#task management in manufacturing

[utilxtasktrackingapp]

It's always a challenge to get real time completion status of small or large activities in manufacturing companies. Utilx is very effective communicating tool between top level management and floor managers.

[starlit-mansion]

2am coffee made me wicked and vile

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Throwback

Male Triceratops Hybrid Alpha Yandere x Gender Neutral Capybara Hybrid Omega Reader

CW: Noncon, painful to pleasureable sex, mild violence (not towards reader), time travel, sexism, breeding, impregnation, pheromones, a/b/o, musk, scent marking, scent kink, sucking on dem big man titters, biting, bite marking, claiming, exceptionally huge dick, reader inflated with copious cum, knotting

Word Count: 1.9k

(Sometimes I get stuck on WIPs and have to do something new to write again. I wrote this in two days. Hope y'all like it! Please feed me with comments ❤️)

You were an omega demi-human. Part capybara, though the only evidence of this was your soft ears. More importantly, you were a quantum physicist. Currently, you were studying and recreating what you thought to be a time travel device. Your thoughts and theories had been dismissed entirely by your peers. It didn't help at all that you were an omega. Omegas working in academia were almost universally harassed, derided, and treated with condescension. As if their omega brains couldn't work at the same level as betas and alphas.

But even if it wasn't some type of device for traveling through time it was certainly alien to the time period from which it originated. It was made of advanced alloys and components that had been flattened, buried, and heavily corroded over time. The rock in which it was embedded in was older than any ancient society.

You had been working on manufacturing a functional copy of the artifact for years. Shmoozing up eccentric rich fucks, getting help from the exceedingly few colleagues who would help you in any way, slowly analyzing every detail and carefully bringing it all together. And at long last it was complete. The zenith of your career was at hand. And after some cautious testing that you conducted privately, it was ready to show to others.

You managed to get a spot at a small conference, though you had lied about the subject on which you would be speaking, and by the time it was your turn most of the audience had left. Not many academics cared what an omega had to say. Let alone one with a reputation for being a crackpot. But there were still enough of your fellow scientists and this would all be on video.

Instead of introducing the topic of your presentation, which would be a surefire way to lose what people were still watching, you opted for wheeling out your machine onto the stage and stepping in. With a deep breath, you booted it up and the entire contraption disappeared with a flash.

When you exited the machine there was an immediate problem. You stepped out of the machine into a forest with giant trees and flowers. You had only intended to go back a minute to when your presentation started but had made an error. You turned around to step back in but something pulled you backwards by your rear. You fell back and saw before you a humongous man charging at your time machine. He wore only a ragged fur loincloth and swung a massive club. He looked human except for his size, thick tail, scaled arms, and three horns on his head. One large horn from each temple and a small one extending from my nose.

You looked on in horror as he swung a mighty club down upon your only way back to your own time, repeatedly smashing it down until it resembled the exact shape of the artifact that had been excavated in your time. The relic that you had fashioned your own machine after. That wasn't what your attention was on, however. You were much more focused on getting away from the raging beast of a man who could flatten metal so easily.

Though with his task of destroying the frightening affront to nature that had appeared from nowhere now complete, he turned his attention to you. He shouted at you in a language you didn't understand, though his intent was clear. He had a massive erection sticking out from his loincloth and aggressively sniffing at your neck after picking you up with unexpected care.

With exertion of great willpower, the trike-man managed to not breed you silly right there in the forest. Your pheromones were driving him nearly feral. Modern-day omega pheromones were many times more potent than any prehistoric omega. They had evolved through millennia to pique the interest of choosy alphas despite the steep competition, an evolutionary arms race to try to snag an alpha.

That wasn't the only appealing trait. You were exotic, had cute little furry ears on your head, and you were so small, couldn't fight back and act all defiant like the omegas from his time.

You did struggle though. You had seen his arousal and could still smell it. Almost anything would be better than being violated in such a manner by such a hulking brute. He chuckled at your struggles, they were successful only in tiring you out. On the long way to his lair, between your squirming, kicking, and punching, you had gathered that his name was Orryg. At least you thought it was. He did not speak English, but he gestured at himself and seemed to be trying to give you his name.

He found your struggles kinda cute, mistaking them for an eagerness to escape his grasp and get on with taking his cock already. Omegas were so silly.

"Don't worry. Going to breed you plenty. Better in a secluded place."

You had no idea what he said, but his voice was deep and sounded angry so you could only assume it was something in annoyance at your struggles so you went limp. The giant man could snap you like a twig if he wanted to, best not to make him too upset. And honestly, even if you did escape, where the fuck would you go? What if Orryg wasn't the worst thing prowling about in the time period?

The walk went on for a while, with Orryg giving you an occasional lick or mumbling out some words you didn't have any hope of understanding. After a fair amount of time, Orryg stopped to sniff the air. Suddenly there was a roar from behind.

Orryg turned the two of you around just in time for him to take his club and smack it into a man who was every bit as huge as he was. Swatting him away easily despite being similar in size and build.

This one had sharp teeth and clawed fingers. He spat blood and growled. Orryg regarded him with a scowl.

"Udvik! You know this is trike territory!!"

"Omega smells good, not claimed yet. Thought I'd try..."

"Go before I smash you! This is MINE!"

Udvik spat again and hobbled off. But your suspicions had been confirmed, there were definitely things other than Orryg to be worried about in this time period. You were pretty shaken up seeing a half-dino man jumping at you and watching your captor fight him off. With those teeth it had clearly been no herbivore, it probably would have slaughtered you. Your fear must have been evident in your scent because Orryg held you tighter and nuzzled you.

"That battle got my blood flowing, really need to fuck you. Sorry if it scared you, I'll breed you all better. Almost home."

You continued to have zero idea what the hell he was saying. But you figured with the nuzzling it was something comforting. Though your ability to figure anything out was pretty absent by this point. Your brain was soup. All the anxiety and adrenaline and alpha pheromones had finally gotten to you. You looked at the ground in a stupor as he continued to carry you over his shoulder.

The next thing you were consciously aware of was him entering the cave with you and placing his club at the entrance. He laid down on a slab of stone covered in thick layers of soft furs and placed you on top of his muscled body. Before you had any chance to react he began administering attention to your sensitive neck. You squirmed involuntarily, writhing in pleasure on top of him from the neck stimulation alone.

If that wasn't enough, you were practically drowning in his musk. You had been since you entered his dwelling, the cave was saturated in it, but now he was forcing your head under his arm and making you drink it all in. Smearing your face with it and marking you with his smell. Slick was leaking out of your needy hole and pooling on his abs.

"I knew this would make you feel better."

The trance you were in was only partially broken once you felt the blunt head of his much too-large member press against your hole.

"W-wait! I don-"

But he had no idea what you were saying, and even if he did he knew you'd love his dick so much that you wouldn't protest for long. At this point, you were going to be his... no matter what.

You yelped in pain as he pressed into you, spreading you like none of your toys ever had. He swallowed your shout by pressing his mouth into yours, trying to distract you from the pain with a sloppy kiss before attending to your neck again. Despite every instinct telling him to just ram in and ravage you he restrained himself knowing that doing otherwise could seriously injure you.

"Ah!"

Even with his care it still hurt as he slowly eased his prick all the way into you, he rubbed the outline of his cock through your tummy. Lucky for you omegas were extremely stretchy and pliant.

Orryg slowly thrust back and forth inside you as he hungrily took in your scent. As more precum dribbled into you and mixed with your slick you took him easier and the pain slowly began to ebb away and was eventually replaced almost entirely by pleasure. You moaned softly into his chest as you bit at his pec and sucked his nipple while he kept digging his cock into you.

Your whole body shook and spasmed for a solid minute as you came more intensely than you ever had before. Orryg grunted as the feeling of your body convulsing around him brought him nearly to his climax. The trike man upped the pace just a bit, his heavy balls smacking into you before he started knotting inside you and pumping you full of his virile spunk. One small mercy was that his knot was only a bit thicker than the rest of his cock, not over two times as wide like a modern alpha.

The volume of semen was such that it made you look heavy with child, which you certainly would be after lovemaking like this.

Now that you had been well and truly fucked there was only one thing left for your brand new "husband" to do to really seal the deal. He, with great caution, buried his fangs into your neck to mark you permanently as his to everyone who might see you. Which would be more than you might expect. This was Orryg's outpost, he stayed there while on patrol, but he usually lived with his herd.

It would be a hard adjustment for you to make. You would constantly be under Orryg's watchful gaze or the guard of his tribemates when he went to go hunt or if he went to do things too dangerous for you to be with him. You'd never be alone. Even in the safety of the herd, Orryg would obsessively treat you like something fragile. You would have to adjust your diet to what they ate, mostly fruit and vegetables though they ate meat too, though nothing was familiar to you. You would have to slowly learn their language so you could eventually communicate with the new society that "adopted" you.

But it was okay if it took you a while to get settled, you had all the time in the world.

[harrison-armory-incorporated]

HERE COMES THE GILGAMESH - AND IT IS SUPERIOR, BY DESIGN.

<<LOADING COMPENDIUM ENTRY. . .>> <<FILE LOAD COMPLETE>> <<WELCOME VALUED CUSTOMER AND LICENSE HOLDER>>

The Gilgamesh is Harrison Armory's multirole Legionnaire model chassis, designed to be distributed to Armory legions and Acquisition & Management Teams across the Purview and beyond. Built to be fully compatible with numerous hardpoint-mounted tactical system enhancements and munitions, the Gilgamesh excels at no one task in particular, but its comprehensive modular construction and rugged engineering allow it to perform a variety of combat duties without difficulty within numerous theaters. Beyond the logistical efficiency of a standardized, easy to handle chassis meant to streamline both materiel concerns and aptitude training across multiple worlds and cultures, the Gilgamesh has another purpose as well; further reducing the Armory's remaining dependence on foreign-manufactured chassis designs, in particular the GMS Everest.

Some commissioned officers have a tendency to look down upon Gilgamesh pilots for using what they view as an unglamorous "trainer" chassis, but other commanders are fierce proponents of the design, even choosing to pilot it themselves in order to lead by example, and in certain regions of the Purview the Gilgamesh is regarded with as much admiration as more sophisticated models such as the Sherman.

You can pick up the Gilgamesh and learn about it's Many features ;; Here, Valued Customer.

[notbecauseofvictories]

So I watched Office Space (1999) tonight and honestly? Twenty-five years later, its take on what makes corporate drone life so horrible is sort of quaint. As though the height of corporate fuckery is uniforms, vacuous repetitive tasks, depriving you of a view, and subjecting you to the absurd, arbitrary whims of middle managers.

Quite frankly, that’s just a random Monday.

Comedy Central’s Corporate (2018-2020) is much more accurate---it taps into the sense that, in exchange for a steady paycheck, you buy into an enormous churning machine that grinds you down even as it takes huge bites out of the rest of the world. You can do nothing to stop this machine, just hope that you  wring some sense of meaning from it before it swallows you whole. Or even Apple’s Severance---which is about what someone else, someone you don’t know and will never know, agreed to on your behalf. There is no escaping from it or winning at it, no matter how many squeeze-balls or cozies they offer you. (What would “winning” even look like? You can’t even formulate an answer to that question, when your whole life is labyrinthine corridors and inexplicable mythology about the company’s founder.)

But really, I think of Mark Fisher’s Capitalist Realism---the idea that what we want, desperately, is someone to step up and take responsibility. Someone we can point to, blame, and till under with the new corn, etc. etc. But the center cannot hold and there is no falconer, there is no one. We orbit a gaping maw and it just won’t shut its jaws, let us go, and even if we murder the people shoving us towards the teeth it won’t help.

It’s not about company-mandated “flare.” Jennifer Aniston can pick another restaurant with a less prickish boss, of course she can---but she won’t escape. Neither will her manager. Neither will her manager’s manager, or the cattlefarmer, or the workers slaving to pick tomatoes, the workers at the factory that manufactures the buns, or the copywriting intern who gets coffee for the asshole who writes a flimsy knockoff of WHERE’S THE BEEF. The maw is hungry forever, it will demand to be sated forever, it will never die. There is no escape.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

By the way, if we had a proper communist party calling for a boycott of the election in the US, I would totally be saying "don't vote". The reason I'm not saying "don't vote" is the same reason I'm not saying "vote for X": the ballot box is not where you or I should be focusing our attention. We should be focused on organization. If you get organized in your community then it doesn't matter which right-wing capitalist wins the election because you will have the means to defend your community from capitalist aggression and to engage in truly effective political projects.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the ballot is not a political tool. It is the end result of politics within a democracy. It is the affirmation of the political decisions that came before it, it is the means through which the consent of the people is declared, whether that consent is real or manufactured. In a bourgeois democracy, it is entirely expected that the voice and interests of the working class will not be represented by the choices on the ballot. Even if we managed to convince everyone to vote for a radical Marxist party in a bourgeois election, that party would still be tasked with dismantling the bourgeois state and building a new proletarian one in its place, because the class character of the state remains unchanged no matter who holds office.

The interests of the working class can only be truly represented by a proletarian party, and they can only be truly served by a proletarian state. Since we do not yet have a proletarian party of any real merit or influence, our first task is to build that party. That means organization and that means education and that means agitation, regardless of who's on the ballot and regardless of who wins the election. Vote for whoever you like, just don't expect me to pretend you're doing me a favor by voting for the blue capitalist instead of the red capitalist.

[anghraine]

I've been trying to think of a less harsh way to put it, but every time I see an ostensible expert say that Mr Bennet and Darcy have the same social position and the only difference between them is that Darcy has more money, it's like ... um, either this person doesn't know what they're talking about or assumes their audience is so unsophisticated and ignorant that they can't handle the slightest degree of nuance.

Yes, it's obvious why this always comes up with P&P specifically, and explaining all the many differences and gradations in socioeconomic hierarchies between then and now is a steep task and not always necessary or useful. But Darcy and Mr Bennet are both untitled hereditary landowners. This means they have the same rank, yes—the technicality Elizabeth uses with Lady Catherine—but it also means that their status, incomes, reach of influence, and general consequence in their world are going to be primarily based on their inherited land, not that all these things except income would be functionally identical in their social world.

Awhile ago, I quoted a fairly concise description of England's class system at the time by the historian Dorothy Marshall, made decades ago, but—unusually—managing to convey some of the RL complexity around social position without belaboring the point too much. One of the most critical points she makes is this:

In spite of the number of people who got their living from manufacture or trade, fundamentally it was a society in which the ownership of land alone conveyed social prestige and full political rights.

The difference between someone like Mr Bennet and someone like Darcy in terms of socioeconomic power and status (often termed "consequence" at the time) is inevitably going to be more about hereditary land ownership than any other factor, including incomes and connections. Their incomes provide important information about the scale and value of the land they own, but wealth alone only tells a portion of the story here.

[oldguydoesstuff]

Bare CPU Printed Circuit Board for the Alpha NT XL366 workstation I designed back in 1995 or so. This was an obscure model of an obscure product line, made by a company (Digital Equipment Corp.) that is now itself obscure. To be honest I don't even remember much about this machine now.

What I do remember is the HUUUUGE fight I got into with our Signal Integrity team while I was designing this, over decoupling capacitors.

Decoupling caps are small components that hold a charge to help even out power when a circuit is active. This board featured hundreds of them, smaller than a grain of rice (see photo comparison of mounting pads vs rice grain below).

Our Signal Integrity team was tasked with making sure everything was electrically stable, so they required many hundreds of these to be added to the board, based on power simulations they did. Trouble was, they wanted so many, we couldn't even build the board.

My job as the Systems Engineer here was to meet the requirements from the SI team, but also from manufacturing, and the requirement that my PCB layout techs don't go insane trying to place and route the board. SI really only cared about signal quality, so they would not relent, and I ended up getting shouted at at one point by a junior SI engineer who was also under a lot of stress, when I said "There are different schools of thought on this.." and he screamed THERE ARE NOT DIFFERENT SCHOOLS OF THOUGHT ON THIS!!

It got to the point where the product was not going to get built, because we just couldn't fit like a thousand of these tiny caps on the board, we needed to ditch at least 25% of them to have a hope. The models were the models though, and you couldn't argue against them.

But then my boss got a genius idea. What if we could prove the simulation models were too conservative? We came up with an experiment where we would remove caps from an older system and measure the power supply noise, to see how many caps could be taken off before the system became unstable.

Me and the junior SI engineer were tasked with doing this experiment (later deemed The Decapitation Project), so we grabbed a Tektronix scope and Metcal soldering station and headed over to this abandoned lab we had in our old Maynard headquarters, a now creepy attic space on the 6th floor of an old mill building. Here were a few older Alphastation 3000 workstations we built years earlier, working but waiting to be recycled.

We had this special program that would thrash the CPU within an inch of its life, to put a big demand on the power supply system. While this was running, the SI engineer measured the power quality, while I proceeded to (very carefully to avoid short-circuiting the system) actually desolder caps from the board while the workstation was running.

We managed to get about 1/3 of them off before there was any noticeable effect, and we found one specific type of cap was not doing much of anything at all. We took the data back to the head of the SI team, and he finally relented and let us remove several hundred capacitors. (He also buried the report and data I had, because he didn't want the bad publicity - I remember being mad about that)

The system got built after that, and worked just fine. We did try to enact a small bit of petty revenge on the SI team manager though - there was a recognition event for people involved on the project, and me and our PCB procurement guy decided to give the SI team manager a special "Faraday Award" for achievement in capacitance (Farads are a measure of capacitance - geeky eng joke). We took an old bowling trophy with a giant, beer-can sized electrolytic capacitor strapped to the top of it as the award. He was a no-show so we didn't get to present it. Those SI guys never did have much of a sense of humor.

Anyway, long story sorry. Just thinking of it recently because I was helping someone at work with an analog simulation and I remembered this..

[osakanone]

"How realistic are mecha, really?": They aren't, but not for the reason you're thinking of or the one adjacent to it. Trust me.

Crossposted from reddit, since people seemed to like it. Like in the thread, I am very happy to answer questions about any esoteric weirdness.

Hold my beer. Again

They're not becoming a possibility. Yes. I know. This sucks. But stick around. Its not for the reasons you think. Well it is, but it also isn't. You'll see.

The robot needs the technology more than the technology needs a robot.

the technologies which the robot needs will improve and alter the doctrine of every other platform

This creates a doctrinal lock-in where the potential functional space for them to exist is unmet -- that they are so far ahead, that nothing new can emerge that isn't just other platforms becoming more generalized (eg, a post-stall recovery aircraft, or a helicopter with high impact landing-gear and a rigid rotor/jet engine design to act as a surface-fighter -- a tank which walks or manoeuvres like a robot is just flat out of the question: Tanks are made to be simple-as-fuck boxes which tank hits, and shoot and acquire asap and rumours of their deaths as a doctrinal weapon are exaggerated by recent events where obsolete weapons which aren't maintained properly who's crews aren't adequately trained were fighting very clever civilians with drones)

What you consider "realistic" (5th/6th) is just as if not more unrealistic than other gens purely because of their smaller size and very bizarre relationship with the environment -- they're just both too big, and too small to make sense, sitting in a size niche which is just very weird

If such a vehicle does exist, its going to be defined by its functions rather than a humanoid appearance

we know this because specialized platforms tend to beat specialized platforms historically until specialized platforms mature and become generalized

thus, the closest you're probably going to get is some weird variation of DARPA's Ground X Vehicle Project meeting with Gravity Industry' style mobility in limited cases, hybridized with smaller robots and wingsuits, which mix manoeuvring operation styles, with some rocker-boogie mechanism elements for terrain handling: It won't be humanoid, whatever it is.

This is assuming you can magically solve the square-cube law of volume-mass which is partially negatable with certain custom topologies exceeding graphene but actually manufacturing them would be miserable work probably not even be something you can make without microgravity

Energy flat out isn't solvable with what we know about right now. Nothing with that energy density can exist that isn't going to simultaneously make for an incredible fragile, dangerous and problematic source of power given the forces involved. Cooling is also a horrifyingly unsolvable problem on this scale, as is radiation management: You can't just dump molten tungsten in emergency cooling mode - you'll not only proceed to alert everybody who has even the vaguest IRST capacity to your position, but you'll also probably set fire to the environment and cook off your own ammunition. *

Motors aren't well suited to the tasks of such bodies (its like trying to make a slingshot out of dental floss), and we don't have an effective way to turn electricity into a form of motion which corresponds with the shock absorbing and motion control qualities which are actually desirable yet

Even if we did, the actual means of ensuring it doesn't fragment every time it moves don't exist. Every time an A10C fires its main gun, the fuel lines micro-fracture and have to be replaced after it lands. Metal, when you subject it to high physical forces ends up feeling and behaving closer to how you would think of glass. You'd need a material capable of repairing itself too, atop the quasicrystalline property which again, just isn't doable, let alone simultaneously.

So in terms of our mindset going into this?

Its... Probably not happening barring a very, VERY extreme change to how we understand physics to function, or some really kick ass (and actually entirely possible) changes in how engineering achieves outcomes (which could happen if the greatest threat to the mecha didn't exist)

Combat is moving towards information dominance. 

That's drone swarms, and role modularized long range travel, and the idea of fighter beyond-visual-range combat extending out to infared search and track systems which are networked to one another, which we're already seeing in singleton weapons and their mounting strategies even on the personal scale, which DARPA is currently investigating which everybody wants to mate with the gravity industries gear for boarding ops so the most likely avenue is to scale up from people, rather than scale down from vehicles as the development pathway -- but there's probably going to be multiple pathways with competing niches once the technology becomes cheap enough.

Costing

Ultimately its down to "how much money do I have to spend to defeat something more expensive than myself?" -- because our current structure of war is defined by cost, and by making the other guys surrender by using economic, and military violence (private, and publicly funded) instead of convincing them that we (NATO members, etc) have good opinions purely because of the natural benefits of "doing as we say" (which we see with basically any conflict in the last 70 years, which are usually feigned as ideological but pretty much always about disrupting market competition, dominating markets, or controlling a pressure position in another country to achieve those two things).

This isn't because they're particularly excellent weapons, but because they're cheap relative to the strength they offer, and how we define cheap is very different to how we defined cheap 100 years ago -- both in good, and terrible ways (such is the way of history).

Mecha are kinda the ultimate boondoggle. They are very very expensive, and just don't make sense.

They're cool as hell, yes.

But they don't make sense.

DISCLAIMER: If you're prone to depression, are dealing with a lot right now, or don't want your day ruining, you should stop reading NOW. What comes next is a psychosocial hazard and could be very bad for your mental health. LAST CHANCE . . .

The "real" reasons

If conflict some how became a meritocracy of leading by excellence rather than intimidation, and about human outcomes instead of cost outcomes, then things could change, but we don't live in that world.

Remember, violence exists to end human conflict (not to be confused with military conflict, which violence is the primary instrument of): Human conflict is when two parties oppose one another and communicate about what their goals and intentions are. Violence happens when communication stops. Communication stops, because parties cannot come to terms, or because nobody wants to be reasonable because the inherent request is unreasonable to the interests of the other party.

I'd love to say physics is the greatest threat, or maybe our concept of conflict but its not: * Its economics.

The concept of private-equity (not to be confused with venture-capital investment) is kiiiind of the dominant economic system on the face of the planet which dictates the interest of every nuclear power's actions against every non-nuclear power) is functionally dissolved, and investment models as we know them magically become better regulated OR a better economic system comes along which totally undermines private equity.

Its an economic finger-trap where most of the money that would be reinvested into people and technologies to push the world forward ends up getting swallowed up.

It also has private armies) and simulates the economy and political events in order to control them for maximum profitability. Yeah.)

We already live in Armored Core, folks.

And that economic system knows that if it gave free agents like ravens any kind of military power, it would functionally undermine itself, which is why it will never happen.

Private equity benefits from not having technology change, because its primary goal is wealth extraction. It leads to the collapse of every business you've ever seen go under, its why products undergo enshittification, which is coming for everything.

Its why the housing crisis happened, why the banking collapse happened, and its why there's an incentive to continue industrializing diseases like insulin instead of curing them.

tl;dr:

The one thing AC gets super wrong is you can either have the depressing relatable low-saturation late-stage hyper-capitalist dystopia where life is cheap on planet earth and everything terrible about South Korea times a thousand covers the whole world, and you need to have your own organs brought from you and leased back to you to lock you in to a lifetime of debt the same way everything else works...

OR

you can have the robot;

You can't have both.

e: I'd pick the robot any day

--

Apologies for any inaccuracies, I haven't edited this and I threw the original together in the space of around 40 minutes. Questions very welcome: I enjoy giving long detailed and substantiated answers.

If you enjoyed this, please consider reading my other work on the theoretical design factors of mecha, their control systems, and my fictional writing in mechposting.

[thedensworld]

Guilty Flower | C.Sc

Pairing: Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, slow burn

Summary: Seungcheol accepted his mother offer to meet you, his potential future wife said his mother, without knowing what kind of person you are.

Seungcheol, a man of countless responsibilities, found himself entangled in a web of anticipation. With a laundry list of 99 tasks to tackle, the last thing he desired was to be kept waiting. Almost half an hour had slipped away, and there was no sign of you. No message from his diligent secretary, Chan, indicating a cancellation. An internal sigh escaped him, a realization dawning that perhaps he was being overly considerate to a stranger.

His mother, insistent as ever, had urged him to meet you—Moon Y/n, a woman she'd encountered in a cooking class unbeknownst to Seungcheol. Information trickled in about your professional life, as a member of the Moon clan overseeing a significant conglomerate, Nova AutoWorks, headed by none other than your brother, Moon Junhui. The context lent some leniency to your tardiness.

With reluctance, Seungcheol reached for his phone, dialing Chan's number. He notified him of his imminent departure, resigning himself to the fact that dinner would remain elusive. Tonight's mood was effectively soured, all thanks to you.

Not one to retreat immediately, he sought refuge in his office, determined to chip away at the looming workload. Chan's competence was evident, yet Seungcheol couldn't resist the urge to scrutinize every detail before the dawn of the next day.

Morning light filtered into his office, accompanied by the fragrance of fresh blooms. Chan entered, bearing a bountiful bucket of flowers. Seungcheol rose from his chair, fingers tracing the sender's name on the accompanying note—Moon Y/n. An apologetic message nestled within, explaining your absence.

Seungcheol's brows knitted in contemplation. Was it common for a man to receive such a gesture? His mother's adoration for you, forged in the fires of their shared culinary pursuits, would surely wilt upon learning of last night's disappointment.

Chan, sensing the internal conflict, began to offer a solution. "If you'd prefer, I can get rid of these," he suggested, but Seungcheol intercepted the offer with a raised hand, his thoughts tangled in uncertainty. It seemed wasteful to discard such a gift, yet he was decidedly unversed in the language of flowers.

With a tentative query, he asked Chan if he possessed any proficiency in tending to such flora. Chan's surprise was palpable. "You'd like me to arrange them in a vase?" he confirmed.

Seungcheol inclined his head, the question resolved. "Is that the protocol for these... specimens?" he inquired, met with an affirming nod from Chan.

"Yes, sir. We'll supply them with water and ensure it's changed regularly. Any withering leaves, we remove; it prolongs their bloom," Chan elucidated, his tone adopting an air of expertise.

Seungcheol absorbed the guidance, a silent signal to his capable secretary to undertake the task. "And," he added before Chan could retreat with the bouquet, "once you've tended to them, kindly place them upon my desk."

Chan nodded crisply. "Of course, sir. It won't take more than five minutes." The words lingered in Seungcheol's mind, leaving him to ponder the unexpected role of a flower in his evening.

*

As you step out of the car, the clatter of your discarded helmet and gloves punctuates your frustration. The manufacturing manager, Kim Mingyu, approaches swiftly, sensing the gravity of the situation. Your face bears the weight of your anger, but you temper it with a cold composure as you lock eyes with him.

"You know exactly what needs to be said," you remark, your voice steady, arms crossed in stern resolve. The anniversary event looms, a mere two months away, yet the persistent recurrence of errors threatens to jeopardize its success.

Mingyu's gaze remains lowered, an acknowledgment of his accountability. He mumbles a conciliatory admission, his eyes shifting to the car that, in your estimation, still falls short of the masterpiece it should be.

Another sigh escapes your lips, laden with the weight of responsibility. "And what of our previous manufacturing vendor?" you press, seeking alternatives. Mingyu shakes his head, delivering the sobering news that even the best option has been snatched up by Hyundai, leaving PrecisionTech struggling to accommodate your intricate design.

Silent curses swirl in your mind for your brother's penchant for complexity and your ensuing burden. Not only must you ensure the flawless completion of this project, but you're also tasked with surpassing last year's anniversary event.

Your thoughts shift to the impending meeting with the vendor handling the anniversary launch, a critical milestone for both the car and your family's legacy.

"Innomatic, from the Seventeen Series," you suggest, memories of past successes with the company resurfacing. "Can we collaborate with them again?"

Mingyu's response brings a flicker of hope. "I believe so. Although, I'm not sure if Seungcheol is still overseeing it. He's now the COO."

Your brows arch inquisitively. "Choi Seungcheol?"

Mingyu nods, providing the confirmation that Choi Seungcheol holds a pivotal role at InnoCorp. He elaborates on the potential benefits of rekindling the partnership with Innomatic, drawing on their previous triumphs with the Seventeen Series.

Without further ado, you stride away, leaving Mingyu to ponder your sudden departure. Pulling out your phone, you dial your trusted assistant, Seo Myungho, whose loyalty has been unwavering for half a decade.

"I need you to cover for me," you implore, the urgency evident in your tone.

A scoff precedes Myungho's response. "I do it every day."

Your request takes an unexpected turn, one that elicits laughter from Myungho, followed by a barely stifled chuckle. "You claimed zero interest just last night."

A sigh escapes you, your fingers threading through your hair. "I know, and I am. But circumstances have shifted. I'll explain later. Just send him something... an email, an invitation to brunch, a thoughtful souvenir, or perhaps our exclusive repairment voucher. Please, please, please!"

You can almost hear the mischievous grin in Myungho's voice as he agrees, reveling in your unusual request, "it's refreshing to hear you begging like this, Y/n. Alrighty, I'll handle this easy-peasy task."

*

Seungcheol gestured towards the plush couch in his office, inviting you to take a seat. After a week of correspondence through emails, you finally found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol—the man who had been your beacon of hope. He was also the one you had inadvertently stood up on a date.

Politely declining the offer of a drink from his secretary, you turned to face Seungcheol, who occupied a chair arranged for him.

"I've reviewed your proposal to collaborate with Innomatic, but I believe a more in-depth discussion is in order, given our previous decision to decline Hyundai's offer. We need to ensure our alignment in the automotive industry, Ms. Moon," Seungcheol stated, his gaze steady and intent.

You reached for another file you had brought along, presenting the sales report and insights from the previous Nova-Innomatic venture. "Indeed, Mr. Choi. Based on this sales report and our collaboration history, I believe it's advantageous to build upon the strong foundation we've established."

Seungcheol perused the report before placing it on the table, leaning back and fixing his gaze on you. "I wouldn't characterize our relationship as 'good terms,' Ms. Moon."

The mention of the Nova Seventeen Series gave you pause. Suddenly, it dawned on you what he was alluding to. You promptly bowed, apologizing for the date you had flaked on.

"I'm sincerely sorry about that," you admitted, acknowledging your lapse in etiquette.

Seungcheol's response was a measured nod. "I waited for... nearly an hour. A significant stretch of time, particularly for individuals with demanding schedules, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Moon? Nonetheless, I appreciated the gesture the following morning."

You nodded, inwardly grateful that you had delegated the situation to Myungho. "Thank you. It was a memento from our previous collaboration—"

"I've taken to adorning my office with flowers. They're both aesthetically pleasing and calming," he interjected, motioning to a vase of blooms on the nearby table. Your curiosity piqued. What variety of flowers were they?

"I'm sorry?" you mumbled, slightly taken aback.

Seungcheol acknowledged your confusion with a nod. "You sent me flowers the next day. It was... the first time I'd received such a gift," he admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of reticence.

Your own words tumbled out in response, "I sent you flowers? Yes, I did. I'm glad they found favor with you," you replied, offering a sincere smile.

A smile you replicated every time you contemplated seeking retribution against Seo Myungho.

*

Seungcheol sat in an odd calmness amidst the lively banter of his friends. His fingers absently twirled the whiskey in his glass, his thoughts far from the story Jeonghan was sharing. It was Jisoo's sharp slap on his arm and ensuing laughter that snapped him back to reality, a stark contrast to Seungcheol's own demeanor.

Jeonghan's playful annoyance flared up. "I just told a hilarious tale about Soonyoung. How did you not crack a smile, Seungcheol?"

Seungcheol blinked, downing the contents of his glass in one swift motion. "I'm sorry, my mind's preoccupied at the moment," he admitted, setting the glass down.

Jisoo's smirk danced across his face. "I'd wager it's not work-related," he quipped, piquing Jeonghan's curiosity. "Work never troubles Choi Seungcheol. My dad even calls him the 'Jesus of InnoCorp.'"

The comparison made Seungcheol cringe. "What on earth does that mean?"

Jeonghan scoffed. "It means you're the savior of InnoCorp. You could be my Jesus too, Seungcheol."

"Does that imply Seungcheol has to make a sacrificial offering for you?" Jisoo chimed in, earning a casual shrug from Jeonghan.

"He saved me from a call to my dad's worker, if you must know," Jeonghan clarified, alluding to Seungcheol's initial role in the family business before his venture into the entertainment industry.

"So," Jeonghan clapped his hands to recapture their focus, "is this about the woman your mom set you up with?"

"She stood you up, didn't she?" Jisoo interjected. Seungcheol's brows furrowed, while Jeonghan gasped in astonishment.

"How did you know?" Seungcheol inquired, surprised at how swiftly the news had circulated within their circle.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan's irritation flared. He was entirely in the dark about the specifics of this supposed meeting. "Hold on a minute!"

"I heard it from Chan when I called him a few days back," Jisoo clarified, recounting the tale of Seungcheol's foiled date from a week prior, as if Seungcheol were a spectator to his own story.

"Moon Y/n, President Moon's daughter? The businesswoman? I can't fathom how President Moon managed to pass on his business acumen to all his children, while my father bequeathed me nothing but a stubborn streak," Jeonghan remarked, shaking his head in mild exasperation.

Jisoo chuckled. "Dokyeom is her friend, and he's spoken highly of her since their college days. She's our junior, Seungcheol," he revealed, prompting a raised brow from Seungcheol.

"She is?" Seungcheol queried, the revelation sinking in.

His lips pressed into a thin line as a flurry of questions about you crowded his mind:

1. What compelled his mother to be so insistent on introducing you?

2. Why did you stand him up on their date, only to send flowers the next day?

3. Why did the mere thought of you leave him feeling oddly fluttery?

4. Could this all be part of a strategic move, considering your interest in Innomatic?

"Out with it, Choi Seungcheol! Not everyone's a mind-reader," Jisoo chided, delivering a playful slap on his arm, a gesture he'd made more than once that evening—surely a sign of his inebriation.

Jeonghan, ever the perceptive one, added, "I can read about 50% of it, though. And right now, it's likely about Y/n."

Seungcheol chuckled, waving off Jeonghan's words. "Quiet, you two. I was merely contemplating something..."

"What if..." he began hesitantly, "someone were to send you flowers?" Seungcheol asked, addressing his two friends with a touch of uncertainty.

"Condolence flowers?" Jisoo's response made it clear he was thoroughly inebriated. Meanwhile, Jeonghan gasped dramatically, chanting, "She sent you flowers?!"

"Dude, she's a keeper. She's got you... She's definitely got you!" Jeonghan laughed, clearly unable to believe the turn of events.

Seungcheol regarded him with a bemused expression. "I'm not that easily swayed. I was just curious, is it commonplace for a woman to send flowers to a man? If so, then it was likely just her way of apologizing." Seungcheol explained slowly, but Jeonghan dismissed his words.

"But she's already won you over. I can tell, 100%. The moment you see her again, you'll be smitten. Trust me!"

*

Jeonghan's prediction had turned into an undeniable truth. Seungcheol's mother called him suddenly, requesting his presence to pick her up from her cooking class. Her request, however, entailed much more than a simple ride home; it involved a tasting session of the dishes she'd prepared, introductions to fellow classmates, and then their departure together. So, Seungcheol arrived promptly at the designated course building.

Upon his arrival, he discovered a scene of communal celebration, each student proudly presenting their meticulously prepared traditional Korean meals to their special guests. Standing by his mother's side, Seungcheol couldn't help but wonder if being here was indeed a wise decision.

Before the instructor could commence the class, a familiar figure entered the room. It was you, donning a striking white Etsy dress that complemented your complexion, exuding a unique blend of elegance and the commanding aura of a career-driven woman.

Did he just find you beautiful? No, it was more accurate to say he appreciated the beauty of your dress. Yes, that was it.

"Did you meet her on the date I arranged?" his mother discreetly inquired, to which Seungcheol simply nodded, now understanding her motive for summoning him here.

You swiftly made your way to the counter, offering an apology for your tardiness. As the class began, Seungcheol found himself stealing glances in your direction every few minutes, silently pondering why you had come alone.

"Will someone be picking you up later, Ms. Moon?" the instructor's voice carried clearly to Seungcheol's ears.

"I doubt it. My family members are quite busy," you replied with a light chuckle.

As his mother was called to present her creation, Seungcheol stood alone behind the counter, your eyes never once meeting his. It was as though you two had never crossed paths before, never shaken hands in agreement for the collaboration between your respective companies.

The instructor turned their attention to you. "Who have you brought with you today, Ms. Moon?"

You heard your answer, your gaze fixed on your dish, the instructor, anywhere but Seungcheol. Like the meeting and collaboration between the two of you had never happened.

Seungcheol's mother began to speak, "I brought my one and only son today. He used to complain that I never cooked for him when he was a child. That's why I worked hard to learn cooking, so I can prepare everything he wants now that I'm older."

Seungcheol couldn't help but steal another glance at you. He saw the gentle smile you directed at his mother. Unconsciously, he found himself mirroring your expression, a smile etched across his face until it was your turn to present your creation.

"You didn't bring anyone today, Ms. Moon. But could you share with us what inspired you to join our class? It's not often we have a young lady like yourself join us."

explained.

Seungcheol's gaze remained fixed on you, his ears attuned to every word that left your lips, your voice soft-spoken and gentle, a facet of your personality he'd noticed from the very first encounter.

"I've always loved home-cooked meals since I was a child. They remind me of the memories I shared with my grandmother. Sadly, no one in my family knows how to cook now. So, I thought it would be a good idea to learn to cook for myself," you explained.

Perhaps Seungcheol didn't understand how it all began. He might not have realized that his feelings for you had taken root from a simple flower you had sent him out of guilt. However, in that moment, he knew that his feelings for you had no intentions of finding an end.

*

Wednesday, July 26th

Seo Myungho: Chan, I don't think my boss will ever budge from her desk. She's knee-deep in wrapping up the end-of-month report!

Lee Chan: No way! My boss is already on his way :(

Seo Myungho: I just don't get why she agreed to the date in the first place if she wasn't interested! She clearly has a soft spot for your boss's mom, but not for your boss.

Lee Chan: But I swear, my boss is genuinely kind. He even told me to go home instead of waiting for him:(

Seo Myungho: Chan, that's just basic courtesy. Making sure you get home on time is what he should do.

Lee Chan: But he also surprised me with my favorite coffee and cookies this morning. He's seriously the sweetest boss ever.

Seo Myungho: Well, good for you. I can't relate at all -_-

Lee Chan: Anyway, my boss just arrived.

Lee Chan: Yo!

Lee Chan: Hyung, really :(

Thursday, July 27th

Seo Myungho: Chan! My phone died yesterday and I forgot to let you know. Turns out, my boss couldn't make it because she had a sudden bout of constipation!

Lee Chan: You're such a pain, hyung. It's all good though, I handled everything.

Seo Myungho: What do you mean?

Lee Chan: I'll fill you in later... Lunch at Kimbab Heaven?

Seo Myungho: Deal!

[escaping-samsara]

No-Nylon Sock Yarn

This might be the hardest task for knitting without plastic. I’ve gone to some local stores and snooped around online looking for sock yarn and every time I do I get the same canned response.

“You know those will wear out, right?”

It’s easy to find 100% wool yarn, even non-superwash (yes superwash yarn contains plastic), but you’ll be darning them often if you wear them very much.

So is it fruitless? Well no, there are non-plastic alternatives to nylon that can give a yarn strength, such as mohair and silk. There are construction techniques too that a good sock yarn should have regardless. High ply-count and longer fiber strands, for example. BFL wool is notorious for its longer staple length, so does corriedale and targhee. And if the ply is 4 or more it will make for a better sock yarn foundation.

The most trouble I’ve run into now has been finding yarns that can fit this bill.

I’ve spent the past week trawling through Ravelry’s advance search for yarn, and the process has been slow and insightful. The more particular I search, “silk OR mohair, AND wool, AND NO manufactured fibers, 4-ply OR 5-ply+, AND NO superwash, AND not discontinued”, the less results I get. But still, there are results.

One would expect, with a search this tailored, you’d have at least a list of options, but I’ve still hit roadblocks. These come in two main forms: insufficient tagging or unavailable for purchase.

I cannot count how many times I’ve found a yarn that got me excited, only to click on the about page and read “80% SW Wool”. ‘SW’ meaning superwash. Or even worse, no mention of superwash on the about page, and then finding out the yarn is in fact superwash when I went to a retail listing. It makes me ask, if you’re using superwash wool, why not tag that as part of the care instructions so it can be searched through Ravelry? Why use superwash wool at all if you’re just going to recommend people handwash only?

The other pitfall is that these small dyers (as the majority of them are) don’t have the stock or have all together discontinued dying, yet haven’t updated their yarn’s about page to show it’s no longer available. Or, equally sad, when there’s simply no buying option available at all. Ravelry doesn’t always find every online store, so I try to look up the producer by name, and this sometimes gets me to an Etsy shop--But still, some yarns just seem to exist on their about page but nowhere else.

Still, I’ve managed to make a short list of yarns that pass the inspection and have some method for purchase. And honestly, all you need is one good product line for a lifetime of knitting if it fits all the bills. But I look at the number of yarns I could otherwise choose but are now discontinued (1/4th of them!) and wonder how long my current list will last.

So remember to support small dyers and yarn makers, and do your due diligence to make sure you’re getting the right product.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 13 Chapter 13 | quiet rush⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Bambi-sensei, a round, cheerful woman with the unmistakably floppy ears of a deer mutant, beamed at you. "Y/N, darling! You're a lifesaver! This presentation file... well, let's just say it wouldn't have made it through the next period without you." Her voice, a gentle coo, was the exact opposite of the cold, calculating thoughts swirling in your head.

You offered a polite bow, a practiced smile still plastered on your face. "It was no issue at all, Bambi-sensei. Happy to help." The words tasted like ash in your mouth.

With a final chipper, "Doe-lightful! Thank you so much, dear! Now, run along to lunch. You must be famished!" Bambi-sensei bustled back into the staff room, the door swinging shut with a soft thud.

You stood there for a beat, the mask you wore for the world finally slipping.

The smile vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. Your eyes, usually sparkling with manufactured cheer, morphed into black voids, an endless spiral of darkness reflecting your true nature.

The solitude of the empty hallway was your sanctuary. No need for the relentless act, no need to charm, manipulate, or pretend to be something you weren't.

In the quiet emptiness, you could simply be yourself—a powerful entity with plans far grander than fitting in with a bunch of hero wannabes.

Glancing at a nearby clock on the wall, you noted the lunch break was quickly dwindling. Lunch. Usually, you'd already be eating in the cafeteria by now, but Kan-sensei had snagged you before homeroom ended, delegating a few last-minute representative tasks. A small price to pay, you suppose, for the fleeting moment of solitude.

This stolen time was precious—a chance to strategize your next move, to unravel the mysteries of this world and see how it could serve your ultimate purpose.

But for now, you allowed yourself a fleeting moment of indulgence, letting your mind drift back to the indigo-haired boy you'd met not long ago.

Since your encounter, you'd caught fleeting glimpses of him around the school, his disheveled, purple hair and matching eyes like a beacon in the sea of U.A. uniforms. You even managed to formally introduce yourself—a calculated move, of course, fueled by a growing curiosity about his Quirk.

His name was Shinso Hitoshi, a student in General Studies Class C.

When you'd first learned this, a question had snagged in your mind. His Quirk, mind control through spoken words, seemed powerful—not entirely dissimilar to your own abilities, yet here he was, relegated to a class considered less prestigious.

The answer came swiftly, however, when a few students had sauntered by as you and Shinso spoke, their faces contorted in disgust. A harsh hiss of "villain" scraping past your ears as they hurried away.

This, pissed you off.

The blatant prejudice against "villainous" Quirks, regardless of their potential for good, were seemingly pre-labeled.

You scoffed—the hero system here seemed as flawed as the one you left behind. Here, power was categorized into neat little boxes of "good" and "evil," ignoring the complexities that lay within.

Villains were villains simply because their Quirks were deemed unsuitable for heroism, even if those Quirks could be incredibly useful. It was a nonsensical system, one you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

After all, no one chose the Quirk they were born with.

But the real sting came from the similarity between your power and Shinso's Quirk. The whispered insults directed at him felt like a personal attack. Shinso, someone with such a powerful and versatile ability, would let himself be ostracized and relegated to a "lesser" class because of societal prejudice filled you with disgust.

The very idea of him limiting himself because of the opinions of individuals you regarded as even lower than bugs was infuriating.

A sudden, piercing blare ripped you from your thoughts.

The school security alarm shrieked to life, its automated voice declaring, "There has been a Level 3 security breach. All students and faculty are to evacuate to designated safe zones immediately!"

You don't react; you simply continue your pace. As you rounded the corner, a figure barreled into you, the force sending you both spiraling to the ground. A startled gasp escaped your lips, and for a split second, your eyes widened in a flash of a primal, terrifyingly cold fury.

You almost forgot yourself—power practically bubbling beneath your skin, screaming to tear apart the bug that dared touch you.

In a second, your practiced smile slips back on your face, your eyes sparkling with manufactured concern. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?" But as you took in the figure you collided with, the practiced smile began to crack.

This wasn't a UA student; no uniform adorned their form.

This intruder, the cause of the apparent security breach, was unlike anything you'd ever seen before. The figure was shrouded in a dark hoodie, pulled low over their head, obscuring their face completely.

You barely had a chance to take in their shadowy form before they let out a gruff sound, a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. They scrambled to their feet and brushed past you, their movements purposeful and urgent.

Everything about them screamed "up to no good," and despite the blaring alarm and the undeniable threat this intruder posed, you made no move to stop them, nor did you question their motives. You weren't here to play hero, not today at least.

A sardonic smile played on your lips for a fleeting moment.

This unexpected turn of events—a security breach at UA? Now this was entertainment!

Before you could even blink, the halls were flooded with students. Panic surged through the crowd as everyone scrambled for the nearest exit, pushing past one another in a desperate bid to escape.

The once-orderly hallway dissolved into a cacophony of shouts, shoving, and the ever-present wail of the alarm. It grated on your nerves.

Here you were, in a supposed hero school, surrounded by students who were literally training to be heroes, and yet, the first sign of trouble sent them into a mindless panic.

Idiots.

Their fear was a tangible thing—a thick fog of chaos that clogged the narrow corridor. It did nothing but cause problems, especially for you.

Caught in the surging tide of bodies, you were squished against a nearby wall, your front was pressed tightly against the cold plaster. The press of humanity was suffocating, stealing the air from your lungs. Your arms were pinned at your sides, useless.

You tried to yell, to scream at them to calm down, but your voice was a mere squeak lost in the deafening roar. Frustration bubbled within you, a bitter counterpoint to the rising panic.

This blind terror was exactly why you weren't here to play hero.

These students, so eager to wear the hero's mantle, couldn't even control their basic instincts in the face of a threat.

Pathetic.

Just as you felt yourself reaching your limit, on the verge of exposing everything by using your power to control the crowd and restore order, a shadow fell over you. The relentless shoves and pushes ceased abruptly, replaced by a comforting sense of solidity. Relief washed over you as you looked up to see a figure towering above you.

A pair of mismatched eyes, one icy blue and the other a smoky grey, stared down at you with a bored expression. The figure was a moderately tall and well-built boy, his age evident in the slight leanness to his muscles. His short hair brushed his neck in an perfect, ordly fashion, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos unfolding around you.

It was strangely split down the middle, one side a snowy white and the other a fiery crimson—an unusual color combination that probably hinted at something extraordinary. A stark burn scar ran down the left side of his face, reaching from his hairline to halfway down his cheek.

Recognition clawed at the back of your mind.

You cast your memory back, searching for the name that constantly popped up in Bakugo's tirades as you walked home together (a self-imposed duty you'd undertaken). The explosive blond had spat out the name "Icy Hot" with a sneer. You vaguely recalled him mentioning it was the nickname he gave to some rival student named Todoroki in his class.

This wasn't just any student; he's apparently one of the top students in Class 1-A—even got in through recommendations.

You were jolted out of your thoughts as another harsh shove from the panicked crowd sent you crashing back against the wall, this time with your face pressed into the cold plaster. A muffled grunt escaped your lips, momentarily forgotten behind the growing surge of piercing anger.

However, the pressure immediately eased. You felt the firm press of muscle against your back as your 'pseudo shield' held himself a few inches away, creating a slight pocket of space for you to breathe.

He continued to shield you from the worst of the pushing throng, his bored expression unchanging.

The cacophony around you slowly began to dwindle as the crowd shuffled towards the designated exits. The blaring alarm still cut through the air, but with less urgency. Taking a deep breath, you straightened your clothes, the awkward situation momentarily forgotten.

"Thank you," you offered, turning towards your unlikely savior with a polite bow. Your practiced smile returned, albeit a little strained from the ordeal. "I appreciate you for... intervening."

Now that the immediate crisis had passed, it was time to establish some semblance of normalcy.

With your usual gentle smile in place, you extended your hand towards Todoroki. "Before we depart, I should introduce myself. I'm Akuma Y/N."

He gave a curt nod, his mismatched eyes lingering on you for a fleeting moment before flicking back to the dispersing crowd. "Todoroki Shoto," he confirmed in a monotone voice, devoid of any warmth.

You hummed in acknowledgement, a spark of interest igniting within you. You knew of the top pro-hero, Endeavor, mostly due to his hulking frame and blazing flames that reminded you so much of the pet hellhound, Cerberus, you had back in Hell.

Could this Todoroki be related to him?

This Todoroki, with his unusual hair and powerful Quirk, was definitely someone to keep an eye on. Mentally making a note to file him away for further investigation, you offered another grateful nod.

Just as you turned to leave, his voice stopped you. "Wait," Todoroki's voice was barely a murmur, almost lost in the fading clamor of the hallway.

You turned back, raising an eyebrow in question. "Yes, Todoroki-kun?"

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed in an uncharacteristic display of confusion. "Izuku... and even Bakugo," he began, his voice low and hesitant, "they talk about you a lot."

"Oh?" you replied, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes.

Midoriya's talking about you? Now that was a surprise. You'd expected much from your pet—in passing, of course—so you couldn't help but imagine what the hero-obsessed boy had to say.

"Being mentioned so often by strong students, can only mean one thing..." Todoroki continued, his voice gaining a hint of conviction, "...You're stronger than them both."

You stifled a laugh at his declaration. The idea of Bakugo and Midoriya being the benchmarks for strength seemed almost comical.

Here you were, someone who could manipulate entire crowds with a thought, and yet they were the ones considered strong? Hilarious.

But you kept your amusement hidden, tilting your head in mock contemplation and tapping a finger against your lips.

"Stronger, huh?" you finally hummed, your voice laced with a playful ambiguity. "I suppose you'll just have to wait and see, Todoroki-kun."

With that, you offered a final, smile before turning and disappearing into the throng of students, leaving Todoroki with more questions than answers.

A/N: the way i just wrote several chapters out of order is insane. guess i couldnt wait for the exciting parts 😂😂 so yeah, ignore if a lil detail don't add up in any future chapters🥴 anywho, short chapter today, but tomorrow will malke up for it, it'll be a little longer ❤️

[inaflashimagine]

Did someone say a Nagumo fic? I would like to see it 🤲🏽

ask and you shall receive (pasting 2k below bc i'm unhinged)

–

You’re considering poisoning the vice principal of JCC.

It’s still in the planning phase, of course. But the true challenge, if this impossible task were to ever be achieved, would lie in the execution portion. Before leaving the airtight rooms of the laboratories, all students in the poisons department must properly discard any concoctions they’ve made in the fume hood (and any other chemicals that require extra care in their disposal are handled by the 24/7 toxic waste team). As many faculty in the department often repeat during their classes, the greatest poisons a student could ever make are arrogance and ignorance. For that reason alone, anything made for off-campus assignments is safely stored by lab managers in the school’s securely locked freezer until they must be given out.

Not to mention that every poisons professor also practices their due diligence by constantly updating the school chemicals inventory, which includes keeping track of the approved materials and poison recipes that students can take out of an extensive library of hazardous reagents, toxic substances, and highly coveted venoms.

That doesn’t mean that students haven’t tried to outsmart faculty or find a loophole in the system. Third-year Tanaka Kaito thought sneaking out with the tiny glass bottle containing his newest poison inside his mouth was a smart choice; and it might’ve been, if he hadn’t tripped over the lab assistant’s foot, which, coincidentally, happened to be in his way. Peers smarter than him have managed to avoid ruptured intestines or chemically burnt mouths, but considering these individuals–of which there are many–still fail and end up being expelled, stealing such precious items is not a risk many in your department are willing to take.

You understand the delicate position JCC is placed in when students break the institutional rules; since the JAA requires any poisons that are used by assassins or during non-educative assignments to be manufactured by those with a toxicology license, it makes sense that the JCC would adopt the most stringent guidelines to avoid a bad reputation.

Still. It doesn’t hurt to dream–or at least, you can’t get expelled for wishful thinking.

Besides, you have to find some way to pass the time in this dreadful class.

“Who are you thinking about killing this time?”

You blink, your eyes falling on the person who interrupted your delusions. The one who makes this class even more agonizing than should be tolerable.

“What makes you think I want to kill someone?” Flipping over the pages of your notebook to a blank one, you begin to scribble today’s course topic and can’t help but note the irony of you desperately wanting Ito-sensei to enter the room so he can start your least favorite class.

The Art of Espionage: For Intermediate Learners

From your periphery, you can see your dark-haired classmate leaning back into his desk chair as he deftly twirls a pocket knife in his hand, unfazed that all of his weight is balanced by one precious metal leg. He laughs lightly at your question, but it’s difficult to catch any mirth that follows it. “I always assumed only assassins carry bloodlust, but you proved me wrong. Though I guess I should’ve seen it coming.” His smile widens, a hint of smugness tugging the corner of his lips as he points the blade toward you like he’s just pointing a finger in your direction and not a potentially lethal weapon. “The ones in the poisons department do love holding grudges.”

You don’t know what others see in Nagumo. Sure, he’s objectively attractive–it would be stupid to argue that fact, and you’re not blind. And yeah, he’s one of the top second-year candidates in the intelligence-gathering department (though there are rumors of him wanting to transfer to the assassin program)–that’s not a surprise for someone who comes from a prominent family of spies, even if it is quite funny that the tidbit is well-known despite everything else about him being shrouded in the largest cloud of mystery…

…but any of those appealing characteristics seem to be thrown out the window the moment he begins to talk. And boy, does he talk.

“See, if I didn’t know any better,” he speaks up, yet again, eyes closed into half crescents as he cheerily jokes, “that annoyed look on your face says you wanna kill me!”

“Well, if you must know, you’re the third on the list. The first person is the vice principal for not switching me into another class.”

Each semester all JCC students must enroll in one class that falls outside the curriculum for their major. This is to ensure that their graduates are competent in all skills that they may need to succeed on the field or in the lab, even if it is unlikely they’d employ every skill on a daily basis. Since the best assassins, spies, weapons makers, and poison experts in the world are adept at rapidly adapting to different situations, it makes sense that the JCC would implement such a rule for their students. But that doesn’t mean you have to enjoy following said rules.

Your first semester at JCC wasn’t too bad. Technically, only third years can matriculate in poisoning classes–though there are a few introductory courses and practicums you can take starting your second year–so you’ve grown well accustomed to enrolling in classes that are beyond the usual chemistry and physics gambit. And since all students are allowed to rank their top choice electives, you were fortunate enough to get the History of Weapon Craft and Creation (considered one of the easier electives for those outside the weapons fabrication department). 

The semester after, you barely passed Firearm Handling & Defensive Training, but at least that class improved your aim with the laser guns in the cafeteria, meaning getting less of those horrid JCC bowls. Yet your luck quickly ran out at the start of the second year, as this semester you now find yourself to be the only poisons department student in a room filled with good-looking, downright intimidating, and incredibly sharp intelligence-gathering students.

You have no idea how you were even allowed to take a class with prerequisites that are nested in the intelligence-gathering department, but your grievances fell on the deaf ears of administrative staff who didn’t even apologize for the scheduling mishap. (Then again, these are the same people who don’t bat an eye when students in the assassin department are gravely injured and even die during an assignment or in the middle of class. It’s no shocker that the second-year class size has considerably dwindled from last year.)

With all other courses being full, your choice was to stick to this option or switch to Martial Arts & Tactical Hand-to-Hand Combat for Advanced Learners. Even if you can’t avoid your fear of looking like an idiot in front of Japan’s future spies, you can at least evade the terror of literally dying by the hands of the country’s strongest assassins-in-training (you heard Sakamoto Taro was a killing machine, a fact you would be happy to simply believe rather than test out for yourself).

However, your earlier fears have now evolved into a living nightmare after Ito-sensei announced that everyone would be assigned a partner to work on assignments together throughout the semester. You didn’t know who Nagumo was until your roommate Asami gasped at the mere mention of him (which isn't even his full legal name! What is he, Prince?). Banging your head against the wall might be a more pleasant experience than having to hear her complain–for the umpteenth time–that you get to learn from such a ‘genius’.

Admittedly, it's only been a few weeks into the semester, but you're still having trouble identifying the genius part.

“Wow, how scary! I’m terrified!” Nagumo sounds anything but after hearing your empty death threat. “Who’s the second?”

“None of your business.”

“Aw, don’t be like that! Do I know them?”

You think about it for a second, drawing the potential lines forming the network before shaking your head. “Well, actually, yes. Because congrats, you’ve just been bumped up to #2.”

He grins at that, big eyes crinkling. “See, now that’s a better response! But wait, am I third–”

“Second, now…”

“–right, second on the list because I forgot to do my part of the presentation? I swear I meant to get to it, but I got carried away with an outside mission.”

Genius? More like a lazy piece of shit, you think bitterly, eyes squinting at him to scrutinize what he’s hiding under those large dark eyes and that apparently innocuous grin. Of course, because you suck at intelligence-gathering, you come up with nothing other than a pathetic, “Stop lying, you sucky liar.”

The corners of his lips droop a bit further down than usual, but he still manages to adopt that customary smile of his and waits for another beat. Fully aware that the silence and staring make you uncomfortable.

“About the mission or getting the work done?”

“Both.”

“You’re funny!”

“See what I mean about the lying?”

The chair he’s sitting on instantly lands on all four, the harsh sound of pegs scratching the linoleum floors making you startle against your better judgment. One hand rests on his chin as he raises a brow at you, clearly amused. “But really, why would I lie about either part? If it makes you feel any better, I’ll make sure we get top marks on today’s presentation.”

You only have enough time to offer your exasperated sigh as an answer, since Ito-sensei finally walks in and announces the start of today’s presentations.

“Good afternoon everyone, apologies for my tardiness as a meeting went over. In preparation for your first exam next week, each group will be reviewing a different fundamental skill for carrying out espionage. First tactic: seduction.”

When you hear your name and Nagumo’s being called out, your suddenly heavy legs slowly drag their way to the front of the room, already anticipating to make a fool of yourself with your half-assed presentation on how to seduce a target, a skill all these students staring at you in boredom more than likely have performed a thousand times before.

Straightening your posture, you’re ready to begin your long unnecessary speech on the purpose of seduction until Nagumo yawns. Loudly.

The action has you momentarily pause, soft tittering spreading throughout the classroom until you narrow your eyes at your beaming partner, clear your throat, and continue.

“Seduction can be used as a weapon when the person employs the technique to obtain an objective, as seen in–"

“This demo we’re about to show!” Nagumo cuts in, waving his hands animatedly as if about to introduce a mesmerizing performing act. Your confusion only continues to grow as he sharply turns on his heel to face you, bewildered to see that his usual bright smile has been replaced with a more coquettish expression on his face.

“What are you–”

“The word seduction means to ‘lead astray’ in Latin. Doing such a thing means you have to observe your target’s every move. How they move. How they look at you. At others. At their surroundings.” Every step he takes forward means you take one step back. Until you find yourself hitting the wall, your eyes widening with how cold it feels against the back of your neck. “How they react. How they respond to you.”

He doesn’t even have you pinned, his arms laying idly by his sides while you dumbly acknowledge you can easily escape right now. But for some reason, you feel trapped under that curious gaze, the upward quirk of his lips sending a weird shiver up your spine.

“Catch the changes in their body language.” He tilts his head, and when strands of his shaggy black hair tickle your cheek you fully realize the distance–or lack thereof–between you two. “Are they fearful? Or are they open to receiving your advances? Do they approach you just as eagerly?”

Since when did he get so close?

You gulp when his hand dances over your hip while the other outstretched one reaches your face, and you hate how your head instinctively leans toward the motion. It becomes harder to stand your ground while your gaze flits back and forth between the inked numbers on his fingers and those half-lidded eyes, a darkness so rare with how inviting it seems.

As he delicately brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear you wonder if he can hear the frantic hammering of your heart against your chest. Even if he can’t catch it, you can tell by the slight way his eyes glisten that he certainly knows, and maybe even relishes, the effect he has on you–the way you’re futilely trying to snap out of the reverie you’re currently in, drunk in the smell of whatever woodsy fragrance he decided to wear today mixed with the sickly sweet scent of that caramel candy he was chewing on earlier.

Well, fuck.

“And it’s in that moment, when their mind is distracted and more focused on you than their own thoughts”–his nose brushes yours, and your breath hitches as all you can do is close your eyes–“is when you make your move.”

You feel your lungs deprived of air the second he presses you deeper into the wall, one hand still on your hip as he uses the other to swiftly grab a piece of paper tucked in the back pocket of your pants.

A sharp inhale is what returns you to reality, your jaw slackening upon seeing him retreat and wiggle the neatly folded piece of paper he stole from you.

“Nagumo,” you nearly growl as you feebly attempt to get it back from him, which only seems to get him more excited as his face breaks out into a full-blown grin and he waves the item higher with that freakishly long arm.

“Should I unfold it? Reveal to all the secret recipes?”

“Do it and you die!”

“Is that a joke or a threat?” As if he’s some film actor breaking the fourth wall, he turns his head toward your classmates and winks at them. “You can never tell with poisons students.”

The room erupts into laughter.

If only you did lace that paper with poison! You’re mentally preparing to fight (and definitely lose) to him when Ito-sensei’s booming voice keeps you two in check.

“That’s enough, I believe we extracted the main point of your presentation. Either return to your desks or report to the staff room after class for wasting more of our time.”

Both of you don’t need to be told twice–you practically sprint to your desk while an elated Nagumo hums a merry tune from behind, your mind still reeling from what just happened while the chaos in the room dies down and the next group begins their presentation on deception.

How the hell was Nagumo able to do all of that? A presentation you conducted research and rehearsed for around two hours was something he easily accomplished in less than five minutes. And with you as the guinea pig! The thought makes your cheeks burst into flames, but you refuse to hide your face for fear of appearing weaker.

“What did I tell you?” He tosses the paper into your lap–still folded into its original position–as he sends you one of those big smiles that used to give you the creeps but now seems to evoke some other inexplicable feeling. “Top marks!”

The urge to spit out “No thanks to you” is so strong that you have to bite your itching tongue, because that would be a fat lie. So you let out a spiteful ‘hmm’, twitching fingers creasing the folded paper even further.

“Wasn’t it fun teaming up?”

He’s still a bit too close for comfort when he whispers the question, so you lean forward into your desk, trying your best to ignore the buzzing coming from the pest.

“You and I have different definitions of fun.”

“And how would you define it?”

“Not being near you.”

“Guess I’m not the only sucky liar on this team!”

That earns him a glare as you plot several ways to wipe that pleased look off his face. You cross off a few bad ideas that you’re embarrassed your mind even conjured.

“The silent treatment, huh…Didn’t peg you to be the type who does that.”

The eye roll you offer him appears to be a sufficient answer as he lets out a small huff and pretends to listen to his classmates’ project, his bored yawn louder than whatever is being presented. You naively think you’ll be able to endure the remainder of the class without his yapping.

And then he turns to you once again, an impish spark in those large, curious eyes.

“But I just need to ask–what’s written on that piece of paper anyway?”

You press your lips firmly into a straight line and stare at him, bemused that he hasn’t figured it out. He matches your stare, looking at you expectantly. Maybe he’s pretending that he hasn’t read it–with how fast he is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he only needed one or two seconds to skim over the writing.

Then again, you’re the idiot for having a physical copy of your plan to cheat and steal from the school chemicals and rare toxins inventory.

“It’s my formula for a poison that I’ll use to kill you.” Like a psycho, you grin triumphantly upon seeing the way his mouth turns into a tiny shocked ‘O’.

And like the maniac he is, he’s quick to return your smile, though it doesn’t quite reach those indecipherable eyes. “Looking forward to it!”

You’re too proud to admit that you feel the same.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

ihhhhh qbad is so so hungry for praise. he just got a task from cucurucho to build a capybara statue for a stack of gilded blackstone, and he managed to haggle them up to 3 stacks. he then REFUSED the 3 stacks and settled on 2- on the condition that he gets that 3rd stack if he does a good job. he just manufactured a way to undeniably be told "you did good" by the feds.

[commodorez]

What kind of work can be done on a commodore 64 or those other old computers? The tech back then was extremely limited but I keep seeing portable IBMs and such for office guys.

I asked a handful of friends for good examples, and while this isn't an exhaustive list, it should give you a taste.

I'll lean into the Commodore 64 as a baseline for what era to hone in one, let's take a look at 1982 +/-5 years.

A C64 can do home finances, spreadsheets, word processing, some math programming, and all sorts of other other basic productivity work. Games were the big thing you bought a C64 for, but we're not talking about games here -- we're talking about work. I bought one that someone used to write and maintain a local user group newsletter on both a C64C and C128D for years, printing labels and letters with their own home equipment, mailing floppies full of software around, that sorta thing.

IBM PCs eventually became capable of handling computer aided design (CAD) work, along with a bunch of other standard productivity software. The famous AutoCAD was mostly used on this platform, but it began life on S-100 based systems from the 1970s.

Spreadsheets were a really big deal for some platforms. Visicalc was the killer app that the Apple II can credit its initial success with. Many other platforms had clones of Visicalc (and eventually ports) because it was groundbreaking to do that sort of list-based mathematical work so quickly, and so error-free. I can't forget to mention Lotus 1-2-3 on the IBM PC compatibles, a staple of offices for a long time before Microsoft Office dominance.

CP/M machines like Kaypro luggables were an inexpensive way of making a "portable" productivity box, handling some of the lighter tasks mentioned above (as they had no graphics functionality).

The TRS-80 Model 100 was able to do alot of computing (mostly word processing) on nothing but a few AA batteries. They were a staple of field correspondence for newspaper journalists because they had an integrated modem. They're little slabs of computer, but they're awesomely portable, and great for writing on the go. Everyone you hear going nuts over cyberdecks gets that because of the Model 100.

Centurion minicomputers were mostly doing finances and general ledger work for oil companies out of Texas, but were used for all sorts of other comparable work. They were multi-user systems, running several terminals and atleast one printer on one central database. These were not high-performance machines, but entire offices were built around them.

Tandy, Panasonic, Sharp, and other brands of pocket computers were used for things like portable math, credit, loan, etc. calculation for car dealerships. Aircraft calculations, replacing slide rules were one other application available on cassette. These went beyond what a standard pocket calculator could do without a whole lot of extra work.

Even something like the IBM 5340 with an incredibly limited amount of RAM but it could handle tracking a general ledger, accounts receivable, inventory management, storing service orders for your company. Small bank branches uses them because they had peripherals that could handle automatic reading of the magnetic ink used on checks. Boring stuff, but important stuff.

I haven't even mentioned Digital Equipment Corporation, Data General, or a dozen other manufacturers.

I'm curious which portable IBM you were referring to initially.

All of these examples are limited by today's standards, but these were considered standard or even top of the line machines at the time. If you write software to take advantage of the hardware you have, however limited, you can do a surprising amount of work on a computer of that era.

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Rating: Explicit 

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con 

Content Warnings: Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Violence

Categories: F/M, Multi, F/F 

Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character(s), Nanami Kento/Original Female Character(s), Getou Suguru/Original Female Character(s), Ieiri Shoko & Iori Utahime 

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Okkotsu Yuuta, Toudou Aoi, Zenin Naobito, Zenin Jinichi, Zenin, Zenin Ougi, Fushiguro Megumi, Kamo Clan, Nitta Akari, Inumaki Toge, Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime, Kusakabe Atsuya, Muta Kokichi, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Chapter 11　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Rin Morishita sat in the passenger seat of a sleek black sports car, her long dark brown hair loose and cascading in waves down her back. The vehicle hummed smoothly as it sped along the highway from Tokyo to Niigata, the city skyline gradually giving way to rolling hills and distant mountains. Beside her, Kento Nanami maintained a firm grip on the wheel, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the casual conversation they shared.

Rin’s caramel brown eyes flicked occasionally to Nanami. She kept her posture dignified, her hands resting gracefully on her lap, fingers occasionally brushing the hem of her elegant, dark-colored dress. Despite her composed exterior, there was a sense of readiness in her, a hint of the wild ferocity she displayed in battle lurking beneath the surface. The stress of recent events had her on edge.

In the backseat, Yuta Okkotsu and Yuji Itadori chatted animatedly, their youthful energy filling the car with a lively buzz. Okkotsu, with his serious yet gentle nature, balanced out Itadori’s exuberance. Their conversation occasionally drew a soft smile from Rin, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she listened to their banter.

Turning her attention back to Nanami, Rin broke the comfortable silence between them, "Nanami-san, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you choose to bring Itadori specifically on this mission?"

Nanami's lips curled into a slight, almost imperceptible smile as he continued to focus on the road. "I think Itadori has been spending too much time with Gojo lately," he replied, his tone polite but firm, "Gojo can be a bad influence, and I believe it’s important for Itadori to learn from different perspectives. Especially in this type of investigation."

Rin nodded thoughtfully, her eyes lingering on Nanami's profile, "That makes sense. It’s good for him to have varied experiences and guidance."

The scenery outside the car window changed from urban to rural, the lush greenery and open fields of the countryside providing a serene backdrop to their journey. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the road ahead, creating a tranquil ambiance within the car.

"We're about an hour out," Rin said, glancing back at the young men in the back seat. Okkotsu and Itadori, sensing the shift in mood, quieted down, their expressions mirroring the seriousness of the task ahead.

As the sleek black sports car approached Niigata, the atmosphere inside grew tense with anticipation. The city's skyline loomed closer, a mix of modern structures and historical buildings reflecting the complexity of their mission. Nanami's focus sharpened, and he began outlining their plan for the investigation.

"We're heading to the drug manufacturing facility first," Nanami said, his voice steady and authoritative, "It's managed by the Kamo clan, so we need to be prepared. They have a reputation for appearing cooperative but hiding crucial information beneath that façade."

Rin nodded, her eyes locked onto Nanami's, "Their courtesy can be deceiving. We'll need to be vigilant."

Nanami glanced briefly at the rearview mirror, catching Yuji Itadori’s eyes. "Itadori, Morishita and I will handle the official side of things, speaking with the leaders of the facility. Your task will be to sneak in and see what you can find beneath the surface. The Kamo clan might be eager to show us certain areas while keeping the real operation hidden."

Itadori nodded, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a serious expression, "Understood, Nanami-san."

Rin turned in her seat to face Yuta Okkotsu, "Okkotsu, you'll join Itadori, please. Use your skills to help him uncover whatever they're hiding. Stay alert and watch each other's backs."

Yuta nodded firmly, "Got it. If needed, may I use Rika?"

Rin’s gaze softened slightly, understanding the gravity of releasing Rika, "Yes, you have my permission. Only if the situation demands it."

Yuta gave a determined nod, his resolve evident, "Thank you, ma'am."

As they entered Niigata, the car navigated through the bustling streets, drawing closer to the Kamo clan’s facility. The building stood imposing and guarded, its exterior blending seamlessly with the surrounding architecture but exuding an air of secrecy and danger. The distinct presence of curses was thick in the air surrounding the building.

Nanami parked the car a short distance away, in a spot concealed from direct view of the facility. "Remember, we need to maintain our cover. Morishita and I will present ourselves as we are, inquiring about the drug operations and the incident with Gojo. They'll be expecting us. Itadori, Okkotsu, wait for our signal before making your move," Nanami explained.

Rin adjusted her long dark brown hair, ensuring it was neat and composed, "We’ll handle the leaders. Keep in touch through the comms, and be careful."

Itadori and Okkotsu nodded, their expressions a mix of determination and readiness. The two young sorcerers exited the car and slipped into the shadows, moving with practiced stealth towards the facility.

Nanami paused, waiting for the two of them to disappear from sight before he turned to Rin. "Are you ready?" He asked.

"Yes," she answered with a nod, "Let's go."

Nanami and Rin stepped out, their demeanor poised and professional as they straightened their attire. As they approached the entrance, the guards eyed them warily.

"Good afternoon," Nanami said with a polite bow, "We've come to investigate the operations of this facility under the suggestion of Masamichi Yaga. A recent incident with Satoru Gojo has us interested in what exactly you're manufacturing here."

The guard glanced at his partner then back at Nanami. "Yes, sir. Please give me a moment while I contact the representative in charge today."

The interior of the facility was meticulously clean, with an air of clinical precision that belied its true purpose. They were greeted by a representative of the Kamo clan, who welcomed them with a courteous smile. The man wore a comfortable looking Yukata and his mask was pure white with splotches of red paint. "Welcome, esteemed guests. How can we assist you today?" He said, though the smile never reached his eyes.

Nanami responded with equal politeness, masking his suspicion, "We’re here to discuss your operations and ensure compliance with the regulations regarding cursed energy. The incident with Gojo caused quite the commotion and we are curious as to what exactly you've created here."

The representative nodded eagerly, gesturing for them to follow, "Of course, please, come this way. We’re always happy to share our methods and ensure transparency between the groups."

Meanwhile, Yuji and Yuta had slipped into the facility through a less guarded entrance, moving swiftly and quietly through the corridors. They exchanged quick, silent signals, covering each other as they navigated the maze-like interior. The many doors often lead to rooms that housed restrained cursed spirits or more horrifically held jars of unknown substances and cold storage with harvested curse blood or organs.

Itadori quietly closed a door behind him and waved his hand to get Okkotsu's attention as the latter did the same across the hall. Okkotsu held up his cellphone with photos of the inside of the room and Itadori pointed at him with a grin before he pulled out his own phone to begin taking photos. As they navigated deeper, the guards became more present and the two took to the shadows once again.

In the main part of the facility, Rin and Nanami continued their conversation with the Kamo clan representative, their polite façade masking the underlying tension. They probed gently, seeking to uncover inconsistencies in the information being presented.

"Are you certain the side effects of this substance aren't dangerous?" Rin asked, barely masking the grimace as she held the glass dish with a sample of the congealed black liquid, "Gojo and one of his companions who ingested it immediately lost control of themselves."

"Ah, yes but they were likely already on something else," the representative suggested, "We haven't tested it in combination with other illegal substances yet."

"Don't you think that's irresponsible?" Nanami asked, his eyes carefully watching Rin as she set the dish back down on the table.

"We need to offset the deficit from the manufacturing process," the man offered, "But we have taken those findings into consideration."

"And what of the curses that are expelled from the non-sorcerers who consume it?" Nanami asked, his eyes meeting the representative's gaze.

The man's expression darkened, but his smile never faded. He sat up straighter in his seat and placed his hands on his knees. "So you've seen that, have you?"

Back in the shadows, Itadori and Okkotsu stumbled upon a heavily secured door, its presence indicating something significant lay beyond. Okkotsu signaled to Itadori, who nodded in understanding. The guards posted by the door were armed, both of them wearing sorcerer masks as well. The masks were unfortunately plain black, leaving no hint of what kind of technique they may possess. Okkotsu caught Itadori’s eye and subtly pointed to his phone, then gestured for Itadori to check his own.

Itadori glanced at his phone and saw a message from Okkotsu: "I'll distract them, you go for the door and see what kind of security we need to bypass."

Itadori nodded in agreement, his expression serious. Okkotsu moved off silently, slipping into the shadows to create a distraction. Itadori waited, his muscles tensed and ready to spring into action. A moment later, a loud bang echoed through the facility, the sound of a steel pipe hitting the ground reverberating off the walls.

The two guards stationed by the door immediately reacted, rushing towards the source of the noise. Itadori took advantage of the distraction, darting to the now unguarded door. He inspected it quickly, noting the electronic passcode panel and the faint glow of a cursed technique barrier protecting it.

He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos of the door, capturing the details of both the passcode system and the cursed barrier. His mind raced with potential ways to bypass the security, but he knew he needed more information and possibly assistance from the others.

Just as he finished taking the photos, he heard the guards returning, their footsteps echoing ominously in the corridor. Itadori quickly retreated to his hiding spot, blending into the shadows as he awaited Okkotsu's return.

Moments later, Okkotsu reappeared, his eyes scanning the area before he joined Itadori in their concealed spot. "What did you find?" he typed into his phone.

Itadori showed Okkotsu the photos on his phone and then typed, "The door has a passcode and a cursed technique barrier. We'll need to figure out how to bypass both."

Okkotsu studied the images, his brow furrowing in concentration. Okkotsu suggested the retreat for now and regroup and Yuji nodded. They moved silently back through the facility, their steps careful and deliberate. The atmosphere was tense, the weight of their mission pressing heavily upon them. Reaching a safe distance from the secured door, they found a discreet spot to contact Rin and Nanami.

Meanwhile, in the main part of the facility, Rin and Nanami continued their conversation with the Kamo clan representative.

"The cursed spirits being born of the substance is... Troubling. But we have taken steps to keep it out of non-sorcerer hands." The representative said, the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

"Yes, but how can you be sure?" Rin asked, "The incident with Gojo, for example, happened when a younger member gave it to him. The dealer didn't know it would be passed along. This kind of thing could easily end up in a non-sorcerer's hands this way."

"Yes, well, we would gladly take responsibility for such occurrences but it's unlikely to happen. After the incident with Gojo-san we have taken more precautions." The representative said dismissively.

Nanami’s phone vibrated softly in his pocket, and he excused himself briefly, stepping away to check the message from Yuta. His eyes flickered with understanding as he read the details, then he returned to Rin, whispering discreetly to her about the situation. Rin’s expression remained composed, though a flicker of concern passed through her caramel eyes. She nodded slightly.

"If you wouldn't mind," Nanami said calmly, "We will discuss this further with Yaga-san before we continue. Expect us to visit once again."

The representative nodded, standing up with Rin. He spouted some meaningless and polite words as he led them both to the exit. All exchanged goodbyes before Nanami and Rin returned to the car where Okkotsu and Itadori were waiting.

"Are we in the clear?" Nanami asked.

"Yes, sir. No one noticed us and we were careful to leave doors locked and closed." Itadori answered.

"Excellent work," Nanami said with a nod, "Now, about this door."

"Yes, sir," Itadori pulled out his phone and let Nanami look through the photos, "The passcode is likely around six digits and the curse on the door wasn't something I couldn't figure out. Sorry. I tried but it wasn't something I've seen before."

"Not a problem," Nanami said with a nod as he returned the phone, "It's not something you are proficient in anyway."

"Us either, unfortunately," Rin interjected, handing Okkotsu his phone back after taking her own look at the photos, "We'll need to come back, it seems."

"Let's get to the hotel for now," Nanami suggested, "We need to dress for the auction tonight."

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

After a long day of investigation, the group returned to their hotel to prepare for the evening's event. In her room, Rin stood before a full-length mirror, her long dark brown hair slightly damp still from the shower around her shoulders. With practiced ease, she twisted her hair up into an elegant bun, securing it with a few pins. She then slipped into a stunning phthalo green dress that accentuated her graceful figure, the rich color bringing out the caramel tones of her eyes. Satisfied with her appearance, she allowed herself a moment to take a deep breath and center herself.

In his own room, Nanami was meticulously getting ready. He chose a black turtleneck that highlighted his broad shoulders and paired it with a tan blazer that gave him a sophisticated, yet approachable look. His outfit was completed with dark slacks and polished shoes, embodying his usual sense of understated elegance.

Meanwhile, Itadori and Okkotsu were in their shared room, struggling slightly with their attire. They wore button-up shirts and slacks, trying to achieve a level of formality they were not entirely accustomed to. Okkotsu adjusted his collar for what felt like the hundredth time, while Itadori fumbled with his tie, eventually opting to go without it.

Nanami knocked on their door and entered, taking a moment to assess their appearance. His keen eye for detail noted the minor imperfections in their outfits. "Stand still," he instructed, stepping forward to straighten Okkotsu’s collar and smooth out the wrinkles in Itadori's shirt.

"You both look presentable now," Nanami said with a nod of approval, "Remember, appearances matter tonight. We are representing the Yaga group as well as Tenjiku."

Itadori and Okkotsu nodded in understanding, and they followed him out into the hallway where they met Rin. Nanami’s eyes briefly lingered on her, appreciating the elegance and poise she radiated in her phthalo green dress. Rin’s calm demeanor and poised confidence were palpable, and Nanami felt a surge of quiet admiration for her.

"Shall we?" Rin asked, her voice steady and composed.

The group made their way to the auction venue, a lavish building adorned with opulent decor that masked the illicit activities taking place within its walls. Upon entering, they were greeted by the sight of elegantly dressed patrons mingling amidst "priceless" works of art. The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses created an atmosphere of refined elegance.

Nanami and Rin moved seamlessly through the crowd, their demeanor polished and unassuming. They exchanged pleasantries with other guests, subtly gathering information and observing the dynamics of the room. Itadori and Okkotsu, slightly less comfortable in such a setting, followed their lead, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Rin’s presence drew attention, her striking and recognizable appearance catching the eyes of several attendees. Yet, her composed demeanor and polite interactions kept any undue interest at bay.

"Ah, Miss Morishita," a well dressed foreign man in a gray tailored suit said as he approached her, "Long time no see." He was built strong and his dark wavy hair was slicked back. His thick mustache was carefully groomed and sported a few streaks of gray.

"Oh! My goodness, is that you Mr. Castillo?" Rin said with a gentle and pleasant laugh, "It has been quite some time."

"Yes! Not since me and the family came to visit two years ago!" Castillo chuckled, "My sons were quite taken with Tenjiku, as was I." He winked at her before taking a sip of his champagne. His eyes drifted to Nanami, his dark eyes narrowing slightly and lips pulling into a smirk.

"Kento Nanami," Nanami introduced himself, holding out his hand which Castillo took in a firm handshake.

"You're one of Yaga's boys, aren't you?" Castillo asked, "Last time I saw him I'd only met the long haired fellow. Aren't there three of you under him?"

"Geto, yes. He's very dependable," Nanami said politely, "Gojo is more free spirited, but the three of us work well together and keep everyone out of trouble."

"Speaking of trouble, messy business with that King of Curses," Castillo said, "What was that about?"

"Sukuna was a very old and dangerous sorcerer," Rin explained, "He'd discovered a way to reach us but he was quickly restrained and is currently sealed away safely."

"Elegant dodge of my question as usual," Castillo chuckled at Rin's wry smile, "But I understand. We all have our secrets." He paused for a moment before he asked, "I am aware though that one of your business partners was injured quite severely. How is she doing?"

"She's recovering quite well actually," Rin answered, "Though she will be affected for the rest of her life, she still lives and that's enough for now."

Nanami suddenly noticed something as it was going on. A loose strand of Rin's hair had grown and branched across to be held in Castillo's hand. He carefully watched the almost imperceptible tapping of Castillo's fingers and recognized Morse code. He couldn't catch the letters, not wanting to stare more than necessary and catch unwanted attention.

After short time, Castillo stepped back and Rin's hair slipped back and retracted. Nanami watched as Rin smiled at him and the two exchanged a few final pleasantries before she hooked her arm with his and led him to another art piece.

"Castillo is one of our larger donors," Rin explained softly, "I asked him for information about who is leading this auction. Get this: it's a medical group based in Malaysia."

"Really?" Nanami asked, "Then that certainly would explain the experimentation. Did he have any names maybe?"

"No, but he will send me their address. It's a long standing group that practices homeopathic cures only," Rin said, "Which, as awful as this sounds, means they're definitely up to no good. Nothing homeopathic only is able to stand on its own these days."

"Any mention of Q.N.?" Nanami asked, and as if on cue both Itadori and Okkotsu came by sporting a lovely flower on their shirt pocket.

"Oh!" Rin cooed, gently touching the white petals on the flower on Okkotsu's shirt, "How beautiful!"

Okkotsu beamed, "We helped a nice old woman who was going to her car. She gave them to us."

"Did she say what it was called?" Nanami asked, eyeing Rin as she admired the flower.

"Oh, something like... Night blooming something..." Itadori said, rubbing his chin, "Oh! The Queen of the Night she said."

Both Rin and Nanami stopped and immediately turned to each other.

"You don't suppose..." Rin's voice trailed off, waiting for Nanami to continue.

"Huh," Nanami pushed up his glasses, "Interesting. I suppose I've always wanted to visit Malaysia."

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Suguru Geto exhaled slowly, watching as the police officer he had been speaking with finally walked away, satisfied with Geto's assurances. The scene had been chaotic, a scuffle involving younger sorcerers that had spilled into local businesses, causing significant damage. Geto had arrived promptly, smoothing over the situation with practiced ease, offering compensation to the affected business owners and promising the police that he would handle the matter internally.

Hakari, Panda, and Inumaki stood nearby, their expressions a mix of guilt and defiance. As the officer disappeared from view, Geto turned his sharp gaze towards them, his eyes narrowing with barely contained anger.

"Follow me," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative.

He led them into a nearby alley, the shadows providing a semblance of privacy. The moment they were alone, Geto's demeanor shifted dramatically. He moved with startling speed, grabbing Hakari by the collar and slamming him against the wall. The impact reverberated through the narrow space, and Hakari winced, but did not resist.

"What were you thinking?" Geto hissed, his face inches from Hakari's, "Why did you take it upon yourself to instigate fights with the Zen'in again?"

Hakari swallowed hard, trying to muster a response. "I... I'm sorry, Geto-san. It was a mistake," he managed.

Geto’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Sorry isn't good enough. This isn't the first time, Hakari. Why do you keep doing this?" He growled.

Hakari's eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and sadness, "It's because of Fumiya... I can't just let it go."

Geto’s expression darkened, a scowl forming on his face. He released Hakari abruptly, letting him slump against the wall. The mention of Fumiya’s death stirred a deep, unresolved frustration within him, but he couldn't allow that to excuse Hakari's reckless behavior.

"That’s not a reason to jeopardize everything we’re working for," Geto said, his voice low and harsh. "You need to think before you act, Hakari. Your actions have consequences, not just for you, but for everyone."

Hakari nodded, his head bowed in shame, "I understand. It won’t happen again."

Geto stepped back, his anger simmering but controlled. He glanced at Panda and Inumaki, who had remained silent but watchful throughout the confrontation. "The same goes for both of you. We need to stay focused and united. No more unnecessary fights, understood?" He snapped.

Panda and Inumaki nodded in unison, their expressions serious.

"Good," Geto said, his tone softening slightly. "Now let's get out of here before we attract any more attention."

As they left the alley, Geto’s thoughts lingered on Fumiya, the loss still clearly a raw wound for the younger sorcerers. Then of course there was the issue with Gojo still as well. The white haired man hadn't been stepping in to keep the peace with the boys as he promised to do, especially when he'd insisted he'd take up the mantle of mentor for the younger sorcerers in the group.

He walked away from the alley, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The younger sorcerers had been acting increasingly rashly, and he knew he needed to address it with Gojo. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Gojo’s number, only to be met with the sound of endless ringing. No answer.

Geto sighed, a frown deepening the lines on his face. He had a strong suspicion about where Gojo was and who he was with. He dialed another number, this time calling Shimizu. The phone rang twice before it was answered, the background noise a clear indication of a lively and chaotic atmosphere.

“Hello?” Shimizu’s voice came through, slightly slurred.

“Shimizu, where are you and Gojo?” Geto asked, his tone edged with irritation.

There was a pause, then a breathy giggle from Shimizu, “We’re at Tenjiku. Why? What’s up?”

Geto pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily, “I need to talk to Gojo. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sure, sure. We’ll be here,” Shimizu replied, clearly drunk and amused by the situation.

Geto ended the call and headed towards Tenjiku, his frustration mounting with each step. Upon arrival, he was greeted by the sight of revelry and indulgence. He pushed through the crowd, searching for Gojo and Shimizu.

Finally, he spotted them. Gojo was sprawled out on a plush couch, his head resting on a woman's lap. She was pouring alcohol from a bottle, letting it trickle through her exposed breasts as Gojo squeezed them together, laughing drunkenly. Shimizu sat nearby, equally intoxicated and watching the scene with a dopey grin.

Geto’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. He approached the group, his presence immediately drawing their attention. The woman looked up, startled, while Gojo’s laughter trailed off as he registered Geto’s stern expression.

“Suguru! Join the party!” Gojo slurred, raising his glass in a mock toast.

“We need to talk, Gojo,” Geto said, his voice firm. “Now.”

Gojo’s playful demeanor faltered slightly under Geto’s serious gaze and pointed use of his last name. He sat up, albeit unsteadily, and waved the woman away. “Alright, alright. What’s so urgent?” he slurred, blinking his eyes and trying to focus.

Geto gestured for Gojo to follow him, and Shimizu stumbled to his feet, joining them. They moved to a quieter corner of the establishment, away from prying eyes and ears.

“The younger sorcerers have still been acting recklessly,” Geto began, his tone calm but edged with frustration. “Hakari, Panda, and Inumaki got into a fight with the Zen'in again, causing a scene and damaging property. I had to smooth things over with the police and pay off business owners.”

Gojo’s expression turned serious, though the alcohol still dulled his features, “Why didn’t you just call me?”

“I did,” Geto replied, his voice tight. “You didn’t answer. I guessed you were with Shimizu, so I called him instead.”

Gojo winced slightly, the reality of the situation cutting through his inebriation, “Alright, alright. I’ll talk to them. It’s just... things have been intense lately. Everyone’s on edge.”

“That’s no excuse,” Geto said sharply, “We need to set an example. If we don’t, this kind of behavior will continue, and the consequences will only get worse.”

Gojo nodded, finally grasping the seriousness of the situation, “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I’ll handle it.”

Geto’s expression softened slightly, “Just... be there for them, Gojo. They look up to you and things are dangerous right now.”

Gojo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, I know. I get it. I’ll do better.”

Satisfied, Geto stepped back, “Alright. Let’s get you both out of here.”

He helped Shimizu to his feet and guided the two of them out of the establishment, their footsteps unsteady but moving in the right direction. Geto’s mind was already turning to the next steps when he glanced back and quickly realized Gojo's true intentions.

He noticed Gojo’s gaze drifting. Following his line of sight, Geto saw a group of high-ranking Zen'in  members at a table across the room with a group of women, their presence exuding power and arrogance. Gojo’s eyes lingered on them, a hard, calculating look in his usually carefree eyes.

Geto didn't comment immediately, choosing instead to keep that observation in mind. He knew Gojo’s tendencies, his protective nature towards the younger sorcerers, and his disdain for the Zen'in's elitism. If those Zen'in members turned up dead, Geto would have a strong case to make about who was responsible.

The walk back to their safe house was a quiet one, with Shimizu stumbling occasionally and Gojo lost in his thoughts. Geto kept a steady pace, ensuring they didn’t attract unwanted attention. Once they arrived, Geto helped Shimizu to a couch and turned his attention to Gojo, who seemed to have sobered up slightly.

“Satoru,” Geto began, choosing his words carefully, “I noticed you watching those Zen'in men back at Tenjiku. What’s going on?”

Gojo’s expression hardened briefly before he sighed, running a hand through his white hair, “I don’t trust them. I know we're sayin' what happened with Fumiya was an accident, but it's just not sitting right with me.”

Geto nodded, his suspicions confirmed, “I understand. But as I've said we can’t afford to act rashly. The repercussions could be severe. We're on the cusp of a gang war, and no one wants that.”

Gojo looked up, his blue eyes serious, “Yeah, I know. But I just need to know if they did it on purpose. Because there will be consequences if I find out.”

“I understand that,” Geto said, placing a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, “But we need to be strategic. We can’t let emotions dictate our actions. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Gojo held Geto’s gaze for a long moment before nodding, “I promise. But I won’t let them hurt our own again.”

Geto gave a small, understanding nod, “Neither will I. We’ll handle this together.”

With that, Geto moved to check on Shimizu, who had dozed off on the couch. He covered him with a blanket, then turned back to Gojo, “Go sleep off that alcohol. I'll keep an eye on things.”

Gojo nodded again, his expression weary, “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Suguru.”

As Geto retreated to his own room, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that this was just the beginning. The tension with the Zen'in group was slowly escalating, and he knew they would need to tread carefully to protect their own while navigating the dangerous politics.

The idea of another gang war made him nervous. The first time he'd been through one had been so awful and they were all so young. Yaga had done his best to protect the younger sorcerers back then and was only a lieutenant himself, but there was only so much he could do.

Losing Haibara and Koharu had been hard for all of them, so he knew how the young ones felt. But more worrying was how Gojo was reacting. It was almost like he wanted to let it happen. But, as long as Geto remained on his case he was sure that Gojo would behave. At least that's what he'd hoped for.

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