Portentous
(por-TEN-𝘵𝘶𝘴𝘴)
Adjective,
1. Of or being like a portent, of momentous significance. A warning, being ominous and foreboding. Usually relating to a calamity or of apocalyptic nature. Used in foreshadowing.
2. Done in a pompously or ove...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
TW/CW: Descriptions of gore, vivid nightmares about death and mentions of panic attacks.
Song: My Time by bo en
"Tommy, can I help you?" I began slowly, angling my head so that the boy could see me.
"Oh- you seem like you're busy..." he cut himself off and played with the hem of his shirt. His eyes kept wandering to look at Wilbur before quickly flickering away. Strange. Tommy was never one to act all nervous like this.
"That's alright, Y/n and I were just having a quick chat," Wilbur explained, throwing a sweet and knowing smile my way. "I'll be leaving now," he gave me a wink before walking past Tommy and out of the room. I tried to control the blood that was rushing to my face, but it was no use. Man, I really had it bad. If Tommy saw how flustered Wilbur made me, he was more focused on whatever it was he'd come to see me about. His young face was contorted with worry, features all scrunched up and lines forming in his skin.
"Y/n, Tubbo and I are going to spend the morning in the field nearby tomorrow...do you want to come with us?" He asked semi-nervously. My heart warmed at the prospect of such a familiar activity. The memories I had of spending bright summer days sat out in lush fields of brightly coloured wildflowers came crashing into the front of my mind. I missed the simpler times, where all I had to think about was making flower crowns and laughing with the two young boys I cared so deeply for. We hadn't had any free time recently to just... be together. Now, it was a constant worry about whether we'd be safe or not, who would be attacking us...and who we would have to attack. Some relaxation time sounded lovely, and so I promised to go with the boys on their adventure the next day.
Tubbo was barely visible from where he sat in the tall grass. His back was facing us as Tommy and I approached him, hiking our legs up high to wade through the thick overgrowth.
"OI BITCH BOY!" Tommy yelled to his friend once we were closer. The boy in question turned at the sound of a familiar voice with a wide grin on his face. The nasty burn he'd retained from the festival peeked out from underneath swabs of cotton bandages that Tommy had messily applied to help with the healing process. Those bastards in Manberg would pay for what they did to him. God help anyone who aligned themself with that forsaken country, so suffer my unbridled rage. It would definitely scar (despite everyone's best efforts with healing potions and such) and it would be a constant reminder of the pain he went through. The act Technoblade had so selfishly and easily gone through with while he was under 'peer pressure', affected me a lot as well. I'd begun to distance myself from the piglin hybrid, deciding that I would no longer confide in him on the occasions when my nightmares became impossible to deal with on my own. I'm sure he wouldn't notice - or care for that matter - he was busy preparing a bunker and armoury for a potential doomsday, at Wilbur's request. I'd heard a little about the plans he'd made in gathering resources, and it sounded like we were going to be stacked. Snapping out of my thoughts, I plonked myself down next to Tubbo and stretched out my tired limbs with a groan. In his hands, I could see that the brunette had already started collecting flowers for the ever-popular tradition of flower crown making. Spotting a patch of vibrant red carnations, I started my own pile of materials for a crown.
