#how do you clean the literal fabric of reality?

[mrchiipchrome]

Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining

A/n: It's giving 'here damn', sorry for it taking so long icl I was struggling with this one. Say if you can tell whether I was hungry or no making this😭

W.C. - 7.7 k

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The first thing you can feel as you start to gain consciousness is a weight against your arm, pressing on your bicep and cutting off the blood flow to the rest of your arm. The tingle in the tips of your fingers feels almost like TV static would, pricking and prodding at the insides of your digits almost harshly.

The second thing you feel is something, someone, pressed against your front, the warmth radiating from her disappearing between the two of you and turning into a tingle at the top of your stomach. Her body fits perfectly against your own, curves fitting in the spaces of your body like that what it was made for, maybe it was, you’d never know.

The third thing you feel is fabric against the back of your hand and soft skin beneath the fingertips of your right hand. The softness of the skin doesn’t fool you for a second though, a layer of firm muscle built up over multiple years just beneath it, an impressive feat really.

Still, you don’t open your eyes, much rather wanting to savor the slow morning moments of the Sunday, the last calm one for a while, with pre-season training starting during the new week and school picking up the pace.

The quiet, serene moment is only interrupted by the sound of something crashing to the ground not too far away from where you’re laying in your bed with the unnamed girl, your brain not even registering the familiarity of her scent and body.

Opening your eyes ever so slightly, a quiet groan leaving your mouth as your back meets the soft mattress, you see the dark brown hair splayed all over the pillow and arm, dark brown hair you recognized, dark hair that belongs to the only person that you definitely shouldn’t have been in the same bed as.

How in the actual fuck do you get yourself into these predicaments?

There’s honestly no use in pondering, the events from the previous night flooding in almost immediately, nearly like an old movie from when they still used physical rolls of film. Rubbing your eyes, a yawn escapes from between your lips, the relatively early morning combined with the late night culminating in the exhaustion you’re feeling.

It’s difficult to choose whether to stay in bed with the Croatian beauty or get up and check out what the noise had been caused by, in the end the curiosity won out over the comfort of your own bed and the warmth of the basketball player.

Carefully pulling your arm out from under the brunette’s head, you clench and unclench your hand more than a few times to get the blood flow going again, pins and needles returning as you start gaining feeling back in your forearm.

You pause as you hear a small groan coming from Nika, body still as if you were a statue in order to not wake her any further, a small sigh escaping you when she stills completely, seemingly back in the deep sleep she previously had been in.

Tiptoeing to the door, you very carefully push down on the door handle so as to not wake everyone in the building by simply opening your door, opening it a fraction and slipping your body in the space between the door and the frame.  

It’s like she doesn’t hear your heavy footsteps against the floor, because when you round the corner of the living room she’s sitting on your couch, watching some trashy reality tv show and eating sugary cereal you got especially for her. Cereal she wasn’t supposed to eat anywhere else than the kitchen because it would be a pain in the arse to clean up if it got on the cushions or literally anywhere else.

Leaning up against the wall, your arms cross over your chest just like a disappointed parent, looking at the older girl tiredly. Still, her eyes are glued on the tv and the drama being displayed on the screen, barely even blinking in order to not miss anything.

“What are you watching?” Em’s eyes snap to you, a scared look on her face, like she knows that she’s been caught doing something she knows she’s not supposed to do. Her almost pathetic attempt at redemption comes from the small smile she’s sending you, trying to convince you not to scold her.

“Hey Y/n, what’chu doing up already?” She asks despite it being almost lunch time, eyes shifting anywhere but to where you’re standing, and you roll your eyes at her antics. Pushing off the wall, you walk in her direction with decisive steps, flopping down on the couch beside her and sprawling out your limbs, looking like a starfish with your butt hanging half over the edge. 

Em looks at you all weird, not really understanding why you’re not cussing her out for disrespecting your rules, yet she doesn’t say anything, it would be foolish to incite that kind of reaction. Her eyes stay on you for a few more seconds before she turns back to Love Island on the TV, leading her to just feel you get up from the couch again and not see it.

“So what is this show you’re watching?” You ask her all the way from the kitchen, getting your own bowl out of the middle drawer of the cabinet, closing the drawer with your hip and moving towards the refrigerator, pulling on the handle and plucking the carton of milk out of the small bottom compartment of the door. 

Moving back to where your bowl is sitting on the counter, you wait for your best friend to answer the question you posed to her. In the meantime you search for the chocolate cereal you knew you had hidden somewhere in one of the three cupboards in the kitchen. 

“It’s called Love Island, they basically fly out a bunch of boys and girls to a tropical island to humiliate them in front of hundreds of thousands of people.” She pauses for a moment in her explanation, seemingly taking another bite of her cereal. “Boys and girls couple up during the first day there then bombshells come in and they can steal girls or boys that are already coupled up, then there’s the recoupling ceremony where people can choose to couple up with someone else. You’ll get it soon enough.

Pouring your cereal in the bowl, you barely look up from your hands as you multitask, listening to Em explain and fixing your own breakfast. Flooding the cereal with a lake of milk, your fingers wrap around the handle of the top drawer, getting a spoon and putting it in the bowl. 

Carefully walking back towards the sofa where Em is sitting, you make sure to not spill a single drop on your hardwood floors, not wanting another disaster to clean up. In her short time as your best friend, Em had spilled more than you had in your entire life, thankfully she knew to stay away from anything exceptionally expensive.

“So they like, do this willingly?” You ask her, still confused about why people would do that out of their own free will.

“Yeah, you get famous off it sometimes and you win a shitton of money.” She responds through a mouthful of milk and cereal, looking at you through the corner of her eye as you sit down beside her once again, putting your feet up on the coffee table.

The two of you sit in silence after that, the uncharacteristic silence confusing the brunette laying in your bed. In all the time she had spent with the two of you, there had probably been a collective 5 minutes of silence, not counting when either one of you were unconscious.

When Nika wakes up, she’s all alone in the comfortable, but slightly too big bed. Her pounding head reminds her of the night she barely remembers and her aching limbs feel too heavy to move, half lidded eyes peeking around at the sparse decorations around the room, trying to recognise where exactly she was.

The muffled sounds coming from the other side of the door are enough to pique her curiosity, so with quite a bit of effort, she gets out of the bed she’s almost sinking into, swaying on her feet as she moves towards the door.

Using the wall as support, she quietly makes her way towards the living room, the source of the quiet noise. As the light from the open room hits her eyes, she lets out a groan, the headache doubling in painfulness, her now closed eyes failing to pick up the looks she’s getting from the two of you.

A look of pure adoration flashes across your face as Nika practically stumbles into the room, one hand covering her eyes and the other up against the wall, practically holding her up. In your 18 years on earth, you’re more than sure that you’ve never seen something as gorgeous as the girl standing only steps away from you, a realization that was becoming far too normal in your unusually interested mind.

On the other side of the couch, a mischievous look in her eyes that tells you everything you need to know, not that you see it, too focused on Nika to even pay your best friend any mind.

Nika herself doesn’t see either of the looks, too preoccupied with the pounding in her head, simply moving closer to the couch with almost stumbling steps, like a little lamb trying to make its way to the shade.

In the end she has to catch herself more than once before she finally throws herself into the space between you and Em, practically sinking into the couch and disappearing between the cushions.

Emma smirks down at her playfully, pondering on whether to tease her or leave her alone, on very pointed look from you though makes her decision very clear. No teasing allowed apparently, wheat has the world come to.   

There’s a strange type of silence between the three of you, not uncomfortable by any means but still, it was strange.

Nika’s almost asleep again, her head resting comfortably against your arm after she shifted a bit, just enough for her head to come into contact with the muscle of your upper arm.

By the time Nika looks up at you through her lashes, the cereal in your brightly coloured bowl has turned soggy and lost its matte brown color, now an almost pale brownish beige. Disgusting look really, but still kind of tasty.

“Can I have some?” Her puppy dog eyes are very convincing in their own right, that much you’ll admit, but you’re not sure that the unappetising cereal would be any good in terms of nutrition, not even mentioning the cross contamination happening if you were to share the same spoon as well as the milk in the bowl already.

“Really? It’s all soggy.” You look down at her questionably, not even noticing the dramatic eye roll Emma sends you both at the oblivious nature the both of you possessed. In what universe would you and Nika not end up together? Probably in one where her brother actually cared for his girlfriends.

At that moment, Em realizes that she probably would tell this story at your wedding one day in the future, most likely laughing and halfway to being drunk.

“Hey Em, gimmie some of your fruity pebbles.” Clearly, she’s been caught up in her own thoughts for far too long, lifting herself up on the heels of her hands, Em peeks over the edge over your bowl only to see it void of anything that’s not slightly diluted chocolate milk.

Throwing herself back against the cushions with a groan, both you and Nika look at her amused, the shared twinkle in your eyes telling more of a story than Em could ever realize.

“Ugh, I don’t want to get up, you go get it yourself” She rolls her eyes again, completely oblivious to your knowledge of the fact that she had brought her cereal box with her from the kitchen and that it was next to the couch’s armrest.

“Come on Em, you think I don’t know about your little stash? Come on, sharing is caring as Americans would say.” Your playful smile reaches all the way up to the corners of your eyes, and though she would never admit it, Nika’s sure she feels something other than hunger in her stomach after it. 

As Em begrudgingly hands the box over, she doesn’t fail to notice the way your arm slips away from beneath Nika’s head, pouring the sugary cereal into your now shared bowl before handing it back to the shortest of you three, the smooth maneuver you probably didn’t even realize you’d completed results in Nika’s head resting against your chest and your arm slithered around your shoulder.

Even with your seemingly cool, calm and collected demeanor, you’re screaming on the inside, sharing a bowl of fruity pebbles with a gorgeous girl apparently sets every single nerve in your body alight. 

And the worst (best) thing about it is how right it feels, despite it all being so incredibly wrong, her boyfriend (who definitely doesn’t care about her like you do) was probably worried sick about her, you would be.

It’s not right, but damn does it feel good to have her close to you.

Not in a gay way or anything, you try to convince yourself, completely platonic, yep, yep, yep, just purely platonic.

Either way, when the world turns upside down, it’s probably smart to contact the nearest Aussie, after making a mental note to call Cailtin later, you settle into the cushions more, eating a spoonful of sharp and colorful flakes, deciding to simply not care about right and wrong for now and instead just… enjoy yourself.

A comfortable silence takes over the room for the next hour or so, the three of you simply sitting quietly, watching the show and enjoying each other’s company.

Through the screaming and arguing of the contestants on the screen, the loud rumbling of your stomach can be heard. It almost echoes throughout the room.

Both of the older girls turn toward you, almost in unison, at the sound your stomach produces, eyes wide and faces filled with pure and unbridled amusement. You’re filled with embarrassment though, a deep, dark blush covering your cheeks, especially so as Nika reaches up to pinch one of them, like a grandmother would.

“Aw, are you hungry? Let’s go fix you something to eat.” Surprisingly enough, it’s not Em that teases you, but instead Nika, who teasingly pats your stomach before slipping out of your grip and standing up in front of you, holding her hand out for you to take, her silken palm meeting yours in a soft embrace.

With unsurprising strength, Nika pulls you up off the couch and almost drags you with her into the kitchen.

Tucked away in the corner, just beside the fridge, there’s a portable speaker that Nika takes with her unoccupied hand, bringing her other hand away from yours to turn it on, then connecting her phone not long after. Within the span of a couple moments, music starts playing in the kitchen, all types of music flowing out in waves.

Looking on cluelessly as she starts swaying her body along to the beat, Nika almost raids your fridge, seemingly disappointed with what she finds as she frowns and pouts adorably. Looking through your cabinets too, she’s even more disappointed with what she finds, brows now fully furrowed.

She picks up her phone from the counter where she had placed it down only moments before, humming along to the chorus, pressing and swiping and messing around on her phone before she looks up and over the top of it.

“Your address?” She asks, trying not to laugh at the dumbfounded look on your face, your mind clearly not comprehending a single thing she had said.

“What?” She smiles all cutely at you, and you have to try your absolute hardest not to replicate her expression, but in the end it’s simply impossible. Her smile is just so contagious that you can’t help it.

“I need your address, I’m ordering the ingredients.” Telling her you address quickly, you also thank her profusely for the thoughtful act, offering to send her the money for the groceries, to which she simply just waves you off, telling you that it wasn’t necessary.

“So… what do we do now?” You ask her, not noticing the way she’s moving closer to you until her hands grip onto yours, stringing you along as she starts dancing to the r&b song. The beat of the song grips ahold of you just enough to the point where Nika doesn’t have to push and pull on you tp make you dance, your body on autopilot.

“You know I really don’t like to dance.” You tell her, fully confused as she smirks at you, well up until you follow her line of sight down to your lower half, moving like a master, like you’d done it a million times before. “Shut up.” Is the only thing that comes out of your mouth, whispered through playfully pursed lips.

“I did not say anything.” She exclaims, still smiling at you teasingly, and you roll your eyes for what seems to be the millionth time since arriving in America, by now not even caring about the playful teasing.

Nika’s phone buzzes after a few more songs, the text message telling her that the ingredients were at the door.

“Come on, let’s go.” She walks to the hallway with you in tow, seeing her open the door to find a short and stout man on the other side, a thick, white mustache covering his upper lip. You both thank him and he gets a hefty tip before you close the door and basically skip your way into the kitchen, ready for some food.

“What are we making?” You ask her excitedly, almost buzzing with pure anticipation.

“We are making štrukli, it’s from Croatia.” Nodding along to her words, you walk towards the sink to start washing your hands, all whilst Nika starts to unpack all the ingredients and placing them on the counter. Shaking the water off your hands, you soon make your way to the drawer where all your aprons and towels were stored, pulling out the first one you could see and putting it on, absentmindedly tying the strings behind your back.

Looking back up from the floor, you soon see the look Nika’s giving you, half teasing and half plotting. Her eyes trail up and down your body, staying a moment or two extra on your torso before flicking back up to your eyes and then back down again.

Looking down at yourself, you see exactly what’s caught her attention, and the embarrassing print covering the front of the apron spells out a big “Kiss The Cook”, a gift from Lucy who thought she was oh so hilarious, in her mind it was an appropriate gift for a college student.

Your cheeks darken once more, your hand coming up to rub at the back of your neck before you speak.

“Uh yeah, um it was a gift from my older sister, well not my actual older sister, I don’t have one of those, but from my uh, my pseudo-” In your stupor, you had once again not noticed the way Nika was moving closer to you until her unbelievably soft lips were pressed to your cheek, her hands pressing down against your hip bones to push herself up slightly. Heaven was gifted to you in the form of a single moment, a single kiss pressed fleetingly to your cheek by a divine woman with a boyfriend. 

A boyfriend. Fuck.

“So, a kiss for the cook, now we can start.” Just as quick as it happened, Nika moves away from you and towards the sink behind you to wash her hands, leaving you completely dumbfounded, almost convinced that the whole thing had been a dream. She’s a whole dream, nothing that perfect could be attainable in real life.

But as she pats you on your back, you get thrown back into reality, with Nika standing beside you at the counter there’s virtually no chance of a possible escape, not that you’d ever want that either way. She grabs the ingredients, carefully pushing them in front of you both before ordering you to get a bowl. 

The plastic clanks against the counter as you put it down, Nika now ordering you to start making the filling made up of cheese, a pinch of salt, eggs and sour cream, whilst she makes the dough herself.

“This look good enough, boss?” Holding up the mixing bowl in order for her to check the contents, she nods quickly after looking at the mixture for a moment or two, beckoning you over at the same time.

“Alright, you put it on there.” She points to the dough rolled thin on the counter, and you move over as quick as your legs allowed you to, handing her the bowl so that you couldn’t mess everything up. “Like this.” She says, spreading the cheese mixture along the bottom quarter of the dough. Standing right behind her to get a closer look at the process, you peek over her shoulder as she works diligently, strong arms flexing with every single move she makes.

“Usually there would be a… how do you say? Stolnjak… like a cloth.” She rubs her thumb against her pointer and middle finger - almost like she’s asking for you to pay up - before she moves her hand back down towards the counter.

She takes the edge of the dough and starts to push it towards the other edge, making a roll that, at last, ends up in the middle of the counter.

“Plate, please.” She holds her hand up, ready for a plate to be placed between her waiting fingers. You move away from her, and for just a millisecond, Nika misses the warmth your body provided her, being just close enough for your bodies to exchange heat. After finding a plate that you felt was sturdy enough, you place it in between her fingers and wait for what she’s going to use it for.

She turns around briefly to flash her winning smile at you as an inaudible thank you, but then she turns back around and starts to press the plate’s edge against the soft dough, cutting it whilst at the same time sealing the edges off.

“Next steps are secret, go sit with Em.” She looks over her shoulder at you, a mischievous glint in her eye, all before she starts to physically shoo you away and out of the kitchen, even going as far as to start pushing against your chest to get you to go back to the living room.

Feet shuffling against the floor, you look back towards the kitchen sneakily, trying to get a sneak peek of the so-called secret step, only to be met with a middle finger and a playful smile paired with a knowing look.

Jumping over the back of the couch, you settle down into the couch with your back resting against the arm rest and your feet resting in Em’s lap. She looks at them disgusted, like she hadn’t done the exact same thing a hundred different times before.

“First you steal my cereal, then you put your disgusting feet in my lap, where are your manners?” She asks, playful annoyance coating every word coming out of her mouth, shaking her head almost like she’s disappointed in you. 

“First of all, I paid for that cereal, so it’s mine, secondly I have socks on, no cross contamination.” You smile cheekily at her, shrieking when she pokes the underside of your foot, extremely ticklish. Something Em really wasn’t supposed to know.

“Ticklish huh, now we’ll see who really owns that cereal.” Her statement makes no sense at all, but you don’t have any time to ponder over it as she throws herself onto you, starting to tickle your sides before you start to gain control, flipping her over and letting the wrestling commence.

Knocking over the empty bowls standing on the coffee table, it seems like Nika finally notices the childish nature of playing happening in the living room, her accented voice being heard all across the apartment.

“Children, stop it before you break something.” The both of you stand up almost immediately, going into the military salute position, throwing yourselves back onto the couch when she giggles at the pure silliness of the apparent adults standing only a couple meters away from her. Well you were barely even legal, but that’s a problem for another day.

Em’s eyes widen once more when she sees the print on the apron you’re still wearing, going back into mischievous mode in less than a second. 

“Ooooh, did the chef get the kiss?” She teases simply, and you try your hardest to keep the poker face, even going as far as to start coughing to have a reason for the blush that’s surely covering your cheeks by now, but of course that only makes you more suspicious. “Wait, actually?” She leans over towards you, shock displayed all over her face.

“No, she kissed me on the cheek, you know, like friends do?” Pushing her face away from yours with your hand, Em starts making kissy faces from the other side of the couch, by now neither of you are paying attention to the program on the tv, just focussed on annoying the other as much as possible.

“How come I don’t get any of that honey?” She teases, leaning closer again this time to pretend to kiss you on the cheek, before you once again push her away.

“Shut up” Crossing your arms across your chest, you signal that you’re done with the conversation, Em like always, continues on with her antics, but you don’t pay her any mind, the older girl finally shutting up like you asked her after a while.

With the both of you slowly being pulled back into the show that is love island, there’s no way that you notice Nika’s nearing figure until she’s standing right in front of the tv, somehow holding three plates of steaming food.

“Lunch is served.” Her proud smile is adorable and you actually have to prevent yourself from aww-ing at it, which is harder than it may seem. As she hands you your plate, your stomach rumbles loudly again which lets you know that it’s time to eat.

The first bite tastes like pure love, and you can’t help the loud groan from escaping through your lips, a pure home cooked meal differing from the plain rice and chicken that you’d had for lunch practically since you arrived in America. 

“This is so good, you did such a good job.” Looking at Nika sincerely, it’s difficult not to notice the growing smile on her face after your words, even as she moves closer to sit down between you and Em, the smile stays on her beautiful face. She smiles a lot. That’s a good thing, you decide, a person with a smile as gorgeous as that shouldn’t hide it.

“We.” She reminds you, after a second or two, a fond look in her eye that you hadn’t seen before, it’s kind of like the way parents looked at their kids in the movies when they got good grades or something. Yeah, no, probably not that. “We both made it, and you’re right, we did a hell of a good job.”

Em nods in agreement at the statement, not as thrilled to be, what she deems as third wheeling as someone might think, if only she had stayed home last night. Last night, the party, getting drunk beyond belief, bumping into Nika and one of her basketball buddies, Party P, getting pulled into more than one beer pong game, nearly passing out and then waking up to Nika using her phone, to then falling asleep just before getting woken up, insulting your pjs and then getting driven home. Wait.

“Oh shit.” Em says just before springing up off the couch in a panic, both you and Nika’s eyes following the cartoonish action, Nika far more concerned than you, simply based on the fact that she 

isn’t practically living with the… enthusiastic girl. Em exclaims shit like that once every half an hour normally.

“Oh shit what?” The brunette asks, hoping to get a ‘I forgot my homework’ oh shit rather than a “I dropped my phone in the toilet” oh shit. 

“I fucking forgot that I left my car back at the school. We have to go get it.” She exclaims, almost running for the door as Nika stands up slowly, looking at you unimpressed as you lean back into the cushions. 

“What?” You ask innocently, like you can’t figure out why she’s looking at you in the way she is on your own. Taking another bite, Nika sighs and rolls her eyes before she once again sticks her hand out for you to pull yourself up with.

“You know I have to get home too, I can’t stay here forever.” She says, raising her eyebrows when you practically ignore her in favor of watching the show on the tv. Stepping so that she’s blocking your line of sight, her eyes staying on you until you actually get up. “Come on.”

“But the drive-” You start off, almost whining to the obviously amused girl, who just starts to beckon you over to where she’s now standing halfway across the apartment in the hall.

“But the drive nothing, if you don’t want Em to drive your precious baby.” She teases, getting startled when you zoom past her, just barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook before absolutely legging it down to the bottom floor. Unbeknownst to you, Nika takes her time and puts the dishes in the sink just to make it a little easier for you before she carefully slips her shoes on. 

Looking around the hall, she soon sees the spare house keys hanging off a hook not far from the hook your car keys hung on just a moment before. Just as the tall brunette exits out the front door, the door just beside yours also opens and an adorable dog jumps onto her, all excited and puppylike despite clearly not being a puppy.

“Who are you? Oh you’re so cute.” Nika coos at the slobbering dog, getting up from the ambush to kneel in front of him, scratching just behind his fluffy ear. He lays down on the ground, showing his stomach for loads of belly scratches.

“That’s Bubba, he’s just a little eccentric.” The old woman standing in front of her reaches out for her hand, bringing Nika up from the floor and leaving her own dog whining for more bellyrubs. “He’s a big baby. You’re one of Y/n’s friends? I haven’t seen you ‘round before.”

Nika nods her head quickly, introducing herself to the lady with the cutest dog ever.

“Yeah I’m dating Emma’s brother, but yeah we’re friends. I’m Nika.” She smiles, and the old woman replicates her actions. There’s an almost standstill for a moment before the gray haired woman sighs, looking at her amused.

“Alright now, if you’re ever having any problems with them knuckleheads, don’t be ‘fraid to knock and I’ll fix it right up for ya. And I just want to tell you how gorgeous you are, my god you are something else.” With that, the old woman leaves with her fluffy dog and her tiny red pure that Nika hadn’t noticed before.

Shrugging, Nika turns around and locks the door before making her way down to the lobby, walking out the door only to see you and Em basically wrestling on the ground in front of your garage. She rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, walking over with sure steps to deliver steady slaps to the backs of both your heads.

“Ouch.” Rubbing the backs of your heads, both you and Em follow after Nika as she makes her way to sit in the passenger seat, Emma groaning at the action like she even had a chance at shotgun in the first place.

“Y’all are idiots sometimes, you know that?” She says, waiting for the key to be inserted into the ignition so that the car can be started, and her words make you roll your eyes sassily. There’s always a bit of sass in you.

“Come on, bro let’s just go.” Em sits in the middle seat, poking her head forth between the front seats, using her elbow to nudge Nika in the ribs. Not that it would make any difference, since you were the one driving and not her.

Driving out of the garage, your precious baby of a car rumbles in that familiar way, the pebbles on the ground crackling under the weight of the car.

“Let’s get some life up in here.” Em exclaims after a few minutes of quiet driving, the sound of the engine mixed with the air coming from the vents clearly not satisfying the older girl. Unbuckling her seatbelt, Em leans forward and turns the radio on, the volume high like it’s supposed to be.

“Sit down Emma, are you trying to get us killed?” You ask, half joking and half serious, the surprising action from the girl in the backseat having startled you only moments before. The click of the seatbelt sounds behind the loud music, a reassurance that she indeed did not aim to be killed.

“Shush, enjoy my company kiddo instead of complaining.” Em smiles mischievously at you through the rearview mirror, leaning back into the seat and putting her hands together over her stomach.

“Oh so I’m kiddo now?” You look back at her briefly with the trademark ‘really?’ look, turning your eyes back to the road so as to not put everyone in danger. Nika giggles beside you, and it catches your attention quicker than you’d ever admit, not that you’d ever admit to most things, especially those involving Nika. Not that there was anything about her to admit in the first place, you tell yourself in your head, right.

“Would you rather be grumpy?” You hear Em’s accusing tone shining through the loud music in the background, and you can imagine the expression on her stupid face, with raised brows and an idiotic look.

Deciding to stay quiet in order to not give her any more ammunition, it seemingly gives her a lot more than you would have thought.

“Thought so.” She sticks her tongue out at you through the rearview mirror and you can’t help but shake your head in amusement, deciding to just let her be.

During the next hour, your car turns into a concert hall as Nika and Em sing along to the songs on the radio, and you catch yourself smiling at their silliness more than once, especially as they start singing to each other like they were in a band.

And to everyone’s surprise, you had even joined in a few times.

Luckily enough for Em, nothing had happened to her old ass car by the time you had dropped her off, except for the fact that it was 23 years old and that the paint was chipping in various places, the car seemed fine enough. 

Driving off in the direction Nika had pointed in, you flip Em the bird just for fun as you pass her by and she sends you one right back, all before Nika slaps the back of your head, calling you a child lovingly.

“Okay, right here and then you can park there.” Nika points to a spot right outside of the dorm building as you pull up in front of it, looking around you carefully as you park, there’s no way you would ever risk damaging your car.

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, you get out of the car at the same time as Nika does, locking up and checking it once, then twice and then thrice, just to be sure. Looking up, you see the unimpressed look the girl at the other side of the car is giving you, and you send her a sheepish smile in return.

“You care more about that car than you do your apartment.” Nika says just as you round the corner of the car, sidling up beside her as you two walk shoulder to shoulder towards the entrance of the building, the code to the door being put in before either of you can make your way into the building.

Looking around the entrance, there’s really not a lot to comment on, a couple of security cameras and some sort of guard sitting by the door. Well protected at least. 

“Come, we need to get upstairs.” The Croatian beauty takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of a set of stairs leading up to, what you presumed to be floors and floors of rooms. 

Following her up the stairs, it doesn’t take long for Nika to stop in front of a door, presumably the door to her dorm. She leans down and fiddles with something, somehow managing to produce a keychain from the small space, leaving you completely perplexed.

“How did you just-” She shakes her head amusedly, almost telling you to not even ask just with a simple look. “You’re magic, you know?”

“Thank you, but I’m really not, at most I can hocus pocus my way into some free drinks.” Nika says as she winks playfully at you, pushing her key into the lock without hearing the thumping footsteps coming from the inside of the dorm, too distracted by the dark red blush suddenly covering your cheeks.

As she tugs on the handle and opens the door, Nika’s tackled to the ground by a mystery girl, someone who’s clearly quite excited.

“NIKAAAAA, twin where have you been? I was literally posted up in here last night waiting for you.” The mystery girl gets up off the brunette, pulling her up and off the floor just a moment later, not even noticing you standing just a few decimeters away.

“You know how it is Paige, making the most out of the last of the off-season.” Nika responds to the blonde you now know to be Paige. Rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, you almost leave without saying goodbye, seeing as your job was done, you had walked her home.

“Whose clothes are these? I know they ain’t yours.” You can hear the blonde, Paige, speak up again, and you see her tug at the corner of the t-shirt that clearly wasn’t Nika’s, seeing as it was a t-shirt you’d gotten for winning some tournament for England’s U21 team not too long ago.

Nika looks back at you for just a second or two, before she’s waving you over to where the two of them were standing not too far away. Walking closer cautiously, you look at Nika, almost asking her “what should I do?” through your gaze.

“Who’s this?” The blonde asks Nika, looking at you skeptically, not judging you but instead wondering who you were.

“You know Cal has a little sister, right? This is her best friend,” Nika starts off looking at Paige before she turns towards you, looking at you intensely as she speaks. “I mean we’re pretty good friends too, right kid?” She teases, and you groan loudly at the nickname, not wanting it to spread further than it already had. You’re not a kid, but to others you might as well be an infant.

“I’m not a child.” The playfully groaned words seem to take the blonde by surprise, for some reason you can’t fathom.

“Whoa, I was not expecting that accent.” She exclaims, looking at you with a huge smile on her face and a glint in her eye that you know you had seen before.

“Most people don’t, it’s quite weird actually.” You look at her as you speak, a small smile appearing across your lips. Shrugging, there’s really no telling why people didn’t expect that accent, but it happened often enough for you to probably need a shirt announcing the fact that you were not American. As if. 

“I’m Y/n Y/l/n, a friend of Nika’s and her boyfriend’s little sister.” Sticking your hand out for her to shake, Paige does so with the confidence you’d seen shine through in her interactions with Nika. 

“I’m Paige, Nika’s best friend.” Letting go of your hand, the blonde smiles mischievously, in a fashion that suggests that she does it all the time, and based purely on the way Nika rolls her eyes playfully, you’re sure she does.

“Nice to meet you, I should be going though, can’t have Em getting home before me.” Shrugging softly, you turn around to walk away from the two, but the brunette doesn’t let you get too far away before she takes hold of your hand once again, pulling you around to face her.

“I think I forgot my clothes at your place.” She tells you, an adorable frown on her cute face.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll just bring them ‘round next time.” You wave her concerns off with the simple promise, keeping eye contact all throughout the interaction, not daring to look away from her captivating gaze.

“Next time?” She looks at you almost confused, but not really at the same time, there’s something about her that’s just so difficult to read. Maybe you’ll learn sometime, maybe.

“Yeah, next time.” You respond determinedly, of course you wanted to see her again, as soon as possible, you’re friends and you want to see your friends. As much as you want to see Nika again, the call of home is getting louder second by second and you know you can’t leave Em alone outside your door, waiting to get in as if she hasn’t gotten her own key to your place.

“You wanna see me again?” Nika smiles all mysteriously, raising her eyebrows slightly as if she was surprised before she moves her hand, that you just now realize is still connected to your own, uup to tuck the strand of hair falling down into her line of sight. Before either of you realize what’s happened, you’ve reached up and tucked it behind her ear, not even thinking twice about the usually intimate gesture. 

Not even seeing the light blush dusting the brunette’s cheekbones, you continue on with your conversation as if nothing happened, which in your mind was true, there was nothing there at all, right?

“Of course I want to see you again, we’re friends dummy.” The american lingo has clearly started to catch on as you start sounding like some idiot in those cliche american rom-coms that Leah always made you watch with her.

“Okay then, next time.” With that, the girl turns back around to face Paige, who looks at her in a way that you can’t decipher, the both of them disappearing back into the apartment. Shrugging, you start on your walk down the stairs, trudging down the steps until you come down to the first floor, walking out the front door after giving a polite nod to the guard thingy sitting there.

“Y/N!” You can hear your name shouted as you walk towards your car and you turn around, looking up to see Nika waving at you through the open window.

Turning your whole body around to face the building, you wave back at the woman enthusiastically before you turn back around to walk to your car.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you inhale a deep breath before exhaling smoothly, emptying your lungs of as much air as possible. The headlights light up as you turn the car on, pulling out from in front of the building and onto the small slithering roads leading to the motorway.

The calm drive home isn’t interrupted by anything thankfully, the music from the radio playing softly in the background providing a nice backtrack as the repetitive motions of driving continue all the way until you’re parked back in your garage just outside your apartment building.

Going through everything that you have to do when you get back inside in your mind, you’re almost on autopilot, locking up outside before putting in the code at the door and then taking the elevator up.

The doors slide open, only for Em to be nowhere to be found, seemingly having disappeared into thin air. Eh maybe she’s finally at her own place, you think as you go to open the door of your apartment, suspiciously finding it unlocked.

That is until you remember that you’d run out before without locking so that would make a lot of sense.

Kicking off your shoes just as you come in, there’s a murmur coming from your kitchen, people seemingly speaking in hushed tones. Em was clearly not at home at all, maybe Mrs Peters had invited herself over again. 

Walking further into the apartment, you take out your phone just to check to see if you have any new texts, unconsciously walking towards the kitchen and the low voiced chitchat. Opening up the Instagram app, you scroll through your feed for a few seconds before Em’s voice cuts through the now silent air.

“What took you so long?” She asks jokingly, but there was a sort of seriousness underlying in her tone, the thing that makes you grimace, Emma is never serious. Standing just in the doorway of the kitchen, you lean onto the pillar-like structure casually, not noticing anything being out of the ordinary.

“Oh you know how it is, Nika wanted me to-” Looking up in the middle of your sentence, your jaw drops open in shock, eyebrows shooting to your hairline and phone crashing to the ground. “No way.”

“Hey kiddo.”

[angerieque]

How to: fresh start.

Hi babes! Hope you're all having a great day. Now, I want to share with you tips that will help you FEEL that fresh start of the new year.

Digital cleanse. Cleanse your phone, delete unwanted pictures, screenshots, videos, documents, games, apps ESPECIALLY shopping apps. Why so? Well, let me tell you. You don't need your phone constantly buzzing with sales on stuff you already have or don't need. Those apps convince you that you need this and that when, in reality, you don't. You'll just end up wasting time and money.

Physical cleanse. You might be wondering what that is. For me, physical cleansing is simply taking a shower (could be a simple shower or an everything shower) and drinking green tea. Green tea helps with digestion, cleanses your stomach, and even boosts your brain health. You can drink whatever drink that is actually beneficial (ginger shots, lemon water, mint tea, etc).

Wardrobe. Declutter your wardrobe. You can donate some, resell some or even reuse (to clean, for example). Clothes are fabrics and fabrics are meant to have more than one use. Just get rid of clothes that you don't wear anymore or that don't fit you (size, style..)

Unsubscribe and unfollow. YouTube, tiktok, instagram.. just unfollow. You've grown out of phases, embrace that and unfollow people that resonate with the old you (who you love, but simply don't relate to anymore).

Rearrange. For me that's for my gallery, pinterest, and spotify. For my gallery, after I delete unwanted pictures, I create new folders for the ones I kept. For pinterest, I archive my old boards ('24 vision boards), create new ones, and update old vision boards. For spotify, I delete playlists I don't listen to anymore, unfollow artists and create new playlists.

Notion! I've been a notion user and lover for the past 5 years now and it's my planner, diary, journal and literally everything. Open a blank page and build it however you like, or choose a nice template and play around with it till satisfaction. Create a "reflection" section where you write about the past year and what you loved, hated, learned, etc.

Write down who you want to become. What is she doing, what does she love, what does she look like, what's her personality like, how she spends her day, what are her hobbies, what are her ambitions, etc. And may your visualization come true.

So, that's it for now! Love always, angel.

[coriphallus]

DA: The Veilguard Spoiler review pt1 - Blood Magic

alright let's do this. let's write an in-depth review of veilguard. this will be long and this will be negative and i might eventually say some good things but everything i say will be undermined with a 'BUT'.

its now been around a week since i finished the game and had some time to parse my thoughts and this is why i didnt enjoy the game; NOT why you shouldnt.

so dragon age has a very special place in my heart and i am %100 the kind that has DAO as their favourite game. i have played these games religiously, and let me prefix this by saying i was not hyped for this game, i wont lie and say i wanted bw to succeed or i hoped the game would be good etc etc. if i liked the game, it would be a surprise. alas.

so theres multiple reasons for that, but the canary in the mine for me had been the announcement on blood magic, and yeah i was not shocked after DAI but i was still disappointed. so lets start with blood magic:

Blood Magic

DA lore has changed alot over time, and just like the media it took inspiration from (ASOIAF) i was under the impression that it used unreliable narrators deliberately, just as theyve poked fun at the concept with bethanys tits. it made sense then that the people telling these stories didnt know much about blood magic therefore they couldnt explain it fully but we've known some things for certain, from the text. blood magic uses blood as its source of power instead of lyrium (blood=life force), what constitutes as blood magic is open to interpretation (i.e phylacteries), multiple groups outside of the 'civilised society' such as chasind are not so staunchly against it, knowledge on it can be passed down from a mentor and that mentor usually happens to be a spirit. it can be used to enact control over people in a literal sense and thats considered by the narrative of all DA games to be more reprehensible than burning someone alive.

now i will derail this but i swear im going somewhere with it. i grew up in a country with majority white people, some blond, most with exposed hair who lived in big cities with cobblestone roads and snowy winters and starbuckses, and who would consider themselves westerners. some religious practices i know less about than most christians know about their holidays.

where my grandma lived was at the bottom of a high slope, and once a year when we went to visit her id see a thick trail of blood trickle down from the waterway to pool on her street, and at that dinner the family (and neighbours, sometimes) would bring a myriad of dishes and we'd feast. i would see butchers shops clean their curbs with buckets of water, mopping red tinted liquid down a drain. when i grew older and we were visiting my mothers village i watched the men subdue and kill a cow that we were going to eat that night. i watched them skin it and separate the meat from its bones, explaining what parts of an animal is used for which dishes because it was their craft and a young girl showed interest. as people we always live with the knowledge that our lives depend on death, whether it be a plant or an animal. existence is not moral and clean, and death is messy. getting blood stains out of a fabric once a month is the lived reality of more than half the human population.

i was not raised religious, nobody in my close family were, i didn't feel any sort of way when those men started to pray around the cow but i knew why they did it, even if it was performative for some, for the rest they had to show respect. the cow was meant to represent somebody you cared about, offering it in their stead symbolically. it needed to be respected, it needed to be butchered without pain. save from one serving of meat, as was tradition, were donated to the food banks.

now im sure some of you are thinking 'no matter how you slice it, its still a brutal act. made more brutal by the audience deriving some form of moral superiority' and yes, i used to think that too, because what is a religious practice for them is a show to me. but it is the norm where i grew up, and in the end a cow is dead regardless because we need to eat. and some people who needed to eat more than us got to eat too.

somewhere in germany news break out that some immigrants were practicing unethical and unsanitary butcherings, you see the footage of men in kufi and puffy pants and women covered completely in black sheets get ushered out by police. they shout some things in a foreign language, speaking the name of their foreign god. they show a censored room covered in blood and gore.

so i have to ask now, when you play veilguard and see venatori torturing and exploding a halla into a puff of red smoke which image does it bring to mind, what do you think of when you hear 'ritual sacrifice'? you may not have noticed this parallel but your brain sure did, as it has been noticing for your entire life and counting, the same reason you cringe at the barbarity of people consuming raw flesh, painting their foreheads with blood, killing animals you would pet. its alien, its gross, its wrong.

i cant play this game and take it seriously with its mask yanked off, gloating about its lack of nuance every step of the way. when you hit people red stuff comes out, red stuff bad. killing bad. murder bad. that it extends more sympathy to a fantasy deer than it ever allows for living breathing people of its universe, faceless and primitive.

in other DA games there were people over there somewhere who enslaved others, built their entire civilization on the ruins of gods they cannot comprehend, practiced bloody sacrifices and rituals that doomed the world for their own power, and even in their homeland they are nothing but canon fodder to be murdered and gawked at. their traditions, religion, entire culture is less than a set dressing, because whatever grosses you out are the bad apples, because the good ones cant be anything else and still derive sympathy from the audience.

and its true, you need to be an exceptional writer to make that work, especially if you dont have any real life experience to pull from. you need to stain your hands a little, and be prepared to be called dirty.

but i see it, i see those news reports everywhere i look in the game, i see the streets being cleaned and scrubbed so the tourists wouldnt call them backwards people, unclean, less than.

ive never played a game so repulsed by and is uninterested in its own universe than DAV, in every line of dialogue i can feel it trembling in fear. my companions tell me i dont need to watch a deer getting butchered, i can look away and proceed to electrocute hundreds of masked men some of whom are talking about comically evil things like patricide.

this has always been a point of contention in the medium of video games as the most prominent way to engage with the world has been through violence, and for me the DA franchise has always managed to tackle this by allowing its main character to be messy. yes, hawke cleaves thru countless faceless raiders but theyre also an illegal immigrant trying to get by with nothing to offer to the world than their violence. warden is deliberately recruited for that same violence, the only purpose of their existence is to fight as theyre made to shed everything else from their old life. and still, still you play these characters as they are allowed to grow, heal, carve out a little space for themselves where they can laugh and joke with their peers. it is juxtaposed to that darkness in their lives that makes those moments precious.

'what is good?' the games asked, and they answered 'doesn't matter, the world can be a better place with them in it'

veilguard asks 'what is good?' and answers 'you are.'

it doesnt matter whether blood magic is bad lore-wise (and that discussion is irrelevant to this decision made by the devs), because it needs to be narratively. like tabloid news the entire premise of the story is built on it. it needs to be inaccessible to and shunned by your party and rook because they need to be 'good' and in contrast, your enemies need to be 'bad'

and like dominoes it retroactively reframes the moral stance of every game in the franchise.

so, yes, i just laughed when i saw that announcement. i didnt know what else to do. but hang on to your knickers because it gets so much worse...

[theother456-stories]

Jake’s midnight craving had started innocently enough. He was always the kind of guy who could put away a large pizza without batting an eye, but this was different. It began with him raiding the fridge in the middle of the night, devouring everything in sight—leftovers, snacks, even condiments. By the time Ryan stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and annoyed, the damage was already done.

“You ate everything?” Ryan exclaimed, staring into the now-barren fridge.

Jake looked up from a carton of ice cream, his face smeared with chocolate. “I can’t help it. I’m just so hungry…”

Ryan groaned. “Jake, it’s 2 a.m. You’ve been at this for hours. Go back to bed before you eat the walls.”

But Jake didn’t stop. Over the next several hours, his hunger grew more ravenous. By morning, the fridge was empty, the pantry was cleaned out, and Jake had already started ordering takeout. He devoured piles of pancakes, burgers, and fries as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Ryan stood by, horrified as the food disappeared and Jake’s stomach expanded visibly beneath his shirt.

“Jake, this isn’t normal,” Ryan said. “You’re eating like you’re trying to win some kind of bizarre eating contest.”

Jake paused, rubbing his bloated belly. “I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like no matter how much I eat, I’m still starving.”

Ryan crossed his arms. “Well, your shirt disagrees. Dude, you’re growing right in front of me.”

Jake looked down and winced. His shirt, which had fit fine the day before, was now stretched tight across his gut, the fabric straining at the seams. “Yeah… I noticed. But I can’t stop. I just need more.”

Ryan sighed and tried to intervene, but Jake was unstoppable. Over the next two days, he consumed an unimaginable amount of food. He cleared out grocery stores, ordered delivery by the truckload, and even started raiding nearby restaurants. His body ballooned with every bite, his once-average frame swelling to massive proportions. His face grew round and puffy, his arms and legs thickened, and his stomach jutted out so far he could no longer see his feet.

By the second day, Jake was barely mobile. He sat on the couch, surrounded by mountains of takeout containers, his enormous body spilling over the edges. His weight had reached a staggering, almost cartoonish size. Every movement was slow and labored, his breathing heavy, but still, he kept eating.

Ryan stood in the corner, arms crossed, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief. “Jake, you’ve eaten enough food to feed an entire town. Look at yourself. You’re enormous.”

Jake finally set down the half-eaten sandwich in his hand and groaned. “I know. I know. But I think… I think I’m finally full.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Did you just say you’re full? After eating multiple tons of food, you’re done?”

Jake nodded weakly, his face pale and sweaty. “Yeah. I can’t eat another bite.”

Ryan let out a long sigh of relief, sitting down on the coffee table. “Thank God. I thought you were going to eat me next.”

Jake managed a weak chuckle, but it quickly turned to a look of horror as he glanced down at himself. For the first time, he fully took in the size of his body. His stomach was massive, resting on the floor in front of him. His arms were thick and heavy, his legs buried beneath rolls of fat. The couch creaked under his weight, threatening to give out at any moment.

“Oh no,” Jake whispered, his voice trembling. “What… what did I do?”

Ryan smirked, though there was little humor in it. “You’re just now realizing this? Dude, you weigh literally tons. How did you even let this happen?”

Jake’s face turned red as he shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know! I just couldn’t stop. It was like… my body needed it. But now I’m—” He gestured helplessly at his massive form. “I’m huge! I don’t even know how I’m still alive.”

Ryan shook his head. “Well, first step? No more food. Second step? We’re calling a doctor.”

Jake groaned, leaning back as the reality of his situation sank in. “And after that?”

Ryan stood up, looking him over with a mixture of pity and amusement. “After that, we figure out how to get you off the couch. Maybe call a forklift?”

Jake glared at him but couldn’t argue. He knew Ryan was right. As the hunger faded and he finally felt satisfied, he was left with nothing but regret—and a body so massive it defied logic. All he could do now was hope that Ryan’s plan would work. But first, he had to survive the embarrassment of explaining this to a doctor.

[deadgirlwalking91]

new update - 'thank you for the venom', chapter 10: 'i like to push it and push it until my luck is over'

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten Summary

Adam loses his patience with Lute when she won't let him take care of her without a fight.

Who is here for some close proximityyyyyyy?! 🙋🏼‍♀️

All I'm going to say is that the next few chapters are going to be fun. SO much fun. Buckle up, buttercups!

Thanks @branded-rose for beta-ing as always, you wonderful human <3

Neither Adam or Lute said anything on the way to his apartment.

Lute had decided, for fucking once, that she didn’t feel up to talking or backchatting him and instead spent the trek back sulking in his arms, refusing to look at him.

If he was being honest, the silence was more than welcomed. It gave Adam time to think, to form a game plan for the week ahead. His objective? To not fuck his lieutenant while she recovered from her injury. As tempting as it was, he couldn’t risk her reinjuring herself and taking more time off training. 

Considering he had a meeting with Sera coming up, he needed Lute to heal up fast, lest he be subjected to a lecture on how he wasn’t taking this seriously enough, why was his lieutenant always getting injured under his watch, blah, blah-fucking-blah.

Though, now that he came to think of it, he was the guy who literally invented sex. Surely he could come up with some creative positions so as to not do further damage to her ankle. 

He found himself lost in his thoughts as they approached his front door, trying to think of the most stationary way to bury himself inside her when a familiar, irritating voice quickly brought him back to reality.

“Sir? Sir. Are you even listening to me?”

Adam glanced down at Lute, who was waving a hand in front of his face, looking wildly unimpressed.

“Course I was,” he said defensively, lying through his teeth. He had absolutely no idea what she’d said - and frankly, couldn’t care, considering he’d been thoroughly enjoying the visuals that accompanied his dirty thoughts.

“Then what was I talking about?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to roll his own in response.

“Uhh… you were complaining about something or other? Hold up - could you reach into my pocket and grab my key for me?” 

What a save.

Lute scowled at him, unimpressed. “A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

Adam resisted the urge to drop her on the floor for being a colossal pain in his ass. Injury be damned, she was already getting on his nerves and they hadn’t even walked through the front door yet.

It was going to be a long ass week together, and he wasn’t sure which one of them would kill the other first.

“Fucking hell - fine. Grab the key from my pocket and unlock the front door, so we can hurry the fuck up and get inside, please?”

Smiling smugly, she reached her hand into his pocket, digging around for his key, her fingers roughly hitting the front of his hip and thigh through the fabric of his robe. “Was that so hard, sir?”

“If you keep digging around like that babe, you’ll find something else in there that’s hard.”

“Ugh. You disgust me.” She threw him the flattest look, producing the key from his pocket and unceremoniously shoving it into the keyhole.

When they stepped through the front door, Adam felt the slightest pang of shame at not cleaning up after himself from the night before. Empty wine bottles and takeout containers littered his counter, while there was no way Lute’s keen eye would miss the hot pink bra draped lazily over the back of his armchair.

Layla had forgotten to pick up after herself again.

“Really?” she asked dryly, raising a brow at him as he carried her over to his couch. “I’m surprised you don’t have a lost and found box permanently stationed outside your front door.”

“You know Lute, that’s the most intelligent thing that I think has ever come out of your mouth,” he mused, setting her down carefully so as not to bump her injured leg. “I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed the bra off the back of his chair and wandered into his bedroom, quickly grabbing his phone to text Layla.

Adam: You forgot your bra. Again.

As expected, considering Layla never got off her phone, it vibrated in his hand almost instantly.

Layla: Did your pretty little patient notice?

Adam: Yes. 

Layla: She’d look good in it, too. Don’t you think?

Adam: Not helping.

Layla: I know. Good luck. 

Snorting, he pocketed his phone again. Layla had picked up on the tension between him and Lute at the bar a couple of months go, before he’d followed her outside. She’d nagged him about it for fucking weeks, until a moment where she quite literally had him by the balls and he relented, admitting that there had been something between them, but nothing more had happened.

He didn’t need the truth spreading around the barracks like wildfire, considering how fucking chatty the girls were. Still, he was thankful that Layla seemed to have kept her mouth shut, even though she nagged him almost daily about Lute.

As he reminded himself to change his sheets later, he drew on the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Layla the night before in his bed.

~

“Why do you even fucking care?” Adam asked, rolling over to look at her. “I wouldn’t have picked you to be the jealous type.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Layla said simply as she sat up, letting the duvet fall, exposing her ample chest as she inspected a strand of her hair. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy our hookups because they scratch an itch, so to speak, but emotionally you’re kind of a giant walking red flag.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said bitterly. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself.”

“Oh, please, Adam,” she snorted. “That’s not what I’m here for. You want someone to stroke your ego? Get a girlfriend. Or, man up and do something about your little crush on Lute.”

“I’ll give you something you can stroke,” he said in a low voice, reaching over to cup one of her breasts, massaging it softly, choosing to ignore her dig at him as he kneaded it softly.

She glanced at his hand, her expression bored, then shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.” Stretching, she slid out of his bed and began getting dressed.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I told you - I had an itch, you scratched it. Now I’m done.”She leaned both arms on the bed, staring Adam down with her large golden eyes, her expression unusually firm.

“Stop being such a pussy Adam, and just shoot your shot,” she said sternly. “I have a feeling that you’ll be a happier man for it.”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re on about.”

“That’s your problem then, not mine.”

With that, she sashayed out of his room, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

~

Shoving the memory to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about it any further, Adam threw the bra into his closet before grabbing two pillows off his bed and trudging back out into his living room. 

Lute’s thumbs were moving swiftly across her phone screen as she typed furiously, her eyes unmoving. If she noticed Adam come back into the room, she didn’t acknowledge him.

“Who are you texting?”

She startled slightly, glaring at him as he took a seat next to her on the couch. “Vaggie. I’m telling her what I’ll need for the next week.”

“Anything special I should know about?”

Her cheeks flushed and she narrowed her eyes further at him. “No.”

“That’s a lie if I ever fucking heard one. Here - hold this,” he shoved a pillow at her, knocking her phone out of her hands, causing it to bounce away from her and land close to her feet. Grabbing it to pass back to her, he snuck a quick look at her screen.

Vaggie: You sure you’re okay? You could have stayed with me.

Lute: You’d get sick of me.

Vaggie: That’s a lie.

Lute: Plus, he had a point. His place is bigger than our apartments. 

Vaggie: I guess. If you need to tap out at any time though, call me. What do you need?

Lute: I’ll be alright. Just the usual stuff. Clothes and toiletries. Also my protein powder and shaker. And a book or two. Third drawer in the kitchen. You know the type.

Vaggie: Unusual hiding spot for a book, but okay.

“Why do you keep your books in the kitchen drawer?” Adam asked, extending his arm so Lute could take her phone. “That’s a fucking weird spot. Most normal people keep theirs on a bookshelf.”

“None of your fucking business,” she snapped, snatching her phone back and locking it. “Next time, don’t read my messages, creep.”

“Oh, calm your tits, it wasn’t like you had anything interesting to say,” he huffed, laying the remaining pillow across the top of his thighs. “Alright, I’m about to take a look at your leg and see how bad the damage is. I’d suggest biting into that pillow while I do it.”

“Why on earth would I need to bite into a pillow?”

Adam sighed and scratched behind his neck, not caring for her attitude. “Because, and I hate to break this to you, babe, but it’s not going to tickle when I take your shoe off. In fact, it’s going to hurt like hell. So, instead of you yelling at the top of your lungs and my neighbours get pissed off that they can hear someone screaming in here again, just bite into the fucking pillow, would you?” 

“Do you make screaming loud enough to piss your neighbours off a regular habit?” she asked, cocking a brow at him. He snorted and gently lifted her legs, scooting closer to her so that he could place them on top of the pillow on his lap.

“It’s not me they’re complaining about, babe.”

She shot him a withering look and he snickered, shaking his head. “You are so easy to rile up, Dangertits.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Not gonna happen. Anyway, get ready because I’m about to take your shoe off and it’s gonna hurt.” He started undoing the laces on her trainer, taking care not to knock her foot.

“Somehow, I think I’ll manage,” she muttered, “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this. It’s a fucking ankle sprain, but you’re making out like I’ve lost a goddamn limb or something”

He closed his eyes, trying to find the inner strength to deal with her shitty attitude. He wasn’t the most patient man at the best of times, but she was really testing him now.

“Lute,” he ground out through gritted teeth, “shut the fuck up and stop being such a brat.”

She puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms looking away from him. “I am not being a brat.”

“You fucking are. You’re pouting at me again.”

“I am not,” she argued, aiming a swift kick at him with her good leg. He caught it mid-air before it connected with his shoulder, glowering at her.

“If you don’t shut your mouth,” he growled, “I’m going to shut it for you.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared,” she said sardonically, her face twisting into a mock fearful expression. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Don’t push your fucking luck with me.” He leaned over, their chests just touching as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him, her blazing golden eyes meeting the yellow of his mask. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to help you here, not make things worse. Stop running your fucking mouth and start listening to me. That’s an order. Do you fucking understand me, Lieutenant?”

Her lip curled into a snarl. “I didn’t ask you to take care of me, sir.”

“I couldn’t really give a shit what you asked for,” he said coolly, letting go of her face roughly and resuming his original position on the couch. “Shoe’s coming off now, by the way. Get ready - or not, I’m not bothered either way.”

He gripped the heel of her trainer and tugged downwars, trying not to move her actual foot as much as possible. Lute hissed, then let out a cry of pain as he gently wiggled the shoe in order to ease it off her swollen foot.

“That hurts!” she yelled, throwing her head back against the armrest of the couch.

“Bite the goddamn pillow, Lute, or my neighbours will think I’m murdering someone.”

“It’s Heaven, nobody gets murdered here,” she growled.

“Well, it’s either that or they’ll think you’re an animal and into some kinky shit, so if you want them to keep thinking that, go ahead and be my guest. I don’t care.”

He was relieved to see her finally press the pillow into her face, her scream muffled as he finally managed to get her shoe and sock off.

Adam had seen his fair share of soft tissue injuries during his time as Commander of the Exorcist army - severe bruising, strains and sprains were commonplace, especially during training sessions. In fact, they probably made up at least half of the incident reports he had to fill out. But, in classic Lute fashion, she had managed to spectacularly outdo everybody else, sporting the most brilliant ankle sprain he had ever seen.

Her skin was no longer pale, instead now heavily bruised with patches of vibrant oranges and yellows that spread from the tips of her toes right up to past the hem of her leggings, concentrated mostly around her ankle - which had turned a particularly nasty shade of vermillion. The afflicted area had also swelled to twice its normal size, looking unnatural next to her muscular right leg.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, gently running his fingers over her swollen skin. “Not sure if I should congratulate you on doing such a great job, or be pissed that you’re going to be out of action for a while.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced up at her and was surprised to find that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” he backtracked, feeling uncomfortable at her sudden shift in demeanour. Shit, he was hopeless when it came to women crying in front of him, he never had any idea what to do, and no matter what he said, he tended to just make it worse. “A week off work, at the most.”

She looked away, and he pretended not to notice as she quickly wiped her eyes. Not that she deserved it for being such a pain in the ass earlier. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for her. Her misery almost made her seem normal.

“I don’t want to take a week off work,” she said thickly. “We’ve got too much to do. And - and you have a meeting with Sera and -”

Adam cut her off, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about my meeting with Sare-bear, she doesn’t have to know everything that goes on at training. But, Lute, just listen,” he let one of his hands come to rest on her knee in a comforting gesture.

“You need to swallow your fucking pride and do as I say, alright? I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, I’m trying to help you get back to normal as soon as possible. Believe it or not, you’re not invincible, but if you just rest, you’ll heal quicker. Okay? So, just…fucking chill.”

He gave her knee a reassuring pat, and as she looked up at him through her damp lashes, he felt oddly compelled to comfort her further. He wasn’t entirely sure where the feeling came from, or what it meant exactly, but all he knew was that he needed to show her that he cared. So he lifted the hand that was resting on her leg and grabbed one of her hands, squeezing it gently, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

He found himself studying how small her hands were, how if he held their hands up together, the tips of her fingers would barely reach past his palms. How could such tiny hands be responsible for spilling so much Sinner blood, year after year?

Lute cast her eyes downwards into her lap and nodded, resigned. “Okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.

Adam breathed a sigh of relief and let his head fall backwards. “Finally, she listens to me,” he muttered to his ceiling. “It’s only taken God knows how fucking long.”

He managed to catch the pillow just before it hit him in the face.

***

Lute was on the verge of falling asleep when Vaggie turned up at Adam’s apartment, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a scowl plastered on her face as he greeted her with an obnoxiously loud, “‘Sup, Vagasaurous!”

She couldn’t hear most of their conversation from her position on the couch due to the fact that they were speaking in hushed voices, but she was positive she heard Vaggie stage-whisper, “What do you mean she hasn’t had any fucking painkillers?” at one point.

If they spoke much after that, she had no recollection of it as she let her eyes rest, drifting off to sleep.

When she woke, she was surprised to feel something soft covering her bare shoulders. Opening her eyes, she found a blanket over her, considerately tucked neatly under her body. Vaggie must have come in and made sure she was warm, knowing Adam wouldn’t have the care factor to do so.

Sitting up, Lute hissed, grimacing as pain seared through her ankle, which was resting gently atop one of the pillows Adam had brought out from his bedroom. Another considerate gesture from Vaggie.

She really was such a good friend.

“Bout time you woke up.”

Her eyes darted around, finding Adam sitting at his counter flicking through something on his phone. 

“How long was I asleep for?” she asked, drawing the blanket up under her chin. She didn’t love the idea of him being around her, awake, while she slept. What if she did something embarrassing, like snored, or drooled… or worse, talked in her sleep?

Given some of the… intense dreams she’d had over the past few months that may or may not have involved her boss, she reall, really hoped she didn’t sleeptalk.

Adam looked up from his phone as he set it on his counter, which was now rid of the rubbish that had been strewn across it when they first arrived at the apartment. At least he’d taken the liberty of cleaning up while she slept. “A couple hours? You were pretty out of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Also, you have the funniest little snore. It’d almost be cute if it wasn’t coming from you.”

“I do not snore!” Lute cried indignantly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Babe. You snored. Besides, how would you know if you do or don’t? Anybody ever told you that you have?”

“No,” she admitted, deliberately choosing not to elaborate further - he didn’t need to know it was because she’d never slept next to anybody before. She’d never hear the end of it and besides, it was absolutely none of his business.

“Well, either this was something special you saved just for me, or all the men you’ve ever shared a bed with sleep like the dead.”

“Again, sir, it’s Heaven. Most people here sleep like the dead because they are dead.”

“Fuck, it was nice and peaceful while you were comatose,” Adam muttered under his breath, sliding off his stool, “even if you were snoring.” 

Lute watched with mild interest as he opened kitchen cupboards, continuing to mutter to himself. It was odd seeing him in such a domesticated environment - given his status in Heaven as the First Man and how obnoxious he was, she’d expected him to live in a more luxurious, gaudy home. In reality, apart from an overly-large TV, and the fact that the footprint of his apartment was slightly larger than hers, his home wasn’t very impressive at all.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he made his way over to her and sat on the coffee table in front of her, holding a glass of water.

“Your little scissor-sister bestie chewed me out for not giving you these sooner, so hurry up and take them before she turns up at my door again.” He extended his hand, uncurling his fist to reveal two small blue pills. “They should stop the pain while you’re sitting still.”

“I’m not in pain,” Lute said quickly, eyeing the pills, “I’m fine.” She didn’t want him thinking she was weak enough to need medication. That would just be pathetic, especially for something as minor as a sprained ankle.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, did we or did we not just have a conversation about this?” Adam snapped, “take the fucking pills Lute, before I force them down your throat.”

Glaring at him, she snatched the pills from his outstretched hand, but before she could pull away his hand closed tightly over hers. He moved off the coffee table, kneeling in front of her, once again closing space between their bodies.

She glanced down at their hands, and noticed that he must have taken his gloves off while she was asleep, because they were bare. She’d seen him without them before, but he was close enough now that she couldn’t help but notice the sprinkling of fine ash-brown hair that crept up the back of his hand.

It was also warm, and strong. If it were anybody else holding her hand, she’d admit to liking how that felt. She kept that thought to herself.

“You,” he started, his voice now low and dangerous, “are really pissing me off now. Cut the bullshit, stop being a stubborn little bitch and let me take fucking care of you, alright?”

“I’m not weak,” she hissed, “I’m not some helpless little girl who needs saving.”

“Nobody said you were. Shut up and take the painkillers, Lute.” He let go of her hand and shook his head in frustration.

Scowling, she shoved the pills in her mouth and swallowed, grimacing at the taste as she struggled to get them down her throat. She held out her hand for the glass of water and Adam handed it to her unceremoniously.

Once she’d managed to chase the pills with the water, she thrust the glass back in his direction. 

“Was that so hard?” 

She sighed. “Yes actually, it was.”

“It would have been a fuckton easier if you’d just listened to me.”

“Where did you even get painkillers, anyway? It’s not like anybody here needs them.”

He snorted. “You think I’m going to smuggle hard liquor from Hell every year for our post-Extermination Day rager, and not be smart enough to also steal something to help with the hangover the next day?”

“Oh, I feel so honoured you gave me your special hangover pills.”

“So you fucking should be, I only get a few a year.” 

She turned her head to gaze at him, still seated on the floor in front of her. He looked as tired as she felt. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This. Making sure I’m alright. You don’t care about me.”

“Bullshit. I care about all my girls, Lute, and that includes you.” He scooted closer, so his side leaned against the couch, his body facing hers. “You just make my job more difficult because you’ve got more of a tendency to bite back than the others.”

Lute didn’t say anything, instead choosing to adjust the waistband of her leggings, which were starting to dig into her and get uncomfortable. She desperately needed a shower.

“You know what’s going to be difficult?” she groaned, realising another roadblock they’d have to tackle. 

“What?”

She grimaced, not wanting to admit it out loud - but what choice did she have?

“Showering.”

Adam blinked at her, confused. “Oh, yeah we can do that. No biggie, I’ll just carry you in, you can do your thing and when you’re ready just call me and I’ll come get you. Easy as fuck.”

“Sir. That’s not going to work. How am I even supposed to stand in the shower, or get in and out?

He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. Unless…”

“I’m not showering with you,” Lute said quickly.

Adam snorted. “Babe, that is not where my mind was going, but now that you mention it, if you can put your big girl panties on and be an adult about this, it would be the easiest solution.”

She glared at him. “No, sir. What was your other plan?”

“I have a bath. It’s probably easier to get you in there.”

She swallowed, unconvinced. “I haven’t had a bath since -”

Adam held a hand up, silencing her. “Since I busted into your apartment. Yeah, yeah, I know, spare me the lecture. As far as I see this playing out Dangertits, you’ve got three options. One, take a bath. I help you in, get you settled, then come and get you when the time’s up. Easy. Two, we shower together. Not gonna lie, the thought of it excites me, but you’d have to keep your eyes closed the whole time, because this,” he tugged at the bottom of his hood, “would be coming off.”

“I can keep my eyes closed, I’ve done it before,” she retorted, the words escaping her lips before she had the chance to hold them in. Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth, utterly mortified at her inadvertent admission of wanting to shower with him. Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots as she frantically wondered how the fuck she was going to talk her way out of this. 

She wanted to die.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning. “Believe me, I know you can. Let’s just say the last time I asked you to, I was very impressed with how well you can follow instructions when you don’t fucking backchat me.”

Lute sank lower into the couch, pulling the blanket over her head so Adam wouldn’t see how her face and chest were basically glowing fluorescent. So she didn’t have to look at his stupid smug fake face as it smirked at her.

“What’s my third option?” she muttered, her voice strained.

“You don’t bathe at all for the next week. Which is fucking gross.”

She felt him rip the blanket away from her, and she yelped at the sensation of the cool air on her bare skin, goosebumps creeping up her arms. She glared up at Adam, who was now standing over her, blanket tossed to the side.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, folding her arms over her stomach.

He shrugged. “Not really, no, but I need an answer, and I didn’t feel like you were going to give me one, so I had to do something.. What’s it gonna be, babe?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she groaned, “I’ll take a bath.”

“Slightly disappointed you didn’t suggest the shower, to be honest.” He bent down and slid one arm under her knees, and the other around her waist, lifting her up off the couch effortlessly. “Come on. Let’s get you clean. Want me to give you a sponge bath while we’re at it?”

Lute turned her head and let it rest against Adam’s chest as he carried her to his bathroom, taking in his scent - woody, aromatic. Slightly peppery, even. Masculine. 

Intoxicating. 

For all the times he’d been in her personal space, she’d never really paid attention to how he smelt. She was usually too busy being annoyed by his presence.

Or, he had her preoccupied in other ways.

As for his comment about the sponge bath?

Lute felt that sometimes, some questions were best left unanswered.

[miguelswifey04]

mentally gone... (miguel o'hara x gender neutral! reader)

in which y/n suffers a brain injury, in a coma, and miguel loses his one and only.

WARNING: angst, suffering, trauma, near death experience (?)

part 2, part 1

miguel felt something break inside of him. he heard something shatter. maybe it was the sound of his heart breaking into millions of pieces he just didn’t know what to do. he just lost someone so important to him again. this can’t be. no not this again…

“no, no, NO!” he yelled out, “this can’t be…you mean to tell me they lost their memories?!” he didn’t know what to do but just stare at the doctor. he did not want to believe anything he just heard from the doctor saying you had amnesia. he did know you hit your head hard onto the ground but he just did not want to consider that possibility at all. he wanted all of this to be a wicked nightmare. oh god, he just wanted it to just be a nightmare. ‘please be a nightmare’ miguel begged to his brain…but he had to face the reality of it all. it was indeed not a nightmare.

miguel began to cry as he walked by your side. you looked at him as you furrowed your brows as you were so confused at the fact a stranger was crying over you. you didn’t know what to do but wince at the headache that you had as you held your head in your hands feeling the fabric of the bandages that were wrapped around you head. you looked up at him again and started to feel somewhat bad for him. he was distraught and a mess. miguel came closer to you as he fell down onto his knees besides your hospital bed and became to apologize profusely in between sobs.

“i—i’m so so s-orry, this is all my fault,” he held his face in his hands still on the edge of you bed. you were stunned to say the least and felt various emotions clash with one another in your heart. this was all too much for you, and you didn’t even recognize the poor man who was crying over you. you wanted to say something anything to get this man to stop crying.

you cautiously reached out to him as you put your hand on his shoulder. he immediately looked up to you as he shakily wiped his tears as his chest rose up and down viciously. you could tell he was shaking so badly. you felt bad. “i’m trying my hardest to remember but i can’t it hurts to try to recall any of my memories.” that’s all you’ve managed to say and his face fell to one of the horrors you would see in a horror movie. he was mortified towards the fact that you may never ever recognize him ever again or even if you did you probably wouldn’t feel the same way you once did for him ever again.

“please, it’s okay y/n…i’ll do my best for you to remember me again.” miguel said his voice quaking as he pleaded. he was looking for any signs that may indicate that you might remember quite literally anything but none were evident. a few more tears began to cascade down his chiseled face as he sniffled. he had dried tear stains on his face from his previous tears but all of that was washed clean with new ones. he reached out to grab a hand from you but you slightly flinched from his touch so he gently retrieved it back.

you stood there silent. you were confused and conflicted with a man who was promising you to make you remember. a man who was devoted to make you somewhat bring back your memories that have been blocked for who knows how long. how are you supposed to trust a man who you don’t even know? do you just take his word for it or deny him? “i just don’t know.” you muttered under your breath.

miguel was clinging on the last threads of hope. his stomach churned at your words and god did they stab him deep in the heart. he wanted to just hold you so tightly but he didn’t because he did not want to overstep your boundaries because after all you weren’t the same person he once fell in love with. you were a whole new person. miguel knew he needed to respect that as much as he did not want to accept it.

he took shallow deep breaths as he stood up on his own feet. most of the air he breathed did not fill his lungs properly. he would clench and unclench his fists as a way to sooth his internal aching. “i understand how you feel but please i’ll make you remember us. we had it all…god i’m such a fucking fool for never telling you that i loved you…”

“you loved me?”

“yes. yes i did and i still do. i’ll do anything i can to make you fall back in love with me.”

“i—i don’t know.” you knew he had to give it up now but you did not know that miguel was the type of person to never give up. he knew this time he had to try his very best to bring back the person he once loved. he did not care if it would take him years to make you fall for him. he just didn’t care because what he was not going to do was give up. at the very least you were alive but you weren’t the person miguel knew. you seemed unbothered and confused and in a way lifeless even though your soul was still intact. in a sense a part of you did die when you were knocked unconscious and fell off a building.

miguel left your room and gave you one last glance through the window of your hospital room and disappeared. you felt a twinge of sadness in your heart as you felt alone in your hospital room that was filled by beeps of the machines and the sound of the IV dropping from the bag. you didn’t understand why you felt that way but you did, but you brushed off that feeling as you looked up at the ceiling trying to remember. nothing came to mind.

miguel was consumed by his loneliness and that loneliness turned into angry outbursts. everyone noticed the slight change in miguel’s mannerisms and random emotional outbursts. he was a broken man just trying to make sense of it all while the responsibility of the multiverse were at his shoulders. jess and peter, even gwen and hobie tried to stir clear of his wrath. everyone was quite afraid to make him angry but you did not know that. you did not know anything that was going on. you were kept in the dark even though people would visit you.

this was a battle that you and miguel were facing alone. who will overcome their battles and who will lose?

…

a/n: let me know if you want me to continue this <3

@omartheuwu @arianyo

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part VII

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 2k

About: You talk to your mysterious friend and finally part from Atsumu.

Part I II -> Next part

"It's me. I'm okay- please don't worry. I'll be back soon."

"Where have you been? I was worried sick; I've tried calling you all night! You just texted me that everything's alright at 4am, but what's going on? Where are you?"

The voice comes out of the phone, quickly and fast as always, and you hold the phone a bit further away from your ear. "Please, I'm okay, I promise!" You can hear a few deep breaths on the other side, probably the attempt to calm down, and then the voice speaks again.

"Where are you right now? I'll come and pick you up, and then you can tell me everything."

"I'm at the—" you hesitate and then look at the name on the towel and read it out loud. "Do you know where that is?"

"Give me a second." You hear typing noises on the other side and then a little gasp. "That's an expensive hotel! One night costs 500 bucks, and the suits are literally thousands of dollars per night!"

"What?!" you're speechless for a few moments, realizing just how much money Atsumu might own—you are in a suite after all and you definitely did not pay for it.

"It will take some time to get there. I'll be there in an hour? I'll send you my location. Is there someone else with you?" Your thoughts drift to Atsumu, and you hum. "Yes. And I need to ask for a favor. Do you have a lawyer? Or do you know someone who maybe knows someone who can help me with a divorce for cheap?"

"A divorce? Who needs a—wait. Are you talking about yourself? Did you get married?" The voice is so shrill and loud that you almost flinch, and you find yourself regretting revealing that fact already. "I'll tell you the details later. Please don't worry about me." You try to sound as calm and soothing as you can, and after a few shocked gasps, you hear silence again on the other hand. "Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I'll come and get you, and then you'll have to tell me everything."

You agree, and after a few more times of you repeating that you'll be fine and that you're being taken care of, you hang up. You take a deep breath, and without thinking too much about it, you quickly undress and go into the shower.

It's like heaven. The warm water feels soothing on your skin, and there are more products in the shower than you have ever used so far, but you find yourself drawn to the pretty bottles and decide to spoil yourself. It's not your water bill after all, and if Atsumu is paying for it, you can go all out and spend a few more minutes in the shower. The towels are fluffy and warm, thanks to the towel warmer, and you find yourself pressing your face against the soft fabric and inhaling the fresh and clean smell. The mirror is foggy by now, you probably showered at too hot a temperature, but the warm water just felt so good on your skin.

A soft knock on the door brings your attention back to reality, and you find yourself stepping closer to the pompous wooden door. "Y/n? I put the clothes in front of the door. Samu and I will wait on the balcony; you can get them anytime."

"Thanks!" you respond and hear footsteps leaving the room and a loud sound that's probably the window closing behind them. You wait a few more moments just to be sure that they are gone, and then you open the door a little bit to take the small pile of clothes.

It's a shirt with the hotel name, surprisingly tasteful due to the minimalistic logo of the expensive establishment, as well as a matching pair of sweatpants as well as a pair of socks. The fabric is soft, and you quickly put on the new clothes, only regretting that you have to wear your old panties, but there is not much you can do about it.

You take one last look at your phone, quickly checking your appearance one last time, wishing you'd have the time to wash your hair too, but you'll do that when you're back in your hotel room. You're just glad that you feel clean and warm now.

You step out of the room, feeling a little better and more alive already, and look around. You find Atsumu and Osamu standing on the balcony, both of them busy in a heated discussion, and you watch them for a few moments from your position after you noticed that they are not looking in your direction yet.

They are undeniably related. You can find similarities in the way they speak, in the way they use they hands when they talk and in the way they stand. They are both very attractive—something that you can freely admire now that they haven't seen you yet.

A notification on your phone informs you that your friend will reach you in a few minutes, and when you look up, you see that the twins have stopped talking and instead watch you through the window in silence. You pause momentarily and then lift your hand to wave at them. Atsumu's eyes take in your new clothes, checking you out from head to toe, and he gives you an approving thumbs up and a grin. Osamu rolls his eyes at Atsumu and simply pushes the door open.

"Hey. I'm glad the clothes fit." He comments, and you look down at yourself at his words. "Yeah, me too. Thanks. I appreciate it a lot; I feel so much better already."

Atsumu also steps into the room again, making sure to bump his shoulder against Osamu's when he passes him, ignoring the curse of the dark-haired male.

"Ya look better already. Feelin' alright again?" His voice is still tinted with the slightest bit of concern, and you smile at his words.

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry for being so weird before. I was just a bit overwhelmed." Atsumu shakes his head and buries his hands in his pockets. "Don't sweat it. That's normal. Gettin' married like this is a pretty unusual thing after all."

"Right. Uhm. My friend will pick me up soon; I'll get downstairs and wait there. I'll give you my number, and then you can call me as soon as you find out more?" You look at him questioningly, and he is quick to fish for his phone in his back pocket. "Sounds good. I'll wait with ya till yer friend arrives." He watches while you type in your number and quickly save it. "Oh, you don't have to. I'll find the way on my own, don't worry." You shake your head, but he quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you to the door. "Nah, I insist. Where are your shoes?" You let him guide you, his arm around your shoulders feeling somewhat heavy but comforting while you look around for your high heels from last night. Atsumu guides you to the chair next to the door and ushers you to sit on it while he grabs the black shoes from the ground. "Do ya think they'll fit with the socks?" He asks with a frown, and you just shrug your shoulders as a response. "I hope so. I don't want to leave without socks; I don't even want to wear the shoes, to be honest."

His brows furrow while he looks at your feet. "Sorry, I wish we had some other shoes for ya." You quickly shake your head. "It's fine. It's just for the way downstairs. It's okay." He nods and kneels in front of you, and you subconsciously slide back on the chair as far as you can to create some distance between the two of you. "What are you doing?" He takes your left foot and places it on his thigh, and you feel every single muscle in your body tensing at the sudden contact. "Helpin' with yer shoes. Stay still for me."

You're at a loss for words while he slips the shoe on your foot; all you can do is stare at him while he secures it around your ankle. Surprisingly, it fits around your socked foot, and he nods before he lets go of your foot and reaches for the other. It doesn't take him long to get it on your foot too, and you shortly admire how skilled he is with his fingers, and then he places them both on the ground. "There ya go." He hums satisfied and gets on his feet, quickly offering you his hand to stand up. At this point, you just accept it and take his hand, allowing him to lead you to the door.

"Uhm. Bye, Osamu. See you. Maybe." You turn around and wave at the dark-haired twin who had made no attempt to come with you, and he nods acknowledgingly. "See ya."

You follow Atsumu through the door, who seems to be familiar with the hotel because he is quick to lead you to an outrageously big elevator. It's silent on the ride downstairs. You're standing each on different sides of the elevator, leaning against the walls, your bodies no longer touching. You don't really know what to say to him; you're too deep in thought right now, and he seems to feel somewhat similar.

"The exit is right there." He motions to the other end of the hall as soon as you get out of the elevator, and you hum while you follow him to the doors. You're lucky that there are barely people around because you certainly feel a bit underdressed with the clothes from the shop, but Atsumu doesn't even spare a glance to anyone you're passing. The receptionist greets you without batting an eye at your unusual attire; you're fairly certain that you both give a very unusual sight. Atsumu with his formal dress pants and half-opened dress shirt, and you with the hotel shirt and sweatpants and heels from last night. Surely not an everyday sight, but professionalism prevents her from looking longer at you.

It does not take long until you both stand in front of the hotel, just far enough from the entrance not to bother other guests but still close enough to see everyone who enters the building. You both stand there for a few moments in mutual silence, until you look up at him with a faint smile. "Thank you for showing me the way. I'll manage from here on. You can get back to Osamu; it's alright."

He frowns at your words and looks around.

"Can I really leave you here?" He looks a bit worried, and you nod with a tight smile. You really need some time to think about everything. "My friend will pick me up soon. You can go back to Osamu; it's fine, really!"

He hesitates for a second, probably not fully convinced that everything's fine, and the next thing you know is that his big arms surround you and pull you into a hug. You're stiff at first, unsure how you should react, but the comfort and familiarity that he is radiating by now makes it all too easy to melt into his touch and to hug him back. "Y/n. I meant it. I'll take care of ya, okay? Everything's gonna be alright. I'll make sure of that."

"Hmm." You hum against his shoulder, deeply inhaling his comfortable smell, and his grip tightens around you. "And if ya need anything—anything at all—call me. Anytime." You nod, hoping that he can feel your response and your gratitude because you don't trust your voice right now. You know you should probably pull back, but it feels too good to be in his arms, too good to be close to him, so you just stay, and he seems willing to let you.

"Y/n!" You hear someone yelling your name behind you, and you quickly pull yourself out of Atsumu's arms. You turn around and face a familiar face with big brown eyes which flicker from you to Atsumu with a surprised expression.

"Wait—Atsumu Miya? What are you doing here?"

Your jaw drops, and you turn your head back to Atsumu, who looks equally surprised to see your friend.

"You know each other?!"

[bridgetotheskyyy]

chapter nine.

masterlist

Chapter summary: you deal with the aftermath of your Father's actions.

Chapter warnings: blood, violence, trauma

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Chapter 9 as promised!

Read on ao3 here:

Father’s blood would have to be washed from your clothes.

That was the first and only thought as your father’s pulse slowed to nothing against your fingers. Blood. So much blood. Father’s blood. Shared blood. The fabric would have to be wrung and wrung again, scrubbed and squeezed. It still might not come out. These clothes might be stained forever, and there was nothing you could do about it. You would have to dona — no, who would want bloody clothes? You would have to throw them out. They would always remind you of today, they would always —

“(Y/N),” Gaara said. Surely he’d been calling your name for several seconds, but you hadn’t heard him. His fingers ghosted over your arms in an attempt to anchor you in reality, but you only trembled under his touch.

Your head shot up; Gaara was standing right above you. Your gaze returned to Father. His head lay limp in your lap. “I — “You struggled to puzzle words together. One competent sentence would be a triumph. “I don’t …”

“It’s all right.” Gaara’s voice grounded you, along with his touch. Gentle and coaxing, though its gruffness remained. He aided you to your feet, moving slowly as you rested your father’s head on the floor.

“What …” Tears garbled your speech, their hot wet trails training down your eyes. Your chest rose and fell with sporadic, too-quick breaths. “What did I do?”

“You did nothing.” Gaara cajoled you into an embrace. “There was no preventing this … You must not blame yourself.”

You tucked your face in his shoulder, wishing to disappear. You choked out sobs in the crook of his neck.

Footsteps. Someone banged the door, already open, against the door, straining on its hinges.

“Gaara!” a voice. Temari’s. “What’s …”

“… Oh no …” Kankuro’s.

You turned your head to see Temari and Kankuro approaching slowly, registering the surrounding carnage.

“That’s it then,” Kankuro muttered. “It’s really over …”

Temari set her concerned gaze on you. Unable to console yourself, you disappeared again in Gaara’s shoulder.

“The fighting is over,” Gaara said. “Let the ninja of the Oasis village know their leader is dead, and that they have lost. Then we will consider our losses.”

His voice was especially gentle on losses. Your throat constricted, your chest wracked with another horrible sob.

Time passed without your participation. You blinked, and the bodies were gone, as was the blood. Shinobi spoke in quick, formal tones to Gaara. Kankuro limped away and came back. Reality slotted and rearranged itself, again and again and again.

And, somewhere, Temari beside you: “C’mon,” she murmured, arms around you. “Let’s get you cleaned up …”

The smoke cleared.

Literally and metaphorically. Word of Father’s death sent the ninja of your village fleeing Sunagakure while Sand ninja traveled south, deep underground, to alert the villagers who’d been evacuated that the fighting was over and it was now safe to resurface.

Suna had taken quite a beating; fires had scorched sandstone buildings black and ugly, structures destroyed, people wounded — but, thankfully, not too many had been on the streets after all, as you had feared.

The battle was over, but there was a great deal of damage to be accounted for, and you dreaded how long it would take for the Sand to recover — in more ways than one. Kankuro had called in a tip from the beach village you had all visited and they would come assist in the cleanup. Temari had taken it upon herself to lead and organize the groups designated to address the damage.

You were the opposite of fine.

Gaara was absent from your side, and for that, you were actually relieved. He fought to comfort you but you refused him; his village needed him more than you did right now, and anything to negate the effects of Father’s attack was worth the lonely, grief-addled evenings you now endured. It both helped and hindered you to sleep until noon, but the nurses insisted you now needed more rest than ever, especially after your ordeals. You at least had Gaara’s full comfort some nights where he simply held you and let you cry until exhaustion superseded anguish.

And it suddenly occurred to you: you were an orphan now. Mother gone, brother gone, and now Father.

Except Gaara and his siblings. An orphan, but not alone.

After a few days, you understood what you needed: to see Kankuro.

“Well.” Kankuro looked out amongst the devastation from his hospital window. “This will definitely delay the wedding.”

You allowed yourself a laugh, bitter though it was. Once Kankuro had been situated in the hospital for his wounds, he had invited you in, saying he wouldn’t mind a story to pass the time. You had told him everything about the mission, just as you had told Temari and Matsuri, and once you were done, his grimace was so you almost saw fit to call the nurses.

“And how’re you feeling?” he asked.

“I think I should be asking you that.” You smiled sadly; your father’s body was being sent back to the Oasis as the two of you spoke. “Fine … I mean, as fine as I can be.” You fidgeted with your hands, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Now that I know I should be saying,” Kankuro said. “I called you a snake. I’m so sorry, (Y/n).”

You waved him off. “Anyone would’ve done the same. I’m just sad; you believed in me and were so loyal to the idea I wasn’t up to anything.” Another bitter laugh. “I let you down.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kankuro said. “I believed you really cared about Gaara; I was right.”

You nodded.

“And I can’t believe I was right all along about the oasis having rejuvenating powers!” Kankuro said, sounding genuinely impressed with himself. “It was just a theory, but to know it was real …”

You smiled for him. “It was a gamble. I didn’t even know anything about it. Temari told me that’s what she heard from you.”

“I’m never letting her live this one down.”

A wider smile. “I’m just grateful we made it in time … The oasis — whatever my mother was sick with — she couldn’t be saved by its waters …”

Kankuro sobered up. “Unfortunate, truly …” A pause. He adjusted in bed, his movements constricted by the bandages around his chest and stomach. “I’m sorry about your father, too.”

Your chest ached. “Is it all right to be sad? I don’t know. He was … horrible to everyone, especially me.”

“You don’t do yourself any favors policing your own feelings,” Kankuro said with a sigh. “Sometimes, the people who treat us the worst are the ones we hurt for the most.” He rolled his eyes with a scoff. “I would know.”

He means Gaara — the old Gaara. A little weight shifted off your shoulders.

“… But Gaara worked for our forgiveness, so he’s automatically better than your father. Sorry.”

You burst out laughing. It was such a relief, the mirth running through you like alcohol.

“What will you do now?” Kankuro asked. “I understand your father has no surviving kin other than … Will you … leave us?”

“Hahaoya’s taken over the village and is fighting for it as we speak,” You said. “Her forces are actually quite extensive. And I … can’t imagine going back just yet.” I can’t leave. I have to do my part to help here.

“… Will you still marry Gaara?”

“Of course!” You said it without hesitation, but just then another weight came to replace the last. If the village will still have me. How accepting would they be, even if they knew your story?

You would do whatever was best for Gaara and his family, even if it meant untethering yourself from him and walking your way home with bloodied footprints in the sand.

Kankuro nodded and relaxed into his pillow. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Do you think it’s okay?” You said. “With — with the village and …”

“We’ll work it out, if it’s not.”

Once again, you saw Hideo there, sitting inside Kankuro, providing the same comforts, the same kind of warmth.

“I’m just glad I didn’t screw it all up in the end,” he said. “I don’t know how good of a Kazekage I made then.”

“Are you joking? I saw you defending this whole village by yourself,” You said. “You weren’t a good Kazekage, you were a great one.”

Kankuro smiled, and the sincerity of it struck you. He held his arm out to you and you sat at the edge of his bed before falling into his hug, careful not to stress his bandages.

“You’re such a strong kid,” he whispered. “I’m proud you’re my sister.”

Tears pebbled your eyes as you rested a hand on Kankuro’s shoulder, remembering when Hideo had said the same. You laid your head on Kankuro’s shoulder and, finally, allowed yourself to cry for the family you had lost, and for the one you had gained.

“And, once again, Lord Kazekage,” Ebizo began in a bow, “we apologize for our negligence.”

“I never liked that Joseki!” Ikanago cried from her seat. “I know it is not of high character to speak ill of the dead, but —”

“We never expected he would be a part of something like this,” Goza said. “A thousand apologies, my lord.”

You shook your head, hiding a smile behind your knitted fingers. Almost a week later, the Suna council had been shredded considerably since the attack. Both it and Gaara were still dealing with the repercussions of its handicaps. The opposition within the Sand that had supported your father was being dealt with, along with those who had allied with Joseki, which meant more trials, more deliberations.

Fun.

Gaara was giving his council very little attention from his seat beside you. He flipped a folder closed, now fully briefed. “The Sand prioritizes forgiveness and second chances — those sentiments extend to this Council.”

Ikanago and Goza breathed a sigh of relief.

“However —”

They stiffened.

“—if you are truly in such a repenting mood, I would like to be a part of the appointment process. Suna deserves fresh faces on its council, members who can relate to new challenges it encounters,” Gaara finished.

He means adding people who aren’t pushing one-hundred. You snickered into your sleeve.

“Of course!” Goza said. “That would only be fair!”

“Now, to business,” Gaara said. “The Hokage has sent reinforcements to aid us in the rebuilding process, which will be led by my sister, Lady Temari.”

They nodded.

“And there’s been a letter from Lady Hahaoya,” You said. “My father will be buried soon, along with his assistant, Chuuyou. I will be leaving soon to attend the funerals and work out the finer details with Hahaoya.”

Hahaoya was currently the village head after a successful takeover. Gaara was the one to give you the news, while Hahaoya offered you the choice to attend the dual funerals, for the fallen ninja, like Chuuyou, and Father's. You said you did; you wanted the closure of finally putting the family drama — and trauma — behind you. Along with negotiating the more complicated aspects of succession.

“And …” Ikanago’s eyes sparkled with hope. “There will still be a wedding at some point, of course?”

She never stops!

You and Gaara exchanged looks.

“Lady (Y/n) and I have decided to delay it indefinitely,” Gaara said.

“WHAA?”

You smiled to yourself. Never mind the fact that Gaara had privately proposed to you, with only his siblings and Baki present, erasing the politics of your engagement (along with the result of a scheme) and instead making it one of heartfelt desire.

“We’re still going through with it,” You said — mostly to soothe Ikanago. “Don’t be so upset!”

“I broke my hip, girl!” she cried. “Oh, I may be dead before I see the two of you wed!”

“Honestly, Lady Ikanago,” Ebizo chastised. “You really must learn to stay out of young people’ affairs.”

“I second that,” Goza bit. “What are they meant to do? Say their I dos over the pile of dead bodies?”

That was a good point.

“It could be a beautiful ceremony to cleanse all this suffering and instill some hope!”

Also a good point.

“So, if everyone is all right with it, let us move on,” Gaara said over Ikanago’s crying.

After business, you and Gaara retired to the palace, where you coupled in the room you two shared.

You turned to see Gaara had long been staring at you.

“What is it?”

He grew shy. “I was only thinking. This is the second time I have been saved by someone who should have been my enemy.”

You blushed. “I … think you’re right.”

“I know it has to happen,” Gaara began, “but I really wish we didn’t have to postpone things.”

“I know how you feel.” You sat by him. “I’m especially bummed out about it.”

Gaara tilted his head. “Why is that?”

“Because I hate the idea of showing on my wedding day,” You said.

Gaara’s invisible brows wrinkled. Before he understood what you meant, and astonishment opened his face like a flower.

“So …” He trailed, his eyes lowering to your stomach. “It’s true, then?”

You smiled. You had been examined during your time catching up on rest and had known the truth for some time. You had only wanted the perfect time to tell Gaara. Yes, you were an orphan now. Except for Gaara and his siblings, and the little baby growing inside you. An orphan, but not alone. “Hideo would be the perfect name if it’s a boy, don’t you think?” Your eyes popped open. “Unless you had a different name in mind! I’m not saying it has to be —“

Gaara leaned forward and silenced you with a kiss. A protective hand secured itself at your hip before he thought better of it and moved to the center of your stomach. You sighed into Gaara’s kiss, his reassuring touch.

He drew back after a century only to smile at you.

“I assume you like the name?” You said.

Gaara’s finger grazed the apple of your cheek.

“It’s a perfect name.”

The last thing Gaara wanted was for you to travel. Especially now you were confirmed pregnant and vulnerable in ways you probably could never fully understand. But you insisted, and he only agreed with especially tight security around you.

The excursion home was surreal, made even more surreal now you were to attend your father’s burial service. You had no idea what reception you would receive once you arrived.

Once there, you were surprised by the mood; it was very much the village you had grown up in, but despite the atrocities of the last few weeks, spirits seemed to be high. Hahaoya’s influence, I bet.

Father’s burial was performed in a small enclosure not far from the village palace. Hahaoya arrived to pay whatever respects she still retained, but you got the sense she was truly there to support you, her hand tightening on yours as his coffin was sunk into the ground. The service was small, with only the two of you and a few extra council members who still held Father in some esteem. But words were sparse save some niceties, and the small gathering dispersed after burial.

Once it was over, you walked the grounds of the palace garden. Desert plants prospered despite the struggle of the heat. Cacti sprouted from the ground to remind you of Gaara. You thought of the little cactus you had gifted him, the one Gaara had reinstalled on his office desk, and hoped they would always remind you of Gaara.

Many times you had made this aimless traipse with Hideo. Now you were alone. But Hahaoya soon joined you. You followed her around the garden of the palace, now hers.

“I’m sure you are feeling a whirlwind of emotions right now,” Hahaoya said. “I assure you, whatever you are feeling is natural.”

“Not really,” You said. “Or, at least, not yet. I feel sadness, but there’s also a strange calm now that it’s all through.” A bird chirped in a lone tree, miraculously grown in the desert, standing alone. “I am relieved Father will get to rest now.”

“Child, do you realize how strong you have been?” Hahaoya said, a touch breathlessly. “How strong you are?”

You smiled weakly at her. Whatever you felt, it didn’t feel like strength, yet people kept telling you that. “Am I?”

“It goes without question,” Hahaoya said. “I must admit, I was afraid you wouldn’t come, though I would’ve understood had that been the case.”

“I had to be here.” You turned back to your father’s burial place, strangely expecting to see him standing there in its place.

“You didn’t.” Hahaoya said. “If Boutoku had wanted an attentive daughter, he should’ve been an attentive father.”

You let the moment hang. “I wanted to do this last thing for him — and for myself. I’m his last surviving kin. The least I could do is see him off. He was horrible to me, but … He was a good man once. He was my father.”

Hahaoya was the one to let the moment linger. You resumed walking, and she moved in sync with you.

“Speaking of which,” she said, “it was time we spoke about the lineage.” She touched your hand to signal you to stop. “My girl, I’ve gone to the oasis. I’ve taken the dragon’s challenges.”

You blinked. “Then … You’re officially the Oasis’s head?”

“That’s right,” Hahaoya said. “Not without effort, by the way. As I am not Boutoku’s blood, he was not overly happy to see me.”

You were stunned. “I …”

Hahaoya started walking. “I am honored — but I am also old, girl. I do not plan on being the head for very long. I will organize the village and then pass this honor on to another — with tips on how to avoid dragon fire,” She added with a smile. Then she faced you. “Unless …?”

You returned her smile. “My place is in Suna now, with my soon-to-be husband.”

“I thought you would say that,” Hahaoya said. “I am glad I took the proper precautions.”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“Hmm …” Hahaoya’s voice had become playful. “I was thinking of Kota.”

“Kota?” The soft-spoken man who had barreled from the sand and brought you to Hahaoya.

“He’s noble, is he not?” Hahaoya said. “Kind, patient. And he wants the best for his village.”

“I regret to say I don’t know much about him …”

“He’s worked under me for quite some time. I’ve a few more candidates, but I’d be happy to have him as the head, even if I had no connection to him at all. He actually reminds me a bit of your father when he was younger, if only …” Hahaoya trailed. It was a moment before she spoke again. “Of course, the ultimate decision is not up to me — Ryuo will have the last word.”

You considered all of this, the repercussions of your line ending its mystical contract with the dragon. “I suppose I’ll lose his blessing as well. I may never see the oasis again.”

“Like I said,” Hahaoya gave a mischievous smile, “Ryuo will have the last word. Don’t be so pessimistic.”

You shook your head, finding it in you to return the smile. “He won’t be happy; three visitors in such a short time of each other — this is more than he’s been bothered in over a century.”

Hahaoya laughed, as you remembered her laughing, high and sweet, the epitome of mirth. “That is true. We might be what causes him to throw in the towel in his conspiring with humans in general.”

You laughed together. The sun had the nerve to shine as you came to the crook of the garden, soon to reenter the palace.

Hahaoya called your name, soft and sweet; your mother’s voice was commingled with hers. “I said I was afraid you wouldn’t come, that is true, but I was also hoping you would, for a specific reason.” She took your hand in hers. “I’ve a gift for you.”

“A gift?” You echoed.

“Consider it an early wedding present,” Hahaoya said, then shrugged, “or a belated one, depending on your perspective.”

She raised her hand, noticeably marked with new scars. A poof, and she came forward with a box in her palm.

A simple black box, even simpler to open. Your breath caught:

A new necklace, nearly identical to the last save one detail; no scorpion sprawled on the face of this one. Instead, only a minuscule illustration of the oasis at its center.

“I thought, perhaps,” Hahaoya said, “you would favor a new one. Of course, if after all the trouble the last one caused you, feel free to reject it.” A smile. “I’ve been told I’m horrible at giving gifts.”

“No,” You breathed, nestling the box to your chest. “It’s … beautiful, Hahaoya. Thank you.”

“No, sweet girl,” Hahaoya said. “Thank you.”

You had no desire to linger in your old home, and you prepared to leave with no understanding of when you would again return. Most likely many years from now. When the grief became bearable, manageable, when you had regained your footing … When Hideo was old enough to understand the politics that would forever circumscribe his life.

I’ll be okay by the time he comes of age. He deserves to know where his family came from.

As absurd as it was, you found yourself missing Chuuyou, his perennial presence. The man who had betrayed you and killed your father — that was whom you missed?

No, You thought, thumbing the new necklace around your neck. I miss the man who loved his village enough to kill the man ruining it, who saw me and Gaara as worthy once he had the proof.

As if on cue, there was a knock at your door.

You cleared your throat and stopped fiddling with your necklace. “Come in.”

The door squeaked open, and there was Kota.

“Kota,” You said in surprise.

He gave a modest bow. “I hope I’m not intruding —“

“No, not at all,” You said, ironing your clothes down. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

Kota glanced at your bed where your suitcase lay open, partially stuffed.

“Leaving already?” he said.

You blushed. “I —”

“I’m only kidding,” Kota said with a chuckle. “Lady Hahaoya told me you were preparing for your departure.”

“Oh,” You said with relief.

The crescent shape fell from Kota’s eyes. “I hope your father’s service wasn’t too overwhelming for you.”

You gave a wry laugh. “If anything, it was a tad underwhelming.” Your fingers grazed the top of your suitcase. “After all the years he spent as village head … so few guests …”

“It must be truly disheartening,” Kota murmured.

“More enlightening than anything else,” You said. That was his fault. When Gaara dies, there'll be hundreds mourning him — thousands. After all your efforts to save Gaara from the brink of death, you didn’t want to think about him dying a second longer than you had to; you shook your head of these thoughts. “But I’m fine, Kota, thank you. Did you need anything?”

Kota straightened. “I’ve not come to vex you,” he said. “I was … hoping to accompany you back to Sunagakure.”

“Really?” You blinked. “Why? Doesn’t Hahaoya have enough for you to do around here?”

“It’s not for a lack of things to do, that’s for certain,” Kota said. “I … I feel I must atone. Somehow. After all this bloodshed …”

You couldn’t disagree. You didn’t. “There’s so much bloodshed on all our hands now.”

“True, however …” Kota stepped forward. “A shinobi’s duty is to his village, and I love my home, but I also love it enough to acknowledge its flaws. Our mistakes.” He looked down. “I would like to assist in mending the relationship between the Oasis and the Sand. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.” He bowed. “If you’ll allow me, Lady (Y/N).”

He would make a wonderful village head. You smiled. How could you refuse him? After all, what had you just done but gone out of your way to save your new family? How could you deny him the same way to redemption?

“All right,” You said. “Come with me and speak with Suna’s Council. I’m sure they’d be ecstatic to hear of all the ways the Oasis will make up for all of this.”

Kota nodded fitfully. “Very well.”

“And in the meantime,” You said as you fixed your hand to your hip. “We can also speak about all the ways the Sand will repent for its past wrongs.”

“Say no more of the Sand, Lady (Y/N),” Kota said. “The truth is, the Kazekage kept his word. All the resources he promised to send to us were received weeks ago.”

Your hand slipped away from your hip. “You mean … All of it? The weapons, the medicine — everything?”

“Indeed,” Kota said. “There is little to repent for, as far as the Sand is concerned.”

You thought of the bridge you and Gaara had crossed, the flower that had gotten stuck in your hair, the promises he had made to you the very first day you met him.

I love him.

“That’s good to hear,” You said through a soft exhale. “Well, if you are coming along, you might as well start packing.”

Kota nodded. “Certainly.”

He left you alone to continue packing. In fact, very little had left your suitcase, but now what little that had been taken out went right back in, and you zipped it up with a content sigh.

It was time to go home.

[cee-grice]

Hello! I'm getting caught up on all your amazing asks here... But here's my pre-emptive Ask for Storytelling Saturday for next week:

Describe your WIP in bullet points so my ADHD brain gets it quickly!

hey hey Belle!! oh man, I also have to clean out my inbox, it's getting a bit embarrassing haha... I know you said this is a pre-emptive STS ask, but!.. I saw it and got excited lol, so you're getting it answered Now

so! my current WIP, When White Crows Cry, described in bullet points:

(this is gonna be long)

it's a science fantasy?? only instead of robots and space we have chemistry and pathology lol

also dark academia vibes

set in a secondary world reminiscent of 19th century-esque europe, only with modern advancements in science

the magic system is science-based - essentially, if you wanna manipulate the fabric of reality, you gotta. understand said fabric of reality

so, to cast a believable illusion you need to perfectly understand color and light and depth and all that (so you gotta be a kickass realism artist lol)

or, to change a glass ball into a gold one, you gotta understand the molecular composition of each material and know how to manipulate it so it would change forms

there's one tiny teensy issue with magic, though - it is a limited resource ahaha

ANYWAY that's the gist of it

main character - Quil, an exceptional transmutation mage who got exiled some years ago for performing human transmutation (very bad very taboo)

(he, of course, continues doing human transmutation)

(despite the Trauma)

the second most important character - Endra, who has this nasty magical parasite slowly eating away at his body and mind, and his only hope at a cure is... human transmutation

you can see where this is going

anyway so that's the Past timeline - Quil trying to figure out what's going on with Endra's body and finding a way to fix it

(this is also the Romance timeline lol)

we also have the Present timeline

and that starts with Quil getting revived a year after his death in the country he'd gotten exiled from

:0!

(that's literally the first chapter so it's not a spoiler lol)

anyway he gets offered a Deal - help his ex-mentor with her project that could potentially save magic, and in exchange he'd get amnesty

the issue? he really, really hates his ex-mentor

and he would have really, really preferred to stay dead

this whole magic dying thing is Not his problem, either lol

counter issue? the project concerns the same magic parasite that Endra had (has?), so it could put him in danger, and Quil quite literally would die again before he let that happen, so.

he agrees

(so that he could sabotage it lol)

but also! Quil doesn't know what happened with Endra post his death, so that's something he works on figuring out as well

(he gets far more questions than answers. where IS this guy)

anywayyy that's the gist of the story

now for the lightning round

this would be for you if any of this intrigues you:

highly questionable academic and medical ethics

characters forsaking morality to get what they want and losing sight of what truly matters

So Much Interpersonal Drama

no physical fights - a Lot of verbal fights

dealing with the horrors of resurrection

dealing with the horrors of facing your loved ones after they'd mourned you for a year

a cast of eccentric scientists

an obsessive, codependent queer romance between people who don't know how the other looks like

a lot of fucked up queer characters in general

an incredibly spiteful trans protagonist who just wants to be left the fuck alone but everyone insists on dragging him into their shit, so instead he's gonna Make them leave him alone

everyone wanting you to live apart from You

magic biology! magic chemistry! magic science! nerd shit!

anyway oof idk if this helps but omggg is it hard to explain a fantasy story quickly ahaha....

(this is the general tag for this wip so u can check out more stuff about it that's explained in a more cohesive manner lol)

[crimsonamber9999]

// yo need some art advice! How on earth do you get clean line art? Cuz I want to step up my line art skills.

:|| oh boy here we go I'm about to go on a long tangent- so I will let you in on a lil secret.. My motto is: literally fake it, till I make it.

Give others the illusion of clean lineart. Here is a final sketch of @brokenbroods bby Kei.

Here is the first.

The reality is, mun here sometimes goes through at least 1-3 sketch renditions till I considered it 'good' and go on to lineart. But how do you lineart? There are actually several tools that can help you out! Firstly, the brush. Familiarize yourself with a brush. For me, it's the RC side pencil brush. It genuinely takes a long time to find a brush that's right for you and you can even find new ones you like better! I thought last year my sai brushes were the ones but I was pleasantly surprised. Secondly, your stabilizer tool is your friend. Main art programs such as Clip, Procreate and Sai, have one. I switch alot during the process esp if my pencil feels too quick or too slow- For Sai, I have it to about 4-9 for lineart. Clip here it ranges from 4-23 and so on.

Thirdly, and I can't stress it enough. Is experience. My lineart is over years of experience and thankfully there are practices! to get a better 'grip' on your pencil. Proko does an excellent tutorial on it with traditional media here. I still find myself struggling with controlling my shoulder, simply because I have shaky hands so dw if you also struggle with such concepts.

Extras:

Having trouble drawing fabric? or the 'tension' points? here is how I do so.

How do I do lineart? can you show me a demonstration?

Notice how I do it multiple times and then switch to the other. If I find myself struggling with a part. I switch to a different point in my drawing to work from there.

[radio-charlie]

Everyone has nothing to say at first, then the silence is broken by someone smashing a glass so hard against the wall some of the shards narrowly miss people sitting seven feet away.

"You're literally God? And you allowed all of this shit? Does God read the papers describing genocide and famine and abuse and then go have some eggs benedict for breakfast?“

Dwayne, or God, puts his palms up as a reconciliatory gesture.

"Hey look, it's really not that simple okay, I don't like people suffering either-"

"Then why allow it? Why make it happen at all? You have the power. You're bloody God!“

The tension in the room is rising palpably. No one has moved to clean up the mess. Their eyes are all fixed on Dwayne God now. Awaiting an explanation.

He looks down at the floor and huffs a little pathetically. One of his hands curls into a loose fist as he steadies himself to reply.

"The truth is, I'm not really the highest power here. I'm called God and I do have crazy powers, yeah. If you wanted an orange soda right now, I could manifest someone bringing it over. I could in fact just make one appear out of thin air."

Dwayne-God looks up at everyone. His face is now imploring.

"But just because I have the power doesn't mean I can use it whenever and for whatever I want. Like, I don't really know how to explain this. But I do answer to something else."

The glass-smashing friend hardens their squint. "You're really gonna have to give us more than that.".

"Alright," Dwayne huffs as he braces himself to drop the bomb. "So, you know how conspiracy theorists have yelled for ages about how we might all be living in a computer simulation? And that everything happening in here is part of some elaborate script. That there's a code within the fabric of reality, and that you can hack it."

"Um. Yeah, I think I've heard about this."

Dwayne has begun to look visibly nervous, something unsettling to behold on a being who is literally God.

"Well, maybe there was once a time when our universe was, like, a real flesh and blood universe, okay? But then something went seriously wrong. We messed up so bad that there was no way to fix it. The only thing left was to make a new universe. Something we could thrive in, like this one. Then upload our consciousnesses in there as part of the code. With some people given power and authority to make sure the whole thing - the whole simulation - runs smoothly."

Some of Dwayne's friends look at each other. One nods at him cautiously. "Go on."

"The problem is, the people that programmed this universe... They aren't super great. To put it mildly. They had their own ideas of heaven and utopia. But because they were horrible people, their heaven turned out horrible too."

"So they're your bosses? Where are they now? How do they talk to you and tell you what to do? Are they still in the broken universe doing stuff with the code-"

This time, Dwayne-God answers with an audible tremor.

"They don't have to talk to me. And they're not anywhere, because they are everywhere."

"Wait, what?“

"They're not people anymore. They were uploaded in here too. But not as individual beings like you and me. They wrote themselves into the code of the fabric of reality. They are the universe.".

Now everyone really is shocked. For what seems like ages, each person is lost in their own ocean of contemplation.

"So... What do we do now, Dwayne - I mean, God? Just suffer in here? Isn't there something you could do?“

Dwayne-God shakes his head with a weariness and sorrow both microcosmic and timeless.

"It's simply not up to me."

Your friends find out that you’re god. Instead of being shocked, they get mad at you.

[primelaundrylondonsblog]

Iron Service Near Me: Revealing the Complete Laundry Experience

Fed up from Ironing board backaches? Or,

Looking for a one-stop-shop solution? 

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Yes, this is not even a utopian fantasy but a complete reality waiting for you at your doorstep – thanks to the convenience of an ironing service near me. And yes, some laundry services do include ironing. But it’s essential to discover more and take advantage of these services. 

So, without waiting any longer, let’s explore the usage of professional ironing and laundry services to get that dreamy, freshly starched collar look every day. Keep reading!

101 Solutions: Importance of a Professional Ironing Service Near Me

Of course, choosing the professional ironing service near me over the DIY route will benefit you. Therefore, here are a few reasons why you should look out and hire an expert ironing service near me:

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Choosing a Wrinkle-Free Life With Prime Laundry’s Expertise

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This content is originally published on Prime Laundry’s Website: Iron Service Near Me: Revealing the Complete Laundry Experience

[mythvoiced]

@crue11 | ♥

The first thing the beautiful and ever-so-righteous Xiao XingChen hates himself for today is the way he trembles, ever so slightly, when Xue Yang touches him.

When Xue Yang touches him. Xue Yang. Xue Yang.

Xue Yang whom Xiao XingChen had vouched for, he'd looked at him once, and even despite the things he was already doing, a part of Xiao XingChen would always assume he would have made it out. Would have learned how to be better, would have recognized the error of his ways, how power means nothing if it's built on hills of corpses, quite literally it seems.

All at his own expense.

All because he didn't know better, all because he thought he knew better.

It's different now.

The voice he hears is both more and less familiar than the one he used to sit next to, entertained by stories and tentative touches, inching closer to a reality he didn't think he was allowed solely because it served no purpose other than indulging himself and whatever desire he'd managed to develop over the years.

Xue Yang.

He's still caring. He cares every day, there's food every day, even while his face continues to ache in pain at this point near-numbing, even if he bleeds through nearly every fabric wrapped around his eyes, Xue Yang, Xue Yang, will be there, and wipe it clean, the face he couldn't protect.

Every time Xue Yang comes back, Xiao XingChen is overcome with an intensity of emotions unbecoming to the moon he used to be equalled to. Where Song Lan was icy wind, he was the kinder breeze. He was praised for being gentle, soft-spoken but assertive, someone who'd do the right thing without ever stepping on others, unless terribly provoked, and even then solely to protect the innocent.

When Xue Yang doesn't show up... or when Xiao XingChen gets lost inside his own head and forgets to count the seconds, minutes, hours, when he can't hear him shift around outside, when it's too quiet... it's worse.

He's never been afraid of his disability. Even growing accustomed to it hadn't scared him. It wasn't easy, the jump. It was dreadful, but like a painful challenge, not a terrible reality he'd never learn to come to terms with.

Now, though, the idea of waking up one day and realizing Xue Yang had left, either because his passion project had come back wrong, or for some other reason, none good enough for Xiao XingChen to not think about stumbling out the coffin house and try to track him down.

It wouldn't be fair... if he left now. And yet... can he stomach having him around?

Who's who's property.

When Xiao XingChen used to move, back then, 'grace' and 'elegance' would be associated to him the way clouds were associated to the sky, and depths to lakes.

Now when he knocks the bowl of water over with an accidental swat like he doesn't seem to care for it, as uncaring of the way he sways before he rights himself and reaches for where he'd last heard Xue Yang, Xue Yang's voice, he resembles more all those men pitied for being once large and now small.

He doesn't want to go to him. He can't also not move away from him.

He gets stuck somewhere halfway. He just stops.

"Are you ever going to be honest with me," spat, choked. There's so much ache behind the words he can't make it sound like hate even if he wanted to, but it is. It's the kind of hate born from... well.

It's wet, and it means too much, it's almost swallowed back in a hitch of air, not one of surprise, but one caused by the struggle to not lose his breath under the onslaught of whatever he feels.

Never once does he think about killing Xue Yang. Never once does he think about hurting him. That's not what he wants. He doesn't want Xue Yang to pay. He doesn't want things to be this way.

He wouldn't have hated him.

Maybe.

Under different circumstances.

"I don't want your eyes," that's more like it. Angrier. Tighter jaw, but so aching, so yearning. It's not fair. And for the first time in forever, Xiao XingChen indulges. Allows himself to whine about it, even if only in his heart. Allows himself to selfishly wish it'd been someone else in his stead. Allows himself to hate the entire world, just for a moment.

He's exhausted.

"Why are you..." if only he could cry proper tears. His face contorts. He looks like he's watched a loved one die, without the tranquility of mind to realize what that means for him, for them, as they are. "What do you want from me...?"

[compofworksbybailey]

Struggles of sitting down to write

Oh man, let me tell you about the struggle of sitting down and actually getting some writing done. It's like trying to herd a pack of wild cats on a sugar high. You've got all these fantastic ideas swirling around in your head, just waiting to burst out onto the page, but actually getting them to cooperate and form coherent sentences? Yeah, good luck with that.

First off, there's the whole issue of motivation. I mean, sure, I've got all these amazing ideas bouncing around in my brain like a pinball machine on steroids, but actually mustering up the energy to sit down and put them into words? It's like trying to convince a sloth to run a marathon. I'll be sitting there, staring at my blank screen, and all I can think about is how much I'd rather be doing literally anything else. Like, I could clean out my sock drawer, alphabetize my spice rack, or reorganize my collection of novelty socks. Anything to avoid actually getting down to business and writing.

Then there's the whole issue of distractions. I mean, it's not like I'm actively seeking out ways to avoid writing, but the universe just seems to conspire against me. Every time I sit down to write, suddenly the neighbor's dog starts barking like it's auditioning for a role in a canine version of "The Exorcist." Or my phone starts blowing up with notifications like the entire world decided to collectively text me at the exact moment I decided to be productive. And don't even get me started on the siren song of social media. I'll just pop on for a quick scroll through Instagram, and suddenly three hours have passed and I've somehow fallen into a deep dive of cat memes and conspiracy theories.

And let's not forget about the actual act of writing itself. It's like trying to wrangle a herd of hyperactive squirrels. I'll have this brilliant idea in my head, and I'll start typing it out, and then suddenly my brain goes completely blank and I'm left staring at the screen like a deer caught in headlights. Or I'll get halfway through a sentence and realize that it makes absolutely no sense, so I'll backspace and start over, only to get stuck in an endless loop of rewriting the same sentence over and over again until I start to question the very fabric of reality.

But you know what? Despite all the struggles and frustrations, there's something undeniably exhilarating about finally getting those words out onto the page. It's like a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of accomplishment that makes all the hair-pulling and existential crises worth it. So, yeah, maybe it's hard to sit down and write, but when those seemingly great ideas finally come together and form something magical, it's like catching lightning in a bottle. And hey, if all else fails, at least I've got a killer collection of novelty socks to fall back on.

[plugrick]

Chivalry, eh? If they weren’t facing off against a growing mob of monsters, Kenneth would’ve given Mike a look. His extended offer of protection came as second nature due to his position as a Federation Grand Leader - and yes, admittedly, his rekindled feelings for his old friend might’ve come into play as well.

Perhaps he should know better than to doubt the capabilities of another star soldier he had fought alongside so many times before, his affection blinding him to the innate strength that Mike had clearly honed during their time apart…

He allows himself to be adjusted into a battle stance that placed them on an even keel, shoulder to shoulder facing the oncoming threat of gnashing hypodermic teeth. The swarm seemed to catch on to their shift in plan and split off in two groups in order to surround them, working intelligently as a unit like pack animals, bright eyes glinting in the gloom with predatory glee.

Kenneth and Mike were forced to step back to back, spine nigh flush with spine, close enough for their shoulder blades to brush with the draw of breath.

To think, all these years later. Against the impossible odds stacked against them. Here they were, on the front lines, preparing to do battle as a unit once more. How many times had they ended up in this very same formation on the battlefield in the past?

But this was no time to reminisce.

“Don’t worry about me.” Ken breathed, his graspers tightening on the handle of his weapon. Pure things? Perhaps they were more unprepared than he thought. He would have to be cautious to avoid being injured. “Protect yourself, Mikey. Do not allow them to bite you. I need you to come out of this with me.”

The miniaturized versions of stalking nightmare circled them, foul tongues snaking around to taste test for weaknesses. The whirling mass of snapping jaws and blood-slickened smooth flesh of one individual was becoming nigh indistinguishable from the other in the flickering luminescence, camouflaged amongst their own kind. It was clear that they were collectively waiting for an opportunity to strike, intelligently scanning for a window of a split second when their prey would let their guards down…

“REEEEEEEEEE!”

The screech signaling attack was sounded, and dozens of lizards all hissed simultaneously in response like some sort of hive mind. Leaping from their low to the ground anticipatory positions and—!

SHHHING!

Kenneth’s golden blade whipped through the air and sliced clean through newly birthed flesh, the strike cleaving the thing in two from skull to pelvis in one deft blow. But where one fell to the ground squirming in agony, another took its place.

He raised an arm and teeth collided with his forearm armor with a resounding CLANG, sharp fangs chipping on golden plating. He grunted with effort to shake it off, stomping the things skull beneath a heavy boot. Then another one was cut down, jaws flying in opposite directions as it’s throat was sliced.

It would be a tedious fight, lashing out in all directions, none of the lizards taking the exact same path as the one before it — if they lost concentration, all would be for naught—!

———

“A-AMY!”

The reality of the situation had taken a moment to sink in, thanks to the shock of literally having a piece of his body viciously torn off - but when the human saw green blood staining through the white fabric of Amy’s stolen jacket, a newfound panic took hold that overrode his own pain.

Rick stumbled towards her direction, reaching out with his uninjured hand in an effort to stabilize her before she fell. He collapsed to his knees with her weight, frantically trying to do something, anything to manage her wound while nursing his own to little avail.

“N-no no no no no!”

Rick looked as pale as a sheet, and it didn’t entirely have to do with the blood loss he was currently experiencing. Mike had told him very specifically to keep his sister safe, and she had been SHOT! On his watch!

Mike was going to kill him. Mike was going to snap and KILL him! Again!

“S-stay with me!” He begged, trying to rouse her from encroaching unconsciousness by shaking her in a way that definitely wouldn’t actually help things whatsoever. He had been in shootouts before and dealt with countless injuries dealt to Mike, but for some reason the fact that this was Amy made things worse. He balled up his coattails and used te fabric to apply pressure, but—

“Agh, m-my hand!”

Nope. This wasn’t going to work. At this point the only way he could tell who’s blood was who’s was by color alone!

Ding! They had reached their destination, but in an ironic twist of fate, there wasn’t much of them left to arrive there. Dead soldiers, severely wounded gromflomite occupants, and a human being thst was quickly reaching hysteria.

“H-hang in there! D-d-don’t you die on me!”

Were those tears running down his face? Rick would never admit to caring about Amy enough to own up to getting emotional when she got hurt, much less would he ever live it down…

He needed to get her help!

“M-medic! MEDIIIIC!”

—————

….

……..

How had it come to this?

The sterility of the upstairs medical bay was unnerving, the quiet beep-beep-beeps of a heart rate machine the only thing filling the uncanny silence.

Rick stared down at his hands - or at least what was left of them - one of his limbs bandaged tightly due to the recent mangling he had endured at the claws of… miniature Lizardperson? He didn’t know what to call it, exactly. But it had taken a chunk out of him, and irreparably damaged what was arguably his namesake as a drug cooking mad scientist.

The human curled up a little more in the gurney bed he was seated in, feeling more than a little exposed in the stupid paper gown that he had been given to wear. Upon arrival they had taken his things to be “sanitized”, citing something about preventing the spread of infection. What a joke. These dumb Feds didn’t have a clue what was happening.

Then again, neither did he…

He swallowed hard, trying to fight the anxiety rising in his chest back down from whence it came. The medics had given him something for the pain, but it wasn’t doing anything to take the edge off thanks to his tolerance for the stuff. He didn’t now whether Any was going to be alright, or where the hell Mike had run off to. Were there more of those things out there? Had he had the misfortune of running into them?

Was he even alive?!

Rick held his head in a palm, trying not to think of the worst case scenario. Why did his dumb ex-boyfriend have to play hero and run off when he’d needed him the most? If Mike had been there, he would never have let Amy get hurt.

Why did he have to be such a weakling without his portal gun?

It was just a waiting game now. Rick just wished for an answer, any answer at all. Please let them be okay…

X

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

In Our Final Moments

by Wellthatsprettyironic

“Wilbur?” Tommy whispered, gently pushing himself forward with his palms. The movement took an unnatural amount of effort, but the way his leg twisted to drag on the floor was grounding, the pain routing him to reality as he blinked away the remnants of sleep from his foggy mind.

His brother immediately looked up at the name, a raw mixture of relief and agony encompassing his face as blood trickled down his chin. His eyes scanned up and down, checking for any injuries that Tommy may possess. The instant his gaze landed on his leg, the fabric soaked with blood, and the cuts that littered his arms, he gasped.

“Darling, what did they do to you?” Wilbur choked, leaping forward to wrap Tommy in a hug.

--

or, Tommy and Wilbur are captured by Manberg and sentenced to death. Tommy doesn't have a great time but big brother Wilbur is there so at least wholesome crimeboys exists

Words: 2635, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 5 of oh my god im writing angsty fanfiction about literal block men instead of attending therapy

Fandoms: Dream SMP, Minecraft (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: Gen

Characters: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot, Fundy (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy & TommyInnit

Additional Tags: Angst and Feels, Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, Protective Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), author has no idea how to clean an infected wound, Fluff, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Cuddling, TommyInnit Needs Help (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, I Fucking Hate Manberg /pos, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence