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helioooss · 20 days ago

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i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#kpop x reader #karina imagines #karina x reader #karina #aespa x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #jimin x reader #yu jimin

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jadagul · 10 months ago

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Nothing makes me more viscerally sympathetic to the "corporations decide what products people are going to want regardless of what people actually want" argument than the fact that all phones are giant tablets with no buttons. No one is making anything else, so everyone "has" to want one of those.

Except.

I really did care about this issue, so I looked into the details, and that's exactly backwards. When Motorola killed the Droid line of phones with slide-out keyboards, I went and read an interview with the product director. And he was like "yeah, I loved that feature, I really liked those phones, but we just couldn't get people to buy them."

And similarly, I'm always upset that no one is making reasonable-sized (under five inches) phones any more. But the thing is, when they do make those they can't sell them. For a long time Apple hung on with the mini line, which was the only thing that ever tempted me to do business with Apple. But they're discontinuing it because they just can't sell enough of them to justify keeping that line open—even though they have a total monopoly on the market for "small decent-quality smartphones".

These are both cases where the corporations keep trying to create demand for exactly the products I want. And it doesn't take because people authentically, organically, do not want them.

#smartphones #technology #capitalism

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formulawolff · 7 months ago

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xiv. the aftermath - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 3.3k

warnings: ANGST, lots of angst, mentions of sexual relationships, slight mentions of misogyny, cursing, slut-shaming, mentions of divorce, toto is lowkey yearning through this messiness, yadayadayada

prev. | next.

“do you have any idea how serious this is?”

you huff, rolling your eyes slightly, “i am quite aware.”

“you are actively engaging in a sexual relationship with the team principal of another–”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“james,” a voice interjects, “do not make assumptions. we are not quite aware of the details or nature of their relationship.”

james scoffs, folding his arms across his chest, “i think i have a pretty good idea of the nature of their relationship. she fucking kissed him. in front of the entire world, nonetheless. it was not just a small peck either it–”

“james,” the voice’s tone shifts, hardened with a sternness, “she’s a twenty-two year old woman. she can speak for herself. i am aware that you are very passionate about the current reputation of the team, but i think we need to let her speak for herself, hmm? would you like to make a comment regarding the incident in monaco?”

your gaze falls on sir patrick head, co-founder of williams racing. surrounding you were members of the board, along with members of the management committee. all around, the paper white walls of the board room were blank, reminiscent of an interrogation room. the lack of notebooks, tablets, and laptops on the table were no help either, as you felt the entire focus of the room was lasered in on you. to your left was james, alex on your right.

marcus prosser, one of the heads of commercial and marketing sat across from you, his phone lying on the table, recording every single second of the ongoing conversation. you swallow the lump in your throat, shifting uneasily in your chair.

“do you want me to start from the beginning again or?”

“if you would like,” patrick shrugs, “you are not inclined to share every detail regarding your relationship with the mercedes team principal. we would like to know the gist of it, that’s all. is it strictly personal? borderline business? has he spoken of any future contract deals? that sort of thing.”

“well,” there was no reason to lie anymore, “after the first grand prix, in bahrain, he approached me. that was the beginning of our personal relationship.”

“did he mention any sort of thing about a future contract with mercedes?” marcus inquires, jotting down a few notes, “look, to put it plainly, the fia wants to ensure that your contract was not breached. that is the main thing that everyone is buzzing about. if he approached you with a contract deal and then began a personal relationship with you, then that’s textbook manipulation. mostly due to the fact that he was using the deal as leverage to kindle that relationship. and he deserves to be punished for that.”

“but what about me?” you raise a brow, “i consensually agreed to the personal relationship. i wanted–”

“you have to remember that you are thirty years younger than this man,” marcus’ voice is quiet, “he took advantage of you. he knew your age, and he began a relationship with you.”

“what happened to me being an adult?” you counter, “i am so sick of this bullshit that everyone is spreading around. i wanted a relationship with him. it wasn’t like he cornered me and demanded that we start seeing one another. it developed over time–”

“developed over time?” patrick’s brow furrow, “elaborate on that.”

“oh my god. i feel like we’ve been over this about a million times,” you exhale, “the relationship started in bahrain after the grand prix. we have been seeing one another in private since that night. i made things public in monaco. are we forgetting that here? that i was the person who initiated that kiss?”

“so in summary,” marcus clears his throat, his eyes honed in over the plethora of notes before him, “you placed eighth in bahrain. toto wolff approached you later that evening, stating that he wanted a personal relationship with you. in these last few weeks, the two of you have been engaged in a romantic relationship. is that correct?”

“let’s not forget that in that time, he did approach me inquiring about her contract,” james interrupts, “that was around jeddah or miami, i don’t really recall the details.”

“while i appreciate the statement,” marcus’ eyes narrow, glaring over at the team principal, “i was speaking to your driver.”

sucking in a breath, you nod, “everything we have discussed thus far has been answered to the best of my ability.”

“i see no further need for questioning,” marcus leans forward, pressing the stop icon on his screen, “if no parts of her contract have been breached, then i see no issue with their relationship. additionally, i trust that she has a good head on her shoulders and would not betray the team in any fashion. however, if there are future contract talks or negotiations, then you must facilitate a meeting with not only us and mercedes, but with the fia. they will want to ensure that you are not treated differently than any of the drivers or given perks that most drivers are not.”

“that’s it?” james coughs, “what about—“

“you can speak with her on your own accord,” patrick leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, “you have to remember james, she has won us a significant number of grand prixes. she is currently in first place for the title. and with her current trajectory, i do envision her standing on that podium, showered in champagne.”

“you see,” marcus taps his pen against the table, “if anyone’s reputation is suffering, it’s toto’s. he is the one who has a family. he is the one with an established career at mercedes. our american girl here, sponsors, investors, and the general public can forgive and forget. especially when there are world titles at stake.”

“but what about our team?” james retaliates, his voice growing louder with each and every word, “what about our reputation?”

“to be quite honest,” james, the other marketing head chips in, “we haven’t seen much talk regarding our reputation. most of the focus is on toto, like marcus said. additionally, imagine the publicity that are going to come out of this. drive to survive has already sent usa number of inquiries regarding an episode about our american girl. the fans are raving. in their words, they’re excited for the drama that will unfold in the coming season.”

“so to clarify,” you pipe up, “i’m not in trouble?”

“no, you’re not in any sort of trouble,” patrick’s voice was gentle as he spoke, “this is something that has never happened before in the history of formula one. there is sort of a grey area. at least, right now. per your contract, we cannot dictate who you can or cannot date. however, if you end up deciding that you would like to join toto at mercedes, please be as transparent with us as possible. additionally, be forewarned that the fia may not allow it due to conflict of interest.”

“right,” you nod, fiddling with your thumbs, “i thought i was going to lose my seat, if we’re being honest.”

“as long as you do not leak confidential team information with mr. wolff, then i do not see an issue with it,” patrick affirms, “we can’t afford to lose you. you’re our little shining star.”

at his tenderness in his words, tears brim your eyelids, threatening to spill over. your lower lip trembles, alex wrapping an arm around your shoulders as your voice shakes, “i-i can’t th-thank you guys enough. for everything. thank you for sticking by my side as we figure this mess out.”

“it’s not the worst we’ve seen,” a chuckle bubbles up in patrick’s throat, “sure, we may appear to have a no-nonsense policy, but we consider ourselves to be pretty flexible. also, this isn’t a mess. honey, it’s your personal life. of course we’re going to make sure that your well-being is prioritized. if you want to pursue a relationship with this man, we just want you to be happy.”

“besides,” marcus shoots you a wink, “it’s our job to keep the press at bay. if you would like, we can release a statement that we have thoroughly investigated the matter and will not make any further comments. that will keep the media satisfied until mercedes releases their own statement.”

“that would be nice,” you sniffle, wiping away a tear, “again, thank you so much. you guys have no idea how much this means to me.”

“we’re not going to force you to end things with someone just because you’re on different teams,” patrick rises to his feet, crossing over to you. patting your shoulder, he continues, the corners of lips curled into a sympathetic smile.

“besides, susie wolff worked with us for quite some time. although the circumstances are a little bit different this time around, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a williams driver and a mercedes team principal involved in a romantic relationship.”

in the wake of monaco, it almost felt as if your little secret was completely exposed, for the entire world to pick apart and ridicule.

well, it was your fault, after all.

to make things worse, you could no longer seek out your escape, as he was thirty-nine miles away.

in the moments following the kiss, the wave of realization came crashing over the two of you, the cameras flashing, gasps arising from the crowd. you were whisked away by james, the image of toto almost disappearing as more and more journalists swarmed him, their phones and mics poised, eager for any sort of information regarding what just occurred.

it didn’t take long for the headlines to be blasted all across social media, tabloids, and any sort of press associated with the world of formula one.

toto wolff, team principal of mercedes-amg petronas, was deeply involved in an affair with the twenty-two year old williams driver.

to put it lightly, you spent the following hours sobbing in your motorhome, the guilt filling you to the brim, pouring out as the tears splattered all over your pillow.

alex was the first one to offer solace, reaching out hours after the monaco grand prix.

when you didn’t answer the phone after about sixty-seven calls, he showed up, flowers and snacks in hand, a mix of emotions painted across his features.

yet, the second he noticed the tears, he set the items down at the door, scooping you up in his arms, rubbing your back as the sobs rang out, filling the space with your wails.

“are you okay?”

“d-does it look i’m okay?”

“can i come in?”

“if you even want to talk to me right now. the entire world hates me.”

“even if the world hates you, i love you. let me in.”

so, you allowed him in, your walls crumbling completely as you started from the very beginning, recalling every possible detail. you began with bahrain, filling in the spaces through monaco, including the spat with daniel, as well as your time in brackley. at first, alex was stone-faced, taking it all in. however, once you were finished, wiping away your tears once again, he leaned over the couch, offering you a tissue.

“you’ve been wiping away your own tears the last few hours. let someone else do it for you this time.”

the only aspect you did not include was the offer to sign with mercedes. as much as you wanted to tell someone, to get that crushing weight off your chest, you knew you couldn’t. that was far too risky. well, not like there were many risks left. your biggest secret had been spilled to the entire world, no thanks to you.

so much for keeping things between the two of you.

as much as you wanted to believe that the other drivers despised you after monaco, that was far from the truth.

lando, charles, lewis, george, and oscar had reached out, mostly voicing their support. lando was shocked, but he was more concerned about your well-being. same with oscar and charles.

lewis and george on the other hand, had somehow gotten ahold of your number, leaving a series of voicemails.

hey, hey, hey. it’s lewis. george and i want to come over and talk for a little bit, if that’s okay? i promise we just want to comfort you. toto is not doing too well either. if you want, we can sneak him over here somehow. it may be kind of hard, but we’ll try our best to make it happen.

hello, it’s george. we know that you’re really in the chatting mood right now, but we want to come over and bring toto. we know you need him. we would just make sure that no one comes by or bothers the two of you. just let us know what’s the best option. i hope you’re okay.

however, you never called the british drivers back.

it wasn’t like you didn’t want them to bring toto or comfort you, it was just the matter at hand.

they didn’t deserve to be whisked into this.

and fuck, they sure as hell did not deserve any negative press if they were spotted around your motorhome or speaking with you.

sure, you were really fucking scared of was what to follow in terms of your future career following the kiss of monaco, but you were more apprehensive of the press. the fia was vicious at times, but nowhere near as ruthless as the headlines, articles, and videos the press created. if the fia was a storm, the press was a hurricane.

and sure enough, it seemed as if the media was never going to let this go. even though the entire grid was prepping for canada, here the press was, pestering you for comments or tidbits on your little “affair” with the team principal. they nearly salivated over it, the slightest morsel or crumb of information dramatized into a lengthy article or used for clickbait, generating thousands upon thousands of views.

you were called a slut. you were called a whore. you were referred to as a homewrecker. it was stated over and over again that you should never set foot in a garage or sit behind the wheel of a car ever again.

this is why women should not be in formula one. they fuck everyone and everything in sight. even married men.

god, what a fucking slimy slut. fucking a married man? breaking up a family? the fia should ban her from competing for the foreseeable future.

yet, the general public was unaware of one crucial piece of information.

toto wolff was a single man.

a very single man.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“i cannot believe you. i cannot fucking believe you.”

toto wolff sat in his office chair as a figure paced back and forth, shaking her head, her tone laced with a venomous barb.

before him stood susie wolff, her neatly cut hair bobbing as she moved, “toto, you have fucked up before, and i have happily stood behind you, supporting you with everything i have. but this? oh my god. oh my fucking god. this is absolutely atrocious.”

yet, the team principal’s mind was focused on other matters.

his mind wandered, relishing the way your plush lips felt in that moment in monaco. the way your arms were around his neck, pulling him closer and closer to you as your mouths molded together, his tongue slipping in as your head rolled back, granting him more access. the way your beautiful lashes fluttered. the way you marched up to him, determination deeply embedded across your gorgeous face. the way the entire world around slowed, the team principal completely lost in you as the cameras recorded, taking in every second of the kiss.

fuck, he missed you.

too much.

so much that he took every blow from susie’s frustration with ease, still as a statue as she continued on, the words drowning in his ears.

“are you even fucking listening to me right now?” the question snaps him out of his trance, the team principal blinking.

“sure.”

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” she growls, pointing a finger at him, “do you have any idea how much this has diminished our reputation? our marriage?”

“what marriage? we’ve been divorced for some time, susie.”

“the marriage we’ve been putting on for the cameras!” the blonde exhales, bringing a hand to her temple, “we’re supposed to be happily married, toto. or was that something that slipped your mind as you were fucking that little american driver? in our home, nonetheless.”

at the sheer spite in her tone, the team principal’s jaw clenches, “you have no idea what you’re talking–”

“i know you toto,” fingers massage her temple, “it’s pretty obvious that you’re screwing her. if you weren’t, you would have dropped her like a fucking hat the moment she pulled that little stunt in monaco.”

since monaco, the days blurred together.

how was he supposed to rebuild his broken reputation, his shattered world when you were thirty-nine miles away?

well, not like there was much to repair.

after the incident, the team principal was thoroughly investigated by mercedes, as well as the fia. he answered every single one of their questions with his full capabilities, ensuring to include every detail that would grant him some grace. well, there were a few things he left out.

one, your visit to brackley.

two, the numerous conversations involving his offer to sign you with mercedes.

three, the fact that you were joining him at mercedes for the 2025 season, driving alongside george russell.

there were no recorded conversations, messages, or evidence proving that he was planning to sign you. so, there were no repercussions. the only incident found was the time he spoke with james, inquiring about the details of your current contract.

sure, toto was a little careless when it came to keeping things private.

but he was not an idiot.

he was not going to lose his job over this, that was for sure. if the fia was to discover about his offer to make you a world champion at mercedes, he would be terminated immediately. so, that part was to remain in the dark.

at least, for the time being.

after speaking with the board members of williams racing, mercedes made it very clear that if there were to be talks of signing the american driver, or even hints of wanting her to join the team, then it needed to be officiated among both teams, in a space where the conversation could be recorded. there were to be no special perks, exceptions, or favoritism towards the driver. each and every aspect of a future contract would be detailed in a manner to ensure fairness and equality.

additionally, since this was one of the first few times that a team principal was involved in a romantic relationship with a driver, there were not a lot of rules or regulations regarding the subject. the fia made it clear that they truly had no direction or idea of how to go about the matter. and since it was not a prominent issue in the world of racing, they were going to leave it up to the teams to deal with the matter.

thank god for the gray areas.

yet, there were repercussions. consequences of his actions.

and one of those repercussions was standing before him, her eyes narrowed, her brows knit together, foot tapping against the floor.

“toto, just tell me this one thing.”

“and that is?” toto presses, leaning back in his chair.

susie inhales a sharp breath, her fiery gaze breaking away from the team principal as she stares at the floor, eyes glossy from the promise of tears.

“are you in love with her?”

taglist: @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010 @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic @statuewoman @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @m-1234 @whoisss @msbyjackal @annaaepf1 @paigelouise @bborra @bblouifford @upsteadsstuff @omgsuperstarg @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower

as always, if i forgot to include you, or if you would like to be added, please let me know! i'll try to get you added asap! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all so much! <3

#toto wolff #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula one x y/n #f1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #alex albon #george russell #lewis hamilton #williams racing #mercedes amg petronas

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27dragons · 23 days ago

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Countdown to 2025: Dec 18

You can consider this one an unofficial addition to tisfan's Also Prey story, since that's the 'verse I was thinking of while I wrote it. You don't need to have read it to read this, though.

Shapeshifters AU / Marvel - Winteriron / Ornament

Tony enjoyed the winter holidays, for the most part. More, since the team had moved in with him. There was always an enormous tree in the lobby of the tower, and smaller trees in the public areas of every floor, and a couple of them in his workshop. There were professional decorators who put up the decorations in most of the tower, but on the Avengers’ floors, Tony did the vast majority of it himself.

Sam theorized it was because all the shiny lights and sparkling baubles were irresistible to Tony’s cat. Steve thought it was because all the trees provided convenient hiding spots for the cat when it was feeling jumpy about being surrounded by so many larger predators.

Bucky didn’t really care why, as long as his boyfriend was happy. He went out and bought ornaments for the tree in the Avengers’ common space -- there were already several of the official ornaments on it, but the city was full of people selling bootleg varieties of varying quality that looked nothing like the staid, marketing-approved ones.

He hung them on the tree and watched as the others noticed them, one by one, exclaiming with delight or laughter.

The next day, Bucky stumbled over a shop that sold ornaments in animal shapes, and for a small extra fee, you could have them painted. Most people probably got paint jobs that matched their own natural markings, or those of their loved ones. But Bucky stood on the sidewalk for a good ten minutes, looking over all the examples, before finally giving up and yielding to the impulse.

A week or so later, he carefully hung ornaments on the tree that matched each of his teammates’ wyr forms -- and which had been painted to look like they were wearing versions of their hero costumes.

Those got even bigger reactions. Steve had done one of those whole-body laughs, his hand over his heart like he thought it was going to burst out of his chest with joy. Natasha had eyed hers from every angle before taking it down and re-hanging it in a different spot -- a little more shadowy, but, Bucky noticed, well-placed to be perfectly visible from her favorite spot on the couch. Sam had demanded to know where Bucky’d gotten them, and gone off to commission more for his family.

Tony, on the other hand... He walked all the way around the tree, several times, peering into the branches like he expected something to jump out at him. Then he’d blurred into his wyr and wriggled up under the lowest branches and started climbing the tree.

Bucky watched cautiously -- the trees were all well-braced against climbing creatures, but Tony frequently thought he could disobey the laws of physics in both of his forms.

Bucky was so careful watching for him that he almost missed it when Tony’s ornament fell off the tree to the floor, batted by one delicate paw.

“Hey,” he complained.

The branches rustled and Tony jumped to the floor, then delicately took the ornament’s hook in his mouth and padded off with it.

“Hey,” Bucky said again.

Tony ignored him, tail high and twitching, as he stalked out of the room.

Maybe Tony hadn’t found them quite as amusing as Bucky had.

The next day, Bucky came into the room to find Tony sitting on the couch, reading on his tablet. “Hey, babe,” he said.

Without looking up, Tony tossed something at him; Bucky fumbled a bit, catching it. It looked like a ball of bubble wrap and tissue paper. “This seems more your speed than mine,” Bucky said, grinning.

“Open it.”

Bucky turned the ball over and found a bit of tape holding the whole thing closed. He peeled it loose, then carefully unrolled everything to reveal... Tony’s Ironwyr ornament. Bucky blinked at it, then looked back up at Tony.

Tony turned off the tablet and dropped it onto the cushion beside him, then held up another ornament. A wolf, dark-furred, dressed to match Bucky’s black-and-silver costume. “You forgot one,” Tony said.

“Oh.” Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not--”

“Don’t say whatever you’re about to say,” Tony advised. “Go on and hang it,” he added, gesturing to the tree.

Bucky looked at Tony, then at the tree, then at the ornament, and back to the tree. “Okay...” He stepped over to the tree and carefully hung the little Ironwyr on a central branch.

Tony stepped up and hung the Winter Wyr next to it, carefully twisting the cord until the two ornaments were lightly bumping, nose to nose. Almost like they were kissing.

“Much better,” Tony said, and threaded his arm through Bucky’s. “Mine was lonely without yours there.”

#countdown to 2025 #au: shapeshifters #winteriron #my writing

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weixuldo · 2 years ago

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Allow Me// Ch 2

Vader x F!Reader

A/N: Hiiii! I am back and sorry again for the wait! A friend from out of town was in and I spent the week with her. But from now on, the updates should be more frequent! I also just wanted to say thank you all for the overwhelming support on the last chapter! I truly did not think that It was going to get so much love haha

You must be the unluckiest person in the Galaxy

Warnings: cannon-typicaal violence, weapons, cursing, death, harassment

_________________

You cowered under your bed sheets as you felt the demanding presence of Darth Vader approaching your door. Your heart raced with every whirr of his breath; you knew he could sense your fear.

All he had to do was open the door…

You waited for what seemed like hours for the man on the other side to come bursting in, but to your surprise- he never did, instead he stood dormant at your door for a while until you heard him walk away.

What did he want to do? Intimidate you? If he was going to kill you, why didn’t he do that?

Thoughts raced through your tired mind as you slowly lowered the covers from your head and tried to calm down.

As much as you tried you couldn’t seem to find sleep for the rest of the night.

Begrudgingly, the morning shift system dinged, notioning for you to go to your station for the day. You pulled yourself out of your bed and put on your uniform, yawning the whole way to your post.

As much as the events of last night disturbed you, you were too exhausted to be fully comprehensive; so when you bumped into a supply cart coming down the corridor you could barely make out the annoyed shouts of the worker.

“My apologies” you offered, continuing down the hall as the cart worker shouted some distasteful insults your way.

Once you entered the station your supervisor handed you a holopad and gave you your assignment for the day. You were to check some of the machines on the bridge and then report back to your boss.

Sadly for you the bridge was on the totally opposite end of the executor, but at least today’s assignment was fairly short; before you knew it you would be able to go back to your quarters and fall asleep.

The promise of sleep motivated you to hurry down to your assigned station for the day, thinking of nothing but fantasies of your soft pillows. In the midst of your daydreams you ran into a trooper who was heading down the intersecting hall. The impact made you fall back onto your ass and you looked up at the trooper with a scowl.

“What are you looking at? You’re the one who ran into me!” he barked before continuing on, but not before cursing you under his breath.

You shook your head and grabbed the holopad that landed beside you.

Fuck.

There was a large crack all the way down the small tablet’s surface, great�� another expense that’ll come out of your already small paycheck. This has truly been the best week, what next universe?

You finally entered the bridge with the sliding of the doors and observed the glossy obsidian color of the bustling room. Officers and troops bustled on the platform and in the pits to the sides of the main bridge.

You made your way to the lower deck of the bridge and set your bag down beside the machine you were to be inspecting. The generals in the stations surrounding you seemed to be pretty lax with their jobs; leaning back in their chairs, talking about the newest blasters on the market rather than actually paying attention to their screens.

The one closest to you kept tapping his foot against the machine you were trying to inspect which frustrated you immensely.

“Excuse me, Would You mind moving your chair to the side a little, I need some more room to check up on the unit” You asked, as politely as you could, expecting an “ok”. Instead the man scowled and sat upright in his chair.

“No, I will not. I need to stay here and do my duties- the duties of a general, mind you. I’m sure your…inspection work… is much less severe, so I think you can wait” the man said with a patronizing tone.

What in the galaxy has gotten everyone so stiff today? The entitlement of these generals was crazy. You rolled your eyes as you inspected the equipment in front of you; you took the metal plating off and carefully laid out the screws in order to put them back on when you were finished.

Before you could actually get to the inspection part of your job, you felt something hit the back of your head; it was a piece of garbage.

You shot your head towards the direction of the trash and saw the same general, snickering with some of the others in the row before one offered, “oops, sorry, I missed the trash”.

How were these idiots, who obviously didn’t give a shit about their job, getting paid more and getting more recognition than you. You may not have been totally invested in the empire’s agenda, but you did care about the quality of your work.

You took a magnifying utensil to inspect the crossed wires in the back of the unit; that's the problem, the wires were getting tangled with every tap the general dealt to the machine under the desk.

You reached down into your bag and grabbed some pliers to untangle them, but before you could get started, you saw the screen above you blinking red.

You didn’t really know what exactly you were looking at, but it didn’t look good; it looked like there were a few fighter planes approaching the back side of the executor.

That was definitely not good; you looked at the rude general who was supposed to man the station, he was busy laughing it up with some co-workers on the other end of the deck.

“Sir” you called, attempting to wave over the rogue general.

Nothing.

“General!” you shouted a little louder.

He whipped his head towards you with narrowed eyes until he saw the screen and all the color drained from his face. He ran over to his desk, frantically pressed a few buttons, flipped two red switches, and shouted some commands.

Soon you heard the muffled reverbs of the ship releasing tie-fighters into space.

The man sat back in his chair and faced forward, he was sweating and you could see his legs trembling next to the unit you were almost done patching up.

Before you knew it the whole bridge went silent, no more bustling, no more smiling, only silence and anxiety filled the room. What the fuck just happened?

Soon enough the doors of the bridge swished open and your silent questions were answered.

The dark figure of Darth Vader came in with a determined strut; he was not pleased. You lowered your head and finished up tightening the screws to close the machine so you could leave asap. He was the last person you wanted to see today, last night he literally stood outside of your door-probably debating whether to kill you or not.

“Someone in this room has allowed rebel ships to enter our flight deck. Of course we exterminated them, but that does not excuse the uncalculated mistake of someone in this room.”

Vader continued down the top deck; once he halted so did the entourage of troopers behind him. He slowly turned his head and surveyed the room trying to determine who’s blunder allowed rebels to get that close to the ship.

Though you know you did nothing wrong in this situation, your anxiety was through the roof.

Swiftly, he turned towards your direction-

Fuck.

There is no way in the galaxy-

“Your fear betrays you, General” his mechanical voice stated.

You exhaled a short breath, you were indeed not a General. But before you could completely relax the man beside you protested.

“She was the one who failed to alert me, it was not my fault” the General exclaimed standing tall and pointing an accusing finger at you.

What?!

Vader already had it out for you, this was just gonna add to the problem.

He slightly shifted his lenses towards you before turning back to the man.

“I recall the empire bestowed the title of General upon you, not her; am I correct?” Vader questioned in an even tone.

“Y-yes My lord”

“In that case, You are responsible for your station, not her”

The worried officer frantically looked around, before pushing past you to make a break for the exit. His forceful push made you tumble down the small steps from the desk areas to the actual floor, as well as your bag. You landed harshly and winced at one of your heavier tools landing on your arm.

Before you could get up, Lord Vader had a trooper blast the general through the chest and his limp body fell backwards beside you.

“Someone get this garbage off of my bridge” Vader said with a flip of his cape as he headed for the exit.

You began to lift yourself up from the floor, truly ready just to go back to your room; you didn't get any sleep, kept bumping into people, your holopad cracked, dealt with rude generals, got pushed down some stairs, and just had someone die beside you, just another stellar day in the empire.

The bustling sound of the troopers halted making you look back up; Lord Vader was looking straight at you.

“And bring that officer to a meeting room, I need to speak with them”

Just as you began to protest, two troopers secured your arms.

“Better shut your mouth little one” one snapped as the other just laughed.

Great.

_______________________________

The room was cool and dark, a blinking light in the corner of the room indicated that you were being surveilled. Thankfully you were unbound, but didn't dare to wonder about the room- he could enter at any moment.

But why were you here? Was it because of those troopers the other night? Did the sith lord think that you were spreading rumors about having “relations” with him? Was it because people you had bumped into were complaining about your seeming lack of spatial awareness? No, that’s just outlandish…but what if?

To be honest you were too exhausted to think straight, everything was seeming like a possibility, and you had the worst week, so at this point you didn’t really give a fuck about what would happen to you.

Maybe if he killed you, you would actually find some peace.

The cool air of the room was making you sleepy, your eyelids felt like weights and you couldn't stop them from closing.

Whoosh

The sound of the door swooshing open awoke you from your light sleep, how long had it been? How-

Suddenly all traces of sleep shook from your body as you came face to face with the man in the dark mask.

Sure, you said you wouldn’t mind dying, but now that death was staring you in the face, you felt inclined to plead for your life.

“M-my Lord, I apologize I was”

“Resting… I see. Perhaps I took too long to make my way here” he said, sliding the door shut behind him.

“No sir- um.. My Lord” you corrected as you nervously fiddled your fingers.

“You may calm your anxieties, officer” the man in front of you said as he slowly made his way to the table you were seated at.

His words didn’t do much to calm you but you did relax your posture a bit. He took a stand in front of you, making you eye level with his control panel.

He was so much larger than you remembered, probably since you were more wary of him since you were in his direct interest as of now.

“Am I to be punished for earlier?” you asked, avoiding eye contact with his lenses.

“Not at the moment, is there something I should be made aware of?”

“No, My lord. It’s just that the general who spoke out was not manning his station and I did not want his words to cloud what really happened”

“I thought nothing of the sort, I know you would not allow for such a careless mistake”

He spoke with such a neutral tone that you couldn’t determine whether he was playing with your mind or if his words were truly sincere.

“As of late I have observed your work and am pleased by your dedication to the Empire” he said.

“I appreciate your faith in my work, my lord; but may I ask why I was called here?”

The Sith lord turned towards the camera in the corner of the room and back at you before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.

“I wanted to thank you for your work on the executor, personally. I have noticed others on board have not treated you the best and yet you still provide quality service”

Your heart began to race even faster, was this a dream? Was Darth Vader himself really praising your work right now? And what baffled you even more is that he noticed how you had been treated throughout your posting on his ship.

You really didn’t expect Vader to care that much about his employees, but maybe he was a bit softer than everyone thought…(unlikely).

Before you could respond he placed a holopad on the table that showed a nicely constructed grave stone with your mothers name, what was this? Your father couldn’t afford this.

You looked up at the man who filled the room with echoes of his mechanical breathing.

“I-I don't understand-”

“As I mentioned earlier, I am regretful you were not able to attend your mother’s funeral procession, so I had the empire deliver your father funds for her memorial. It’s the least I could do” he said, clicking the projection off.

You sat in the metal chair, bewildered; why in the galaxy would Darth Vader give your father money for your mother’s grave?

Your family was a bunch of nobody’s… Nothing attached to your name, but now your mother had a grave of high gentry. It didn't make sense.

As you pondered his motives, the sith lord rose from his seat and proceeded to walk to the side you were on.

You were shaken from your thoughts when you felt a firm and heavy hand on your shoulder. It was a feeling that should have invoked fear, but instead you felt butterflies.

Not many people had been nice to you in your life, so were you just being delusional and trying to make it seem that this sith lord really cared about you?

You knew you needed to be more cautious around him, but you couldn’t help but smile up at the dark figure looming behind you.

“You are stronger than you know, officer, do not let anyone on this ship tell you otherwise” he said before patting you once more and leaving.

______________________________

The cool sheets of your empire-grade bed felt nice after your warm shower. You settled into bed with a new sense of pride, someone important, no. one of the most important figures in the galaxy, recognized your skill and talent. He recognized your plights and struggles and gave you encouragement for better.

As you slept your mind seemed to compile every snippet of time that you interacted with Vader into a long dream; not that you minded, but your brain was definitely not helping you suppress your delusions. At this rate you’d be dreaming of a future with the most feared man in the galaxy.

It was stupid to think that was possible, but after all, it was just a dream,

no harm in that.

Except for the fact that on the opposite end of the executor, a sleep deprived Vader couldn’t seem to clear his mind enough to meditate.

He was too busy envisioning the face of that beautiful officer he had been encountering more and more frequently.

This was not a part of the Sith’s agenda, you were a distraction. You needed to be wiped from his mind, but he couldn’t seem to do it. Of course there was an obvious solution; get rid of you- whether it be a transfer or death-

just get rid of you.

But no matter how hard he tried to call for the orders, he couldn’t.

How could he when you had been the only thing that made him feel remotely human again?

***

A/N: heheh tysm for waiting for this chapter and i hope this story is interesting u guys!!

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls

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macgyvermedical · 5 months ago

Note

For story reasons I should love to hear about benzedrine

Cool beans.

So benzedrine is the (UK?) trade (brand) name used early in the 20th century for amphetamine.

Amphetamine was first synthesized in 1927 as an alternative to ephedrine, which was used to treat asthma and congestion. Fairly quickly people realized that it had several other benefits, including increased concentration, better performance on intelligence tests, wakefulness, and a better side effect profile than ephedrine. This lead to some pediatricians testing it for use on ADHD, though this was not widespread at the time.

And it wasn't super popular at this time overall.

During WWII, about 150 million tablets of benzedrine and it's cousin dexadrine were distributed to the Allies. This demand meant production shot up, and while they were used heavily by Allied troops, there was still a severe overstock problem at the end of the war.

Most of the overstock amphetamine found its way into the black market. It wasn't until the mid 1950s that an abuse potential for amphetamine was formally recognized. At the time benzedrine was primarily being used for depression, as this was before early antidepressants like MAOIs and Tricyclics had been developed.

Today, amphetamine is used primarily to treat ADHD and narcolepsy. The closest drug we have to the original preparation of benzedrine today is Adderall.

#whump reference #writing reference #drugs #drug history #benzedrine #amphetamine #history

23 notes · View notes

eleanorfenyxwrites · 7 months ago

Text

Soldier, Poet, King

Part 15

[Beginning] [Previous]

[AO3] [Masterpost]

Almost a year after the last update, have a new chapter 😅 We're actually in the homestretch of it now and maybe that's why I'm slowing down so much (plus like...life, other projects, you know how it goes)

--//--

“Get this fucking brat off me, I said I’m fine!”

Jin Guangyao continues tapping away at his tablet without a twitch; there are still so many meetings to schedule, so many questions to answer in the wake of their ‘press’ junket, such as it was. Just this morning he’d been contacted directly by the most prominent black market Kaiju parts dealer in Shanghai demanding amnesty lest Jin Guangyao find himself dead in a ditch the next time he steps foot outside the shatterdome, so quite frankly he’s got bigger things to worry about than the wet-cat-protesting-his-bath that is Xue Yang.

“You promised, love,” is all Xiao Xingchen has to say for Xue Yang to settle down with only a little more biting, and considering Nie Huaisang has just taken over the task of poking and prodding him from Mo Xuanyu the biting isn’t really much of a threat, save for the vague potential for infection. Who knows where that mouth has been.

“You’re almost single-handedly responsible for the worst turn this war has taken since it began, so I’d say you’ve lost the right to make demands from us ummmm..indefinitely,” Wei Wuxian replies from his makeshift work area in the back corner of the lab, feet up on his desk and also tapping a mile a minute at his own tablet (though whether he’s doing groundbreaking Kaiju research that could also change the entire course of the war or playing a rhythm game is really anyone’s guess; both are equally likely).

“I used your notes so you’re on the hook for it just as much as I am! You’re basically the Grandmaster of fringe Kaiju research and shit, this is all your fault too!!”

“Wow, that’s a boring argument to have heard for the 30th time today. When are you going to get sick of repeating it?” Wei Wuxian yawns. Jin Guangyao refuses to smile at the rather blatant riling-up that Xue Yang so loves to do to everyone else and yet can’t seem to handle when it’s turned right back on him.

“Take it easy,” he calls without looking up from his work; in his peripheral vision he watches Xue Yang attempt another lunge off the slapdash examination table (comprised mostly of a filing cabinet laid on its side and Nie Huaisang’s emergency cot resting on top of it) set up in the middle of the lab, but of course Nie Huaisang hadn’t even needed to be told to tie him down as soon as they’d gotten him on it (“Buy me dinner first, Sangsang!”) so there’s really nothing for him to do but thrash against his restraints.

“Told you he’s feral,” young A-Qing mutters under her breath, sounding mutinous around the chak-chak-chak of chomping on her ever-present bubblegum.

“Yes dear we know he is, and something tells me that cracking open the brain of an interdimensional Lovecraftian nightmare so he could try slurping the contents out like a slushee hasn’t improved things very much,” he replies and feels oddly vindicated when she snorts a laugh into the back of her hand.

A-Qing is…unexpected. He’d heard her calling for Xue Yang to come upstairs that night he and Nie Huaisang had gone to see him at The Cockpit, though of course that evening he hadn’t known precisely who she was or why she felt she had the right to boss Xue Yang around. Finding out that she’s the once-wayward-child-turned-protegé of the Immortals (and that her ethics are significantly more dubious than her benefactors’) had been..a surprise, to put it mildly. Not that he thinks that Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen aren’t perfectly capable guardians, of course, but rather he’s surprised that two distinguished gentlemen such as themselves seem very fond of collecting people who could be reasonably compared to scrungly alley cats and ignoring all their mange and fleas in favor of cooing over how sweet and brilliant they are.

And they are (brilliant, at least, though not any given definition of sweet to anyone except their ‘daozhangs’), but the contrasts at play in their little fucked up family of four are still a bit of a mystery to Jin Guangyao.

It had been A-Qing, apparently, who had hacked the CCTV and the ‘dome’s video feeds long enough to broadcast Jin Guangshan and Jin Zixun’s deaths straight to the communications tower (and the entire city), and as such Nie Mingjue has instructed that she give their security team an extremely thorough rundown of every breach in their defenses that she had exploited. Jin Guangyao still desperately wishes someone had thought to record Nie Mingjue’s reaction when the girl, standing no taller than his abs and thoroughly uncaring of the danger she was putting herself in, had laughed in his face, popped her gum, and told him that it had taken no longer than an hour the afternoon of the Kaiju’s arrival to get her hands on everything digital in the ‘dome, not just their camera feeds. He hasn’t seen his lover turn that shade of red in a very long time, nor ever seen him so sorely tempted to shout at someone less than half his age and height.

Anyway — she’d taken a shine to Jin Guangyao within minutes of Lan Xichen ushering everyone into the ‘dome to avoid further scrutiny by the press, easily picking him out as one of the adults in the room most likely to indulge her quasi-legal and morally gray brand of ethics outside of her beloved daozhangs. So now here she sits, tinkering around with something Wei Wuxian had given her to turn into a signal jammer for anyone outside the ‘dome attempting to access anything on their network or frequencies, and Jin Guangyao has found himself on ersatz babysitting duty.

(She is also, according to Xiao Xingchen, worried about Xue Yang’s health and wouldn’t be able to focus well working somewhere she can’t keep an eye on his condition; an assessment which Jin Guangyao very politely and very secretly thinks is a load of horseshit.)

“Stop biting, Yangyang, or I’m going to have to knock you out,” Nie Huaisang scolds, and Jin Guangyao is genuinely surprised when it works. Xue Yang quiets down and seems resigned to his fate of being hooked up to various machinery to monitor just about every measurable aspect of human life.

“He has nightmares when he’s unconscious,” A-Qing whispers conspiratorially. Jin Guangyao leans over a bit to hear better and keeps his eyes on Xue Yang, wary of his sudden acquiescence proving itself to be a fake-out. “Really bad ones. I think he’s still in their heads a little.”

“Heads? Plural?” Jin Guangyao asks.

“Uh-huh. He Drifted with one but he says it was all of them, all at the same time. Like the Borg.”

Jin Guangyao frowns and feels like he’s missing something, namely whatever the hell the ‘Borg’ are, but Wei Wuxian makes somewhat aggressive eye contact and puts a finger to his lips to shush him and then makes a sort of ‘keep going’ gesture.

Jin Guangyao glares at him for the contradictory instructions but decides he must mean to just keep her talking about the Kaiju specifically, not to get sidetracked on whatever ‘Borg’ is.

“He knew that the last Kaiju would follow him.”

“Of course he did,” A-Qing snorts, shrugging like she can’t be bothered as she returns to her tinkering, “That was the whole point of the plan to kill your dad, but he knew he could do it because they’re all trying to get at him now. All the time. He says they’re calling for him but it’s more like shrieking he can't ever stop listening to.”

Well. Xue Yang is an obnoxious and genuinely dangerous menace, but being relentlessly pursued by an unknown number of Kaijus who can get in his head any hour of the day or night is not a fate Jin Guangyao would wish on anyone. Another glance at Wei Wuxian proves that he’s turned pale and seems to understand precisely what Jin Guangyao does about what that must be doing to Xue Yang’s already tenuous grip on sanity.

“He’s about to overload.”

Jin Guangyao does not jump at Song Zichen’s sudden comment from behind him, his voice is too quiet for that, but it’s certainly a little disconcerting. He doesn’t have time to ruminate on the slightly eldritch creepiness of the Immortals, though, as he looks over at Xue Yang again and is alarmed (to put it mildly) to find that his neck has turned…blue? There’s an entire network of veins standing out under his skin as he strains against his cuffs but they’re the same neon blue of fresh Kaiju blood rather than anything human, and Nie Huaisang seems to realize in the same moment that the new way Xue Yang is straining against his cuffs has absolutely nothing to do with his hatred for being confined.

“Go get the Wens,” Jin Guangyao orders Wei Wuxian, who promptly jumps to his feet in a flurry of papers to tear out of the lab. Xue Yang thrashes around a guttural scream that only barely manages to escape the tightening confines of his throat and Mo Xuanyu lunges forward from where he’d backed off at Xue Yang’s protest in order to take over the various sensors and instruments hooked to him again.

“His readings are all over the place,” Mo Xuanyu reports over the sound of Xue Yang’s screaming. “It’s a miracle he’s not dead, the Kaiju seem to have completely rewired his brain!”

Jin Guangyao takes note of that in a distant sort of way as he stands in front of A-Qing in a futile attempt to shield her from watching Xue Yang’s shockingly rapid deterioration. The Immortals are standing at his head, Xiao Xingchen attempting to keep him from thrashing so much he injures himself and Song Zichen pressed up behind his husband to hold Xue Yang’s shoulders down with a grip so firm his knuckles and fingertips have gone white.

Whatever it is that’s happening to the veins in Xue Yang’s neck is spreading, the same spidery blue veins standing in stark relief in his temples and across his forehead, and he can only assume it’s spreading downwards as well. (With a detached sort of interest he wonders what’ll happen if it reaches his heart, but it’s highly likely that they don’t want to find that out if they also want Xue Yang to survive. Which he does.)

The Wen siblings arrive just as Xue Yang’s screaming is choked off, quite literally, by a profusion of foamy blood, and as Jin Guangyao turns to usher A-Qing fully out of the room he hears Wen Qing calling out orders to her brother and everyone else in the room, taking charge of the emergency with her usual deft authority.

“Wait — is he dying? For real?” A-Qing asks, suddenly sounding every bit her very young age. “Wait stop, Yao-ge, stop! He’s not allowed to die unless I kill him!!”

“He won’t die,” Jin Guangyao says smoothly, though he and A-Qing both know that’s not something he’s actually capable of guaranteeing. “I promised him I’d send him away from all of this, somewhere nice in the countryside where no one would ever bother you or him or the daozhangs again. I’ll keep my promise but you must calm down.”

A-Qing is small but she’s ferociously strong for someone her age; Jin Guangyao grapples with her in an attempt to keep her from running back into the lab, their heights and strength almost evenly matched. For a long moment they stand there locked in a struggling stalemate until A-Qing bites his shoulder and Jin Guangyao manages to get a foot hooked around the back of one of her ankles to kick her feet out from under her and bear her to the ground with the loud clang! of bone on metal.

Jin Guangyao winces for the bruises that maneuver definitely left on his knuckles, but that’s preferable to giving poor A-Qing a concussion simply because she’s afraid for Xue Yang’s life. He grits his teeth against a pained shout as A-Qing throws her head back to grind his bruised hand hard enough into the floor that he feels the slight texturing of it for grip start to grate the skin off his knuckles, but still he refuses to let her up.

“Alright come here pipsqueak, up you get.”

Jin Guangyao doesn’t even entertain the thought that Wei Wuxian would dare talk to him like that, so he simply rolls to the side to let A-Qing pop up off the floor — and barrel straight into a much more secure hold in Wei Wuxian’s arms, where she struggles hard against his superior height and strength, and instantly loses.

“Qing-jiejie’s got him under pretty heavy sedation, Xuanyu’s trying to figure out what the fuck that was but he’s stable for now,” Wei Wuxian reports around the ruckus of A-Qing struggling to kick him in the shins.

“No! You’re gonna make him even crazier, I just told you!” A-Qing practically screeches. “Do you want all the kaijus to know where you are? You just locked him in there with them!!”

Jin Guangyao stands and dusts himself off as Wei Wuxian uses his grip on A-Qing’s arms to spin her around to face him, suddenly as intense and serious as he only gets in the midst of battle.

“His nightmares, you said. The Kaiju are actually trying to talk with him? In real time? They’re actively communicating with him?”

“They’re in his brain, Xian-laoshi!” A-Qing wails, “And you just stuck him in there with them and he can’t get out!”

“Okay, I hear you,” Wei Wuxian soothes, though Jin Guangyao notes that he still hasn’t released his death grip on A-Qing’s scrawny biceps, holding her rooted to the spot in front of him. “We’ll wake him up as soon as we can, you have my word. But he’s a danger to himself right now until we can figure out what’s going on with him, physically, and we don’t want him to hurt himself any more than he already has. Do you hear me?”

A-Qing wavers for a long moment, glancing back at the door to the lab like she wants to make a break for it, but in the end she just sags in Wei Wuxian’s grip and nods, clearly miserable.

Jin Guangyao is suddenly very aware that for all her genius and her scrappy alley-cat bluster she’s still only a teenager, and a young one at that.

“I understand.”

“Do you want one of the daozhangs to come take you back to your quarters?”

“...Bai-daozhang.”

“Alright, we’ll get him. You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s going to be fine.”

Jin Guangyao doesn’t even wait for Wei Wuxian to realize that — in this one singular instance! — Jin Guangyao is prepared to do whatever he thinks best without question. He turns back to the lab and steps into the controlled chaos that is the Wen siblings dancing around each other with hardly a word needed as they attempt to save Xue Yang’s body while Mo Xuanyu and Nie Huaisang frantically get all the data on his mental state that they can possibly scan for in the interim.

The Immortals are, thankfully, simply standing to the side to watch the proceedings with eerie stillness, not even seeming to blink as they stare at Xue Yang lying motionless under a soft cage of wires and IV drips, acupuncture needles sticking out of him in the few places where nothing is stuck to him.

“Xiao Xingchen?”

Xiao Xingchen’s gaze is intense when he turns it on him, his perpetually-smiling lips set into a grim line for the first time since Jin Guangyao has met him. The effect is startling, to see someone so gentle pushed so far, but Jin Guangyao is not a man easily cowed.

“A-Qing is asking for you; she’s…distressed by the current situation.”

“Ah.” Xiao Xingchen’s icy expression softens ever so slightly. “Of course, just give me one moment and I’ll take her somewhere less fraught.”

Jin Guangyao nods and tucks his hands behind his back to hide the way he’s clutching at one thumb in the curl of the opposite palm, squeezing it to ground himself. He watches, curious, as Xiao Xingchen turns to step directly in front of his husband and the pair of them lock eyes for a moment, right hands on each others’ temples and thumbs pressed to the curves of their cheekbones just below the eye. They stand in perfect stillness for a long moment and then break apart at some signal only they can understand.

His confusion must be too obvious, as Xiao Xingchen offers him a crookedly sly smile as he approaches.

“Our cybernetics are capable of linking to one another,” he explains and gently shepherds Jin Guangyao back out into the hallway by the strength of his magnetic presence alone. “What he sees I will see and vice versa, until we break the connection again. It takes some getting used to, but it’s quite handy.”

“I can imagine so,” is all Jin Guangyao can think to reply. They step into the hallway again and find that A-Qing is at least no longer being restrained, merely standing miserably at Wei Wuxian’s side though she perks up a little at the sight of Xiao Xingchen at his side.

“Come here, sweeting,” Xiao Xingchen soothes and A-Qing runs to his side, tucking up under his arm like a duckling to drape his over-long, trailing sleeve over her own shoulders like a blanket. “A-Yang will be fine, he’s in the best place possible for this to happen, hm?”

A-Qing nods but says nothing as Xiao Xingchen starts to lead her away, still murmuring warm, gentle reassurances that calm even Jin Guangyao, though naturally they aren’t aimed at him. When they turn the corner and he’s alone in the corridor with Wei Wuxian, he glances at his companion and pauses at the look on his face.

He’s seen that contemplative expression often since the Wens arrived and Wei Wuxian began helping Mo Xuanyu with his research in earnest. That’s the look of a man barely more sane than the evil genius strapped to the examination table a mere 20 feet away who has an idea that no one is going to like very much, save for himself.

“What are you thinking?” Jin Guangyao prods, despite his self-preservation instincts screaming at him not to encourage whatever new madness has grabbed hold of Wei Wuxian.

“The scans can’t really tell us much,” he muses, thinking out loud, “because his brain has become…different, let’s say. He has new synapses, new types of signals firing between neural pathways that we don’t know how to read or understand what they do because they’re not human signals. And we can’t keep him sedated much longer or I think the Kaiju hivemind or whatever it is really will just turn his brains into porridge; we’re barely holding off a total overload as it is.”

Jin Guangyao is following so far, but he can’t fathom the conclusion, whatever it is that Wei Wuxian has thought of that’s put that manic gleam in his eye.

“So what do you propose we do instead?”

The grim smile that slashes across Wei Wuxian’s boyishly charming face is chilling, and Jin Guangyao has to put conscious effort into not letting his shoulders creep up around his ears.

“He Drifted with a Kaiju brain, ah? I think it’s time somebody tried Drifting with him.”

Jin Guangyao can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the thought of being privy to any more of Xue Yang’s thought processes than he already is. That just doesn’t sound like a good time at all and he certainly wouldn’t have volunteered for such a job even before his brain became part-Kaiju soup.

By the time it hits him a mere moment later that Wei Wuxian means to do it himself — to Drift with Xue Yang now, while he’s being bombarded with signals from the Kaijus no matter the fact that they’ve seen how much damage it’s done to Xue Yang — the man has already brushed past him to hurry back into the lab.

“A-Sang stop scanning, plan B – bring that rig over here, hook me up.”

Jin Guangyao needs to stop this, they’re already down two highly experienced, infinitely valuable pilots and they cannot afford to lose another, especially not one as good as Wei Wuxian and not for something so stupid—

He’s off like a shot down the corridor in an instant, feet pounding on metal grates and concrete floors as he flies through the Shatterdome with grim purpose, ignoring every twinge and ache in his old injuries; he can worry about them later, for now he darts between startled denizens of the ‘dome without apology until he can burst into Nie Mingjue’s office. He slams the door open without knocking and is thankful to whatever miracle of genetics gave him his eidetic memory that remembers precisely what his partners are (meant to be) doing at all hours of the day and where.

The Twin Jades look up from the data tablets and report readouts spread on the table between the three of them, equally startled looks in their wide eyes.

Xichen recovers first and asks, frowning, “A-Yao? What is it, love, what’s wrong?”

He can’t breathe past a stitch in his ribs but he forces himself to gasp anyway, “Wuxian is about to Drift with Xue Yang — he’s going to try to understand what he’s done with the Kaijus from the inside.”

Jin Guangyao stumbles to the side just in time to avoid being bowled over by Lan Wangji bolting from the room swift as an arrow, Lan Xichen barely sparing a moment to glance first at Nie Mingjue and then him before he follows on his brother’s heels at a dead run.

Jin Guangyao bends over to try to catch his breath until he feels large, hot hands pull him straight again and keep lifting until his feet are dangling a few inches off the floor, his arms slung over Nie Mingjue’s shoulders so he can stretch out properly and take all the pressure off his ribs and back.

He sucks in a deep, unobstructed breath and then another, and after the third Nie Mingjue carefully sets him back down on his feet.

“Where are Xingchen and Zichen?” he asks, eyebrows pinched like he’s got a headache coming on.

“Zichen’s in the lab, Xingchen took A-Qing away, I don’t know where. They won’t leave the ‘dome though, I’m sure.”

“I want them in here ASAP, Zixuan and Yanli too if they can make it — I’ve got questions and I’m fucking sick of waiting for the answers.”

–//–

Lan Xichen runs through the shatterdome as fast as he can, chasing little more than glimpses of his brother’s white jumpsuit and the dark ends of his hair whipping around corners as people scatter out of their way with a sort of organized efficiency. He can only hope that they don’t leave panic in their wake — they’re at least running away from the communications tower and the Kaiju sirens are, of course, silent. He doesn’t have time to worry too much about that, though; his priority now has to be Lan Wangji, because Lan Wangji’s will be Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji loves Wei Wuxian past the point of rationality. This has been true for years, long before the pair of them were given the opportunity to work in proximity and let their youthful infatuation mature into something well-rooted in mutual respect and regard for each other. Lan Xichen has been Drifting with his brother since they were teenagers, and though they don’t share their thoughts whilst in the Drift in the same way the other Pilots do, that doesn’t mean Lan Xichen hadn’t known. That kind of devotion isn’t something one can tuck conveniently away in the silence of meditation, and Xichen had done what he could to help his brother nurture that love through obstacles many people could never imagine.

He knows precisely what it will do to his brother if Wei Wuxian loses himself in the way that Xue Yang has. He also knows that if Wei Wuxian must lose himself then Lan Wangji would rather be lost with him than be left behind again to wonder if there was anything he could have done differently to help Wei Wuxian avoid this in the first place.

Wei Wuxian’s inexplicable disappearance to Yiling so many years ago had been difficult for everyone, really.

Lan Xichen practically skids into the research bay mere moments after Lan Wangji and stops himself from careening into it headlong with one hand braced on the doorframe. Lan Wangji, a mere two steps ahead of him, has not stopped voluntarily, that much is clear. He isn’t struggling, but Song Lan and Wen Ning both have death grips on his arms and apologetic looks on their faces when they glance up at Lan Xichen’s arrival. He can see in the next moment why they’ve stopped Lan Wangji with some force; Wei Wuxian is already deep in the Drift, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands in white-knuckled fists on the arms of the chair pulled up next to the exam table Xue Yang is strapped to, the latter thrashing weakly enough that he isn’t dislodging any of the dozen or so tubes and wires stuck into him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lan Xichen asks Wen Qing, standing calmly behind Wei Wuxian’s seat with her hands cupped carefully around either side of his neck.

“If Hanguang-Jun interrupts them now Wei Wuxian may never come back.”

“His brain activity is only slightly abnormal, no more than if he were at risk of chasing the rabbit,” Nie Huaisang pipes up from behind the bank of computers, Mo Xuanyu typing furiously at his side. “Xue Yang was slipping but he stabilized fully once they started Drifting — it’s actually helping I swear!”

“How is this even possible?” Lan Xichen can’t help but ask, feeling helpless in a way he absolutely does not care for. “Xue Yang is hardly sane, let alone Drift Compatible with-”

Lan Wangji is utterly blank, cold as ice, when he interrupts, bleakly, with, “Wei Ying is a true universal Drifter.”

Wen Qing doesn’t do them the disservice of pretending to be surprised, though Lan Xichen vaguely wishes that she would. But of course, if there’s anything abnormal in Wei Wuxian’s medical history, she would be the first to know it. And his siblings would hardly ever betray such a lucrative secret, not when Wen Ruohan would’ve used him the same way he’d used Xue Yang — destroyed him, the way he’d done to Xue Yang.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of monitors beeping and the ragged, uneven breathing of so many people on edge in the same room.

“The ability to establish a successful Drift with a partner is no guarantee that one will not be injured in the process, even in standard procedure. What are the odds that this connection will destroy his neural pathways beyond repair?”

Wen Qing glares at him first and then Lan Wangji, though whatever she’s thinking she doesn’t let it stop her from answering a curt, “50/50.”

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath in and stands to his full height, doing his best to compose himself and draw an air of authority around himself, no less a suit of armor than his flight suit. “Song-daozhang. Wen Ning. Please release Wangji.”

They do so after a moment’s hesitation and Lan Wangji snaps his sleeves straight again with sharp tugs on the cuffs, his back ramrod straight in a mirror of Lan Xichen’s. Lan Xichen steps further into the room to stand at his brother’s side, a united front, and curls his hand carefully, unsure of his welcome, around Lan Wangji’s wrist in silent comfort. Lan Wangji naturally doesn’t return the gesture, but he doesn’t pull away either so Lan Xichen leaves his hand where it is, the thick canvas of Lan Wangji’s jumpsuit a comfortable barrier between his grip and his brother’s distaste for physical touch.

Lan Xichen counts to a hundred and thirty-seven before something changes; the steady, muted beeping of one of the monitors abruptly ratchets higher, faster, and Mo Xuanyu’s face goes grim as he begins tapping away at his keyboard, his eyes flying from side to side as he reads whatever strings of data are lighting his face up green.

“It’s okay,” he has the good sense to caution, though he doesn’t look away from his monitor for even long enough to glance at them, “they’re fine, whatever it is they’re experiencing they’re doing it together, still aligned.”

Song Lan shifts his weight suddenly, nothing more than a redistributing of his weight from one foot to the other, but it grabs Lan Xichen’s heightened attention before he’s even completed the motion. He spares the man a glance just as he cocks his head and turns to look at the door behind them.

“What is it?” Lan Xichen asks, his grip tightening unconsciously on Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Xingchen just told me Chifeng-Zun has sent a runner asking for us. A-Qing doesn’t want to let him go, but we can no longer delay the inevitable. Nor do I wish to.”

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, consciously forces himself to release his grip on Wangji’s wrist one aching finger at a time, and both asks for and receives his brother’s forgiveness for the bruising restraint in a pair of glances and a slight nod that he returns.

Honestly Nie Mingjue has been unusually patient waiting even this long to have his questions answered. He has waited without complaint through the recovery period following the battle, through all the planning and soothing of the press, and now through the thoroughly unexpected arrival of Xue Yang and the Immortals. But time is up now, his partner’s patience is wearing thin, and Lan Xichen can admit at least to himself that his own near-infinite patience is depleted as well.

He finds himself torn between a desire to stay here in the lab to support his brother in fretting over the question of Wei Wuxian’s survival against such unique odds and returning to Nie Mingjue’s office to learn the truth from the Immortals. Just as much as he wants to support his brother, he wants to support his partner in his efforts to clean up the mess Xue Yang has dropped on their doorstep, and the desire to do both simultaneously has him at something of a loss-

“Bring them out of it!”

Wen Qing’s sharp order cuts through the tension of the entire room; before Lan Xichen (or Wen Ning) can stop them, Song Lan and Lan Wangji have crossed the room to their respective partners. In the split second before Nie Huaisang and Mo Xuanyu manage to do as she’s said, both Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang scream loudly enough that blood flecks their colorless lips, and by the time they both slump forward, unconscious and eerily silent, they’re being unhooked from the rig as quickly as Nie Huaisang and Mo Xuanyu can work.

In the sudden silence, Lan Wangji’s soft, “Wei Ying,” is unbearably loud.

–//–

“It’s not as bad as we thought, but it’s also worse,” Wei Wuxian rasps; the fact that he’s hunched in his seat and only able to sit upright with Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin bracing him on either side is quite nearly the only thing stopping Nie Mingjue from wringing his neck, his talent and genius be damned. Jin Guangyao rests a restraining hand on his wrist below the table as if he can sense how close he is to losing control. (He supposes it’s entirely possible that he can.)

Xue Yang looks even worse than Wei Wuxian, ashen-faced and a stray drop of blood or two like black freckles on his chin. He’s braced on either side by the Immortals, of course, whose character judgment Nie Mingjue is beginning to question. Deeply.

“Explain.” Really, he should be applauded for his restraint.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat with a little cough that looks like it hurts. “They know what he knows about the pilots, the Jaeger program, our research, everything, but-”

“I didn’t know much-”

“Only what Wen Ruohan wanted him to know and pass along for his own purposes-”

“Not that they understood it much more than we understand them-”

“But obviously they know enough to start mimicking the Jaegers and this is the really interesting bit-”

“They’re built like an assembly-line churning out giant evil monsters that want to beat your ass flat-”

“Well yes but you know, without any sort of personal desire to murder anyone in particular because they’re not necessarily individuals. We keep using the word hivemind-”

“And it is a hive, like really giant freaky bees-”

Nie Mingjue slams his free hand on the tabletop and the back-and-forth between Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang mercifully comes to an abrupt halt.

(“Ooo we made Daddy angry,” Xue Yang mutters, snickering weakly, which Nie Mingjue is electing not to hear.)

“How is this better than we expected, A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asks, her hands twitching on the tabletop like she wants to reach for her brother even though she’s sitting too far away to reach him.

“The information Wen Ruohan gave them through Xue Yang wasn’t as thorough as we thought; it was designed to manipulate their behavior, not give them blanket information about everything and everyone in the Pilot program,” Wei Wuxian explains, thankfully alone. “If he knows what fighting style they’re going to use next then he can counter it, and if he can tell them when it’s best to attack Tokyo and when to attack Shanghai or Manila or Sydney or San Francisco then it’s all to his benefit. He can control not only his spoils and his money but also his image. He just did it for the first time when he sent the last kaiju to us and instructed Eternal Sun to swoop in to save the day.”

Jin Zixuan rests a hand over Jiang Yanli’s as he asks, “And how is it worse?”

“The connection with Xue Yang has been open every minute since the first time it was initiated several years ago.”

There are no words that Nie Mingjue knows to describe the wave of revulsion that sweeps through him at such a thought, but judging by the expressions he can see around the table on the faces of the rest of those to whom this is news, they’re all feeling the same.

Personal feelings aside, that isn’t a fate he would wish on anyone, not even Xue Yang. To have every moment, waking and sleeping, for years subject to the incomprehensible, violent minds of intergalactic monsters? It’s harsh but someone should’ve done Xue Yang the kindness of putting him out of his misery a long time ago.

“But not anymore,” Xue Yang rasps, bringing Nie Mingjue’s attention back to him. He’s grinning in a way that doesn’t look at all like a smile, sharp and flat with pink-stained teeth.

“That’s temporary,” Wei Wuxian says and he looks distinctly cagey, “I just tried something theoretical-”

“Oohhh it’s not theoretical Wei-gege,” Xue Yang cackles, hacking and coughing like a cat with a hairball, “you’ve done it plenty of times before! Just turned a nice little switch in my brain and made it all go quiet, I saw it!! Saw it in your head, saw it in mine-”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Jiang Wanyin cuts in, jaw clenched and eyes flashing.

Jin Guangyao clears his throat, a pointed reminder to stay on topic that Nie Mingjue’s temper certainly appreciates. Crisply, he says, “You will have plenty of time to discuss it between yourselves later. What I would like to know is what we do next with the information we have. You have now seen the structure of the Kaiju homeworld — we should use this to determine the best way to eliminate their threat to humanity.”

As much as Nie Mingjue would like to feel like they’re coming to some sort of productive conclusion, the fact of the matter is that of the eleven people in the room, four of them are far too injured to sit through a lengthy strategy meeting and they are, unfortunately, the four most important voices. (He supposes it’s really seven injured, if he includes himself and his partners in the list considering they’ve fulfilled the duties Wen Qing gave them medical leave to complete and are due to submit themselves to her care in the medical bay the moment they leave this imromptu meeting.)

He makes no effort to hide his displeasure about all of this as he sighs a heavy, “No,” and fixes a steady stare on his old friends (and Xue Yang). “That will have to come later. All I want to know for now is what you three want from me. You came here for some purpose, and as much as I would like it to be so, I don’t think you’re here to reforge old ties.”

It is, unsurprisingly, Xiao Xingchen who smiles ever so slightly, unashamed of being caught, and nods, his shoulders curving by an inch or two to turn the gesture into a small hint of a bow.

“It was partially driven by a desire to see you, Mingjue, under much better circumstances than when we parted. It was equally a desire to seek out Wei Wuxian, who A-Yang felt certain would be able to help with his condition. The state of things could not be allowed to continue with the danger posed to humanity, but my Shifu could do nothing for him. She has abstained from worldly concerns and is not as knowledgeable on the issue of fringe Kaiju research as Wei-gongzi; she defers to his expertise.”

Wei Wuxian looks rightly poleaxed by such praise, though Nie Mingjue thinks his deathly pallor and the deep bruises under his eyes (the whites of which have turned the violent red of ruptured blood vessels) contributes, rather gruesomely, to the look of shock.

“And then what?” Nie Mingjue can’t help but ask, glad for Jin Guangyao’s hand still on his wrist below the table, and thankful for Lan Xichen’s hand creeping onto his knee on the other side in silent solidarity. “Xue Yang has put all of mankind in the gravest danger imaginable. He’s a threat to humanity because he exists. Even if we can help, what do you expect me to do when it’s over? Let him go?”

“Yes.” Song Lan’s computerized voice is cool and neutral, of course, but his expression belays some sort of strong emotion beneath the calm surface he always maintains. “He has delivered the tool for humanity’s salvation into the hands of your resident genius, and what Wei Wuxian knows soon you will, too. The gift of knowledge and his cooperation in neutralizing the threat he poses, combined with the protection Jin Guangyao has offered him in exchange for his assistance, will repay his debts and leave him free.”

Nie Mingjue does not glare at his partner beside him, who doesn’t even twitch at the mention of whatever it is he’s promised Xue Yang this time. Of course Nie Mingjue knows that Jin Guangyao has always had a vested interest in keeping Xue Yang alive for his own purposes, but what he would have thought was the most important of those purposes has been accomplished; Xue Yang killed Jin Guangshan, what further use could Jin Guangyao have for him?

They can argue about it later. Jin Guangyao has apparently promised Xue Yang his protection, which means Nie Mingjue must once again let go of his fantasy of separating the man’s head from his shoulders. He grits his teeth but manages to push his anger aside for the moment to get back to the matter at hand.

“Fine.”

“The world is changing, old friend,” Xiao Xingchen says, soothing and understanding in equal measure, “and our time is ending. The war must be won soon, you know this. The Jaeger program is limping along, rotting from the inside as it falls prey to greed and complacency. We had no doubt that your righteousness-” Xue Yang snorts; he goes ignored by everyone in the room “-and sense of justice will not allow you to step down while there’s still a fight to be had, and you are one of the few Shatterdome leaders we felt we could trust with the truth of Xue Yang’s misdeeds. Many others would treat it the same as Wen Ruohan has done and attempt to use it for their own personal gain, but we know you will only use it to end this once and for all. That’s why we came here, and when Xue Yang is no longer a danger to himself or others we’ll leave again to go where no one else can find us.”

Silence reigns after such a pronouncement for a few long moments, broken only when Lan Xichen sits up straighter with the faint rustling of his canvas jumpsuit.

“This temporary solution that you’ve employed, Wuxian — is it enough to buy us time to rest before we begin attempting more permanent methods of severing the connection?”

“It should be — if it fails, Wen Qing or Wen Ning will know how to create the same effect.”

There’s some history here that Nie Mingjue is missing, but now doesn’t seem like the time to push it. Those who have been injured are fading quickly (Jiang Yanli has already had to shake her husband awake once), and he’s aware suddenly of how the steady worsening of his temper is likely the result of his neural pathways continuing to weaken as Wen Qing warned they would. As much as he would like to see this resolved now, he can’t ask so much of his partners or his pilots (or, he begrudgingly adds, Xue Yang).

“Fine,” he huffs, slapping his open palm once on the table in punctuation, “everyone is ordered to rest. Barring any emergencies we’ll meet again tomorrow at 1100 hours to strategize. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian will return to research for monitoring. Dismissed.”

There’s a flurry of movement as most everyone stands either under their own power or assisted by those around them. Jin Zixuan spares him a tight nod before he leans his weight heavily on the handles of Jiang Yanli’s wheelchair and the pair of them leave, held up in the doorway for a moment as the two pairs of three attempt to navigate their exit without letting Wei Wuxian or Xue Yang crumple to the ground.

Nie Mingjue is left alone with his partners, and Lan Xichen wisely stands to shut the door so softly the metal doesn’t even clank against its frame.

“What the fuck have you promised him?” Nie Mingjue asks with no preamble, his gaze fixed on the handle of the door as Lan Xichen sits down in the seat across from them that his brother has just vacated. “A-Yao what have you done?!”

“I did what I had to, and there’s no use being angry at me. I’d do it again in a heartbeat even knowing what we know now, and no amount of yelling will change it.”

Nie Mingjue hates that he’s right; he at least slams the side of his fist down against the table, the boom of it startling Lan Xichen enough to make him visibly jump but he waves off Nie Mingjue’s apologetic grimace immediately.

“I should have killed him years ago when I had the chance,” he growls. “When this is over I never want to see him again. Ever.”

“That won’t be a problem; I’m sending them overseas to the States, or perhaps Canada — somewhere far enough inland that the kaiju are little more than a horror story, where the only impact of an attack is a week’s delay in imports. Whatever intervention Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing will devise to sever his mind from the kaijus’ won’t cure the damage already done, nor will it prolong his life for more than five years, at most. He should live out his remaining years enduring the trials of being loved inexplicably by two of the most righteous men the world has ever seen. He’ll be miserable enough to sate even your desire for revenge within six months.”

Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath in, holds it for a count of five, and exhales again slowly. Jin Guangyao’s hand is still on his wrist and he rubs small circles into it with his thumb — it’s as much of an apology as he’s going to get, and he’s just going to have to accept that.

“We should report to Wen Qing. I’m sure she’s going to scold us no matter when we go but we shouldn’t worry her more than necessary, hm?” Lan Xichen murmurs, smiling softly when Nie Mingjue catches his eye. “We’ve gotten our answers and there’s not much more we can do until Wei Wuxian has recovered anyway. I’d like to see you take care of yourself for once, Mingjue.”

“Don’t single me out, we’re all shit at it,” Nie Mingjue grumps, but he stands up anyway and pulls Jin Guangyao with him, watching him closely for any signs that his headlong run from research had aggravated any of his old injuries. Jin Guangyao wrinkles his nose at him when he notices him watching, but Nie Mingjue just ducks in to press a firm kiss to his forehead (offering the same to Lan Xichen holding the door open for them when they pass) and leads his partners out of his office and into the labyrinth of the ‘dome.

They traipse in silence down to the medical bay, Nie Mingjue’s mind churning over the new problems that Wei Wuxian’s Drift with Xue Yang has created, but when they reach their destination he forces himself to put the matter aside for the time being.

“Chifeng-zun,” Wen Qing greets, unimpressed, when they step into the main triage room. “Zewu-Jun, Lianfang-zun. Finally.”

“You told us we could delay until the press had been soothed and the metaphorical fires put out,” Lan Xichen reminds his friend. “We came as soon as we could.”

It’s clear she doesn’t agree but she just jerks her chin towards one of the private examination rooms, and when they troop along behind her Nie Mingjue finds it’s already set up for them, the Drift rig moved over from research and three cots already made up with crisp linens fresh from the laundry. She’s even done them the courtesy of pushing the cots close enough together that they can comfortably touch each other while lying down if need be (though he can’t help but notice that she’s left a conspicuous enough gap between them that it’s clear anything more acrobatic is strictly off-limits).

“I’ll take you through a Drift myself first, a simple connection test like the first to establish the neural link and ensure it’ll stay stable for longer than a few minutes. You’ll then rest under observation until 0600, and if I decide you’re ready for more then Wen Ning will be in after breakfast to run you through a proper simulation to see how you fare in drop conditions. Questions?”

“Many,” Jin Guangyao dimples. “None about our treatment, but I would like a chat this evening while we’re resting, if you would be so kind.”

“My time is in high demand, Lianfang-zun.”

“As is mine, so I thank you for accommodating me.”

Nie Mingjue ignores the urge to smile as Wen Qing visibly bites down on what has to be a retort that she hasn’t actually agreed to do so, but he knows firsthand how useless it feels to go against Jin Guangyao when he’s decided to be stubborn like this. She folds with a nod and a sour little twist to her mouth, and Jin Guangyao at least has the good sense not to gloat over his victory (though his partner does wink up at him when he turns to approach the Drift rig). Nie Mingjue follows his partners over to the rig and he could swear he can already feel himself relaxing, the promise of the comfort of their minds slowing his heart rate and narrowing his focus to the immediate present in a way he almost never gets to appreciate.

He sits still through the familiar process of being hooked up and settles automatically into an almost meditative circuit of breathing and calming his mind further as Wen Qing gets Jin Guangyao connected next and finishes with Lan Xichen, her hands working deftly over the tangle of wires and sticky pads to connect them to his skin-

“WEI WUXIAN!!!”

Nie Mingjue is too calm to jump — but only just. The door to the medical bay slams open with a deafening clang and he and Wen Qing shout a reprimand in chorus, “JIANG WANYIN!”

She continues, “I have patients!! Get out of my med bay if you’re not dying!”

Wei Wuxian comes barreling into the room first and Nie Mingjue thinks, at a glance, that actually he might be dying. He has to clutch at the door frame to stay upright, his face is pale as bone and his eyes are, of course, still blood-red from his Drift with Xue Yang, and he’s panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“Wuxian,” Lan Xichen breathes and, as he’s only half-wired in, quickly divests himself of the various nodes in favor of getting to his feet and hauling Wei Wuxian upright just as twin lines of dark red blood begin to drip from his nostrils.

Wen Qing hurries past them to stop Jiang Wanyin, just barely visible over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder; he’s clearly distraught, his teeth bared and his eyes red-rimmed and glittering with furious tears.

“Don’t you dare protect that bastard-” he grits out, straining against Wen Qing standing in his way to block him from his brother.

Nie Mingjue sighs heavily and starts unsticking all the wires Wen Qing had just placed on him, Jin Guangyao doing the same beside him with an equal air of resignation.

“Your idea to push them all to their limits,” he mutters to his partner under the sound of Jiang Wanyin continuing to hurl abuse at his brother barely staying conscious in Lan Xichen’s arms.

“Your idea to support the Pilot exchange project in the first place,” Jin Guangyao retorts — a weaker argument than he’d usually make, but Nie Mingjue isn’t in the mood to press his advantage.

“Wen-daifu, Wuxian needs attention. Where’s Wangji?” Lan Xichen asks, his question answered in the next moment when Lan Wangji sweeps into the medical bay looking icy enough that Nie Mingjue would swear the temperature drops at least a degree or two from the force of his fury alone. It’s a wonder that Jiang Wanyin doesn’t seem at all intimidated at his entrance — instead he looks somehow even angrier. In fact, he looks damn near apoplectic when Lan Wangji steps up behind Wen Qing to further block Jiang Wanyin’s access to Wei Wuxian.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Nie Mingjue finally snaps, his voice carrying over and cutting through the rest of the panicked, angry chatter like a cleaver. Jiang Wanyin opens his mouth, and Nie Mingjue fixes him with the hardest glare he can. “Do not start shouting at me, Jiang Wanyin, or nothing Wen-daifu can do will save you.” The audible snap of the man shutting his mouth does less to assuage Nie Mingjue’s temper than Jin Guangyao resting his hand on the small of his back.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji calls, low and intense, and all attention in the room zeroes in on them as Lan Xichen transfers Wei Wuxian’s weight into his brother’s arms.

“Get him over to a cot, Wangji. Wanyin, get out.” Wen Qing steps smartly away, clearly expecting to be obeyed. Wangji carefully lifts an unprotesting Wei Wuxian into his arms and lays him down carefully on the nearest bed and Nie Mingjue realizes he’d looked like he was awake but he’s not conscious, or at least he’s not aware. His eyes are darting back and forth, flickering between things that aren’t there, and his mouth is moving in constant soundless muttering that puts the hair up on the back of Nie Mingjue’s neck.

“Come on, Wanyin,” Lan Xichen murmurs; he’s tugging gently on Jiang Wanyin’s arm, trying to get him to move in the direction of the door, but the man is standing, unmoving, staring in dawning horror at his brother being carefully held down by Lan Wangji and prodded at by Wen Qing’s acupuncture needles.

“You idiot,” he finally whispers, his expression twisting from horror to anguish, “You goddamn idiot!!”

Wen Qing doesn’t even look up from her work to snap, “Wanyin get out!! I’ll talk to you later!”

This time Jiang Wanyin allows himself to be towed out of the room, and Lan Xichen shuts the door quietly behind them, cutting off whatever Jiang Wanyin starts shouting as they go.

“What happened?”

“Wanyin demanded to know what Wei Ying did to Xue Yang.” Lan Wangji’s voice is quiet but his disdain for his partner’s brother is clear enough. “Wei Ying did not wish to answer, but when Wanyin’s continued insistence triggered this episode, your brother revealed the truth.”

Wen Qing sighs, her lips thinning with obvious displeasure, but she doesn’t pause in her work.

“I’m assuming these are the questions you would like answered as well, Lianfang-zun?”

“An astute observation.”

Wen Qing sighs again and stands up straight as before, her hands resting lightly on either side of Wei Wuxian’s neck, her thumbs pressed carefully against his jaw as he slips into true unconsciousness. His eyelids don’t even flicker with the movement of his eyes anymore; he looks far too like a corpse for comfort like this, but at least he doesn’t look like a man possessed.

“It was a secret I promised to take to my grave, but if A-Ning has told Wanyin already then I can’t keep it from you. You need to Drift first as soon as Zewu-Jun comes back, but after I’ve stabilized all of you, including Wuxian, then I swear I will tell you everything.”

“Everything,” Nie Mingjue emphasizes, catching Wen Qing’s glare with one of his own. “You’re not in Tokyo anymore, Wen-daifu, and anyone who wanted to profit off of secrets in this Shatterdome is dead.”

Wen Qing’s eyes flicker to Jin Guangyao at his side, but Nie Mingjue isn’t sure whether she wants to argue that that isn’t true, with Jin Guangyao for her example, or if she’s checking to see if he’ll react strongly again to the reminder that Jin Guangshan is gone. Either way, Jin Guangyao doesn’t even so much as twitch at his side.

She hesitates for a few beats longer before she nods with obvious reluctance. “Fine. Everything. We’ll need Mo Xuanyu to bring us Wei Wuxian’s research.”

“There are horrors in Wei Ying’s past that he has kept from his siblings for many years,” Lan Wangji speaks up, too quiet to startle even though Nie Mingjue had nearly forgotten he was there, so still and silent he’s been while he sits at Wei Wuxian’s side. “He has developed a way to carve up his mind and isolate sections of memory and thought; there are things he does not wish for them to ever know.”

Nie Mingjue is glad for the practice of navigating Lan Xichen’s polite roundabout phrasings to help him understand the heart of what Lan Wangji is getting at now.

“Anything we learn will remain completely confidential, Wangji. You have my word.”

“And mine,” Jin Guangyao adds, and though Nie Mingjue doesn’t quite understand why he deemed it necessary, Wangji’s shoulders only relax ever so slightly after the second promise is made.

“Mn.”

“Go back to your treatment,” Wen Qing instructs them in her ever-professional brusque tone. “I’ll be in with Zewu-Jun to start the Drift in a moment, this changes nothing.”

Nie Mingjue levels her with a final significant look before he turns to do as instructed — he’s long since learned not to test a doctor’s temper — but as he ushers Jin Guangyao out of the room ahead of him he can’t help but overhear Lan Wangji’s quiet but firm reply,

“No, Wen-daifu. This will change everything.”

#the untamed fanfic #3zun #pacific rim AU #Soldier Poet King #background wangxian #background xuanli #background/implied songxuexiao

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hardwareabstractionlayer · 2 years ago

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The trouble with collecting merch is it’s difficult to stop once you start. This Jingsu enamel pin is by the prolific 长风万里, who is responsible for some of the most iconic NiF pins (check out the weidian store for a partial selection). Like many fan-made pins, it’s a re-rendering of a scene from canon, in this case episode 52 [x], where Jingsu look on as thunder and wind portend the storm brewing on the horizon after Princess Liyang has agreed to present Xie Yu’s confessed crimes at the Emperor’s banquet.

The pin emphasizes the storm in both design (bamboo leaves scattering in the wind) and name: 风雨同守, loosely enduring the tempest together. As for why the image has been transposed onto a tattered scroll, the pin maker said the inspiration came from rubbings/拓印 and elaborated some more:

Personally, I think of this as an excavated artwork (with the surface damaged in its old age) that was created out of Jingyan’s longing. As if Jingsu actually existed in history and will live on for a long, long time. 我自己把这个当做是一件出土的画作（年岁久远画面有所破损），是景琰怀念所做。就好像历史上真有他们的存在，靖苏真的来日方长。

Historically, rubbings not only create an impression of existing artwork but are themselves artworks that take skill and patience. The typical process starts with adhering paper to a stone carving, then ink is dabbed to the paper such that the flat surface takes on the color of the ink while carved areas remain white (here’s a process video). Collecting rubbings was a popular pastime of the literati, and rubbings of good calligraphy were especially in demand for study and appreciation, serving a similar purpose to block printing in allowing many people to see replicas of an original. The originals may have also come from a non-stone medium: some artworks originally on paper or fabric were replicated onto stone so that rubbings could be made and collected [x]. Nowadays, ancient rubbings are valuable artifacts, especially in cases where the carving has been lost.

The rubbing influence is very clear in the second version of the pin, here juxtaposed against one of its inspirations:

Though the text on the right rubbing says it’s from the Tianping Era of Eastern Wei, Year 2/魏天平二年 (535 CE), which is contemporaneous with the Liang dynasty that loosely inspired the fictional NiF Liang, I couldn’t find an actual historical artwork corresponding to this rubbing, and the mass antique market is flooded with fabrications (it’s also thoroughly possible I simply failed to find the original). But here’s a real fragment of a stone Buddhist votive tablet and its rubbing that’s now at the Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong [x]:

The text says that this was made in Tianping Era, Year 3, one year after the one above, and describes the building of a Buddhist pagoda in offering, which was a common practice at the time. This monochromatic rubbing style was also quite typical; though both black ink and red ink (cinnabar-based) rubbings existed separately, they were not really seen in combination in a single rubbing until much later. What is believed to be the only surviving book of bicolor rubbings before the modern era was made in the Qing dynasty around the 1800s and was itself a copy of a lost multicolor work from the same dynasty [x].

In this context of transference of art and meaning between mediums, it’s all too easy to imagine a backstory for this Jingsu scroll: first there was a stone carving, close enough to the actual scene that the artist must have worked from Jingyan’s memory of that day. Instead of the more common approach of carving the outline or the background, the artist decided to carve the foreground so the figures were sunken into the stone. And later, a rubbing was made and mounted onto a scroll, buried and excavated, then finally rendered from fiction to reality in the form of an enamel pin. Each creation is an act of remembering and reinventing, of placing yourself in the observer’s shoes, of stoking the flames of the original story—the fire burns on through metaphorical wood replaced over the centuries, its appearance ever-changing, its core not forgotten.

That’s enough of reading too much into things—I also like the pin on its own. One thing that 长风万里 does well is not just sell pins but also communicate the entire behind-the-scenes process with the QQ group, which is several months’ worth of iterations that I find at least as interesting as the final product. For this pin, you can trace through chat logs how the pin evolved all the way from the original concept sketch to the pieces of metal that fit in your hand (thanks to 长风万里 for letting me share the draft versions here):

Once the pin maker comes up with an idea and decides to go for it, the initial sketch is given to the commissioned artist (this pin was drawn by Forwrite, on weibo and lofter) along with reference images. The artist turns these into a line drawing following the design rules of enamel pins (each block of solid color should be fully enclosed by lines, for example). Some artists will color in the line art while other pin creators commission only the line art and fill in the colors themselves. The final colors are limited to the available palette at the factory chosen to make the pins, and once the color vector art is handed to the pin factory along with instructions on detailing and finishes, the physical manufacturing process begins in earnest (this could be the subject of its own long post).

You may have noticed that there are some color changes from the vector design to the physical pins, most notably the sky in the top pin. This came about as a serendipitous accident where the factory colored the sky of the sample pin dark blue instead of the requested sunset yellow, but the pin buyers active in the group chat liked the dark blue enough that it was kept as the final color. The light grayish blue variant ended up being chosen for the backing card/背卡 instead:

Though backing cards are nominally named for their purpose in supporting the pin, practically no one sticks their pins through these cards in Chinese fandom; instead, collectors generally buy cases and books to keep each piece in pristine condition. And so unlike utilitarian cards that are meant to serve as a background to the pin, fully designed backing cards that stand on their own are very much a thing. The card also adds back in the iconic Jingsu lines that were in the original concept sketch, I want to choose you, Your Highness Prince Jing/我想选你靖王殿下 from Mei Changsu and Sir and I are as one person/先生与我如同一人 from Jingyan.

And now for the last part of the merch package that comes with the pin: the wooden piece on the left is an inscribed bamboo name slip/名刺 meant to resemble what MCS might have presented Jingyan when he visited his manor in episode 9 [x]. This was a preorder bonus to encourage buyers to get on board early, since the upfront costs to commission the artist and get a sample made at the factory are a significant portion of the overall costs (if not enough people preorder, the pin is canceled and the payment refunded, and the pin maker has to take the loss of at least the artist’s fees).

Name slips were the ancient analogs to modern business cards and an important tool of connection building in the ancient bureaucracy. The tradition of presenting a slip before you visit someone’s residence, especially if you’re lower in status than the person you’re visiting, persisted for many dynasties while the form of the slip evolved over time. Even though the visitation slip in canon appeared to be a bound paper booklet, folded books wouldn’t appear until the Tang dynasty—though paper was invented in the Han dynasty, it took time for the manufacturing process to improve sufficiently for a fundamental shift in writing mediums. Bamboo slips were what they would have used in the real Liang dynasty (plus, the modern-day replica is objectively great merch that can be used as a bookmark/fidget stick/cosplay prop/whatever else you can think of).

Slips from around the NiF time period generally stated some combination of your given name/名, your courtesy name/字, the region you’re from, and some boilerplate deferential language. Here are two real ones from Huang Chao/黄朝 and Zhu Ran/朱然 of the Three Kingdoms period next to MCS’s, with the meaning of some phrases listed in parentheses after the literal translation (using two of MCS’s names is a good solution for the lack of courtesy names in canon):

To balance out all the white background product photography, I’ll close with some texture shots:

#cost for everything was ¥90 or about $13 #overseas shipping not included #先生与我，如同一人 #chinese fandom #nirvana in fire #琅琊榜 #merch review #long post

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tangibletechnomancy · 2 years ago

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Valid criticisms of AI, or at least the way it's used:

- Just like any tech that can automate work in the professional sector, AI can have alarming implications for workers, especially in the current economy, including independent workers in gig economies for whom we may have an even harder time demanding a support system

- The amount of incredibly personal content in training databases really solidifies how dire the situation is with datamining on the internet today and buying products built with this kind of extensive, unmitigated datamining is pretty questionable

- There are many, very easy ways to be a complete fucking asshole with AI, from forgery to spite fine-tunes to maliciously flooding commission markets where one outright shows disdain for the community outside of how much money they're willing to spend, and the corporate developers seem to be content to encourage that crowd

- Social media culture is already toxically obsessed with instant gratification and things that look polished and professional, and AI has the potential to play into that

Not valid criticisms of AI:

- "The training data is copyrighted" - any copyright framework that bars usage as transformative as AI training from qualifying as fair use would do FAR more harm to small-time artists than it would prevent; do you want to get sued for drawing a similar pose to a Disney poster because they suspect you may have referenced from it? Do you want to go back to the Anne Rice days with fanart and fanfiction? Because that's what tightening up restrictions against transformative work to that extent will open up.

- "It's literally just sampling, copy-pasting chunks of pieces that already exist in the training set" - it's literally not. This is just straight up misinformation.

- "It's not Real Art, it's uncreative, there's no such thing as a creative use for it" - way too subjective to keep presenting as a fact, what little of it is objective is demonstrably false (see the number of people using it as a meditation on data and history, and many disabled people using it to preserve their ability to create), and if you claim that something needs to meet a minimum standard of creativity to be Real Art then I can name a LOT of manual illustrations that don't qualify either

- "No one actually NEEDS it as an accessibility tool, look at this famous artist who painted with their feet and this one who painted with their mouth and this one who forced themself through miserable pain every day, if art isn't worth suffering that much to you then you don't DESERVE it and what do you mean there are people who can't even move THAT much" - holy inspiration porn, Batman!

- "Well then if you really well and truly CAN'T draw on your own at ALL, just commission people!" - ah, yes, because what disabled people famously always have in surplus is money, and what we famously love more than anything in the world is having to rely on other people for every aspect of our own self-expression

- "It's going to REPLACE REAL ART, all the physical media companies and art tablet makers are going to GO OUT OF BUSINESS because NO ONE WANTS THEIR PRODUCTS ANYMORE, NO one cares about ANYTHING in art but the end result except ME and the other REAL artists, AI is going to DESTROY SOCIETY, even KIDS are NEVER going to want to draw for REAL anymore, the ENTIRE CONCEPT is DYSTOPIAN and we need to BURN THE TECH TO THE GROUND TO SAVE SOCIETY, my ingroup and I are the ONLY people not too stupid and sheeplike to fall for this VIOLENT DESTRUCTION OF ALL THAT MAKES US HUMAN that will DEFINITELY succeed in destroying art FOREVER" - ....yeah sorry if I don't sound like I'm taking you seriously when at this point you're just buying into blatant trad RETVRN bullshit to validate your discomfort and it's horrifying, STOP THAT

#not art #point 2 is why i like to work exclusively with free-to-use models

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redsamuraiii · 1 year ago

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For those who read widely and take an interest in Asia — likely readers of this article — chances are they will have picked up a book put out by Tuttle Publishing at one time or another.

History of Tuttle Publishing

While the Tuttle family business can be traced back to 1832, making it one of the oldest American publishers still in operation, according to the company, the Japan presence was established in 1948 when Charles Tuttle, noticed a gap in the market.

Initially arriving in Japan to work in the newspaper industry as part of the American Occupation, Tuttle later began importing American books for U.S. troops stationed in the country, and ferrying Japanese books back to the United States for interested readers.

He later opened what was reportedly Tokyo's first English-language bookstore, before publishing thousands of Asia-focused books himself. Before his death, Tuttle was awarded the Order of the Sacred Treasure by Emperor Showa for his work.

Tuttle Publishing and Japan

Tuttle’s longtime presence in the market means it has an extensive back catalog that is now in high demand, fueled by the current boom in interest in Japanese culture. As interest in Japanese authors has grown, so has demand for Tuttle's early print editions.

“Because they’re hard to get hold of ... they can go for silly prices sometimes, because people collect them or tourists want Japanese literature,” he said. Tourists in particular go straight for them, as they’re hungry for Japanese stories to take home as souvenirs.

Prints vs Digital and AI

Despite people long decrying the death of print or the end of books, the publishing industry is growing stronger. During the pandemic in 2020, Tuttle saw a surge in book sales, and while this has subsided somewhat, “book sales are now higher than before the pandemic.”

Personally, although reading digitally on tablets is much more convenient and save space on bookshelf, the feeling of holding something physical, the smell of books and the sense of detachment from the world in going offline is something that readers love.

Below are 10 books that I have read from Tuttle Publishing that I would recommend those who are interested in Japanese culture.

A Brief History of Japan

The perfect book to understand Japan's history as it sums up everything concisely, not too brief and not too detailed.

A History of Japan in Manga

If you're not into reading books full of texts and more of a visual reader, then this one is for you as it's explained with manga.

The Heikei Story

The defining moment in history where the warrior class Samurai began to rise to its prominence to overthrow the Imperials.

Hiroshige's Japan

Join a French artist as he explores the old Tokaido Road that once connected Edo (Tokyo) and Kyoto as he shares his illustrations.

Japan Journeys

A collection of woodblock printing art which journals the travelers experience in Edo Period moving from one prefecture to the other.

My Travels in Japan

A cute travel diary which accounts her travel experience in modern Japan which consists of illustrations of places she visited.

Japan in 100 Words

Everything you need to know about Japan, from its culture, tradition, philosophy, food and pop culture, categorised into 100 sections.

Samurai Castles

History and design of the architecture of the iconic castles, which shows the uniqueness of each castle with photos and drawings.

Manga Yokai Stories

The short stories of Yokai and how they came to be, which are meant to demonstrate the humanity and tragedy of life.

Lady Murasaki's Tale of Genji

A story written by a Heian woman who envisions her version of an ideal man and depicts the life in the Imperial court of her time.

#tuttle publishing #japanese books #japan #book recommendations #japanese culture #japanese history #japan times #manga #japan travel #japanese art

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dailyanarchistposts · 29 days ago

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Topics: decentralization, DIY, Dual Power, health care, medicine, science

One of the central claims of capitalism is that it is the best system to bring supply and demand together; when people need a good or service, the capitalist market will provide. However, the reality of the situation can be quite the opposite. An excellent example of this—from my perspective as a lay person whose experience with the pharmaceutical industry is one of a consumer for mental health purposes—is access to important medication such as EpiPens and HIV treatment in the United States. The former averages around $700 per pack of two auto-injectors and the latter, depending on its type and whether it is brand name or generic, can reach up to over $4,000 per 30-60 tablets or capsules; and more generally, according to Andrew W. Mulcahy, medications are 2.56 times more expensive in the United States than in 32 other countries. One could arguably trace the problem to the corporate business structure or the universalization of the profit motive, but more directly the problem is one of corporate-state scheming through stringent intellectual property laws. These laws keep genuine competition—supposedly a main selling point of capitalism—from taking place in the market by granting exclusive manufacturing rights to specific entities—usually massive corporations but sometimes individual scumbags like Martin Shkreli. These entities can then drive the prices of medication to truly ridicouous levels. And in the context of insulin in particular, this price manipulation is so extreme that Lucas Kunce asserts that “[t]he cost of insulin isn’t determined by supply and demand. It’s really just 3 companies setting a price based on how many deaths and amputations the market will bear until people start rioting.”

This is a problem that has the potential to affect all human beings, but, as with many socio-economic problems, it hits the working class—and particularly its queer and BIPOC members and those with disabilities—the hardest. This is obviously in part because of how expensive the medication is, but also because people of lower class backgrounds do not have access to high-standard housing, healthy food choices, low-pollution environments, etc. All of these can both create and accentuate health problems that require the aforementioned medications. And capitalists only care enough about workers to help them be skilled enough and stay alive long enough to produce and reproduce, giving thought to their health and medical needs only at a whim or by minimal, loophole-filled legal mandates. As Karl Marx writes, wages are simply “the cost required for the maintenance of the labourer as a labourer, and for his education and training as a labourer” plus “the cost of propagation, by means of which the race of workers is enabled to multiply itself, and to replace worn-out workers with new ones.” But even putting aside (true) rhetoric about class, capitalism, and such, the simple problem of the matter is that there are people who need medication and that medication exists, but for abstract reasons invented by people in power the individuals in need cannot gain access to that medication with ease.

The obvious solution is to simply eliminate the entire institution of IP, opening the way to, as Laurance Labadie writes, “free competition, that is, free and equal access to the means of production, to the raw materials, and to an unrestricted market, [so that] the price of all articles will always tend to be measured by the effort necessary for their production. In other words, labor as a factor in measuring value will become predominant.”And—having eliminated all state-sanctioned monopolies, IP and beyond—not only would medication be massively more affordable but, according to Kevin Carson…

licensing cartels would no longer be a source of increased costs or artificial scarcity rents. [Therefore, t]here would be far more freedom and flexibility in the range of professional services and training available. Some . . . neighborhood cooperative clinics might prefer to keep a fully trained physician on joint retainer with other clinics, with primary care provided by a mid-level clinician. Or imagine an American counterpart of the Chinese “barefoot doctor,” trained to set most fractures and deal with other common traumas, perform an array of basic tests, and treat most ordinary infectious diseases. He might be able [to] listen to your symptoms and listen to your lungs, do a sputum culture, and give you a run of Zithro for your pneumonia, without having to refer you any further. And his training would also include identifying situations clearly beyond his competence that required the expertise of a nurse practitioner or physician.

But barring this effective and far-reaching but rather (at least for the meantime) improbable solution, another extrasystemic tactic is available: the open access publishing of DIY ways to produce life-saving medication by way of the Internet—essentially liberating the information from the private-corporate sphere into the digital commons.

This is not an original concept as it originates in the work of Professor Michael Lauer and his group Four Thieves Vinegar Collective, whose goal is to generate open access means for anyone with access to a computer, basic chemistry technology, and a 3D printer to synthesize medicine. These include such things as instructions for building an “Apothecary Microlab” and DIY EpiPens as well as 3D printer blueprints for homemade chemical reactors. This essential idea has been taken up by the Open Insulin Foundation, who…

are creating an open source (freely available) model for insulin production that centers sustainable, small-scale manufacturing and open source alternatives to production. [They] are developing organisms and protocols to produce rapid acting (lispro) and long acting (glargine) insulin. Additionally, [they] are working on developing open hardware equivalents to proprietary production equipment, are researching sustainable regulation pathways to bring our insulin to the public, and are developing plans for local, small-scale manufacturing pilots.

In the context of this open access availability, Sebastian A. Stern writes, “Do-It-Yourself scientists working in hackerspaces are positioned to make significant contributions with low overhead and little formal training (becoming necessary and valuable apprenticeship sites as the current higher education system deteriorates). The state has yet to heavily clamp down, but, because such freedom threatens the status quo, we can expect intervention to intensify.”

This type of strategy completely rejects the use of the state and its organs to try to correct the problem from within the system. And this makes sense! The state capitalist system is the central cause of artificial barriers to medicine, and as such solutions sought through the state follow the logic touted by Robert LeFevre that “[g]overnment is a disease masquerading as its own cure.” And the process by which state-based solutions like price ceilings are being proposed, such as for insulin under Biden’s Build Back Better plan, have proved again and again to be both convoluted and seriously drawn-out; downsides quite serious for a problem where lives are on the line. Karena Yan also points out that Colorado’s “$100 cap for a 30-day of supply” has…

revealed a few loopholes. Some health plans fell into an exemption in the legislation, leaving the people on those health plans ineligible for the insulin price cap when purchasing their monthly insulin. Additionally, instead of offering a flat $100 maximum on monthly insulin prescriptions, the current legislation allows insurers to charge $100 per prescription per month, which translates to $200 for those who take both basal and mealtime insulin or two other insulins, such as short-acting and long-acting.

And while the FDA will come cracking down on open access DIY pharmacology eventually, eluding the state apparatus for as long as possible is ideal. Milton Friedman points out that “[t]he FDA has done enormous harm to the health of the American public by greatly increasing the costs of pharmaceutical research, thereby reducing the supply of new and effective drugs, and by delaying the approval of such drugs as survive the tortuous FDA process."[1] Ryan Calhoun even accounts of the 2014 seizure of “19,618 parcels of ‘unapproved’ prescription medication. More plainly, the FDA stole people’s medication and denied them any reasonable manner of attaining it again.” And David D’Amato makes a compelling argument that “[v]oluntary membership associations, ratings and review services, and noncompulsory, competing accreditors are more than capable of furnishing the information that consumers want and need to make safe, smart decisions.”

However, there are, rather obviously, serious practical problems to this praxis. While sharing information about DIY pharmacology is not illegal and, as Grants Birmingham writes for Time, the Open Insulin “project seems to be in a regulatory safe space, but that may change as it gets closer to making actual medicine.” And, of course, “if [Open Insulin] does reach a production phase, [it] would have to conform to Good Manufacturing Practice, the FDA rules for factories that make medicine, food, cosmetics and medical devices. And because the group plans to share its insulin-production framework online, crossing state lines, there may be other legal issues on the horizon.” Then there is the immediate danger of throwing together cocktails of homemade medication. For example, pseudoscience debunker Yvette d’Entremont is firm in her opinion that “there are so many things that could go wrong in constructing [the DIY EpiPen]. It seems like such a bad idea.” And, further, “[i]t’s all fun and games until your product gets contaminated and you get a giant abscess in your muscle.” I know I would be very hesitant to try something like this at this stage of development. Furthermore, any proposal regarding the liberation of medication in the U.S. must be considered within the context of the COVID-19 Pandemic—where people are spreading vaccine misinformation en masse and making ‘independently researched’ and completely stupid decisions to take horse dewormer as treatment—as well as the long-standing opioid crisis.[2] So while with the decay and eventual collapse of state capitalism, this may certainly become the manner in which essential medications are made available through the aforementioned neighborhood cooperative clinics and North American barefoot doctors at the price of their necessarily low cost of production, for now, I–someone who, it must be made clear, is neither a scientist nor medical professional–would have to agree with the CEO of DIY genetic engineering company The Odin Josiah Zayner, who calls the work done by Four Thieves Vinegar “proof of concept stuff . . . usually the first step in innovation.”

Due to these serious problems, one might be inclined to focus on more respectable but still decentralized solutions available in the form of healthcare insurance cooperatives, fraternal benefit societies (hopefully to be raised back up to their former glory), healthcare sharing ministries, free medical clinics (in the style of the Black Panther Party), pharmaceutical purchasing cooperatives (for lay people not just pharmacies), etc. Logan Glitterbomb writes that…

[c]reating, supporting, or volunteering at [the aforementioned] free clinics, cooperative clinics, and grassroots union-run facilities are great ways to increase access to medical care for low-income individuals. Having these facilities also promote and focus on preventative care, rather than treatment, can also cut down cost and increase public health in the long term. The Ithaca Health Alliance was created by the same minds behind the labor time-based alternative currency known as, [Ithaca] Hours. It is a wonderful example of a community-based healthcare cooperative that is right in line with anarchist values and tactics. Their network of over 150 local healthcare providers offer a 5-10% discount to all IHA members. The IHA also runs the Ithaca Free Clinic, a free community clinic staffed by volunteer physicians, herbalists, acupuncturists, and more. The Ithaca Health Fund, which offers emergency medical grants to low-income patients, also provides grants to other community-based health projects in the area, all funded through donations.

Projects such as these present the possibility of creating a dual power healthcare infrastructure. But setting aside the critiques of open access DIY pharmacology presented above, a main advantage of this strategy is that it doesn’t just give people the things they need to live comfortably or live at all, it also attacks the central cause of artificially high medication costs (IP) and—as would come by any placement of medication in the information commons—decentralizes medical knowledge. The contemporary medical system—as opposed to its non-patriarchal predecessors—is oriented towards a small group of professional, highly-educated elites.[3] Though it is important to have experts and specialists (as the ignorance of large swaths of the U.S. public during the present pandemic has made clear), there is no good reason for the level of totalizing hyper-specialization and stringent regulation—public and private—that only gives a small elite within highly specific institutional frameworks access to such important knowledge.

But if the future is to be decentralized, the liberation of medication goes deeper than 3D printers and DIY chemistry. It means shifting toward antiauthoritarian community practices of health. As Simon the Simpler writes,

A society of people who are responsible for their own health and able to gather or grow their own medicines is a hard society to rule. These days we are dependent on the power structure of industrial health care and medical specialization: the secret society of the doctors, the white-male-dominated medical schools, the corporate decision makers with their toxic pharmaceuticals and heartless greed and labs full of tortured beings. That dependence is one more thing keeping us tied down to the State and unable to rebel with all our hearts or even envision a world without such oppression.[4]

And so, through a combination of decentralized medical technology and a general motion toward these kind of health practices, perhaps the liberation of medication is on the horizon.

[1] I cannot find the original source of this quote.

[2] Not much can be said that has not already been said about how the opioid crisis is not the product of some non-existent free market but of corporatism; and a properly libertarian perspective on COVID-19 can be found in Carson’s “Pandemics: The State As Cure or Cause?” and Andrew Kemle’s “Libertarianism vs Psychopathic Dumbfuckery.”

[3] See Barbara Ehrenreich’s Witches, Midwives, and Nurses: A History of Women Healers.

[4] This is not even to delve into the biopolitics of modern medicine as theorized by Michel Focuault; a topic which could fill an entire other article.

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