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thecooler · 5 months

Text

Landmine

Wake had rules of engagement when it came to dealing with any of the Emperor’s favorite minions— his specialist little zombies— lyctors. Those rules of engagement were as follows: 1. Do not fucking engage 2. If you somehow end up doing that, give them hell.

Words: 5,213

Relationships: Gideon the First/Commander Wake/Pyrrha Dve, Commander Wake & Our Lady of the Passion

Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Enemies and Lovers, Non-Explicit Sex, Fighting and Fucking and Fighting as Fucking

Written for the TLT Holiday Gift Exchange on ao3, also my first work in the fandom so you gotta be nice :P

AO3 Mirror

Commander Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity was born in the pile of smouldering ashes that was the Blood of Eden. When she was very small, her mother told her stories about what they used to be, back in her grandmother’s day, and how the zombies and wizards had overwhelmed them with their numbers and their tricks, how her grandmother, her uncles, and countless more had been killed and had their bodies desecrated and turned into fuel with which to kill their brethren. She told her that one day, they would rise from the ashes, and triumph, and Wake believed that with her whole wretched heart.

When she was twelve, she held a gun for the first time. Her little calloused fingers fit around the grip like they were meant to be there. She raised her shaky hand, guided by her elder sister, God Shall Be My Hope. Their mother had been blown apart from the inside by a wizard, her parts too small and burnt to bear any resemblance to the person she once was. The Nine Houses, as it always did, reduced people to tools of war, and her mother was in the right place and the right time to become a bomb. It wouldn’t happen like that to her.

“I’m gonna bring us back,” she said, a few years later, when she was old enough to know that the Blood of Eden was operating like shit, but not old enough to know how to fix it. She said, “like we used to be, before they found that base and wrecked our shit.”

She remembered that Hope looked tired, and a bit scared. She always looked tired— bucking up at the age of fifteen and raising your sister did that to a girl. The fear was new, though. She said, “I don’t want you to go out like mom, Wake.”

Wake slid the magazine back into the pistol and smiled a nasty, curling, bitter smile, “Not up to me, but let me tell ya’— if I’m going out, I’m taking as many zombies as I can down with me. They’re gonna remember me, and even when I’m dead, my name’s gonna scare the piss out of them.”

Her sister said, “I hope you’re right.”

Ten years after that, Wake was a Wing Commander, and things were starting to go right. She knew how to hold any gun without shaking and without hesitating. She knew how a zombie’s eyes looked when light left them, and she knew more than anyone that they weren’t unkillable.

Her sister, meanwhile, was dying in childbirth on a shitty patch of dirt that the Houses’ God had long since forgotten. Wake made herself stay by her side and listen to her howls of pain. They didn’t have any anesthetic or morphine— their stores had been sacked by a drove of Cohort pigs not even a week ago. Wake was on fire. She was red-hot furious. Hope was dying— fucking hell— and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

She said, “Save her, save her. I don’t fucking care about kid.”

Her sister wailed and clawed at her arm and hair and she said, “No, don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fucking dare.”

But in the end neither of them really had much of a say in the matter. Hope died with a name on her lips, and Wake, who had never wanted to be a mother, gave it to the newborn Our Lady of the Passion, and did what her sister had all those years ago— she loved that shitty kid as best as she could.

---

Wake had rules of engagement when it came to dealing with any of the Emperor’s favourite minions— his specialist little zombies— lyctors. Those rules of engagement were as follows:

1. Do not fucking engage

2. If you somehow end up doing that, give them hell

The Commander had not woken up that day with the notion that she’d be toe-to-toe with a lyctor. But here she was, boots scraping up hard-packed red earth as she danced around one of their rapiers.

“You look like a pussy, fighting with that thing,” she snarled.

And the zombie smiled. Deep brown eyes crinkled around the edges, and stark white teeth peeked out through dark lips. Infuriatingly, it was devastatingly handsome. This realization slapped her across the face, and she thought, distantly, if I get out of this thing, I need to get laid ASAP.

It smiled, and then it pulled a spear out of the rigid corpse of one of its comrades and lunged towards Wake. The speed of it might have been impressive, if the asshole wasn’t literally bringing knives to a gun fight. She raised her pistol to block the spearhead before it made contact with her chest plate. The gun clattered on the ground behind them, and without looking, Wake leaped into a back handspring and kicked the pistol back into her grip. The zombie was looking at her with what she thought might be genuine awe, but she didn’t allow herself to ruminate on it. They’d been going at this for nearly an hour. She was running on fumes, and she had to finish this.

She flung herself forward, dancing around the lunge of the spear. She shot the hand that held it, then spun and kicked the steel toe of her boot into the joint of the opposite wrist. She smiled a wicked, feral grin at the sound of both weapons clattering to the floor.

She stood, breathing heavily, looking into deep brown eyes. In another life, she might have described them as warm. In this life, she shoved the barrel of one gun between them, and the other under its breast, where its heart would be.

She hesitated only for a moment, and in that moment, the zombie that she would come to know as Pyrrha Dve made a choice that would haunt her to her dying breath and beyond. She leaned forward and captured her dry, split, lonely lips in a kiss. She raised her dark, blood-stained hands and cradled her face with an alien softness.

Wake bit her. She clamped down hard on the zombie’s bottom lip until blood bloomed on her tongue, and then they broke apart, and the Emperor’s hand smiled, torn lip trickling blood down her chin. She said, “I’m sorry, destroy me as I am, but I wanted to kiss you before you killed me.”

Wake should have killed her then and there. She should have blown her head and chest apart and burned the bits of flesh and viscera that remained. Instead, she said, “Why the fuck would you want that?”

And the zombie laughed again, and again Wake didn’t take the opportunity to tear her heart out. She smiled a soft, destructive smile, and said to Wake, “I’ve only once met someone so willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight. Commander, the first time I died, I asked of him what I ask of you now,” she pressed a calloused hand again to Wake’s face, and it was horribly warm. Those terrible dark eyes met hers, and she said, “make it quick.”

Then she kissed Wake again, and again, and again. And Wake didn’t kill her that day.

---

Wake ended up meeting Pyrrha one other time before she met the other one. This was a good thing, because if she hadn’t had the heads up she might have ripped his dick clean off. Pyrrha was bleeding from thick, deep cuts on her exposed biceps and throat, her breaths coming out as sharp, desperate wheezing. Her immortal blood seeped through Wake’s fingers same as any soldier, same as a dog bleeding out on the side of the road. Wake pressed down harshly on her throat with the butt of her pistol and hiked her knee up between the other woman’s legs.

“Hard already, Dve?” she taunted, then snorted when all Pyrrha could do was let out a low whine.

“Shit, baby,” Pyrrha said, fear creeping into her words.

Wake was no one’s baby. She leaned forward and sunk her teeth into thin cartilage, and tore off the tip of her lover’s ear with her teeth. She spat the severed flesh on the grimy, stained floor of the shuttle and looked at Pyrrha’s eyes.

No.

No, Pyrrha’s eyes were a warm, deep brown. The eyes that she was looking into now were a clear green, alarmed, confused, and still a bit horny.

Wake smiled, her lips curling, “Hello, Gideon,” she purred, jerking her knee against his half-hard cock. “How are you feeling?” and she slipped her gun into her holster and unsheathed her well-used knife. Without preamble, she thrust the blade between his ribs.

He howled out in pain, strong, calloused hands scrambling at her shoulders. But, notably, he didn’t push Wake away. Instead, between panting breaths, he said, “Who the hell are you?”

Wake leaned in close to his still-bleeding ear and whispered, “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

---

Long, long before she was born— long enough that it had long since faded into legend, a Lyctor had made contact with the Blood of Eden. Referred to only as Source Gram. She, allegedly, hailed from the Sixth House, and, even more dubiously, aided her ancestors in the beginnings of their movement. But nothing of the sort had happened since, and Lyctors had become the villains of legend. Many thought that they were immortal, and that they would be the death of them. They were something to be avoided at all cost.

But she knew she could not keep her knowledge of Pyrrha and Gideon from her people, and more than that, she didn’t want to. They could be of use to the Blood of Eden— invaluable even. And so she called her Wing Commanders together, and told them she had something important to discuss.

She told the Blood of Eden, “I have a source in the houses,” and the room went silent. Expectant gazes fell on her, and for the first time in a long time, Wake felt nervous. She tilted her chin up and hoped she could project confidence. “I believe,” she said, “that I’ve gained the trust of one of John Gaius’ hands.”

Her breathing felt impossibly loud. Then, We Suffer breathed out slowly, locked eyes with her, and said, “Tell us what you want us to do, Commander.”

After that, the next year and a half were a cascade of formed connections and formed plans. Source Joyeuse, Piotra, and Chysoar offered them tools and knowledge that her mother and sisters would not have dared dream of. They were in a better place than they’d ever been. Wake could taste the blood of the Emperor, could feel his death at her fingertips.

She was going to be the change she’d wanted to be since she was a child. She was going to avenge her mother, blown to pieces, and her sister, dead to the Nine House’s negligence.

She met with Gideon a few more times, and Pyrrha a few more than that. Each time, they fought and fucked, and sometimes they talked, but never about her plans. Gideon was infuriatingly loyal to his puppet master, and Pyrrha wasn’t supposed to exist. The knowledge of what they were planning would only burden her.

Especially when the Vat Wombs failed, and Wake set about making her bomb with her own two hands.

---

There was a certain level of domesticity that Wake had never allowed herself. She helped raise Pash, and the girl certainly looked up to her, but she wasn’t a mother. She didn’t know how to cook more than what you could boil in a pot of water with little to no additional steps. She could barely keep her own space clean half the time. And she didn’t do feelings talks. Never had, really. Hope had tried, when they were both young and stupid, because she read in some book that it was good to do so. Wake didn’t need a book to tell her that talking about that shit was important. She knew. She just didn’t do it.

Pillow talk, too, was a concept she was familiar with in theory, but something she avoided in practice. She’d fucked around with folks before Pyrrha and Gideon, and she let them assume that was still the case, though it wasn’t— she didn’t have time these days for that kind of bullshit. But even when she did have the time for it, she never stuck around for long after. She liked to think it added to her air of authority. They were done when she said they were done.

Sometimes, when it was Gideon, he would lay back after and hold his hand out, and if she had one (and she usually did), she’s shove a cigarette into his hand, and he’d smoke it and stare at the ceiling or the wall while the cuts and gauges stitched back up. He rarely said much of anything, but sometimes he would look at her for a bit too long, with a certain soft crease to his eyebrows and a barely-noticeable curl to his lip that looked alien on him, like it wasn’t an expression he had a lot of practice with.

He told her once that she had a wicked, mean smile, and she snapped back that he didn’t smile at all, so he shouldn’t talk, and he’d huffed out a curt laugh and said, “I used to. Not for a long time, though.”

And she hadn’t known how to respond to that, so she’d pinned him down, and he’d laughed, and it was a beautiful thing— one that she did not allow herself to dwell on for more than a moment, lest the sound worm its way into her cold, tired heart and find a home there. She sunk her teeth into his shoulder until she tasted blood.

On another occasion, he said, in that gruff, flat way he always spoke, “Sometimes I wish I’d known you before I knew him,” and she’d responded by telling him to take that sentiment and shove it where the light of Dominicus can’t find it. There wasn’t any worth in what ifs. If Gideon weren’t a tedious chicken-shit, it wouldn’t matter when they’d met.

Bottom line: she didn’t need, or want, his loyalty.

Pyrrha was different. It was like she’d orgasm and suddenly she had to talk, or she’d explode and take her necro with her. It usually wasn’t about much of anything. She’d lay back with her hands folded under her head and smirk and tell Wake all about what it was like, before she died the first time. She seldom talked about Gideon, and if Wake ever asked, it usually ended the conversation immediately.

But she’d talk about friends that had long since died. About Anastasia, and Cass, and Cyth, who was still alive, but who hadn’t spoken to her in a millennium. Wake, of course, knew Cyth. She’d been helping the Blood of Eden for some time, but the knowledge would bring Pyrrha no comfort.

Pyrrha would ask Wake questions, too, about her life, and the people she cared about. Once, Wake had spoken to her, briefly about Hope, and something in her voice must have given away her still-smouldering grief, because Pyrrha reached forward and rested her hand atop Wake’s. And there must have been something wrong with her, because for a few burning seconds, she allowed it. And then she said, with less anger than she’d hope to muster, “Get off my ship, Dve,” and the bastard had the nerve to pause to kiss her brow before leaving.

Wake should have killed her for that. She really should’ve.

The infuriating woman seemed to like to hear her talk about Pash in particular, even if it was just the same three things over and over. Wake never gave away much, even to her. She’d look at that shitty, grimy little photo in her toolkit and ask her questions, most of which she didn’t answer, but she never seemed to mind that.

Then, after the vat wombs had failed, and she took matters into her own hands, Pyrrha said, “I always wanted to be a parent,” in his soft, wistful voice. She was looking right at Wake, and for one mortifying moment, she thought that she knew. This shouldn’t have made bile burn up her esophagus, and it damn well shouldn’t have made her heart pound in her chest. She stared back at Pyrrha, her mouth slightly parted, and after a few long seconds, Pyrrha looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“I think I could’ve been a good mom. Gideon always said I would, and Cass and Ana. Augustine, too, but he was always kissing up to me. He’d say the First was made of pudding if he thought it’d make me happy,” her words were sharp, but Pyrrha’s eyes always betrayed her with how repulsively soft they were. That warm, dark brown always reminded her of the hot chocolate she would get once in a while when she was small, before her mother died. She’d met the Lyctor Augustine once, and she couldn’t conceive of having anything more than passing resentment for the man.

"Any kid you raised would be a jackass with an awful sense of humor," Wake said dryly.

"Don't be a dick," but Pyrrha was still smiling.

She did not think through what she was doing when she settled back into the cot next to Pyrrha and rested her head on her bare shoulder. Her mind longed to wander. Images flashed in her periphery, of a quiet, calm life, somewhere far away with Pyrrha and Gideon and Pash and a shitty little kid. A world where the emperor was long dead and the age of Necromancy had begun to fade into memory.

But first she had to have the baby— the Bomb— and she didn’t know how happy Pyrrha would be with her after that.

It didn’t matter anyway. Even if it worked, and the Emperor was dead in a year, there would be work to do. Wake had long since accepted that she would be working until she was in the ground.

Pyrrha wrapped her big, strong arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze, and Wake pressed her face into her chest. She didn’t know if it was the pregnancy hormones or something else firing around in her messed up head, but for a moment, Wake closed her eyes, and she allowed herself to imagine them in another life.

----

Celebrating the date of one’s birth was not something they could afford most years. She’d never had them growing up, and she turned out just fine. But the fact remained that having a birthday party was fun, and people, on occasion, liked to have fun. So they had a birthday party for Our Lady of the Passion on years where they had the means to. They had one on her fifth birthday, and her ninth, and now it was her fifteenth, and Wake was busting her ass more than she probably should to make it special, all while being nearly nine months pregnant and certifiably fucking huge. It was awful, it was uncomfortable, but she was, as Hope had once so aptly put it, more stubborn that those weird venomous cats, which were, for the uninitiated, endurance hunters, and ergo, very fucking stubborn.

We Suffer looked at her balancing a gift wrapped in crinkly brown paper and sighed audibly before lifting it out of Wake’s hands, ignoring the curse she bit out in protest.

“Have you ever considered sitting down— taking a rest?” She suggested in a soft, sing-song voice that she knew damn well Wake couldn’t stand.

“Have you ever considered shutting the fuck up?” She shot back, but there was no teeth to it.

“You’re carrying something pretty important,” We Suffer nodded to her stomach, “wouldn’t want it getting jostled too much because mom’s got too much goddamn pride.”

Wake frowned, brows furrowed. The details for her plan weren’t terribly well-known, and We Suffer wasn’t included in that circle. As far as she was aware, Wake was carrying a baby because she’d suddenly developed an affinity for them. So saying something like, I don’t really give a rat’s ass whether this thing is born healthy or on death's door, so long as it’s got blood, would be somewhat alarming. So she just grunted and didn’t complain about the help.

Pash was never good at keeping to herself, and Wake pretended to hate it more than she did. Couldn’t have the girl getting ideas in her head that she could go around doing whatever she wanted. But hell, it was her birthday, so when the little shit bumped against Wake’s side with a shit-eating grin and raised eyebrows, Wake smiled back.

“Where the fuck did you get hair dye, you little shit?” Wake said, running her fingers through freshly blue hair. The sides of her fingers came away slightly stained.

“Scavenged it,” Pash said— she still had a bit of a lisp when she tried to say s-words, but it was a far cry from where she’d been ten. Back then she’d been nigh-incomprehensible. The kid eyed her stomach dubiously, the same way she had since Wake started to show. The two of them hadn’t talked about it, and Wake didn’t intend to, unless Pash brought it up. It’d be a non-issue soon enough, anyway.

“Sooooo,” she said, bumping her shoulder to Wake’s. The kid was stupid tall, and seemed to still be growing, “what’d you get me, dear auntie?”

“I got you my goddamned presence, you little worm,” Wake said with no venom and a traitorous smile curled on her lips. She added, “and a cake, so you better be fucking grateful.”

Pash threw her hands up in surrender, “I am, I am! Shit,” she laughed, and Wake let out a snort that to her own ears was far too fucking fond. This seemed to please Pash, who mumbled something about finding Unjust Hope and took off.

Wake watched her go, and felt herself grow a bit sentimental. She could remember when that kid was small enough for her to hold in both hands. She could remember when she was nothing more than what the Bomb was now, curled inside her, unaware of the world, or the destruction they’d be born into.

Pash had asked her once, when she was eight and newly old enough to understand what had happened to her mother, if Wake hated her for killing Hope. If anyone had asked her before that moment, she might have said yes, or that at least that a part of her did. But Pash had looked at her with those big, sad hazel eyes, and she’d found that there wasn’t any hate left in her for Our Lady of the Passion.

She told her, “No, I don’t hate you. Don’t go getting a big fucking head about it, though.”

And nearly seven years later, she seemed to have gotten a big head about it anyway, by the way she felt comfortable flipping Wake off or calling her old lady. From anyone else, this would have been a deal breaker. She’d fold that fucker in half just to shove their head so far up their ass they forgot which way was up. But the most Pash ever got was some sharp words and a tired huff. So maybe it was her own fault, a little bit.

A little under an hour later, they were all sat around a garbage sheet cake with a single candle in the middle, and Pash was opening their gifts— one of which was a machete with a wicked curve. At the sight of this, Pash let out an awed gasp and raked her eyes over it was a ravenous want. She was Wake’s kid, alright.

From across the table, We Suffer cocked an eyebrow at her, and rather than dignify that with a response, she looked at Pash and said, “You should learn to use it, just in case. But the biggest thing is just getting into a minion’s head. Fuck with them. Make ‘em think you can beat them at their own game, and games they ain’t even thought of yet.”

Pash smiled a wide, toothy grin, “Do you know how to use it? Can you teach me?”

“A little,” Wake said. Sometimes, after a rendeavouz, when Pyrrha was too antsy for pillow talk but nonetheless unwilling to leave, the two of them would practice swordplay together. Pyrrha said she looked like a dog with a stick, but she was working her way up to a dog with a sword. “When I have time, alright?”

Even God didn’t know when that would be, though. The baby would come soon, and, if all went to plan, the death of the Emperor with it. The aftermath of that was impossible to calculate. Even his inner circle wasn’t sure what would happen. But Wake always found time for Pash, one way or another.

Pash set the machete on the table, and seemed about to say something, but then the familiar voice of one of her Wing Commanders, Cherry, crackled over her walkie. It said, “Duty is trailing you. Ninth house operation’s gotta move up.”

We Suffer eyed her from across the table, and as she took the words in, her gaze hardened. What she thought she had figured out, Wake couldn’t be sure. But she’d always been bright, that one. She probably had a pretty good idea.

“Fuck, kid, I gotta go,” she said, feeling genuinely sorry. But Pash was looking at her with a wicked grin and fire in her eyes.

“Go give those zombies hell. You’ll teach me how to use this thing when you get back.”

“Hold me to that,” Wake said, and then she left the base for the last time.

---

Wake stood on wobbly, uncertain, bloody legs. The Bomb was clutches to her chest, rolled a little too tightly in a blanket. On its soft, brown head a few strands of bright red hair, so much like her own, clung wetly to its skull. She refused to recognize herself within her weapon, even as it fussed and whined and cried and reached its tiny, chubby hand towards her in ask for safety, comfort, or anything else a mother might have to give.

But Wake wasn’t a mother. She was a warrior, a commander, a phoenix rising from the ashes, over and over. She put the wailing bundle into a haz suit and clacked the visor shut. Its cries continues, crackly and insistent, through the speakers.

Pyrrha was always the one that wanted to be a mother, and as she stood before her now, Wake felt as though she could read the thoughts storming through her head. She looked at Wake, who must look now like an uncaged beast, covered in her own blood, hair a wild tangle, eyes alight with adrenaline, and she looked every bit as sappy and lovelorn as she always did after they got done fighting or fucking. She said, “Wake, darling, I don’t have long. Let’s take the baby and get out of here. Please.”

“I’m not your darling,” Wake snarled, “and I’m not fucking going anywhere with you.”

Pyrrha stepped back, her eyes widening slightly, at Wake’s tone, and she felt a flush at pride at the sight of hurt contorting her features. Her eyes were always so wide and dark and expressive. She swallowed, “Gideon will be back soon. I can feel him. And he won’t let you go— you or the baby.”

At this, Wake threw her head back in a long, cruel laugh. Against her chest, the Bomb wailed, and in response Pyrrha stepped forward, hands outstretched, and Wake pulled her bundle closer with a low growl. “Fuck off. Gideon can do what the fuck he wants,” and, against her better judgement, she added, “you don’t think he’d kill a baby.”

Pyrrha’s eyes were fixed on the Bomb, like Wake didn’t exist at all, and it took a moment for her to reply, “He’d to anything for him. He’d always do anything for him. Wake, I don’t know what you think your plan is—“

“You don’t,” Wake said, “you don’t have a clue. But it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna kill the fucking emperor, and then it won’t matter who gave Gideon his marching orders. Nothing will matter.”

Pyrrha looked like she might say something more, but before she had the chance, she slumped forward, just briefly, and when she stood back up, green eyes blinked awake, and looked at her, and looked at the Bomb.

Gideon said, “What the fuck did you do?”

Wake said, “I’m going to kill your fucking boss, dipshit.”

Gideon went very still. He looked at Wake, in her ragged haz suit, and the baby, whose baby blue eyes were squinting through the harsh light of the shuttle over at him. For a moment, silence hung between them, save for the occasional fussing of the Bomb in her hands. “Say something,” Wake said.

“I don’t know what you want, Wake. I’ve never known.” Gideon looked properly sad then. The harsh lines of his face softened, and his eyebrows knit together. He looked like he might step forward, and for a precious moment in time, she lived in the world that Pyrrha had always wanted. She lived in a world with them, and maybe Pash, and no one else. Hormones going to her head and nothing more, and even if it were more than that, Gideon shattered the illusion with his next words.

“I can’t let you kill him. You know I can’t.” And he sounded so pathetic and desperate that Wake had to clamp her jaw together and look away, lest she burn apart where she stood.

“You’ve never let me do shit,” she said, laughing bitterly. She turned a knob on the side of her helmet, and the plex slipped down. Her voice came out crackled through the headset. “See you when we’ve won,” she said, and turned to open the airlock, to descend to the planet, and to light that motherfucker up.

Then a fist slammed against her back. She felt a rib break as she tumbled forward into open space. She turned around and briefly saw Gideon’s pained, horrible face, and for a split second, she swore she saw a flash of brown in his eyes. But she was losing air quickly, and she had to lose it quicker, if she wanted the Bomb to make it to its destination.

She wasn’t going to get back home, she wasn’t going to a half-flipped moon, she wasn’t going to see the demise of the Emperor of the Nine Houses. She wasn’t going to get to teach Pash how to use those damn machetes.

“Fuck you!” she snarled, and she directed her life preserves to the Bomb.

As they fell, and life drained slowly and agonizingly from her body, Wake shrieked, “Gideon! Gideon! Gideon!”

And she burned, and she burned, and she burned.

#the locked tomb #commander wake #awake remembrance of these valiant dead #pyrrha dve #gideon the first #our lady of the passion #pyrrhawake #writing tag #waves cutely

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asknarashikari · 1 month

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One thing that's always bothered me about episode 46 is that...yeah, I know Sara getting brought back is supposed to be the most impactful for the characters (Keiwa anyways) but... what about the OTHER victims stuck on that tree? Did the other riders just go "Oh yeah, these unfortunate victims don't deserve to be saved and can rot in hell for all we care" or something?! Were THEY were saved at all?

Speaking of which, I'm also not really a fan of how in Kamen Rider Geats, no one could really give a shit about bringing back the victims that lost their lives in the DGP. (It's not like these people died in some random accident or a serial murder...no, these were people that forcibly lost their lives in some fucked up competition started for entertainment by some outside source) Were they REALLY beyond saving even WITHOUT the wish granting at the cost of other's happening? Did no one really bother try to find a way to make it happen? It didn't that early in the show, it set expectations with Keiwa making that goal to bring back lives lost in the DGP only to stop caring about doing that...besides, I don't think that WASN'T even Keiwa's fault that deceased horrible riders were brought back WITH ACTUAL DRIVERS AND DGP MEMORIES they shouldn't have access to. (Sara didn't get the same treatment and Toru never returned oddly enough, like wtf?)

Long rant ahead. Not for the Geats fans lol

Well, in a show that literally just shrugged off one of the main characters being complicit in the murder of hundreds (including the main & secondary riders) in a sadistic game, what else would you expect? Of course the NPCs are barely spared a second thought by anyone, not even the writer it seems.

We're even shown Keiwa being reported missing by Sara, which should imply that everyone else who was also killed in the Heaven and Hell round were also MIA (read: dead), and yet we don't even see similar reports for other people. Hundreds of people don't just go missing without mass hysteria and people demanding answers from the police and government, even with a fucking conspiracy to cover it all up involved. But nope, nothing for the plebians 🤷‍♀️

For your second question... I'm sure they can BS some reason for why they can't revive all the victims. Heck, even Riders get shafted. All the other Riders who were killed onscreen (Taira/Ginpen, Tooru/Togetchi, Yukie/Letter and Takeshi/Shirowe) stayed dead, along with countless others who died offscreen. Fuck them all and anyone who would be looking for them, I guess?

Tsumuri revived Ace just by wishing and subconsciously using her goddess powers, Keiwa was revived by Kekera using Mitsume's power probably, and Sara was revived through wish shenanigans and/or Daichi's Jyamato Potion... But they're the exceptions to the rule somehow. What made them the exception? Plot armor, is that all?

I'm unconvinced that the Riders who caused chaos in the wake of Keiwa's wish were even ones who died in the DGP to begin with. We're told they were revived Riders.. by Jiit, aka the last person who I would expect to tell the truth about anything.

As it was, we know someone had to supply those Riders with Drivers and ID Cores because no one else who revived got their Drivers and ID Cores back automatically except for Ace (who's practically the exception for every goddamned rule this show attempts to set).

But of course, it's way easier to blame Keiwa for "reviving" those nasty people, than it is to think of a scenario where Jiit and his cohorts never bothered reviving anyone other than Sara and Keiwa's parents to lull him into thinking his wish worked, and just gave Drivers to all the worst (but living) people they could find.

#ask #ultrariderfiretornado

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turning-through-the-never · 1 year

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Ohn’ahran Plains Camp RP!

Friday, May 26th - 5:30/6pm WrA (Pacific Time) Pinewood Post, Ohn’ahran Plains [81,59]

Timeline Note: While we are going to be RPing on Friday, IC timewise it will be actually occurring on Saturday evening! With a variety of conflicting events both in-game and out of game throughout the whole week, this was the easiest solution!

What is this? It’s military/mercenary camp RP! Civilians are welcome to join as well, as a wide variety of groups are present in the Isles and all types are needed to help out! This is going to take place a couple hours after the action below, so feel free to insert your character in whatever way works best for them! Whether they are in the military, on a mercenary crew, or simply trying to help evacuate, aid with the fires, heal the wounded, etc…

Why not RP out the action scene itself? That’s so much work that ain’t none of us got time to set up and run, but we all still wanna be a part of a cool event, even if it is all headcanoned up until this point! You can write a story about your OC’s part in the attack and do with it exactly as you please! Even if you cannot make it out to the camp RP, feel free to have your character be present for this anyways!

With all that said, here is the need to know info:

THE SET-UP

With Fyrakk unleashing his chaos all over the Ohn’ahran Plains and The Azure Span, the Primalists used this to their advantage to begin attacking settlements and towns throughout those areas. Both military and mercenary groups alike have teamed up to follow the assaults, desperately trying to protect the villages, quell the attacks, and extinguish the flame and shadowflame as quickly as possible. Yet when one area was cleared, another always seemed to spring up elsewhere, never allowing the fighters much repose. It had been a constant for nearly two weeks now, with no end in sight.

EARLIER THAT DAY:

The assault was in full swing, targeting Forkriver Crossing and the surrounding areas in Ohn’ahran Plains. Some were tasked in aiding with evacuations, others in trying to extinguish the flames before they burned the town to the ground, and the larger groups attempted to keep the Primalists at bay. It was then that they heard the sirens, which could only mean one thing.

Fyrakk was coming.

The massive proto-dragon and his cohorts could be seen from miles away, laying a trail of destruction to everything in their path. And they were coming directly this way. There was immediate pandemonium among the already chaotic scene. Some of the townsfolk fled on mount or foot, while others attempted to hunker down in their homes. With Fyrakk’s unpredictability, even the military and mercenary camps became scenes of disarray and confusion as he quickly neared.

“I AM COMING FOR YOU, LITTLE WORMS! YOU WILL PERISH IN FLAMES!” Fyrakk’s booming voice echoed around the entire area, and that’s when the deluge of shadowflame began. Screams of terror and pain filled the air as it blanketed the ground, and anyone caught without protection would quickly, but very painfully, find their death.

Fyrakk himself had only done one pass of the area prior to moving on, he had more chaos to spread elsewhere. In his wake, one of his disciples, Kretchenwrath, landed among the Primalists, ready to do his master’s bidding and destroy everything and everyone. All of those present, including townsfolk, military, and mercenaries, knew they needed to band together in order to bring down this massive beast.

At the end of the day, Kretchenwrath lay dead on the battlefield; they had found their advantage after ravaging his wings in order to keep him from going airborne. But so much damage had already been done. Many had lost their lives that day, and while the fires may have been extinguished, much of the land had been ruined. Yet hope remained, they had managed to save the majority of the local towns, and many of the inhabitants within. Not to mention there was one less threat in these lands.

And now? It was time to heal, and to finally rest. There would be much more work to do, but it was important to celebrate and reflect upon the victories. Those lost would have wanted it that way.

If there are phasing issues, or if you want to join from another server, we’ll use the Hereafter Community to party up!

#wyrmrest accord #moon guard #rp event

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torchwood-99 · 1 year

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Was The 'I'm Not Like Other Girls' Phase Really Comforting for Anyone Else?

So like a lot of teens I went through a NLOG phase. Then like a lot of teens/young adults I went through a 'ew cringe I was a NLOG' phase.

But not looking back, that initial NLOG phase was really, really good for me.

When I was in my pre-pubescent/teen years, I felt the pressure to find a tribe, to have a group to go around with and assure me that I'm existing right. To not have a group of friends made me feel vulnerable and weird and whenever I was rejected for not being like the other girls, I felt awful.

Then I hit my NLOG stage, and while I still felt different from the other girls, I suddenly took pride in that. Why wouldn't I? The other girls made me feel awful about myself. Why shouldn't I want to be different to them?

And yes, there was probably sexism at play, that hint of 'girls are inferior so to not be like them is to be superior', even if my overall attitude as a young feminist was 'girls are better than boys! Girls rule, boys drool!' but tbh, as someone who had spent a fair chunk of childhood feeling miserable I didn't fit, the NLOG attitude was appealing to me purely because it liberated me from that self-hatred. It took that shame of being different and turned it into pride.

Furthermore, in all the best stories, who was the hero? The chosen one? The one who saved the day? It was the character who was different. The character who stood out. I was the hero of my own life, just like everyone else is, and being different only re-enforced that.

The 'other girls' weren't my point of comparison because they were inferior to boys, but because they were the cohort that was assigned to me. The group I was being put it. Girls my age, girls I was expected and expected to be friends with. They were the ones I was already being compared to.

Taking on that NLOG attitude made it easier for me to be accepting of myself, my differences. It made me learn to be content with my own company, and to accept that finding people who got me (and I got in turn) was the exception, not the rule, and I didn't have to take it so hard when I was rejected.

It was an extreme response, but at the age, something extreme was just what I needed to start undoing the self-hatred that rejection had instilled in me.

It also meant I stopped feeling like there were things I *should* like, and instead there were just the things I did like. If I was no longer beholden to 'girls' stuff' and being like 'other girls', I could focus on the hobbies I really enjoyed.

Being different wasn't scary anymore. It was fun.

I liked myself more, and I had a better understanding of myself. That, in time, made it easier for me to like other people too. And I liked them for who they were, and befriended them because we had actual stuff in common and enjoyed each other's company, not because they were part of the group I felt I was expected to be part of.

And yeah, then I hit my cringe phase. And I attributed my NLOG phase simply to me being sexist and outgrowing it. But in hindsight, I grew out of the NLOG mindset as I matured, and the other girls around me matured, having also started figuring themselves out. And low and behold, we were all much nicer to each other. And we found things we had in common. Actual things that interested us, not a role that we felt we had to play as girls.

And while there was still the odd girl I wouldn't touch with a barge pole, it was because she was just awful, not because she was a girl.

As the NLOGs phase does seem something most girls mature out of, I actually think that in getting girls through those really toxic, vulnerable years where being an outcast feels like the worst thing ever, it can actually do a lot more good than harm.

#NLOG #Not Like Other Girls #feminism #rambling

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mumms-the-word · 2 months

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A Macabre Masquerade - Ch. 5

Ch. 5 - Mirrors

Characters: Tavs (multiple), Gale, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Halsin, Minthara + other OCs Plot: One year after defeating the Netherbrain and saving the city, Dani and Gale receive a mysterious invitation to a masquerade ball. The invitation specifically invites them to participate as the Heroes of Baldur's Gate. However, when they get there, they soon realize they aren't the only Heroes of Baldur's Gate that got invited. A/N: Long wait between chapters—my bad! But it's time for the gang to split up and for us to see a few of the secrets that might lay in store in Lord Aubron Dormire's estate...

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | BG3 Masterlist | AO3

“Gods-damned devils,” Wyll muttered under his breath.

The masked servant was gone again, the swirl of ash leaving behind nothing but the smell of brimstone. Dani and her cohort were left standing in the foyer with a small crowd of masked onlookers watching them and murmuring quietly to one another. Though the servant had introduced the seven of them as the heroes, the other attendees didn’t seem interested in fawning over them or even speaking to them. Only staring, like they were animals in a cage at the circus.

Normally, Dani would prefer nobles not fawning over her, but here in the Upper City it was just…odd. Every time she tried to meet someone’s eyes they looked away just in time, turning their heads to murmur something behind their fans or to sip from a flute of champagne. One by one they seemed to float from the room, disappearing into other rooms, one or two of them casting lingering glances over their shoulders as they left.

“Is it just me,” Astarion said, “or does anyone else feel like the main course at a feast, rather than the guests of honor?”

“We could always leave?” Karlach suggested. Several of them turned to look at the doors behind them, but to no one’s real surprise, the doors swung shut. The sound of a bolt sliding home was answer enough for Karlach’s question.

“A trap.” Lae’zel folded her arms. “How predictable.”

“Could be worse,” Dani offered.

“True,” Shadowheart said, “It can’t be worse than that time Dani got trapped in that lamp in Sorcerous Sundries.”

“Hey!”

Wyll chuckled. “Or that time we all fell victim to those skulls and poltergeists in Lady Jannath’s estate?”

“Oh gods, don’t remind me,” Karlach groaned. “I think I still have bruises from getting thrown down from the top landing.”

“Yes, all right, we’ve established that it could be worse,” Dani said, holding up her hands in surrender to her friends’ teasing. “But we’re here now. Might as well split up and see what we can figure out. Or split up and enjoy the party. Let’s see…”

She put a finger to her chin, looking around the foyer and the doors that led to other rooms beyond. A few masked stragglers still lingered in the corners of the room or above them on the second-story landing, gazing down at them behind masks shaped like goats, wolves, and cats, or full-faced white masks with red-painted lips and glittering swirls, or jester smiles and tragic theatre frowns. The foyer itself was richly furnished, with lush red carpets leading up the stairs and polished mahogany console tables supporting delicate porcelain vases. More banners, drapes, and glimmering fairy lights decorated the room to match the outside facade and there were fresh sprays of flowers and greenery in all of the vases. There were several large mirrors in the room as well, reflecting the attendees and giving the slight illusion that the room was bigger than it was. Lord Dormire, whoever he was, certainly didn’t lack for funds.

She could hear music drifting down from a room upstairs, accompanied by rhythmic steps and chatter. A ballroom, no doubt, or a room big enough to be used as one. Mouth-watering scents wafted over from somewhere on the current floor, scents of spiced, roasted meats and thick, rich sauces, of grilled vegetables, buttery toasted bread, heady wines, and fried treats. If she followed her nose, she was sure to find a heavy-laden table filled with delectable bites to eat. And hopefully a fountain of wine to match. Meanwhile, conversation in a nearby room to the left seemed bright and rich, with the occasional exclamation or cheer to suggest games or entertainments taking place.

Aubron Dormire appeared to have thought of everything for his little party. Food, music, dancing, games, and entertainment. The only thing missing was the host himself.

“All right,” Dani said, a slow smile stealing over her lips. “Here’s the plan.”

The others glanced among themselves, some smiling, some looking a little resigned, but all six of them gathered closer. A year apart hadn’t dampened their ability to see when Dani had something like a heist in mind. This would be nothing like absconding with half of the high security vault treasures from inside the Counting House, or sneaking into Gortash’s room during his coronation to throw all of his furniture over the battlements and down into the Chionthar below, but it would at least be about as fun.

Dani lowered her voice. “Astarion, I want you to mingle and keep your ears and eyes open. Pick some locks, sneak into some rooms. See if you can find this Aubron Dormire before he finds us.”

“I’d be delighted, my dear,” Astarion said, his smirk matching his beguiling mask’s devilish expression. “Perhaps I’ll even find a little nibble for myself.”

“Shadowheart, Lae’zel, see what kind of entertainment our host has organized in the next room. Maybe we’ll get some hints about what kinds of traps to expect.”

“And here I was hoping to investigate the wine cellars,” Shadowheart sighed. “Ah well. I’ll grab a couple glasses on my way over.”

“Let us hope this lordling’s ‘entertainment’ proves interesting,” Lae’zel said. Her expression suggested that nothing Dormire had planned would be interesting to her, yet her eyes strayed in the direction of cheering nonetheless.

“Karlach—”

Karlach squeezed her eyes shut and clenched both of her hands into fists like she was a young child wishing on a star. “Please say the food, please say the food, please say the food—”

Dani laughed. “All right, all right. Karlach, you and Wyll investigate the food. You deserve a good meal after another six months in Avernus.”

Karlach pumped her fist with a hissed “Yes!”

“But watch out for poisons! You never know.”

“We’ll make sure to taste test everything, just to be safe,” Wyll said, smiling. “I’d hate for any of you to fall prey to any poisons.”

“Which just leaves you and me, love,” Gale said, smoothing a hand up her back. His fingers and palm slipped beneath her gold-feathered wrap to brush her bare skin where the back of her dress dripped dangerously low, very nearly to her tail. “Where would you have me?”

“Where else, darling?” Dani asked, tilting her head with a coy wink. “Right by my side, as always.”

She leaned over for a kiss, careful not to bump the beaks of their masks together, ignoring Lae’zel’s soft chk and Karlach’s little aww. When she pulled away, she gave everyone else a nod.

“Meet back up in the ballroom upstairs in an hour,” she said, “but if anything crazy happens before then, you kn—”

She faltered, about to suggest they all knew what to do. But that had been a year ago, when they all had tadpoles in their heads and could communicate effortlessly by linking their minds together. That had been their go-to foolproof plan with every heist and battle and adventure she’d planned or they’d fallen into with her. Now, they didn’t have that luxury. Sending spells had replaced her telepathic links with others, but sending spells took time. For one tiny moment, a pang of longing gripped her chest. Not for the impending doom of turning into a mind-flayer, of course, but it was clear that their adventuring tonight would be very different than the adventuring days of over a year ago. She felt suddenly nostalgic for it.

She tried to push aside the odd tangle of emotions and focus. “If anything crazy happens, then…”

“Er, yell really loud?” Karlach suggested.

Dani supposed that was the best they could do. They were all trapped in one building, after all. It wasn’t like they would be miles away from each other. “Sure. Or come up with some kind of big noise or signal. We all know how to think on our feet.”

The plan officially made, everyone broke off and headed for their respective areas. Astarion wandered over to a small cluster of masked guests, while Shadowheart and Lae’zel slipped into a room off to the left and Wyll and Karlach disappeared in search of food. Gale offered Dani his arm and gestured with his other hand to the rest of the foyer.

“Where to now, my love?” he asked.

Dani took his arm with a smile. His touch instantly steadied her and grounded her back in the moment. “Let’s just wander around. I want to get a good idea of the layout of this place.”

Entrances, potential exits, which rooms led into the next, keeping her eyes peeled for hidden doors, secret levers, sneaky little buttons and the like; she wanted to know where all of it was so that the minute things turned sideways—and they would turn sideways, it wouldn’t be an adventure with Dani otherwise—she wouldn’t find herself with her back against the wall with nowhere to go.

So they wandered, walking a slow circuit through the first floor of the manor. The rooms seemed to be arranged in a loop, beginning and ending in the foyer—it was almost too easy to map out in her head. Heading counter-clockwise, they stepped first into the dining room, with its tables pushed against the far wall, practically groaning under the weight of dozens of succulent dishes.

Though Dani longed to try at least one little bite, they let Wyll and Karlach handle the food for the moment and continued through to a sitting room, where masked guests sat at card tables, gossiping over their cards, the air thick with cigar and pipe smoke. They passed quickly through that room too, neither of them a fan of the smoke, only to find themselves in a room full of hunting trophies, mounted weapons, and taxidermied creatures. Several guests lingered here, too, holding quiet conversations beneath the shaggy chins of minotaurs and the boney heads of hellsboars.

The room was an odd assortment of creatures and weapons that looked as though they'd never even kissed flesh in any way before, let alone felled mighty beasts. Yet the creatures in the room looked genuine, or at least realistic enough to fool her. Of all the things in the room, she was a little surprised to see the head of an illithid mind flayer mounted on one wall, its beady glass eyes a little too reminiscent of the Emperor for her liking.

She wondered what the old squid was doing these days.

“Is Lord Dormire a hunter, do you think?” she asked, cocking her head to examine the head of a dilophosaurus that was mounted at about eye level on the wall. “Or did he just buy all of this to seem more impressive than he is?”

“Impossible to say, without having met the man,” Gale said. “I’m more interested in all the mirrors he has.”

“Mirrors?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” He gestured to one wall, where a tall, wide mirror took up a third of the space. “There’s been a large mirror in every room. Sometimes more than one.”

“So? Perhaps Dormire is a vain man. He wouldn’t be the only vain patriar we’ve ever met.”

Even so, she let go of Gale’s arm to approach the mirror, tilting her head to examine her reflection. Her golden bird mask wasn’t going anywhere, that was certain, but she didn’t want to look ruffled or disheveled when this Lord Dormire finally made his appearance. She twisted a bit of her blue-dyed hair idly around one finger to restore some of its curl, her eyes roving over the reflections of mounted swords and stuffed creature heads behind her. Over the dim murmur of conversation, she thought she heard a familiar voice.

“Well, this is…grotesque. So many of nature’s creations left unable to return to the earth. What a waste. Let us move on, my heart. This room is not for me.”

She blinked, certain that it was Halsin’s voice she heard. She glanced at the reflection, eyes flicking from guest to guest until they landed on an exceptionally tall wood elf in an elaborate wood mask carved to look like tree bark and branches. At his side was a slim half-elven woman with auburn hair and a pale green dress, her mask an elegant variation of his. Dani whirled, a ready smile on her face—Halsin had told her he wouldn’t be attending this masquerade—only to find that corner of the room empty.

She blinked. She was certain…

She looked back at the mirror, but the image of Halsin and the auburn-haired woman was gone. The corner was as empty in the reflection as it was in the room itself. Nothing to see except dead, stuffed creatures and pristine swords and crossbows.

“Dani?” Gale stepped into view of the mirror, looking at her curiously.

“I thought I saw…” She trailed off, feeling suddenly uncertain. The room bore no signs of the former Archdruid, either in the reflection of the mirror or physically around them. She shook her head. “Nevermind. Trick of the light, I think.”

He looked at her with concern, his mask doing little to hide his thoughts. He gently ran his fingertips down her arm. A steady touch to remind her that he was there. “Are you all right? No ill effects from the mask, I hope.”

She shook her head again. “No. Just an over-active imagination. You know me.” She gave him a smile to ease his worries and took his arm again. “Come on, let’s find another room. This one is giving me the creeps. Too many fake eyes.”

She glanced back at the mirror as they left it behind, but it looked like any old mirror. Not even a hint of magic to suggest it was anything sinister.

The next room was a kind of art gallery, with paintings of various figures, landscapes, and still life scenes hanging from floor to ceiling. Now that Gale had pointed it out, she noticed two large mirrors in this room as well, one centered over an empty fireplace mantel and the other filling nearly a third of the wall opposite from Dani. As with other rooms, masked guests lingered here as well, casting half-interested gazes their way before returning to their conversations or examining the portraits. Dani felt like she was at the pre-party before the actual party, the way these guests were behaving. Everyone just waiting and watching.

She ignored them, since they were content to ignore her, and scanned the portraits and walls for any signs of buttons, hidden doors, or levers. “See anything interesting?”

“Not unless you count that obviously fake Fevras portrait as something ‘interesting,’” Gale said. “How many times have we seen that exact same portrait of that girl?”

“Too many times. I hope he isn't here tonight. If you see him, cast invisibility on me immediately.”

A burst of colorful light followed by applause and laughter in the next room caught both their attention. They exchanged curious looks, all thoughts about Oskar Fevras and his more eccentric habits forgotten.

“Sounds like the next room is where all the action is happening,” she said.

“So it would seem. Shall we check it out?”

She shrugged. “You go take a sneak peak. I want to see if I can find any secrets in this room. Out of all the rooms we’ve been in, this room looks like the one most likely to have a cheeky little safe or something.”

Gale chuckled. It was far from the first time Dani had found or broken into a safe hidden behind a well-placed portrait. “Very well. I won’t be long.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but with her mask in the way, settled for a kiss on her jawline. She grinned and gave him a little push toward the doorway.

"Go on before I change my mind," she teased. He flashed her a smile of his own before turning away.

As he crossed the room to peer through the open doorway into the next room, Dani walked around the edges of the small gallery, glancing at various paintings. She paused briefly before the mirror over the mantel, but it seemed like an average mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary. She pursed her lips and continued on.

Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the larger mirror that took up part of the far wall. A couple of masked guests entered through the doorway behind her, the one that led through to the trophy room, their movements reflected by the mirror. Though their reflections laughed, their heads thrown back, Dani didn’t hear a sound. She turned her head to look for them in the room, only to find no one at all near that doorway.

One trick of the light was strange. Twice was just suspicious.

Abandoning her search for secrets behind paintings, she crossed immediately to the other mirror. As she neared, a guest in a golden butterfly mask seemed to appear from nowhere, stepping into her path. Dani stopped short, nearly stumbling, to avoid a collision.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t—”

She stopped, realizing too late that she wasn’t talking to a guest—but to a reflection of a guest. The mirror was closer than she realized. She paused, staring, as the guest looked back at her.

She was beautiful, whoever she was. A lithe half-elven woman with pale blonde hair styled in an intricate braided bun. She looked every bit the noble patriar type that lived in this part of the Upper City with her slightly upturned nose and glossy, plump lips. Her dress was made with expensive green velvet, embroidered with golden thread along the bodice and in a simple, yet elegant emblems down the high-waisted skirt. Her arms were bare but she bore a drape of green satiny fabric from her shoulders down to the floor. Her face registered a flicker of surprise to see Dani.

If indeed she did see Dani.

Dani couldn’t look away. She was standing in front of a mirror—she knew she was. Yet instead of facing her own reflection, she was facing a total stranger. She raised a hand uncertainly to touch her own shoulder, as if she might not find golden feathers from Gale’s enchanted wrap there, but smooth green fabric instead. The figure in the mirror mimicked her motions exactly. As if they moved as one.

“What in the hells...” Dani whispered, watching the stranger’s lips form the words in the mirror. What the hells was going on?

She saw Gale approaching from behind her in the reflection. In the mirror, he wore an elaborate green and gold embroidered coat with golden tassels, matching the outfit of the woman in the reflection. Instead of an owl mask, his face was covered with a lion mask burnished in bronze and gold. She saw him reach out to her—to the stranger—in the mirror, yet she still jumped when she felt his touch on her arm.

“My love?”

She turned to look at him, her heart in her throat. No lion mask. No green finery. Instead she was facing Gale as he was two minutes ago in his sculpted owl mask, his clothing once more the midnight blue brocade and purple silk that he had worn ever since they changed into their finery for the evening scarcely an hour or two before.

He stared at her, frowning with concern. “Dani. Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I...” She looked back at the mirror, fully expecting to see the elven woman in green and gold again.

But it was her own reflection she faced. An image of a blue-skinned tiefling in a deep blue gown and a wrap of golden, metallic feathers, looking spooked behind her songbird mask. No signs of the stranger at all.

The mirror was just a mirror once more.

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #my fic #oc #dani #meridan zavrai #gale #gale dekarios #other tavs

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 2 years

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Deserving Makes No Difference

I felt feelings and got really fucking annoyed with how people still hold vesemir up on a pedistal even tho hes big abusive but dont give the female characters the same respect. so i wrote something about it

big big thank you to @jaskierswolf for betaing, your comments bring me great joy

CW: past child abuse, realizing past child abuse, geralt sees too much of himself in ciri and has some realizations, some good trauma talks with the bestie past midnight, geralt is a cycle breaker and thats extremely sexy of him, jaskier is the friend we all need when we fall back on our trauma bonding.

also on ao3

____________________

Training Ciri shouldn’t have been so hard. She was a fantastic student, pushed herself so hard that no one else needed to, and even enjoyed the work. No, she wasn’t what made training so hard on Geralt; it was the memories of his own training.

He never thought about it after it was over, save muscle memory and the occasional story between the other wolves. But now that he had Ciri… the memories of belts and evenings without supper and wooden canes suddenly seemed horrific rather than a bonding memory with his cohort. He’d gone all these years thinking that was just the way it was, that he deserved it, that there was only one way to train an unruly and explosive little brat like himself. And every time he watched Ciri fumble and explode in nearly the same spot he had decades before, he flinched. No harm ever came to her, he made damn sure of it, but he was still prepared for a blow.

After a few weeks of this realization, he told Ciri she would need to focus on controlling her chaos for the time being.

“You said it yourself,I need to be able to protect myself. That making me better and faster and stronger is how you’ll protect me. How am I supposed to improve if I don’t train?”

The guilt trip almost worked, but Geralt needed a break, needed to think, “You can drill at the end of the day if Yennefer hasn’t completely drained you. But only if Cohen agrees to supervise.”

Ciri scrutinized him before falling in step next to him toward their dinner, “Why not Lambert?”

“He’s more childish than you,” Geralt snorted.

“And Vesemir?”

Panic flooded Geralt as he did his best to keep his posture neutral, but every fiber of his being screamed not to let him near Ciri, “No.”

“Why not? He trained you. And Jaskier said he saw you cut through forty soldiers without breaking a sweat.”

Geralt took a deep breath and forced a smile, “Jaskier’s full of shit. Cohen only.”

Ciri rolled her eyes but muttered a begrudging, “Fine,” before splitting off to dig into dinner.

When he mentioned the schedule shift to Yennefer, something sad and lonely crossed her features before she masked it with a surprisingly kind smile. He hadn’t expected her to take issue, but he was almost angry that she seemed… understanding? Empathetic?

“Must be harder for you,” Yennefer’s voice would sound condescending to someone who didn’t know her, but Geralt heard the melancholy edge, “I have no memories in this place and still it aches.”

All he could give her in response was a grimace and terse nod.

It was slightly comforting knowing Yennefer was at least in a similar position, but she seemed just fine. The other wolves seemed just fine. Hell, he was the only one of them to take issue with anything they’d been through. From the trials to the disgusting way Vesemir mourned his lost ability to inflict the same soul-crushing pain on more innocent boys, Geralt seemed to be the only one concerned with the way anyone was handling, or better yet not handling anything.

That night he sat on his bed, polishing his swords as he tried to wrap his mind around how he’d got there.

Sometime after midnight, his door was shoved open by Jaskier holding a bottle of something far too strong for a human and managing to yell at him while still whispering, “Right. Put the perfectly sharp blade down before I use it on you. I swear to fuck if you scrape that whet stone more time, I’ll lose the one fucking marble I have left. And I need that one! It makes me money!”

Stunned out of his meditation-like repetitive stupor, Geralt carefully set his things aside as Jaskier made himself at home on Geralt’s bed, “Didn’t know anyone could hear.”

“Yes, well, these doors are shit, and I’m right across the hall,” Jaskier waved his hands as if Geralt should have caught on by now before uncorking the bottle and holding it toward Geralt, “What’s running round in that big boarish head of yours?”

Geralt gave him a sad excuse for a smirk and took the bottle, staring at it as he whispered like he was giving some heinous confession, “I’m… I can’t imagine intentionally harming Ciri.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow with an air of cautious optimism, “That’s good.”

He didn’t understand. Not that Geralt should expect him to, but they hadn’t spent as much time together recently. It used to be easier to talk like this with Jaskier, the bard was able to put together the broken fragments of a sentence Grealt couldn’t bear to say aloud much faster when they’d been attached at the hip.

Frowning as he took a pull from the bottle, Geralt slowly dug the words out from where he’d buried them long ago, “But no one thought twice about beating or starving us… for the same mistakes she makes. She’s just scared…” Geralt took a deep breath and slowly forced it out, sneaking the words in on his exhale as if his pride and fear wouldn’t notice that way, “We were just scared…”

For a long time, neither of them said a word; they both just stared at the bottle in Geralt’s hand. The air was thick and breathing too deeply felt dangerous somehow, like a sigh could break watever fragile balance they’d set up. Geralt’s mind raced, as it had been all night, reminding him of horror story after horror story that had been so normalized he and his fellow wolves had laughed as they exchanged them over meals. They almost made him sick as he imagined any of those words coming out of Ciri’s mouth.

Finally, Jaskier spoke up, his voice soft and careful, “Is that why she’s training with Yen more?”

Geralt found himself nodding before he realized, an odd tightness behind his eyes and in the back of his throat, “It made sense before. We were nightmares, but Ciri can be worse, and I couldn’t dream…”

“You didn’t deserve it either,” Jaskier reminded him, taking the bottle from his hand and taking a conservative swig before cris-crossing his legs.

“Deserving and not deserving makes no difference. Shit still happens.” Geralt grumbled, reciting a line he’d rehearsed plenty of times before, only now it felt hollow. He didn’t believe it anymore, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

The soft, almost proud smile Jaskier wore when Geralt risked a glance toward him was confusing, but the bard’s words were far worse, “We finally tricked you into giving a fuck about yourself,” When Geralt frowned harder at him, Jaskier continued, “Hell, Geralt, you called yourself a tool- no! Weapon when I first met you. It has taken decades to humanize you to yourself. Decades and a daughter apparently…” he trailed off with a shrug and another sip from the bottle.

“I thought I was a selfish twit,” Geralt huffed, reaching for the bottle before bringing one foot onto the bed to rest his elbow on his knee. He didn’t think Jaskier was wrong, but he didn’t want to accept it either. Too much about how he moved through the world would change.

“You are,” Jaskier smiled, giving a fervent nod, “You’ve great range.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt couldn’t stop the tired smile spreading on his face, “Don’t sign me up to give a monologue.”

“Now that I have the idea…” Jaskier gave him a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows and dodged a light backhand to his shoulder.

The liquor was starting to do its job, Geralt's limbs feeling heavier and his mind foggier. He took another long bubbling pull from the bottle before setting it on the floor, Jaskier giving a sigh of relief. It was a satisfying enough explanation for why the training grounds bothered him all of the sudden, but as he stared at a hole in the hem of Jaskier’s trousers, something kept eating at him.

“I can't trust the people I called family,” the whispered words were out before he realized he’d spoken. Something in him calcified and died as he said it. He’d been thinking it for weeks, especially since Vesemir’s latest stunt, but it felt final, speaking the fact into existence.

Geralt could just barely see Jaskier nodding his head as he spoke, “Me neither. Rotten, isn’t it?”

“Fucking brutal.”

“Yup,” Jaskier popped the ‘p’ and rested his chin in his hand, staring at the same hole Geralt had been staring at, “What are you going to do about it?”

The question pulled Geralt up short, “The fuck can I do?”

It had been a long time since Jaskier looked at him like he was a fucking idiot, but it still had the same effect, “Tell them? Ruin their week? Lay down rules?” As he made his list, Jaskier shuffled till he was laying diagonally across the bed with his head on the pillows and somehow he still had the effect of making Geralt feel like a dimwit, “For fuck’s sake, Geralt, that's your daughter. You focus so hard on protecting her from armies and monsters, don’t forget about your own family just because no one else has given a fuck all these years.”

“They wouldn’t starve-”

“You just said you can’t trust them. Why defend them?” Jaskier was staring him down with a challenge in his eyes and Geralt couldn’t argue with the logic.

Sliding his hand down his shin and resting his chin on his knee like he did when he was a boy, Geralt closed his eyes and whispered, “We were raised to need him. It’s a shitty habit.”

“I know,” Jaskier let out a long sorrowful sigh that reminded Geralt he really did know, “Maybe talk to Lambert first?”

Geralt shook his head and felt a little dizzy for it, letting himself plop over onto his side so he was curled into the little triangle of space Jaskier had left him, “He’s too angry. Probably accuse me of mutiny… Eskel would have understood.”

Jaskier’s hand flopped to his side and clumsily found its way to comb through Geralt’s hair, “Yeah?”

“You would have liked him,” Geralt mused, again feeling that enraging sting behind his eyes, “He’d have already torn into Vesemir. Was always ready for a fight…”

Voice softer, almost like he was singing a lullaby, Jaskier hummed, “I probably would have.”

For a moment Geralt thought he’d be okay, he thought he could tell Jaskier just how betrayed he felt by the people he thought he could trust the most. How Vesemir was supposed to protect him and how he’d broken the promises he made when Geralt was too little to understand he couldn’t keep them. But all that came out were soft stuttering breaths and tears rolling down his face.

Continuing to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair, Jaskier whispered, “Let’s sleep. You’ve done enough thinking for one night.”

Geralt sniffed and raised his head with an embarrassed grimace and nodded. Instead of a pillow, Geralt laid his head on Jaskier’s stomach, letting the bard’s slow and rhythmic breathing in tandem with the steady thrum of liquor in his veins lull him to sleep even if he dreaded the morning.

#the witcher #geralt #vesemir #lambert #eskel #jaskier #yennefer #ciri #cirilla #the witcher fic #dilf geralt #good dad geralt #jask is the best bestie and i will take NO questions #(except i will bc i could go off on this)

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shinra-makonoid · 3 months

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I read those replies about risks of HRT, and it's interesting how one of those studies says "we actually need to study this more", but that person drew a conclusion that "HRT is definitely causing this".

It is annoying. Cofounding factors are a real tricky bit in regards to studies and that person just... Imagine they can know more of them than researchers.

It's in the notes of this post:

Even I kinda go rough when I say "yeah T raises risk for CVD" considering that, as the study says, trans men are smoking more, exercising less, having more anxiety etc than the general population. And despite the rising risks for CVD, mortality stays the same.

I agree there is still a lot we don't know about HRT, I agree we should research it more. Better yet, design specific meds for us to have that are perfectly attuned to our needs. For example, now I'm at almost a full vial of T every four weeks, (0.9ml out of 1ml, it decreased with my weight), so I don't throw away that much. But at one point I was at 0.5ml every two weeks, meaning I was throwing away half a vial every two weeks, aka a complete vial every month. It was crushing me because there are shortage of those meds and I hate throwing away stuff. Had there been a specific med tailored to specific trans needs, that wouldn't have happened.

But to claim that, because the specific med wasn't approved for, specifically, trans people it means it's dangerous and that we shouldn't use it.... Is just false. We have no evidence of that, we have even less evidence that it would outweigh the benefits. That person is just taking a stance that every med used off label should just have a 30 years cohort of test to decide whether it should be used, independently of whether the people who use it really need it or not. Which, even if it were to happen, would probably not even let pharmaceutical companies take the steps to actually make a med for us because we don't bring them enough money for it.

Doctors are also not usually just morons playing with molecules, they engage their responsibility using those meds and therefore make sure it's used well, they are experts in those domains. In my country at least, if you're not an endocrinologist, a gynecologist or a few other specific specialties dealing with hormones, you can't prescribe HRT. It does mean that yes, blood tests every 6 months are important, but like, if something really bad was happening to my body, we'd know. That's also how we realized that I had a fatty liver, which led me to eat better, which led me to have healthier habits in regards to food. So like... I guess T saved my liver in my case, as it has absolutely 0 symptoms before it's too late (the liver is a stealth bastard).

And again, I could go on and on about antidepressants and antipsychotics. I wouldn't advise anyone to stop them or anything, I think sometimes they outweigh the risks, but I personally had disastrous side effects from antipsychotics (taken to treat depression and anxiety, which is not even for that normally so yeah talk about off label I think that's a bigger issue, but i was at a mental hospital and pressured to take them and all) which led to hypothyroidism and prolactin level issues for me. Those side effects are studied and known to belong to antipsychotics, and little do you know when I stopped (after suffering from massive insomnias and bad feelings, it was a real shit med for me) it vanished.

I don't understand why HRT is the main issue when it's about such a tiny number of people, hasn't shown any bad metabolic side effects (except maybe like raising bad cholesterol but it doesn't mean much, it can still very much be in normal range, i still have normal range for ex), and hasn't had any evidence of shortening lives so far. If it ever changes, then I'll change my opinion, but I really don't think we'll find in ten years that T caused people to die, every expert on the issue argues that it's probably safe.

I think it's saner to argue that, even if you have no issue whatsoever, it's important to exercise, eat well, socialize, and avoid drinking and smoking. That advice is for every single person and it will save lives, way more than stopping T will ever do.

#anon #ask

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caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma · 2 years

Text

Peripheral, Part 10.5

Pairings: OT7 x reader; Taehyung x Jimin, Jungkook x reader, Yoongi x reader

Series Summary: An unfortunate accident leaves Kim Namjoon with amnesia, and Big Hit, BTS, ARMY, and the entire world are desperate to help him regain his memories and knowledge. Fortunately, a new genetics company has successfully created a system to alter our brains into human databases which can help someone regain knowledge and memories through a simple input/output exchange. Can this new invention give us back our beloved leader?

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: cursing/vulgar language, mentions of infertility, sexual discussions, mentions of infidelity, meddling parents

3 Years Earlier - Tokyo, Japan

"So, if my calculations are correct," Y/N proclaimed. "We could theoretically create a data partition in a person's brain capable of storing a vast amount of information as well as act as a biological transaction station for exporting stored data to others."

The conference room applauded enthusiastically when she stopped speaking and Y/N opened up the floor for questions.

"How do these transmissions work exactly?" queried one of the researchers. "Could anyone initiate them?"

"First of all, the procedure is called a transaction, not a transmission," Y/N corrected them. "The data sharing is multidirectional, it's not linear. They are initiated by the data host once a subject consents to the procedure. After consent is established, electrical impulses open data ports through the synapse networks in the body and transmit data between both the data host and the receiver."

"Fascinating. Have you commenced human trials yet?" another researcher probed. "This will require an extensive testing phase."

"We just received full approval to begin human trials starting next week," Y/N happily announced. “We have dozens of interested test subjects from the online surveys we circulated months ago. Our marketing team is working with our research department to narrow that down to 5 for the first test cohort.”

The sounds of approval and excitement circulated throughout the conference room as Y/N wrapped up the presentation and said her goodbyes. The donor coordinators were charming checks and wire transfers out of intrigued investors.

"Hey, Y/N," called a voice from behind her. "I have a question for you."

Y/N sighed at the unwelcome intrusion after such a successful presentation, but she plastered on a professional smile and turned to face her co-worker and ex-boyfriend, Toshiro Nakamura.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Nakamura," Y/N chirped enthusiastically. "I would be more than happy to answer any questions you might have regarding the project."

Toshiro smirked at her obviously fake demeanor and he ushered her into a little alcove away from prying ears and eyes. Once he was satisfied that they were out of earshot, he leaned back against the wall and sighed dramatically.

"So, are you really not going to tell anyone that you already started human trials on this project?" Toshiro huffed out. "Or was that one more thing that you and my father intended to keep from me?"

Y/N groaned in annoyance and crossed her arms defensively.

"If you have a problem with operations, then that's something you should take up directly with management." Y/N explained. "As for the human trials, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't bullshit me, Y/N," Toshiro spat. "I know that you were a part of the pilot program he put together last month. What I don’t know are the results of the initial test. Why don’t you save us both some time and just give me a briefing, yeah?"

"Oh," Y/N mused dismissively. "And where exactly are you getting this privileged information, Toshi? Please don’t tell me you’re fucking around with the lab assistants again for inside information.”

“One time, Y/N,” Toshiro growled. “That happened one fucking time, and I can’t believe that you are still hung up on that shit. Still not over me, are you, babe?”

“In your dreams, asshole,” Y/N retorted. “The truth is I leveled up to a bigger and better plane of existence, while you are still content replaying the tired old side quests on this one."

"Don't sling your bullshit gamer analogies at me, Y/N, " Toshiro gritted out. "I just want to know when important things are happening in my company. That is my right as the heir to Nakamura Inc. This company is my birthright and you will give me whatever information I demand as your superior."

"You aren't in charge yet, Junior, " Y/N reminded the petulant poser. "And you are not my superior. You aren’t even my equal. I answer to the actual Mr. Nakamura, not his spoiled fuckboy son.”

“I am not-” Toshiro howled before composing himself. “Look, Y/N, I would hate for something like this to reflect badly on your position. When I take over this company, I want us to maintain the same kind of professional relationship that you have with my father. You should start working on that now before it’s too late and you find yourself unemployed.”

“You certainly have a lot of faith in your inheritance, Toshi,” Y/N remarked cooly. “I sure hope your father doesn't change his mind and give the company to someone else."

"What? Why?" Toshiro sputtered angrily. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing, Toshi," Y/N grinned. "I'm sure your father trusts the future of his burgeoning company and scientific research facilities to a spoiled brat incapable of true vision or class. In fact, you should go talk to him about that. I'm sure he'd love to hear about your ideas for the upcoming STEM Expo in Seoul next quarter."

Toshiro scoffed and straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his perfectly coiffed hair. The arrogance dripping off of him was stifling.

"Make your jokes now, Y/N," Toshiro remarked snidely. "You won't be so bold when I'm the one in charge. If memory serves, you really liked it when I was in charge, remember?"

Toshiro reached out to toy with one of Y/N's loose strands of hair, but she quickly slapped his hand away. He merely smirked at her rebuff and tore off toward the elevators and his father's office.

With Toshiro out of sight, Y/N did her best to put him out of mind. She took a deep breath and shook off the annoyance clinging to her nerves before making her way to the elevators. Instead of following her past mistakes up to the penthouse, she swiped her ID card on the keypad and headed straight down to the executive research suites located three floors below.

Mr. Nakamura, the true CEO of Nakamura, Inc., created this research lab exclusively for her project and the amount of money he poured into it was mind boggling. He was fascinated by her work and his engineering background combined with his natural aptitude for biological processes made him a brilliant research partner. It was truly puzzling how his own son missed the mark when it came to academic achievements.

The idiot would rather count his money than do anything to benefit humanity. What a fucking loser.

Y/N tried to wipe the scowl off her face before entering the lab, but it was obvious that Mr. Nakamura was privy to her ruffled feathers as soon as she entered the room. He pulled away from his microscope and turned his scrutinizing gaze her way.

"That look on your face can only mean one thing," Mr. Nakamura chuckled. "You ran into Junior, didn't you?"

"Sir, you know he hates when you call him that," Y/N huffed. "And yes, I did. He's pissed that you didn't inform him about the tests we conducted last month."

"There was nothing to inform," Mr. Nakamura replied coolly. "There were no tests conducted last month, at least according to our records. I didn't write up a report and neither did you, correct?"

"Correct," Y/N smiled. "Speaking of which, we should probably check on that non-project, don't you think? Even if it doesn't exist, it would be a good idea to get some more measurements and readings before the first cohort arrives."

"That's a good idea," Mr. Nakamura assented. "You get everything set up here and I will go get the diagnostic equipment. "

Mr. Nakamura walked to the back of the lab while Y/N took a seat and began placing sticky medical pads strategically on her body. Mr. Nakamura walked back in with a large plastic tote full of wires. One by one, he handed over the ends of different wires and Y/N connected the ends to a medical pad on her body. Mr. Nakamura began fiddling with the instrument panel in front of him once all of the wires were connected and the machine whirred to life. Y/N jolted slightly as the machine started running diagnostics.

“I will never get used to that feeling, will I?” Y/N sighed. “It gets me everytime.”

“Don’t you worry, Y/N,” Mr. Nakamura assured her. “Eventually, you will barely even notice it at all.”

The soft syncopated beeps and pulsating lights slowly illuminated the display panel and the diagnostic test results filtered in one by one. Y/N ran over each diagnostic result in her brain and her smile bloomed as each new positive result poured in.

A light succession of beeps alerted them to the final result, and they each took a deep breath before chuckling softly.

"It worked," Y/N cried out in disbelief. "Are you seeing this, sir? It really worked!"

"I know, I'm seeing the same thing," Mr. Nakamura cheered. "This is incredible, Y/N. Your experiment worked perfectly. This is fantastic news!"

"Oh, sir, think of what this means," Y/N gushed. "Think of the possibilities, the people we can help!"

"This is only the beginning, my dear," Mr. Nakamura beamed. "Together, we are going to be unstoppable. This is the one, Y/N. This is the project we were looking for. We can now make our full presentation to the board to create the new division of Nakamura, Inc."

"Nakamura Neurocom," Y/N sighed. "It does feel this is where our origin story begins. We have so much work to do, sir. I guess that means more hours for us in the lab. Should I get the cots ready?"

"Perhaps," Mr. Nakamura joked. “We still have more research to complete, you know. Each new success leads us closer to realizing your initial theory, Y/N. It’s only a matter of time before we can start exploring the world of pure information exchange.”

“I know,” Y/N squealed. “I mean, I know it’s still just a theory, but these results are giving me hope that something like that is actually possible. I might be able to share my mind completely with another person, someone wholesome and pure and trustworthy. It would be the epitome of intimacy. I’m close to a breakthrough, I can feel it.”

“If anyone can figure it out, I’m sure it will be you,” Mr. Nakamura. “The question is, with whom would you share that much of yourself? I had hoped it would be my son, but he dashed those hopes, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Y/N gritted out. “Worst Christmas party ever.”

“I may not be able to apologize for his behavior,” Mr. Nakamura replied softly. “But I will apologize on behalf of my lack of discipline. I raised that boy alone and I’m afraid I missed a few opportunities to teach him how to behave like a gentleman.”

“It’s not your fault, sir,” Y/N sighed. “If anything, I share half the blame for that incident. After we found out I was infertile, I kept my distance from Toshi. I felt like a failure. I was always in the lab working on this project and he started feeling neglected. I basically pushed him into that lab assistant’s arms.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear,” Mr. Nakamura. “The infertility was not your fault and you shouldn’t blame yourself for that discovery. It was just one pregnancy scare that turned into something else. It was not something you had any control over. As for your work habits, I can relate. I, too, once pushed away my loved ones in pursuit of knowledge. I learned how to balance it and so will you.”

“I hope you’re right,” Y/N sighed. “It was just a lot to process all at once. Toshi wasn’t very helpful either. I know he was trying to be sympathetic, but his words just made me feel resentful.”

“All things considered, it’s actually amusing how things turned out,” Mr. Nakamura mused. “The boy couldn’t help but fall for a girl who is just like his father. Smart, funny, charming, and completely obsessed with the job.”

“But this job is a dream come true for me!” Y/N protested. “Toshi knew how much this job meant to me. I have been working on this project for over a decade, and I’m so close to making it a reality. Why couldn’t he understand that?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Nakamura admitted sadly. “If I knew that, I would be closer to understanding my son than I am now. Junior was always so hard to read. He acts one way, but actually feels another. He got that from his mother. Enchanting woman, but a master at masking her emotions. That’s why we found out about her cancer so late. She kept hiding the pain out of misplaced inconvenience.”

“Oh, that’s terrible, sir,” Y/N exclaimed. “I never knew.”

“Not many do,” Mr. Nakamura sighed. “It’s a family matter. I only share it with you because I consider you family, Y/N. The daughter who almost was.”

Mr. Nakamura giggled at his little joke and Y/N rolled her eyes and gently swatted his arm in protest.

“Sir, that’s not funny,” Y/N groaned.

“I know, I know,” Mr. Nakamura conceded. “I have to laugh to keep myself from crying. Junior lost out on a fine woman when he lost you, but I’m glad you decided to stay on as my partner. I never would’ve accomplished half of the projects over the last year without you. This new venture is just the beginning of a new era for Nakamura, Inc.”

“Thank you, sir,” Y/N smiled brightly. “It feels good to know I’m appreciated.”

Mr. Nakamura pulled Y/N into a gentle side hug and then gathered up the printed diagnostic test results. He paused while looking at the results and then sighed before handing the printouts to Y/N.

"Unfortunately, you and I are the only ones who know this project so well,” Mr. Nakamura commented thoughtfully. “Maybe we can get a few others trained in the software before the trials begin? It wouldn't hurt to expand our department."

"That's a good idea, sir," Y/N assented while sorting the printouts into a manila envelope. "I can start combing through our employees for good candidates. Shall we meet tomorrow and go over the specifics?"

"Sounds good, Y/N," Mr. Nakamura agreed.

A small rustle resounded across the room and Mr. Nakamura coughed in response.

"Why don't we get you unplugged, yeah?" Mr. Nakamura offered. "We have to get ready for tomorrow. Big day ahead of us. We have to pick the members of our first cohort tomorrow. You should get some rest."

"Yeah, no kidding," Y/N resounded, seeming to forget about the strange noise in the room. "Well, I will let you clean up while I go home and start working on that list."

They detached the wires and sticky pads and put everything away neatly in the cabinet. Y/N gathered a few items from her office and then waved goodbye to Mr. Nakamura, who was still cleaning the countertops with disinfectant. Once Y/N was safely moving away in the elevator, Mr. Nakamura huffed out in annoyance and addressed the intruder in the room.

"She's gone, Junior," Mr. Nakamura sighed. "No point in hiding anymore."

Toshiro reluctantly stepped out of the shadows of his father’s office with a scowl on his face. He sauntered over to his father and hopped onto the table where Y/N previously sat.

“How did you know I was there?” Toshiro grumbled.

“Aside from your inability to remain quiet for more than 5 minutes,” Mr. Nakamura commented. “I get real time notifications whenever someone accesses my private elevator. You should know better than that, Junior.”

“And please stop calling me Junior!” Toshiro howled. “I’m an adult now, father. Maybe it’s time you recognized that fact.”

“I recognized that you are an adult in age, son,” Mr. Nakamura agreed. “But only a child gets angry about a family nickname.”

Toshiro gritted his teeth at his father’s words and clamped down the onslaught of petulant remarks pushing at his lips. He inhaled deeply through his flared nostrils and released the annoyance and frustration scratching at his composure. He slid off the table and turned to face his father who was meticulously cleaning and organizing the lab table.

“Look, father, I know that Y/N and I are not on the best terms right now,” Toshiro began calmly. “And that is mostly my fault. However, I feel like her work here in the lab is causing a rift in our father-son relationship.”

“How so?” Mr. Nakamura asked nonchalantly. “We still make time for one another. We have dinner together once a week, and we still meet for coffee every morning. I even granted you special access to everything in the company. Where exactly is there a rift, son?”

“I may have access to everything, but I still feel locked out,” Toshiro explained. “You and Y/N are working on this special project that is racking up a lot of attention and money from our investors. I know the basics of the project because I helped you both start up the research, but once Y/N and I ended things, she shut me out. As your son and heir, I think it’s crucial that I play an active part in this project, for the sake of the company.”

“Why are you so concerned about this project, Toshi?” Mr. Nakamura wondered aloud. “You weren’t that interested in it before. What’s changed?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Toshiro huffed out. “I just want to understand why the two of you are spending so much time on this. I want to help you both succeed, if I can. This project is important to you and you are important to me. But I can’t help you if I don’t understand the project. You were just talking to her about training other employees so that the project can thrive. Make me one of those employees.”

Mr. Nakamura hummed a bit before his brows furrowed in thought. Having his son involved in the project would help facilitate the process and it would secure the family hold on the project for the board’s approval.

It couldn’t hurt to get an extra pair of Nakamura eyes on this. After all, this is a family business.

“I can’t add you to the project directly,” Mr. Nakamura informed Toshiro. “Y/N would immediately reject your involvement on the project. If you didn’t have such a troubled past, it would be easier, but you just had to make life difficult for her during and after that ugly breakup.”

Toshiro clenched his fists and remained silent, even though his brain was screeching at him to respond to his father’s obvious ploy. He regained his composure and gave his father a strained smile as he waited for him to continue.

“Yes, that was messy,” Toshiro admitted. “I handled it badly and I lost her. There’s no need to rub it in.”

“I’m not rubbing it in, son,” Mr. Nakamura replied. “I’m simply saying that you took a delicate situation and you fractured it so completely that it broke apart without any hope for repair. What did Y/N do to elicit such behavior from you?”

“Nothing,” Toshiro sighed. “She did nothing. We had plans, shit happened, the plans fell through. That’s all there is to it.”

“Was it really so bad that she couldn’t give you children, Toshi?” Mr. Nakamura asked. “Did you have to say such horrible things to her about something that was out of her control?”

“It wasn’t about the children, father,” Toshiro admitted freely. “Y/N completely shut down after the doctor gave her that diagnosis. She was obsessed with her inability to conceive and nothing I was saying was making her feel any better. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just tried to get her to forget about it. I had no idea how badly it would backfire.”

“You were always too impatient, Toshi,” Mr. Nakamura said, shaking his head. “Y/N didn’t need a distraction from her perceived failure. You offered vacations and high adventure activities and all she needed was comfort and reassurance from someone who loved her.”

“I did love her!” Toshiro exclaimed hotly. “I loved her so much and nothing I did was ever good enough for her. She made a fool of me, father. She painted me as some kind of villain when all I did was try to be her hero.”

“You were too aggressive, son,” Mr. Nakamura explained. “You backed her into a corner. Did you really expect her to back down? You know as well as I do that Y/N is not the type to crumble under pressure. She lashed out at you because you left her no other choice. Perhaps, with time, she will forgive you and you two can resume a friendly relationship.”

“Well, it’s too late for me to do anything about it now,” Toshiro sighed. “The least I can do is help her realize her dream, even if it’s from the sidelines. That’s why I want to help, father. If I can make it up to her in some small way, then that’s what I aim to do.”

Mr. Nakamura raked his analytical gaze over his son and surveyed his intentions. They appeared to be sincere, but he was still apprehensive. With a small exhale of defeat, he pulled up some files on the mainframe and saved them to an external USB drive. He ejected the drive from the mainframe and held it out to Toshiro.

“This is all the information on the pilot program, including our notes about upcoming projects,” Mr. Nakamura informed him. “Please read through all the materials and let me know if you have any questions. You are not to say a word to anyone about your involvement in this project. I will personally educate you about everything in the project and you will be allowed to watch trials from a secure location. Is that understood, Toshiro?”

Toshiro took the drive from his father and placed it into his suit breast pocket for safekeeping. He cleverly smothered the smirk pulling at his lips before answering his father.

“Yes, of course, father,” Toshiro nodded and bowed. “I am, as always, here to serve you.”

The two Nakamuras left the lab together via the secret elevator in Mr. Nakamura’s office. Two men traveling skyward; one with his head in the clouds and the other with his head in the thick miasma of deceit.

A/N: Hey, y'all! Sorry I've been MIA for a bit, but life decided I needed a rollercoaster ride and I jumped on without reading the warnings. Oh well, live and learn. I am working on my writing stuff again, so let's hope that this summer gives me lots of time and energy and inspiration. Thank you to @xxxille-girlxxx for helping me Beta read this (Love you, Goguma!) I wanted to give everyone a little insight into Y/N's history with the company. This will come into play in the next chapter. I hope I still have people reading this! Stay safe and cool, y'all!

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