#trin writes

[adrift-in-thyme]

Sooo remember that blupee Wild post from yesterday? I wrote something for it

Forgive the quality I wrote it in less than an hour

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Legend stops short, Wild’s name still hovering on his lips, waiting to be propelled into the indifferent grouping of trees. There are eyes glowing from within the blanket of ferns at his feet. Glowing golden irises rimmed in amber, staring from a heart shaped face of palest blue.

Two antenna twitch. A small nose wriggles.

Legend bends to one knee, holds out a hand.

“Hey there. You wouldn’t happen to know where that crazy cook went, would you?”

Again the nose moves, though this time it wrinkles slightly as though the being has smelt a stench.

“Alright, fine.” Legend sighs. “Do you know where Wild went?”

That earns him some small amount of favor. The creature runs a paw over its face, fluffing up the fur there. Then, with one small hop, it emerges from its hiding place. It settles down on its haunches right in front of the veteran and sneezes.

Legend gazes at it and it gazes at him. It looks for all the world like a rabbit, with its loping gate and compact form. Yet, the appendages atop its head are like vines stretching upward in their ascent towards light. Its eyes are endless pools of molten treasure. They speak of wisdom, of mystery. They are a map Legend has yet to obtain.

Its body is delicate. The magic that waltzes gently around it threatens to spirit it away. But there is a strength about it that calls to Legend’s soul. It is painted in the eruptions of royal blue burned into the side of its face, etched in craggy, sporadic splotches upon its chest and abdomen. It is housed in those eyes of an ethereal stranger, a beloved brother and friend.

Again, the veteran holds out his hand in invitation. His voice is even softer this time.

“I won’t hurt you, champion.”

I know, Wild’s eyes say. Because you’re like me.

Another two hops and he has deposited himself in Legend’s lap. The veteran’s breath catches at this display of easy trust. Long and arduous is the road they walk. Many have been the days when he and Wild have ended up together, two conflicting minds forced to meld into something complementary. But never had he allowed himself to imagine it would all lead to this.

How’d you know?

A soft head presses against his chest. Legend ducks his face into the fur and for a moment, breathes in the scent of bubbling springs and murmuring branches, whispering wind and moist river rocks, moss and magic and autumn leaves.

How’d you know it was me?

He chuckles. Delicate fingers crowned with jewels find the spot behind Wild’s ears and rub there. The champion makes a trilling sound deep in his throat, a melody as pleasant as a bird singing its jovial song amongst the trees.

“It’s as you said. I’m like you.”

There is something about rabbits, he decides, a thread that weaves between their hearts and minds, connecting them in ways far beyond what words can explain. So that they may find one another, helpless creatures though they may be.

He checks over Wild one more time, searching for an explanation to the champion’s sudden disappearance from camp. But there are none to be seen. No wounds. No disturbances in the pattern of quick breaths. No skips in the race his tiny heart runs.

Legend lies back on the firm, packed earth, and Wild immediately readjusts along with him. He curls around himself, head meeting bushy tail in the form of a snail’s circular shell. Legend’s fingers continue their trail along the curving form, silk turning skin soft.

Above them, the trees bow to one another, limbs meeting midway to filter the pale rays of the sun. A leaf flutters down toward them. Its lazy journey ends atop Wild’s body. He doesn’t seem to mind. A tiny sigh lifts his chest. He readjusts, blinks open one eye that probes Legend’s soul.

Hey…thanks, vet.

The veteran grins. “Never thought I’d hear you say that to me.”

There is no bite in his tone. The sarcasm usually biting is gentle, teasing.

The wounds were never outward to begin with. He knows that now. He should have seen it the moment Wild’s eyes grew wide as a memory took over, the moment afterward when his chest had heaved in subtle attempts at breath, and those in the days following when he had walked with slow steps, head bowed, smile a ghost ready to fade and flee.

He doesn’t know how the hero came to take this form. It doesn’t matter however.

Legend runs his hand over the tiny head and he understands.

[softtashoney]

CHAPTER FIVE: ATSUMU MIYA

WORD COUNT: 5K+

It was Friday morning when YN looked at herself in the mirror, tugging at the hem of her white sundress. The day was expected to be warmer than usual, but she figured it would be fine—after all, she wasn’t going to be outside for long. She was heading over to Suna’s house, just a few blocks away, to hang out and bake some cinnamon rolls. They weren’t filming for YouTube today or anything; maybe take a few photos, but mostly it would just be a casual day catching up and enjoying each other's company.

It took her roughly six minutes to get to her friend's house. It was pretty large, not too different from the place she had moved into with the boys. After all, Suna was in a content house as well, The Fox Den. To her knowledge, she’d met everyone there except for Osamu’s mysterious brother, the one who was always setting things on fire, and the wholesome farmer friend who posted sweet videos of his animals and crops.

She knocked on the door, and after a few moments and what sounded like bickering, Osamu swung it open. “Well, look who it is,” he grinned. “Heard you’re baking some cinnamon rolls with Suna today.” His eyes sparkled with excitement. Osamu had a passion for all things food.

“I am,” YN replied, crossing her arms. “Are you going to let me in, or should I continue to stand out here freezing?” She arched an eyebrow, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips.

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, “Sorry for keeping you out in the cold for too long, your highness.” He stepped back, sweeping his arm out to gesture for her to come inside.

YN laughed at his antics. “So… where’s the kitchen?”

Osamu nodded down the hallway and started walking, gesturing for her to follow. As they moved, she noticed photos and memorabilia scattered across the walls. He led her into a spacious kitchen with sparkling white marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. It looked like something out of a five-star restaurant. Then again, she supposed that made sense—Osamu did live here.

“I was starting to think you scared her off,” Suna remarked from the side, sitting on a barstool at the counter. He gestured toward the fridge and the counter next to it. “I’ve got everything set up. We can start whenever.”

YN laughed. “It’ll take more than poor ol’ Samu to scare me off.” She plopped down next to Suna and nudged him with her elbow. “So, do you actually know how to make cinnamon rolls, or is this going to end in disaster?”

Suna looked at her with mock offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Excuse me? I can bake just fine. I’m not a kitchen hazard like someone’s annoying twin brother.”

Osamu snorted. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu’s not allowed in the kitchen without supervision until he proves himself to me.” He scowled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the kitchen island. “The rental agency said if the fire department gets called again, they’ll charge us a hefty fine.”

YN snickered at the thought of it. She glanced between the two disgruntled men in the kitchen. “We’ve hit a sore subject. How about we start making those cinnamon rolls, yeah?” She stood up, lightly patting her thighs before looking around for an apron. “You wouldn’t happen to have an apron I can borrow, would you? I don’t want to ruin my dress.”

Suna raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you wear a white dress when you knew we’d be baking? It’s like you’re asking for it to get stained.” He rolled his eyes but opened the pantry door, reaching inside to grab a bundle of fabric. Without warning, he tossed it at her, making her fumble slightly before she caught it.

She huffed as she pulled it over her head and tied it around her waist. “I wanted to wear it. I think it looks cute.”

Osamu grinned. “You women sure are somethin’ else.”

At that, YN spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him, her eyes narrowing. “Watch what you say, Osamu. I’ll be holding a knife, and you don’t want to test my patience.”

“Woah, woah,” a deep, velvety voice interjected, drawing the attention of everyone in the kitchen. “What would your brother say if he heard you threatening someone with bodily harm?” Aran stood in the entryway, his gym bag slung over his shoulder and a lighthearted grin pulling at his lips.

“Aran!” YN exclaimed, quickly forgetting about Osamu as she bounded over to him and gave him a hug. “It’s so good to see you!” She grinned up at him as she pulled away. “How’s my fur-nephew?”

“He’s good,” Aran replied with a chuckle. “Right now he’s napping upstairs. He had some catnip last night that Kita brought over. He wore himself out real good.”

YN cooed at the thought of the fluffy orange kitten. “Are you going to practice today?”

“The gym. Your brother and I have training scheduled. He says I’ve been slacking off, so I know I’m in for it.”

The two shared a knowing look of mutual discomfort. Hajime was a damn taskmaster when it came to Muay Thai; he didn’t know how to go easy on anyone—not even his younger sister. If you were training with him, you’d better be ready to work until you dropped, and then some. Of course, he wouldn’t let anyone get injured, but his idea of training was pushing limits and shattering them to help people grow.

“I’ll let you go, then,” YN said sympathetically. “Don’t want him making you do extra drills for being late.”

Aran laughed heartily and gave her a light pat on the head. “I’m off then. Good to see you, YN.” He readjusted his shoulder strap and turned to leave.

“You too!” she called after him, waving even though his back was already turned.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, she turned back toward Suna and Osamu. “Now, let’s get started, shall we?”

Once they finish prepping the cinnamon rolls, the trio sits around the kitchen island, idly conversing and eating a light breakfast that Osamu whipped up while the other two were baking. YN sits with her back to the fridge, munching on some fresh rice that their friend Kita had brought early that morning.

A series of bangs and grumbles echo from upstairs, followed by the sound of feet shuffling down the stairs. YN glances up to see who she assumes is Osamu’s twin brother stumbling into the kitchen. His eyes are barely open, and his hair is in complete disarray. He yanks open a cupboard and slams a cup onto the counter. He doesn’t seem to do this out of anger, more out of sheer unawareness. From what YN can tell, he hasn’t quite registered that there are other people in the kitchen.

She watches as he opens the fridge, grabs a bright red juice container, and haphazardly pours it into the glass. After he puts the container away, he grabs the cup and starts walking toward the island, still half-asleep and unfocused. Everything seems to go in slow motion from there. His foot catches on seemingly nothing, and he stumbles toward her, spilling juice from the cup onto her cream-white dress. As he falls, he catches the back of her chair, knocking it off balance with his sudden weight.

YN squeals as she tries to launch herself off the falling chair, but her dress snags on the corner, sending her to the floor beneath it. Her dress is now stained red, and a few threads are ripped. She doesn’t even register the pain of the fall, too mortified by what’s just happened. It was a gift from Alisa, a very expensive one, straight off the runway from last summer—a one-of-a-kind by Asahi himself. Her eyes begin to water slightly as she clutches the fabric, staring down at the ruined dress.

Osamu and Suna are by her side within moments, removing the chair and lifting her to her feet. Suna gently guides her back down to sit while Osamu launches into reaming his clumsy brother. “Look what you did, ‘Tsumu! Ya nearly killed the damn girl and ruined her pretty dress. What do you think Ma’s gonna say when she hears about this mess?”

Atsumu blinks, still dazed, then looks at YN as though he's only now realizing she’s there. “Oh.” He says, clearly dumbfounded, unsure of what more he could say to fix the situation. He’s still half asleep, and his brain isn’t quite functioning yet.

YN, now mostly composed, levels an icy glare at him as he scrambles to his feet. “I see why you told me to bring a baseball bat now, Rin.” Her tone is sharp and clipped.

Slowly, Atsumu’s brain kicks into gear, and with horror, he realizes what he’s done. “Let me buy you a new one. I’m so sorry,” he pleads, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. Now that he can think clearly, guilt seeps into his bones as he stares at the ruined designer dress. After being with Kiyoko for several years, he’s learned to recognize valuable clothing at a glance, and he knows this is something she would have killed him for ruining.

“It’s fine.” YN looks away from him, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. At this point, Suna had slunk away to his bedroom to find something for her to wear. When he returns, he’s holding up a frilly black-and-white maid outfit. Before he can even get the words out, YN seethes. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Osamu whistles lowly. “Alright, darlin’, you’re upset, so why don’t you run home, get changed, and try to salvage your dress? I’ll help Rin finish up the cinnamon rolls so they’re ready for ya when you get back.” He slips out of his zip-up sweatshirt and drapes it across her shoulders. “You can borrow this to cover up the stains while you head home.”

YN sighs and slowly stands, gathering her phone, keys, and purse. Once she’s all set, she zips up the jacket and heads toward the door. “Thanks, Samu. I’ll let you guys know when I’m heading back.” It only takes her a few strides to reach the front door, but just as she’s about to close it, a foot stops it from shutting.

“Wait!”

YN bristles, her muscles tightening as she turns to face the culprit of this whole ordeal.

“Please, let me buy you a new dress. One of my closest friends is a supermodel, and if I ever did to her what I did to you, she’d murder me in cold blood.” Atsumu stands in front of her, clasping his hands together. His hair is still a mess, and his pajamas are all rumpled up.

YN inhales sharply, trying to keep herself from snapping at the earnest man. “This dress was a gift from my supermodel best friend. Alisa Habia. I’m sure you’ve heard of her?”

Atsumu’s ears perk up with recognition. “Yeah! My friend Kiyoko Shimizu works with her all the time. She’s amazing and super down-to-earth.”

YN blinks, processing this. “Oh,” she hums, thinking for a moment. “That makes sense then, why Osamu knew who she was the other night.”

“Wait, you know Kiyo?”

“Yeah, we have a girl’s day planned for this weekend.”

“Oh, wow.” Atsumu grimaces. “I definitely gotta buy you a new dress then. Cause once she finds out and knows I didn’t make it up to you, she’ll rip me apart.”

At this point, YN feels herself give in. The man’s too damn persistent. She throws her hands in the air in exasperation. “Alright, fine! You can buy me a new dress. But I need to go get changed first, okay?”

Atsumu’s lips stretch into a brilliant grin, and YN swears she’s going to go blind if she stares at him any longer. “Can I run inside to put some clothes on real quick? Then we can just leave from your house? Promise it’ll take me five minutes!”

YN groans. “Fine. Five minutes, but if you take any longer, I’m leaving without you.” She shoos him away. While she waits, she shoots off a text to Alisa.

By the time the girls finish exchanging texts, Atsumu meets YN outside, his hair neatly combed and wearing appropriate street attire. “Ya ready, sweetheart?”

YN rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Just follow me, and when we get inside, don’t talk to any of the other guys… please. It’ll give me an even bigger headache than you already gave me.”

The duo successfully makes it inside without encountering any of her housemates. YN instructs Atsumu to sit on her bed while she rifles through her closet for a new outfit. She settles on a simple sweater and skirt combo, topped with a large peacoat to tie it all together. “I have to take pictures of the dress for Asahi, so it may take me a few minutes,” she tells him before stepping into her adjoined bathroom.

It only takes about ten minutes to get the photos for Asahi and change into her new outfit. Before she exits the room, she quickly snaps a photo and uploads it to Twitter.

When she opens the door, she finds Atsumu still sitting on her bed, looking around the room. “Is this a new setup?” he asks, gesturing to her work area. He seems to appreciate the theme and gear. After a beat, he realizes how it might sound. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean to sound like a weirdo. I’ve just, uh, watched a few of your videos before.”

YN snorts. “Yeah, it’s a new setup. Don’t worry about sounding weird. I’ve watched a few of you and Osamu’s videos, too. Rin likes to send me bloopers you guys don’t add to the actual uploads.”

Atsumu blinks, his mind a little dazed. He can’t believe she’s seen any of his content—much less the embarrassing bloopers. Internally, he curses Suna. Whatever she’d seen had to be mortifying.

“Well, let’s head out now, yeah?” she asks, gesturing toward the bedroom door with her purse secured over her shoulder.

“Yeah…” Atsumu gets to his feet and follows her.

The two reach the bottom of the steps when a voice calls out from the hallway. “Who’s this doll?”

YN looks over to see Issei walking up to them with a shit-eating grin. “Sneaking unknown men into the house? What would your fiancé think?”

“Shut up.” YN glances over at Atsumu. “This is Osamu’s brother. I don’t even know him, but he ruined my favorite white dress and wouldn’t take no for an answer about buying me a new one.”

Issei whistles lowly, raising an eyebrow as he looks at Atsumu. “Well, just be careful. Don’t step another toe out of line, or this one might kick your ass.”

“Issei!” YN huffs, clearly embarrassed.

Atsumu chuckles, looking between the duo. Their dynamic is entertaining, to say the least. “Samu did say you knocked him out the other day,” he says with a grin, enjoying the annoyed look on YN’s face.

Another voice chimes in. “YN, what did I tell you about knocking people out? Especially people we consider our friends?” Hajime walks up beside Issei, shaking his head in mock disappointment, one hand on his hip.

“Knocked him out?!” YN whips around to face her brother, eyes wide. “All I did was knock him on his ass and take a few shopping bags! He was fine!”

“Wow.” Hanamaki strolls into the room, clearly amused. “I’m surprised you didn’t put him in the hospital with that ridiculous gorilla strength of yours.”

Before YN can defend herself, Tooru comes up behind her, giving her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Now, now, boys. Stop bullying our dear YN-chan.” He pats her head lightly, grinning. “Your brother’s right, though. You can’t just go around beating people up. I’m much too beautiful to bail you out of a jail cell. Can you imagine how bad my skin would look under those fluorescent lights?”

YN clenches her fists, her eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

“Eh, beat up whoever you want. I’ll come post your bail since none of these pansies would ever step foot inside a jail—except maybe your brother. But we both know he’d make you stay overnight.” Kyotani takes a seat on the couch, giving her a thumbs up.

YN yanks her purse tighter against herself, stifling a scream of frustration. “I’m leaving!” she declares, storming out of the doorway. She forgets about poor Atsumu, who quickly waves goodbye to the others before hastily following after the enraged woman.

Just before the door closes, the group shouts their goodbyes. “Love you, YN!”

Atsumu can’t help but laugh as he watches the smaller girl stomp down the sidewalk. She looks over her shoulder at him with a nasty glare. “What?!”

This makes him laugh harder. “You!”

Her face goes blank. “Oh, is that so?” she mutters, turning away and continuing down the sidewalk, pointedly not looking in his direction.

Atsumu grins, sidling up next to her. “Yer so frustrated, it’s cute—like an angry kitten.”

YN inhales sharply, trying to contain her anger. “Whatever. Where are you taking me, Miya?”

“Hey, hey, call me Atsumu. You know Samu and I both, so it just gets confusin’.” He grins, his tone lighthearted. “But to answer yer question, I’m takin’ ya to one of Kiyo’s favorite stores. I know you’re gonna love it.”

They end up at a smaller but high-end boutique tucked away in the shopping district. The sleek displays and soft, ambient music make the space feel exclusive, and YN’s bad mood begins to ebb as she moves between the racks. She loses herself in the luxurious fabrics and bold designs, her irritation slowly replaced by curiosity.

After a good half hour, she’s amassed a decent pile of clothing in her arms. When she’s done trying everything on, she steps out of the fitting room and hands one of the dresses over to Atsumu.

“This one’s a keeper,” she says, attempting a small smile.

“Nuh-uh,” Atsumu replies, crossing his arms. “That dress I ruined was one of a kind, so hand it all over.”

“Atsumu, I can’t—”

“Nope. No choice.” He leans forward, grinning, and plucks the entire pile from her arms with ease. “This isn’t even half the value of that dress, and ya know it.”

“But—” Before she can finish, he’s already striding toward the register.

“Atsumu!” she calls after him, her voice half an exasperated whisper to avoid causing a scene.

He ignores her, sliding his card across the counter with a flourish. “Can we get these delivered?” he asks the clerk, rattling off his address like it’s second nature.

Finally turning back to her, he flashes a triumphant grin. “Sorry, sweetheart. I ain’t lettin’ you pay for anything today.”

Her glare is sharp, but he barrels on. “Now, why don’t we make a day of it and grab somethin’ to eat, yeah?”

“I’m not—” YN’s stomach growls softly, betraying her.

Atsumu smirks. “Not what? Hungry?”

She sighs, reluctantly crossing her arms. “...Fine. What did you have in mind?”

YN isn’t sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t a tucked-away hole-in-the-wall restaurant that seemed almost invisible to passersby. The kind of place you only knew existed if someone had brought you there before. Atsumu greets the staff by name as he leads her to a small table in the back, his familiarity making the space feel oddly intimate.

“What is this place?” she asks, her eyes tracing the swirls of reds, oranges, and yellows that adorn the walls. The air is thick with spices, the aroma so enticing that her stomach rumbles faintly.

“It’s my secret getaway here in the city,” Atsumu says, pulling out a chair for her. “Indian food. Shoulda asked if you were a fan first… but I promise, it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever eaten.”

True to his words, every dish she tries is a revelation. The rich curries and tender, fragrant dishes make her forget everything else. By the time the sun dips below the horizon, their table is a clutter of empty plates, glasses of soda, and lemonades. Somehow, hours have passed in a blur of conversation, the kind that pulls you in so deeply you lose track of time.

Glancing at her phone for the first time all day, YN’s heart plummets. Her lock screen is flooded with notifications—texts from her friends, her family, and a handful of missed calls from Haru. One message in particular makes her stomach churn.

“Shit.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks at her, taken aback. “Everything alright, sweetheart?” His tone is light, almost teasing. “Your roommates think I’ve kidnapped ya or somethin’? I can getcha home before they send a search party.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender, his grin disarming.

But YN doesn’t respond right away. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, her mind spiraling. Days of missed chances to talk to Haru and now… this. She had completely forgotten about their call. How could she let this slip?

“It’s nothing,” she says finally, forcing a smile that feels brittle. “Don’t worry about it.”

“YN,” Atsumu says, his tone shifting as he leans forward. It’s the first time he’s used her name all day. “We don’t know each other that well, but even I can tell that’s a horseshit lie.” He nods at her phone. “You don’t gotta tell me what it’s about, but if you do want to talk… I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener. Despite what some folks might say.”

Her lips twitch into a genuine, albeit brief, smile. “Thanks, Atsumu. It’s really nothing crazy. I just… lost track of time and missed a call with my fiancé.” Her throat tightens at the word. “He’s been so busy lately, and I guess I forgot to mention what I was doing today. I just hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

Atsumu winces. “Ah, crap. I didn’t mean to mess up your day.” He hesitates, then adds with a crooked grin, “If it helps, I can tell him it was all my fault. You were just babysitting a hopeless idiot who didn’t want to get murdered by a supermodel.”

She snorts despite herself, shaking her head. “It’s fine, really.” Her expression softens as she looks at him. “I enjoyed myself today. Probably more than I should’ve.”

The last part slips out before she can stop it, and her cheeks flush. When was the last time she’d felt this carefree? This seen? Certainly not in a way that wasn’t tied to her girlfriends or her brother.

Atsumu waves her off with his usual grin. “Don’t sweat it. I had fun too, YN. We should do this again sometime—y’know, if you don’t get in too much trouble for hangin’ out with a miscreant like me.”

She rolls her eyes, a laugh bubbling out. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.” She rests her chin in her palm, catching herself looking at him through her lashes. Her stomach flips, unbidden. What on earth was wrong with her today?

Before she can dwell on it, the waitress returns with the check. YN reaches for it, but Atsumu beats her to it, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh, missy. I’ve caused enough trouble today. Least I can do is cover this.”

“Atsumu—”

“Not a word.” He hands his card to the waitress before YN can argue, flashing her a mischievous smile. “Now let’s getcha home safe. That brother of yours scares the crap outta me. Last thing I need is to end up on his bad side.”

As they collect their belongings and step into the crisp night air, YN can’t shake the sinking feeling in her chest. The warmth of the evening lingers, but so does the weight of something unspoken.

Atsumu walks into the house with a pep in his step, a dopey smile plastered across his face. He shucks his coat off and tosses it onto the nearest sofa without a second thought.

“Oi! Tsumu!” Osamu’s voice cuts through the silence almost immediately. “Quit leavin’ your shit everywhere! Pick it up!”

“Geez, calm down, Samu,” Atsumu groans, turning to face his brother, who’s leaning against the archway to the hall, arms crossed. “I just walked in the door! My coat’s been there for, what, thirty seconds?”

Osamu doesn’t budge, his sharp gaze scanning Atsumu’s face. He sighs heavily. “Tsumu.”

“What?” Atsumu snaps, his smile faltering for a split second.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game,” Osamu says, his voice low and steady. “Knock this lovestruck fool shit off before someone gets hurt.”

Atsumu stiffens. “I ain’t doin’ shit,” he fires back, but his words lack the heat he intends. He flops onto the oversized loveseat with a huff. “Seriously, I just met the girl. I ain’t fallin’ in love, you negative nancies.”

Osamu raises an eyebrow just as Suna pokes his head around the corner, his expression blank. He takes one look at Atsumu, then rolls his eyes and saunters into the room, plopping down next to Osamu on the adjacent couch.

“Sure, Tsumu,” Osamu drawls, “you just happened to spend the whole day with your dream girl and somehow came out unscathed. Right.”

Atsumu scoffs. “Dream girl? I don’t even know her like that!”

Osamu snorts, shaking his head. “Tsumu, you’ve been a fan of hers forever. You had a massive internet crush for years. Spendin’ one-on-one time with her? ‘Course you’d catch real feelings.”

Suna, still lounging against Osamu, finally chimes in, his voice dry. “She’s sweet, yeah. But don’t forget, YN has a lot of guy friends. Anything you think is a sign? Probably isn’t. And she’s head over heels for that fiancé of hers.”

“Haru Saito,” Osamu adds grimly. “Not someone you want to mess with. That guy could ruin our lives before we even knew what hit us.”

“Please,” Suna mutters, rolling his eyes again. “That guy’s a pushover.” He lets his head fall back, eyes slipping closed as he leans into Osamu’s shoulder.

Atsumu groans, throwing an arm across his eyes. “Alright, fine. If it starts getting messy, I’ll let you guys know. Happy now?”

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something more, but Suna jabs him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Sure, whatever,” Osamu says begrudgingly. “Now can we play some Smash Bros.?”

The tension in the room dissolves as quickly as it appeared. Atsumu lowers his arm and grins. “Yeah, but don’t cry when I wipe the floor with ya.”

“You wish,” Osamu retorts, already reaching for the controllers.

The house is eerily quiet as YN steps inside, the absence of her roommates both a relief and a reminder of the turmoil swirling inside her. She hurries up the stairs, avoiding any chance encounters, and retreats to her room. Peeling off her street clothes, she slips into a fluffy robe and busies herself drawing a bubble bath.

The warm, foamy water embraces her as she sinks in, letting the tension in her shoulders melt away. With a sigh, she grabs her phone, tapping to FaceTime Haru. She prays he’s still awake.

On the third ring, he picks up, looking tired but not groggy. “Hey, Sunshine,” he greets, though his tone is edged with something sharp. “I was starting to think you were gonna stand me up.”

Her stomach twists. “I’m so sorry, Haru,” she says, sinking deeper into the bubbles. “I completely lost track of time. That’s on me.”

“It’s fine,” he replies, though his voice is tight. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your little date with your new friend.”

Her eyes snap open, narrowing instantly. “Excuse me?”

Haru’s nose twitches—one of his tells when he’s angry. “What else would you call it? You’re all over the internet, photographed with some random guy, buying piles of expensive clothes and dining alone in some secluded restaurant for hours.”

She bolts upright, water sloshing against the tub’s edges. “What the fuck? Are you having me followed?”

“Of course not,” he snaps. “But you’re famous. Did you forget paparazzi exist? Your little adventure is plastered everywhere. I had to hear about it from your brother!”

Her jaw tightens, and she fights to keep her voice steady. “Hajime told you exactly what happened. Atsumu took me to replace the dress he ruined. That’s it. I planned on paying for the rest, but he bought it before I could. It’s not like I’m running around playing sugar baby, Haru.”

“It sure looked friendly,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

She glares at him through the screen, her chest heaving. “You’ve never had a problem with my male friends before. Why are you acting like this now?”

“Because none of your other male friends look at you like they want to fuck you.”

Silence crashes between them like a wave. YN stares at him, stunned, her ears ringing. Haru has never been like this—not even with Issei, who’d been notorious for his over-the-top declarations of love for her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she finally asks, her voice trembling.

“And you’d know, wouldn’t you?” he bites back. “Since you clearly pay so much attention to me these days.”

Her chest tightens, tears stinging her eyes. “You know what? Fuck you, Haru,” she spits, her voice breaking. “You supported me moving here, and now you’re blaming me for the distance in our relationship? That’s on you, not me.” Her voice rises with every word. “Atsumu wasn’t looking at me like he wanted to fuck me. He was looking at me like he could see me—something you haven’t done in months. Get over yourself. I’m done.”

She ends the call with a trembling hand and hurls her phone across the room.

A guttural scream rips from her throat as she sinks back against the tub, tears streaming down her face. Her fingers tangle in her damp hair, pulling as if the pain could ground her. “Fuck!”

A knock at the door startles her. “Doll… you okay?” Issei’s voice filters through, soft but concerned.

She wipes at her face, her voice shaky. “Yeah.”

“I can hear you lying from here.”

With a sigh, she reaches for her robe, wrapping herself in its comfort as she pulls the plug from the drain. Once dressed in her favorite plush pajama set, she unlocks the door.

Issei is leaning against the frame, his gaze scanning her red, blotchy face. “We fought,” she murmurs.

He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and settles on the bed beside her. “Atsumu?”

She shakes her head. “Haru. He accused me of cheating and then blamed me for our problems—like I haven’t been begging him for months to just pay attention to me.”

Issei hums, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she curls into herself. “He’s lashing out. Projecting.”

Her body stiffens. “You don’t think…”

Issei curses under his breath, realizing his mistake. “No, Doll. I don’t think he’d do that. The guy may suck sometimes, but he loves you. That much is clear.”

Her voice is small. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

That night, YN falls asleep clutching an old T-shirt, her heart heavy and her mind reeling.

masterlist | prev | next

A/N: Hey everyone wow. It's been several years since I have uploaded! I have had a lot happen in the last few years between having my first child, moving, acquiring new animals, and various chronic health issues. Needless to say, writing sort of took a back burner and I have had a severe block until recently!

I have quite a bit planned for this so hopefully I am able to continue writing and uploading somewhat regularly. I'm attaching my previous taglist here but if you wish not to be tagged anymore just let me know!!

Hopefully, y'all enjoy this.

I also wanted to point out that Hajime's private gym is connected to their home, hence why he was there during that interaction. He uses it for more personal clients and whatnot! Aran was off doing some solo exercises during the entire interaction (thankfully for Tsumu or he'd of gotten made fun of too!)

Let me know if you guys have any thoughts or questions!

Hope to see y'all in the next one!!

[p.s masterlist & previous links are not working… find the masterlist on my pinned]

TAGLIST LINK: HERE

TAGLIST

@ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @rintarovibes @katsupeach @black-rose-29@tanakasimpcorner @afire24 @zombieonna @catharticvillains @k-itk-at@antonio-melancholy00 @indecisivehusky @yamayoomi @kiyoomisbean@jellxnew @matsunshine @franko-pop @erensnubs @riceballsandanime@haijkk @keshastourbus @hxked @chupacudailhinha @bxstboy-tetsu@4kaashl @roselleviennesstuff @kotarousbabyowl @miyadarling@meiankolia @hp-hogwartsexpress @dambxtch @tanakaslastbraincell@bnha-meme-sanctuary @mirakeul @wtf-vickyy @haikyuu-and-fics@peepeepoopoot @sakusasimpbot @lilith412426 @fuckinuchihas@ntimacy @quietsimp @chantalkate16 @erinoikawa​

[adrift-in-thyme]

@krissis-averted you know when I said this art had given me serious brainrot? Well…

This gorgeous, painful piece wouldn’t leave me alone so I wrote a little something inspired by it. I hope you don’t mind

CW for major character death and blood/injury

————————————

It is cold.

For some strange reason that is the thing his mind has chosen to fixate on. Out of everything else. The pain and the blood and the dread of death — it all seems to pale in the face of the cold.

It feels like Snowhead, Time thinks dimly. Or perhaps, like Zora’s Domain did when it was turned into a frozen tundra.

He coughs. Blood splatters into the snow.

The wolves surrounding him prowl closer, growls deepening. They sense weakness. They smell death. He cannot bring himself to care.

They have already torn him apart, ripped a hole in his abdomen, scattered his blood across the frozen ground. What more can they do?

He raises his head, with an effort, peering up at the crimson moon shining above them. It looks like the Blood Moon from Wild’s Hyrule. But it can’t be. He is not in Wild’s Hyrule.

Regardless, he hates it.

Usually such a sight fills his heart with dread. Now, it only seems to mock him.

I have won, it says. At last, I have won.

He lets his head droop again. Somehow, the crimson snow is easier to look at than that cursed thing in the sky.

A shiver runs through him. More of his life force drains away, soaked up eagerly by the unforgiving ice. Time drags in a breath.

He should rise, he should walk, attempt to find some way back to the camp, back to the warmth and company of his brothers, back to the ranch where Malon waits to welcome him home. He longs to do so. But he lacks the strength to move.

One wolf drifts towards him, eyeing him with something like curiosity. Perhaps, it is wondering how he is still breathing? Perhaps, asking how he got into this situation in the first place?

The Hero of Time, felled by a pack of common wolves. Time laughs and the sound is a bitter choked thing, soaked in sorrow.

It had not been so simple as that, however.

He had been wounded when he had fallen upon these icy slopes, plunging through one of the Shadow’s many portals. And when he had risen, dizzy from blood loss, weak with fatigue, and lacking either of his two prized swords…the wolves had been here to greet him.

His fallibility had drawn them like ravenous desbreko.

Wolves are mighty beasts, feral, and brave. But even they cannot resist easy prey now and then. And in the state he had been in, he had certainly been easy prey. Especially to wolves such as these. Though they do not look quite the same as the wolfos in his own era, they had been just as strong.

With their powerful paws, they had pushed him to the ground. With their sharp teeth, they had torn his flesh.

They had stopped only when his breathing became shallow, his vision dull and clouded. They had stopped only when he had stopped trying to fight back.

Perhaps, it just wasn’t fun for them anymore, at that point, no longer the sport they were hoping that it would be. Or…perhaps, these animals possess some strange sort of mercy.

Maybe they had looked at him, pathetic, gasping, and bleeding in a time that is not his own, separated from those he loves…and they had felt pity.

Time blinks, sluggishly attempting to clear his fading vision. The night that had once been so vivid, is now grayish and lackluster. The deep blues of the sky and distant pines, the reflections of navies and crimsons on the snow — none of it seems all that striking anymore.

The wolves’ eyes, however, those terrible blood-red orbs — those are still as piercing as ever. And when the curious one comes even closer, his gore-tinged muzzle almost touching Time’s face, a shiver runs through him.

Though, perhaps, that is only because of the cold.

It is within him now, rather than merely a product of the harsh elements. The fingers of death clutch at his heart. His strength has fled completely.

When he slumps sideways, when his cheek connects with ice, he hardly knows it.

The wolf nudges him. The movement is so different from its vicious attacks previously.

Get up, it seems to say, come on now, hero, rise and soldier on. Your regrets are many. They must be put to rest.

He gazes at the proud beast. It has kind eyes, he can see now, almost like his pup.

How very strange.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Because there is nothing more he can say to those who he loves, those who he is leaving behind.

Those who are far away, unable to hear him.

Time breathes and the exhale is hardly enough to create a cloud in the bitter air.

“I’m sorry.”

…

The wolf remains by his side through the bitter night. It and its brethren stand watch as the Hero of Time grows cold and stiff. As the blood he shed on the icy ground crystallizes beneath the assault of icy wind.

He has perished, after a lifetime of escaping death. But he has not done so alone.

His attackers guard him, never touching his body, never trying to tear the meat off of his bones. They merely remain, stalwart and strong, gazing into the endless expanse of snow.

And when a figure of gold, with a single eye of red, appears as though he is a product of the wind itself…they welcome him as they would their own kin.

Welcome, Hero of Time, they say in the howls that echo into the night. Welcome, hero with the heart of a proud beast. We have waited long for you.

In the shape of one's death

[alexcabotgf]

THE MATRIX 1999 dir. The Wachowskis

[inigofication]

I think I finally understand why Bloodweave hits me so hard and why I love it so much… them being sort of narratively paired together, aside.

Gale is just a relatively normal looking dude. Astarion is like a fantasy poster child. I love their banters, like Astarion saying he enjoys their walks together, and Gale saying “count me in! I’m enjoying chaos now!” when Astarion says he wants to get up to some good ol’ DEBAUCHERY. It’s like. The perfect balance of Astarion’s influence on Gale with Gale being the most just like. Loving kind guy that Astarion needs.

[milkyplier]

For the word game: warmth + LU

💖💖💖💖

Legend shudders as he scoots closer to the fire, hands hovering mere inches from the flames. Despite the fact that he’s so close to it, the warmth of the fire does absolutely nothing to dislodge the cold settled in his bones.

“Careful, there, you’ll lose your fingers,” Time comments.

“I wouldn’t notice, anyway, I can’t feel them,” Legend complains.

“You would notice the next time you had to reach for a sword.”

“Guess I’ll die, then,” Legend grumbles, and Time just shakes his head.

[deathisamotherofbeauty]

In my head at some point trinity and dennis need to have a talk™ because they almost hooked up with the same woman from work

[holybagelsstuff]

What if Thomas Anderson met infamous "Trinity" before they both woke up? I assume Morpheus found her when she was much younger, like 17-19 y.o. Neo seems to be of around the same age, so it would be two lonely teens with exceptional knowledge of computers finding out about each other's crimes. Would they like each other back then, or would they keep the distance out of cautiousness?

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 23: Shadows, “it’s gonna get me by the end of the night”

This one is kinda creepy again but. Well. That comes with the territory of dead hands...

Read on ao3

Warnings: blood, injury, uhhh lots of creepiness, being attacked by a monster in a kind of disturbing way

————————————————————

There was something in here with them.

Wild swallowed, looking around. He couldn’t say how he knew they weren’t alone, but the prickling on the back of his neck seemed to indicate a presence, one that wasn’t him or Wind. The problem was, the area itself was full of long shadows with barely a torch to fend them off with, and Wild looked nervously back at the stairs they’d recently descended.

He already wasn’t exactly the most fond of being underground, and he had a bad feeling.

“Aw man, a creepy basement,” Wind said with a groan. “Why do these places always have creepy basements?!”

“Beats me,” Wild said with an amused smile. It seemed like the complaint was mostly to hide what seemed to be Wind’s nervousness, as he was standing rather close to Wild’s side, and giving the darkness an anxious look.

“Maybe it’s a style thing,” Wild said thoughtfully. “Like, they build these or whatever, and one guy goes ‘hey you know what would be great right here? A creepy basement. Would really tie the whole dungeon together.’”

Wind laughed, and looked much less nervous as he looked out at the shadows again. Wild glanced at them as well, and squinted as his eye caught on something. Had something moved over there?

He really hoped not.

“Well, there are such things as non-creepy basements. I mean, Twilight’s basement isn’t creepy,” Wind said with a little grin, and Wild checked back into what he was saying. “Though it is full of junk. My grandma would say that’s scarier.”

Wild snorted as he and Wind began to walk into the room, feeling their way around walls, pausing to look around when they reached a torch. Wild pulled out an old branch he had and lit it, and after that, finding their way around the room was much easier.

It turned out to be what Wind said was a puzzle room, the two finding a suspicious platform, and a switch tucked in a dark corner. Pushing a block over to push it down didn’t make anything happen, but as they glanced around the area, Wild noticed some etching on the wall.

“There must be more switches we have to push,” Wind said thoughtfully. “Or else something would’ve happened.”

“There’s marks along the edge here,” Wild pointed out, pointing to four squares etched on the wall. One was filled in, and he and Wind both sighed as they realized there were three more switches to find.

“Guess we better get going.”

They continued through the shadowy maze, though as time went on and nothing jumped out at them, Wild’s uneasy feeling began to lighten. It seemed like the only thing to impede their progress was the confusing room and lack of light, and Wild was used to that. He’d done three labyrinths, after all.

No monsters appeared from the shadows to bother them as he and Wind located and pressed down two more switches, though Wild’s makeshift torch was nearly all the way burnt up by the time they found them both.

“Only one more!” Wind said cheerfully, and Wild smiled as they reached another hallway. “And that’s the only direction we haven’t gone yet, so it’s gotta be this way!”

“Good, then we can get out of here,” Wild said with another glance at the ceiling. He still didn’t like being underneath so many levels of dungeon and earth. It made him nervous.

Wind nodded, then his face took on a mischievous look.

“Race you there Wild!” he said with a grin, then before Wild could say a thing, he bolted off down the hallway and into the darkness.

“Hey— Sailor! Wait up!” Wild shouted, but Wind had already disappeared into the shadows.

Wild huffed, and bolted after him, though he did slow and peer nervously around walls and pillars. The air seemed colder this direction, a chill tricking down his spine, and Wild swallowed. The sense that they weren’t alone had gotten more intense again, and he suddenly had a very bad feeling about all of this.

“Wind? Sailor, I think we should stick together!” he called, but received no reply except for his own echo.

...Had Wind really gotten out of earshot already?

Wild sped up a little, trying to watch his steps, but also catch up to Wind. He had to be around here somewhere, this area wasn’t that big.

Or at least, not the parts they’d been to already.

Wild turned a corner and found what seemed like a wide-open space, lit by nothing but a single torch next to where he stood. Right as he took a step forward, his stick finally burnt up, and Wild gulped.

He braced himself, and moved forward into the darkness, trying to calm his thudding heart.

There hasn’t been anything in here yet. There’s probably nothing here, and it’s only my imagination because being underground sucks—

Something let out a muffled shriek.

Wild jumped and whirled towards the noise, near instantly drawing a guardian sword he had in his inventory. The sword let out just enough of a glow for him to see a little ahead, and Wild cautiously moved forward, sword held high.

The floor had turned from stone to dirt at some point, and Wild’s footsteps were near soundless as he padded across it. Something crunched under his foot, and Wild looked down, an even bigger sense of foreboding rising in his throat as he stared at the bones he’d stepped on.

“Wind?” he called softly, afraid to speak too loud.

Something grabbed his ankle.

Wild shouted in surprise as whatever it was dug in, and before he could slash at it, another grabbed his other leg and knocked him to the ground.

He got an arm up and slashed at what he could see were pale hands on horribly long arms, bloodstained nails scrabbling at his boots. Wild managed to cut away the hands, but right as he scrambled to his feet, he heard something moving, right next to him.

He turned around, and almost dropped his sword.

A pale, bulbous creature stared at him, eyes dark holes, mouth opened impossibly wide as it grinned at him with bloodstained teeth. Wild couldn’t help but let out a horrified cry as it began to slither forward, and he felt a sudden urge to be sick.

What god decided such a horrible creature should even exist?

Wild backtracked so quickly he nearly tripped over his cape, but strangely enough the creature didn’t turn to him. It veered to the side, and as Wild regained his senses enough to go after it, he saw two eyes catch the light from his sword.

He turned, and met Wind’s frantic gaze.

The sailor was being held up by multiple of the same arms that had grabbed him, a hand covering his mouth. His eyes were wide with horror, and he was scrabbling frantically at the hand over his mouth, but more arms were holding him tightly in place, and all he could do was let out a muffled cry as he saw Wild.

Wild felt a burst of anger and jumped forward, slicing at the hands, but as soon as he chopped one, another two took their place. He’d lost sight of the main body in the shadows somewhere, but he was focused solely on Wind, slicing even more frantically when he saw the blood on his shoulder.

Had that thing bitten him?

He managed to slice away most of the hands holding Wind’s body in place, and the sailor fell to the ground with a cry. But before Wild could go to him, a hand tangled itself in his cape, and Wild cried out as he fell to the dirt as well, more hands near instantly grabbing him.

They pinned him down, grasping at his face and clothes, and Wild clung desperately to his weapon. He knew if he dropped it he’d have almost no chance of getting it back.

But the hands had figured him out, and they squeezed his wrist, clawing at his hand, and Wild physically couldn’t hold onto the blade any longer. The guardian sword fell to the dirt, and Wild felt more hands come up and grab him, no matter how he struggled.

A burrowing noise sounded out, and Wild looked over in terror as the fleshy body crawled out of the dirt, that horrifyingly long neck turning in his direction.

He was it’s target now.

“Wi—!” he screamed, but then a hand covered his mouth, and all he could do was thrash in silence as the monster slithered nearer and nearer.

A hand turned his face towards it, and Wild breathed quickly through his nose, nearly gagging at the smell of decay and blood that came from the hands on his face. They tilted him up as the head of the main body drew near, lit an eerie blue by his dropped sword. Wild couldn’t help his whimper as the face leaned down, its jaws opening impossibly wide.

And then it bit down on the side of his face.

Wild screamed, the sound muffled by the hands still covering his mouth as fiery pain made his vision spotty, the feel of the monster biting down on him nothing short of horrific. The seconds seemed to stretch on endlessly as it continued to gnaw, sucking up his blood, and Wild was nearly sick as it made a particularly satisfied noise.

Somehow the fact that the monster was actively feeding on him, biting him, attacking him only to satiate some kind of awful hunger, made it twice as worse.

All he was was prey to it.

Wild let out a muffled sob as he thrashed again, but the hands only held him more firmly, a hand holding his cheek in a way that would almost have been loving from anything else. Pain and revulsion were making his head spin, and Wild squeezed his eyes shut, tears gathering in the corners.

And then he heard an angry yell.

Suddenly the pressure on his face was gone, and Wild heard another shout, catching sight of Wind throwing himself forward, his face pale but expression furious.

“Stop chewing on my brother!” The sailor screamed, then twisted himself around into a huge spin attack that Wild could barely watch. The wind it kicked up buffeted Wild’s face like a hurricane, and the hands still grasping him let go, dropping Wild to the ground with a groan.

An awful moaning sound rent the air, and Wild watched through the blood dripping down his face as Wind hit the main body of the monster once, twice, three— so many times he couldn’t keep track of the number.

But Wind finally stopped, holding a hand to his head as he stumbled, and the body of the monster fell to the ground.

Wind was suddenly at his side, grabbing his shoulder, and they watched in silence as the monster twitched slightly, then disappeared into dark smoke along with all of the arms.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was of Wind and Wild’s heavy breathing.

“I-I think... I think it’s gone,” Wind said finally, his voice shaking, and Wild gripped his arm, unsure if he or Wind was the one trembling.

“Yeah,” Wild choked out, and Wind turned to him, immediately leaning in to look at his face.

“Oh no, ohh— Wild I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you faster,” Wind gasped, and Wild shook his head, closing his one eye as blood threatened to drip into it.

“Y-you couldn’t have...” Wild got out, and Wind turned to rifle through his bag, his movements frantic. “...Sailor?”

Wind had made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, and Wild reached over to squeeze his hand, Wind shakily gripping it back.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Wind leaned up against Wild’s shoulder, Wind leaning back as they finished catching their breath.

“...That was worse then redeads,” Wind said finally, looking away, and Wild felt his eyes sting a little at the memory of the monster’s endless hands, it’s horrible main body and how it bitten down on them both...

It truly had been awful.

“I’ve never seen a redead, but based on th-the name... I don’t ever w-want to. Are they l-like... dead twice over..?” Wild asked, and Wind looked at him, eyes shiny in the light of Wild’s sword, blood still trickling down his shoulder.

Then he let out a wet laugh, and pulled out a bottle with some kind of potion in it, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Something like that,” Wind said thickly, and Wild pressed the side of his head that wasn’t a mess against Wind’s. He breathed out, and focused on Wind’s warm skin against his, not cold, not undead, not trying to devour him.

“Thanks sailor,” he said in a wavering voice, and Wind made another noise that Wild pointedly ignored, squeezing Wind’s hand.

“Thank you too,” Wind whispered back.

[dawnleaf37]

Which are most excited for, FOSSIL 4, MAHAS 3 or ITFT 8? (thank you for introducing me to fossil and mahas btw they are awesome)

OBJECT IMPROV 2

[headstrongblake]

@thewholecrew: [ TRAINING ]: during a sparring match, sender ends up pinning the receiver against the wall & you've changed / grant & o

green hues rolled as she surveyed the gym—of course, on the night she needed a sparring partner to ease what n.a couldn't lately, the gym only had one other person beating a punching bag—her ex-boyfriend, of all people. if she called rev, they'd probably be down in a heartbeat, but that would mean pulling their attention away from alec, something neither of them was keen on to begin with. she could walk back out the door and hit another meeting but, the last two hadn't helped, what good would a third do?

with a huff, octavia moved further into the gym, dropping her bag by the mats before grabbing wraps for her hand. by now, she was sure he knew she was there, probably had known since she walked into the damn place, but finally, she addressed him, "you interested in getting your ass kicked tonight?" octavia lifted her brow beginning to wrap her hands in preparation like she's done a hundred times since he'd taken off with garrett, waiting for his response. though somehow, she knew he wouldn't refuse. not her.

although she didn't show it, octavia was thankful when he agreed to spar with her. ever since finding nick's stash, she felt a little like she was skating on thin ice. she's 326 days sober, so fucking close to the year mark, she's not about to screw that up now. but as he neared her, asking her how she was doing, her eyes narrowed. "we don't need to do this, though. i just need a fight, okay?"

with that, octavia dove in with her all. going at grant with her speedy, controlled moves rev's engrained in her, along with her aggression that's only grown stronger. it's like an intricate dance where they dodge each other's moves. back and forth until nearly all of her thoughts of using melt away in the heat of their movements, only able to focus on grant's next moves, trying to calculate what he'll do ahead of time. but she's perhaps a little too focused, still too in her head because he gains the upper hand without her realizing it. guiding and cornering her backwards until her back is pressed against the gym wall with his arm across her chest, pinning her there. dark hues focus on his as she pants, glaring a little because he's bested her. "you've changed."

her jaw clenched at his words. it's not untrue. not in the least bit because even she knows there's a clear difference between who she'd been before nick's torture and after. but to hear it come from him? her eyes fell, nodding silently as she licked her lower lip. suddenly, she felt much too close to him, suffocating like he could see into her again like he used to. yet now, he had no right. she had no desire to let him see her damaged self or her heart. hues scanned over him, taking note of his stance and where he appeared to be lowering his defence before she glanced back up at his eyes. "yeah, i have," she answered firmly, "guess i have you to thank for that." octavia scolded, finding a quick weakness in his stance as her fist drove into his side, creating space before she used rev's favourite leg sweep to knock his feet out from under him.

standing above, octavia lifted a brow his way. "i win," she muttered, about to turn away from grant as he took his chance, knocking her footing out from underneath her and causing her to tumble. her hands stretched out to catch herself, but she landed almost directly on top of him. eyes widened as they made contact, connecting as she rested above him. both their chests panted against each other, and for a fractional second, the longing she ached with for grant leaked into her gaze. her lips parted, "i..." but the jingle of the bell on the gym door caught her attention, silencing her as she glanced up to see trinity's surprised features quickly morph as she turned on her heels. "trinity! wait!" shit, she thought as octavia scrambled to get up off of grant.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Anyone up for an angsty little fic? XD

I wrote this for whumptober but never could find a prompt that fit it. So I’m publishing it now instead!

CW for blood and injury, referenced torture, and burn wounds

———————————————————

The world is blinding and it burns.

Time grits his teeth, turns from it in an effort to escape the light. Endless and crackling, reaching out, snapping back, a whip seeking an unsuspecting back.

Someone is screaming. He knows it is not him.

“What-what…no!” A foot clad in crimson stomps once, twice, a masked face bobbing in time with it. “No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Fools. Time thinks. Fools and cowards.

The Yiga have brought this upon themselves.

Days, perhaps weeks of torture and experimentation have led to this. He only wishes he could have stopped it. Not for their sake. No, never for theirs. For all he cares, they can writhe beneath lightning’s brutal claws, screech, and scramble like insects trying to escape a boot.

Not for their sake does guilt pierce his soul. For Sky’s.

He lies in the center of the room, the sun in the center of a universe of destruction. Trembling with power, choking on fear, his cries ring in the hero’s ears like the bells in the Temple of Time.

The Yiga are running – the surviving ones, at least. Time can smell the smoke of their stealthy escapes. It hardly manages to permeate the heavy scent of electric death.

He breathes in, exhale hitching as he tries to move. His wounds ache and blood clings to him, dripping from the shreds of his tunic. He must get up though, he must get free.

He has to reach Sky before this power tears him apart.

The ropes around his wrists are frayed, bristling with the relentless aggression of his struggles. Day after day the Yiga had yanked him back, sliced at the fingers trying to pull at the hulking knots, aimed kicks at his stomach, his head, his back – anything to get him to cease trying to escape.

Cease trying to reach Sky.

His throat aches from shouting his name. His head pounds from sobbing.

Time contorts throbbing hands in a half-circle his wrists shriek against, pawing desperately at the same bonds that have held fast all this time.

Their strength had not been their own. This moment, they crumple beneath his force. This moment, they fall.

He is up in an instant, scrambling, gritting his teeth against the way everything shouts and screams and erupts into dazzling bursts of light and color, color and light that all take on the shade of red.

He coughs. Something damp and clammy hits the ground.

“Sky!”

One of his feet isn’t moving right. It feels like someone has wrenched it off, screwed it back on backwards. It doesn’t matter. What won’t move, will be dragged.

“Sky!”

“Time!”

The eyes that turn, tear-filled and pleading to him, match the tongues of lightning that lash out at his unarmored form. They are like the shooting stars he and Malon used to watch as they blazed across the Hyrulean sky.

Sky inhales and the force of it is nails scraping against metal, calloused fingers against a blade.

“Help me!”

The scream is a collection of shattered glass, raining down upon the room in terrible, glinting projectiles. Time winces with the pain of it.

“I’m coming.”

He chokes it out more than speaks it.

“I’m coming, Sky, just…”

He coughs again, stumbles, catches himself on the wall. It is wet with a substance he would rather not contemplate the existence of. He pushes off of it and keeps going.

The lightning reaches for him, tantalizing, hypnotic. Determined, he fights to reach it.

“Just hold on. Hold on!”

The first of them snaps back, connects with vicious precision with his thigh. He cries out, nearly crumples, and trips right into another. It sends a jolt through his side, snaking rapidly in and out of bones he didn’t even register having.

What will you do once you reach him? His mind hisses, doubtful, pessimistic. What will you do when, bloodied and broken, you fall beside him? Will you touch his shoulder? Draw him into your arms?

What good will comfort do?

He reaches for an answer. He has none. Only his mission and his determination to accomplish it.

Time grits his teeth and he presses on.

Sky screams his name again. Lightning strikes again. It is all around him now, a hurricane whose eye he is swimming towards. A hurricane that is tearing him apart.

They devour like ravenous wolfos. Streaking through muscle and sinew, razing them like fields of sun-warmed wheat; splintering bones, boiling blood. He is breathing the life-giving liquid, tasting it, smelling it. It pours from his mouth and eyes and nose, peppers the ground like a morbid artwork. It mixes with the pungent wetness of his tears and tears, melds with sickly yellow bile he cannot keep down.

“Sky…” He tries to call. He is close to him now, so close. If he just extends his arm…

His next inhale is hardly enough to be called one. At some point walking became impossible. He can’t recall when. But now he pulls himself along like a newborn babe.

Even that is too much for his body.

It smells like death. It smells like burning bodies.

He will not give up, though, not now. Sky needs him.

A trembling hand goes up, goes out, seeking its destination. An exhausted body exerts the last of its strength to lunge.

Time won’t allow himself to scream. But as he brings Sky into his arms, he can’t keep back a cry.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I so, so sorry,” sobs the shattered boy who has collapsed into him. “I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it!”

It hurts. Darkness is beginning to join the endless light.

The world is blinding and it burns. Oh, it burns. Worse than the magma of Death Mountain, worse than the clawing grasp of a deadhand, the sting of a skulltula.

It doesn’t matter.

“You can,” he croaks and pulls Sky closer. “I believe that you can.”

Time has not thought of himself as naive in a very, very long time. But for a split second, drenched in guilt, he wonders if, perhaps, he is being so now.

He shoves the thought away, drowns it beneath the battle of staying awake and staying alive.

Sky lets loose a cry like a warrior who has lost a great battle. A sound that is dazzling in its ferocity, terrifying in its grief.

“Please, please just leave.” He lifts his face, blood and soot and snot made stark against a backdrop of silvery white. “I’m gonna hurt you more than I already have! Leave!”

He tries to shove away, but it is a weak attempt. Time holds him closer.

“I won’t leave you.”

Talking is a struggle, breathing is a struggle. How long can he keep doing both?

As long as it takes.

“I am used to storms.” He smiles and that hurts as well. The expression tears at fragile flesh. “I have never run from one.

“And I refuse to do so now.”

[bejeweled-wahlberg]

LOOK OUT!

Chapter 9 is officially in the works!!!

[sentimentallyannoying]

if i had any writing ability left whatsoever i’d totally make a steddie Juno (2007) au

[chaosintheavenue]

Admiring her letterwork.

Also known as, I added a teeny bit of Traylink (the name of her camp mini settlement) lore to her bedroom wall, because she absolutely would.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Red Alert; an AU Guild Wars 2 Story

The Tideturners have lived in secrecy for decades, their operations hidden deep within the heart of the Mists. Rarely have they ever dared to reach out to the myriad of worlds that exist beyond their headquarters-- but things are changing. Time ticks away. The horizon draws closer. They cannot afford to hide away forever.

When the Commander was contacted by their head of security and offered a tentative alliance, he wasn't sure what to make of it. Why him? Why now? Who even are these masked strangers that all seem to know him so much better than he knows any of them? It was unsettling even back then, but now he knows exactly why.

Tick tock. Tick tock. It was a daring move, breaking into the Sidewinder's office to search for the answers, but the truth of this place is finally in his hands. If only it didn't leave him with so many more questions than answers. How can he possibly trust them now?

He has no idea how much his old adversaries feel the same.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

      The Sidewinder had always claimed that ASP’s security features shone crimson as a warning. Few had reason to doubt her claims; it made sense after all, didn’t it? Red was the color of blood. Danger. Risk. Injury. Who wouldn’t take it seriously? That was certainly how the Inquest used it, and the message never went questioned for long. To most, it was as logical an explanation as any– and there was no reason to ask any further after that.

     What else, after all, could the color red possibly mean?

     The Commander had almost forgotten, after all these years.

     Alarms blared, shrieking into the Turnabout’s main office from every direction. Every circuit flared with sharp, biting crimson, flickering along the wires and making the electric lighting overhead sputter and spark as if on the verge of a short. Power surged all around them– all from a source that he now knew all too well. How had he been such a fool?

      “Mai.” A single word left the asura’s lips. That was all he needed to say.

      The masked figure before him bowed her head. Acknowledgement, yet defiance remained as her shoulders rolled, the dangling chain links of her mechanical pauldrons rattling. He didn’t need to know what expression lay behind that disguise; he could already guess. Or, at least, he was pretty sure he could.

       “You know,” hummed a familiar electronic voice from a nearby speaker, “This really is no way to repay our generosity. Breaking into our humble workplace, after we so graciously invited you into our home? Tsk tsk. You really are a shameless little rat. Pity we didn’t set up any mousetraps for you.” Even laced with a heavy layer of static, he knew that voice well.

       “Don’t play coy with me. I know who you are, too.” The Commander’s voice was quivering. “The red energy signature, the morbid jokes, that pretentious attitude… Mai’s identity was just the last piece of the puzzle.” His eyes narrowed, jaw set as he glared into the closest camera. “You really had me going for a bit there, too. I almost believed you might be the real deal.” A twisted laugh echoed through the room, tinny as it reverberated from every intercom at once.

      He knew that laugh, too. He’d certainly heard it enough times.

      Red meant danger. Red meant fire and molten metal.

     But most of all, it also meant Scarlet Briar.

     “Come now, I would have thought the truth would be even more impressive! It’s not every day you meet a literal ghost in the machine, darling.” The Commander rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

     “Oh please. Every Inquest flunkie knows how to merge a living being with a golem, it’s not that impressive. I’ve encountered at least a dozen different biomechanical prototypes over the course of my career.” An annoyed ‘tch’ could be heard crackling through the speakers.

     “And how many of them were able to utilize that procedure to anchor a Fractalized echo, hm?” He had to admit, hearing her actually sound a bit irritated was a nice change of pace. “Or, say, give that spirit total control over a supercomputer hub and by extension, the entire facility it operates? None, I imagine. But you silly little asura do so love to think you’re the smartest ones in the room…”

     “Hm,” he remarked, unable to resist poking the bear one last time, “I think you just described yourself, actually.” A sharp pneumatic hiss rattled maintenance pipes in the ceiling, and he couldn’t quite tell if the technomancer’s invocation was hissing at him on purpose or had literally blown a gasket. He suspected it to be a bit of both.

      But the altercation was swiftly cut off as one boot thumped the floor impatiently. The Sidewinder didn’t look impressed; her tense body posture spoke louder than any words. The gleaming golden claws of one gauntlet were gripping a pistol at her hip, though she hadn’t yet drawn it. He studied her for a long moment, waiting. She made no move to approach.

     “Whatever you may think of me,” she growled finally through rattling hardware, “This doesn’t have to end in a fight. Surrender quietly and we can put this behind us.” The Commander fell silent.

     There was something in her voice that he hadn’t caught before. It was easy to miss behind the layers of electronic filtering, but… The more he focused on it, the more certain he was. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the revelation, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut. Suddenly he wondered if that mask was worn to disguise more than just her identity.

     … She was scared of him. The Sidewinder wasn’t shaking from anger, but fear.

     And in spite of all the poking and prodding, ASP still hadn’t made a single attempt to harm him. Neither of the two had, waiting for him to make the first move. They didn’t want to fight.

     The Commander wasn’t the type to back down from a scrap, no matter how impossible the odds. He’d taken on entire armies practically alone, slain massive heaps of raging dragon corruption, dismantled legions of mechanical horrors. He wasn’t afraid to use force if he had to– but that was just it, wasn’t it? He could feel his own hands shaking. This doesn’t have to end in a fight. The Mai he’d known rarely showed that kind of restraint. She only ever gave up when pushed into a corner, beaten down and hopeless.

     This woman was so broken she’d given up before the battle even began.

     There was no honor to be found in defeating someone like that. The mere thought of it just made him feel like a mean-spirited bully.

     A long, heavy sigh escaped the asura’s lips and, with no small amount of reluctance… He allowed his weapons to clatter to the floor. The Commander hoped he wasn’t going to regret that. For a long moment all was silent aside from the continuous blare of that alarm.

     “... Er..” To his amusement, the Sidewinder actually sounded a bit incredulous. “You’re.. Actually surrendering?” She straightened slowly, as if unsure what exactly she should be doing under these circumstances; this clearly wasn’t an outcome she’d actually expected. Even ASP seemed to be at a loss for words, her various jade tech artillery modules around the room slowly lowering in apparent confusion. Clearly the ‘AI’ wasn’t as much of a loose cannon as she liked to pretend.

     It wasn’t something he was used to doing either, but… This time, it felt like the right choice. The Commander nodded. “I am.” His former adversary only seemed to be even more perplexed, shifting her weight back and forth awkwardly before glancing pointedly at his dropped weapons.

     “... If I were to pass on what happened here, you'd be imprisoned at best, but most likely banished from the premises.” He could hear the inner conflict in the Sidewinder's tone. She paused for a long moment, head slightly lowered; only after seeing her nod a few times did he realize she was conducting a silent conversation with ASP. After a long, uncomfortable silence, she lifted one gauntlet and snapped her fingers.

     ASP’s alarms went silent as all the room's defenses retreated back into their hidden panels. All that remained of ASP's presence now were a few illuminated screens and the Sidewinder herself, her mask's red eyes watching the Commander in silent contemplation. He didn't interrupt, waiting patiently for her final verdict– only for the staring contest to finally break as she made a gruff ‘ahem’ into one gauntlet.

     “... Just put those away,” she ordered finally. “Gods know what sort of magical radiation you're packing. I'd rather not risk frying my hardware by handling them, but if anyone catches you armed then you're on your own.” He knows what she really means and won't say; if she confiscated his weapons they’d have to be logged. She's keeping him off the books. He gave her a nod of understanding and finally crouched to retrieve them, returning the weapons to his bag.

     “It really isn't an act, is it?” he inquired finally. “When I broke in here I assumed you were trying to pull a fast one on me, but…” Glancing to the cameras, he frowned. “You two really aren't planning anything are you?” The Sidewinder snorted quietly.

     “Oh you silly thing,” chuckled ASP with no small amount of amusement, “You really thought that, what, we lured you here as part of some nefarious trap? Come now, we both know I'm a more effective schemer than that.”

     “What she means to say,” clarified the Sidewinder with an exasperated shake of her head, “is that if we wanted to hurt you, leading you right into our base would be one hell of a stupid way to start.” One hand raised, resting on the side of her mask. Hesitation. “But… I get it. You don't trust us, and we don't trust you. Sooner or later something was going to have to give, and I know hiding so much didn't do us any favors. It’s time we talked… Face to face.”

     Click. The mask popped loose, electronics flickering out as it slid forward from the mechanical latches shifting underneath. When she drew it away, the sharp gaze that met the Commander's eyes told him everything.

      The woman staring back at him with weary eyes certainly was Mai Trin… But not as he'd ever seen her.

      She looked so tired and worn. Scars marked her jaw and vanished down into the collar of her coat, tracing old chemical burns that must have been excruciatingly painful. The wear of many years was written all over her features; he couldn't tell whether she was really that much older than the Mai he'd known, or if those creases had been carved by stress and pressure alone. This was the face of someone who'd been through the depths of hell and brought it back with her. There was no escape from the nightmares that lived on in her eyes.

     When he'd seen Mai drunken and rambling, abandoned by her crew with nothing left of her legacy except the barely coherent spirit of her former boss, he thought that was as damaged as the woman could possibly get. Maybe the Sidewinder was more stable, but he couldn't begin to imagine what could leave her with such a deeply haunted look. The Commander knew that look, though. He knew it very, very well.

      It was the same he saw whenever he looked in the mirror, thinking about all the things he could've done differently and all the lives he couldn't save.

      The Commander's gaze softened. Mai had wanted so desperately to be more than the horrors of her past. But in the end, no matter how far she ran, the darkness of her history always had a way of catching her up and dragging her down with it. He doubted this was what she'd had in mind, but it proved one thing he'd only ever been able to guess at before.

      … All she'd ever really needed was a chance to be someone better.

      “I shouldn't have ransacked your files,” he admitted, scratching behind one ear. “That was pretty reckless, even with my suspicions. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but… I apologize for misjudging you.” The Commander thought for a moment, brows furrowing. “Your version of Scarlet isn't exactly the industry standard either, is she?”

      “Well you certainly did find the rudest possible way to phrase that, now didn't you?” the invocation huffed. “But no, I suppose I'm not what you would consider a ‘standard’ echo of Scarlet Briar, as far as the Mists are concerned. Though I like to think that's a good thing.”

      “She died early,” the Sidewinder elaborated quietly. “Before the war even began. Her Alliance had barely even come together. Because of that she's a lot less… Corrupted. Turns out not having a dragon in her head does wonders for her sanity.”

     “See? As I said, it's a good thing.” Despite the revenant's somber tone, he could've sworn ASP sounded more chipper than ever. “I for one quite like being stable and well-adjusted. Isn't it nice when we aren't trying to kill each other?” In spite of himself, the Commander couldn't help a slight wry smile. He was starting to grasp her sense of humor a little bit more. For all her jokes, she was all bark and no bite.

      The last thing ASP wanted was to go back to square one.

      “Well, it's an improvement.” He maintained that smile. “At least now when you get an itchy trigger finger, you don't actually follow through on it.”

      “Exactly!” she cackled, apparently ecstatic that he was playing along. “See Mai, he gets it! These days I just traumatize nuisances with words instead of violence. It’s MUCH more efficient and I don't get confined to a toaster for maiming some incompetent clerk that doesn't know what an arcanomatrix cryotemperate modulator is.” The Sidewinder rubbed one hand over her face with the most drawn out exasperated sigh he'd ever heard. And that was quite a feat considering how many ridiculous questions had been asked of his poor college professors in class…

     “Please don't encourage her,” she groaned. “You're going to give me a hangover and I haven't even started drinking yet.” The Commander raised an eyebrow at her thoughtfully.

     “... ‘Yet?’ So I take it you haven’t kicked that habit?”

     “Try getting through a day with that menace rattling around in your skull and you'll understand.” ASP gasped in feign offense, but the theatrics were sign enough that she wasn't actually upset. He was starting to figure that out pretty quickly.

     … The two of them really were just joking around with him now weren't they? It was a surprisingly comforting revelation– not only that they trusted him enough to include him in their banter… But that he also felt good enough about it to join in naturally, too. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out okay in the end. Their casual snark actually reminded him of some of his friends from Dragon's Watch.

     “Fair enough,” he agreed, that smile still in place– even as ASP let out another offended gasp in turn. It was remarkable how quickly the tension had melted away now that they were actually being transparent with each other. Maybe that was all they’d really needed.

     A leap of faith, no matter what consequences it may entail.

     “Well, while you two were ganging up on me like the little traitors you are,” ASP bit back, “I’ve gone ahead and finished logging this security breach as a hardware malfunction in the official records. You’re welcome, you ungrateful drones.” He caught a faint ‘snrk’ from the Sidewinder.

     “Yes, thank you ASP.” With that, she made a swiping gesture in front of her with one gauntlet to summon a levitating holotablet, and then swiped and tapped a few more times before dismissing the display with a flick. “There, went ahead and cleared out my schedule for the day. I have a feeling this chat might take some time, Commander.” With that, she retrieved a stool from the edge of the room and placed it next to her desk, flopping into her own seat with a surprisingly casual air. He almost expected her to put her boots on the table, but apparently that level of disdain was strictly reserved for business meetings and politics.

     Understanding the prompt, he took a seat on the stool with a nod of agreement. “Then we’d better get started. I think we’ve got a lot to catch up on, Mai.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

     It was a bit haunting, she thought. The look on his face as she concluded her briefing felt so strange to her. Perhaps this Commander was full of surprises. And perhaps he wasn’t. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure whether his reaction was what she expected or not.

     Such keen sympathy wasn’t something she was accustomed to seeing on that face.

     But, for all his familiarity, the person wearing that face was much different from the one she’d known. And the Sidewinder had known that– of course she did– but had she been prepared for it? Not as well as she’d thought, it seemed. Even knowing the heart that beat within him was kind and warm, she still found herself waiting to find cold, bitter ice waiting in his eyes.

     This wasn’t her Commander. And she’d keep reminding herself of that until she believed it.

     “... I’m sorry,” he spoke finally. “It does explain a lot, though. And.. Strange as it is, I can relate.” The asura’s brows creased once more, studying her briefly before glancing at the red flickers that danced along a magitech display. “It seems like everyone around this place has a knack for defying expectations.” She caught the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, if for just a moment. But then it was gone– and he fixed his focused golden eyes on her once more, contemplative. “But… There’s one more thing I’d like to ask, if I may.” The Sidewinder felt her jaw clench ever-so-slightly, but she gave him a nod nonetheless.

    “Alright, ask away.” She had a bad feeling she already knew what his question would be.

    “... You never mentioned the Grand High Sovereign’s name.” She hated when she was right.

    “Trust me,” she answered quietly. “You’re better off not knowing.”

    But she could already see the answer in his eyes. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t telling him. She didn’t have to. He already knew. There was no hiding this truth from him, no matter how deeply she wished to. The guard rails were already off, and it was far too late to put them back on.

     Commander Ruju watched her silently with those tired, tired eyes, and she couldn’t help thinking how much different the two were. His expression was weary in a way that only the living could accomplish; there was a fire still burning deep within, smoldering under a layer of long-blackened ash. He kept it guarded carefully, but if you were to set your hand over the cinders, you would still sear your fingers on its concealed flame. Resolve like that had been tempered by a lifetime of strain, endlessly fighting against the flow of fate.

      The Ruju she’d known was empty and cold, forever seeking the darkness that would one day fill in where a living heart was meant to beat. There was nothing in his eyes, not even hate. That asura had felt more like a machine than a living being even before he replaced so much of his body with rigid, unfeeling metal. Now she wasn’t sure if he had a living heart at all.

      What had made him that way? The Sidewinder didn’t know, and likely never would.

      He lowered his eyes finally, one stubby claw starting to trace circles on the desk in front of him. “That’s why you chose me, isn’t it?” She couldn’t quite identify the emotion in his voice. Regret? Frustration? Resignation? All of the above? “I’m the only option you haven’t tried.” There was no blame in it, though. She almost wished that there was.

       “Lots of Commanders have tried,” the Sidewinder admitted. “None of them survived. You–”

       “I can do it.” Her heart sank, breath hitching sharply. “I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. I might be the only one who can.” The earnest fire that broke out in his voice– the fierce resolve. She knew that expression, and she was never, ever going to let this happen again.

       “Don’t.” He seemed almost taken aback by the firmness of her tone. “The last thing we need to do is to feed another corpse into that lunatic’s meat grinder.”

       “Your chances of survival are roughly 0.000001 percent, dear,” ASP chimed in coldly. “And that’s assuming you flee at the start of battle. Victory? That’s a hard 0. I’ve run the statistics. And believe you me, a supercomputer powered by an intellect like mine simply doesn’t make errors.”

       Commander Ruju paused at that, but she could tell he was thinking. Finally there was a light tap of his nail against the table once more. His resolve was unwavering, but she saw something else this time– a flash of cunning. Maybe he was most used to having immense brute force on his side, but… That wasn’t how he got his start. Before Ruju was a soldier, he was a scientist.

      “Then, how do we even the odds?” The Sidewinder could feel her invocation smile.

      “... That’s more like it. Now you’re thinking like a strategist, Commander.”