❦𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫❦【 DreamSMP // Technoblade 】

❦Sixty Five❦

[Before this chapter begins I would like everybody to acknowledge the just fantastic pieces of Fanart above! I can't even begin to say how talented the artist is, and if you have trouble visualizing Torva please use these pieces to help because they are practically canon down to every last detail. These were done by
Hallow_Nox and I'm absolutely obsessed.]

[Next, my friend made the meme and it actually made me cackle. They are -AGH4ST- please check out their work.]

[TW: slight NSFW implications, mention of blood.]

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"I hate you, I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you."
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When Eret awoke he half expected to find the bed empty. He had prepared himself as he fell asleep for the weight in his arms to be gone the next morning, for Torva to have gotten too overwhelmed and ran yet again. He knows there's a backpack somewhere in the castle with the means to do so, after he saw it in the bottom of the closet it moved spots. He hasn't seen it since.

One of the many things Eret knows about Torva is her intelligence. While he doesn't quite think she's too good at things such as grammar at times, he knows she's good at strategy and social cues, everything that isn't too far down the road of basic academics. For a simple mans terminology, Torva knows everything street smarts. And it doesn't exactly take too much to know on her end that what they are doing is far past the line of friendly. There wasn't even a line anymore at this point, just a faint blur they couldn't even make out anymore.

Eret knows nothing will come out of their childish make-out sessions, he knows full well they won't have a discussion and become official the next day. She doesn't love him, and that's okay now. He's come to terms with it.

That still doesn't take away the possessiveness he feels when he blinks away the morning blur in his eyes, and the first thing he sees is various bruises scattered on Torva's shoulders. That still doesn't take away the possessiveness he feels when he remembers she's still wearing his shirt.