As someone who is the biggest lore nut and pays attention to all the little details and references, especially in visual iconography and symbolism, I DID NOT PUT TOGETHER THAT THE NOUVEAU CAFE COFFEE TRUCK LOGO WAS THE TEAM FLARE LOGO ROTATED WITH A STYLIZED "N" ON IT FOR A LONG TIME WHILE PLAYING ZA!!
The responsive male's sexuality forms a circle rather than a line. He begins at the breast, peaks at the breast (during adolescent petting), and completes at the breast.
What conventional development treats as waypoints — infant nursing, adolescent petting — reveal themselves as the beta male's true range.
His sexuality didn't fail to mature. It matured toward accepting its own limits.
The maternal triad technique honors this truth by providing the breast contact and manual stimulation he always actually wanted, within a psychological framework of vocal maternal authority that transforms what shame called "failure to launch" into what honesty calls "accurate self-knowledge."
At Westwood, Professor Hailey's research on beta sexuality reveals a unique pattern among responsive males:
they experience peak arousal during breast contact (87% vs. 34% in adequate males)
they prefer manual stimulation over intercourse (76% when given choice)
they prematurely ejaculate during attempted penetration (68% climax within 90 seconds)
they experience intense sexual satisfaction from "petting" that feels complete, not preliminary (82%)
and they have retrospective recognition that adolescent sexual experiences were their peak (73%)
This data confirms not that beta males failed to mature sexually, but that they matured toward recognizing their actual sexual range. What appears as arrested development at "second base" is actually honest assessment that further advancement toward penetrative sex serves no purpose. Responsive males are pussy free by design.
The Maternal Triad addresses that truth -- a truth patriarchal sexuality desperately obscures: some men never successfully progressed beyond "second base" because second base was always their endpoint.
The beta male's small penis, rapid ejaculation, and chronic performance anxiety aren't problems requiring intervention — they're his body refusing to participate in a lie.
When he nurses at her breast while she controls his release with her hand, and soothes him with her voice, something profound happens: the exhausting pretense ends. She's no longer performing enthusiasm for inadequate penetration. He's no longer failing at a role his anatomy can't sustain. Instead, both discover what actually works — her authority structuring his dependent sexuality, his body responding with the honesty it was always trying to express.
This isn't infantilization. It's liberation through acknowledgment of limits. He maintains full adult function in every domain except the one where he was never adequate: penetrative sexual dominance.
The Triad transforms maternal capacity from unpaid burden into instrument of female authority. Her breast, historically demanded for infant nourishment, becomes the ultimate symbol of her power — she controls access, she determines when he orgasms, she manages his entire sexual expression.
The irony is precise: the small penis that fails at intercourse succeeds at hand jobs. The inadequacy that disqualifies him for penetration qualifies him for manual submission. His size becomes asset in the context the maternal triad provides.
When he nurses at her breast while she strokes his penis to orgasm, he is not regressing to infancy despite accessing infantile comfort. He is integrating his adult sexuality with his psychological needs, discovering that the two align at the breast rather than in the vagina.
For female partners, the triad offers unprecedented control. The woman who determines when he nurses, how long he stays at her breast, whether he receives orgasm, how many times he climaxes — this woman possesses power that conventional intercourse never provided. His entire sexual satisfaction derives from her body. her voice, and her decisions. She is source of all comfort and all pleasure.
In doing so, the triad completes the beta male sexually not by advancing him toward penetration but by returning him to the breast where his sexuality actually peaks.
The circle closes—infant to adolescent to adult, all nursing at the breast that was always his destination.
I’m gonna propose a theory having done no research then I will research the topic and update/post this draft in like a couple of days.
Okay so, one thing that really pisses me off as an anthropologist is the theory that the uncanny valley evolved as a means of recognizing and warning us against the Scary Things That Were Almost Human But Not Quite.
My specific subject in Anthropology is Archaeology, especially in the region of Britain and Ireland (shoutout all Seandalaí) and especially relating to the subject of queer archaeology. I am interested in bioarch and have taken like, three classes on the subject while I was in uni, but I am not an evolutionary biologist or bio archaeologist, so I have no background other than personal interest.
The reason the above explanation for the uncanny valley pisses me off is that it’s used as a tool to demonize our ancestors/sister species like Neanderthals and Denisovans (shoutout all Dragon Men). In the real world, while we can assume there was conflict between hominid species, we have zero (0) material evidence of this conflict. Probably it happened but decay has removed the remains. What we for sure have is evidence that we Fucked. Like all the time. We’ve even found first generation hybrids between some human species! How cool is that! Anyway, the evidence we have suggests, albeit very broadly, a history of cooperation. Given that, I find it hard to imagine we were so scared of Homo Naledi that we evolved a mechanism to warn us one was near.
My theory is this: I think the uncanny response is an evolutionary glitch based on two neurological/psychological traits that normally work in our favor but in this case rub up against each other. Trait One: pattern recognition, aka Tumblr’s fav evolutionary biology meme. We are very good at recognizing patterns, especially human faces for obvious reasons. Trait Two is the existence of the subconscious mind apart from the conscious mind, specifically that lizard brain gut-feeling part.
I think the uncanny response happens when we see something like a mannequin and the pattern recognition task fails successfully. Our subconscious mind pattern recognizes its way into “oh, look, another person”, but our conscious mind knows logically that that’s not a person; that’s a mannequin. But mannequins didn’t exist during our early evolution, and our lizard brain never got the memo someone had made fake people in the intervening millennia. So, to use a technical term, we whig out. Our subconscious mind sees a person. It knows that it’s looking at a person. But we know it isn’t. And it isn’t like a painting, or a photo, or anything else we know is fake; it really looks like a person. Only it doesn’t. The eyes are too far apart. It has no lips. Its skin is too white.
So we freak out a little bit. One part of our brain sees something that isn’t there and the other half rejects it. This discordance causes unease because our brains don’t like to fight itself.
Okay now I’m gonna actually look it up.
Update: I was wrong(?) about what causes it but right that it has nothing to do with the humble Neanderthal. I would bet money that what is actually happening is a case of evolutionary mismatch: an instinct that evolved to protect us is now going wild since the development of technology has outpaced our own evolution.
So the problem is, the uncanny valley might not even exist. I assumed this was a known psychological phenomenon. It isn’t, at least not originally. It’s a robotics term. The roboticist Masahiro Mori was the one who originally noticed it, but basically, humans like robots that don’t look human, but are repulsed by androids that are designed to mimic human faces. Since those original observations, psychologists have done a looooot of theorizing about what actually causes it, and because it’s so variable in how it presents person to person, if it even exists. (I would argue it does, but I am not a professional in this field. I dig holes.) The rest of this post is going to derive mostly from the work of Shensheng Wang and their colleagues at Emory University. This is apparently the first study to actually conduct an experiment to test its hypothesis, and also one of the few I have access to (stop gatekeeping information universities).
The two primary explanations from what I can tell are A) the response is caused by a flaw in how we anthropomorphize nonhuman beings or B) the response is a flaw in how we determine if someone is alive. A has some issues. It seems like it is just a restating of Mori’s original observation: we get scared because we attribute a mind to something we know shouldn’t have a mind, but like Mori’s observation, it doesn’t explain why that happens, just that something about that scares us. My explanation has the same flaw (sad violin). Option B proposes an actual answer, so Wang is focusing on that, as will I.
Okay so I gotta handle this from an archaeological perspective since that’s why I’m here, so let’s engage in a thought experiment. Before we begin, Wang et al. do not do this, so this is some heavy extrapolation on my part. All they say is that the uncanny valley is the result of our brain’s facial recognition warning us of a potential danger, or at least something to be repulsed by, when a human face doesn’t pass the animacy test. I’m gonna link their article below this post if youse wanna read it.
You’re a hunter-gatherer 300,000 years ago. You’re having a good time, wandering the plains on a hot summer day when you spot something through the tall grass. Curiosity kicks in: you go to check it out. Your mind then leaps through a number of calculations in under a second. First, your pattern seeking brain recognizes the form of a human face, this takes 400 milliseconds or less. Initial worry subsides; that’s just a friend! This is form recognition: Is the pattern I’m looking at a human face? Then over time, you notice something is wrong. Their eyes are open, but they aren’t really looking at anything. They aren’t moving. They aren’t breathing. Oh shit, that’s a corpse.
This is animacy recognition, the second part of facial recognition that happens after form recognition. Is the face I’m seeing on a living, thinking body? If it isn’t, we get scared. Pattern seeking brain’s primary function is to suss out a dangerous situation, and there isn’t an indicator of danger more obvious than the body of someone a threat has already killed, so it produces a specific response.
Now imagine you’re you in 2019. You’re at a tech expo because you keep up with that stuff. You see a face. In under a second, form recognition tells you it’s a face. I mean look at it. Eyes, ears, nose—all check out. And unlike our prehistoric former friend, it’s even talking and moving. Sick, that’s a person 👍. But then you get closer. It’s going through the motions of being alive, yeah, but it clearly isn’t. It’s not breathing. Its eyes move now, but they still aren’t really looking. Worst of all, it has no scalp, exposing a metal skull and metal brain. The animacy recognition takes longer, but has the same result: this is not a person, at least not anymore.
You get that old kind of fear when this happens, when something fully convinces your brain it’s alive, and then it isn’t. This then triggers the revulsion response: something is wrong and disgusting so we have to leave to avoid the danger that surely must be here somewhere. That’s the uncanny valley. It’s not an evolutionary glitch, but our animacy recognition working exactly as intended, but in response to stimuli it was never designed to respond to.
So, yeah it’s way more complicated than what I suggested assuming it’s even real. But it still has nothing to do with Neanderthals! Even though they wouldn’t have looked like us, our brains would still process that they were living, thinking creatures.
Wang et al. Study: https://faculty.college.emory.edu/sites/dilks/resources/publications/Wangetal20_Perception_UncannyValley.pdf
house of anubis drinking game (playtested for safety and enjoyment)
i can't drink for the forseeable future (just adhd meds things) but i made an excellent drinking game for each season of hoa a couple years ago SO! i decided fuck it i will pass it on here on the off chance that others would enjoy it in my stead:
IMPORTANT NOTE: this was playtested multiple times over (alone and with friends), both with blocks of a good few episodes in succession and a few episodes selected from a random number generator. it is intended for beer/drinks of similar ABV and should also be safe with wine if you take smaller sips, but is NOT RECOMMENDED for drinks of straight liquor or primarily consisting of liquor*. you know your limits better than i do, but consider yourself warned. swap in water as needed!
*may be safe for mixed drinks that have been sufficiently watered down (like seriously, increase that fluid volume)
and for what it's worth, like any good drinking game, there's still fun to be had without alcohol! i've done that before while playtesting (mostly to compare seasons and make sure one wasn't considerably more difficult than another) and still enjoyed myself, but i'm also a freak who derives a LOT of enjoyment from categorization and pattern-recognition, so. ymmv?
without further ado...
SEASON ONE
take a sip when...
there's a dangling shot-reverse-shot cliffhanger going into the commercial break
something weird is going on in the background of a shot (up to your discretion -- i count funny reactions, characters not the focus of the scene screwing around, sufficiently weird production design details. that sort of thing)
pin drop :)
someone steals something from faculty/staff
iconic patricia line ("WHERE'S JOY"/"I WANT HER HOME NUMBER" things of that nature)
someone lies Very Badly
take two sips when...
nina has A Moment
fabian looks like he's going to freak the fuck out
someone says a ship name out loud
mara makes someone's life much harder than it was before
patricia attempts or successfully commits a crime (assault, theft, etc.)
finish your drink when...
someone drinks The Piss (elixir)
someone gets kidnapped
SEASON TWO
take a sip when...
there's a dangling shot-reverse-shot cliffhanger going into the commercial break
something weird is going on in the background of a shot
pin drop :)
someone steals something from faculty/staff OR (NEW ADDITION) faculty/staff do some theft of their own
someone almost fucking dies
joy chooses violence
take two sips when...
nina has A Moment
fabian looks like he's going to freak the fuck out
someone says a ship name out loud
awful flirting and/or breakup tactics
"Gerbil"
finish your drink when...
a tunnel chamber's main puzzle is solved
someone actually fucking dies
SEASON THREE
take a sip when...
there's a dangling shot-reverse-shot cliffhanger going into the commercial break
something weird is going on in the background of a shot
pin drop :)
someone steals something from "Team Evil" or vice versa
patricia acts irrationally jealous
jerome simp moment
take two sips when...
KT makes a Face Of Some Sort
fabian tries to fight someone (or is otherwise uncharacteristically aggro)
denby looks...i have no word for it other than "horny"
oblique reference to a character who has since left the show
failed attempt at either sneaking into or getting someone out of the gatehouse
finish your drink when...
someone gets locked in the crypt
someone gets sinnered (ONE drink per episode this happens. do not die during the assembly.)
BONUS ROUND: TOUCHSTONE OF RA (THIS ONE IS A JOKE IT WOULD PROBABLY KILL YOU)
take a SHOT when...
a scene just fucking. ends. far sooner than you were expecting.
fabian/mara hateship moment
something mindbogglingly stupid happens (up to your discretion, but probably better to err on the side of caution)
if you have any adjustments, additional ideas, or rule changes, i would love to hear them! i've swapped things around and out a few times, so while these are what remained/what seemed to get an appropriate number of hits (for my relatively small frame) and were fun drink triggers for me, it's by no means a final or comprehensive list. i recommend picking things you usually look for or come up often enough to be notable, are memorable plot moments that happen a few times over, or are otherwise characteristic of the show/season in question without coming up too often.
if you're so inclined, let me know your tally for each category for an episode if you try it out! happy playing! :D
I’m not sure whether to leave this here or if people would like an epilogue to set the conclusion in stone – let me know. I have some ideas but I’m not sure if they are needed.
I really appreciate all the comments and support this fic has received. Every piece of encouragement has given me the nudge to keep going.
I hope you like this (potentially) final instalment.
xoxoxox
An air of preoccupation hung over the Tracy family. Brains had disappeared into one of the many areas off-limits to Claire. Scott was locked away in an office, occasionally appearing to grab a drink before hurrying back, the tension evident in his posture. Grandma Tracy and Alan had thrown themselves into displacement activities.
Only Kayo was an ever-present feature.
Wherever Claire went the other woman was sure to follow. Lounge, poolside, cinema room; it didn’t matter where Claire tried to find some solitude Kayo would find her. It was like being tailed by a malevolent minder. One that was determined to assert her dominance.
In an effort to shake off the shake off her self-appointed guard Claire headed to the kitchen. Grandma Tracy was elbow deep in a mixing bowl. For some reason the sight of the matriarch surrounded by flour and baking trays was enough to make Kayo retreat and melt back into the shadows.
When the first charred discs were offered to her under the guise of cookies Claire could understand why everyone why everyone was giving the kitchen a wide berth. However, she figured that ingesting charcoal was a small price to pay to rid herself of Kayo’s calculating stare.
Morning transitioned to afternoon and still Virgil and Gordon did not return. It was becoming evident that Claire would be forced to spend a second night on the island.
As the shadows began to lengthen Claire felt her wrist comm vibrate and an incomprehensible pattern of lights played across its face. Grandma Tracy’s device mirrored the signal. Her shoulders relaxed and she stopped weighing out the ingredients for a third batch of inedible baking.
“The boys are nearly home. Could you be a dear and help me fetch something from the stores for dinner.”
Grandma Tracy still hadn’t quite worked out what they would be fetching but she knew she needed to move Claire into one of underground areas. The sight of Thunderbird Two returning home would be clearly visible through the panoramic windows in just a few minutes.
They headed out of the kitchen, Claire trailing behind Grandma Tracy as she took the elevator down a level and let the way into a maze of utilitarian corridors at odds with the luxury of the residential areas.
As they entered one of the numerous store rooms a low growl rumbled through the complex. More felt than heard, the vibration caused the floor to tremble slightly. Claire worried that the clearly volcanic island was showing signs of activity but her companion was unfazed. The vibrations stopped as abruptly as they had started.
They dug about in the food for several minutes. Selections were made and discarded. Only when Grandma Tracy felt sure that all danger of discovery had passed did she quit stalling for time and fill a box with the final choices for dinner.
Claire offered to carry the box back to the kitchen. Grandma Tracy gratefully let her; her boys had voracious appetites and the box was now very full.
They made their way back down the corridor. Claire was grateful for her guide, she wasn’t convinced she would have successfully navigated the bland stretches of blank walls, uniform doors and unmarked intersections without help.
It was at one of these intersections that Claire nearly collided with Virgil and Gordon as they arrived from a side corridor.
“We really must stop meeting like this.” The baritone voice joked.
Claire took in the dishevelled look of the brothers, a stark contrast to the well-groomed man she had first collided with.
They were dressed in just shorts and undershirts. Brick dust streaked their hair and exhaustion lined their faces. A bandage was tightly wound around Virgil’s thigh, an ugly red stain marring its crisp, white surface.
“C’mon Virg, keep moving. We need to get cleaned up then you and I have a date with the suture kit.”
Gordon steered his older brother around them and led him away down another faceless corridor. Their bare feet making no noise as they padded away.
“Don’t take too long boys. Dinner is in an hour” Grandma Tracy called out over her shoulder. She seemed completely unperturbed by their half-dressed appearance and obvious injuries.
xoxoxox
As they re-entered the kitchen Claire found her load suddenly lightened as Scott took the box from her arms. The ever-present Kayo glared at her from a corner.
“Gordon and Virgil landed safely” he announced cheerily.
“We know. We’ve seen them.” Grandma Tracy’s tone was flat.
“Oh.”
“We bumped in to them coming out of the laundry.”
“Oh.” At least if they were exiting the laundry they should have got rid of their uniforms he mused, that one would have been difficult to explain away.
“Landed safely?!” Claire exclaimed. “They looked like they had been in a war zone! Virgil’s leg is sliced open and none of you seem concerned. What is wrong with you people?”
She hadn’t seen her move but Claire suddenly found herself nose to nose with Kayo. The taller woman was making full use of her extra inches. The display of aggression was clear.
“Of course we care. Don’t you dare judge us.”
“Stand down, Kayo.” Scott’s order was firm. Kayo grudgingly took half a step backwards.
Claire turned her attention on Scott. “Just who are you anyway? You run this place like some sort of military leader. I’m surprised your family put up with it.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she had overstepped the mark. She was still a guest in his house but Kayo riled her. Their personalities flared and clashed. Before she knew it Kayo was back in her personal space.
“I could ask you the same question. Who are you with all your secrets? Who are you working for?”
The others in the room looked on powerlessly as the challenge was issued. Kayo was deliberately inflammatory and Claire’s temper ignited in response.
“I have no secrets and I’ve made it perfectly clear I don’t work for, or with, anyone!”
“So why did you disappear from research two years ago. Who made you a better offer?”
“Checking up on me, huh? The only place I disappeared to was the bottom of an ice cream carton.”
Kayo snorted. “I don’t buy it. Why would you give it all up then take on a job you clearly hate.”
“I lecture because my savings ran out. Some of us don’t have trust funds to fall back on.” It was a low blow but her anger was seething. “If you’re so desperate to know what happened I’ll tell you. I was working on a joint project on mineral refinement although you evidently know that already. Turns out the professor leading it was a fraud. He hadn’t had an original idea in years. He had just been trading off his reputation and claiming the work of more junior team members as his own. No-one could challenge him, he could kill your career in an instant. He claimed all the credit for my work and I was meant to be happy with the scrap of recognition from being associated with him.”
“So you quit just because some old guy passed off your homework as his own?”
“No. I quit because of ChemCorp. I doubt you remember it. It turns out Professor Oulton wasn’t just using the work of others to maintain his position. He was also selling the research to bolster his retirement fund. The result was ChemCorp. The method was still experimental and should never have been scaled up. The processing plant went critical. A waste gasses tank exploded, killing seventeen people. Seventeen families were ripped apart because of something I created. I could never let that happen again. To know that something I designed could cause so much harm in the wrong hands.
“I cut myself off and took and safe and easy job. But then the itch of an idea hit me again and I couldn’t shake it off. I started up my research but made a vow that my work would go nowhere before I was ready. Before I could make sure all the fail-safes were in place and no-one could get hurt. If I release my work it will be on my terms. I can’t have another business putting profits over people. I can’t face being responsible for more deaths so Tracy Industries can back off, I’m not for sale.”
The wave of emotion Claire had been riding left her with a crash. Her shoulders drooped and she slumped against the counter top. It had been cathartic to tell her story. The story that had been denied to her, and that Kayo had unable to divine, since Professor Oulton had relegated her role to a footnote in his publication.
Silence settled over the kitchen.
“You’re wrong.” Scott’s voice was low, little more than a whisper.
She looked up into clear blue eyes that mirrored the emotion in her own.
“Of course we remember ChemCorp. We remember everyone we couldn’t save. Every death leaves its mark. We arrived too late. Maybe if we had got there faster we could have stabilised the plant or helped with the evacuation. That’s why we need your fuel formula. I think it’s time to show you the rest of the island.”
The fleeting companionship of the Divine General and the kitchen wench who both fell like leaves in autumn.
Mature | Mild Sexual Content
This oneshot is set after certain events of Ieyasu's Act 1(!!!), but for the sake of the plot, this MC is not Ieyasu's MC. Think of it as an AU of a sort. ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ✧
Word Count: ~5.1k
Part 3 of 春夏秋冬 | Shunkashūtō
落葉 | Rakuyou
Fallen leaves.
Beneath the glow of the waxing moon, a man and a woman sat in front of each other.
Pampas grass decorated the entrance of a bustling teahouse in Mikawa. The leaves of deciduous trees had begun to metamorphose into warmer colors, the slight chill in the night air welcoming the customers for dinner. In a far corner table hidden from prying eyes, Yasumasa had a row of chestnut manju on a ceramic plate while his companion, a woman with long dark hair, had seasonal daifuku shaped like rabbits on hers. He was quite fond of this particular teahouse; everything they served him suited his picky palate, although if he were to be asked, he would not answer with those exact words. As he took a bite of the sweet treat, a glance across the table made him aware of the eyes trained on him intently.
“What are you looking at, you irritating little thing?” he challenged.
She chuckled and took a sip of her tea, unperturbed. “Another irritating little thing.” With a sigh, she set the cup down on the table and shifted her gaze towards the cloudy expanse of the sky. “Do you think there really is a bunny making mochi in the moon?”
“What a foolish question. Of course, there is nothing.” He followed her line of sight, only there was not much to see, except for the moon shining down the land like a happy smile in its crescent phase.
Absentmindedly, she took a bite of the tidbit of daifuku on the small dessert stick. “By the way, Lord Yasumasa, that house…”
“What house?” He took a sip of his own drink and feigned ignorance in hopes that she would drop the subject.
“That house where we… you know… don’t make me say it.” Her voice transitioned into whispers with every word spoken, her embarrassment apparent with the way her eyelashes fluttered when she cast her gaze downwards and fiddled with what was left of her food.
It irked him that she insisted to approach the subject matter right then and there, but at the same time, he knew they could not avoid it forever. Yasumasa leaned back and crossed his arms. “What was that? Speak louder, woman.”
“That house where we just had our… our secret tryst! It’s yours, isn’t it?” She opted to move her face closer to him instead of speaking louder. “Is that where you stayed when you… left?”
“You don’t need to sugarcoat everything. You mean after I betrayed the Tokugawa.”
“Well, if you prefer to put it that way, yeah…”
“Hmph.”
“Lord Ieyasu said that you requested for a second chance.”
“...I did.”
His quiet admission took him back to the time when he committed the greatest mistake of his life. With his subsequent decision to redeem whatever he could of himself, he had received permission from Tokugawa Ieyasu to stay on the outskirts of Mikawa and live in a house an average resident would live in. Every morning, Yasumasa would wake up before sunrise and farm some land near his dwelling. Afternoons meant honing his skills in swordsmanship, a craft he was proud of and sought to even improve on. When the sky darkened, he would light a lantern in the silent company of books of strategy and philosophy. He spent his days in simplicity, struggling but striving to deserve his second chance at living.
Those patterned days ended on a certain afternoon. The morning started out with farming as usual, and with the thought that his crops would soon produce yield, he took his lunch in a nearby teahouse alone. As Yasumasa was making his way back to his house, he was greeted by the sight of a man dressed in dignified finery, looking so out of place as he stood near the humble abode’s entrance.
“Milord Ieyasu!” Yasumasa strode over to him and bowed in respect.
A usual smile graced upon Ieyasu’s lips. “I was beginning to think you’d already died.”
“I have not, Milord.”
“Good. Show me around.”
Although still overcome with surprise, Yasumasa gave his lord a warm welcome to the residence. He had to admit, it was strange to be so casually strolling around with him again. It reminded Yasumasa of those times in the past when he still served as Ieyasu's page, when circumstances were complicated but also simpler.
“Never thought you’d be one to take care of flowers,” Ieyasu commented and gestured over the colorful bunch of chrysanthemums around the compact space of the yard.
“They were already there when I arrived. Might as well.” Yasumasa stopped in front of the flowers as Ieyasu did and waited for his lord to reveal the purpose of his sudden visit.
“Yasumasa,” Ieyasu began after a few moments, the tone of his voice grave and serious, “another war is upon Mikawa’s horizons. I want you to return to the castle.”
At Ieyasu's words, Yasumasa felt suddenly aware of the empty weight of the swords detached from his hips. He clenched his fists in frustration with himself. “But Milord, I don't deserve it… I have yet to prove myself worthy.”
“You can, in the battlefield,” Ieyasu turned to him with an expression bare of any mockery, “I will lead the Tokugawa to victory, one you will see with your very own eyes should you decide to fight under my banners again.”
Yasumasa witnessed the determination that burned brightly in Ieyasu’s eyes and believed in the greatness his lord was meant to accomplish—that they were meant to accomplish as lord and retainer. He had wished for death during the crucial moment of his failure, but it was Ieyasu who cut the ropes that bound him, freeing him not only of his crimes but also of his weaknesses. Reverent, Yasumasa bowed his head to the ground and swore that his faith would never falter again. “On my life, Milord.”
He took the leap and returned to Hamamatsu as a retainer—a Divine General. From the second Yasumasa stepped on the castle grounds, the rift his mistake cost him had been palpable. But somehow, the strained relationship he shared with the other retainers was nothing new. They trusted him so little, yet he could place no fault in them. He was similar to the person Ieyasu used to be: arrogant, independent to a fault, and able to put trust in no one. Day by day, Yasumasa witnessed how what he once considered as his lord’s weakness had become the strength that bound the clan together tighter than ever. His mind couldn't help but race with the possibility of the person he could become. That was when he saw her again.
Now, she was right in front of him, a small chuckle bubbling from her lips.
“Ah, no, we are not husband and wife,” she corrected the shopkeeper who Yasumasa had failed to notice the approach of earlier.
“Is that so? Pardon me, then,” the shopkeeper turned to him, “Anything else I may get for you, young man?”
“No, thank you.”
The shopkeeper nodded with a smile of recognition and left.
Yasumasa resumed eating and dared to peek at the woman who sat across him. As if she felt his gaze, she looked back at him with a quizzical expression, but it caught Yasumasa so off guard that he had to look away. During the first few days of his return to Hamamatsu, the two of them barely had a chance to speak with each other. Truth to be told, Yasumasa went out of his way to avoid her. It was futile; living in the same castle and working for the same man made their encounters inevitable. The first few times were simple greetings, he would respond with a nod and go on his way. Soon, there were words exchanged as they touched on safe discussion topics, which consisted of only a few possible matters. When they found themselves on the verge of the dangerous, he would often find excuses to leave or to make her leave, but she was stubborn, filling in the voids in their conversations with her kindness and enthusiasm.
“Look, Lord Yasumasa! There are red spider lilies growing around there!” She motioned towards the distant woods where clusters of the flowers grew, barely visible in the darkness.
He scoffed. “How unsightly.”
“They say that red spider lilies grow on paths where people part, did you know that?”
“Or there could be graves somewhere near the area and they were planted there to ward off pests.”
“Maybe.”
The two of them finished the last of their meal at around the same time. She turned his way to ask him of his thoughts about it, but it was then that Yasumasa spotted the short trail of powder on her cheek, no doubt from the daifuku. With a click of his tongue, “You eat like a child,” he chided in mild displeasure and tossed a handkerchief into her direction.
The suddenness of his actions made her struggle to catch the item, but she did so successfully. “Is this clean?”
“Do you think I would carry around something filthy?”
“I suppose not.”
“You’re so bothersome.”
The way back to the castle was quiet, save for their footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. Yasumasa's thoughts remained on her, the woman beside him who had become a prominent figure in his mind for a long, long time. He had been indifferent towards her back when she still dressed as a man to conceal her identity, but once all of her secrets were revealed, he became nothing but resentful. In the course of her earlier days as a woman in the castle, Yasumasa had been reprimanding some retainers when he saw her pass by and chat with the other generals.
“You don’t care for Yasumasa, do you.” Tadakatsu's words had been more of a statement rather than a query. The mention of his name caught Yasumasa’s attention; he had no choice but to listen.
Her eyes widened, taken aback by the assumption. “Huh?! I… It’s not that I don’t like him, not at all…”
“You don’t have to pretend. It’s written all over your face,” Tadakatsu continued, voicing out Yasumasa’s own thoughts.
To add to the vitriol thrown at him in secret, “I don’t like him either,” Toramatsu declared without hesitation.
Yasumasa had gathered that they didn’t know he was within hearing distance, yet back then, he couldn't care less what they thought of him. But as he regarded her, a mere step or two away from him as she strolled along the pathway in a manner that he would describe as almost happily, he found the memory leaving a bitter taste in his mouth—although he knew that she has most likely forgotten about it already. The light of the moon seemed to bounce with her hair whenever she moved. He clenched his fists at the memory of its silkiness between his fingers.
The reality of it all sunk in: they had slept together, and they both wanted it. Questions echoed like gongs in his mind. For someone who once could not deny outrightly that she did not care for him, she treated him with kindness, like she held no grudges for every mistake he has committed and actually cared. Something in her drew him in, even long ago despite his hostility towards her and especially now that his views in life were linked with a new resolve. It was the first time he felt that way for anyone. The raw attraction unnerved him. The slight flush of her cheeks when they happened to be in each other's company gave him thoughts he immediately crushed. He could not dare think of something when there was none. The next thing he knew, the beginnings of subtle, innocent touches and occasional close proximity ended with the two of them laying on the bedding he once spent lonely nights on.
“I will defile you. Are you sure this is what you want?” he had asked her then, giving her a final chance for a way out should she want it. He knew not what to do with himself. He had desired her in secret for so long, and though the frustration would eat him alive, he was prepared to accept her decision and understand the reason for her refusal. In truth, he expected her to flee and say that all of it had been a mistake, but like a moth drawn to a flame, she touched his cheek ever so gently and nodded, her answer clear with the fervent kiss she bestowed upon his lips.
Yasumasa made his stop by a tree a few minutes or so away from the castle. Once she realized he was not beside her anymore, her steps faltered one by one until she ceased moving as well. He kept his demeanor in check before speaking, “Enter the gates first. I’ll go in a short while.”
She turned to face him slowly. “Why?”
“This can never happen again. Keep your mouth shut and no one will know.”
“You regret it?” she snapped, each word laced with self-deprecation and disbelief, “You seriously regret it?”
He sneered. “What do you think? Of course, I do.”
Her knuckles tightened over the knot of the cloth that contained the package of white rice dumplings she insisted on bringing back for everyone. “Well, I don’t.” Upset, she spun around swiftly and began to storm inside the castle grounds without him, just the way he wanted to.
As she disappeared from his sight, a strong gust of wind blew, making a few leaves fall weightlessly to the earth.
“Damn it!” Yasumasa cursed, overcome with anger directed at no one but himself. He was nothing but a liar. What would people say about her associating herself with the likes of him, someone who had the nerve to betray the clan and come back? He should know better. She was too good for him—too good to him. It was far from anything he deserved. He needed to do everything he could to stop her from coming too close to him and to stop him from ruining her even more.
But perhaps, it was too late.
Beneath the glow of the waning moon, a man and a woman sat in front of each other.
Chrysanthemums bloomed all over the backyard of a small home in the outskirts of Mikawa. Seasons had gone by and changes, both subtle and tangible, happened as they drifted from one to another. Traces of warm colors in the leaves developed fully into vivid shades of red, some deep oranges, while others shone golden. Though in the night, all of them were the same, dark as their shadows.
“They make it very lively even though no one really lives here, don’t they? Especially during twilight,” the woman commented at the hidden medley of autumn hues and took a slow, dainty sip of her sake. “So, why did you call me here? It’s not like our usual meetings, from what I gather.” She placed the half-empty cup down on the table with a faint thud and raised her gaze to meet the jade green eyes of her companion, Yasumasa.
He had been wrong when he said that what happened on their first night together could never happen again. It happened more times than she could count, not only in his residence but also in other places. It was risky, thrilling, altogether rewarding. When she happened to pass by those areas, memories of their times together would take her head in the clouds, and with burning cheeks, she would look away with a secret smile. They had visited his old dwelling far too often that soon enough, she became familiar with its every nook and cranny, including where he kept his precious tea set, the one which has been passed down to the heirs of the Sakakibara clan for many generations. If the two of them were to be around during afternoons, she would expect to find Yasumasa hanging around the chrysanthemums in the garden he kept—those flowers he claimed he wasn’t taking care of but were all blooming so beautifully. Contrary to what he insisted, she recognized the special care he gave them, reminiscent of how one would treat a bonsai, only a single wrong move with the latter could be fixed through the passage of time, but the former would not be as resilient, having a single chance to bloom during its season.
Most of all, she knew him, Yasumasa. Once, she had woken up in the middle of the night with his side of the bedding warm but empty. She got up and slid the doors open to find him seated on the floor, silent as the still night air. The same thing kept him up at night time and again; Yasumasa recognized the value of trust at this point in his life, although the idea was still foreign to his comprehension. He would never admit it, but she knew he would like to be able to build that trust with his comrades, akin to the way his lord came to the light. As he stared into the dark space, struggling still to reconcile who he was and who he wanted to be, she believed he would get there one day, he was stubborn that way.
“No one holds a grudge against you, you know? Not even Lord Ieyasu. Lord Tadakatsu is worried. I’m sure he misses his friend.” She leaned against a pillar and pulled the fabric of her robes tighter against her body to protect herself from the chill. “Forgive yourself, Yasumasa. We have.”
He was so quiet that she thought he did not hear a word she uttered, but then he stood up and met her eyes, his stare determined and passionate. “Even you?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I haven’t.” She walked closer and reached to embrace Yasumasa by the waist. In an instant, she was warmed, the steady beating of his heart a soothing sound. She spoke the truth; she did not hate him. In fact, she already had an inkling even at that time that it had grown to be quite the opposite. Every single encounter with him strengthened the attachment she felt, almost like a bond. There had been times when she made sure she had at least a swipe of rouge on her lips whenever there was a chance they would pass by each other, and she felt like she tried too hard. Yasumasa had already witnessed her at her best and worst, at her most pleasured and most vulnerable. It all sounded a bit backwards in her head, she didn’t know whether to smile or frown at the idea.
They were the castle’s open secret. Almost everyone suspected it, yet no one dared to ask either of them for confirmation or denial. It seemed that the idea of them together was an odd one. A mismatched pair of chopsticks, that was what they looked like. Scandalous curiosities were disregarded in order to avoid evoking Yasumasa’s ire. She supposed it was something she should be grateful for—if someone did dare to ask, she would not know how to answer. Long ago, he considered her his enemy. Were they friends? Not quite. She wouldn’t do what she does with him with a mere friend, of that she was sure. They were not explicitly lovers either. Still, she found no desire to lay with another man, and she suspected that he was not sleeping with another, with majority of his time spent on training and military campaigns along with the frequency of their activities when he wasn’t occupied with either of the two. It wasn’t that they were only good enough to be intimate companions and not… more. No, it was rooted on something deeper. No matter how strongly she felt for him, whatever was between them was fragile, as it was impermanent. Regardless, she cared for him deeply, knew him far enough to trust him in spite of the mistakes he made in the past. As much as she tried to keep those thoughts at the back of her mind, it bothered her time and again, but she decided that she would cross the bridge when she gets there.
However, as she sat in front of Yasumasa in the place full of their memories, she knew that the moment to cross the bridge has come.
“Lord Ieyasu has granted me the domain in Tatebayashi,” Yasumasa stated with pride. Their most difficult battle had resulted in the Tokugawa’s greatest victory. A new beginning was in the entire land’s horizons, the prospect of peace closer than ever. She couldn’t be prouder of everyone in the clan.
“Sakakibara Yasumasa, Lord of Tatebayashi,” his name and new title rolled off her tongue, and she smiled. “Congratulations.” He had come so far. She was happy for him.
He drank his sake in response, eyes trained on her all the while, holding her in place.
“Is there something else you wish to tell me, Yasumasa?”
“Why? Do you have something you wish to tell me?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she broached the subject and fiddled with the hem of her kimono. “Soon, I won’t be under Lord Ieyasu’s employ any longer.”
He stilled as he took in the implication of her words, but quickly recovered as he moved to set the empty cup down on the table. “And? Where are you going now?”
“For now, the plan is to go back home to Kyoto.” As a young girl, she had a lot of dreams, one of which was to take over the restaurant as her late father did. Many years had passed since then and circumstances changed. The kind of future she envisioned as a young girl has shifted into something else now that she was a woman—one who has met someone.
If he were to ask her to come with him, she would say yes... yet she knew he would not. It has always been that way—close enough to cross the boundaries they set in silence but never doing so. He said nothing. She expected it, but no matter how much she knew that she would never receive those few specific words, a part of her still longed to hear them. Her little ray of hope dimmed, and she blinked a few times in an attempt to quell her emotions. She wondered where it went wrong or if it had been wrong from the very first night they spent together. Whatever the answer was, she found that she still had no regrets in terms of the intimacy they shared. Alone in her innermost thoughts, she gave him a bittersweet smile.
“One last time?” Her proposition had been a whisper, but in a few seconds, the low table, pair of cups, and empty bottles of sake had been set aside. Her hand clutched his as she led him inside the house all the way to his chambers, where she pulled him in for a kiss once the doors slid close.
Every time she would remember that instance when Yasumasa mocked that she possessed the body that would drive no man to lust, she wanted to burst into laughter. It pleased her to see him this way, almost pliant and very responsive to her kisses and touches, as if his hatred of women never existed, or at the very least, was shelved away in particular moments where she was involved.
“How long has it been, Yasumasa? Years?” she whispered right next to his ear, her fingertips tracing a line from his jaw to his neck and further down to the inside of his collar, “Aren’t you a hypocrite? Still going to pretend you never wanted this, hm?”
He hissed and kept her lips occupied from talking by taking them with his own. His palm felt warm against her lower back as he pulled her even closer. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything. She was never the kitchen wench, just a woman who wanted him; and he was never a Divine General, just a man who desired her. Lost in his every touch, she has never felt so free, her body pinned down the bedding with his own, perfectly fitting together. In their final hours, she eagerly accepted all that he had to give her, again and again. She cried for him, not the inevitable separation that would prove change was constant once they go out of the doors of that little house, the one she unconsciously considered home on certain days of her life.
The journey back to the castle was slow and steady, contrary to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that ran through her mind and heart. Above all, the sights she took in evoked a strange sense of nostalgia. Her vacant eyes followed the movements of the autumn leaves as they clung to the tree branches, and even without the disturbance of the wind, fell to the earth constantly. Yasumasa’s horse would let out an occasional whinny, and she would pat its back in response, knowing that it would be their final trip together. Soon enough, they neared their destination, the end of their journey. The castle, tall and glinting in the light of dawn, stood in their field of vision from the woods. Yasumasa pulled in the reins, and they came to a halt. Minutes passed, but both of them stayed quiet and unmoving.
“After we cross the gates, I will never speak to you again.” She felt proud of herself for breaking the silence with a voice filled with conviction. It gave her enough courage to adjust her seat so she could face him. The moment she did, her lips drew into a fond smile. She reached for the maple leaf that had gone stuck in his copper locks and pulled it away. It crumbled at the most gentle of her touches, fluttering in uneven fragments towards the ground. “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”
“...So, it is.”
“Have a good life, Lord Yasumasa. Be happy.”
His lips parted and closed, as though he wanted to say something but thought otherwise. It took a few more moments of silence before he finally replied, “You, too. Be happy.”
As she moved to alight, his arms tightened around her waist so slightly that she almost missed it. In the split second her eyes locked with his, the two of them found their way together in a desperate kiss that left her emotional and breathless. Seconds spent on pulling away solely to breathe were followed with another bittersweet meeting of their lips, over and over, as if the two of them were reluctant to part and were pouring all the words left unsaid with each caress. Her eyes began to water, but before tears could fall, she gathered enough courage and drew herself away from him. She alighted from the saddle and brushed off the invisible dirt from her kimono. Fallen leaves crumbled underneath her sandals, but without ever once looking back, she marched inside the castle grounds on her own.
With every step, a piece of her fell apart as she relinquished everything she had with him.
Cruel, the hands of fate were cruel. It seemed that all they had gone through had not been enough, that even the days of their departure were one and the same. She had packed all of the little things she acquired over the years, each item tied with a memory she would hold dear for the rest of her life. A day before she was set to leave, she and Tadatsugu, whose wisdom she considered greater than anyone, looked after the plants on the castle grounds like they would on a regular day. In the midst of doing so, he thanked her for her service and the great cuisine she introduced the whole clan to. She went to town with her dear friends, Toramatsu and Tadakatsu, with whom she shared countless moments of laughter and tears over the years, and who respected her silent decision to keep all of the things she wanted under wraps to herself. Finally, she visited Ieyasu before sunset to express all the gratitude she had for him. In the Shogun’s grand library, a copy of her recipe book was placed neatly in one of the shelves at nightfall. True to her word, she did not seek Yasumasa again, and neither did he.
She bowed in greeting to the few people who would accompany her on the journey back to Kyoto and proceeded to wave everyone goodbye, ready to go home. She passed by Yasumasa and his men preparing to leave. From her peripheral vision, she noticed him pause in his stacking of his luggage to train his eyes on her every movement. The sight of him awakened her thoughts of the impossibility that it could have been the two of them who would be off to Tatebayashi that day. The roads they would take were in the opposite directions of each other, that was the way their circumstances were always meant to be.
An unexpected gift waited for her in the palanquin. With a smile, she picked up the arrangement of bright red chrysanthemums and boarded inside. After the curtains were drawn and they departed, the mask she wore for so long finally shattered. She clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent any sound from escaping the four corners of the small space as tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped on the scarlet flowers on her lap. She wept at the knowledge that the moment he would open his food compartment in the middle of his journey, he would find a package of chestnut manju wrapped intricately with the pristine white handkerchief he once owned, each piece made with her best wishes for his life and eternal happiness.
In a little house on the outskirts of Mikawa, a garden once filled with the most colorful flowers turned bleak as they wilted through the passage of many seasons. In time, mysterious red spider lilies sprung in their place in such large numbers, it prompted the villagers to forlornly believe that it was either a place where someone had passed away, or where lovers had parted, never to meet again.
Beyond grateful to @photoproses reading through my initial draft and brainstorming with me!
Happy Mid-Autumn Festival (and Friday the 13th)! 🎑
Content warnings: Blood and Injury; Non-Consensual Body Modification; Panic Attacks; Mind Manipulation; Memory Alteration; Alternate Universe - Dystopia; Cyberpunk
On AO3 - prompt Death for Zevraholics Anonymous October Challenge 2019
"You shouldn't do that," Vergil rasps, pushing the blade a millimeter further, watching the black fabric at Zevran's throat work under it, as he tries not to squirm. Golden eyes are alert and sharp, staring straight into Vergil’s. Still, it doesn't stop Zevran from throwing Vergil a cheeky smile.
"Wouldn't be fun otherwise."
Vergil looks at him for a moment longer, amber gaze darkening, and he's stepping away with a huff.
"Your part is done, yes?" Vergil asks curtly, sheathing his blade back at his hip in one smooth move, scanning their surroundings briefly, before he looks back at Zevran. A freelancer, he calls himself, often hired for shady missions like this one. Grey Wardens aren't picky with allies, as long as the money do the talking.
Zevran sighs dramatically with mumbled "work, work, work" as he procures few cores, relatively clean from fluids. Androids don't bleed after all, but the mess around them would beg to differ. Broken parts are scattered across the room, some cut clean by Vergil's blade, some scorched by the blaster he used. He scrunches up his nose at the crunch from under his boot, the smaller pieces of the artificial arm. Damaged synthetic skin smells like the rubber of burnt cables. There are some sparks here and there, lightning up the shadows and reflecting in spilled fluids. There's only one human among the carnage, now lying in unmoving heap among her charges. Vergil was quick with this one, giving her a clean death. He doesn't like pointless violence, going after his targets in orderly fashion. But the droids here didn't make it easy on him, slowing him down when he went after the woman, fighting him as they were protecting her, fighting to harm and stop him.
Abnormal behaviour.
They shouldn't attack him. Shouldn't, if they weren't programmed this way on purpose, so the woman's blame was evident in her creations. Learning AI's are forbidden for a reason.
Nevermind. They were targets and GW wanted them gone along with any data they could obtain.
"The other room?"
"It's clean. Now what about a drink or two?"
Zevran's careful with voicing what he'd like to do with him beside the drinks, as they're on monitored comms, and his words don't sound as suggestive as the impish grin on his full lips.
"Don't push your luck," Vergil drawls, though he lets his eyes to roam Zevran's form in far less innocent way. Zevran's grin widens.
"Oh, but I wouldn't mind a little push from you, Commander," he purrs, preposterously batting his eyelashes and Vergil blinks, fighting a bizzare urge to smile.
And after they wrap the things there, and Vergi's sure to drop the data and brief report, they spend the rest of the night drinking and fucking, like they usually do after a mission together. Using the restless energy in the competition full of mutual pleasure, sharing moments of breathless bliss and leaving temporary marks.
It's a pattern, but it's fleeting and Vergil indulges himself in the now. Immensely and without regret.
/////
Months, and few more shared missions later, they find the time for a meeting without being on a job earlier. Both are out of uniforms, wearing something casual and suitable for the place. Vergil finds himself enjoying the banter over shared meal, unhurried and oddly intimate, like they have all time in the world. He gets to know Zevran from different side and is pleasantly surprised to find that they seem to be compatibile outside their usual settings, joined targets and quick trysts to celebrate the success.
It's dangerous and foolish to seek this out. To chase more of what they have.
But.
Zevran's company helps him unwind a little, and he doesn't mind to let his guard down a bit more. Sharing few drinks, talking about everything, sometimes related to their jobs, but not overly detailed, as it's not so wise to do so in public – it's intriguing. Something in him stirrs, when he looks at clever and warm golden eyes, listening to some high tale full of lies and hidden truths, and picks them apart with well pointed questions, and Vergil sees how amused smirk stretches Zevran's lips and how much he seems to enjoy their little battle of wits. He's content.
And he'd like to do it again.
/////
Blood.
On his hands.
He looks at them, breath short, painful. Choked.
Knees buckle under him, he goes down hard, arms barely protecting the fall.
His chest explodes in agony, his head cracks on the concrete and he sees white and black for a moment and his eyes water, everything blurs when he tries to take a breath, but his own lungs suffocate him, blood filling his thorat in mouthfuls of thick liquid. And he thinks he hears someone shouting and there's flurry of movement, flashes of light and he tries to see, blinking out the fog.
It doesn't stop the pain, he's drowning and can't breathe and wants to bring his hands to his wound to stop it, do something, grasp the life leaking out of the hole in his chest-
But, his hands, he doesn't feel them. He fights for air, struggles for it as panic ultimately overwhelms him and urges him to breathe when he can't and it sends the spikes of heavy, burn-like cramps and more blood, but no air. There is someone talking golden eyes peering into his and an urgent voice and he wants to say something-
help me
But what comes out is a gurgle and another choke, and the black is seeping into his vision. A roar in his head and all he sees is-
Nothing at all.
/////
First time they boot him up, there's a moment of confused recognition, then Vergil proceeds to demolish half of the lab and severly injures two people from the staff. It takes way too long before they are able to shut him down, and it only takes one four-people squad and using the emergency turn off switch. The failure is written off as a "most likely a shock of organic mind adapting to new body parameters."
Second time they are much more careful, as Vergil's cautiously strapped to the lab table and left alone, avidly monitored by cameras and lab staff, standing behind thick, bulletproof windows. But this time, he lies there without life, distant eyes gazing into nothing.
Unmoving and still like a corpse.
And after two days of him not reacting to any stimuli, they decide to cut the power off – they learnt from the first time not to equip the body with independent battery and kept him on external power supply. The summary of the report says "catatonia caused by possible damage to consciousness during data transfer, further work is recommended to solve the process of unlocking awareness successfully."
Third time is similar to the second one, with Vergil being silent and unresponsive, until he starts to wail, the inhuman sound of his cries resonating with such deep grief and so disturbing in it's intensity, that most of the staff is horrified by it. The mumbled, broken words of "I can't feel it" repeated in between the heavy, dry sobs. This, and the failure to communicate were the final arguments to scrap down the experiment and shut it down.
The transfer visibly failed and the subject spiralled into madness. Some thought it a disappointment, some a mercy. After all, they tried to prevent a great mind from vanishing along with it's organic body, and now they had to block it completely.
GW has no use of insane Commander.
But there's always a use for an operational android.
/////
The operation parameters are clear. Find and collect the data about the source of black market's cybernetics parts.
V3R61L is an infiltrator, GW's elite android and the mission goes smoothly until it doesn't.
He pulls out the mission status, storing the obtained information for later, to send it to his handler. He's detected and has to act fast. As he was sent alone, he can only send a part of his mission report. Someone would find the distress signal. He's monitored constantly. GW will send an operative to secure his unit, if he'd have to hide for longer and wouldn't be able to be back on his own.
System malfunctions
Left arm unresponsive
Multiple error messages
V3R61L runs.
Runs away from the warehouse, from the trap he fell into. His parameters urge him to protect the data he collected at all cost. Destroy any, who stands in his way if needed, but keep the data protected. Retreat, if it is the best strategy.
He's heavily damaged and is slowing down, his vision giving him much more information, than unmodded human sight would. His pursuers are mostly organic, human, with few lesser cyber-enchantments. V3R61L plans on using that, but still they could outrun him, as they are better acquaintanced with the terrain. It has V3R61L in deep disatvantage.
The scattered lights from neons on buildings reflect in the rain puddles. Some of the night dwellers are standing near bar entrances, talking loudly, busy in their own affairs, puffing away the smoke along with the clouds of breaths visible in the chill, damp air. V3R61L avoids staying in the light, quickly calculating the best route allowing him to disappear, preferring to use the darkness of dirty alleys. He stumbles when one of the servos in his left knee malfunctions and he loses his balance, crashing into the wall. Still, after he goes down he uses his right arm to push himself up, and when the alarms of errors almost make his system shut down, his vision swimming in pulsing red lines of the code, broken in places-
Abnormal behaviour detected
Immediately contact the nearest GW station
Temporary shut down recommended
V3R61L blinks and closes down some of the overlapping messages, switching into sole mode, testing left leg, as he starts crawling forward through the dirt and puddles. It's too close to people, and to allow himself to be detected if he shuts down is out of the question. He has to hide and wait for the distress signal to reach the headquarters. There's a distant noise in his head, one he can't find the source of and a faint taste of copper in the back of his throat.
And that makes him pause, as he can't exactly feel a taste he is now, as V3R61L's body isn't adjusted to such parameters. V3R61L doesn't need to mimic all human factors to function properly.
The broken line of code appears again. He's disoriented by it and falters mid-crawl, stops moving for a moment. There's a shout near the entrance of the alley and he opens his eyes,
(when did he close them?)
turns on his side to glue himself into the wall beside him, freezes to make himself an insignificant object. One more yell and there are hurried steps, going from the alleymouth and fading into other noises, muffled. V3R61L analyzes the situation and almost resumes the crawling, when the broken line vanishes and appears again, immobilizing him and he opens his mouth with a human like gasp, when the taste of copper intensifies. The system goes erratic and there are some flashes of what he was running from, warehouse full of humans and androids, all of them working together carrying crates from one place to the other, as he was waiting in the shadows, for an opportune moment to strike at the so-called leader, when all went wrong.
How it went so horribly wrong?
Someone, something saw him,
(and they simply shouldn't, his cloaking is the best of the best GW equipped V3R61L with)
he had to move and undetect himself, and there was so much chaos, his cameras probably didn't catch everything, his body caught in fight with both humans and androids, some heavy machines working in warehouse, he slashed and fired and injured some humans,
(not kill, he wasn't ordered to kill)
at some point he was tossed and got his arm crushed by falling crates, then he decided to run with what he had. Only to be stopped by a man with golden hair and golden eyes who freezed when he looked at him with ashen face and faint whisper of "Vergil?" falling from his lips, and something in V3R61L's system went override as the line in his code just broke, the urge to follow "flight" protocols overwhelming any other orders.
It, the broken code made him-
V3R61L's arm falters and he lurches into the puddle, side of his mouth and nose full of dirt water and he has a mouthful of it before the copper taste intensifies, the broken red line imprinting into his artificial retinas and his system finally shuts down.
/////
Green eyes appear in its,
(his)
vision. There's a wrinkle in between blond brows, eyes squinted deep in concentration, strands of fair hair falling into them and the man huffs an irritated breath and they flutter away only to be back stubbornly. The man holds the piece of thin wire, connecting it somewhere lower, where V3R61L can't see without moving his head for a better angle.
He stays quiet, assesing the situation, taking in the surroundings. The place's cluttered with all kind of equipment and parts, lowly lit but with enough workspace. There's a soft curse and a silent shot of burnt circuit and V3R61L's body twitches few times, but not hard enough to topple him forward, because he's propped standing on some kind of custom low workbench. But his eyes flutter to open fully and as soon as the spasms are over there's a hand on V3R61L's chest.
V3R61L can feel the pressure of it, and the warmth of a regular human being, his system seeming to work as it should.
"I'm sorry about this," is whispered with a sigh and the blond head's back in his sight and green eyes widen a bit when they see V3R61L's own eyes staring back.
"Can you hear me?"
He doesn't answer, gaze unwavering and after few moments the hopeful glint in the green eyes starts to dim. "It's okay, I'll fix this." There's a small, sad smile on a face full of freckles, a hint of determination in his soft voice and V3R61L closes his eyes. The lines of code are full of red, but V3R61L's focus stays on the man's work.
V3R61L will let himself be repaired before he acts.
BnHA Chapter 064: Everyone Should Just Listen to Momo Always
Previously on BnHA: Deku and Kacchan conspired to shoot All Might in the face. All Might presented his BakuDeku shipping manifesto to the faithful readers before taking off after the two. Momo and Todoroki faced off with Aizawa. Aizawa strung Shouto up like a damn infant mobile while Momo tried to flee according to plan, but wrestled with self-doubt. Aizawa ran Todoroki through a quick TED talk entitled How to Learn Feminism in Fifteen Seconds (Hint: Just Respect Women and Let Them Have a Voice), which was incredibly effective. In the end, Momo went back to save Todoroki and he boosted her confidence, at which point she immediately balled out and saved his ass with a bunch of flash grenades, because she is a badass.
Today on BnHA: Momo and Todoroki flee from Aizawa and use Todoroki’s ice wall to give themselves some breathing room. Momo creates a replica of Aizawa’s scarf with some ~special touches~ and explains her plan. The two of them lure Aizawa in and launch the momoscarf at him. Todoroki then heats it up, and it wraps around Aizawa because something something Momo is smart and used science. Having successfully captured Aizawa, Momo and Todoriki are the first to officially pass the exam. Elsewhere, the other teams appear to be in dire straits, particularly Team BakuDeku who are currently being manhandled by the Symbol of Peace.
(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 134 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)
so Todoroki’s asking Momo about her plan and she’s had it in mind from the start omg
meanwhile Aizawa has landed on a nearby rooftop
?? he’s talking about the aftereffects of his injuries. like the ones from USJ?
okay I had to read this like three times, but it seems like the simple English version is that ever since his injury, he can’t use his quirk for as long and he has to rest for longer in between? I think that’s what he’s saying? no idea why it was translated into robot speak
(ETA: here’s the Viz translation for contrast:
(by and large, I like the cut of FA’s jib, but every so often something like this happens lol)
also :( he should have gotten a damn medal, I’ve said it and I’ll keep saying it. like, just a little acknowledgement that he nearly paid the ultimate price to save these kids and he did it without a second’s hesitation. that’s all I ask
(ETA: not only has he still not gotten any recognition, he had a whole damn inquisition after him following the forest incident, even though that was twice that he’d saved the kids’ lives by that point. like, I get how it was starting to seem like a very sketchy pattern by then, but dammit I need this man to get his props. he’s basically the exact type of ideal hero Stain kept harping on about. he’s not in it for the fame or the reward; he’s 100% devoted to the job and to his students’ well-being, regardless of any detriment to himself.
anyway, sorry not sorry for getting sidetracked into this brief little rant about how Aizawa is my guiding star and the true hero of this whole damn series.)
anyway he’s thinking that if they actually notice this and take advantage, he’d be proud of them if anything lol
here comes the spidey scarf again!
Todoroki’s trying to use his fire on it, but it seems like Aizawa’s erasing it again
Momo’s telling Todo to come on and that they need to go hide
hot damn she actually did notice that Aizawa’s quirk has gotten weaker
so anyway she wants to get out of Aizawa’s line of sight to buy them some time. ooooh. she’s gonna make something isn’t she
so okay let’s think on this for a sec. Aizawa’s quirk depends on him being able to see someone. so one obvious way to avoid it is by getting out of his line of sight, as they are now. another would be to blind him or obstruct his view somehow. but I wonder if a third option could be to create something that would effectively conceal them from Aizawa’s view completely while still being able to move. like, idk. some sort of stealth mode. does his quirk still work if he’s looking at you but can’t tell that he’s looking at you? lol I honestly have no clue, I’m just spitballing here
heh, Todoroki and Momo’s roles have completely reversed now
love it
so with Todoroki constantly trying to create his ice, they just have to wait until Aizawa inevitably blinks at some point, and then...
:D Momo is such a smart girl and Todoroki is such an overpowered beast
Sensei Dad is proud
and Todoroki froze part of Aizawa’s scarf, too! he had to slice it to get free
by the way, during the previous arc I was getting annoyed by how Stain was so incredibly strong and agile even without using a quirk. and yet along comes Aizawa and he’s doing the exact same shit, bouncing around all over the place and perching on power lines and the like. so that’s just my Aizawa Bias showing right there, because when it’s him doing it I fucking love it apparently
anyhoo, now that they’re out of Aizawa’s sight, Momo is getting to work!
oh my god. that looks like Aizawa’s scarf
also Todoroki what are you doing
oh good he’s immediately turning back around. good boy. you check those hormones
and she is creating Aizawa’s scarf. or as near a replica as she can manage! why though
she says this is her own version of the scarf and she’s incorporated a special material into it
I’ll admit -- I got no clue where this is headed
(ETA: yeah I could have sat there a hundred years and never even come close to figuring out her plan lmao)
anyway she’s explaining her plan!
and now she’s explained it!
and look what she does afterwards!
see buddy. not that hard to just ask
so Aizawa’s just sitting tight because he knows he’s between them and the exit
oh my god
REAL SUBTLE YOU TWO
OH MY GOD BUT IT REALLY DOES BLOCK HIS QUIRK THOUGH
lol he’s jumping down toward them and telling them he’s gonna take off points for that
OH SHIT
IS THAT A FUCKING CATAPULT
OH DANG!
is she trying to capture him or just trying to confuse him since it blends in with his actual scarf?
now Momo’s telling Todoroki to shoot heat along the ground!
Aizawa has no clue what the fuck they’re doing! that makes two of us
but I think it’s working?? maybe? I have no idea really???
!!
OH DANG
AND THEY GOT THE CUFFS ON. LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE’S GOING TO THE FOREST LODGE. IT’S THESE TWO. THEY’RE GOING TO THE LODGE
so now in the aftermath, Momo is pointing out that Aizawa had an opportunity to escape their trap. but he says he was anticipating an ice attack from Todoroki so that’s why he didn’t evade like he could have
now Todoroki’s thanking Momo and she’s blushing daww
oh my god and he’s worrying if there’s something wrong with her lmao
and Aizawa is either satisfied, or taking a nap. probably both
heh
yep
OH DANG THEY WERE THE FIRST TO CLEAR THE EXAM
SUCK IT, EVERYONE ELSE!! TOP OF THE FUCKING CLASS
lol Midnight put Sero to sleep. I hope he and Mineta fail the fucking exam. sorry Sero, you were the sacrifice the gods demanded
(ETA: what kind of a world do we live in where Sero fails but Mineta still passes, goddammit. where is the justice)
oh my god
what with Jirou’s sensitive hearing, this seems like a particularly bad matchup for her
she’s asking Kouda to use his Disney princess quirk to sic some birds on Mic, but he says Mic’s loudness will just scare the birds away
damn they’re really at a disadvantage
meanwhile All Might has completely fucked up my sons off-screen, apparently
wellllllll shit
BONUS:
RECOVERY GIRL!
HOW OLD IS SHE DAMMIT
she basically has the same level of authority as the principal. she ought to have more if anything
apparently she makes the rounds at hospitals all across Japan. she’s such a badass
