#we're back baby

[triona-tribblescore]

FASHION BABY~

(Yo-Ho-Ho) A Ninjas Life For Me

First: / Previous: / Next:

#WE'RE BACK BABY #NEXT UPDATE WILL HAVE EVERYONE AGAIN?? #WHOA?? #nahhh but another kinda slow short one :') #I have big plans guys trust me #the funniest weren't funning this time either TT #excited to post it again tho~ #please tell me you know the “mom holy fuck meme” #its peek i promise- #a ninjas life for me #anlfm #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #usagi #usagi yuuichi #rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt au #rottmnt comic #leosagi #my gays <3 #tribbleart #<3 #tw// gun mention

[2aceofspades]

~🔥 Their Power 🔥~

~extra lil doodle~

(:

#emd fanart #acey doodles #casey jones #✨her✨ #gah i love them #i love them so much #♥️♥️♥️ #we're back baby #mehehe~ #kablooey #!!! #:)

[ireneaesthetic]

Pointing out little moments and details of scenes that need to be remembered.

"i can show you" scene • episode 1

the first wille’s smile of the season and simon is the one and only reason for it to happen *act surprised*.

he has no rush but takes his time to enjoy simon’s presence, looking from afar first and then approaching him. just having him there is enough to make him This happy.

the casual gestures of fixing the jacket or bumping into the shoulder make me melt - just typical boyfriends things and we absolutely praise them in this house!

wille's flirtatious mood in this whole sequence is the best thing that could've happened to me - to simon too! the "i can show you", the whispering, the head's nod. he's still my fav loser but oh how much he has learned and stepped up the game.

also, i genuinely think not showing them holding hands here with a wider shot is a crime.

such a perfect parallel of the fish scene and they're probably reminded of that too: this time it's wilhelm's bedroom and a foreign place for simon, so he's the curious one - looking around and taking the space in - while wille simply waits for him.

simon's "mysigt" to describe the room, just like wilhelm did. it is another special moment for both of them.

this. this. this!!! claim a s3 moment as your own - this is mine.

to me it is the most seductive and romantic one they've ever shared hands down. it comes straight out of a fanfic.

the tension, the longing, the chemistry, the flirting. there's so much to unpack here: wille's breath is literally vibrating and simon's presence is so intense, he builds up the tension and keeps wilhelm waiting for his next move in the most endearing way - wille is also leaning into his hand at the end. there's no talking, they're barely touching but still filling the room with all the passion and attraction they feel for one another - this is actually insanely scripted and portrayed.

no thoughts head empty just simon's tongue and his hands through wille's hair (he's obsessed, excuse him!).

and it kinda seems like simon is getting pulled closer by the waist or he's pushing himself closer - either way it's hot soo

simon's little leg lift and him pinning wille down on the bed by the wrist right before the cut - they're comfortable and open and so playful with each other. wilhelm's hand that caresses simon's back is very much important too.

simon caressing wille's cheek (he has to return the favor ig) and wilhelm leaning up again when they interrupt the kiss.

these brief moments are the cutest. i love how they stay so close and can't stop tracing each other's features.

the nose rub. the mirrored smiles. they've missed and wanted this for so long and they're taking the most of it.

this whole scene is so passionate and they're both so touchy bc they were clearly waiting for this to happen - during a meeting at the palace might not be the greatest scenario, but the thrill that comes with it is definitely something.

i like the role play throughout the scene sm: wille initiates the first kiss, simon is the one taking the lead next and then it all comes back to wille rolling them over and taking initiative. the neck action is a serious thing for him and idk where his hand would've ended up if they hadn't been interrupted - and we do! love! all of it!

they're laughing over the fact that they were not caring about anything at all but spending quality time with each other. and they deserve it so freaking much.

look at them!!! this is not a subtle look bc they simply do not care anymore. i adore them your honor.

#we're back baby #young royals #young royals analysis #yr s3 #i can show you scene #wilhelm x simon #wilmon

[wigglesdtuff]

Superstars!!!

#nico robin #one piece #franky #frobin #daily wtt robin #day 63 #WE'RE BACK BABY

[melancholywally]

Week 2 and Day 6 of 18 of the Pokémon/Vocaloid collaboration Project Voltage - "What if Hatsune Miku was a ___-type Pokémon Trainer?" This set of images depict Hatsune Miku as a Normal-type 🌈 Pokémon Trainer with her partner Pokémon, Chatot! (art by Megumi Mizutani)

#we're back baby #this one's so cute #pokémon #vocaloid #hatsune miku #chatot #project voltage

[noonaracha]

LEE KNOW :: Christmas EveL Fancam for @jinniebit!

#stray kids #lee know #createskz #bystay #skz #lee minho #userjinnie #userlau #userbeepls #usertsu #usersa #dancerachasource #kpopccc #mine #we're back baby

[2001fallenstar]

#we're back baby #unreality #dereality #liminal spaces #liminal space #liminal #liminal aesthetic #nostalgia #nostalgic #nostalgiacore #2001:inside #2001:interior #2001:kitchen #2001:soviet #2001:wall_art

[dailykatnep]

Day 82

#WE'RE BACK BABY #this is in reference to zac gorman's zelda comics #nepeta #nepeta leijon #karkat #karkat vantas #homestuck #ms paint adventures #mspa #katnep #karnep #nepkat #karkitty #nepkar #karpeta #karpet

[ex-jock-enthusiast]

Back to the classics: German model and TV star David Ortega Arenas embraced a fuller figure during his role as Diego on the reality show Köln 50667, und die Polsterung sieht prima aus!

Video Link:

#bulk #bulking #ex jock #exjock #hunky to chunky #fittofat #male gainer #we're back baby #also i dont really speak german so apologies if I pulled an Ein Berliner moment #Youtube

[gecktonurite]

every animated scooby doo movie

    ↳ scooby-doo! and the witch’s ghost (1999)

i guess you are a witch after all!

#thorn hex girls you will always be famous xx #we're back baby #i actually watched happy halloween scooby doo last year with my sister but i never got around to giffing it lol #sdmgif #my gifset #scooby doo movie #scooby doo #scooby doo and the witch's ghost #scoobydooedit #sdedit

[officialfeysandweek]

✨ Did you miss us? ✨

-

🎨: @witchlingsandwyverns

#Feysand #pro Feysand #WE'RE BACK BABY #Feyre Archeron #Rhysand #Feyre x Rhysand #spooky vibes for our favorite couple of all time

[disenchanted-youth]

#listen I'm so damn excited for both #we're back baby #bossnoeul #fortpeat #love sea #the boy next world #love in the air #boss chaikamon #noeul nuttarat #peat wasuthorn #fort thitipong

[centralbunnyunit]

#i want to go back #retro #hardware #retro tech #betamax #sony #vintage advertising #we're back baby

[harrydracompreg]

Helllloooo!!

We're so happy to say that we're back for 2024!

We're working on a few things in the background and getting ready for kick off. The key dates are all set, and we'll be posting the 2024 FAQ and Rules very soon (basically the same – but be sure to read them when they post). Also make sure you're following the fest so you don't miss any key info.

Timeline Prompting Begins: Monday, 29 January Prompting Ends: Saturday, 10 February Claiming Begins: Monday, 12 February Last Day to Claim: Sunday, 7 April Submissions Due: Sunday, 21 April Posting Begins: Sunday, 12 May (US Mother's Day) Reveals: Sunday, Sunday, 16 June (US Father's Day)

What is the Harry/Draco MPREG Fest? This is an anonymous prompt-based fest focused on mpreg and the relationship between Harry and Draco. Works forming part of this fest have three basic criteria—

Harry/Draco relationship is a must Either Harry or Draco must get pregnant They must be male while pregnant.

More soon, sassy_cissa and timothysboxers H/D MPREG MODS

#drarry #drarry mpreg #mpreg #2024 hdmpreg fest #mpregfest #we're back baby

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 4

Two guys and too many beers leads to more shenanigans.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5 (Coming Soon)

Word count: 2998

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking), animal death (fishing/hunting)

It was beyond crazy to me that the most normal I’d ever felt was drinking beers with a weird little man who stood no more than, what, 6 inches tall at most? How many years had it been since the last time I had this much fun? The last time I felt like I could talk and laugh this freely? It just felt so… normal? The thought seemed ridiculous- I mean, the situation was anything but… and yet here I was, thoroughly buzzed and listening intently as if we were old friends.

Sal paraded around the table, reenacting some grand adventure I could only wrap my head around with the help of however many tallboys I’d downed over the past few hours. Tales of hunting monstrous beasts and climbing unfathomable heights. He wove wild stories of a world so foreign yet so familiar… quite literally a world in my backyard.

As I nursed another drink, Sal set the scene, recounting a day-long trek he'd made out to the lake. Mist rose off the water as loons called to one another, their haunting voices echoing off the calm water. He watched intently as they slipped under the water, barely even a ripple disturbing the surface of the lake.

As if he was painting a picture in my mind, I sat enthralled, feeling as if I could feel the crispness of the water washing away the heat of the sun as he spent the day swimming in the shallows. The way he spoke… It didn't feel like I was imagining his retelling from my perspective- but his own. His perspective felt like something … almost fantastical.

"I tried to lure some of the minnows, but I couldn't get close enough to spear them without them darting off.” As if still wielding a spear he eyed the non existent minnows, patiently following some unseen motion as he remained poised to strike. “The bigger minnows seemed slower, but they wouldn't come near shallow enough. I ended up using some of the dried grub rations I'd brought with me as bait, and boy did it work like a charm. I swam I bit farther out with the bait and-"

Spear raised, I could practically see the imaginary impact- watching as the massive fish- or minnow, thrashed against the sharpened twig. I was enthralled- the way his muscles moved with the motion was almost… intimidating, bringing forth thoughts of him human sized, spearing a monster of a fish while swimming in some dangerous Amazonian river. 

“The damn thing was a bitch to swim with,” he groaned, annoyance clear on his face, “For one- it was heavy. But worse,” Sal huffs, “It was still moving.” Despite the exasperation on his face in recounting the ordeal, the man’s face couldn’t help but return to grinning. 

“So then I’m swimming back, right? Honestly more like flailing with the stupid minnow in tow, but I’m keeping above water for the most part… but I keep hearing this clicking… almost squeaking noise? Weirder yet- it's coming from below me.” He pauses, lowering his voice and I’m quite literally reeled in by his story, leaning forward on the edge of my seat. 

“Then- whoosh!” 

Sal grabs at the air. My heart jumps in my chest as the man’s hand lashes out just inches from my face. 

“This monstrous bastard of a creature - absolutely huge,” He pauses, shooting me a cheesy grin, “Second only to you, big man.” I snort and Sal picks right up where he left off, “It was all murky brown with thick these thick… whiskers? And it just sucks me into its mouth with this horrific gulp. Next thing I know I’m being dragged underwater, half in its mouth, pounding on its head just hoping it’ll let me go if I hit it hard enough.”

My breath hitches, a shudder running through me as I make the connection- A catfish. 

“With nothing to lose, I stab it. The spear goes right through its eye and-” Sal pauses, making sure he has my full attention.

“And?”

“Nothing!” Sal laughs as if it was hilarious and not down right horrifying, “That stupid thing didn’t even flinch! I don’t know if it didn’t go deep enough or if I just missed any vital enough part, but it did absolutely nothing!”

He leans forward, no longer laughing as his face takes on a grim expression.

“At this point I start to get worried.”

“Start?!” I scoff. Sal dismisses my interruption with a wave of his hand.

"My lungs are burning, and the thing’s clamped down hard on my stomach. I'm stuck holding that stupid spear for life as it keeps doing this.. this…” He shudders, face twisting in disgust, “-weird gulping thing,” Sal shakes his head as if banishing the memory, “So I ripped that spear out and using everything I had I-” His fist came down, “- drove that spear right back into its head.” 

Sal pantomimed a gruesome show-  stabbing again and again in the world's most horrific display of charades as he brutalised the memory of the catfish. 

“Finally,” He says, voice filled with a mix of relief and exasperation as if he’d just relived the whole ordeal, “it dies.” 

I, stupidly, sigh in relief, as if somehow I couldn't have predicted the outcome with him quite literally standing in front of me.

“My lungs are on fire as I swim to the surface- and man, air never tasted so sweet.” Looking down at Sal, he's beaming, laughing like a kid as he recounts his victory over the massive fish. “And then it hits me- tasted!” 

I furrow my brow, not quite following. Sal continues, frustration returning.

“No spear- and no fucking minnow! As if, after all that, air was gonna be the only thing I’d be tasting!”

After a brief pause I couldn't help but laugh. His smile grew even wider as he raved on, swinging his hands as he continued on about his harrowing ordeal.

“I refused to swim back empty handed after that shitshow- So I spent the whole afternoon dragging that giant bastard back to shore!” 

Fuck. I stare at him, eyes wide. I can’t shake the disbelief as I try to think of what would be the equivalent feat- Dragging an orca back to shore? …Something bigger? I’ve never been an avid fisherman (nor did I have any plans to start) and really had no concept of how big the catfish in the lake got aside from the notion that they were definitely bigger than Sal.

“I get that monster to land- spend about 30 minutes on a fire that just won't start, until I'm finally able to start cooking that beast!” 

He paces along the length of the table, his steps not nearly as sure footed as they had been a few hours prior. Even with his tiny frame I can easily make out the sheer rage simmering behind his eyes.

“And y'know what?” His voice, now starting to slur, is teeming with all the theatrics of a man at his absolute limit. I swallow, desperate to hold back a laugh I know is coming.

“What?”

“That fucking thing tasted awful!” Each word was spat with such ferocity it was as if he was trying to spit out the memory of the creature's taste.

There was no helping it.

With my inhibitions long since drowned, I laugh. I laugh louder than I have in years. I laugh until my sides ache- until tears prick at the edge of my eyes.

And he laughs with me.

“Pond scum! Tha' shtupid thing tasted exactly how pond scum smells!”

My vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over as he continues to rant and rave, but the sound of my laughing completely drowns out whatever critical opinions he was espousing on catfish edibility. 

Wiping at my eyes, my brain takes a few tipsy seconds to focus back on the little man. Still shirtless, Sal had sat back, reclining with his back against one of the many empties as he lifted up what was arguably the equivalent to a very generous pitcher to his mouth with little effort- the relative ease of the action catching me by surprise as I imagined myself fumbling at doing the same. 

He… he was built. 

Quite literally a brick shithouse, if said shithouse belonged to Barbie.  

Broad seemed like a fitting word. Broad chested, broad shoulders, broad smile- Hell, even his legs had a width to them. Sal looked as if he had stepped directly out of an instagram fitness post, with his … excessive biceps flexing under the weight of the shot glass, the act a paradoxical effortless display of effort. Even at his diminutive size, I could tell this man was anything but small. He-

He coughs.

My eyes dart away from his body in an instant, snapping back to his face… accompanied with heat rising in my own. As my eyes meet his, I’m again struck with the absolute absurdity of the situation.

I'm here… getting drunk… with a tiny man… He’s right there- arms reach in front of me… 

And yet he still doesn't seem real.

My hand twitches at my side.

Touch him.

As my hand slides towards him, his gaze quickly flicks from my face to my hand and back to my face again. Confusion flashing across his features for a brief moment before his lopsided grin reappears. My finger tips barely graze him as he sidesteps my hand, shoving my fingers away. 

Huh. There's a surprising amount of weight behind his push. 

“Hands t'yourself, Big Guy.” Sal laughs, “You gotta take me to dinner first.”

It takes a moment for my brain to follow his words, and I snort. 

“Is that not what I did?” 

Sal blinks.

His own brain seeming to lag as realization dawns on him. After a moment's delay, he laughs. 

Sal takes an unsteady step forward, the sway in his weight more noticeable than before. He’s still smiling, but a look of concern crosses his features as he stares at the ground in front of him.

“I feel weird.” 

“You’re drunk.”

He looks back up towards me and I point to the drink. After a moment', Sal nods, seemingly cluing in. Maybe? I really couldn’t tell.  For all I know, that nod might have been him nodding off with how stunted the gesture had looked. 

“It…” He starts his sentence and seems to forget it half way through, taking a long blink in between words “... makes you dizzy?” 

I lean forward to rest my head on the table, starting to feel all too alike. 

“Mmm- yeah, when you’ve had a bit much.” 

With that, I slid the shot glass away from him- An act which was apparently the most egregious party foul ever to have been committed. Shouts of protest erupt beneath me, as he trails after the glass. 

With a laugh, I try to shoo him away, but man, the little guy can move. Despite the sway to his stride, Sal ducks my hand with ease.

“Dude,” I laugh, opting to pick up the glass, “You.. uh, you’ve had 'nough- you're gonna get sick.”

My words feel thick, almost sticky, in my mouth, and the thought crosses my mind that I should probably be taking my own advice.

“'m fine.” 

I snort. The man didn't even know what beer was all of two hours ago, and here he was thinking he knew his limits.

“'s if you’d know,” I chuckle. “You're stumblin' 'round.”

Sal narrows his eyes.

“I am not!”

“Oh really?” My words slur together, thick with condescension and alcohol as a smile down at him. I shove a finger to his chest, I give a little push. Sal shoots glare as he staggers back.

“See?” I chuckle, “You're totally shtumbling!” 

Eyes wide, he stares up at me, brain seeming to short-circuit for a moment before a goofy grin plasters itself across his face. I feel my own face mirror his expression as we break out into drunken laughter. 

The laughter hit me hard. 

I laughed at Sal's near cartoonish drunkenness.

I laughed at how he stumbled with a push from a finger.

I laughed at the strangeness- the reality shattering strangeness- of his very existence.

This... this is really strange...

As our collective laughter died down I took in a deep inhale. I needed to know more. I couldn’t keep up the half assed charade of normalcy. 

“Sal-”

In the brief moment I’d let my guard down, the tiny man quite literally pounces. I yank my hand away a fraction of a second before he lands, Sal stumbling as his weight falls forward. Before his face makes contact with the table, Sal seemingly just… goes with it? Just flowing with the momentum as if stumbling forward had been completely intended. With surprisingly little effort, his would-be fall morphs into a drunkenly graceful forward roll, carrying him to a stand- albeit, an unsteady one. 

For a moment, I’m at a loss for words, and before I’m able to react to whatever odd show of athleticism I’d just witnessed, he’s already at it again, eyes locked onto the shot glass like a cat locked onto a mouse. I move to shoo him away with my free hand, yet I’m met with nothing but empty space as Sal scrambles underneath the gesture. 

Again, he tries for the glass. 

Launching himself at my hand, I feel his hands graze my own before I lift the glass out of reach. Sal lands with a stumble, a lopsided grin sitting smugly on his face as he looks from the glass to me. 

Sal lowers his stance, looking something between a sprinter at the blocks and a mountain lion set to pounce. 

Seeing the gears in his head turning (albeit, slowly), I clue in. Before he gets the chance to scale me for the beverage, I make a grab for him. 

And yet, despite my efforts, somehow Sal winds up on top of my hand. It was like trying to grab at water- with him just flowing out of my grasp. Abandoning the shot glass, I grab at him with my free hand- watching dumbstruck as he drunkenly pivots, turning to jump at my in coming hand.

I freeze- Trying and failing to keep my hand steady as Sal hangs off my fingers. 

With my lack of reaction, Sal takes the opportunity to climb my fingers like some sort of rope ladder. 

To my horror, he climbs all of them, heaving himself to a shaky stand on the side of my index finger- Hands on his hips and grin on his face. 

I meet his gaze and he laughs, his expression smug as he wags his finger at me.

“Too shlow.” 

Arms out in a stumbling balance act, Sal begins walking across the edge of my hand looking oddly similar to a failed roadside sobriety test. Pausing, he frowns, pouting in frustration before bending over. For a moment, I think he’s about to throw up. Instead, he plants his hands firmly on my forearm.  

My stomach drops.  

With no effort whatsoever, Sal switches to walking on his hands- somehow just as drunkenly. Swaying side to side, every “step” seemed to overcompensate for the last, looking as if he was perpetually on the verge of tipping over.

And then he did.

In a split second, I’m sober.

My hand darts out, closing awkwardly around his form with all the grace and fine motor skills of a man marginally less drunk. Unmoving and unblinking, Sal stares up at me, a strange sound escaping him… almost as if a hum got caught in his throat. I could have almost been convinced he was nothing but an action figure with the way Sal went rigid- if not for his heart beating wildly beneath my fingertips. 

My own heart drummed in my ears, and for a moment, just a single moment, it didn’t bother me that he was sticky. 

He swallows. The tiny, but very human action feels uncanny at his size. The rise and fall of his chest, the strangely sizable weight of him in my hands… all of it is just so… strange. He feels solid - tense beneath my grip. Fuck- even at his size he felt strong. My eyes trace over the myriad of scars that marred his skin, gaze lingering over the clear bite mark that covered his shoulder and chest…

I hadn't even noticed my thumb tracing over it until I felt him try and push the digit away.

“Mark-” 

“Oh- sorry.” I adjust my grip into something I assume is more comfortable, opting to hold him in a way that left him semi-seated in my palms rather than awkwardly dangling from a first.

It's a weird sight, seeing a grown man sitting in your hands. Every small movement I make has him sway, his head drunkenly lolling back as he slurs a few indistinguishable words with a chuckle. Up close like this he looks just about as drunk as he sounds- red in the face and eyes struggling to stay open. 

Adjusting my grip, I cringe.

He was more than just a little sticky.

His pants clung to my skin, peeling off as I moved like a Band-Aid being removed. The mental image sends a shudder down my spine.

I consider taking the opportunity to wipe off the concerningly sticky little man while I have the chance, though a more rational voice in the back of my mind argues that a good host doesn’t assault their “neighbor” with wet wipes. 

Below, Sal grumbles something unintelligible, clearly displeased with me as he swats at my fingers. Though despite his attempts, my fingers lingered. 

Ugh- He left a stain on my hand! 

I glare at the dark smear of sauce he’d wiped off onto his pants, silently reconsidering the option of dousing the man in dish soap, let alone wet wipes, etiquette be damned. 

Instead, I opted for another drink.

#WE'RE BACK BABY #Things are about to get interesting #Sal is and will always be a menace #Mark is fighting demons to not toss Sal in the sink #The Shadow we Cast #TSWC #SalOC #MarkOC #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t fluff #g/t writing #entowrites #size tumblr #size difference #gt #gian/tiny #macro/mirco

[heich0e]

the wake - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 8 in the bff!osamu series word count: 2.5k tags: angst, childhood friends to pining, every miya fic i write is just a thinly veiled love letter to the miya brotherhood and that is very clear here, angst gets worse before it gets better so be nice to me, ps: u ever heard the song vienna by billy joel?

The longest that you have ever gone without speaking to the Miya twins was thirteen calendar days—a single day shy of a fortnight—when the three of you were eleven years old. 

It all happened because you’d invited the twins over to see the brand new lava lamp you’d gotten for your birthday—the one you had been longing for relentlessly, and talked about incessantly in the lead-up to your big day—and, well, one thing led to another (as it often has the tendency to do when Osamu and Atsumu are involved) and the beloved lamp had ended up shattered across your bedroom floor only a few hours after you’d torn it from its pretty purple wrapping paper. 

Neither of the boys had been willing to take responsibility at the time, each pointing an identically vehement finger of blame towards the other, and they both refused to offer you anything remotely close to an apology—lest that somehow imply an admission of culpability. 

Your mother had sent them home after a stern, disappointed talking to and a call to their own mother (which she then echoed in a far less civilized tone when they returned home to her) and then they didn’t hear from you for almost two full weeks. It felt like an eternity back then, when life was small and days were long and just a couple of hours felt like a lifetime. You refused to come to your door when the two of them showed up knocking, didn’t answer any phone calls or instant messages they sent, and outrightly ignored them at school each day—hiding in classrooms on breaks between classes or behind the backs of other girls to avoid the increasingly desperate attempts of the twins to get your attention.

And so, on the two week anniversary of The Incident, the twins showed up at your door one last time—sheepish but earnestly remorseful—with a new lava lamp in tow. Thus the silent treatment was ended, reconciliation was struck, and there has scarcely been a day that passed since then where you had not been in some form of contact with the twins.

Osamu hasn’t heard from you in 6 weeks.

After the night of Atsumu’s party, he’d waited with bated breath to hear from you. His phone was on, sound at full blast and never too far from his reach. He knew it wasn’t really his place to reach out first. Knew you probably needed time to process things. To forgive him.

That first night he’d barely slept a wink, staring up at the ceiling of his living room, sprawled across the couch the two of you should have been sleeping on together, regretting every single moment of his life that had led him to this misery. He had texted you a simple: Let me know when you’re home safe please. It was a message he’d sent you countless times before, but never with so much urgency—but it went unanswered. It didn’t surprise him, even if it hurt. Even if it only added to the twist of anxiety turning his stomach into knots. More time passed. Seconds bleeding into minutes that turned into hours, each more agonizing than the last. He thought about calling you. Texting you again. Pulling on a jacket and chasing after you like he should have when you walked away from him hours prior. But he didn’t.

Osamu texted Atsumu first thing the next morning, with bags under his eyes and exhaustion in the marrow of his bones, asking if you’d made it back to the party safely. He’d wanted to reach out sooner—he’d had an entire sleepless night to think about nothing else, after all—but he’d waited for the sake of saving face with his twin. 

When Atsumu finally woke up and saw his message, replying back with a frightening ??? didn’t she leave with u?, Osamu’s worst fears were realized. 

After hearing from his brother, Osamu immediately texted your roommate—a girl you’d gone to college with, who might even have been considered your best friend had the twins not beaten her to the punch by about two decades. She and Osamu had always been on good terms, seeing each other semi-regularly over the years by virtue of their shared connection to you. You’d even once implied she had a little crush on him after Osamu had met her for the first time, though he had (for obvious reasons) never acted on the information. He felt no hesitation reaching out to her about whether or not you’d made it home the night before.

Yes.

Her icy reply came through almost immediately—even though it was early in the morning, even though he rarely ever texted her. The message was just three letters and a full stop, but it told him everything he needed to know: you were safe, and she knew what he’d done.

Osamu knew that the very least that he could give you in this situation was space, and he really did try, but he only made it two days of silence before he was reaching out to you again. His text had gone unanswered on that horrible, sleepless night where he had ruined everything, so after two days he finally tried to call.

It went right to voicemail.

His subsequent texts (and eventually calls) over the following days were similarly ignored, and every day that passed without hearing from you felt worse than the last.

Atsumu’s concern took root the day following his party, thanks to his brother's early morning text, and it only continued to grow. You were ignoring him too, the reason for which he had not the faintest idea, and the blonde inundated his twin for details as to what exactly had happened when the two of you had left his apartment that night.

But Osamu couldn’t tell him.

He couldn’t.

So he started avoiding his brother's calls and texts, too.

Osamu’s feelings for you were the only thing he’d ever, ever kept from his twin in all of their shared lifetime. And look where it had gotten him. 

But eventually—inevitably—Osamu finally broke. 

It was to be expected, really. He was hardly eating, scarcely sleeping, and any hours not spent robotically going through motions of keeping his business running were spent holed up in his little apartment. The apartment that now somehow reminded him far too much of you—like you had inked yourself as indelibly into the walls as you had the paint that you helped him apply when he'd first moved in.

Osamu showed up at his brother’s place at 11 o’clock on an otherwise completely unremarkable Wednesday night, still in his Onigiri Miya uniform, and as soon as Atsumu opened the door he burst—violently, spectacularly—into tears before he could even manage a greeting.

It must have been shocking, frightening even, for Atsumu to see his twin in that state. For him to have to help his brother’s crumpled frame across the threshold, over the step in the genkan, and to the couch in his living room—supporting the entirety of his weight to keep him upright. Atsumu had shown up a hundred times at Osamu’s door in not dissimilar states of heartbreak, but that was the first time he’d ever seen his twin—largely credited as the level-headed, rational one between them—like this. He’d always thought Osamu was just stronger than he was when it came to heartbreak; his relationships fizzling out with relatively little fanfare, and no substantial distress, and his exes sort of just faded into the background like they’d never even been there at all.

Atsumu never realized it was because his brother’s heart had never been theirs to break in the first place.

Osamu came clean that night in his brother’s apartment. Confessed to the sins he’d kept locked away in the recesses of his chest for so long, more fully and unequivocally than he had ever voiced the long-held secrets to anyone. And Atsumu listened. He didn’t tease him for his tears. Or berate him for keeping his feelings from him. Or yell at him for harming you and jeopardizing the friendship that the three of you had spent so much of your lives building. 

He just hugged him. Comforted him. Cried with him. Because that was what his brother needed from him more than anything else.

When Osamu calmed slightly, many hours later, Atsumu quietly admitted that he’d suspected there may have been feelings that his brother was harbouring but he’d never really known for sure. I figured ya’d tell me when you were ready. Those were the simple words he’d offered, with a little shrug and a gentle, wobbly smile. And it was the first time in all his life that Osamu realized that his brother had far more tact than he’d ever given him credit for.

Atsumu reached out to you again that night, though his messages to you for the past week had gone unanswered like his brother’s. He put his message simply. He told you that he knew what had happened. That he wanted to talk. That you were his best friend and he needed to see you.

The twins were laying side by side in Atsumu’s bed, neither asleep nor fully awake, when your reply came through.

I need some time, Tsumu.

The brothers shared a look across the mattress of Atsumu’s bed in the dim light of his bedroom, their eyes sore for crying and the harsh glare of the cellphone’s light.

They yielded.

A few day later, you finally reached out again, and agreed to meet Atsumu for dinner.

Just Atsumu.

The evening that Osamu knew the two of you were meeting without him, he was a mess. He burned half the food he tried to prepare at the restaurant, got a nasty cut on his finger when he was chopping carelessly, and almost charged a customer 250,000 yen for their 250 yen purchase. When the restaurant finally closed, he slumped over the counter with his head in his hands and waited.

Atsumu showed up not long after.

“It was weird," his brother confessed, fiddling with an edamame pod but never moving to bring it to his lips—curled down slightly as the corner as he spoke. "But I can’t go between the two of ya like this, and she can’t see me without thinking of you."

“She hates me,” Osamu rasped, a familiar, suffocating tightness swelling in his chest that had made a home there over the past two weeks. 

“She’s just upset,” Atsumu tried to console him, but Osamu could hear the wisp of frustration creeping into his twin’s tone. It wasn’t Atsumu’s fault—Osamu knew how hard this entire situation must have been for him, all as a result of the circumstances for which only he could bear the burden of blame. You’re Atsumu’s closest friend too, as much a part of the elder Miya twin’s life as you are the younger's, and Osamu didn’t take that fact for granted. Atsumu shut his eyes, sighing. “I think she’s confused, Samu. Hell, I’m confused and we shared a womb.”

Osamu’s eyes began to burn with a familiar, unpleasant prickle. He didn’t cry much about it anymore, now two weeks on, like he’d somehow run the well dry. But he’d occasionally get phantom pains behind his eyes, like the precursor to tears he knew couldn’t come. It was almost worse.

“I know,” the dark-haired twin finally muttered, his head hanging dejectedly.

“We’re gonna figure this shit out, but she’s gotta take some time to get things straight in her head first, alright?” Atsumu said softly, nudging his brother’s hand with his own, lending him encouragement in the warmth of their knuckles meeting. “Just give her that.”

So he did.

Osamu gave you another full month of time. 

Of space.

Of absence.

And now he’s here, six weeks to the day since everything went wrong.

Osamu drives home to Hyogo on a whim—the idea of spending another weekend holed up in his apartment, wondering each day if it would finally be the one where you call, is enough to make him feel sick. His apartment has never felt more suffocating than it has in your absence. Never felt smaller than it does without you in it, no matter how contradictory that sounds. It’s been a while since he went home to visit his mother and the boys from high school who stuck around into adulthood, and even though his childhood home is as rife with things that remind him of you as his current one, he can’t help but hope that the change of scenery might do him some good.

The Miya family home hasn’t changed much, if at all, since the twins were kids. As an adult, Osamu takes comfort from this fact—finds stability and familiarity in the walls and windows and roof that endure today in just the same way and in the same shape as they always have. His mother’s car isn’t in the driveway when he pulls in to complete the picture, but he hadn’t told her he was coming so he can’t blame her for not being there to welcome him. 

Osamu grabs his hastily packed duffle bag from the passenger’s seat of his truck, walking up the stone pathway his feet have trod upon so many times, in all their different sizes, to the door. He keeps his mother’s house key on his own keyring, because the last thing she’d said to him the day that he’d moved out—her hands, smaller than his own now that he’d grown so big, clasped around his as they held the little silver key—was that no matter what this would always be his home.

The genkan is the same. The coats in the closet are the same. The air smells the same, though there’s the faintest whisper of citrus in it as Osamu closes the front door behind him and toes off his shoes. His mother keeps two pairs of slippers at the door for him and Atsumu when they visit but his are missing for some reason, so he stuffs his feet into his brother’s designated pair before he pads off further into the home.

He can hear the television—the faint hum of a variety show or something similar drifting through the halls—and he laughs to himself that his mother has never quite been able to correct her bad habit of leaving the TV on even when she’s not watching it. He turns the corner into the living room, the sound of the television having grown louder the nearer he got.

And then he freezes.

The duffle bag he’d held loosely in his hand falls gracelessly to the floor.

And even though the television is right there, he can’t hear it anymore.

Because between him and the LCD screen, tucked under the kotatsu with a satsuma poised in hand half-peeled, is a face he hasn’t seen in six long weeks.

There, in the heart of the place that would always be his home, is you.

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #bff!osamu #WE'RE BACK BABY