#ALL THAT BEING SAID. im forever weak for this company. its in mine Blood. but like all corporations They've Got Issues

[machudson]

ok somethin i wanna say re the new phones. $750 for the least expensive phone obv is ... not 'budget friendly'. like i don't wanna be all 'Apple needs to do x or they won't be successful' cause ppl who do that are obnoxious as fuck but it rly would be Great for them to like. have other phones with up to date but not like excessively fancy technology. like they just discontinues the 6, x, and se phones which was tbh not a great call? i haven't paid any attention to the 7 or 8 but like. please make actually affordable phones that still have the (soft) home button. and the headphone jack. and shit like that. stop jacking up the price while you keep removing things!!! market to the average person as a general user base in addition to/instead of just like rich ppl or californians or something. and you don't have to release big new fancy tech every year honestly. also other people have already said this ofc but planned obsolescence is shit. also have your genius bar or repairs or whatever the fuck actually be helpful instead of telling people they need to buy a new phone when they just have to get some dust out or something. stop pulling that shit where you make it seem like the only option is to spend several hundred dollars it's so fucking transparent

[go-whump-in-the-night]

Backstory for my OC, Ren (back when he was still Tsubasa), about his last evening as a bunraku puppet at the Komorebi Club, and his introduction to Yuudai, the ex-yakuza who rescued him. Pretty dark whump followed by a rare comfort moment! Yay! Word count: 2641 TW: implied/referenced noncon, implied/referenced self-harm, referenced suicide attempt

  The transdermal patch was pressed into the back of the puppet’s neck, just below his hairline, and microscopic pins pressed into the grooves worn in his skin. Almost immediately, the dizzying sensation of the drug began swirling around Tsubasa’s head, and he felt himself growing nauseous.

“Lay him down. Tilt his head to the side.”

The pale young man watched as his view changed, limply slumping back on the bed’s dark brown silky blankets , then looking over to his left as large, cool hands turned his face in that direction. The light from the artificial treetops danced across the suite’s wall. He had been told by Minami-sama that this light was a simulation of the light one might see breaking through the treetops on a sunny day.

Tsubasa wondered what sunlight was like. He had been told it was warm. A warm light. He could barely comprehend that concept.

People were talking, softly, as if aware that Tsubasa listened in on the conversations of the management here as often as he could. Other than the personasofts, it was his only source of information.

He strained his ears to listen even as he felt his limbs growing weaker, even his lungs having slight difficulty expanding.

“This is not good. If Minami-san knew how close he came today...he’d have our skins.”

“Minami-san won’t know. Minami-san won’t find out. The only ones who know are you and I.”

“Yeah, but the cameras-”

“There aren’t any cameras in the suites, dumbass. Same reason he’s got that data filter in his head. “

“What did he even use? There was a lot of blood, but...there’s nothing he could’ve stabbed himself with, is there?”

“...I think he used his teeth.”

The pair of Yakuza fell silent and Tsubasa trailed his dark eyes down to look at his hand, which lay limply in front of his face. His wrist was wrapped in clean, white bandages.

After a moment, one of the guards said, “He couldn’t’ve actually killed himself, though. He’s weak, even without the Dopadrine.”

“That’s by design. But even then, him getting hurt at all is bad news, and if he was actually aware while he did it…”

“It was a glitch with the ‘soft. I’m sure it was. Don’t get so fuckin’ ominous.”

“Let’s just get ‘im put away and then try to figure out a way to explain this to Minami-san.”

Hands grabbed hold of Tsubasa, one pair under his arms, one at his legs. He felt limp and numb, nausea still swirling around his stomach. The group moved through one of the doors, carved with the shape of a maple leaf on its front, and into another warm-coloured hallway. Dark mahogany floors, burnt orange walls, and that ever-present dancing light, that dappled light of the sun through trees.

They brought Tsubasa to his room and put him on the bed. The door locked behind them as the pair left.

Darkness. Darkness. Darkness.

This room was so dark it seemed endless. Dark. An eternal blackness; no smell, no taste, no texture. Just a blackness so deep that Tsubasa could not see if his eyes were opened or closed.

Slowly, numbly, he raised a hand to his face, holding it in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see it. Then he moved it back to the back of his neck, feeling the silicone patch over his spine. He ran his fingers over its surface, smoother than the skin underneath.

Time didn’t pass here. It was soundproofed. He had seen it with the light from the hallway outside, enough to know that it would, under normal circumstances, be a nice, if spartan, room. His bed was firm but not uncomfortable, and there was room to walk around.

Tsubasa wasn’t in here enough to grow stir-crazy, but sometimes he wondered what the less-popular bunraku went through, in here for hours, even days, not even put on display so that they might have a chance to get out of the darkness.

Foolishness, thought Tsubasa. I’m always in the darkness. Even when I’m out there in those swirling, false lights, even when I’m surrounded by people, it’s dark. I can’t see anything. Nothing.

Nothing.

No

thing….

Tsubasa shut his eyes again.  He listened to the dull throb of his head, feeling it washing around his head like the ocean. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing them gently. His fingers felt cold, tingly. In fact, he could hardly feel them at all. They kept this area cold, and Tsubasa didn’t know if it was to save money or to somehow keep the dolls more docile.

Maybe people are like food, Tsubasa thought sardonically to himself. Perhaps we last longer if we’re kept cold.

He regretted the thought almost immediately. Tsubasa felt sick.

Nauseous.

He felt as if his limbs weighed a million tons.

He didn't know how long he was in there for, as his thoughts spun around in his drowsy mind. Premeditated suicide was not a luxury Tsubasa was allowed; he didn't spend enough time in his own head to make those sorts of plans.

He hadn't gone into that room with the idea of killing himself. It had just happened. He had been put in one of the luxury suites, and was waiting for the personafix chip to be activated. He had felt a dull dread deep in his chest, pulling and tugging like a fish-hook.

And he had looked down at his pale, slender wrist, seeing the delicate blue veins beneath the flawless skin. A hatred had risen up in him, a loathing for that perfect skin, for that carefully cultivated body that felt as if it belonged to someone else.

He felt trapped in his skin.

He felt imprisoned here. In the darkness. In his body. He wished he could be free of it. Of all of it. Now, before his mind was entrapped in itself again. Before that cell door was implanted in his skin and he became someone else.

There was a tearing, a taste of hot coppery liquid, a startlingly brilliant red flashing out against Tsubasa’s pale arm. Red rushing out at him, washing out that darkness.

But Tsubasa was never far from one of Minami’s men, and too soon, he was being restrained, held down, the drug patch pressed into his neck. Everything slowed down, and he watched through a haze as his arm was stitched up and bandaged.

A click of the maglock on the door broke Tsubasa out of his thoughts; he looked over in the direction of the noise, flinching at the sudden light as the door slid open.

“Tsubasa. This will not happen again.”

Minami’s voice never wavered from the calm cadence that he always spoke in, the voice of a man who had flags in a lot of different mountains, and knew few people were foolish enough to try to plant their own. He was a professional, a businessman, and Tsubasa was both fascinated by and terrified of him.

“My men tell me it was a malfunction with your personafix chip that caused this little incident,” said Minami, “But I'm not a fool, and nor, do I think, are you. The chip hadn't been activated yet, had it?”

Tsubasa was silent, just lying on his side and staring at the wall.

“Answer me,” a slight edge worked its way into Minami’s voice.

“No, sir.”

“Precisely,” Minami continued, voice calm once more, “Let’s not have any reservations with each other. I am well aware of how intuitive you are, how adaptive. It’s what makes you such a valuable asset to Komorebi. None of the other bunraku have lasted as long and provided such good results. You are consistently the most requested offering in this company. You are one of our selling points, and it’s precisely because of how durable your mind is, how resilient.

You know all this, Tsubasa.”

Tsubasa nodded, shutting his eyes. This was the most he could recall Minami ever saying to him. Fear gripped his chest like a vice.

“I have offered you a certain amount of freedom which the other bunraku do not receive, because I have interest in maintaining your position as my top selling item. However, what you did this evening, and what you were attempting to do, has made me reconsider this. You are the only bunraku at the Komorebi Club to be given occassional recess from your personafix software. I believed that this would preserve you for many more years. I believed that I was securing an investment. I have decided to rectify this mistake.”

Tsubasa’s eyes snapped open, and he looked over at Minami, heart pounding.

“Your personafix chip will be activated permanently, and you will be kept on Dopadrine when not working,” Minami’s voice had gone quiet, icy, “Your body is mine, Tsubasa. Literally, legally, and up until now I have allowed you to continue using it. But I will not tolerate you damaging my property. You will continue to live and earn money for this company until I decide I no longer have need of you.”

Minami said, “It is regrettable. You had been surprisingly good at resisting the mental strain of the personafix chip. Your original personality wasn't even entirely  undesirable. It's deeply regrettable that it will have to be locked inside that mind of yours from now on. Deeply regrettable.” He took a step backwards, hands clasped in front of him, watching Tsubasa for a moment. Then, with a quick turn on his heel, Minami stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Tsubasa was shut into the darkness again, trembling, his freshly-stitched wrist tingling slightly.

As the young dark-haired man lay on his bed, he listened to the sounds of the Komorebi Club closing for the evening. Tsubasa wondered what it would be like, to no longer be himself, ever again. To think his last lucid thought and then be gone.

Was Tsubasa the body? Or was Tsubasa the mind? Will I still be Tsubasa when I’m gone? Will this body still have my name?

He looked up at the ceiling, throat burning as he tried to keep his repressed sobs silent. He had to take in as much as he could. As much sound as possible. As much smell, as much sight.

Would this be what the rest of his life was like? Locked forever in the darkness of his own mind, unable to act, only able to watch as he was used by the patrons of this business? Unable even to scream?

He felt the warmth of tears streaming down the sides of his face and into his hairline as he looked up at the black ceiling, so dark it may have been endless.

He listened to the noises of the Club’s activities slowly transition from afternoon to evening to early morning. The sounds of talking and drinking, of soft music and footsteps. These transitioned into hushed conversations in Japanese, and to Minami in particular, speaking to his men. Then, hours later, the doors of the building being closed and locked, and the very faintest noise of a car driving away.

It was still so dark. He placed a hand over his face, feeling the cool skin, shutting his eyes and inhaling a pained gasp of air. How many more movements would be of his own command? How many more thoughts would be acted on? How long would it be before he no longer could remember who he used to be?

What if this isn’t who I was born as? What if they created this personality, too? What if Tsubasa is as much a fiction as the rest of them? As fake as this skin and this damned room?

Who am I?

Who are my parents? Do I even have any? Do they know I’m here? 

Did they sell me to Minami? 

His chest hurt, as if the Dopadrine was actually impeding his ability to breathe. It hurt...his chest...his heart...he wanted to scream and claw at his skin, to rip apart Tsubasa, because Tsubasa was what Minami wanted. He wanted to destroy the body these men paid so much money for. He wanted to rip himself apart until there was nothing but his mind.

This body is just a vessel. 

My mind. My mind is who I am. I can’t lose my mind. They can’t take my mind. They can’t take it. They can’t take my mind.

 This body isn’t me. This body isn’t me. This body is a vessel. My mind is me. They can’t take it. They can’t. I can’t lose this, too-

A loud crack sounded in the tiny room and Tsubasa’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the door, around which he could suddenly see just the tiniest crack of light, as if it had been pushed slightly in. How the hell-

As Tsubasa thought this, another loud report sounded as the door visibly shook. Tsubasa shook, his breathing hitched; but he couldn’t move. The drug patch in his neck...he couldn’t even lift his head.

With one final, startling crash, the thick, reinforced door slammed open, banging against the wall as it was pushed inward. Tsubasa flinched, a brilliant blue light driving into his eyes.

Light. Light. Light.

A beautiful...brilliant blue light.

“Get up. Come on, quick, kid. We gotta go.”

A voice was sounding from the source of the light, a terse, but not frightened voice. He was speaking Japanese, very informal Japanese, and he sounded fairly young, though Tsubasa wasn’t sure how young. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the figure.

“Come on,”said the man, stepping into the room. Bright blue lights illuminated the tiny space; the figure was tall and lean, muscular. He was wearing a semi-opaque, skintight black mesh shirt, black PVC pants and tall, heavy neon blue boots. He was Japanese, pure Japanese, obviously, and...he was so vivid. So bright. Bright fiberoptic cyberdreads, bright neon lines running down his arms to pvc fingerless gloves. An unsheathed katana stringed with matching LEDs was on his toned shoulder, and his eyes: intent, but also excited, and a beautiful glowing blue.

“Wh...what…?”

“Are you deaf?” the man frowned, looking legitimately confused, “We’re going. I’m rescuing you. Get it?”

Tsubasa stared dumbly at the man, unable to understand his words. He was clearly speaking Japanese, but it didn’t make sense. Going? Rescue? Had Tsubasa gone completely mad?

“What...do you mean...going?” asked Tsubasa softly, brows furrowed.

The man rocked back on forth on his heels slightly, and then he grinned, and the grin was more blindingly beautiful than anything Tsubasa had ever seen. It had no malice in it, no cruelty, no lust. Just...excitement. Tsubasa would almost call it...joy.

Then he said, “Listen, I’ve been working here for a while, and I’ve decided I need some good karma. I’m breaking you out, okay, and leaving,” he frowned a bit, “What does it matter why? Just get up and come on.”

“I don’t...I mean...that is, I can’t…”

“Eh?”

“The drugs...the patch on my neck...I don’t think I can move...I’m sorry…”

The man tilted his head to the side, then crouched, glancing around at the back of Tsubasa’s neck; the younger man felt as if his skin had warmed by a good ten degrees.

“Dopadrine?” the dread-locked man sounded dismayed, “They give you guys Dopadrine??”

Tsubasa shrugged, frowning lightly.

“Fuck, they give that crap to orcs. I’m surprised you’re even conscious. Alright…”

He crouched, and in a swift motion, lifted Tsubasa onto his back, hooking his arms around the young man’s legs and draping his arms around his neck.

“I’m Yuudai, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Tsu…”

“Huh? What?”

“No, I...I don’t have one.”

Yuudai fell silent for a moment, then laughed lightly, looking over at the boy and grinning. That grin made Tsubasa feel like he was flying.

“Well, why don’t you start thinking of one?” asked Yuudai, “A new name. A new start.”