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Holy Crap - Blog Posts
Literally WTF
So this shit was in my recommended list on youtube. It’s from 1992, and holy fuck my mind is absolutely blown.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRIyw-pJkUk
Guys, I’m not even joking, an absolute mad lad drew and painted furry porn and sent it to an art show to sell it and make some cash. PEOPLE ACTUALLY BOUGHT IT... I love this.
HERE WE ARE IN FUTURE
HERE WE ARE IN THE FUTURE
AND ITS BRIIIIIIIIIIGHT
Never not rebloging this masterpiece
The fandom triforce
in my mind, whatever it is they have going on right now, they're probably going to kiss about it later.
!!!Rody Soul figure from TOHO!!!
we were best friends/we were brothers/we were shotgun barrels + your brother died a year ago/your brother is sharing your bed/your brother is ten years away and you are twenty years older c!wilbur and c!tommy. s3-centric
galaghiel // “give me a god i can relate to,” blythe baird // “slade house,” david mitchell // wr0wn // how i leapt from the stratosphere by mountains of the moon // beckyblah // trades and tariffs by the dodos // catmunches // “miss you. would like to take a walk with you,” gabrielle calvocoressi // future starts slow by the kills // toKtopus // cold love by rainbow kitten surprise // bobbing on apples by regina spektor // idalus // sue zhao // “a thousand teeth (yours among them),” odaigahara // wrigglebrains // malalaisee // two by the antlers // we were patriots by the mountain goats // “anatomy of a hug,” by luna lu // sharkodactyl on tumblr
i made this one some time ago but i like him a lot so i think i should post it in here too
Late Valentine’s Day post :3 enjoy skystar
here have this as well. hi tigatron hii hii
featuring some crappy writing I did while bored
closeup which IS a newer version
Haikyuu!! Masterlist
Main blog with kpop imagines: @pillowfluffs Doki’s Universals - Universal things on my blog
Thirstlist, Free! and MHA Masterlist, In Order-List
❌Requests: Closed forever ❌
Updated: December 28, 2021 at 1:42am EST
The bolded title is what I posted most recently!
Awake | Akaashi Keiji
Cherry Blossoms in Bloom | Akaashi Keiji
Come to Me | Akaashi Keiji
Comfort | Akaashi Keiji
I Love You | Akaashi Keiji
No Storm Can Reach You | Akaashi Keiji
This is My Child | Akaashi Keiji
This is My Wife | Akaashi Keiji
His Little Bean | Bokuto Kōtarō
I Prefer Here | Bokuto Kōtarō
Lookie | Bokuto Kōtarō
Papa and His Baby Owls | Bokuto Kōtarō
Rough | Bokuto Kōtarō
Scary | Bokuto Kōtarō
She Was Mine First | Bokuto Kōtarō
Sleepsies | Bokuto Kōtarō
Stay Like This | Bokuto Kōtarō
Work Out Buddy | Bokuto Kōtarō
Afternoon Naps | Iwaizumi Hajime
Caught in the Storm | Iwaizumi Hajime
Close | Iwaizumi Hajime
Horror Movies | Iwaizumi Hajime
Babysitting | Kageyama Tobio
Lactose Intolerance | Kageyama Tobio
Not New | Kageyama Tobio
Cutting Onions | Kita Shinsuke
Stay as I Sleep | Kita Shinsuke
Twin Foxes | Kita Shinsuke
Resurfaced Feelings | Komori Motoya
Night | Kozume Kenma
Attention | Kuroo Tetsurō
Game Night Dispute | Kuroo Tetsurō
Help | Kuroo Tetsurō
His Favorite Sound | Kuroo Tetsurō
Never Leave | Kuroo Tetsurō
Not the End | Kuroo Tetsurō
Rise and Shine | Kuroo Tetsurō
Seeing You Suffer | Kuroo Tetsurō
Snowy Silence | Kuroo Tetsurō
After Shower Bath | Miya Atsumu
Always | Miya Atsumu
Can You Hold Me | Miya Atsumu
Cold | Miya Atsumu
I Can’t Wait to Meet You | Miya Atsumu
I’m Here, So Sleep | Miya Atsumu
Relief | Miya Atsumu
Punishment | Miya Atsumu
Thundering | Miya Atsumu
Decisions | Miya Osamu
Drunk Love | Miya Osamu
Identical | Miya Osamu
Loved | Miya Osamu
New Life | Miya Osamu
The Next Morning | Miya Osamu
Would Have Said | Miya Osamu
You’ve Always Been The One | Miya Osamu
Bruises | Nishinoya Yū
Colorful | Oikawa Tōru
Feel Good | Oikawa Tōru
Milk Bread | Oikawa Tōru
Rainy | Oikawa Tōru
Sleepy | Oikawa Tōru
My Home | Ojiro Aran
A Lesson | Sakusa Kiyoomi
His Little Angel | Sakusa Kiyoomi
Mine | Sakusa Kiyoomi
Oh This Should Be Good | Sakusa Kiyoomi
Sit Close | Sakusa Kiyoomi
Steamy | Sakusa Kiyoomi
You’re Safe | Sakusa Kiyoomi
Lullaby | Semi Eita
Switched | Suna Rintarou
Just a Little Crush | Tsukishima Kei
Movie Marathon | Tsukishima Kei
Study | Tsukishima Kei
Injured | Ushijima Wakatoshi
Jet Lag | Ushijima Wakatoshi
More | Ushijima Wakatoshi
Warm | Ushijima Wakatoshi
Accidentally Hitting Them in the Balls | Bokuto, Oikawa
Accidentally Hitting Them in the Balls | Hinata, Kuroo
Baby Halloween | Kenma and Kuroo
Baby Halloween | Kita, Tsukishima
Baby Halloween | Kohona, Sakusa
Baby Halloween | Suna, Osamu
Babysitters | Ushijima, Sakusa
Baths With Him | Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Atsumu
Baths With Him | Akaashi, Osamu, Bokuto
Best Friends | Hinata, Tendo, Bokuto + Akaashi
Booping His Nose | Aone, Ushijima
Booping His Nose | Aran, Kenma, Atsumu
Booping His Nose | Nishinoya, Sachiro, Kuroo
Booping His Nose | Sakusa, Iwaizumi
Booping His Nose | Suna, Kageyama, Matsukawa
Booping His Nose | Tendo, Hinata, Bokuto
Booping His Nose | Yamaguchi, Osamu
Car Karaoke | Akaashi, Ushijima, Bokuto, Kuroo
Celebrating Your Birthday | Ushijima, Bokuto
Cheer Up | Kageyama, Tsukishima, Kuroo
Comforting their Bullied S/O | Yamaguchi, Suga, Akaashi
Coming Home | Akaashi, Hinata, Osamu
Coming Home | Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Bokuto
Coming Home | Ushijima, Suga, Atsumu
Cuddles | Atsumu, Osamu
Dada’s Home | Kenma, Iwaizumi
Dada’s Home | Ushijima, Tsukishima
Dada’s Home | Oikawa, Atsumu
Dads | Kenma, Akaashi, Sakusa
Falling Asleep In His Arms | Akaashi, Iwaizumi, Sakusa
Falling Asleep In His Arms | Kita, Kenma, Tsukishima, Bokuto
Falling Asleep on Him | Kenma, Kuroo
Falling Asleep on Him | Oikawa, Atsumu
Falling Asleep on Him | Tsukishima, Akaashi, Iwaizumi
Falling Asleep on Him | Yamaguchi, Ushijima, Osamu
Gentle Night | Daichi, Iwaizumi
Gentle Night | Sakusa, Suna
Gentle Night | Suga, Tsukishima
Grocery Shopping | Akaashi, Osamu
Grocery Shopping | Kageyama, Tsukishima
Grocery Shopping | Sakusa, Atsumu
Head Pats | Akaashi, Hinata
Head Pats | Suga, Atsumu
His Kid(s) Reacting to His Cardboard Cutout | Hinata, Bokuto
His Kid(s) Reacting to His Cardboard Cutout | Kageyama, Atsumu
His Kid(s) Reacting to His Cardboard Cutout | Ushijima, Sakusa
Kissing His Forehead | Akaashi, Atsumu
Kissing His Forehead | Himekawa, Nishinoya, Bokuto
Kissing His Forehead | Hinata, Aone, Tsukishima
Kissing His Forehead | Kenma, Iwaizumi, Sakusa
Kissing His Forehead | Oikawa, Kuroo, Osamu
Migraines | Tendo, Bokuto, Ushijima, Sakusa
Naps With Him | Iwaizumi and Atsumu
Naps With Him | Kageyama and Kuroo
Naps With Him | Kenma and Akaashi
Naps With Him | Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Bokuto
Naps With Him | Ushijima and Sakusa
Newborn | Sakusa, Bokuto, Osamu
Newborn | Ushijima, Iwaizumi, Atsumu
Overfeeding and Aftercare | Kenma, Bokuto, Kuroo
Overfeeding and Aftercare | Tendo, Himekawa, Miya Twins
Petting his Hair | Kuguri, Oikawa, Atsumu
Playing With His Hands | Yamaguchi, Akaashi, Ushijima
Playing With His Hands | Suga, Bokuto, Sakusa
Playing With His Hands | Tendo, Tsukishima, Oikawa
Pregnant | Iwaizumi, Bokuto, Atsumu
Pregnant | Osamu, Kenma, Akaashi, Sakusa
Putting His Hand Out In Front of His Kid(s) to See What They Do | Atsumu, Kita, Ushijima
Putting His Hand Out in Front of His Kid(s) to See What They Do | Kuroo, Semi, Sakusa
Putting His Hand Out In Front of His Kid(s) to See What They Do | Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Kenma
Putting His Hand Out In Front of His Kid(s) to See What They Do | Suna, Bokuto, Osamu
Sleepy Time With His Babies | Atsumu, Osamu
Sleepy Time With His Babies | Ennoshita, Akaashi
Sleepy Time With His Babies | Iwaizumi, Sakusa
Sleepy Time With His Babies | Kenma, Bokuto
Sleepy Time With His Babies | Kita, Kuroo
Someone Touching You on the Metro | Sakusa, Atsumu, Kuroo
Someone Trying to Rob You | Oikawa, Kageyama, Ushijima
S/O Having a Panic Attack at Night | Nishinoya, Tsukishima, Kuroo
Study Break | Akaashi, Bokuto
The Better Twin | Atsumu, Osamu
Three’s Fun | Bokuto, Kuroo
Upsetting His Pregnant Wife | Sakusa, Ushijima
Your Ex Wanting You Back | Ushijima, Bokuto, Kuroo
Zooms With His Kid | Ennoshita, Akaashi
Zooms With His Kid | Kenma, Bokuto
Zooms With His Kid | Sachiro, Kuroo
Zooms With His Kid | Sugawara, Osamu
Day at the Beach | Karasuno, Shiratorizawa
Welcome Home | Haikyuu
What Makes Him Weak for His Kid(s) | Iwaizumi, Tsukishima, Sakusa
What Makes Him Weak for His Kid(s) | Kageyama/Hinata/Ushijima, Aran, Osamu
What Makes Him Weak for His Kid(s) | Kita, Kenma, Atsumu
What Makes Him Weak for His Kid(s) | Kuroo, Suna/ Akaashi
What Makes Him Weak for His Kid(s) | Oikawa, Daichi, Bokuto
Zoom Nightmares | Haikyuu Crack
Text Messages:
Akaashi Keiji - 2:41am
Bokuto Kotaro - 11:51pm
Bokuto Kotaro - 1:17am
Miya Atsumu - 12:53am
Miya Osamu - 1:43am
happy reading~~
What do you want?
This was a really fun project to do!!! Thank you everyone who left kind words on these as it really helped me. I had the worst artblock i've had in a while and am really proud to have finally broken out of it
I found few more members of the hypothetical team
Teenage cartoon protagonists burdened by generational trauma and family legacy while struggling to balance normal life with fighting evil be like.
Inspired by this response to an ask I sent to @picturejasper20: https://www.tumblr.com/picturejasper20/769530598141329408/jentry-chau-steven-universe-mark-grayson
Optional members of this hypothetical team/support group include:
And a very special surprise guest!
I don't reblog my old stuffs but WE WILL GET SEASON 2 !!
I never finish drawing (especially DTIYS), like I said, but there is little miracle of my own. I worked on beautiful and very touching pict by @hayamiyuu (look on Intstagram please!) because I like, everybody like, rainy romantic and I fell in love with these amazing colors and lighting! They are an image of love in its purest form for me.
Are you sure you hate the Beatles? 😳😤
i hate the beatles
I just did the first part of Yohane's bday step-up in sif, holy crap.
Another series of ski simping and finding things cute nsgdhd
UH JUST ME SIMPING FOR WOMEN?? UM THEIR ALL SO PRETTY [WITH KLEE PLATONIC CUTENESS] I still don't know what happened to Klee her hair lmfao, anyway, so call me a fischl main or whatever anyway I'm gonna go simple over how pretty keqing is 🛐
All I'm seeing today is a different version of "if you don't personally get down to fight in this very mortal battle, not being a fighter at all and with no experience, you're a coward, you cowardly chicken you" and I don't get it. That's a really strong word. Surely if he was a coward, he wouldn't have set foot in an island with no easy means of escape (again, an ISLAND), a considerably smaller army and basically no claim to a rock in Wales, let alone the goddamn THRONE, to face a man who was everything he was not in the worse way possible (for Henry), to fight a battle everyone probably assumed he was gonna lose? Let's be real, that takes balls.
tricky yay havent drawn her in foreveeerr. also hellen look outside is there cos drawing one masked lady made me want to draw another
ive been Searching and Craving for any scenario/canon divergent au where jon and tim make up because jon shows tim thats hes just as much a victim as anyone else and tim is just like... ah. so we're both assholes. and jon insists that tim didnt do anything wrong (and obviously its all very whumpy and hurt/comforty). basically just... tim and jon making up because tim wants to after jon tugs at his heartstrings enough (because im a sucker for the whole "whatve i done" bit)
Here we go!! Sorry these are taking so long but I’m still working on prompts!!!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972698/chapters/67878991#workskin
Too Much Chapter 2!
Watching Martin remove the evidence of panic by carefully, slowly, swiping a damp flannel over Jon’s skin, Tim continued holding the cold pack in place. The man between them made a sound, nondescript, shifting enough that his lips parted with a soft sigh as he settled.
“He’s made a right mess of these.” Martin lamented, gingerly lifting one hand to examine the heavy bandages, soiled with fresh blood and coming undone. Not altogether certain he wanted to know what was hidden away beneath, Tim stayed silent. “Would you mind fetching the first aid kit while I get rid of these?” He used the time away to take a deep breath, attempting to gather his rampant thoughts now that he was roped into fixing up their boss. There was always the possibility of giving him the kit and hightailing it out of that place and never setting foot near document storage again but before he realized what he’d done he’d accumulated other supplies he figured they might need and the relief in Martin’s eyes when he slipped back into the room was palpable. Jon’s hands were bare, blisters laid over blisters, broken and bleeding sluggishly from torn welts, one palm layered over with a nasty burn. Tim couldn’t help the noise torn from his throat in sympathy as the walls he’d built around himself began to crumble under the weight of Jon’s wounds--and he wasn’t even the one to bear them! Jon had acquired more scars, more shadows in the gaunt hollows carved into his body by his bones since Prentiss. It was like laying eyes on a stranger, or opening his own and finally seeing what his negligent ignorance had truly cost.
Were these marks, this pain, not proof that Jon had every right to be scared? Paranoid? To suspect them? When it was his own “friends” raising hands violently against him?
“What. Martin, what happened?” He accepted the water, easing Jon’s arm over the edge of the bed and doing Tim the kindness of not reminding him that he’d never cared to know before.
“I couldn’t tell you what caused most of this, but you know. Daisy.” He swallowed, eyes narrowing as he dabbed away the worst of the scarlet slicking his skin and Tim saw red at the reminder. How dare she touch him. “Hush now, you’re alright.” Jon’s arm twitched, an aborted attempt to tug his hand away from Martin’s surely painful ministrations. “Just cleaning these up.”
“Hnn…” Saltwater-soaked lashes fluttered and damn his body’s reactions but Tim was at his side on the cot before he could blink and wholly unsure of what to do now that he was there, settling on running fingers through tangled curls, teasing out the knots as Martin worked. Clouded and slightly crossed, Jon’s glazed brown eyes peered up at him, through him, blinking slow, and Tim could feel the heat of his fever under his palms.
“Hey, bud.” Surprising himself with his own softness, Tim continued combing through his hair. “Close your eyes, boss. Marto’s fixing you right up.”
“Hur’s.” Badly slurred and tinged with vulnerability he wasn’t used to anymore, Jon’s voice sent a chill racing up Tim’s spine.
“I know.” He said anyway. “It won’t soon.” Trust and exhaustion won out, dragging bruised lids closed. “Martin.” Tim didn’t look up, tracing silver strands, so many, with the fingertips. “I would like to know. Please.”
Martin hummed, finished up the first hand, the worst hand, and cradled it over Jon’s stomach in a poor attempt at elevation before starting on the next one.
“I haven’t gotten much out of Jon--not because he won’t tell me!” He amended, remembering the promise Jon had made to be honest with them and clearly worried it would make Tim angry again if he thought he was keeping secrets. “He’s just. I mean.”
“I understand.” After leaving Elias’ office, whatever tenacity and fortitude Jon managed to scrape together after his ordeal with Daisy and Basira had faded quickly. Even Tim wasn’t able to ignore how bad off he was, more along the lines of being unable to explain than lacking any desire.
“I know she, she hit him. He’s bruised all over. Clocked him with her gun I assume, to leave him concussed--I still can’t believe I didn’t notice sooner.”
“It’s alright. We’ve all been. Preoccupied.” Some of them only with themselves.
“He was filthy, covered in dirt and I think bl’blood? Not his. Or, not all of it I think.” Martin rubbed his own neck thoughtfully, tracing a path that mirrored the red grin carving up Jon’s throat. “I think.” He looked into Tim’s eyes, haunted. “I, I overheard them saying he’d been made to d’dig a grave.”
“His grave.” There was no real proof, not yet. But it felt right. And Tim felt sick. “His hands.”
“The burn is bad, I don’t know how he got it.” A crease formed between Martin’s knit brows. “I. Tim.” He sighed. “You’ve been so furious with him.” He dragged both hands down his face. “Jon’s doing his best. Please, you have to believe that.”
“I think I’m beginning to.” He’d yet to stop his detangling. Jon liked when people he trusted played with his hair, especially when he wasn’t feeling well. Unbidden and effervescent, memories rose to the surface of Tim’s mind, each a different moment, beads of time strung on delicate silk strands. Sasha. Sasha, whose true face, true voice, had been written over and worn, her hands on Jon’s shoulders, working out the tension he carried there despite his complaints. Tim himself draping a cardigan over him where he slumped forward on his desk in Research when he succumbed to sleep. A rare moment at someone’s apartment, Jon three drinks in, flushed bright red and ridiculous, throwing himself into Tim’s lap and nuzzling his stomach until he got what he wanted; hands in his hair, on his back, honest to god cuddles. The embarrassment in the morning would paint him vivid with blush and he would accept the painkillers and tea with a shy grin.
That Jon was still in there.
Right?
For the first time in his career Tim chose to come into work early, heading immediately to doc storage to find Jon curled up against Martin, ruddy face squished against his chest and arm slung over his waist as though he’d recently been clinging there.
And if this had been another time, another universe, he would have teased them both, but the shadows under their eyes were beginning to match.
“We had a hard night.” Martin yawned hugely and Tim caught a quick glimpse of glassy brown at the movement but Jon passed out again in the next second. “Nightmares. You remember Crew?” Tim nodded. “Explains the vertigo. He’s going to want to work.” Martin’s palm found its way to the back of Jon’s head, tucked him under his chin as he exhaled, slow and measured.
“And you want him to rest.”
“He won’t.”
He didn’t.
But the dizziness kept him in his office for the most part and Tim helped keep an eye on him, checking up regularly, awkwardly. It was almost like old times. Except Jon was careful not to speak. Not now that he might force answers out of someone. Not now that he might be hurt because of it. Jon was smart. He tried to remember the things he learned because he only seemed to learn the hard way and right now he was trying to figure out Tim while Tim was trying to figure out himself, wary of the change towards him, confused when instead of lashing out, he asked if he needed anything.
“N’no, thank you, Tim.”
“It’s no trouble.” But it was physically painful to watch the gears turn as Jon balanced the possibility of pissing him off with how uncomfortable he was in this situation. “I’ll check back later, yeah?”
“Uh. Y’yeah. Yes. I mean, yes.” Nervously, he shifted between folders. “Of c’course.”
The day dragged and Jon’s fever and groggy exhaustion lingered, kept barely in check by Martin plying him with the painkillers and fever reducers because he refused A&E. It was frustrating, even if he was looking somewhat improved. When they caught him asleep it was often in the throes of a taxing nightmare. He was a shadow in his attempts to avoid them all, to focus on work, and now that Tim was paying attention he didn’t like how Basira was so cold, how Daisy made Jon flinch on purpose, how Melanie went out of her way to collide with him in the narrow hallways. How he was slight enough, unsteady enough that it sent him into the wall.
How he did nothing about it except murmur apologies and move past them as quick as he could.
Jon was back to pushing himself too hard, not bothering to ask for help because he’d never gotten any before so it wasn’t worth bothering with it now. He was alone. Deserted by everyone except for Martin--and oh the way his expression lit up at the sight of him. How soft his voice became when he thanked him for the tea. Tim knew Martin couldn’t see it yet, or wouldn’t let himself realize, but Jon was taken with him. Smitten. And already believed beyond a doubt that he had no worth. As prickly as Jon could be there was so much love in him just vying for a way out.
How could Tim have forgotten that?
Tim paced the length of the archives three times before heading back to check on Jon, alarmed when the office was empty. Worry, both familiar and unfamiliar, twined its way around his heart. He'd watched as the afternoon hours slipped by and Jon became worse and Tim didn’t bother asking anyone he came across; they didn’t care, he wasn’t supposed to care. But there weren’t many places Jon would go and Tim found him in the breakroom stabilizing himself on the sink. He didn’t react, didn’t turn, didn’t seem to know anyone was behind him, and Tim could make out shivery, deliberate breaths. Jon let go, lifting a hand dazedly to his forehead and staggering backwards such that Tim had to steady him.
“Whoa there, Boss.” Softly, quietly, Tim knew his head was still pounding more often than not no matter how adamant his denial. It didn’t stop Jon from flinching like he’d been struck or attempting to whirl around and only making it all that much worse as eyes filled with fear rolled back into his head and Tim had to catch him outright, lowering him to the floor and pillowing his shoulders in his lap. Unconsciously, he laid a palm over his overwarm forehead, dragging fingers back through damp strands rhythmically and wondering how he’d react to waking up with Tim staring down at him. They were dancing around each other, or at least Tim was. Jon couldn’t do much more than sit at his desk in what amounted to pyjamas and pretend to work in an attempt to wedge some normalcy back into his life.
“What happened?” At least now Martin’s inquiry wasn’t accusatory as he knelt beside them and checked over Jon himself. “How long?”
“Minute. Maybe two? He, uh. I surprised him and when he turned…” he trailed off, gesturing with a sigh.
“Ma’tin…” nothing more than a small breath of awareness in recognition of his voice, eyes still closed.
“You should be at your desk.” Lightly scolding.
“Nn...was col’...tea…” Tim met Martin’s eyes with worry at the barely coherent jumble of syllables caught on his sluggish tongue and he held up a hand, signaling him to wait.
“What’re we going to do with you, hm?”
“...Dunno…” He’d failed to understand the gentle ribbing for what it was, instead answering honestly, tearfully, and it tugged on Tim’s heartstrings. Martin chuckled kindly to ease the sting, moving forward to lift his weight off from Tim and standing still to let Jon wind a hand loosely into his jumper, hanging on for dear life with a gasp.
“You sound tired.”
“Mmyeah...tire’...” And that discordant admission alone was enough to cause alarm, doubly so when his body lost all rigidity in Martin’s hold.
“Martin--”
“Shh, Tim. He’s alright.” Protectiveness urged Tim to follow them back to document storage. Concern made him sit down before Martin asked. “Stay with him? I don’t want him to forget and wander off again. I’m gonna get that tea and something for the fever.” Tim supported his chin with a hand, elbow digging sharply into the top of his knee, and watched Jon sleep. With his eyes, he traced invisible constellations over the worm scars dotting his skin and connected their lines to the ink dark splash of lashes twitching as he dreamed. “What’re you thinking about?”
“How much running I’ve been doing.”
“Mm.”
“How much easier it was to ignore all this if I just hated Jon instead. Blamed him for it.” He lifted his fingers in a bitter and general indication of their unreasonably bad situation. “He’s made mistakes. We all have. And his are the only ones I’m not willing to forgive.” Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, stung. “Why is that?” His skin blushed with heat when his voice broke on a sob and before Martin could speak they were interrupted.
“Head’spounding…” He could barely keep his eyes open.
“Ah, I’m sorry, love, I know, here,” he was like a rag doll when Martin lifted him. “This’ll help.” Tim watched the ease with which Martin navigated Jon. All sweet and kind, steadying his hands when they proved too shaky to hold the cup, testing his temperature with the inside of his wrist when Jon was distracted with swallowing down the medicine.
“Shouldn’t do this.” Whispered, lost and undone, as Martin tucked him in, gripping back tightly when Jon grew dizzy with the change. “M’sorry.”
“You say that too often, Boss.”
“Hush, both of you.” To Jon, “we can all talk later, when you’re feeling better. It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to rest.” And while he didn’t look convinced, he was helpless against the drag of that heavy, insistent tide of exhaustion.
“Never liked to owe people, our Jon.” Martin sighed, frustrated.
“It’s not a transaction. I wish he’d trust that I only want to help.” Tim snickered ruefully as Martin tucked stray salt and pepper strands behind Jon’s ears.
“He’s always been suspicious of decency.”
“That’s not right.” There was a lot wrong with it, and far too much to solve at this moment.
“You look knackered, Martin. Go home.” He needed caring for after keeping them all together like he’d done. “I’ve got it from here.”
“I don’t want to ask that of you.”
“You’re not asking, Marto.”
“Tim--”
“I need to. I. I need to do this.”
Tim was worried that the only reason Martin left him here alone was because he was too tired to spend another night here keeping an eye on the both of them. He only had himself to blame when it came to the loss of trust.
It was no secret his dislike of Jon.
He hadn’t forgotten his treatment of him just the other day. Yanking him up off the ground and shouting at him, blaming him for his confusion and unsteadiness, for worrying Martin while he’d been the one ill and frightened and unmoored on the dusty floor. A mournful cry jolted him out of his musings, and the nightmare didn’t sound kind, wrenching Jon awake and leaving him panting, narrow chest heaving, eyes wide and unfocused in the dim.
“Hey.” Soft and quiet, it didn’t stop Jon from jumping in surprise, nearly swooning when he jerked his head in the direction of his voice. “Back with me?”
“Tim.” Real surprise, he blinked hard, trying to clear his bleary vision. “Yeah. S’sorry.” Jon offered him a sheepish quirk of his lips.
“I’m the one who needs to apologize, Jon.” He swallowed thickly and Tim could hear the click in his throat, somewhere behind the bandage hiding that yawning red grin from sight.
“Wh’what?”
“I’ve treated you unfairly.”
“No, no, Tim. You. You had every right! I was out of line and suspected the worst with no proof and didn’t trust yo--” Jon was trying to get up, ignoring how it had to hurt, and when Tim made to stop him, he flinched in real fear and backed himself into the corner. “S’sorry. I. It’s, it isn’t you, I swear.” Guilt wrapped around Tim’s heart like a thorny vine at his stammering apologies, at the way Jon laughed at himself and scrubbed his face with the back of a bandaged hand, staring up at the ceiling as new tears pooled in his eyes. “A lot’s h’happened.” When he closed them, the damp rolled down his cheeks into the grey at his temple. “I,I,I know you don’t w’want to hear it. But I, I don’t have anything else left t’to offer and I’m so s’sorry.” Jon tucked up his knees and buried his tear-stained face in the blankets he pulled around himself. Scared and small and awaiting derision. Tim edged closer.
"Jon.” He reached out to touch and thought better of it. “I think. I think I'm ready to hear it now." Consumed by constant fear and torment, run ragged for months and months, when Jon risked glancing up at him Tim could finally look past his anger and see him. Flushed with fever, thin and drawn, bruised and beaten and burned.
But still Jon.
Still Jon, terrified of the kind of help he'd been taught by experience not to ask for. Not to accept. Not to trust. Not to need.
“No, n’no, Tim. It’s.” He sniffed, tried to offer Tim a watery smile. “M’not feeling w’well, heh. You know how I, how I am.”
“I know you don’t take care of yourself.” He continued before Jon could interrupt. “I know I’ve left you to deal with this alone.” Indeed, at the very first sign of trouble, Tim abandoned him to his own devices. “I understand why it’s been difficult to trust me.”
“Not just you.” Tim had to strain to hear him, voice tiny, wavering with misery. “It’s so hard to trust, I have to, to think about it, choose it, don’t I. Talk myself out of how a’afraid I am all the t’time. I can’t even trust myself, my words. I. They. It’s easier to not speak at all, if it can be helped. And I try. But. Tim.” Fraught, brown irises nearly swallowed by black pupil bored into him, begged him to listen, to see. “I’m a monster.”
“Jon--” He tugged at messy curls, ignoring the pain it had to cause, the spots of blood, and if Jon would let him, he would need to fix the wrappings after this. He’d folded into himself even tighter, rocking himself just slightly in an attempt at comfort.
“If everyone is saying it, it must be true. But I’m trying. I promise, Tim, I promise. I was hoping it counted for something, anything. I can’t. I.” He broke off, attempting to pull himself together, face contorted and when he noticed Tim’s stricken expression, stumbled on with half-thought out reassurances. “I, I won’t stop! T’trying, that is. I, I, I want to, to be better. I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s not about counting, it’s about doing the right thing. Or something close to--it never seems to work out, I’m not. I keep doing the wrong things so I know--but I p’promise--and besides, D’Daisy’s watching, if you’re worried, heh.” He laughed, a little broken thing, tears glittering in his eyes. “She’ll put me d’down. If that makes you feel any better.”
And god how could he think Tim wanted that? Jon, living with the knowledge that any mistakes he made could lead to--
Hanging over his head. Just awaiting collapse.
“That’s. Jon, I don’t want her to do that.”
“Oh. Did.” Tim realized the pause was an attempt at managing his powers of compulsion. “Did you want to? Instead I mean?” Tim recoiled in horror at the genuine curiosity, the dull acceptance that they all might be waiting for their chance. Numbness flooded his fingers. And even though Tim knew Jon was trying to use the right words, the ones that would make him feel better, he was furious.
“How could you think that?!” Jon held up his raggedly bandaged hands, the blisters from digging his own grave and who knows what else hidden from view.
“I, I’m sorry, I. You’re right, that was stupid of me. I’m sorry, Tim, I’m sorry, I--” Tim cut him off by sweeping him into an embrace, pressing his face into his shoulder. He was little more than bones rattling around in a scarred and ruined skin, shaking in his arms, his own held away, stiff. Dear lord, what had he done? “T’Tim? I, I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”
“Stop it, Jon.” And he collapsed, spent from his outpouring, breath loud in Tim’s ear. “Just stop.” Tentative, Jon wrapped him up in return. “I’m going to do better.”
“You don’t--”
“I do. And I am.” Damp soaked into his sleeve despite the silence with which Jon sobbed, little more than uneven, ardent gasping as they clung to each other.
“B’but.” He pressed closer, starved for it. “I.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ve been so afraid.” Murmured against his shirt, Tim could feel the shapes of his words, the trembling of his lips.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you. You mean. If, if you--I couldn’t stand it. If it wasn’t real.” Desperately, he whispered, thick with tears. “Don’t think I’d survive losing you again.” Too much loss. Too much all around and not one time had Tim thought about who he still had.
“I’m going to help you.” Tim realized then he’d been crying as well. “Like I should have from the start of this mess.” Gently, he pulled him away, took his damaged hands. “Let me get these fixed up. If Martin sees them, he’ll have both our heads on pikes.” For a moment, Tim was worried it was too soon, that Jon would need to hide this vulnerability from him, and he held his breath, until he nodded, just once.
It would take time, but they’d made a start.
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OMG! Make Up My Heart Remix LEAKED!!! 😍😍
the internet is an inherently haunted place if you think about it like. it's so weird to see long abandoned discussion boards stuck in a snapshot of the past, old conversations between kids from over a decade ago who have now grown into their own lives, obituaries taking the form of half finished profiles. and the silence that fills the gaps between. there's a constant ghostly record of each generation's thoughts, fads, their sense of humour. back when the future was at their fingertips. even stranger, people you used to know exist openly in that space, and they watch you watching them. if you want, deceased musicians can play through your headphones. there's always an underlying sense of reminiscing and time escaping our ever shortening attention spans. what a fuckin graveyard
