices, needs, and desires when choosing research questions and methods.

Citation and (open access!) link to full paper: Blakeley H. Payne, Jordan Taylor, Katta Spiel, and Casey Fiesler. 2023. How to Ethically Engage Fat People in HCI Research. In Companion Publication of the 2023 Conference on Computer Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing (CSCW '23 Companion). Association for Computing Machinery, New York, NY, USA, 117–121. https://doi.org/10.1145/3584931.3606987

[rightapichen]

Hii Community of Carmen Sandiago!!!

I’m a little late for this community fandom (the truth is so slow..) But I‘m here!

And I also came with this my OCS! May I get to know my little girl from ACME!

(I’m very sorry, if my language goes wrong, I‘m not very good at it, I apologize in advance.)

Two girls and a partner partner are ready to enter the field!

“Maya”

ACME‘s top negotiators with a flat face and droping eyes that make it difficult to predict what she’s thinking. What are you planning in mind or what are the most stingy plans? Her psychology is strong and intense enough to get rid of goals with words, but don‘t think too little, she is also trained for self-Defence subjects!

“Admiral”

Courage and determination, ready to face every situation and prepare to cope at any time, even if the whole body is only a paper mint candy. That is the nickname that everyone calls her like that. Of course, the burn wound on her face comes from her own personal penetration. Don‘t think about fighting her. She is a former Muay Thai athlete for three times!

“Funfect”

1. Maya and Admiral are not only Thai people together, they are also Chiang Rai people! It’s not surprising that it will make the relationship of the two of them stronger than Nougat. (It‘s like a brother, like a sister, like a relative.)

2. At normal times, they are together. They will choose to use the native language and the accent to talk to each other. But when there are members to join the team, they will return to use the common language and normal accents.

3. Another obvious difference from the two people is that Maya will be open to food in every taste. More flavour and she does not have many taste problems. On the other hand, Admiral is salty. and likes intense flavours. She often complains every time she has to eat tasteless food.

4. Many people have misunderstood that Admiral is a radical thief who came to disguise herself as Interpol on the day she officially joined ACME. (The reason is that the tattoo is full on body and her face that looks so raw that it’s not like a good citizen LOL.)

5. Maya once said, ’If ACME‘s icon is a cutting-edge technology under a suit, Admiral’s icon would be a condiment under a suit instead.‘

In the future, I may introduce another of my OCS from V.I.L.E!

Thanks for reading and visiting my post, This is the first time I‘ve tried Tumblr.

[wolfthatroamsshadows]

Watched Hazbin Hotel, read Chaggie fanfic, and must've turned a wrong corner because I found myself back with Carmen Sandiego and Carulia. How did this happen?

Anyway... I wrote this short snippet. Takes place directly after the very last shot of the vary last episode of Carmen Sandiego. Cause, let's be honest, Carmen and Julia not ending up together... makes me sad. This is just a little, probably ooc, goodness. I don't even know if I should put it up on AO3.

Fandom: Carmen Sandiego (2019) Ship: Carmen/Julia Words: 709

Julia let out an exhausted sigh as she stepped out of the hotel's elevator. She had called it a day after they had brought in Paper Star. The paperwork would be there for her in the morning. She just wanted to get to the hotel and relax. It had been a few hectic days.

She unlocked the room and stepped into it. Closing the door behind her, she unbuttoned her blazer and discarded it on the back of a chair next to a bright red coat, before even acknowledging the figure lounging on the bed.

"Thank you for the gift. Nice wrapping." Julia smiled at Carmen.

"Just thought you guys would appreciate it." A lithe movement and Carmen stood in front of Julia, her hands on Julia's hips.

Julia looked up into the steely grey eyes of her companion. "It was. But you know what I would appreciate much more?" She leaned closer and put her hands on Carmen's chest. "Visiting a museum when it's actually open." Julia shoved Carmen back onto the mattress and straddled her.

"And whose fault is that Miss I-have-to-work?" Carmen laughed her hands settling on Julia's thighs.

"Oh, shut it you." Julia said good-naturedly and leaned down.

The door behind them burst open. "Carm!"

Julia sighed and dropped her forehead onto Carmen's chest. She had hoped she'd had more of a head start, but she should've known the twins' aversion to paperwork would mean different.

"Oooohhh! Are we interrupting something?" Ivy sing-songed teasingly.

Julia could practically hear Carmen's eyeroll. She sat up and swung her legs over to sit on the edge of the bed looking sternly at her colleagues. "Not anymore, you aren't. What do you want in here anyway?"

"We wanted to say hi to Carm. We missed her." Zack said with half a snack from the minibar in his hand.

"We just hadn't realized you had called dibs on her first. Should've put a sock on the door handle or something." Ivy smirked.

Julia sighed. She liked the twins, really, but she didn't know how Carmen had put up with their antics for that long. "Zack, please don't empty the minibar, ACME doesn't cover the bill and I doubt your paycheck allows for it. And Ivy, I did not call dibs…" She was getting worked up, but Carmen put her hand on the small of her back and she found her calm again. "…because I simply didn't feel it necessary to do so. I thought it was obvious. At least to two people who claim to be as capable as they are as Agents."

That got the attention of Zack and Ivy. They stood up straighter, ready to defend themselves. "But I must've been mistaken. Maybe you spent too much time with Devineaux. Who knows. He, at least, has learned to knock before entering a room." Julia smirked. Devineaux had learned the hard way to knock before barging into a room, after he had walked in on Carmen and Julia once. That was an occasion none of them wanted to ever repeat.

Julia got up and walked to her suitcase. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable. And then I just want some dinner." She straightened again after grabbing her clothes and looked at the other three in the room. "With my girlfriend. Alone. Understood?" Her eyes fixed the twins specifically who nodded and swallowed. She turned and entered the bathroom. Closing the door behind herself, she smiled. Being a senior agent had some perks. Or it was just that Zack and Ivy had realized, after working with her, just how much damage Julia could've done to their operation if she had wanted.

She could hear the excited talk of the twins in the other room. A fond look stole itself on her face. For all the teasing and jabs that happened, they were still family. Somehow. She shook her head and left the bathroom after changing.

"Where do you want to go?" Carmen asked.

"I don't know. Let's just see where we'll find ourselves."

Carmen offered her arm, Julia accepted.

Carmen leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You alright, Jules?"

"I am now. Thank you." Carmen pressed her lips to Julia's temple, before they left the room together.

[fluffytheocelot]

Carmen Week Day 5: AU

AWW YE HERE WE GO BOIS I HAVE BEEN SO HYPED FOR THIS ONE! Sorry its a bit late lol

Anyways--

Last Wolf is very near and dear to me, it was the first fic I actually had the confidence to write, but Thief's Guide is almost completely my own. It's not based off of another series, pretty much all the worldbuilding and plot is mine. Last Wolf still follows the timeline and plot of the original show (changed and added to of course, but the original show is the backbone.

A Thief's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse is exactly what it sounds like lol. Carmen and her friends surviving in an apocalypse while on the run from VILE and ACME, complete with a dope soundtrack.

And Julethief of course :) because i love them

This is definitely an AU I wanna write down, I promise. Uhh maybe when I get this chapter of Last Wolf out I'll start??? Maybe. We'll see lol.

Feel free to drop me an ask about it! or last wolf too lol.

Dope soundtrack:

if the song came out during or before 1986ish, then its probably something the characters would listen to (namely Carmen, jamming to cassettes she scavenges on her Walkman). anything after that would just be soundtrack/credits music if it was a show.

uhhh story info under the cut lol

Around the mid 1980s, Dr. Bellum's unnamed predecessor was experimenting with a virus that, well, turned people into zombies. The test run soon got out of hand, however, and the virus quickly spread to the entire world.

Technology pretty much stays the same. Radios, paper maps, Walkmans, stuff like that. Music and TV obviously aren't getting widespread release anymore, so anything that came out past like, 1986 doesn't exist.

(Wow Fluffy that's so unrealistic there's no way people wouldn't quarantine themselves to stop it-- *looks at 2020* nevermind)

VILE uses it as a power grab, offering people shelter, food, etc. in exchange for joining. Fun.

There's incredible amounts of chaos and violence for the first decade or so, until late 1999 when VILE faculty member Dexter Wolfe is assumed to have been caught and killed.

Two things happen: ACME arises as a direct rival to VILE, and VILE acquires a certain Black Sheep.

ACME wants to find a cure. VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going so they stay in power. VILE and ACME are both much more well known.

Black Sheep grows up in a VILE compound, learning all her important thief skills of course, as well as the skills needed to survive the apocalypse: Firearms, bows, blades, living in the wilderness, etc etc. Pretty much anything you can think of needing to know in the apocalypse, Carmen learned when she was like six lol.

She officially enrolls at about 15, and escapes at 16.

Eventually she figures out VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going and escapes into the night on horseback, with Cookie Booker's stolen hat and coat.

She's on the run for a while and eventually winds up in Ontario, where she meets a recently orphaned 12 yr old Player. The two become fast friends and pretty much grow up together over the next few years. Carmen is very protective of Player and teaches him how to survive in case anything happens to her.

They make their way to Boston, pick up Zack and Ivy, and Team Red is complete! (for now)

Along the way they eventually acquire our favorite grumpy ninja, Carmen's favorite ACME agent, an aussie electrician and a couple more surprise people ;)

Carmen also discovers she may be the key to ending the apocalypse, but is ACME really what they say they are?

[embossross]

The Devotion of the Girl in the Mirror

Chapter 4 >> Chapter 5 >> Masterlist

✣ Pairing: Rindou x AFAB fem!Reader w/ a chapter cameo of reader/yuzuha

✣ Warning: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI

✣ Series: part of the In the Belly of the Beast fic universe

✣ Chapter CW: bdsm play feat. reader/yuzuha (gasp!), bondage, overstim, vibrators, exhibitionism, group BDSM feat. 2 other subs getting masturbated (one fem!AFAB and one fem!AMAB, idk crowd jeers, a little bit of degradation, bad communication & angst, drinking)

✣ Story CWs: BDSM dob/sub relationship; sex (oral, ptv, pta, etc.); genre typical drug use, alcohol, smoking

✣ Synopsis: A story of two lonely people find love for better or worse. Or, dom!Rindou is sweet on his girl. Or, on paper, you and Rindou have nothing in common. But sometimes chemistry defies logic, and with every conversation, you find yourself more bewitched until all you see, smell, or hear is Rindou.

✣ Word Count: ~8.5k

The black dot may have been nothing but a circle, a representation of the sun or an eye, except it is written, which makes it punctuation. As a symbol of punctuation, it may have been a period at the end of a sentence, except there are three, which makes it part of an ellipsis. As an ellipsis, it may have indicated a trailing off of a thought except it accompanies a blank space on his screen, an auto-generated signal from his phone, which means you are still typing, as you have been for the last five minutes with no message yet in response to his text.

It should not take this long to respond to an invitation to dinner.

With every minute that passes, his ire rises higher.

Rindou strains through another set of lat pulls, refusing to let you and your silent treatment slow him down. Opposite him, Benkei deadlifts a stunning 300 kg. When the bar hits the floor, the clang echoes off the mirror-lined walls.

There is a gym in the basement of his apartment complex, guaranteed to be empty in the early pre-dawn hours, which he prefers for the privacy it offers. Wakasa’s gym is never empty. Fighters practice boxing, MMA, and jujutsu with retired pros morning and night. Most of the customers sport tattoos from one syndicate or another, and Rindou often recognizes the guys on his own payroll by the free weights or sweating in the saunas. Rindou only started returning to Wakasa’s gym for the occasional practice bout or strength training session in the last few months. Wakasa’s been filling his ear with the idea of taking you and his girl on a double date, a vacation to the mountains when your semester wraps, and Rindou has been coming by to talk the details.

A text finally lights up his screen, and Rindou forces himself to ignore it for a solid minute while he finishes his set even as his eyes dart back against his will.

I can’t do dinner. Plans with Naoya. But I could do drinks.

Wakasa lopes forward, hands in his pockets, before Rindou can answer. It’s his turn to leave you with the ellipsis of anxiety and doom. He locks his phone and tosses face-down on a bench.

“Wanted to tell you we got the goods through Nagoya yesterday,” Wakasa says tonelessly. “Ushioda’s really come through. My guy says customs not only didn’t check, they agreed to decrease security personnel during offboarding. Ran is going to be a menace about being the one to make this happen, but he’s worked his magic on this.”

Rindou matches Wakasa’s subdued attitude beat for beat, but in his mind, he runs through a month’s worth of memos and emails to recall if he knew about this plan. “You sent a shipment of girls through the port? That’s fucking brazen.”

“Mochi wanted to test the limits early with something cheap before we put our expensive shit through there,” Wakasa said.

According to Takeomi, Ushioda begged on bended knee for clemency for his son. It was hard to say whether love or shame drove the father, but the outcome was the same. Acme Corp would smuggle Bonten contraband through the Port of Nagoya, so long as they streamlined into their regular shipping schedule to avoid setting off any alarm bells.

This was the second shipment received through the port after moving a little marijuana through a few weeks earlier. Rindou tries to keep his expectations in check as operations continue smoothly, but his hopes rise against his better judgment.

“Mochi says he wants to do a few more runs, but that you should start thinking through where you could source the heroine,” Wakasa relays.

They could source through the triads as the Chinese and Russian gangs already have inroads with the producers, but they would each take their cut and ruin Bonten’s margins. The drug would be new on the market. Rindou doesn’t want to price high outright. Start cheap and once the clientele can’t live without their fix, then drive the prices up. They could run a deficit to start, but that would mean Koko up his ass. Cutting the triads out completely isn’t an option either as they would need to ship out of China, but if they could build their own supplier network, they could negotiate a better rate.

“It’s gonna be too obvious if we have guys coming in and out of Afghanistan all the time. They don’t even run direct flights out of Seoul. We’d get picked instantly. I’m thinking we could get away with sending someone through to Turkey though. With a little palm greasing, they can cross into Iran without getting their passport stamped. The IRGC run the heroine trade through Afghanistan, so we could develop our own connections from there,” Rindou says.

Wakasa nods along at what he already figured. “Who you gonna send?”

“Not me if that’s what you’re thinking. I hate plane rides,” Rindou says.

“Of course, not you. We need you. I was thinking Hanma.”

Rindou groans. “I fucking hate that guy.”

“We all fucking hate that guy. But that’s why he’s good at this shit. He’s done great work in Hong Kong. Send him over there. He knows how to make the coldest man sweat,” Wakasa suggests.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it.”

He finishes another set of lat pulls, while Wakasa and Benkei chat away about the insipid rise of Peloton. Endorphins rush to his brain, and he feels magnanimous enough to finally shoot you a reply.

See you at 5.

If he has anything to say about it, Naoya will be eating dinner alone tonight.

--

Two people could not be dressed more oppositely. Fresh from his post-workout shower, Rindou wears nothing but a pair of sweats. Droplets of water scatter across his bare shoulder blade as his long, wet hair drips freely. Strong chest and arms still pumped from muscle training great you at the door. You, meanwhile, dressed for an Arctic exploration in a floor-length parka, bulging in all the wrong places, a fluffy scarf wound three-times round your neck, and an equally fluffy, fur-lined hood. A mask completes the look, so the only skin he can see is a sliver of your forehead and your narrowed eyes.

“Just looking at you makes me feel cold,” you scowl.

“Just looking at you is making me cold.”

You barge right past him into his apartment. The heater works overtime to keep the entire complex a toasty 23 degrees. Past the entryway, where you slip out of your boots, the dining room table is lined with boxes of Chinese takeout; Unsure what you’d want to eat, Rindou opted to order a smorgasbord of options.

Beneath the unflattering coat, you wear a black dress. The long sleeves and tasteful length contrast a daring vee that dips down to show off the swell of your lovely, little breasts. You’re packaged like a delicious gift for the unwrapping, and Rindou can’t resist planting a soft kiss to the back of your neck as you hang your coat. He expects the battle tonight will be a long and painful one, but still you dressed up for him.

“Good to see it’s you under there. For a second, I thought it might be an assassin,” Rindou jokes.

“Easy for you to laugh all warm in here! It’s freezing outside. They’re calling for snow tonight into tomorrow, which sucks. I can’t miss class at this point in the semester,” you complain.

“Well, I’ve got everything you need to warm up,” Rindou says. He gestures at the table laden with food, and then, more critically, brandishes the bottle of wine bought just for tonight. “And if the weather’s too bad tomorrow, I’m sure they’ll cancel. You can just hang out here all day.”

“My professors are all sadists. I wouldn’t put it past them to host class as they get double-bypass surgery. They’d have the surgeon right there in the lecture hall,” you grumble.

Rindou half listens as you launch into a prolonged rant about your upcoming finals. His attention is understandably split as he searches your lively expressions for the ugly shadow of jealousy. Behind every word, he hunts for double meanings.

The look of pure betrayal on your face when he ran into you yesterday in Chiba will not soon leave his mind. It colored his scenes yesterday with Mayuri, turning him mean and unmerciful as he bound and belted her ass red. She deserved his full attention after putting her trust in him, but Rindou twice almost walked away to call you. Had you answered, he might have berated you for daring to look at him like that, like you’d caught him fucking your mother or murdering the family pet. Like he’d done something unforgivable to you.

Now, as you gripe about exams, every bit the picture of the beleaguered uni student, your words ring false. Like you are filling time and space to put distance between the you of yesterday, so judgey and offended, and the you of today. You tell him how exams are two months out, and like a good student, you are already studying in earnest in the pits of what you dub “flashcard hell” as Kii has taken to posting flashcards over every expanse of wall in her apartment, springing prep questions on unconsenting listeners, and crying periodically about how she should have spent fewer hours sleeping and more time reading the supplementary materials. Rindou hums in sympathy in all the right places, and he almost, almost begins to relax into the conversation. Like an idiot.

“Are you feeling the dumplings or the pork?” Rindou asks, plating up a hearty helping of food for himself.

“Neither. I can’t eat, remember?” you say.

“Oh, come on. Stay the night. It’s too cold to be going out.”

“True, but I promised Naoto. We’re going to this really fancy curry restaurant, and he said he’d pay, so I’m planning to go all out and get dessert,” you say.

Noticing his wine glass is running low, Rindou drains the last dregs and pours himself a healthy portion. This will be easier drunk. He debates pouring you more as well, wondering if a little tipsiness would make you spunkier or mellow the worst of your impulses. Because he senses the fit approaching, the moment you break your pretense that everything is fine and well and force a confrontation.

“You know, I don’t like playing games,” he says.

 “I don’t like playing games either.”

“Then, don’t.”

Rindou says it shortly, definitively. The barest hint of command reinforces his voice, and he watches the way you receive the order, squirming in that delightfully submissive way of yours before you reject your inclination to obedience. You set your jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say.

Rindou sighs. He expected you would be difficult but not passive aggressive. Not like this.

“You have dinner plans with Naoto? Seriously?”

“Yes?”

“Bullshit,” Rindou snaps. “I expected you to be immature about what happened yesterday, but this? You’re better than this. Forget your conveniently timed dinner plans, and let’s act like adults. Then, we can have a nice night.”

“It’s a work event. Naoto was nervous about going alone, so he asked me to come with him. This was planned weeks ago. I just forgot until he reminded me,” you insist, standing up from your chair, like the added height will strengthen your lie.

“Convenient,” Rindou sneers.

In the six months you’ve been together, you have never had a genuine fight or even argument. Seeing your smiling face typically puts Rindou in too good a mood, curbs the worst of his temper, so he is slow to pick fights. You, meanwhile, listen so well, adapting your behavior without him having to utter a word. Bickering typically becomes flirtatious banter in a matter of minutes, the kind that ends with your panties in his pocket.

So, Rindou doesn’t know what to expect from you in a real fight. He half expected you to fold at the slightest correction. You are still young, so he doesn’t write off the possibility of some kind of petty manipulation either, the silent treatment maybe, or more probably breaking into a mess of tears, the kind that bring so many men to a panic; Unfortunately for you, Rindou doesn’t capitulate to a woman’s cries or begging, going cold at any miserable attempt to manipulate his emotions.

Faced with you now, the tendons in your neck pulse as you square of against him without any sign of crumbling. You worry your lower lip between your teeth until it is red and swollen. It is the only sign of anxiety. Otherwise, you stand strong.

“If you feel like I’m somehow attacking you, it must be a guilty conscience. Because I haven’t said or done anything to you.”

“What do I have to feel guilty about?” Rindou demands coldly.

“You’d have to tell me. Because I thought about it all day and night –”

“See, I knew you were wound up about yesterday –”

“I thought about it all day and night,” you raise your voice to drown him out. “And, yes, it was weird to see you with someone else. Yes, it hurt. It was so unexpected. But, if you think I’m trying to punish you over it, you’re out of line because my eyes are wide open. You’re not my boyfriend –”

“No, I’m not. Which is why you shouldn’t –”

“I know, I know. How can I be hurt or angry when you’re not my boyfriend? You didn’t cheat on me or break any promises. I have nothing to be upset about.”

“Right.”

Confused and more than a little wary, Rindou sits back down at the table. He has held conversations like this a few times in his life. Most subs understand the importance of negotiation implicitly and take him for what he is. There have been a handful of in the past, however, usually inexperienced women like you, who struggled to work through the limitations of their relationship with him, crashing futilely against the boundaries of what he offered.

Because he doesn’t do relationships. Blame it on the dangers of his work, the secrecy inherent in the lifestyle, or some intrinsic flaw in his makeup. Regardless, he never plans to tie himself down to one woman. All that road offers is the erosion of his freedom.

“Since you wanted to talk about it so much though, bringing it up and all, I would like to ask about what I should expect,” you continue. “Because I didn’t realize you were seeing other people, and that raises questions. Like, are you practicing safe sex with these women? Have you been getting tested for STDs? Should we be using condoms? And, are you looking for more long-term subs? How would you even fit in another sub? Would we have to see each other less, so you could make time for a new one? What should I expect going forward?”

Each question is too reasonable to deny, so Rindou answers plainly, “You’re the only person I see regularly, so I use condoms with everyone else and get tested on the first of every month. If you want to use condoms together, that is entirely your decision. I’ll accept whatever you decide. I’m not looking to train anyone else right now. If I found someone that suited my tastes, I might consider it though, and yeah, that would mean adjusting my schedule around because I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you would not be open to training together.”

“No!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rindou says.

“How many women have you been with since we got together?” you demand.

There is no good answer, and Rindou groans, “Seriously? Don’t start overreacting now.”

“I’m cool! I’m being so cool. Just answer the question,” you smile, but it is a mockery of your normal, gleaming smiles. Teeth clenched tight together, it is more like an animal baring its fangs.

“No! I don’t owe you a fucking itemized list of every woman I’ve fucked. Just like I don’t run around town telling them about you. I haven’t cheated on you. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“I just wanna know how and when you’re finding time to meet other people.”

Rindou rolls his eyes. “Because that’s rational. You don’t actually want to know the answer to that.”

“I just don’t know where you’re possibly finding the time to meet all these women –”

“Again, you’re exaggerating. Not all these women. Some, like Mayuri, I knew before you. Some I meet through work. Straightforward stuff.”

“Mayuri is the woman from yesterday?”

“I think we’re done with this conversation now,” Rindou says tightly.

A shininess blurs the color of your eyes then, and Rindou sighs. He wants to wrap you up in his arms and praise you for being such a strong, beautiful girl because despite all your tough words, this isn’t easy for you. If he could be a better man for you, he would consider it, but there is only so much he can offer, and the burden of accepting that is on you.

“Thank you for being honest with me. I really do need to head out and meet Naoto, but I’ll think about the condom thing,” you murmur.

“Baby, don’t leave like this,” Rindou tries. There is no more fight in your stance and now that the threat of conflict is ended, he finds the energy draining from his whole body.

“I’m fine! We’re fine. Seriously, Rindou. I’m not going to overreact or stamp my foot at you like that might change something. My eyes are wide open like I told you. I understand where you’re coming from completely. We can hang out soon,” you say.

Rindou doesn’t like the idea of you leaving when your foundations are so shaken, wants to stuff you full of gone-cold Chinese food and cuddle on the couch until you fall asleep on his shoulder. Even if neither of you yelled or descended into insults, he feels like he fought a war, and the only way to recover is in your arms.

He follows you to the entryway.

You redon your winter gear in a hurry. The puffy coat is plush and cozy as he pulls you close and kisses you long and slow. You return the kiss with wind-chapped lips not fighting him at all. The heat that always explodes between you blazes, and he cups and caresses you through the barrier of the coat.

He wants you to stay.

You break the kiss after only a minute and smile.

“I’ll call you, ok?”

And then, you are gone.

--

When Rindou sleeps, he dreams of shopping malls built like mazes, window shopping displays of the finest goods, and he understands without knowing that to obtain even one miraculous product from these stores would spell his salvation; But whenever he tries to enter one of the stores, the maze shifts, redirects him until he is walking forwards again, searching. Still searching. During the slippery seconds between sleep and waking, that liminal space where dreams and life converge, he stews in resentment for what he can’t possess. That resentment often follows him into the day, though he tries not to dwell on it. The recurring dream started sometime in his early twenties. He remembers that dream joining him in sleep on at least a monthly basis, but for all he knows, he dreams it every night only to forget with the rising of the sun.

The weeks that follow the lingerie incident remind him of that dream only there is no supernatural force reworking the architecture of time and space to prevent him from entering the store. It feels like he’s piloting a plane headed straight for a cliff. There is still time to push the emergency button and eject to safety if he is only willing to abandon the plane to its solitary, fiery fate. But, he is a pilot, and the plane is all he’s ever known, and the longer he goes without pushing the button, the slighter his chances of escaping unscathed.

Because you are not fine.

The three weeks that follow pass at a crawl. Time reshapes itself into molasses around the giant you-sized absence in his days. It is easy, at first, to deny the obvious as you offer such convincing excuses to blow him off. After all, your friends do often lean on you for emotional support, and finals are drawing close, and your mother does deserve a break. So what if you leave his texts on read for hours at a time?

On the fourth day, he calls you in the free period he knows falls between your Wednesday lectures. When you answer, Rindou mistakes your sing-song hello for the voicemail you have relegated him to recently. You apologize for not having time to talk, squeezing more words into a breath than humanly plausible as you explain your packed study schedule. You promise to see him soon before you hang up.

You sounded fine on the phone. The same voice, light and airy like spring personified, that Rindou knows so well.

But you are not fine.

The ice wall between you thaws a little in the second week when Rindou reminds you that he bought tickets to the Inaba/Salas tour. Again, you surprise him by joining as planned at the stadium. Throughout the concert, you smile and cheer along, and the open delight on your face as you groove to the music invites him to join in the fun. At the end of the night, he drives you home to where you swear your mom is waiting. He kisses you breathless in the front seat of his car. You sigh hot and sticky into his mouth, notched into the crook of his shoulder like you have carved a space for yourself there, and whisper “Sir” with more fervor than a prayer. Everything seems fine.

But you are not fine.

Only a few days later, you agree to a date. The familiarity as he texts you details and soaks up your liberal usage of emojis relaxes him into thinking all is well. He takes you ice skating at Tokyo Midtown Gardens. With your little gloved hand in his, you half carry each other around the rink, equally graceless without the surety of solid ground. Rindou laughs more than he has for two weeks. You both fall again and again, Rindou toppling each time so as to shield your body from the worst of it. As you sprawl on top of him, padded from head to toe in winter wear, you promise to kiss his purple bruises better and call him your hero. Back at his apartment, you do just that, licking and kissing every part of his body, losing track of time. The trains stop running, so you sleep where you belong in the cradle of his arms. He wakes up at 6AM to the sound of you shuffling, halfway out the door citing an early start to the day. You would have left without a goodbye, but at his groggy inquiry, you tell him you are fine.

But you are not fine.

Rindou wants to confront you about the change. He hates playing stupid games more than accusations or tears and would rather have it out at this point. But, whenever you visit, he never broaches the subject. Because you are so singularly you! And fuck it. He misses you. The contrast between seeing you fives time a week and this drought is stark. Now, when you leave, you don’t send him dumb memes or answer his calls to talk about your day. You don’t rush to make plans to see him again either, and Rindou knows he can’t accept your lame excuses anymore. Something is fundamentally broken.

For the first time in maybe ever, Rindou throws himself into his work. The timing is convenient with recent developments, so he offers to take the meetings outside the perimeter of Tokyo when before he might have dragged his feet. He personally briefs Takeomi every day. When Kakucho mentions a security threat in passing, Rindou volunteers to help even though it falls well outside his purview. Anything to keep the body active.

You had come to fill up the hours of his day, to be the dessert he could look forward to after a meal of veggies. Rindou can’t comprehend how he used to fill the interminable hours between six PM and sleep without your assistance.

So, he works, and he tries not to think about anything much at all.

The plane soars onward without any assistance on his part. The details of the exposed cliff face, jagged and unforgiving, grow clearer by the hour. There will be no escape. When he crashes, Rindou knows he is going to explode.

--

Ran once said all of Bonten has PTSD in one form or another. Overexposure to high stress, life-or-death situations puts too much stress on the adrenal system, so now half the executives drop to their stomachs when a car misfires, stand with their backs flat to the nearest wall in every new room, avoid crowds like some people avoid traffic tickets. Rindou considers himself free of this affliction, but on the road, hands flexing on the steering wheel and eyes split between mirrors like a car might strike out into his lane at any moment, he is every bit as activated.

The hour is late, creeping towards midnight when Rindou pulls onto the expressway. There are predictably few passenger cars sharing the road. Semitrucks kick up a mist of rain that obscures his windshield.

To fill the sleepless hours, Rindou is developing all kinds of new habits. Driving, brain preciously blank to all but the threat of traffic, is one of them. So is going to the office. Just today, he went to the Ueno office of all places rather than watch the hours of the day tick by in his apartment. There is no email unanswered, directive unissued, or memo unread to keep his brain occupied. He wishes there was because his apartment holds as little allure now as it did this this morning.

A notification lights up the display. It’s a reminder that the BDSM club in Roppongi – the one where you first met – is open for play tonight. Rindou palms his cock, and it feels like an animal, a dead one, in his pants. Not even a stir. His mood is too black and distracted to responsibly dom anyone, so he dismisses the notification.

Screeching the tires, Rindou almost misses his exit. He brakes hard down the ramp until he shoots out on a quiet street. At the drab buildings, he does a double take, recognizing the north entrance to Nakano Station.

He has driven straight past his real exit and an extra twenty minutes without noticing to arrive in your neighborhood.

Rindou feels drunk despite not taking a sip of alcohol all day. He pulls into a gas station and refills the tank. While it pumps, he pops his contacts out of sore eyes. Everything blurs like a photograph in soft focus. He closes his eyes against a headache and breathes deep for 120 torturous breaths. Back in the car, he unearths his glasses from the glove compartment. They’re the same style, though a stronger prescription, that he wore as a teen. Catching his reflection in the rearview, Rindou sees the boy he once was. Just as lost, letting things happen around him without a thought, only leaping to action when stronger powers (namely Ran) prompted). Someone who watches as life happens.

Nothing is in his control.

The BDSM club is five minutes closer to Nakano than his apartment, a negligible difference, but after the driving mix-up he changes course. Nostalgia takes the wheel to lead to where you first met, where he has not visited since.

The ticket takers at the theater don’t recognize him, hesitating until he points at the tattoo on his throat. He looks unkempt: hair ratty and unbrushed, jacket slung over his shoulder and button-up crumpled at the ends, and his glasses highlight the eyes of a man who has barely slept in days. It is no surprise that subs don’t flock to him when he enters. He doesn’t look like the all-powerful dom tonight. Best he sits back and watches.

Rindou pays for a full bottle of bourbon, served neat and hard on the taste buds. The club is busy as it’s Saturday, and couples and groups clog the four stages. There are no tables left close enough for a view of the action, so Rindou stands in the corner, taking heavy swigs straight from the bottle until his stomach cramps.

There is little variety on stage. Three doms whip, cane, and flog their subs. All older man with younger women. They are impersonal, showing perfunctory delight at the infliction of pain. These are the kinds of scenes that bore him when done without finesse.

On the fourth stage, he recognizes Lady X, a domme he knows from many shared nights spent just like this, bringing women to their knees. Lost in his memories is Lady X’s real name. Yuzu something…Yuzuriha? Yuzuyu? In the clubs, she always goes by her alias or is called simply Lady, but Rindou remembers her vaguely as the sister of the tenth gen leader of the Black Dragons.

Lady is the antithesis of Rindou as a dom.

If Rindou finds control in manipulating a pliant body and acceptance in a sub’s embrace of his touch, whether it offers pain or pleasure, Lady finds release in giving her subs what they want. Where Rindou hoards women’s orgasms like precious jewels, flaunting his ownership of them only to hide them away again, Lady distributes them like cheap birdseed, doling out orgasm after orgasm to her thankful subs. Eventually said thanks turns to pleading, as one orgasm becomes four and the pleasure twists to something monumental. Lady then ups the vibrator or nips the woman’s clit with blunt teeth because, as she told Rindou once over a drink at this very bar, her goal in every scene is to create a world where her subs’ worst problem is the existence of too much pleasure, not its absence, nor its inverse, pain.

Tonight, Lady commands the largest audience of patrons. No surprise there as she strikes quite the picture herself, tall and lovely in a pencil skirt as she brings three subs on stage to piteous tears. Rindou slides closer to her stage for a better look.

Suspended in a harness of ropes, the first sub weeps wretchedly. There is a hitachi wand held to her clit. The setting must be high because the buzz travels from the stage to his ears. The woman cries but does not beg for mercy. There is the sheen of the acolyte behind her eyes, like she might commit unspeakable acts if they only bring her back here to Lady’s ropes and generous toys.

A second sub at her side stands restrained but not suspended. Her arms are tied above her, so that she can do nothing while Lady strokes her cock. Lady’s little hand smears messily over the tip, which is an inflamed red. There is a puddle of cum on the floor from the woman’s past orgasms. Little drips of semen harden on her legs. Every touch must hurt, but Lady keeps playing with the tip, forcing her back to hardness whether she likes it or not.

The third sub is just an ass in the air. A perfect ass at that.

Bent over a wooden block and shackled at the ankle, so that her legs are to the audience, the sub’s pussy is spread wide around a vibrator taped to her clit. Her feet kick ineffectually against her restraints, little trembles jiggling her thighs.

Rindou enjoys watching Lady work, so self-assured, so competent at bringing her subs to the brink and past. His eyes stray again and again to the pretty ass in the air. A stir in his pants makes him question his decision to abstain tonight. It has been over a week of his own hand.

After fifteen minutes of more of the same, Lady releases the first two subs from their ropes and cuffs. They are felled heaps on the stage, panting in puddles of their own slick and cum. Lady rounds to the third sub, leaning toward that hidden face in private conversation. Then she stands, and sighs for the audience’s benefit.

“Here I am being so generous, telling this slut to cum as many times as she wants, and she hasn’t cum once! What to do?”

Lady answers her own question by crouching down in front of the sub’s spread pussy and burying her whole face in it. There is a lull in the music, and Rindou can hear just how lewdly Lady laves that pussy with her tongue. Her fingers stretch the sub’s hole at a brutal pace. The woman keens loudly and kicks her feet again. Everything from her little naked toes to canting hips look beautiful in the throws of overstimulation.

Of course, Rindou knows without knowing. A presentiment colors the scene. He leans forward with interest, compelled toward that wet cunt, not wanting to miss a moment of the action, but his stomach sickens too. He ignores the sensation, blames the bourbon warming its way down his belly.

Lady tuts as the sub continues to hang on the precipice without teetering over.

She turns to the audience and says, “Little slut is having a hard time coming without permission from her old dom. Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard? Why don’t you let her know she has permission to cum? Tell her to squirt all over my hand.”

Eager to join in more actively, the crowd of about thirty hoot and holler in encouragement, mixing in obscenities about the sub’s wet cunt and place beneath Lady’s toys. Rindou claps along.

Four fingers slam in and out of that sloppy hole, and the time between shakes and cries from the sub evaporates until she is blubbering at the stimulation. Lady yanks her up by the hair to gift her the added sting at her scalp, and it pushes the sub over the edge.

Correction: it pushes you over the edge.

Because Rindou knows that ass, and he knows those toes, and even at a distance with the lights too bright and a row of people in front of him, he knows that pretty pussy, too. That pretty pussy now clenches around Lady’s fingers in an orgasm far too long and powerful for your overstimulated body.

Rindou watches your face screw up in pain and tears, an expression just as familiar to him. It is an expression that should belong solely to him.

All three subs follow Lady dutifully off stage after your orgasm finally settles. She bundles you all in blankets, heaping compliments and affection down on you as is your due after such a trying scene. Rindou hovers within earshot as Lady pets your head and rubs a tear from your check. Twenty minutes elapse as you come out of subspace, during which time Rindou drains half the bottle of bourbon.

“I look like a racoon. I’m gonna head to the bathroom and fix my makeup,” you laugh, pointing at the streaks of mascara that paint your cheeks.

You replace the blanket with an overcoat to shield your nakedness then weave your way through the crowd. Compliments on your performance rain down from all sides. Rindou shadows your step. Not far from the bathroom, you drop your phone. When you turn to pick it up off the floor, Rindou is there, already scooping it off the ground.

“Rin – Rindou!” you yelp.

“Not trying to scare you,” Rindou says immediately, defensively, and he passes the phone back to you without even scanning the lock screen for a peek at your messages. “Just saw you and wanted to say hey.”

“Well, hey…um…”

“You might wanna fix your makeup. You’ve got…” Rindou gestures at the cakey residue you already know is there, and you curse.

“Yeah, sorry. I need to go to the bathroom and deal with this.”

“I’ll come with you,” Rindou says, opening the door for you.

“Rindou, you can’t come in here with me,” you whisper.

He almost tells you it’s his club and he can do whatever he wants, but Rindou wears his secrecy like a second skin and only smirks at your worries before following you into the women’s bathroom. It is a six-stall affair with a wall mirror above the sinks. He can hear a woman pee behind the door of one stall, but he ignores the stranger’s presence as you ignore his, turning to the mirrors.

“You did good up there. Looked like you had a lot of tension to work out, which isn’t surprising considering all the studying you’ve been doing. Didn’t you have a paper due this week?” Rindou prompts.

You rub dry fingertips against your cheeks. When that doesn’t work, you wad up three paper towels, wet from the sink, and scrub.

“Yeah, I had a paper on Bashō’s references to music and instrumentation in his poems, which was due on Thursday. It could have been a lot worse honestly. I like the subject, and I thought my first draft was good for once. Of course, I had a complete breakdown on Wednesday after dreaming that the paper was really supposed to be about Nishiyama Sōin and that I’d miscited every source in there, but um, I managed to calm myself down.”

“Good. I don’t know why you always have nightmares about your papers. You always get an A.”

“Not always,” you say darkly.

The woman in the occupied stall hurries out, casting a few curious glances Rindou’s way as she washes her hands. She doesn’t dry them, leaving little splatters of water on the counter. Then, they are truly alone.

“Are you planning to stick around now that you finished your scene? Can’t imagine you wanna do another after that? It looked intense.”

“You really watched that?” you ask.

“Most of it,” he confirms. “You did good.”

“Thanks,” you say without looking at him. You dry your hands while staring at your now streak-free reflection in the mirror.

“If you don’t wanna stay, I could take you home. Or, if you’re hungry, I know a 24/7 breakfast place not far from here. You never eat enough after a scene,” Rindou says.

“Um, I’m good…Have you been coming here often?”

“No, it’s my first time in forever. You?” he asks in a tone that just misses casual.

“It’s my second time in the last two weeks. I’m kind of trying out stuff right now,” you say.

“Trying out stuff…” he tests the words.

“Are you okay? You look a little tense.”

Normally, Rindou chooses his words with precision, but he finds himself unable to process his surroundings. He exists somewhere outside his body, outside his brain, outside this room entirely. He peers down on the scene almost like a security camera, removed and distant. No, rather more like footage from a security camera, viewed days after the fact in a little room by someone who neither knows nor understands the context of the scene. Trying to think through the likely consequences of his words or choosing an alternative phrase, he finds his thoughts vaporous and ungraspable. So, he simply speaks.

“I didn’t like it.”

“Like what? Watching me with someone else?” you say quickly.

He grunts because that’s easier than searching for any kind of answer.

“You said we could fuck other people.”

“I know. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Rindou agrees. It is the correct and automatic response, but he can’t resist tacking on the truth at the end. “I didn’t like watching.”

“Well, that’s flattering at least,” you mutter.

In a different reality, one where he sent you up there with a pat on the ass, he might have liked watching Lady work your cunt up to a waterfall before returning you to him, still hovering on the precipice, edged and needy. He might have liked teasing you all night with the possibility of an orgasm. But he did not like watching you cum for someone else. Not without his permission. Even with a filmy gauze slowing down his brain from the half bottle of bourbon, he knows that much.

“We’re not okay, are we?” Rindou asks.

“No, Rindou. We are not okay.”

“Well, can we talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Can we talk about it without you making me feel like a complete idiot?” you snap.

A woman pushes open the door to the bathroom, but upon hearing the direction of your conversation, she turns right around, leaving you to a privacy tinged by history. The door creaks back into place with a choked slam.

“Like a…? You’re not an idiot?” Rindou insists.

“I know I’m not an idiot! I have spent the last few weeks going back and forth between feeling so sad and then so goddamn angry with you! Because I know that I could not have been more chill about things if I had a lobotomy to remove my frontal cortex first! I was so cool about everything, so understanding, so kind, and you treated me like, like some fucking bother you had to get out of the way!”

The first feeling to reemerge from the confused pit you dumped him in is embarrassment at himself as he is admittedly slow on the uptake, stuttering out, “Wait…this isn’t about…? This is about our conversation at my apartment?”

“Yes!” you hiss, hands flapping emphatically and voice echoing off the tile. The overcoat swallows you whole, a sea of black fabric trailing the floor, but somehow you stand tall within it. “Yes! I came that night so prepared to listen to your side of things and be reasonable and empathetic and all the rest, and you treated me like I was a hysterical child that you had to manage. Far be it from me to criticize the great Rindou! Not that I even did criticize you before you were jumping down my throat. I am not unreasonable. I am not hysterical. And I am not a child. I did not appreciate being treated like I was.”

Rindou remembers back to the hours before you arrived at his apartment that day. How he’d been so sure you would accuse him of cheating or play mind games to negate your own jealousy. The whole time you were there, he maintained that sureness even when you acted contrary to those expectations.

It, he admits, hadn’t been fair.

Worse, it may have been patronizing.

He groans, not at you but at the memory, and rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, yeah, yeah, you’re probably right. I see that. I didn’t want you to blow things out of proportion, so I tried to shut you down before you could. But I guess I acted like a prick.”

“A prick might be understating it. I came to you to have a conversation in good faith, and you made me feel so…small. Insignificant. Like, I’m just this easy thing to you. Like you could use and discard me, so I better shut my mouth before you throw me away.”

Rindou opens his mouth to give a rebuttal-like reassurance that you are wrong about your supposed disposability to him, but you plow forward, pointed finger punctuating every word, which is a welcome distraction from the look of raw pain on your face. It is like the sun. Too painful to look at directly.

“I know what that feels like, Rindou, because I’ve been treated that way before. I’m young and people call me sweet, and that means people think I’m stupid or superficial, but I’m not. I’m capable of dealing with the hard things and having the hard conversations, and I do not deserve to be treated like I’m too naïve to know how things work.”

There is a layer of grime on his tongue. He focuses on how foreign it feels in his mouth rather than the thumping organ in his ribcage. The way his heart races and the room feels too small is not dissimilar to the sensations he feels when someone fires a gun, when his life is momentarily suspended. A kind of physical panic that quickly settles into alertness.

He breathes deep, calming. Rindou smells the antibacterial soap and weak air freshener blowing from the vents. The colors of the room appear saturated, more contrast and more details accessible to the eye. Most importantly, he sees you clearly. The veins of your throat strain as if bursting with tension your body can’t contain. There are new smudges at the edges as tiny tears wet your eyeline. There is every emotion in those eyes from disgust to anger to sadness, but most of all, there is a question lingering there as you silently beg him to answer: where can we go from here?

“I have never thought of you as some easy thing. I fucked up. I don’t know what was going on in my head that day, but you’re right. I wasn’t seeing you. I should have shut my fucking mouth and listened. I’m sorry.”

Relief warms your eyes.

“I accept your apology,” you say.

“Really?” Rindou asks. After weeks of brewing resentment and your impassioned speech, he didn’t expect a speedy turnaround no matter how many pretty speeches he made himself.

“Yeah, I don’t like being angry. It takes a lot of energy,” you half laugh.

The abrupt about face from anger to laughter throws into stark relief that the is very drunk and very tired.  Beneath that, Rindou recognizes a more abstract emotion, too: happiness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I didn’t realize what you were upset about,” Rindou says, and then he adds helpfully. “Because I’m stupid. Thanks for forgiving me.”

“Yeah, you are stupid, but I figure you deserve a little grace because this was the first time in six months that you disrespected me. So long as you never treat me that way again. Seriously. My mother taught me to never put up with that from anyone,” you say.

“On my honor,” Rindou vows. “So, can I buy you something to eat now?”

The happiness explodes out like a shaken soda bottle. One second, he’s filled to the brim with it, and the next it’s gone, bubbling to nothing on the tile because you don’t say yes. Instead, you stare grimly at the wall, all traces of reconciliation gone as you clutch the sleeves of your overcoat tight.

He wonders if his apology is not enough, if he might prove his sincerity to you in some other way. If you were Mikey, he would cut off his pinky. He would gladly gift you the ring, index, and middle fingers of his left hand, too, if you demanded them. But fingers out of the question, he has nothing to give you to prove himself, and you don’t say yes.

“Rindou…I do accept your apology for insulting me, but that’s not all…The truth is, I tried to be cool about it, but I’ve had weeks to think, and…I’m not okay with things going back to how they were if you are dating or hell, sleeping with other people. I’m jealous and hurt. And I can’t accept it,” you say.

“It’s normal to be jealous,” Rindou tries, tone bracing and supportive. “I got jealous today, but I worked through it. I’ve been a dom since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been tied down to one person before. It’s not the way I know how to do things. That’s why I didn’t make any promises when we got together. I didn’t cheat on –”

“Please don’t start that again! I know! I know you technically didn’t do anything wrong. And I know that I can’t make you stop seeing other people. It’s your relationship, too, and you can have your boundaries, but…”

“But?”

“But if I can’t ask you to stop seeing other people, then you can’t ask me to keep loving you.”

You clap a hand to your mouth as if shocked by the confession, or like you might herd the words back into your mouth where they will remain unspoken. But it is too late. He can count on one hand the number of times anyone has told him they loved him, and he will not forget this.

“Baby…” Rindou tries to reach for you, but you scramble away, and now tears fall down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the problem, ya know? It hasn’t just been sex or hanging out for me. What we were doing, for me at least, was love, and it hurts too much to love someone who…I tried to take a step back, just have fun with you every once in a while, but there’s no medicine for falling in love, and every time I saw your stupid face, my heart started doing backflips. It doesn’t listen to me when I tell it we shouldn’t love you anymore. And that’s why…”

Your face blurs. It takes Rindou several confused seconds to realize his eyes are wet and blink the moisture away. When you reappear, you have steeled your nerves for the finishing blow.

“That’s why I don’t want to see you anymore. I need space and time to get over you, so um, please just stop calling and texting and all the rest. Just stop.”

Your face blurs again, and this time Rindou knows it’s because his eyes are watering. He blames his stupid glasses. He needs a stronger prescription.

There is no such excuse for your tears that drip past your chin to land on your collar. You wipe fruitlessly at the leakage, too slow to stimmy their fall.

If you say anything after that, Rindou doesn’t hear you over the ringing in his ears. Three women enter the bathroom arm-in-arm and immediately jabber at him about how he isn’t welcome, like three harpies sent to drive him away. Rindou doesn’t fight them as they push him out the door with their words.

Outside in the club, in the dark and music, far from the bright quiet of the bathroom, Rindou feels like he’s stepped onto the surface of Mars. Like he’s planets away from where you are, and he might as well be.

He doesn’t know how to find his way back to you because he stands now amid the wreckage, engine on fire, wings cracked. The plane has finally crashed.

A/N: entering my villain era

"'I was always watching you.' This could have been a breathless declaration of love or a final farewell." - Yōko Ogawa, The Diving Pool: Three Novellas

[okkos-ferrum]

lazy drawing of my current brainrot au

with and without silly doodles

that one time i wrote a fanfic but orphaned it teehee

but anyway this is like the one au im obsessed with LIKE THE FACT THIS GUY IS JUST FOREVER STUCK CHASING AFTER CARMEN NO MATTER WHAT SIDE HE IS ON

anyway some misc thoughts since i did write half a story with this au once:

my personal hc is that graham is a 16-17 year old stuck in a 20-something body. since vile took all memories regarding vile+criminal instincts and gray was a criminal as a teen, thats a good chunk of his life he has slivers of (yes ik the show said 1 year but idk the timeline feels wonky to me on how that works also i just think its a funny idea). tho mature/independent even when he was a teen so he is pretty well adjusted, but stuff like driving and talking to older adults still are foreign to him

speaking of driving, chase would try to have graham be a way for him get driving privledges back but obv graham has no clue how to drive on acc of memory and living in a city. so after one disasterous attempt at a driving lesson, both are stuck being taxied everywhere

was too lazy to have drawn it but yeaah his "crackle" side would come out in times of stress/fighting, and chase probably would have to go after him lol. but the further along it goes, "crackle" will become less of a split but a second instinct for graham like how we see in the show.

graham still isnt a fan of nicknames so he doesnt like being called "agent calloway" and insists upon graham

whenever forced to do boring paper work or whatever acme agents do whenever they're not failing to catch carmen, chase just gives graham all the paper work he doesnt like doing since graham doesnt have too much of a problem with boring work (gray def did lol)

graham is the early bird to chase's night owl

graham often worries abt morality of acme due to having a more positive view of carmen (he only joined to get to the bottom between why he remembers carmen and what that has to do with vile) and vocalizes his doubts often to chase. this becomes a issue since chase is a very act first, think never person ... until recently due to the vienna caper

anyway if anyone has any acme gray hcs or stuff ill happily eat them all up

[psikonauti]

Mary Carroll (American, b. 1979)

Moonrise, 2022

Ballpoint pen and Graphite on ACM arches mounted paper

[acmeprintopac]

ACME Print O Pac Pvt. Ltd. is one of the best paper printing companies in Delhi, India. To keep our clients satisfied, we offer our printing services at reasonable prices. We want to be at the forefront of the industry by providing high-quality printing services.

[avatarvyakara]

Might as well work on this one too…

On Age in Carmen Sandiego (2019)

Or, at the very least, in the timeline of Crimson Shades.

First off, Carmen’s mother, Carlotta Valdez (aka “Vera Cruz”), was supposed to have “died” in 1999. Carmen looked around perhaps a year old at that point in time, giving her a possible birth-date in 1996 to 1997. This in turn suggests that the series takes place some time before the actual date of publication—say, 2017/2018 onwards—to maintain Carmen’s rough age.

Rough age ranges of the characters, taking Carmen’s rough birthdate for estimation:

Team Red

Isabela Valdez/Black Sheep/Carmen Sandiego: 16/17 starting at VILE, 18/19 during the Poitiers Caper, 22/23 by the end.

Fairly self-explanatory.

Pierre Bouchard/Player: 12/13 as a White Hat Hacker, 14/15 during the Poitiers Caper, 18/19 by the end.

Not quite old enough for a learner’s permit (Up Here it’s a G1) during the earlier capers.

Ivy Collins: 19 during the Donuts/Poitiers Capers, 23 by the end.

Zack Collins: 18 during the Donuts/Poitiers Capers, 22 by the end.

Zack is supposed to be around a year younger than Ivy.

Nakamura Suhara/Shadowsan: 23 when sent after Dexter Wolfe, 42 during the Poitiers Caper, 46 by the end.

Young but not too young, as it were.

VILE

Eartha McGlynn/Coach Brunt: 39 upon receiving Black Sheep, 58 during the Poitiers Caper, 61 when arrested, 63 by the end.

Gunnar Stromme/Professor Maelstrom: 37 upon receiving Black Sheep, 56 during the Poitiers Caper, 60 when arrested, 62 by the end.

Oluchi Cleopatra Okorie/Countess Cleo: 26 upon receiving Black Sheep, 45 during the Poitiers Caper, 49 when arrested, 51 by the end.

Saira Dhibar/Doctor Bellum: 33 upon receiving Black Sheep, 54 during the Poitiers Caper, 58 when arrested, 60 by the end.

Sir Nigel Braithwaite/Roundabout: 56 when appointed, 57 when arrested, 59 by the end.

Margherita Picasso/Cookie Booker: 54 when first pelted, 62 when the Hard Drive was stolen, 67 by the end.

Vlad Bobinski: 28 upon receiving Black Sheep, 45 upon letting Black Sheep get away, 50 by the end.

Boris Vladinski: 27 upon receiving Black Sheep, 44 while watching Vlad let Black Sheep get away, 49 by the end.

They may be slightly younger or older, but at least Coach Brunt’s age seems to have been confirmed at 60 by the time of the Fourth Season.

Graham Calloway/Gray/Crackle: 18 starting at VILE, 20 during the Poitiers Caper, 24 by the end.

Jean-Paul Marignan/Le Chèvre: 19 starting at VILE, 21 during the Poitiers Caper, 25 by the end.

Antonio Sánchez/El Topo: 18/19 starting at VILE, 20/21 during the Poitiers Caper, 24/25 by the end.

Sheena Landry/Tigress: 18 starting at VILE, 20 during the Poitiers Caper, 23 when arrested, 24 by the end.

Parker Morris/Mime Bomb: 18 starting at VILE, 20 during the Poitiers Caper, 23 when arrested, 25 by the end.

Sawa Jin/Paper Star: 17 starting at VILE, 18 during the Magna Carta Caper, 22 when arrested at the end.

ACME

Tamara Fraser/Chief: 26 when killing Dexter Wolfe, 45 during the Poitiers Caper, 49 when arresting VILE, 51 by the end.

Inspector/Agent Chase Devineaux: 37 during the Poitiers Caper, 38/39 when arresting VILE, 41 by the end.

Agent Julia Argent: 25 during the Poitiers Caper, 27 when arresting VILE, 29 by the end.

This is going to cause some trouble, I just know it. But the average amount of time it takes to get a university degree in the UK is around three years, and Julia has two of them. She also seems to have jumped right to an associate professorship at Oxford in Season 3, the requirements for which are around 4-6 years of study plus a thesis. Thus Julia would have had to have been in school for at least something like seven to nine years before joining Interpol, with whom she had apparently only been for a fortnight before the Poitiers Caper. The number above assumes that she skipped a year and took a year less to complete her second degree. Or took two years less. Or started two years early. You get my point. Basically, Julia has to be a fair bit older than she looks in order to actually have the qualifications she possesses.

Agent Umaira Zari: 38 during the Poitiers Caper, 40 when arresting VILE, 42 by the end.

Some additional ages:

Nakamura Hideo: 17 when his brother Suhara was born, 36 when his brother disappeared, 63 when his brother returned for good, 65 by the end.

Not an unreasonable age given his looks, I thought.

Carlotta Valdez: 27 when she gave birth to Isabela, 47 when Carmen returned home to her, 49 by the end.

Young but not too long, once again.

Any I missed?