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lockefanfic · 9 months ago

Text

Truth

The following can be considered an alternate ending to the Business Trip series - although it can just as easily be read on its own. :)

---

The first few weeks together as an official couple were wonderful. Honeymoon phase and all that. Moving in together, domestic bliss. Fucking like rabbits, of course. But problems arose - became noticeable, and then unavoidable. Two of them, actually.

Problem 1: Your job.

Problem 2: Her job.

---

Problem 1: You’d thought business trips were a thing of the past. They weren’t.

You were happy to put the little adventure you’d had in Seoul and Tokyo behind you. Since then you’d done your best to decline any opportunities to engage in similar trips - feigning illness, sending underlings in your place, handling as many meetings as you could remotely. These days your life consisted of long, sometimes draining days at the office - a far cry from the brushes with danger and law enforcement that characterized your most recent trip overseas. Your days at work were boring and mundane now, but you were at home, and that was what mattered.

Home, after all, was where she was.

Regardless, the allure of another trip still came calling every now and then, tempting you, enticing you into spending a couple of weeks or months overseas where anything could - and sometimes did - happen.

Sometimes that allure took physical form. Sometimes it came waltzing into your office wearing a tight blouse and a pencil skirt. Sometimes it was named Shin Ryujin. Other days it was named Hwang Yeji, or Lee Chaeryeong. Today, as with most days, it was named Shin Yuna.

“Ryujin and Yeji are on-site in Busan, and Chaeryeong is in Seoul, waiting for her flight to join them. Lia sustained injuries in our last operation and isn’t medically cleared for this one, but she’s recovering well. Ryujin has begin surveillance on our competitors’ teams - codenamed New Jeans and Le Sserafim - and she is ready to proceed with next steps once you arrive,” Yuna says, eagerness evident in the tone of her moderately Korean-accented english. “Shall I make travel arrangements for us to join them?”

For the first time since she walked into your office you look up from the reports on your laptop. You don’t miss the small bite the young woman is giving her lower lip, nor the way she has crossed her legs and begun leaning her wide hips against your desk. It takes more restraint than you were willing to admit not to steal a glance at her long pantyhose-clad legs and the tight charcoal pencil skirt they led to. You find the self-control to keep eye contact with your eager young executive assistant, even if her body language and tone of voice made her intentions clear and easy to read.

“Give me a second to finish reviewing Ryujin’s report,” you answer, returning your full attention to the screen in front of you. “I’ll confirm whether I need to be on-site by end of day, and if so you can make the necessary arrangements then.”

Despite her best efforts, Yuna can’t hide the small twinge of disappointment that makes its way across her soft features. She’d been looking forward to the thirteen hour flight with you and the opportunities it would present.

“Oh, and…” she begins, her tone a little less upbeat now that you’d at least temporarily dampened her excitement. “You have a visitor. It’s Detective-”

“Let her in,” you interrupt. Yuna frowns, offers a short bow - a lingering habit from her Korean upbringing - and steps back toward the door to your office. She swings it open, and you catch the look of disdain on her features when she waves in your visitor.

Im Nayeon pushes past Yuna and into the office. She gives Yuna a sharp look as she passes the younger woman, and even from your chair you can sense the venom in it. The detective sits down in the chair opposite your desk, legs and arms crossed. She is dressed plainly, in a short denim skirt and a leather jacket, the glimmer of her badge on a chain around her neck the only clue as to her profession. She drops a large paper bag onto your desk.

“Please let me know if you need anything else, sir-”

“That will be all, Yuna,” you answer.

Before your executive assistant has a chance to close the door, Nayeon turns her head and squeezes in one last shot.

“Cancel his next hour, Miss-”

“My name is Yuna,” the young woman at the door answers, crossing her arms, scowl painted on her lips.

“Whatever,” Nayeon retorts, flatly. “Clear his schedule for the next hour. Oh, and do be a dear and lock the door.”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch two things - the barely restrained scoff on Yuna’s lips, and the satisfied sneer on Nayeon’s. With one last look of scorn directed at the back of the detective’s head, the younger Korean woman closes the door with a little more force than was necessary. The click of the lock engaging follows shortly after, as does the heavier than usual click-clack of her heels as she stomps away in obvious irritation.

“You have a thing for executive assistants with hips,” Nayeon observes. “Although this one’s much more of a brat than the last one.”

“Be nice,” you say, although you can’t keep the smirk from appearing on your lips as you continue to scroll through the report on your laptop. “She grew up in Korea, so she’s useful whenever I’m in-country. And she’s not a bad person.”

“I know,” Nayeon relents. “But the more of a cunt I am to her, the more she gets off on being a little fucktoy for you. I bet she gets off on thinking that you’re fucking her without me knowing. I bet it makes her so wet.”

Your smirk turns into a slim smile, and it becomes difficult to keep your eyes on the report in front of you.

“Am I wrong?” she contests.

“No,” you admit, finally turning to give her your full attention. “In fact, I’m about to hop on a plane with her to Korea in a couple of days. I expect it will be an… eventful flight.”

“Good,” Nayeon states, satisfied. “I bet she’ll be a good little girl for you, now that she’s received another reminder of how much you need some time away from your queen bitch of a girlfriend.”

She smiles - this one warm, soft - the smile that caught you in its clutches all those years ago and never let go. She turns momentarily to face the door.

“Oh, yeah, baby, fuck, you’re so big in me, fuck me! Fuck, this is the best dick I’ve ever had!” she exclaims in faux-pleasure, ensuring she was loud enough for the exasperated executive assistant sitting just outside your door to hear. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

“We can fuck at home later. I just wanted to piss her off,” Nayeon admits, a sly smile on her lips. “Anyway, pull up House of the Dragon?”

“Already on it,” you answer, swinging your laptop screen around so you can both watch. Nayeon pulls containers of take-out sushi from the paper bag.

She swaps your salmon for her tamago.

She leans over your desk as she passes you your chopsticks. She gives you a warm kiss, and the smile she leaves on your lips stays there for the rest of the day.

---

Even after all these years, she never tired of the collar and its leash.

It was showing signs of wear, of course - the bright fire engine red had faded into a softer, paler shade, the chain was no longer as shiny, and there was more than one set of her teeth marks on it from particularly frisky sessions - but she never missed a chance to put it on when the mood struck, and you never missed a chance to put it on her.

For now you are content to let the chain dangle freely in your left hand, watching the light streaming in from the open window as it plays on its metallic links. The chain glimmers in the morning light against her pale, creamy skin, swaying and occasionally bouncing along with her movements.

The chair you are sitting on protests with the weight and movement the both of you make atop it. Her soft sighs and gasps - a far cry from the loud shouts and moans you knew she was well capable of - happily cancel out the furniture’s squeaking protests as she rides you atop it. Soft, sensual, slow. The perfect fuck for a perfect morning.

You do your best to just sit there and savour the moment, letting Nayeon do all the work as she grinded back and forth on your lap. As much as you enjoyed watching her bounce up and down atop you, taking your full length in and out of her body - taking special delight in the delicious bounce it gave her breasts and thighs - there was something to be said for the intimacy of the way she was riding you now, slowly and softly. It gave her a chance to grind her slick, swollen clit against your crotch, and while it only let a third or so of your cock slip in and out of her hot, slippery cunt with each entry and exit, each movement nonetheless caused a warm spike of pleasure to course up your spine as your cock moves around inside her.

She was so beautiful, so utterly ethereal and intensely erotic all at the same time - clothed simultaneously in perfect golden sunlight and slick sweat, saliva, and other fluids. She was ethereal beauty and dirty sex. She wore both, was utterly enrapturing in both, was equally comfortable in both.

You watch each movement of her body - a body you knew well, knew every peak and curve and valley of - and you never tired of it. You watch as her round, full thighs flex and work, as her tight core drives her lower body back and forth, as her small, perfect breasts sway and bounce. Her face is immaculate, soft features twisted and wracked by pleasure. Sweat glistens over all of it. It makes her perfect skin glisten and glimmer in the sunlight.

You take a moment to look over her shoulder at the dressing mirror behind her, relishing the sight of her back - the beautiful curve of her spine and the sweat dripping down that delicious valley; the round cheeks of her ass and the muscles beneath them as they work to fuck herself on your cock; the short glimpses of your balls as she moves back and forth, takes you in and out of her body. Even her hair, having started the morning pulled into a messy bun, has become disheveled and loose - but in a way that is enticing and alluring, glued to the back of her neck and upper shoulders by perspiration.

Your right hand, resting on her thigh, snakes a path up her body - up her chiselled abs, cupping a soft breast and delighting in the tightness of her nipple as you capture it with your thumb and index finger and give it a pull, a twist, a pinch. Her pussy pulsates in response around you. She is sighing and moaning her pleasure when your hand continues its journey, sliding up a sweaty neck until you reach the side of her face.

Her eyes, shut, drift open at your touch.

You give the chain a jerk forward.

Her entire upper body crashes against yours at the sudden pull at her neck. Your lips find and capture hers, and for a few moments you share a passionate, heavy kiss. As your tongues duel you give her a slight thrust upward with your hips, timed to meet the apex of her grind - and she sighs into your mouth at the movement, eyes shutting again, nails digging into your shoulders.

Spurred by her reaction, you continue to thrust upward as best you can given your sitting position. Her cunt, already so wet and slick and hot, clenches around you with each thrust, welcoming you, taking you.

“Oh god,” she sighs, the first full words either of you have spoken in a while. “Oh god, I’m close-“

Her sentence breaks into a moan, a soft, wordless cry of pleasure as you continue your thrusts upwards into her body. She wraps her arms around your shoulders, burying your face against her warm, moist chest. You lick the sweat from between her dangling breasts. You savour each moan that leaves her mouth, heavy and hot, directly into your ears.

The chain drops from your left hand, its end falling with a soft clink onto the hardwood floor of your apartment. Forgotten for now, because the faux, pretend-ownership it represented was no longer needed, was perhaps never necessary.

She orgasms around you - pussy clenching, lungs emptying of breath as she cries her pleasure into your bedroom. Your hands find themselves clutching at her moist, sweaty back, hugging her to you, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.

“Your cum, inside me,” she hisses, her voice soft and almost vulnerable in your ear, still at the height of her orgasm. “Please, I want, I need it, please.”

Im Nayeon knew you - knew every part of what made you tick. She knew what you wanted to hear, knew when you wanted to hear it.

You thrust upward into her clenching, creamy cunt one last time. Every part of her body surrounds you, wraps itself around you: she buries your head into her chest, fingers interwoven into your hair, cradling you with her arms and legs as her cunt clenches and tightens around your cock.

Your shaft spurts warm, thick cum into her. She lets a sigh leave her breathless lips with each pulse of your cock inside her, knowing each one was another rope of cum that would bind your bodies even further together.

Your fluids mix inside her, eventually sliding out between the pussy lips stretched tight around the base of your cock. It drips down your shaft, your balls, and onto the chair. You are sticky everywhere - on your sweaty chests, your slick thighs, but especially where you are joined together, your shaft still embedded hilt deep inside her. You are glued together, made one.

You sigh into her chest, and the nails that had dug furrows into your scalp now stroke it softly. The exhaustion hits you both at once, and for a few wonderful moments the only sound either of you can hear is the sound of heavy breathing.

Her hands eventually slide from your scalp. Her turn now to cradle your face in her hands. Your faces hover in front of each other, noses barely touching, half-lidded, pleasure-ridden eyes locked on one another.

For a moment her left hand moves to her neck, where she undoes and releases the clasp of the red leather collar. It slips from her body and falls to the floor.

“I belong to you,” she says, breathless, not needing some scrap of leather around her neck to convince you of it - not that she ever needed such a thing to begin with. Her hands cradle your face, palms on each cheek, like you are the most delicate thing in the world. Your arms wrap themselves even tighter around her soft, trembling torso. Your foreheads touch, your eyes close.

“I know,” you answer. “I always have.”

Later that morning, when she is snoring peacefully, you slip out of the bed. Your flight to Korea wasn’t until later that afternoon, and so you had some time to spare before you had to leave the house, and her, for god knew how long. Every part of you wanted to lie there in bed with her and savour every moment of it, not knowing when you’d next be able to do so - but you had decided the night before that something needed to be done, and there was no better time to do it.

You fire up the coffee maker - you’d both settled into specific domestic roles since moving in together, and you were almost immediately appointed Minister of Caffeinated Beverages - and take a seat at the kitchen island with your laptop.

A few minutes later, and you’d begun an email to JYP informing him of your intention to resign your position following the end of your next business trip.

Distance had taken her from you once, and it wouldn’t do it again.

---

“Is she being a good girl?”

“Yes, Nayeon,” you say, your answer somewhere between a sigh and a hiss as you press your phone close to your ear, ensuring only you could hear the voice on the other side of the call. You made sure to use her name, as she’d previously suggested, knowing what hearing it would do to the young woman you were currently sharing a hotel room with.

Between your legs, Yuna gives the tip of your cock a swirl with the end of her tongue. Those large doe eyes glance up at you, the mention of your girlfriend’s name giving the topless young woman a small spike of wicked delight. You watch with a measure of your own satisfaction as she pumps your cock with one hand, the other fondling her own small, round breast and the tight nipple atop it. After a moment her hand drifts down her body, between her legs - and soon after she begins to sigh and moan around a mouthful of your shaft as she begins to pleasure herself.

“Good,” Nayeon continues. “I told you she would be. Did you fuck her on the plane, too?”

“Yes, we’ve started the operation. And yeah, Korea’s hot this time of year,” you say, keeping up the false pretence you both agreed upon.

“Let me guess - she’s on her knees? Are you fucking that pretty little mouth of hers?”

“Not yet,” you answer, “I think I’ll let the team continue to observe before we move.” Your eyes drift closed as the pleasure begins to build. You lean your head back slightly as the young woman between your knees increases her pace. What Yuna lacked in experience and technique, she more than made up for with enthusiasm.

On the line, you hear a soft sigh. A moment later, the sigh turns into a barely audible moan.

“What about you?” you ask. “Are you busy? How’s work?”

“Fine. I’m… alone. In a squad car.”

“On a stakeout?”

“We prefer the term ‘distanced surveillance,’ but yes, a stakeout.”

“You miss me?”

“Fuck,” you hear, followed by a soft hum. “Yes, I miss you,” she admits.

A thousand miles away, you smirk. The image of Nayeon alone, in her car, in an alleyway, a hand down her pants, touching herself to the sound of her boyfriend getting head from another woman - it aroused you more than the young woman between your knees, truth be told.

“Do you… miss me?” she asks.

You reach out with your free hand, cradling the side of Yuna’s head, running your fingertips through the bright red strands. She redoubles her efforts at your touch - she quickens her pace, her hand squeezing tighter around your shaft as her head continues to bob up and down its length.

“Fuck, I want you right now, Nayeon,” you hiss, knowing what repeating her name would do to the younger woman filling her mouth with your shaft. “I wish you were here.”

Between your legs, the moan Yuna lets out around your cock sends a delicious pulse of pleasure up your spine. On the line, Nayeon lets a similar moan escape her lips.

“Tell me what you would do to me,” Nayeon says, tone low and deep, the way it was when she was desperate, needy. “I bet she’d do it for you.”

You bite your lip for a second - listening to Nayeon’s increasingly breathless sighs and picturing her becoming a writhing, wet little mess in her car, watching Yuna try and fail to wrest your attention away - taking it all in, savouring every second of the two women, a thousand miles apart, each doing their best to pleasure you in their own way.

“I’d pull your mouth off my cock,” you say, gripping the base of Yuna’s ponytail and easing her off your shaft. She looks up with you with those large doe eyes of hers, momentarily confused, temporarily disappointed at the sudden emptiness in her mouth - until she quickly catches on to your intentions.

“Mmm, more,” Nayeon says, on the verge of a plea.

“I’d tell you to strip, and get your cunt on my cock like a good little girl.”

And just as she predicted, Yuna does exactly that - peels off ridiculously short denim shorts she wore, along with the flimsy scrap of string beneath it that passed for a thong. She climbs atop you, straddles your waist, reaches between your bodies, grasps your slick cock and spends just a second rubbing your head against her dripping, slick lips.

And then she takes you inside her. On the line, Nayeon hears that unmistakable gasp you made whenever you entered her own cunt, and it drives her crazy. Her fingers work quickly between her legs.

A thousand miles away, you watch as Yuna bounces her young, tight little body on your cock - up and down, up and down, up and down. She is rough, fast, impatient, with little technique but plenty of need.

Your free hand grips a thigh before snaking up her torso, gripping a soft, bouncing breast and pinching the taut nipple between two fingers and giving it a slight slap from the side that elicits a yelp of pleasure from the young woman. Your cock stretches her tight little cunt with each entry, filling her up, making her need more, want more, making her lose her control over her senses - not that she had much to begin with.

She is enthusiastic, needy - but she is clumsy in her movements, inexperienced, drunk on the idea of being used and fucked and not possessing the control to savour the moment, make it anything more memorable than a messy, quick fuck.

She sighs and moans. “Daddy,” she gasps, uncaring now of being heard on the line, forgetting that you were supposed to be fucking her on the down low, under your girlfriend’s nose. “Daddy please, I need… Daddy please, your cum, inside me, I want-”

You remind her of her place by closing your hand around her throat. Not enough to cause pain, but enough to remind her of what she was - a fucktoy. Something to warm your cock while you were apart from the woman you really wanted. A substitute for a woman a thousand miles away.

“Is she… is she good for you?” Nayeon asks, voice betraying the fact that she was bringing herself to the edge. She’s wet and squirming and sighing - but she’s alone, in her car, far away.

Her fingers aren’t you.

Yuna continues to fuck herself on your cock, recklessly and wildly, her orgasm doing little to slow or stop her. You watch as she bites down hard on her lower lip, enough to draw blood, doing her best to keep herself from vocalizing the pleasure coursing through her body and only partially succeeding. You knew she’d be especially loud once you’d ended the call. You consider pretending to end it but leaving the line open, just to give Nayeon the satisfaction of hearing what Shin Yuna sounded like when she was being bent over the bed and having her tight little pussy pounded full of cum.

Your fingers tighten around Yuna’s neck as she bounces with an increasingly wild pace atop your cock. It forces her to slow down, forces her to submit to you and your needs. It reminds her of her place, reminds her who she was. It was necessary.

A makeshift leash.

“She’s good, Nayeon,” you admit. “But she’s not you.”

---

“Alright, I have to admit - she’s pretty fucking perfect for you.”

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say,” you admit, looking up from your laptop and the report on it to give Shin Yuna a look. The young woman is lounging about on her stomach your hotel room bed, picking away at a plate of room service french fries. She’d taken a shower, but hadn’t bothered to put her clothes back on after you’d bent her over the bed and fucked a load into her.

“She’s a bitch, don’t get me wrong,” she continues, tone casual, as though she weren’t naked on her boss’ hotel room bed with his cum still warm inside her. “But she’s really fucking pretty, and she’s a cop? Man. That’s a dream girl for most guys, you have to admit.”

“I suppose,” you say, flatly. “Where are you going with this, Yuna?”

“Nowhere,” she answers, popping another fry into her mouth. “I was just curious, I guess.”

“About?”

“About why you’re not married yet. About why there aren’t little hellspawn baby versions of her running around in your life.”

The thought is finally enough to wrest your attention from the report for good. You give the young woman atop your bed a look.

“Listen, I think it’s hot as fuck to be some exec’s fucktoy,” Yuna continues. “I just want to make sure I’m not the thing that’s keeping him from marrying the love of his life or some shit.”

“You’re not stopping anything, Yuna,” you state, clearly, ensuring that she didn’t form any wrong impressions. You certainly didn’t want her to overestimate her role in your life. “Trust me,” you add.

“So then what is stopping you? You’re in love, aren’t you?” Yuna continues. “I’ve heard all about your past with her from the company grapevine, and Dahyun filled me in on the rest. College sweethearts finding each other again in a foreign land after so long apart - that’s cute as fuck. So why isn’t there a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly?”

You are struck temporarily wordless by your executive assistant’s forwardness, but the answer comes to you eventually.

“We’re not ready yet,” you state.

Yuna seems satisfied with your answer - or at least, isn’t curious enough to pursue it further. She gives you a shrug before she picks up her phone and begins to scroll on it. “Whatever you say, boss,” she says.

You return your attention to your laptop, and the resignation email to JYP that was sitting in your drafts. Sending it would mean leaving a career that, in many ways, had defined you. Yes, it had played a major role in bringing Nayeon back into your life, but were you really ready to give up the adventures in distant lands, not to mention all the romance and intrigue and excitement said adventures brought with them?

Your cursor hovers over the send icon.

—

Problem 2: Her job.

As it turned out, JYP was more than happy to do whatever it took to keep you with the company - even if it meant giving you a tidy little promotion along with a promise to make any further business trips entirely optional. That was Problem 1 solved, then - leaving only Problem 2.

For the most part, Nayeon did a good job of keeping her work at work and not taking it home with her. Every now and then she’d vent about a particularly hard case she was on, or tell you about how something an actor did in a movie or tv show was wildly inaccurate compared to standard law enforcement procedures in the real world. By and large you could almost forget that she was a senior detective who regularly found herself in situations the average person might consider dangerous.

This was all to say that you only rarely gave Nayeon’s profession any thought, had you not noticed the breaking news report playing on the large TV screen in the JYP lobby on your way back from lunch one afternoon.

A reporter, apparently on scene, is speaking into the camera - but the TV is muted, and the captions are not turned on. Behind him civilians flee from a building under the guidance of two understandably anxious-looking uniformed police officers with their sidearms drawn. “Active hostage situation underway at downtown bank,” read the ticker. “Multiple hostages and casualties reported.”

You were ready to give it no further thought aside from a passing sense of disappointment at the general state of crime in your country, had you not caught a fleeting glimpse of her on the screen.

In the background, behind the reporter, Nayeon steps into frame, her back to the camera - but it was unmistakably her. She flashes the badge around her neck to the two uniformed cops nervously holding the bank entrance door.

You watch as she draws her sidearm from the holster at her hip, racks the slide to chamber a round, and rushes into the building.

To say the next few hours were absolutely nerve wracking would be an understatement.

Yes, you’d known that danger and the possibility of being hurt were part and parcel of being a member of active law enforcement. You were in the room when she was quite literally shot at close range in Seoul - a few layers of kevlar being the only thing that kept her from bleeding out on a dirty apartment floor.

You’d done your best to avoid having to deal with the reality that your girlfriend had a relatively dangerous profession. Maybe it was a subconscious thing - maybe your brain knew that living every day in fear of your girlfriend losing her life was not exactly conducive to a healthy relationship - or a healthy mental state.

Whatever the reason, it didn’t really hit home until that day. You’d never been so worried in your life, staying glued to the TV and your phone and news sites, pacing nervously alone in your apartment, grasping for any snippet of an update that would confirm she was okay, that she was safe. Needless to say she wasn’t picking up her phone, and a call to her precinct lieutenant went unanswered.

You’d learn later that she was never in any actual danger - the gunfire she’d heard turned out to be warning shots fired into the ceiling to intimidate the bank staff. Nayeon, who’d been passing by the building randomly on her lunch break, had decided that civilians were in immediate danger and entered the bank on her own volition, cleared out the remaining customers from the bank lobby, and held down the hallway leading to the safety deposit boxes where the suspects were holed up until SWAT arrived.

As the first responder to the scene, protocol demanded she remain on-site until it was resolved, explaining the length of her absence. She wasn’t actually in danger for very long, she’d later insist.

But she knew none of that when she rushed into the building, gun in hand. For all she’d known there could have easily been a suspect pointing an assault rifle down the hallway, finger on the trigger, just waiting for an eager young detective to stray into his sights. Moreover, her nine millimetre sidearm and lack of kevlar would’ve put her in a precarious position had they decided to make an escape using force.

Nonetheless, you were more relieved than you’d ever been in your life when she finally called to tell you she was on her way home - eight hours and forty-nine minutes since you’d made your first unanswered call to her cell phone (the first of thirty).

Your heart let out the breath it had been holding for nine hours.

---

When she finally got home it was a lot, all at once.

It was relief, mostly, and then reassurance, and comfort, followed shortly by an irresistible, intense lust. Danger never failed to get Im Nayeon going.

Within seconds of bursting through the door she was already on you, arms wrapped around your neck as yours wrapped around hers, lips searching for and quickly pulling yours into a deep, passionate kiss. Her leather jacket quickly leaves her body, her fingers immediately going to work on your button-up. While this hurried undressing was happening, when your lips parted long enough to draw in a breath, she’d tried, in broken sentences, to fill you in on what had happened.

You pieced enough together from her jumbled words to get an idea of how her day went, and how she wasn’t allowed to contact you until the incident was resolved. You wanted to ask her more, wanted to know more about what exactly happened, but she was in no mood for talking. Her lips and tongue stole the words and questions from your mouth before you could give them voice.

You are naked before long, stumbling into the bedroom and leaving behind a trail of haphazardly discarded clothing. She pushes you onto the bed with more force than you were ready for - silencing any objections by quickly climbing atop you, straddling your lap as you sit on its edge. Your mouths find each other and your tongues continue their frantic duel. Before long you slip from her lips to kiss a rough trail down her neck and to her chest.

You capture a breast in your mouth, closing your lips around her taut nipple. “Fuck,” she gasps, her hands quickly burying themselves in your hair, nails digging almost painfully into your scalp as you suckle from her tight bud.

A small part of you wants to slow down - perhaps even stop altogether - and tell her how damn worried you were for her, how the last nine hours were the longest nine hours you’d ever had in your life. But she steals your words again, this time with some of her own.

“Hard,” she hisses between gritted teeth, “I want it hard.”

She reaches between you, points your tip at her dripping entrance, and takes you inside her.

The long, hot sigh that escapes your lips finally rips them from her nipple. For the next few minutes you are powerless to do more than breathe heavily between her breasts as she rides you - those toned, full thighs of her working to throw her body up and down your shaft, taking you in and out of her tight, warm little cunt.

“Nayeon, I-” you begin, finally finding the wherewithal after a few minutes to look up at her.

She silences you with a finger to your lips. Her eyes are half-lidded, but hungry.

“Shut up,” she spits. “Just shut up.”

You were not one to argue, not when you were balls deep inside the most beautiful woman you’d ever known. And so you content yourself with watching as Nayeon took her pleasure from your body, using your cock like a toy, impaling herself with it over and over again until she became a mewling, moaning mess atop your lap.

You grasp her thighs, squeeze her bouncing breasts and tease the nipples atop them, slide your hand up her chest and up her throat and to her jaw before sliding your thumb between her lips for her to suck as you cradle the side of her pleasure-filled face - and throughout it all she rides you, pace relentless, merciless, hard.

Soon she is cumming - and she shows no sign of stopping, fucking herself through her orgasm even as her body is wracked by pleasure. She trembles, shakes, and quivers atop you - but it doesn’t stop her, doesn’t come close to fulfilling her immense need. She wants more. She needs more.

Even as her orgasm radiates throughout her body and turns her into a wet, writhing mess, you hold her tight to you as you turn her over, putting her on her back atop the bed while you rise to your feet next to it. You wrap her legs around your waist, pull her hips onto yours, and continue to fuck her - hard, fast, rough.

She sighs and moans and cries and you are content to let her, content to let out some of the frustration and worry and fear you’d held inside you for most of the day on her tight, helpless little body. Her breasts bounce deliciously atop her heaving chest. Her fingers are claws, finding purchase wherever she can - on the bedsheets and your forearms, mostly. Eventually she reaches down and fingers her own clit, even as your cock pumps in and out between the lips of her cunt, just beyond her fingertips. Her eyes spur you on - telling you to keep fucking her, keep using her, all without saying a single word.

Your hands leave her hips, pulling on her legs until her calves are atop your shoulders. You continue to pound into her all along, this new position leaving her cunt open and exposed, rendering her helpless to do anything but take each hard, fast thrust you make into her body. It is almost callous, the way you fuck her, as though she were some whore and not the love of your life. You use her cunt. You make it yours, remind her who it belonged to.

Her moans build, rising in volume and signalling another impending orgasm. You want to join her, and are about to give in, about to fill her-

“My ass,” she gasps. “Fuck my ass.”

She pulls her sweaty, still trembling body off you, denying you the warm slickness of her cunt. Her pussy drips onto the bedsheets as she wastes no time, getting atop the bed on her knees, upper body pressed against the bed. She reaches back with her hands, palming the cheeks of her ass, spreading them apart, showing you what she’d been keeping inside her.

And there it is, red silicone, glistening and slick with lube.

The sight of it takes your breath away. You let an unexpected sigh of pleasure leave your lips as you grasp the toy with your fingers, easing it out of her body slowly. She moans as it leaves her, perhaps in pain or pleasure or both. Soon it’s finally out. Every molecule in her body yearns to replace its absence.

Grasping your cock, slick and wet with her juices, you press the tip against her open, gaping hole - and begin to slide inside her.

You’d had her ass before, but never after she’d had a plug inside her, and it is sublime. Her ass immediately closes and tightens around you, and you think right then and there that you might cum. Your hand clutches her ass and left hip, fingers digging deep into the soft, yielding flesh, relishing the pleasure coursing through your veins but fighting it before it gets too intense, wanting to prolong this moment. She sighs and moans as she adjusts to your size. She trembles at the feeling of her ass being filled.

“Mmmm,” she hisses into the sheets, evidently having lost the ability to form words. She reaches back as far as she can with a free hand, her long fingers clutching your thigh. She pulls you toward her, and you oblige, pressing yourself as deep as you can until you are hilt deep.

“Do it,” she spits from between gritted teeth, “Fuck my ass. Hard.”

And so you begin - fucking Im Nayeon’s ass with hard, long strokes, using her tight, hot hole with the same tempo and speed as you did her cunt just moments earlier. She moans and shrieks and gasps into the sheets, the side of her face pressed against the bed, saliva dripping from a slack mouth. Her fingers are claws, digging into the sheets or your thighs or both, searching for something, anything, to ground herself amidst the constant pounding into the most vulnerable part of her body.

“Fuck, Nayeon,” you say, your brain unable to form much more than a curse and her name. She is so tight, so very hot - and she’d ensured the toy was well lubed before it entered her, so she was slick enough to make every entry and exit so delicious, so utterly sublime; a perfect cocktail of pleasure and pain all mixed into one irresistible sensation.

For the first time in a while Nayeon lifts her head from the bed, sweat pasting dark strands to the side of her face. She opens her mouth to say something-

But you reach forward, grasping her by the back of her neck, and slamming her back down onto the bed. She shrieks - partially in surprise, mostly in pleasure - as you resume pounding her.

“Shut up,” you spit. “Just shut up.”

The thick cotton bedsheets can do little to hide the long, deep moan of pleasure that leaves Nayeon’s lips as you impose yourself on her. She continues, not stopping for a moment, letting a drivel of wordless pleasure leave her mouth with each thrust you make into her body. She reaches a hand down, plays with her wet, slick clit even as you pound relentlessly into her ass - pleasuring her, hurting her - either way, making her yours.

The hand at her neck doesn’t leave her - it merely moves to her upper back, still keeping her pinned to the mattress, making sure she could do nothing more than take you. She lets you. She gives herself to you, lets you do what you want to her, because this - a rough, hard fuck - was what she wanted, what she craved.

It doesn’t take her long to orgasm, with her fingers on her clit and your cock pounding hard into her asshole. She tightens even more around you. She screams her pleasure into the bedsheets.

She clenches around your cock when she cums. It sends you over the edge, and you push yourself as deep as you can into Im Nayeon’s ass before you cum, filling her depths with thick, hot semen. Her moans turn into whimpers and then sobs, and you think for a moment that she might be crying.

You want to stay there, as you often did after you came inside her. You want to relish the moment and the sight of your cock embedded inside her ass and the feeling of her body wrapped around yours. But the accumulated physical and mental exhaustion of the day hit you all at once, and you collapse atop her, your arms only barely keeping you from crashing onto her back as you land on your elbows, still hilt-deep inside her.

You find the strength to bring your mouth to her ear. Filthy sex and dirty fucking aside, she had to know.

“I belong to you,” you say.

“I know,” she answers. Beneath the sweaty, messy hair and heavy breaths, Nayeon smiles.

—

The next morning, while you are still asleep, she wakes up early to make breakfast. She rarely cooked - every food delivery driver within a ten mile radius knew how to get to your apartment by heart - but when she did it was for special occasions. Or, in this case, a form of apology for making you worry so much the day before.

She’s stumbling towards the kitchen - she was understandably more than a little sore in places that made walking difficult - when she catches a glimpse of her old criminology textbooks on the hallway bookshelf.

She was a fairly sentimental person, and despite your efforts she wouldn’t get rid of the old, heavy texts. She insisted that they were a part of what made her who she was, and wanted to keep them as a reminder of how far she’d come in her career; privately, she kept them to remind herself of those hard months when you’d left to join JYP all those years ago, and how much she missed being away from you. Those months were difficult, and she’d turned to her career as a way of coping. Those months were instrumental in putting her on the path to becoming a detective, but they were also part of what drove her to Seoul to find you.

A thought strikes her as her eyes take in titles of the texts. She reaches out and lets her fingertips graze their worn covers, seeing in them a way to ensure her career would never worry you so much again.

---

And so the problems were solved. All it took was a few uncomfortable emails, a few months of occasionally stressful worrying and intense interviews, and two new job offers. Easy peasy.

You’d taken a job at a branch office of JYP that promised travel would be completely optional. Nayeon had quit the PD and become a professor in criminology at a local college. You’d moved out of the small downtown apartment that had been the home you’d shared for the past five years, and into a slightly more comfortable townhouse in the suburbs.

Time passed. Good days and bad days. She was there for all of them, making the good days sweeter and the bad days more bearable. She was home. Safe harbour and north star for each other.

You are both sitting in a cafe on a lazy Sunday morning - you’re reading a book and nursing a coffee while she’s grading some papers on her laptop. You loved many things about your relationship, but one of the things you appreciated the most was how comfortable you both were in silence. The years had given you both a familiarity that had often transcended the need for speaking. Most of the time, you knew what the other was thinking, even before they spoke.

Your presence was enough, and there was no need to fill the space between you with words for the sake of it.

After awhile you look up to her to find that she’d been watching you, apparently for some time.

“I think we’re ready,” she says, a warm, soft smile on her lips.

She says no more, returning her attention to her laptop, but you know what she means.

You smile as you return to your book.

---

Im Nayeon could always surprise you.

You’d had her more times than you could count, but this night was different - it was important, special in a way none of the in-shower quickies or weekend-long marathon sessions were. Just when you’d thought sex and lovemaking could hold no more surprises, you are proven wrong.

“It’s you,” she sighs into your ear, her voice soft, still filled with pleasure, but with an undercurrent of emotion that you’d never heard in her before. One of her arms wraps itself around your back, the other buried into the hair at the back of your neck as you thrust in and out of her body.

“Cum inside me,” she continues, breathless, words spilling from her lips in a long, drawn out hiss. “Fill me up. It has to be you. Breed me, put a baby in my belly. I want it- I want you. It has to be you. It’s only ever been you.”

“Nayeon,” you say into her ear, and when she replies with your own name you think it is the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard in your life.

She is tight, wet, hot - she feels every bit as good as she did when you were teenagers fumbling awkwardly in an old dorm room, or when you were reunited old flames brought together by fate in Seoul, or when you moved in together and decided to build lives together. But it means more now. It means more now than it ever did.

“Give me a baby,” she says, half-moan, half-sigh. “Breed me, make me yours.”

Words you’d heard before, from the same lips, on many another night. But none like tonight, not when she meant them more than she ever did - this wasn’t pillow talk, an act meant to spice up a risqué encounter; no, this was much more. She meant every word, without pretence or facade. She meant it all.

“Nayeon,” you repeat, unable to say much else. The sound of her name on your lips draws a sigh from hers, sends a quiver up her spine that is pure pleasure and love.

“It has to be you,” she whispers into your ear, the most intimate words she has ever spoken. “It was always you - I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, every molecule of your body shouting the words, even if they left your lips as little more than a light gasp.

You thrust between her spread legs, and she wraps her thighs and arms around you, making the two of you into one.

You fill her. She sighs, moans - and when your cheeks press against each other as you both lie there, breathing heavily - you can feel her cheeks pull her lips into a smile.

---

“It was always going to be you and me, wasn’t it?”

You are caught a little off-guard by her words - truth be told your mind was solely fixated on the humble sign outside your favourite sushi restaurant and the familiar but delicious culinary delights that awaited you. It’s a Friday night, and you were looking forward to a quiet dinner with her following a long, draining week of work.

The choice of dining establishment was a foregone conclusion, and you had nothing on your mind other than settling into a simple but comforting meal with her. Grand statements of destined love weren't exactly on your mind - not this early in the evening, anyway.

But when you turn to her and find a soft, warm smile on her lips, you couldn’t help but agree. She doesn’t even turn to look at you - her gaze, like yours, is locked on the old, dingy, familiar restaurant sign.

“Yes,” you answer, the word leaving your lips quickly, almost on instinct, almost on reflex, as though your body knew the truth - knew what you felt, in your innermost core. “It was always going to be you, Nayeon.”

She doesn’t turn her head to look at you. There is a slight deepening of the smile on her lips, a slightly deeper blush on her cheeks, but that’s it. She doesn’t need to read your face to verify or discern the truth in your expression. She is confident enough - in the years you’ve spent together, in the trials and tribulations borne at each others’ side, to know the truth in your words.

She feels it in the way you clutch her hand, the way you hold her close in your most intimate moments, the way you brush stray hairs away from her forehead when you kiss her good morning before heading out the door to work.

She sees it in the slight swell in her belly, and the family you were building together.

She knows all this. She feels it all, deep inside herself where nothing else exists except you and her and the home you’ve built with shared memories. She knows it is all true, always will be.

When you enter the restaurant you are greeted warmly with a smile and hug by the waiter - he’s become a good friend in the years since your escapades in Tokyo and Seoul. From behind the counter, Jisoo looks up from her prep work to wave and smile widely. She leaves the counter for a moment to greet you both, revealing the full roundness of her belly. She waddles awkwardly over, exchanging hugs, confirming plans for next week’s gender reveal dinner party for their child.

With one hand, Nayeon cradles Jisoo’s full belly. Perhaps unconsciously, her free hand hovers over her own, a warm, thoughtful smile on her lips.

Eventually, Jisoo shuffles adorably back to the counter to finish her vegetable prep, promising to come back later to chat. The waiter shows you to your table, leaving you both two cups of tea.

He doesn’t leave a menu, because he already knows your order.

You tap the chest pocket of your jacket as you take it off and drape it over the back of your seat, making sure the small box and the engagement ring within were still there.

Nayeon cups her tea in both hands before taking a small sip. She finally locks eyes with you, although she doesn’t say anything. She knows she doesn’t have to. She’s content just to smile, content to reach her hand over the table, palm up, wanting nothing more than to feel your hand in hers.

Maybe she knew what was coming. Maybe she caught a glimpse of the box in your nightstand drawer, or noticed an open tab on your browser for a local jewelry store. Maybe she read it in your face at some point today, in the way you moved or the words you chose. She was a former detective and current professor of criminology, after all. She’d made a living out of reading people, and to her, you were an open book.

But it didn’t matter whether she knew it was coming or not, whether she would be surprised at all when, at the end of your meal, you got down on one knee in this restaurant where your relationship began and asked her to spend the rest of her life with you.

Because you both already knew, on some level had always known. It was always going to be you and her. And every trial and tribulation, every painful relationship with long-gone lovers, every day apart - it had all led to tonight.

Nayeon’s hand finds yours and your fingers intertwine.

Your heart warms at her touch.

---

Author’s Note: Good to be back ^^ Excuse any writing rust that was evident in this fic :( I actually had this alternate ending to BT mostly written awhile ago, but I'd been thinking about coming back to writing again and Nayeon's comeback gave me all the inspiration I needed to finally finish it.

Shoutout to @capslocked, whose work played a part in getting me back into writing. A special shoutout to his Tzuyu fic, which is probably one of my favorite smuts of all time - and I might have borrowed the phone sex idea from it. Love ya bud. Mimosa fic next pls k thx.

Stories and posts will be few and far between, but you’re always welcome to leave an ask. Thank you all for the love and support you've shown me over the past year. <3

#twice #nayeon #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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chandralia · 10 months ago

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Toga saying she loves both boys and girls explicitly, that she loves differently, was ridiculed/abused for FOR loving differently, saying she wanted to be like people around her instead. Twice suggesting her villain name be Carmilla? (THE FIRST LESBIAN VAMPIRE)

Ochako calling herself strange for wanting to save Toga, reaching out and leveling, speaking in a way only Toga can understand, telling her she’s the cutest girl in the whole world, and offering to give Toga her blood for the rest of her life??

Deku saying “I’ve spent my life chasing after you,”“you’re my image of victory,” that he “can’t imagine a world in which kacchan doesn’t exist,” “kacchan and everyone else” over and over again, LOSING HIS MIND WHEN ONLY KATSUKI’S INJURED, being told to control his heart three times (COUNT THEM: THREE) over Katsuki?? Kudou having to use Katsuki to motivate Deku? “their feelings become one” just from locking eyes…???? Deku’s world shifting when Katsuki’s alive again, looking at him in awe (the way he’s only ever looked at him).

Katsuki risking his life for Deku repeatedly, thinking of only him before death, having to imagine Deku in danger to further his quirk, being targeted because he’s the closest to Deku (VERBALLY STATED BY SHIGAFO), avoiding medical care at every turn to get to Deku, always reminiscing about their past, A MISSED HANDHOLD, imagining their future together and breaking down crying in front of Deku at the possibility of that being ripped from him, saying he wanted them to keep doing this forever?

“that’s just how shonen is, everyone’s gay but no one’s canon” SHUT UP PLEASE. we quite literally do not know what Hori is or isn’t allowed to do. He’s been vocal about fighting for what he wants in his story, and even if it is an executive or editor saying “no you can’t do this” look what he’s managed to do so far.

not to mention THREE canon trans characters, toga correcting overhaul at misgendering. kendo saying “I just want to be me” when talking about gender, the entire side plot with discrimination and people fighting for acceptance, Hori reading and approving all the stuff that happens in the light novels/team up missions, AND thanking/praising those authors for knowing his characters so well.

His assistant (nstime23) openly shipping bkdk, drawing fanart of them, blatantly using their ship name, WHILE STILL BEING MUTUALS WITH HORI.

and the reception???

Hori does not live under a rock. It’s not an “oopsie he made it gay on accident” thing, and it’s not done maliciously either.

sharing what I’ve said before because I’m tired:

#I haven’t ranted like this in a while but YEAH #queer-coding is NOT queerbaiting.#a lot of these aren’t even coding they just ARE queer lol #bkdk #dkbk #bakudeku #dekubaku #:’)#ktdk #togachako

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sightseertrespasser · 1 month ago

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Odds of Survival Part 6

Prowl comes up with a grim but viable theory, misses his ESP (Emotional Support Pterodactyl) and Jazz has a “cultural exchange” with Bluestreak.

Credit to @keferon for creating the AU!

———————————————————————

The cascade of Prowl rapidly drumming his fingers on the console was the only sound in the room. His gaze was fixed a million miles away, boring a hole through the far wall.

Hypothesis: Jazz, and possibly others, were secretly cold constructed by the Functionalists for the sole purpose of fighting Quintesson forces.

Many of Jazz’s eccentricities fell into place within that framework. He lacked a subspace, which would make it very difficult to hold onto personal items or contraband. His anatomy was was entirely specialized for battle, all curved angles, narrow gaps and thick plating. Likewise, Jazz’s subdued reaction to injuries could be accounted for if the Functionalists had removed a large portion of his sensory network and replaced his extremities with non-living metal prosthetics.

Prowl shuddered.

He turned from the physical to the mental. Jazz was smart, undeniably, but also severely starved of information.

The Functionalists were exceedingly well practiced in the art of secrecy and subjugation.

Keeping their custom soldiers in the dark about the greater galaxy would significantly reduce the chances of their mechs trying to escape or revolt. The muting, or possible removal of Jazz’s EM field would prevent him from easily emotionally connecting with other mechs and would hamper his ability to detect malicious intent from any handlers.

That alone could account for Jazz’s extremely tactile extroversion. It could be a form of compensation or maybe just a coping method for the loss of sensation. Add a manufactured language barrier, and even if Jazz had had previous brushes with mechs other than his handlers, he wouldn’t have been able to communicate with them. A perfect isolation tactic ensuring total control.

Until now.

Prowl finally straightened, creating a task list to execute once the ship arrived.

- Get Jazz seen by Velocity immediately. Both to treat his injuries properly and to document any evidence of prior abuse. He trusted her to catch and catalogue details only a medic would know.

- Debrief Elita One. He would need to phrase things carefully to ensure Jazz isn’t unfairly imprisoned or executed for possibly being connected to the Functionalists.

- Awake Green from hibernation. Despite his initial reluctance to interact with his therapist mandated “work-life balance tool”, the organic had grown on him. Further more, his Flyt afforded him an entirely neutral sounding board for times when speaking aloud was the best way to sort his processor.

The theory was good, but Prowl could still feel an itch in his processor. He was still missing something. He rubbed at the heat beginning to build under his helm.

Prowl tacked on a fourth task:

- Stick entire helm inside tub of coolant.

The tactician almost quirked an irritated smile as he made his way back towards his brother and the walking processor ache.

At least the likely hood of Jazz dropping us off another building was lower.

(14%)

Marginally.

For now, the Functionalist Creation Theory was still just that. A theory. He needed more information on where Jazz came from, and for that, they’d need to overcome more of their language barrier.

Thankfully, Bluestreak had offered to assist in catching Jazz up to speed on more Common.

Prowl keyed the door open.

“Frugg!”

Primus help him.

Jazz had his back turned to the door, free hand waving away Bluestreaks mispronunciation.

“Na, no R sounds. It’s Fuck.”

“Fugg!” Bluestreaks face was the picture of determined ambition.

“Getting closer! Now drop the Guh and replace it with Kh.” Jazz nodded encouragingly.

“Fruck!” His brother shouted, servos slapping on his knees.

“Nope, you’re putting an R back in there again. Like this: Fuck. Fuh-uck.” Jazz moved his hand through the air like a conductor, enunciating each Phoneme with clean cut clarity. “Try again, you got this man. Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Jazz turned around at the perfectly pronounced cuss word.

“Heeey! What’s up mother fragger! How’d the meeting with your slag head boss go?”

Prowl turned on his brother so slowly you could have mounted a telescope on him. “Adequately.”

Prowl continued his one sided stare down with Bluestreak, who was lightly clapping his hands together while seemingly fascinated with the far wall.

Jazz was laughing again. “Don’t be too disappointed in him. I do have a much better understanding of Common now.” He stood taking the anesthetic tape with him.

“Aight, it’s your turn, sit down.” Jazz patted the bench.

Prowl broke his stare down and cycled his optics. Bluestreak stopped pretending to stare at the wall.

“That is unnecessary.” He said automatically. “We need to be ready to leave in one breem.”

Jazz crossed his arm over the sling, cocking his head to the side. “Well then you better sit your shiny ass down so we aren’t late.”

Bluestreak kept silent through sheer force of determination to not ruin this moment.

Prowl couldn’t move Jazz, and Jazz knew it.

He sat. Glowering.

“Thank you!” Jazz sang, warbling across the vowels. He tossed the tape to Bluestreak. “I’m pretty talented but handling sci-fi duct tape one handed isn’t for me.”

Bluestreak sputtered briefly, before going to work tearing off small strips.

“How. How? It took us VORNS to get Prowl to take care of himself even a little bit! And you pull it off in less than a cycle? I had to get blown up before he’d even step into a normal med bay AND Smokescreen had to basically drag him in! You could not BRIBE this mech into self care if you had all the shanix in the entire galaxy!”

Bluestreak talked and worked quickly, knowing he was on a time limit before Prowl would try and escape.

“Hah, I feel that. Whenever I go back to the {Shatterdome}, er, “base” they basically gotta corner me to do any kind of check up.” Then Jazz sounded almost nostalgic. “{Ratchet} had it down to a science before he left.”

As the small aches and pains began to dull, Prowl took lead of the conversation for some subtle information gathering.

“So Jazz, how many of your kind are there?”

Prowl ignored the hard flick Bluestreak gave him. However, Jazz seemed unfazed by his bluntness.

He leaned against the wall, looking up slightly in thought. “Uhhh let’s see. The base I’m from has five mecha. There’s me, my little brother {Ricochet}, {Hot Rod}, {Blurr} sort of, aaaand {Vortex}.”

He counted off on his fingers. Then made a so-so sign.

“Well, Vortex isn’t the uh, the person? The real Vortex died a long time ago. Now it’s just a uh.”

Jazz struggled to translate something, unaware of the Praxians steadily growing looks of confusion.

He snapped his fingers, “Dead-Not-Dead location stay? Some people think the Dead-Real-not-Real Vortex is still in there. I think it’s just a {Death trap.} Dangerous to be near positive-positive-positive.”

Jazz made a gesture above his head. “Vortex kills more quintessons than people though, so the high-important-leaders won’t get rid of the thing. They just,” he shrugged a little uselessly. “Keep feeding us to it.”

Is he… Is he describing what I think he is?

“You live with a Sparkeater?” Bluestreak broke the silence.

“Spark-eater?” Jazz sounded out the syllables. “That sounds like a good word for it, yeah.”

At least Prowl could finally confirm Jazz couldn’t detect EM fields. His and Bluestreaks horror saturated the room.

“…You guys okay?” Ah. Just dulled then.

“Yes.” Prowl reeled in his field and elbowed Blue to do the same. “Simply surprised.”

“And concerned.” Bluestreak chipped in. “Is your brother going to be okay? I mean, he’s alone with that thing! Are your leaders going to feed him to the vortex next? Is that what happens to mechs that don’t perform well enough?!”

Jazz startled upright, quickly shaking his head from side to side. “No no no! He’s fine! They won’t do that to Rico, he’s already proved himself plenty and it’s just new fighters they send to Vortex.”

“They don’t always die either, sometimes they just go crazy.” Jazz made a circling motion with his index finger next to his head, stopping awkwardly mid gesture.

“That.” He put his hand down. “Sounded better in my head.”

Bluestreak clasped his servos together behind his helm. Mouth pressed into a thin line.

Prowl twitched as he received a ping from their ship. “Our transport has arrived. We can discuss that later.”

Later.

Yes, let’s discuss the horrifying implications of your entire existence later. Perhaps over some lightly warmed energon?

Maybe he likes Flyts. Jazz can pet Green while they both have mental breakdowns.

With a consciously steady ex-vent, Prowl stood, dipping his doorwings in thanks to Bluestreak. “If you would follow us, I will see to it you are comfortable until we are able to..”

Prowl briefly struggled to find the right term. “Sort out. Your… management situation.”

Jazz nodded, “Right, right. You mentioned transport?”

Gratefully, Prowl gestured for Jazz to follow him towards the airlock.

Before the partial vacuum could cut off their voices once more, Prowl nodded to the narrow window facing the landing strip.

Curiosity pulled visored mech over and when Jazz reached the window, he gasped.

Prowl lifted his doorwings and held out one servo, presenting their ship.

“Welcome aboard the Lost Light.”

———————————————————————

Jazz pov: “Huh. Spark eater. I get it, cause it metaphorically snuffs out peoples spark of life. Cool analogy for a death trap.”

The Praxians pov: “whaT Do YoU mEaN THERE’S A VAMPIRE IN YOUR HOUSE?!”

Little be of extra short hand, these {} denote a word being spoken in English. So Prowl is hearing the sound of the word but doesn’t know its meaning.

Extra bit of world building, the Shatterdome Jazz is from was the one that originally housed all the Combaticons, which is why it has specifically five mecha cradles. It’s also the number one Research and Development Shatterdome which is why you’ve got stuff like Blurr’s turbo fast mecha housed there.

In addition, Ricochet is a fairly normal pilot, but he’s housed there specifically because of his relation to Jazz. You know those tests they run with twins where they’ll send one into space for a month and keep one on earth to compare the differences? Basically Rico is the control group and Jazz gets to try the crazy shit.

- SSTP

#writing #tf mecha universe #Edited for grammar

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banji-effect · 1 month ago

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This story isn't getting as much coverage as I think it deserves (in part due to the deluge of calamities coming out of the US executive branch at the moment), but it's:

A sign of things to come

Yet another object lesson in why you can NEVER trust a man

The case is widely expected to reach the Supreme Court and become a pivotal test in the escalating battle between states that ban abortion and states that support abortion rights. It essentially pits Texas, which has a near-total abortion ban, against New York, which has a “telemedicine abortion shield law” intended to protect abortion providers who send medications to patients in other states. ...On Thursday, Louisiana’s governor, Jeff Landry, said he had signed a warrant seeking to extradite Dr. Carpenter to his state to stand trial. New York’s governor, Kathy Hochul, responded by citing the state’s shield law and saying, “I will not be signing an extradition order that came from the governor of Louisiana, not now, not ever.” ...According to a complaint filed by the Texas attorney general’s office, the woman, who had been nine weeks pregnant, asked the “biological father of her unborn child” to take her to the emergency room in July “because of hemorrhage or severe bleeding.” In court on Wednesday, Ernest C. Garcia, chief of the administrative law division in the attorney general’s office, said that at the hospital, the woman’s partner “ended up finding out that she had been pregnant” and that “he then started to suspect that maybe she had not been truthful about it.” When the man returned to the house, he found the medications and realized that they had been taken to induce an abortion, Mr. Garcia said, adding “that individual then filed a complaint with the Texas Attorney General’s Office.” The Texas case is an example of an increasing pattern in states with abortion bans: men reporting to the authorities that their female partners had abortions. There have been other such cases in Texas, and John Seago, the president of Texas Right to Life, said in an interview that, in the coming weeks, several men plan to file suits for wrongful death against doctors, organizations or people who assisted in arranging abortions for the men’s female partners.

#on top of everything else - imagine being such a craven piece of shit that u call the cops on your partner for having an abortion #unfathomable to me the depths of male pusillanimity #abortion #women's rights #this hellhole of a country

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mariacallous · 13 days ago

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It is hard to calculate all the good that Atul Gawande has done in the world. After training as a surgeon at Harvard, he taught medicine inside the hospital and in the classroom. A contributor to The New Yorker since 1998, he has published widely on issues of public health. His 2007 article in the magazine and the book that emerged from it, “The Checklist Manifesto: How to Get Things Right,” have been sources of clarity and truth in the debate over health-care costs. In 2014, he published “Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End,” a vivid, poetic, compassionate narrative that presents unforgettable descriptions of the ways the body ages and our end-of-life choices.

Gawande’s work on public health was influential in the Clinton and Obama Administrations, and, starting in November, 2020, he served on President Joe Biden’s COVID-19 Advisory Board. In July, 2021, Biden nominated him as the assistant administrator for the Bureau of Global Health at the U.S. Agency for International Development, where he worked to limit disease outbreaks overseas. Gawande, who is fifty-nine, resigned the position on the day of Donald Trump’s return to the Presidency.

When we spoke recently for The New Yorker Radio Hour, Gawande, usually a wry, high-spirited presence, was in a grave mood. There were flashes of anger and despair in his voice. He was, after all, watching Trump and Elon Musk dismantle, gleefully, a global health agency that had only lately been for him a source of devotion and inspiration. As a surgeon, Gawande had long been in a position to save one life at a time. More recently, and all too briefly, he was part of a vast collective responsible for untold good around the world. And now, as he made plain, that collective has been deliberately cast into chaos, even ruins. The cost in human lives is sure to be immense. Our conversation has been edited for clarity and length.

President Biden appointed you as the assistant administrator for global health at U.S.A.I.D., a job that you’ve described as the greatest job in medicine. You stepped down on Trump’s Inauguration Day, and he immediately began targeting U.S.A.I.D. with an executive order that halted all foreign aid. Did you know, or did you intuit, that Trump would act the way he has?

I had no idea. In the previous Trump Administration, they had embraced what they themselves called the “normals.” They had a head of U.S.A.I.D. who was devoted to the idea of development and soft power in the world. They had their own wrinkle on it, which I didn’t disagree with. They called it “the journey to self-reliance,” and they wanted to invest in Africa, in Asia, in Latin America, to enable stronger economies, more capacity—and we weren’t doing enough of that. I actually continued much of the work that had occurred during that time.

Tell me a little bit about what you were in charge of and what good was being done in the world.

I had twenty-five hundred people, between D.C. and sixty-five countries around the world, working on advancing health and protecting Americans from diseases and outbreaks abroad. The aim was to work with countries to build their systems so that we protected global health security and improved global outcomes—from reducing H.I.V./AIDS and other infectious diseases like malaria and T.B., to strengthening primary health-care systems, so that those countries would move on from depending on aid from donors. In three years, we documented saving more than 1.2 million lives after COVID alone.

Let’s pause on that. Your part of U.S.A.I.D. was responsible, demonstrably, for saving 1.2 million lives—from what?

So, COVID was the first global reduction in life expectancy in seventy years, and it disrupted the ability across the world to deliver basic health services, which includes H.I.V./AIDS [medications], but also included childhood immunizations, and managing diarrhea and pneumonia. Part of my target was to reduce the percentage of deaths in any given country that occur before the age of fifty. The teams would focus on the top three to five killers. In some places, that would be H.I.V.; in some places that would be T.B. Safe childbirth was a huge part of the work. And immunizations: forty per cent of the gains in survival for children under five in the past fifty years in the world came from vaccines alone. So vaccines were a big part of the work as well.

What was the case against this kind of work? It just seems like an absolute good.

One case is that it could have been more efficient, right? Americans imagine that huge sums of money go to this work. Polls show that they think that a quarter of our spending goes to foreign aid. In fact, on a budget for our global health work that is less than half the budget of the hospital where I did surgery here in Boston, we reached hundreds of millions of people, with programs that saved lives by the millions. That’s why I describe it as the best job in medicine that people have never heard of. It is at a level of scale I could never imagine experiencing. So the case against it—I woke up one day to find Elon Musk tweeting that this was a criminal enterprise, that this was money laundering, that this was corruption.

Where would he get this idea? Where does this mythology come from?

Well, what’s hard to parse is: What is just willful ignorance? Not just ignorance—it’s lying, right? For example, there’s a statistic that they push that only ten per cent of U.S.A.I.D.’s dollars actually got to recipients in the world. Now, this is a willful distortion of a statistic that says that only ten per cent of U.S.A.I.D.’s funding went to local organizations as opposed to multinational organizations and others. There’s a legitimate criticism to be made that that percentage should be higher, that more local organizations should get the funds. I did a lot of work that raised those numbers considerably, got it to thirty per cent, but that was not the debate they were having. They’re claiming that the money’s not actually reaching people and that corruption is taking it away, when, in fact, the reach—the ability to get to enormous numbers of people—has been a best buy in health and in humanitarian assistance for a long time.

Now the over-all agency, as I understand it, had about ten thousand people working for it. How many are working at U.S.A.I.D. now?

Actually, the number was about thirteen thousand. And the over-all number now—it’s hard to estimate because people are being turned on and off like a light switch—

Turned on and off, meaning their computers are shut down?

Yeah, and they’re being terminated and then getting unterminated—like, “Oops, sorry, we let the Ebola team go.” You heard Elon Musk say something to that effect in the Oval Office. “But we’ve brought them back, don’t worry.” It’s a moving target, but this is what I’d say: more than eighty per cent of the contracts have been terminated, representing the work that is done by U.S.A.I.D. and the for-profit and not-for-profit organizations they work with, like Catholic Relief Services and the like. And more than eighty per cent of the staff has been put on administrative leave, terminated, or dismissed in one way or the other.

So it’s been obliterated.

It has been dismantled. It is dying. I mean, at this point, it’s six weeks in. Twenty million people with H.I.V., for example—including five hundred thousand children—who had received medicines that keep them alive have now been cut off for six weeks.

A lot of people are going to die as a result of this. Am I wrong?

The internal estimates are that more than a hundred and sixty thousand people will die from malaria per year, from the abandonment of these programs, if they’re not restored. We’re talking about twenty million people dependent on H.I.V. medicines—and you have to calculate how many you think will get back on, and how many will die in a year. But you’re talking hundreds of thousands in Year One at a minimum. But then on immunization side, you’re talking about more than a million estimated deaths.

I’m sorry, Atul. I have to stop my cool journalistic questioning and say: This is nothing short of outrageous. How is it possible that this is happening? Obviously, these facts are filtering up to Elon Musk, to Donald Trump, and to the Administration at large. And they don’t care?

The logic is to deny the reality, either because they simply don’t want to believe it—that they’re so steeped in the idea that government officials are corrupt and lazy and unable to deliver anything, and that a group of young twentysomething engineers will fix it all—or they are indifferent. And when Musk waves around the chainsaw—we are seeing what surgery on the U.S. government with a chainsaw looks like at U.S.A.I.D. And it’s just the beginning of the playbook. This was the soft target. This is affecting people abroad—it’s tens of thousands of jobs at home, so there’s harm here; there’s disease that will get here, etc. But this was the easy target. Now it’s being brought to the N.I.H., to the C.D.C., to critical parts of not only the health enterprise but other important functions of government.

So the National Institutes of Health, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and other such bureaucracies that do equal medical good will also get slammed?

Are being slammed. So here’s the playbook: you take the Treasury’s payment system—DOGE and Musk took over the information system for the Treasury and the payments in the government; you take over the H.R. software, so you can turn people’s badges and computer access on and off at will; you take over the buildings—they cancelled the leases, so you don’t have buildings. U.S.A.I.D.—the headquarters was given to the Customs and Border Protection folks. And then you’ve got it all, right? And then he’s got X, which feeds right into Fox News, and you’ve got control of the media as well. It’s a brilliant playbook.

But from the outside, at least, Atul, and maybe from your vantage point as well: this looks like absolute chaos. I’ve been reading this week that staff posted overseas are stranded, fired without a plane ticket home. From the inside, what does it look like?

One example: U.S.A.I.D. staff in the Congo had to flee for their lives and watch on television as their own home was destroyed and their kids’ belongings attacked. And then when they called for help and backup, they could not get it. I spoke to staff involved in one woman’s case, a pregnant woman in her third trimester, in a conflict zone. They have maternity leave just like everybody else there. But because the contracts had been turned off, they couldn’t get a flight out, and were not guaranteed safe passage, and couldn’t get care for her complications, and ended up having to get cared for locally without the setup to address her needs. One person said to me, as she’s enduring these things, “My government is attacking me. We ought to be ashamed. Our entire system of checks and balances has failed us.”

What’s been the reaction in these countries, in the governments, and among the people? The sense of abandonment must be intense on all sides.

There are broadly three areas. The biggest part of U.S.A.I.D. is the FEMA for disasters abroad. It’s called the Bureau for Humanitarian Assistance, and they bring earthquake response; wildfire response; response in conflicts, in famines. These are the people who suit up, and get assistance, and stabilize places where things are going wrong.

The Global Health Bureau, which I led, is the second-largest part of the agency, and that does work around diseases and health threats, as well as advancing health systems in low- and middle-income countries around the world. There’s coöperation on solving global problems, like stopping pandemics, and addressing measles outbreaks, and so on.

The third is advancing countries’ economies, freedom, and democracy. John F. Kennedy, when he formed U.S.A.I.D. in 1961, said that it was to counter the adversaries of freedom and to provide compassionate support for the development of the world. U.S.A.I.D. has kept Ukraine’s health system going and gave vital support to keep their energy infrastructure going, as Russia attacked it. In Haiti, this is the response team that has sought to stabilize what’s become a gang-controlled part of the country. Our health teams kept almost half of the primary health-care system for the population going. So around the world: stopping fentanyl flow, bringing in independent media. All of that has been wiped out completely. And in many cases, the people behind that work—most of the people we’re working with, local partners to keep these things going—are now being attacked. Those partners are now being attacked, in country after country.

What you’re describing is both human compassion and, a phrase you used earlier in our conversation, “soft power.” Describe what that is. Why is it so important to the United States and to the world? What will squandering it—what will destroying it—mean?

The tools of foreign policy, as I’ve learned, are defense, diplomacy, and development. And the development part is the soft power. We’re not sending troops into Asia and Africa and Latin America. We’re sending hundreds of thousands of civilians without uniforms, who are there to represent the United States, and to pursue common goals together—whether it’s stemming the tide of fentanyl coming across the border, addressing climate disasters, protecting the world from disease. And that soft power is a reflection of our values, what we stand for—our strong belief in freedom, self-determination, and advancement of people’s economies; bringing more stability and peace to the world. That is the fundamental nature of soft power: that we are not—what Trump is currently trying to create—a world of simply “Might makes right, and you do what we tell you,” because that does not create stability. It creates chaos and destruction.

An immoral universe in which everybody’s on their own.

That’s right. An amoral universe.

Who is standing up, if anyone, in the Administration? What about Secretary of State Marco Rubio, whom you mentioned. What’s his role in all of this? Back in January, he issued a waiver to allow for lifesaving services to continue. That doesn’t seem to have been at all effective.

It hasn’t happened. He has issued a waiver that said that the subset of work that is directly lifesaving—through humanitarian assistance, disaster relief, and so on, and the health work that I used to lead—will continue; we don’t want these lives to be lost. And yet it hasn’t been implemented. It’s clear that he’s not in control of the mechanisms that make these things happen. DOGE does not approve the payments going out, and has not approved the payments going out, to sustain that work.

The federal courts have ruled that the freeze was likely illegal and unconstitutional, and imposed a temporary restraining order saying that it should not be implemented, that it had to be lifted—the payment freeze. Instead, they doubled down. And Marco Rubio signed on to this, tweeted about it earlier this week—that over eighty per cent of all contracts have now been terminated. And the remaining ones—they have not even made a significant dent in making back payments that are owed for work done even before Trump was inaugurated.

There’s always been skepticism, particularly on the right, about foreign aid. I remember Jesse Helms, of North Carolina, would always rail about the cost of foreign aid and how it was useless, in his view, in many senses. I am sure that in your time in office, you must have dealt with officials who were skeptical of the mission. What kind of complaints were you getting from senators and congressmen and the like, even before the Trump Administration took over in January?

It was a minority. I’ll just start by saying: the support for foreign-aid work has been recognized and supported by Republicans and Democrats for decades. But there’s been a consistent—it was a minority—that had felt that the U.S. shouldn’t be involved abroad. That’s part of an isolationist view, that extending this work is just charity; it’s not in U.S. interests and it’s not necessary for the protection of Americans. The argument is that we should be spending it at home.

They’re partly playing into the populist view that huge portions of the budget are going abroad, when that’s not been the case. But it’s also understandable that when people are suffering at home, when there are significant needs here, it can be hard to make connections to why we need to fight to stop problems abroad before they get here.

And yet we only recently endured the COVID epidemic, which by all accounts did not begin at home, and spread all over the world. Why was COVID not convincing as a manifestation of how a greater international role could help?

Certainly that didn’t convince anybody that that was able to be controlled abroad—

Because it wasn’t.

Because it wasn’t, right. And COVID did drive a significant distrust in the public-health apparatus itself because of the suffering that people endured through that entire emergency. But I would say the larger picture is—every part of government spending has its critics. One of the fascinating things about the foreign-aid budget, which has been the least popular part of the budget, is that U.S.A.I.D. was mostly never heard of. Now it has high name recognition, and has majority support for continuing its programs, whether it’s keeping energy infrastructure alive in Ukraine, stabilizing conflicts—whether it’s Haiti or other parts of the world—to keep refugees from swarming more borders, or the work of purely compassionate humanitarian assistance and health aid that reduces the over-all death rates from diseases that may yet harm us. So it’s been a significant jump in support for this work, out of awareness now of what it is, and how much less it turns out to cost.

So it took this disaster to raise awareness.

That’s human nature, right? Loss aversion. When you lose it is when you realize its value.

Atul, there’s been a measles outbreak in West Texas and New Mexico, and R.F.K., Jr.—who’s now leading the Department of Health and Human Services—has advised some people, at least, to use cod-liver oil. We have this multilayered catastrophe that you’ve been describing. Where could the United States be, in a couple of years, from a health perspective? What worries you the most?

Measles is a good example. There’s actually now been a second death. We hadn’t had a child death from measles in the United States in years. We are now back up, globally, to more than a hundred thousand child deaths. I was on the phone with officials at the World Health Organization—the U.S. had chosen measles as a major area that it wanted to support. It provided eighty per cent of the support in that area, and let other countries take other components of W.H.O.’s work. So now, that money has been pulled from measles programs around the world. And having a Secretary of Health who has done more to undermine confidence in measles vaccines than anybody in the world means that that’s a singular disease that can be breaking out, and we’ll see many more child deaths that result from that.

The over-all picture, the deeper concern I have, is that as a country we’re abandoning the idea that we can come together collectively with other nations to do good in the world. People describe Trump as transactional, but this is a predatory view of the world. It is one in which you not only don’t want to participate in coöperation; you want to destroy the coöperation. There is a deep desire to make the W.H.O. ineffective in working with other nations; to make other U.N. organizations ineffective in doing their work. They already struggled with efficiency and being effective in certain domains, and yet they continue to have been very important in global health emergencies, responding and tracking outbreaks. . . .

We have a flu vaccine because there are parts of the world where flu breaks out, like China, that don’t share data with us. But they share it with the W.H.O., and the result is that we have a flu vaccine that’s tuned to the diseases coming our way by the fall. I don’t know how we’ll get a flu vaccine this fall. Either we’ll get it because people are, under the table, communicating with the W.H.O. to get the information, and the W.H.O is going to share it, even though the U.S. is no longer paying, or we’re going to work with other countries and be dependent on them for our flu vaccine. This is not a good answer.

I must ask you this, more generally: You’re watching a President of the United States begin to side with Russia over Ukraine. You’re watching the dismantlement of our foreign-aid budget, and both its compassion and its effectiveness. Just the other day, we saw a Columbia University graduate—you may agree with him, disagree with him on his politics, but who has a green card—and ICE officers went to his apartment and arrested him, and presumably will deport him. It’s an assault on the First Amendment. You’re seeing universities being defunded—starting with Columbia, but it’ll hardly be the last, etc. What in your view motivates Donald Trump to behave in this way? What’s the vision that pulls this all together?

What I see happening on the health side is reflective of everything you just said. There is a fundamental desire to remove and destroy independent sources of knowledge, of power, of decision-making. So not only is U.S.A.I.D. dismantled but there’s thousands of people fired—from the National Institutes of Health, the C.D.C., the Food and Drug Administration—and a fundamental restructuring of decision-making so that political judgment drives decision-making over N.I.H. grants, which have been centralized and pulled away from the individual institutes. So the discoveries that lead to innovations in the world—that work has a political layer now. F.D.A. approvals—now wanting a political review. C.D.C. guidance—now wanting a political review. These organizations were all created by Congress to be shielded from that, so that we could have a professional, science-driven set of decisions, and not the political flavor of the moment.

Donald Trump’s preference, which he’s expressed in those actions and many others, is that his whims, just like King Henry VIII’s, should count. King Henry VIII remade an entire religion around who he wanted to marry. And this is the kind of world that Trump is wanting to create—one of loyalty trumping any other considerations. So the inspectors general who do audits over the corruption that they seem to be so upset about—they’ve been removed. Any independent judgment in society that would trump the political whims of the leader. . . . The challenge is—and I think is the source of hope for me—that a desire for chaos, for acceding to destruction, for accepting subjugation, is not a stable equilibrium. It’s not successful in delivering the goods for people, under any line of thinking.

In the end, professionally organized bureaucracies—that need to have political oversight, need to have some controls in place, but a balance that allows decision-making to happen—those have been a key engine of the prosperity of the country. Their destruction will have repercussions that I think will make the Administration very unpopular, and likely cause a backlash that balances things out. I hope we get beyond getting to the status quo ante of a stalemate between these two lines of thinking—one that advances the world through incremental collective action that’s driven around checks and balances as we advance the world ever forward, and one in which a strongman can have his way and simply look for who he can dominate.

Right now, Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., is the head of H.H.S. His targets include not only vaccine manufacturers but the pharma industry writ large. But he’s talked a lot, too, about unhealthy food in the American diet—to some extent, he’s not wrong. Do you see any upside in his role in pushing this so-called Make America Healthy Again idea?

Of course there is good. I mean, we as a country have chronic illness that is importantly tied to our nutritional habits, our exercise, and so on. But for all our unhealthiness, we’ve also had an engine of health that has enabled the top one per cent in America to have a ninety-year life expectancy today. Our job is to enable that capacity for public health and health-care delivery to get to everybody alive, I would argue, and certainly to get it to all Americans.

What’s ignored is that half the country can’t afford having a primary-care doctor and don’t have adequate public health in their communities. If R.F.K., Jr., were taking that on, more power to him. Every indication from his history is that this is an effort to highlight some important things. But how much of it’s going to actually be evidence-driven? He’s had some crazy theories about what’s going to advance chronic illness and address health.

I’d say the second thing is the utter incompetence in running things and making things work. They’ve utterly destabilized the National Institutes of Health, the Centers for Disease Control, the F.D.A.

Explain that destabilization—what it looks like from inside and what effects it’ll have.

One small example: DOGE has declared that all kinds of buildings are not necessary anymore. That includes the headquarters of the Department of Health and Human Services. They’re saying, “Oh, everybody has to show up for work now, but you won’t have a building to work in anymore.”

No. 2 on the list is F.D.A. specialized centers around the country. There’s a laboratory in St. Louis where they have specialized equipment for testing food and drugs for safety. And so that whole capability—to insure that your foods and your medications are able to be tested for whether they have contaminants, whether they are counterfeit—that’s a basic part of good nutrition, good medicine, that could be pulled away.

Whether it’s maintaining the building infrastructure, maintaining the staff who are being purged sort of randomly left and right, or treating them not like they’re slaves but actually bringing good work out of everybody, by good management—that is what’s not happening.

I have the feeling that you, even in a short time, loved being in the federal government. What I hear in our conversation is a sense of tragedy that is not only public but that is felt very intimately by you.

I did not expect that going into government would be as meaningful to me as it was. I went into government because it was the COVID crisis and I was offered an opportunity to lead the international component of the response. We got seven hundred million vaccines out to the world. But what I found was a group of people who could achieve scale like I’d never seen. It is mission-driven. None of these people went into it for the money; it’s not like they’ve had any power—

I assume all of them could have made more money elsewhere.

Absolutely. And many of them spent their lives as Foreign Service officers living in difficult places in the world. I remember that Kyiv was under attack about eight weeks after I was sworn in. I thought I was going to be working on COVID, but this thing was erupting. First of all, our health team, along with the rest of the mission and Embassy in Kyiv, had to flee for safety. But within a week they were already saying, “We have T.B. breaking out, we have potential polio cases. How are we going to respond?” And my critical role was to say, “What’s going to kill people the most? Right now, Russia has shut down the medical supply chain, and so nearly a hundred per cent of the pharmacies just closed. Two hundred and fifty thousand H.I.V. patients can’t get their meds. A million heart patients can’t get their meds. Let’s get the pharmacies open.” And, by the way, they’ve attacked the oxygen factories and put the hospitals under cyberattack and their electronic systems aren’t functioning.

And this team, in four weeks, moved the entire hospital record system to the cloud, allowing protection against cyberattacks; got oxygen systems back online; and was able to get fifty per cent of the pharmacies open in about a month, and ultimately got eighty per cent of the pharmacies open. That is just incredible.

Yes, are there some people that I had to deal with who were overly bureaucratic? Did I have to address some people who were not performing? Absolutely. Did I have to drive efficiency?

As in any work . . .

In every place you have to do that. But this was America at its best, and I was so proud to be part of that. And what frustrated me, in that job, was that I had to speak for the U.S. government. I couldn’t write for you during that time.

Believe me, I know!

I couldn’t tell the story. I’ve got a book I’m working on now in which I hope to be able to unpack all of this. It is, I think, a sad part of my leadership, that I didn’t also get to communicate what we do—partly because U.S.A.I.D. is restricted, in certain ways, from telling its story within the U.S. borders.

If you had the opportunity to tell Elon Musk and Donald Trump what you’ve been telling me for the past hour, or if they read a long report from you about lives saved, good works done, the benefits of soft power to the United States and to the world and so on—do you think it would have any effect at all?

Zero. There’s a different world view at play here. It is that power is what matters, not impact; not the over-all maximum good that you can do. And having power—wielding it in ways that can dominate the weak and partner with your friends—is the mode of existence. (When I say “partner with friends,” I mean partner with people like Putin who think the same way that you do.) It’s two entirely different world views.

But this is not just an event. This is not just something that happened. This is a process, and its absence will make things worse and worse and have repercussions, including the loss of many, many, maybe countless, lives. Is it irreparable? Is this damage done and done forever?

This damage has created effects that will be forever. Let’s say they turned everything back on again, and said, “Whoops, I’m sorry.” I had a discussion with a minister of health just today, and he said, “I’ve never been treated so much like a second-class human being.” He was so grateful for what America did. “And for decades, America was there. I never imagined America could be indifferent, could simply abandon people in the midst of treatments, in the midst of clinical trials, in the midst of partnership—and not even talk to me, not even have a discussion so that we could plan together: O.K., you are going to have big cuts to make. We will work together and figure out how to solve it.”

That’s not what happened. He will never trust the U.S. again. We are entering a different state of relations. We are seeing lots of other countries stand up around the world—our friends, Canada, Mexico. But African countries, too, Europe. Everybody’s taking on the lesson that America cannot be trusted. That has enormous costs.

It’s tragic and outrageous, no?

That is beautifully put. What I say is—I’m a little stronger. It’s shameful and evil. ♦

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i-was-today-years-old-when · 2 years ago

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i learned what was the strangest execution in history

Contrary to the popular belief, people don’t always die when they’re killed.

This is Tyburn Tree, London’s largest site for public hangings from at least 1177 until 1798, when Newgate Prison became the new home for this macabre form of entertainment.

Out of the thousands executed there, one famous case was that of a William Duell. Indicted on charges of rape, robbery and murder, the 17-year-old Duell was eventually convicted of rape and sentenced to death. On a bitter winter’s day in November 1740, the condemned youth faced the noose at Tyburn alongside four others.

After being hanged for twenty-two minutes, he was cut down and his body hauled into a hackney coach, to be taken to Barber-Surgeons’ Hall, where his body would be dissected for the purposes of medical research.

The surgeon and his assistants got a surprise when they placed the corpse on the slab though… it groaned. Further examination revealed some other signs of life, so they let several ounces of blood and after a while, he was able to sit up, though it was a while before he could do anything else.

He was then transported to Newgate Prison where he was held up in a cell and given broth and covers to keep him warm. In a matter of days he was reported to be back to full health, and had developed a strong appetite. During this time, the powers that were had to decide what to do with him.

After all, he was legally dead.

In the end, to avoid making a mockery of the law and to curb the spread of the knowledge that it was possible to survive hanging, they decided to sentence him to transportation. He was sent to North America and reportedly lived out the rest of his life in Boston, before dying at around the age of eighty-two.

#today i learned #facts #truth #history #justice

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fearfulfertility · 1 month ago

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CONFIDENTIAL STUDY

DRC, Postpartum Command, Post-Mortem Operations Unit

To: Assistant Director [REDACTED], Logistics & Infrastructure Division

From: Chief Operating Officer [REDACTED], Postpartum Command

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Psychological Breakdowns in High-Fetal Load Surrogates

Executive Summary

This study examines the psychological and cognitive deterioration of a surrogate experiencing extreme labor conditions while carrying sexdecuplets (16 fetuses). The research has covered 27 surrogates, but the nature of this report will focus on one test subject. This study documents his mental and neurological state from the moment of admission to the delivery room, through active labor, and culminating in the final delivery before expiration.

The study aims to provide insight into neurological thresholds, behavioral responses, and autonomical responses during high-intensity, multi-fetal labor to refine management techniques and ensure optimal output.

Study Subject

Surrogate ID: S139-432-P

Gestation: 33 Days

Fetal Load: Sexdecuplets (16)

Abdominal Circumference: 97 inches (221 cm)

Pre-Pregnancy Weight: 175 lbs (79 kg)

Final Pregnancy Weight: 393 lbs (178.2 kg)

Total Weight Gain: 218 lbs (98.8 kg)

Subject Condition: Fully incapacitated due to fetal mass. Pre-labor distress symptoms are present. Standard pre-labor sedative protocols were withheld for observational accuracy.

Observational Timeline

Phase I: Admission to Delivery Ward

Upon arrival, the subject displayed signs of severe psychological distress, including:

Erratic speech patterns alternating between coherent sentences and fragmented, repetitive phrases.

Significant pre-labor anxiety, expressing an overwhelming sense of bodily invasion due to fetal movement.

Tactile self-stimulation, pressing his hands against the sides of his abdomen to counteract the uncontrollable shifting inside him.

Upon initial examination, the subject displayed progressive physiological indicators of sexual arousal, including cutaneous flushing, elevated heart rate, and increased muscular tension within the lower extremities and pelvic region. Notably, there was a visible increase in penile tumescence, consistent with [REDACTED] of the [REDACTED] to [REDACTED] activation.

Despite repeated attempts at verbal engagement, the subject exhibited a progressive loss of focus, appearing detached from reality at multiple points.

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Subject Transcripts:

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Hello, 432-P. How do you feel?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Takes shallow breaths) "I… I can't—there's no room left. They won't stop shifting. My belly's so tight I can feel everything…"

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Are you experiencing sharp pain or just pressure?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

"Both. It's like they're pushing against each other—against me. I can't think. My head feels… light."

(The subject's heart rate is elevated. Pelvic musculature visibly tensing. Medical observation notes a progressive onset of sexual arousal, consistent with heightened autonomic stimulation.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Do you feel any unusual sensitivity in your lower abdomen or pelvic region?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Shifts uncomfortably) "I… yeah. It's—" (Pauses, biting his lip) "It's weird. Everything's tight, but it's… hot. I can feel… pressure building."

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Clarify 'pressure.' Are you experiencing involuntary responses beyond uterine contractions?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Avoids eye contact) "It's just… too much."

(The subject's respiration becomes uneven, and body temperature rises. Doppler imaging confirms rhythmic involuntary contractions of the pelvic musculature.)

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Phase II: Early Labor (0 to 4 cm dilation)

At labor onset, the subject entered a state of heightened sensory overload, demonstrated by:

Rapid shallow breathing and uncontrolled moaning between contractions.

Involuntary trembling due to full abdominal engagement from fetal positioning.

Difficulty recognizing medical staff or following basic instructions.

Neurologically, the subject exhibited heightened sensory responsiveness, particularly to tactile and [REDACTED] stimuli. This corresponded with involuntary contraction of the perineal musculature, rhythmic pelvic oscillations, and [REDACTED], suggestive of a pre-orgasmic neuromuscular state.

Despite brief moments of lucidity, the subject displayed severe dissociation without responding to external stimuli. The subject's language deteriorated significantly at this stage, reducing to fragmented, single-word phrases or nonverbal sounds.

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Subject Transcripts:

(Labor has begun. The subject's body reacts involuntarily, and fetal repositioning causes sharp abdominal ripples. He is placed on his hands and knees due to extreme abdominal circumference preventing safe supine positioning.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Your contractions have started. Describe what you're feeling."

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Panting) "S-stretching… so much stretching. They're pushing down… my hips—" (Groans, shivering)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Are you still aware of your surroundings?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Eyes fluttering) "Fuzzy… it's hard to…" (Stops mid-sentence, body trembling)

(Contractions intensify. The subject exhibits a heightened physical response. Palpation confirms involuntary pelvic thrusts synchronized with contractions, indicative of autonomic overstimulation. Penile tumescence sustained beyond expected labor onset.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Your body is displaying signs of extreme sensory overload. Are you consciously aware of these reactions?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Shakily) "I c-can't stop it. My body—" (Gasps sharply, convulses slightly)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Your heart rate is elevated. Is the stimulation pleasurable, painful, or both?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(Whimpering) "I-I don't know. Both? It's—oh, oh God—"

(Subject is unresponsive to further verbal engagement. Neurological examination indicates progressive of coherent cognitive processing as contractions continue.)

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Phase III: Transition Phase (4 to 10 cm dilation)

By 8 cm dilation, the subject exhibited mental distress, marked by:

Loss of verbal coherence reduced communication to instinctual moans, panting, and intermittent wails.

Inability to register pain or respond to medical personnel beyond pushing and contractions.

Uncontrolled bodily spasms require physical restraint to prevent injury.

As observed, the subject experienced sustained autonomic arousal, culminating in multiple ejaculatory episodes corresponding to abdominal contractions. Each instance followed the three-phase process of abdominal contraction, pre-ejaculate emission, and semen expulsion. This was likely due to overstimulation of the prostate gland, in addition to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Concomitant rhythmic contractions of the [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] muscles facilitated repeated semen expulsion, increasing in intensity with each subsequent abdominal contraction.

Observational Notes:

At 9 cm dilation, the subject's pupils were fully dilated and unresponsive to light.

Heart rate exceeded [REDACTED] BPM, signaling extreme neurological distress.

The subject exhibited complete sensory overload and could not differentiate between external contact and internal stimuli.

An intense flush response was noted across the subject's body, particularly along the chest and throat, consistent with extreme sympathetic nervous system activation.

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Subject Transcripts:

(At 8 cm dilation, the subject's body quakes uncontrollably, and vocalization is reduced to whimpers and groans.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Can you still understand me?"

Surrogate S139-432-P:

(No response. Eyes unfocused, lips parted, shallow moans escaping between contractions.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Please take a look at me. Do you recognize where you are?"

(The subject makes a weak, high-pitched whine but does not answer.)

(At this stage, the subject experiences multiple ejaculatory responses synchronized with contractions. Neuromuscular responses confirm autonomic hyperstimulation.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Your body is undergoing sustained autonomic discharge. Are you consciously aware of these expulsions?"

(The subject's eyes roll back, muscles spasming. Contractions intensify, leading to increased pelvic convulsions. He does not respond verbally.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"He's too far gone. Proceeding to extraction phase."

(The medical team prepares for delivery as the subject remains semi-conscious.)

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Phase IV: Birth & Total Neurological Collapse

As fetal delivery commenced, the subject entered final cognitive failure, displaying:

Mouth slightly open, slack-jawed expression.

Eyes unfocused, rolling back, or remaining glassy.

Involuntary convulsions with each fetal extraction.

Notably, the subject's ejaculatory episodes appeared to have significantly increased as birth commenced, but seminal release decreased. The subject began to experience anejaculatory orgasm, which refers to the experience of orgasm without the expulsion of seminal fluid (a dry orgasm). This led to multiple episodes of orgasmic sensations without seminal emissions in response to sustained autonomic stimulation.

Due to persistent stimulation, refractory periods were notably brief, with subsequent episodes of renewed autonomic engagement and repeated anejaculatory episodes. The subject remained in a heightened physiological arousal throughout the birthing period.

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Subject Transcripts:

(As the first fetus crowns, the subject's vocalizations become louder. Convulsions increase in frequency. Refractory ejaculation occurs multiple times but decreases in seminal volume.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"The first is emerging. Can you hear me?"

(Subject makes an unintelligible sound, mouth slack, body twitching involuntarily. He does not register external stimuli.)

(With each birth, the subject's body shudders violently, correlating with continued neuromuscular spasms. Anejaculatory orgasms continue unabated, despite systemic exhaustion.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Final cognitive function scan—"

(No pupil response. The subject's breathing is shallow and irregular.)

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Subject is exhibiting classic indicators of neurological collapse. Post-birth expiration estimated within [REDACTED] minutes."

(With the final birth, the subject's entire body relaxes completely. Residual post-mortem [REDACTED] were noted. No further voluntary or involuntary movement was detected.)

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Final Analysis

Key Observation: Once the first fetus was crowned, the subject lost all remaining traces of self-awareness, responding only to basic physiological impulses (gasping, twitching, and [REDACTED] vocalizations).

At complete fetal extraction, the subject exhibited:

Total mental collapse, unable to comprehend surroundings or actions performed on his body.

Faint vocalizations gradually reduced to weak, breathy exhalations.

Cessation of voluntary movement within [REDACTED] minutes post-delivery.

All vitals ceased within [REDACTED] minutes of the last birth.

Post-mortem assessments confirmed that the subject had lost higher brain function well before expiration, indicating that neurological death occurred before physical death.

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Subject Transcripts:

Dr. [REDACTED]:

"Final condition of Subject S139-432-P: Full neurological and physiological expiration confirmed. MRI is consistent with total cognitive breakdown. Arousal remained sustained until final moments, indicating that sensory overload contributed to complete psychological surrender."

(End of Transcript.)

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Follow-Ups

Total Cognitive Failure Occurs Well Before Physical Expiration

By final birth, the surrogate exhibited no rational thought capacity, indicating that pre-delivery neurological death is standard.

Fetal Load Directly Impacts Psychological Breakdown Speed

Subject carrying 16 fetuses entered psychological collapse earlier than prior 10-14 fetal studies, confirming a linear relationship between fetal count and cognitive decline.

Pain and Sensory Overload Expedite Compliance

The observed phenomena are consistent with autonomic hyperstimulation and neuromuscular overactivation, leading to multiple reflexive ejaculations secondary to heightened sensory input.

The subject's physiological response suggests a reduced inhibitory threshold, likely exacerbated by prolonged autonomic excitation, sustained tactile input, and excessive intra-abdominal pressure.

Future Research

Extend testing to surrogates carrying 18+ fetuses to confirm if breakdown patterns accelerate at higher thresholds.

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Sending...

Read...

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To: Chief Operating Officer [REDACTED], Postpartum Command

From: Director [REDACTED], DRC

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: RE: Psychological Breakdowns in High-Fetal Load Surrogates

Dr. [REDACTED],

You are approved to expand your testing to include surrogates carrying 18+ fetuses to validate acceleration patterns of cognitive and neurological breakdown at extreme fetal loads.

Effective immediately, proceed to Paternity Compound 118 (Houston, Texas, FEMA Zone 6), which currently houses three viable test subjects for the next phase of research:

S118-193-R – 23 days pregnant with octodecuplets (18)

S118-265-S – 25 days pregnant with novemdecuplets (19)

S118-332-T – 19 days pregnant with septendecuplets (17)

These surrogates are currently in late-stage gestation and should be closely monitored. Ensure full documentation of all neurological and physiological deterioration markers, with video recordings being of particular interest to other research teams.

Proceed with testing as soon as medically feasible. Submit findings with complete observational data for review upon conclusion. Further approvals for even higher fetal loads will be contingent on your results.

Director [REDACTED]

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 25 days ago

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stick with me baby.. @FinancialReview :: [Dave]

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 3, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Mar 04, 2025

As seemed evident even at the time, the ambush of Ukraine president Volodymyr Zelensky in the Oval Office on Friday was a setup to provide justification for cutting off congressionally approved aid to Ukraine as it tries to fight off Russia’s invasion. That “impoundment” of funds Congress has determined should go to Ukraine is illegal under the terms of the 1974 Impoundment Control Act, and it is unconstitutional because the Constitution gives to Congress, not to the president, the power to set government spending and to make laws. The president’s job is to “take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed.”

It was for a similar impoundment of congressionally appropriated funds for Ukraine, holding them back until Zelensky agreed to tilt the 2020 election by smearing Joe Biden, that the House of Representatives impeached Trump in 2019. It is not hard to imagine that Trump chose to repeat that performance, in public this time, as a demonstration of his determination to act as he wishes regardless of laws and Constitution.

On Sunday, Nicholas Enrich, the acting assistant administrator for global health at the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) released a series of memos he and other senior career officials had written, recording in detail how the cuts to “lifesaving humanitarian assistance” at the agency will lead to “preventable death” and make the U.S. less safe. The cuts will “no doubt result in preventable death, destabilization, and threats to national security on a massive scale,” one memo read.

Enrich estimated that without USAID intervention, more than 16 million pregnant women and more than 11 million newborns would not get medical care; more than 14 million children would not get care for pneumonia and diarrhea (among the top causes of preventable deaths for children under the age of 5); 200,000 children would be paralyzed with polio; and 1 million children would not be treated for severe acute malnutrition. There would be an additional 12.5 million or more cases of malaria this year, meaning 71,000 to 166,000 deaths; a 28–32% increase in tuberculosis; as many as 775 million cases of avian flu; 2.3 million additional deaths a year in children who could not be vaccinated against diseases; additional cases of Ebola and mpox. The higher rates of illness will take a toll on economic development in developing countries, and both the diseases and the economic stagnation will spill over into the United States.

Although Secretary of State Marco Rubio promised to create a system for waivers to protect that lifesaving aid, the cuts appear random and the system for reversing them remains unworkable. The programs remain shuttered. Enrich blamed "political leadership at USAID, the Department of State, and DOGE, who have created and continue to create intentional and/or unintentional obstacles that have wholly prevented implementation."

On Sunday, Enrich sent another memo to staff, thanking them for their work and telling them he had been placed on “administrative leave, effective immediately.”

Dangerous cuts are taking place in the United States, as well. On Friday, on Joe Rogan’s podcast, Musk called Social Security, the basis of the U.S. social safety net, a “Ponzi scheme.” Also on Friday, the Social Security Administration announced that it will consolidate the current ten regional offices it maintains into four and cut at least 7,000 jobs from an agency that is already at a 50-year staffing low. Erich Wagner of Government Executive reported that billionaire Elon Musk’s “Department of Government Efficiency” (DOGE) team had canceled the leases for 45 of the agency’s field offices and is urging employees to quit.

The acting commissioner of the agency, Leland Dudek, a mid-level staffer who got his post after sharing sensitive information with DOGE, blamed former president Joe Biden for the cuts. In contrast, Senator Ron Wyden (D-OR) pointed out that the system currently delivers 99.7% of retirement benefits accurately and on time. He warned that the administration is hollowing it out, and when it can no longer function, Republicans will say it needs the private sector to take it over. He called the cuts “a prelude to privatization.”

“The public is going to suffer terribly as a result of this,” a senior official told NPR. “Local field offices will close, hold times will increase, and people will be sicker, hungry, or die when checks don't arrive or a disability hearing is delayed just one month too late.”

In South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia, more than 200 wildfires began to burn over the weekend as dry conditions and high winds drove the flames. Firefighters from the Forest Service helped to contain the fires, but they were understaffed even before Trump took office. Now, with the new cuts to the service, prevention measures are impossible and there aren’t enough people to fight fires effectively and safely. South Carolina governor Henry McMaster (R) declared a state of emergency on Sunday.

Josh Marshall at Talking Points Memo picked up something many of us missed, posting today that Trump’s February 11 “workforce optimization” executive order is a clear blueprint for the end goal of all the cuts to the federal government. The order says that departments and agencies must plan to cut all functions and employees who are not designated as essential during a government shutdown. As Marshall notes, this is basically a blueprint for a skeleton crew version of government.

But for all that the administration, led by DOGE, insists that the U.S. has no money for the government services that help ordinary people, it appears to think there is plenty of money to help wealthy supporters. In February, the cryptocurrency bitcoin experienced its biggest monthly drop since June 2022, falling by 17.5%. On Sunday, in a post on his social media site, Trump announced that the government will create a strategic stockpile of five cryptocurrencies, spending tax dollars to buy them.

Supporters say that such an investment could pay off in decades, when that currency has appreciated to become worth trillions of dollars. But, as Zachary B. Wolf of CNN notes, “for every bitcoin evangelist, there is an academic or banker from across the political spectrum who will point out that cryptocurrency investments might just as easily go up in smoke, which would be an unfortunate thing to happen to taxpayer dollars.”

The first three currencies Trump announced were not well known, and the announcement sent their prices soaring. Hours later, he added the names of the two biggest cryptocurrencies, including bitcoin. After the initial surges, by Monday prices for the currencies had fallen roughly back to where they had been before the announcement, making the announcement look like a pump-and-dump scheme. Economist Peter Schiff, a Trump supporter, called for a full congressional investigation, suggesting that someone other than Trump might have written the social media posts that set off the frenzy and wondering who was buying and selling in that short window of time.

Also on Sunday, the administration announced it would stop enforcing anti-money-laundering laws that were put in place over Trump’s veto in 2021 at the end of his first term and required shell companies to identify the people who own or control them. Referring to the law as a “Biden rule,” Trump called the announcement that he would not enforce it “Exciting News!” The Trump Organization frequently uses shell companies.

A world in which the government does not regulate business or address social welfare or infrastructure, claiming instead to promote economic development by funneling resources to wealthy business leaders, looks much like the late-nineteenth-century world that Trump praises. Trump insists that President William McKinley, who was president from 1897 to 1901, created the nation’s most prosperous era by imposing high tariffs on products from foreign countries.

Trump confirmed today that he will go forward with his own 25% tariffs on goods from Mexico and Canada and an additional 10% on goods from China, adding to the 10% tariffs Trump added to Chinese products in February. While President Joe Biden maintained tariffs on only certain products from China to protect specific industries, it appears Trump’s tariffs will cover all products.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau of Canada called the tariffs “unjustified” and announced that Canada will put retaliatory tariffs on $20.8 billion worth of U.S. products made primarily in Republican-dominated states, including spirits, beer, wine, cosmetics, appliances, orange juice, peanut butter, clothing, footwear, and paper. A second set of tariffs in a few weeks will target about $90 billion worth of products, including cars and trucks, EVs, products made of steel and aluminum, fruits and vegetables, beef, pork, and dairy products.

Mexico’s president Claudia Sheinbaum did not provide details of what her country would do but told reporters today: “We have a plan B, C, D.” Chinese officials say that China, too, will impose retaliatory tariffs, singling out agricultural products and placing tariffs of 15% on corn and 10% on soybeans. It also says it will restrict exports to 15 U.S. companies.

The tariffs in place in the U.S. at the end of the nineteenth century were less important for the explosive growth of the economy in that era than the flood of foreign capital into private businesses: railroad, mining, cattle, department stores, and finance. By the end of the century, investing in America was such a busy trade that the London Stock Exchange had a separate section for American railroad transactions alone.

And the economic growth of the country did not help everyone equally. While industrialists like Cornelius Vanderbilt II could build 70-room summer homes in Newport, Rhode Island, the workers whose labor kept the mines and factories producing toiled fourteen to sixteen hours a day in dangerous conditions for little money, with no workmen’s compensation or disability insurance if they were injured. The era has become known as the Gilded Age, dominated by so-called robber barons.

Today, the stock market dropped dramatically upon news that Trump intended to go through with his tariffs. The Dow Jones Industrial Average dropped 650 points, down 1.48%. The S&P fell 1.76%, and the Nasdaq Composite, which focuses on technology stocks, fell 2.64%. Meanwhile, shares of European defense companies jumped to record highs as Europe moves to replace the U.S. support for Ukraine.

Also today, the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta forecast a dramatic contraction in the economy in the first quarter of 2025. Evaluating current data according to a mathematical model, it moved from an expected 2.9% growth in gross domestic product at the end of January to –2.8% today. That is just a prediction and there is still room for those numbers to turn around, but they might help to explain why Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick is talking about changing the way the U.S. calculates economic growth.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Heather Cox Richardson #Letters From An American #Dave #Financial Times #Social Security #stock market #Federal Reserve Bank #The economy #tariffs #DOGE #USAID #Global Health

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