This Is BEAUTIFUL - Blog Posts
Avatar AU where Aang wakes up like 3 days before Sozin's Comet returns and he has to speedrun the entire series.
“When the weather outside is frightful.”
RAAHHH TOP 3 ALL IN ONE I WIN
Poem is by @/inkskinned here on tumblr! Original under the cut ^^
cr: aaabbc543210 on Twitter/X
This is beautiful it’s immediately becoming my lock screen
Percabeth wallpaper
Percy & Annabeth - Percy Jackson & the Olympians [tv show]
Artist: @/alexdrawl on IG
and if i failed to earn the ribbon, how could i ever be forgiven? / tell me, what love would still be given from you
in my mind, whatever it is they have going on right now, they're probably going to kiss about it later.
Holy shit I am looking!! Am I looking respectfully? Hell no, I'm looking at him like this:
Okay, here's a hot and wet Merlin for your enjoyment. 😏
(Just forget about the context of the actual scene...😅)
Tf2 ocs!!
Schulz (red medic)
John (blu soldier)
Assistant (self insert merc)
Dr. Jörg (medical assistant medic oc)
I tried something new! (yippee) The Poem format is from @two-bees-poetry!
DC x Sonic the Hedgehog #1 - "Chaos Crisis" (2025)
written by Ian Flynn art by Adam Bryce Thomas & Matt Herms
Concept art from a pitched Batman Beyond animated feature film — From Writer/Director Patrick Harpin (My Dad the Bounty Hunter) & Production Designer/Producer Yuhki Demers (Into the Spider-Verse, Across the Spider-Verse)
My gays, gals and non-binary pals, Netflix just casually dropped the entirety of their two times Annie award winner and Oscar nominated movie Nimona on YouTube.
Go watch it....or use an MP4 converter idk.
That’s a beautiful signs language right there. 🫶🏼🦻🏼 Good job! And this is so funny. 😂
i tried to animate the two learning asl
yeah i didnt feel like cleaning it lmao
i used this for reference (by AySpooky1 on twitter dot com)
I noticed some parallels, and decided to spend hours and way more effort than necessary turning them into a drawing! Because of course I did
I love you MHA and I love you Katsuki and Izuku with all my heart. I hope you continue to be heroes and go on many adventures side by side for the rest of your lives.
It’s a rock fact!
🐸🍂OTGW 10th Anniversary stop motion short by Aardman Animations🍂🐸
are you telling me the bsd fandom is STILL so furious that we out-trended jujutsu kaisen?
This is my tribute to the late Technoblade. I'm well over a week late to the anniversary of his passing, but I think it was worth the wait. I wanted to get this right.
The story I want to tell is of time's passage after his passing, and the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of various aspects of his life depicting that concept.
I have a lot more to say about this painting - three pages just for the symbolism alone. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll share my analysis on a separate post! Edit: I caved. Aight, prepare for a massive info dump below the cut!
DISCLAIMERS:
Although I put a lot of research into this piece, my knowledge is likely flawed and incomplete. If I missed or misinterpreted a reference, it’s because I’m new to the Technoblade community. If I got a symbolism thing wrong, it’s because I relied on Google search for answers. I fact checked where I could. And with this analysis, I hope I can clear up any misinterpretations!
—
OVERVIEW:
There’s lots of imagery to unpack so I’ll try parsing it in a structured manner. Let’s first examine it holistically.
The story I want to tell here is of time’s passage after Technoblade’s passing. As such,the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of that concept.
Prominently featured are the various medical equipments - a nod to the grim reality of his cancer. But let’s not linger upon that aspect of his story.
Of equal importance are the more mundane objects - his gaming setup, the couch and pillow which Floof sat upon in that one photo, the plethora of paraphernalia of branded merchandise, and references to his exploits in Minecraft. These are relics and mementos of his legacy.
All of these elements intermingle in flooded, lushly overgrown room looking out to a rose-tinted exterior. Is it dawn? Dusk? I’ll leave that interpretation up to the viewers.
The third and final component is the plant life representing his community -us. We beautify this metaphorical space with where it was once laden with tragedy. Yet, despite these riotous blooms, we never quite encroach on the bed - the empty space left behind by him.
—
SET DRESSING:
Much care was taken in selecting the blossoms and placing them in symbolically significant locations. And this neatly transitions us into the analysis individual details.
Foreground:
In the foreground, ivy crawls through a lamp and white clovers thrive atop a pile of pillboxes. The lamp base, once a shining bronze-like finish, is heavily tarnished. The lampshade is overgrown with moss and ivy. Even if the greenery has yet to damage the electric wiring, the damp surely has finished the job. Even if the bulb is replaced, the body is too far gone. The light’s never coming on again.
I was initially put out that my painstakingly 3D modeled pillboxes became entirely obscured, but I think it works in favor of the piece’s overarching theme: the beautiful wilds overtaking a space that once reeked of the desperate fight to prolong life.
White clover blossoms meaning “thinking of you” is paired with the ivy meaning “everlasting devotion”. It’s an apt combination. It has been over a year since his passing, and we still remember and carry on his legacy.
Nestled amongst the foliage is Techno’s compass. It was once used to hunt him down in the Dream SMP. But now, it’s an odd comfort. Even though he’s no longer with us, he’s still somewhere far, far away– or is he? The original idea was for the needle to point heavenwards, but it is currently pointing…sideways? I’ll get to the reasoning a bit later.
The Flood:
Moving deeper into the space, we hit the floodwaters. These once turbulent currents are now tranquil enough to nourish this verdant place. The thriving plant life hides much of this darkness. It is beautiful, hopeful, even. But always bittersweet, because everything that grows here is laced with an old sorrow.
White lotus rise from the murky depths. That is us, overcoming our grief. Breaching the surface, we gain a new vantage point to contemplate this loss. Perhaps we can also find a more comforting perspective of it.
Submerged amongst the blossoms is a rusted oxygen machine. I wanted to decorate the machine with stickers, much like one would personalize a plaster cast for a broken limb. It is deliberate that the “Technoblade Never Dies” sticker is in shadow, while the “So Long, Nerds" is in light.
Immediately to the right was meant to be a box of assorted Technoblade apparel. But then I flooded the space for narrative reasons, rendering that idea unusable. I eventually converted it into a Welch’s Fruit Snacks box, because apparently Technoblade liked them? It’s one of the shallower references here but it is what it is.
And finally, there is a little cameo floating somewhere in the waters. An Easter egg, if you will. I wonder if you can find it?
Furnishings from Home:
I found the couch and Technoblade’s gaming setup during my trawl through the Technoblade Reddit page for reference photos. Balancing this space full of impersonal medical equipment with more personalized belongings is grounding. These areas insert familiarity in this strange environment.
Gaming Setup:
The gaming setup is bare bones - just the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. There was no space to add more iconic elements like his Blue Yeti microphone or the steering wheel from that Minecraft challenge. Hanging above but heavily obscured by overgrowth are two framed pictures of Technoblade’s cabin and a potato minion. It is a blink-and-you-miss-it detail, placed in a dim space and requiring close examining to notice. Without the context of the rest of this environment, it is easily mistaken as generic set dressing.
That’s the point, though. This was a space where he streamed and created videos much beloved by his community. This space was the means of creation, not the creations themselves. Without the creator at the helm, this setup becomes insignificant. Does one dote over the easel on which paintings were created, or the paintings themselves? So now it sits in darkness, a footnote of Technoblade’s legacy.
Nostalgia Corner:
On the other end, we have the sold out Youtooz plushies and the Agro Pig plush from the recent merch drop sat atop the couch. If you look closely, you’ll see a Skeppy coin leaning against one of the plushies. Behind the couch is a shelf. A generic shelf, but the important bits here are the sellout bell, Youtube plaque, and vinyl figurines.
This corner of the room is nostalgic and soft. Everything is bathed in rosy pink light, and it is filled with things that are comfortingly familiar. All across the world, people in his community have these pieces of merch to remember him by.
The red poppies that also grow here have multiple meanings. It represents the battle - one against sarcoma - which was fought here. It symbolizes death, but also resilience in the face of grueling conditions. It is said that they grow in former battlefields where of fallen warriors. I believe of all the flowers here, this one best represents Technoblade.
The Hanging Mobile:
Strung up above it is a rather last minute addition to the environment - a hanging mobile fabricated from totems representing each member of the Sleepy Bois Inc. friend group. First and foremost is Technoblade’s iconic MCC crown, aptly placed at the top. Although it is untouched by the greenery, the gold and jewelry are somewhat muted and tarnished by time.
This is not the case for the objects below. TommyInnit’s music disc shines iridiscent green and purple - Cat and Mellohi merged into one. To is right is a sky-blue guitar pick with the LoveJoy logo engraved onto it for Wilbur Soot. And finally, below it all is Philza’s Friendship Emerald - sparkling and refracting light - with Elytra feathers fastened at the bottom. They, suspended and isolated from everything, maintain a pristine vibrancy which strongly contrasts against everything else in this space.
IV Stand:
Next to the computer setup is the IV stand. It sustains life which is incapable of continuing on without intervention. The butterfly milkweed growing on it, in contrast, says “let me go.” The latter, overtaking the tangle of tubes and powered off patient monitor, is victorious. The hooks stand rusted, and the IV bag empty from disuse.
Sat atop the patient monitor but almost blending into the walls is a pig figurine featured in Dream’s latest music video. It stands on a high perch, yet is unassuming as to direct focus on Technoblade, or rather, his absence.
Hanging from the wired basket is an air freshener tag. If you look on the official website, this is one of the only products which has what I can only call interesting flavor text. Most are merely descriptions and specs of the product. To quote it verbatim:
“Yes, this is a real product. And no, this ‘air freshener’ has no discernible fragrance. ‘Why’ you ask? Because Mr. Technodad and our team agreed this was exactly the sort of air freshener Alex would have found hilarious.”
As morbid as it sounds, I feel like this air freshener tag would not have existed before Technoblade’s passing. It is so unlike any other merchandise I’ve seen in any other branded merchandise store. It’s like an inside joke, secretly shared within the descriptions for the world to eventually discover.
Window:
Unlit candles line the window sill - the aftermath of a candlelight vigil. It is a versatile symbol. It raises awareness of a disease or illness. It pays tribute the dead. Judging from the melted wax dribbling down the candle shafts and the wall below, this has been done many times over. But there is so much more candle to burn, representing the people still continuing this ceremony, albeit in the privacy of their own homes.
Above the candles are some broken blinds. When grieving, it would have been so easy for Mr. Technodad to hide away from the world in his grief. It’s understandable, to give into that primal urge to flee from prying eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable. He had the difficult task of reading out his son’s final farewell to us. This barrier between him and us dismantled by this gesture so we can remember Technoblade together.
A wind chime hangs just outside the window. It is said that the soothing sounds produced by them is a healing balm during tumultuous times. Where there is wind there is stirred up emotions, but it is motionless on this calm, breezeless day. A rare respite, where remembrance overrides grief.
On a more amusing note, there is an interesting looking moth perched on the window glass. Upon closer inspection, the wing pattern may look somewhat familiar. In Chinese culture, when a huge moth visiting your home is the embodiment of your recently deceased loved one checking on you. Remember the compass in the foreground? Well, here’s why it is pointed sideways instead of upwards.
Venturing further beyond the windows, ferns grow with wild abandon. They represent eternal youth, and from a certain point of view, he will remain youthful forever at the age of 23. He lives on through us carrying on his legacy and spreading his story.
Everything outside is tinged with pink. After someone dies, we start seeing them less as a person and more as a legacy. It is the natural course of things to start seeing the deceased through rose-tinted lenses - hence the artificially pink hue of the outside contrasting with the more grounded color palette of the inside.
Bed:
And now we circle back to the centerpiece of this entire composition: the bed and the things that surround it.
In front of the bed is an over-bed table with a single object: an incense bowl filled to the brim with burnt sticks of incense. A simple shrine for Technoblade. In Chinese culture, we light incense at the altar to honor our loved ones. We may live separate lives and not cross paths often, but we all come together to leave our marks through this ritual. It is proof that he is still very much loved and missed by us all.
The bariatric bed frame is typically seen in hospitals. It allows the patient to comfortably sit up or recline without expending valuable energy. Encased in this frame is something more personal - the mattress and cushions which Technoblade laid upon in his photo with the Youtube plaque. Their unique patterning is a foil for the impersonal receptacle it is caged in. It is spotlit by the window light, emphasizing its emptiness. Not a single blossom dares to encroach upon this space, because to do so would be to erase the space where Technoblade last resided. Like I mentioned before, this is story is about the space around him as much as it is about him.
Cradling this bed frame are several flowers. Rosemary and forget-me-not’s for remembrance. Appropriate, given its proximity to the bed. Morning glories, for resilience. That’s us, again. For a while, we meander and spread in the upper walls of this space, avoiding the floodwaters which symbolize grief. But eventually, we gather the strength to meander down to the bed, where grief was the strongest.
—
CONCLUSION:
There is that cheesy quote from that one Marvel TV show – “What is grief, but love persevering?” While this reframes our perception of dealing with loss, grief is not some thing that should linger. The absence of grief does not equate to the lack of love. Instead, I would like you to consider this: remembrance is love persevering. And with our combined perseverance, Technoblade will never truly die.
Based on the idea that Malfoy could not get the vanishing cabinet to work effectively, and decided to mention, instead, that Hogwarts was taking the Great Hall wards down for a six-fucking-week course on Apparation. This is what wouldn't happen. But it's where my mind went, first. Warning: Graphic Violence
A loud crack signified the first successful Apparition.
Harry’s eyes, closed in preparation for his own attempt, snapped open and his head turned. It wasn't a student standing at the other end of the Great Hall, though. Harry jolted for his wand as other students began to turn to the cloaked figure, but before he could take aim there were four more sharp cracks.
Dark-robed, masked Death Eater’s were apparating directly into the Great Hall, the only place the castle wards were down for Hogwarts students to learn how to do the same.
Bellatrix LeStrange was the first to appear sans mask, having no need for discretion. She took in the scene with a cackle, batting away Harry’s immediate curse effortlessly as she cooed, “Aww, look at the wittle student's trying to learn!”
In his periphery Harry saw Neville lift his own wand, and they cast simultaneously. This time, Bellatrix twisted out of the way. “Do the wittle babies wanna play?”
“Sectumsempra,” Harry hissed with malice, fully aware of the spell's effects, now. Bellatrix’s eyes widened a bit even as she turned out of the way, quick as a dancer. The Death Eater behind her fell to their knees as their body was pulled apart by deep, horrible gashes.
More cracks sounded; Harry began to send out indiscriminate stunners, hoping to catch the intruders before they realised they were being cast at. They all came prepared for battle to have begun, shield charms springing around them immediately.
“Bombarda!” Ron called grimly.
“Expulso!” shouted Neville.
“Protego Maxima,” murmured Hermione. “Accio Susan Bones. Protego. Stupefy—students to the teacher's entrance!”
The frozen bodies of some of their yearmates seemed to jolt, realisation settling. Many students turned tail and ran.
Susan Bones, having narrowly been pulled out of the way of a powerful cutting curse that had gouged into stone walls by Hermione, was casting stunners, petrification hexes, and disarming charms. Harry was not nearly so restrained, once he realised the stunners were ineffective. Sectumsempra broke through shields like a battering drill and Death Eaters were falling, ripped apart by his fury. Curses flew from Harry's wand as fast as he could think of them: conjunctivitis, blasting, jelly-fingers, reductors, even slug-vomiting. He conjured six venomous snakes that shot off without instruction, knowing his will. Yet again and again, Harry came back to the Half-Blood Prince’s spell, the most devastatingly effective of them all. People were dying from its effectiveness, but Harry didn’t care, because they had dared step foot in Hogwarts—
A horrible pressure was building in Harry’s head as half the hall emptied. A wand prodded Harry’s spine, and he stilled, shaking with rage and adrenaline. “Call—call off the snakes, Potter,” a somewhat familiar voice demanded shakily.
“I’d rather they bite your father, Nott,” said Harry coldly. “Drop your wand before I have to make you regret it.”
The wand trembled, for a moment, against his spine. “C-Cruci—”
Harry drove his elbow back, hard, and slammed down one foot on Nott's. The taller boy stumbled back in pain, and it was no great difficulty to stun him. He hit the floor, hard, and Malfoy’s grey eyes were large and frightened as he stared at Harry, still as prey.
At once, Harry realised what he had done “You,” he said, scar pulsing horribly. “You did this. You brought war to a school filled with literal children, you stupid, useless brat. You're scared of what Voldemort will do to you? Just wait, Malfoy. His punishment would be bliss compared to what you deserve for this.”
“Such a temper, Harry Potter,” came Lord Voldemort’s cold voice. He had made no sound as he apparated, not like his followers, but Harry’s viciously prickling scar had made his imminent arrival clear. “You have done well, Draco. You will be… rewarded.”
Malfoy’s eyes darted in fright from Harry to the Dark Lord, and Voldemort was barely in time to hiss “Stop,” to the snake that had snuck up on the boy.
“You don't obey him,” Harry hissed, “you’re mine. Do what you’re made for, dear one.”
Draco turned just in time to see the snake strike out at his neck. It vanished before its fangs could load the boy with venom, and Harry turned his hateful scowl to Voldemort, who’s gaze already rested upon him, intent, heavy and fascinated.
“Deal with it, Hermione,” he snapped.
“Harry—” came Hermione’s warning voice, but Harry couldn’t listen, had to dodge out of the way of Voldemort’s spell. The Dark Lord tilted his head, stare thoughtful, and then turned his yew wand… away.
Harry watched him with a wariness not misplaced: Romilda Vane, nearly out of the Great Hall via the Professor’s entrance, fell to the cruciatus curse with a cry of pain.
“Drop your wands, children,” the Dark Lord said, red eyes still locked on Harry as his soft, cold voice echoed through all corners of the room, carried by wandless magic.
Harry grit his teeth at the seeming opportunity, well aware of Voldemort's objective. And yet, truly, he could not have picked a worse target to try and bring Harry under his control than the girl who had nearly raped him. He cast a wordless sonorous on himself to refute the order: “Don't give an inch. There are First Years in these walls. Do to them what you would to Umbridge. They're twice her threat. Any student who raised a wand to help Voldemort’s sect will be treated as hostile. See how I handle my enemies, Goyle, and ask yourself if that cheap shot is worth your life.”
Even as he spoke, Harry turned from Voldemort, dismissive, and focused on thinning the herd. Thirteen Death Eater’s still stood, including Bellatrix, who was engaged with Neville and Ron. Harry used every spell that came to his mind, even those from the Half-Blood Prince’s book he had not tested before. One man was effectively eviscerated, much to Harry’s disgust. He only used that spell once.
When he saw one of his snakes change course he pulled the magic from them, an effective banishment, cold eyes finding Voldemort again. He had not heard the man speak parseltongue, and indeed he was still holding the crucio, face twisted strangely as he watched Harry.
“My, my,” said Voldemort, immediate once he had regained Harry’s attention, two more of his people fallen, “so vicious, little snake. Does Dumbledore know you have venom?”
“I don't give a fuck what he knows,” Harry said harshly. “This is a school.” This is my home. “Focus on the bloody Ministry, and leave children out of it.”
Voldemort had the gall to laugh, high and cold. “This is not merely a school, Harry Potter,” he said. “There is a reason you children stand your ground and fight. This is where Dumbledore trains his small, young army to go to war and die, as their parents did before them.”
Wrath bubbles in Harry, heavy and explosive, and he must look as unhinged and inhuman as the man watching him as he cages it behind his teeth. He flicks a shield charm around Bones and Abbott before a reductor hits, and a disarming charm hits the perpetrators back. He breaks the dark-wooded wand into two pieces the moment he catches it.
“You truly think Dumbledore has taught us anything? Even my ‘private lessons’ with the man are just memories of your life, as if I care that you got away with murder when you were still sixteen.” Hermione pulls Vane’s still writhing body from the room, and Voldemort’s cruciatus ends, but he does not seem to notice or care, eyes locked on Harry. “The only reason I fight is because I do not believe in the world you are trying to create. Because you say things like ‘magic is night' and still try to subjugate witches and wizards, as if the fresh magic in their veins is poisoned by the muggles they're born to. I defy you, Lord Voldemort, because you decided your best course was killing a baby over a half-heard prophecy, and still try to kill me to this day. I am not going to stand here and let you. I don't believe ‘magic is might’. I've already killed many of your people tonight… but that—that wasn’t over ideology. That is because I will kill as many as it takes to keep your grasping, greedy fucking hands out of my school.”
small vkaz food i wrote, may be ooc or a bit off from canon details i just really wanted/needed some comfort ! please don’t come after me
1.7k words, fluff
it had been months. the pen still felt unnatural in his hand.
he found his fingers drifting to the wrong side of it, the friction of the ball point against the paper jolting his wrist at the wrong angle and causing the pen to streak across the lines or to slip from his shaking grip again and again. the neat, looping half-cursive script he had prided himself on was gone too, replaced by angular, jittering print letters he tried his best to keep small, but matching the 12 point on his paperwork made his words look like watercolor blotches to his clouded vision. the white and blue-black mingled together into incoherent blemishes of ink when his face was anywhere farther than inches away from the page, sliding it back and forth to read with the side of his palm. it made him thankful for his private office, when he rested his forehead on the desk in defeated frustration after failing to rid himself of the instinct of trying to move the empty sleeve on his right.
he squinted at the signature he had just made his best attempt at penning. his nose wrinkled at his jagged, jittering loops on the z and the l’s. the paper was completely blank 10 minutes ago, now covered with the same name written over and over again, each with varying degrees of smoothness and accuracy to what it was a year ago. he wasn’t getting any better. it was poetic in a cruel way — the kazuhira miller that was left now was war torn, a rough and uneven hollowed out shade of what he was a few years ago.
or maybe he was just pissed that he wasn’t left handed.
the door to the outside cracked open and the sudden flood of light into his dim office made him close his eyes in pain, scrambling for his sunglasses while he frantically shoved the paper full of signatures under some folders.
“sorry,” came a familiar voice, one that still sent a jolt of adrenaline down his spine every time he heard it. just like switching hands, he still hadn't gotten used to snake not being dead.
"'m busy," he muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tucking stray bits of hair into his hat and behind his ear with his thumb. i barely sleep and i still end up with bedhead. fucking unfair.
“you haven’t left your office for over 24 hours.”
“i said i’m busy.”
snake paused. “have you eaten?”
he didn’t answer. he didn’t see the point in lying, but admitting he liked the dull ache at the bottom of his stomach seemed like oversharing.
snake shook his head. he was never one to lecture, of course, but he had grown used to kaz’s habits at this point. he understood it at its base level, the craving to feel pain to fill the emptiness, or drown it out — same difference. he tread lightly, but his boots still left a trail of dirt on the freshly swept floor, leaving kaz to sigh softly as snake knelt next to him, sitting back on his heels but leaning forward enough to be close. before kaz could say anything about the mess his wrist was gripped in metal fingers; gently, tenderly, like snake was handling a butterfly. he didn’t know if it was because of his lack of sleep, or if he just wanted to be held, but kaz didn’t put up any resistance to his chair being angled towards snake and his hand being placed in a cold, prosthetic one. his fingers twitched instinctually as they brushed against the screws and bolts in the joints but settled quickly as snake leaned closer, his face coming into clearer view as their faces hovered inches away, tilted softly, lips parted, a moment in time frozen before a tender embrace. for someone that lived in the past, and someone that fought for the future, it was out of place that they spent so long in stasis.
“your hair’s getting long.” snake’s eye darted to the blonde locks starting to fall back into kaz’s face after being so hastily pushed back. he felt guilty for letting himself become so disheveled, for letting his stubble grow in patches on his neck and letting the bags under his eyes deepen from semi-permanence to borderline scarring.
kaz mumbled something to the affirmative, wishing for the hundredth time today that he had his other arm so he could brush his hair back again without having to leave snake’s hand. he let it tickle his forehead, clumped together with sweat and the pomade he used to keep it manageable.
“right. go wash up in your sink. i’ll be in in a minute to cut your hair.” the words were an order, but his tone was one of concern and caring, a lilt in his usually firm tone.
kaz blinked. “come again?”
“i wasn’t asking.” he pushed himself off the ground leaving kaz’s hand to drop to his side empty, dusting off his pants for a moment before reaching for kaz’s cane behind him. “c’mon.” he rested the bottom on the floor and tilted it towards kaz’s hesitant outstretched hand with a slight smile. “someone’s gotta take care of you if you won’t.”
reluctantly, he gripped onto the crutch and pulled himself up, staggering for a moment before snake’s hand on his shoulder steadied him. he couldn’t feel the chill of the metal but it still sent shivers through him, a ghost he had almost been able to move on from. at least, that’s what he had tried to convince himself, that he was capable of moving on.
the weight left his shoulder as he limped to the bathroom, thankful his glasses hid his watering eyes. he slammed the door behind him and leaned his weight on it, letting it support him while he buried his face in his hand.
. . .
“tell me if you want to take a break.” snake gently nudged kaz’s head down so he could shave the fuzz on the back of his neck, his flesh hand softly tracing the lines and tendons of his jaw to his shoulder.
“you’ve changed.” kaz’s tone was flat and his expression blank but he could feel his heart in his throat. what caused him, now that he was partly machine, to learn tenderness? nine years ago, he hit me and it felt like a kiss.
“have i?” snake had asked him to take off his glasses so the legs wouldn’t get in the way, but he still couldn’t see the way kaz’s clouded eyes were deep in thought, fixed on the sink drain where bleached locks of hair spiraled down and started to clog the hole. “maybe nine years in a coma will do that to you.”
it felt like kaz had been punched in the gut, sick and reeling in the implication. brain damage. had he really suffered enough brain damage to love me back? was that it? “mm, yeah,” he whispered, his voice shaking.
“you alright?” snake put down the scissors, the serrated blades making a soft clink on the porcelain. his face hovered next to the other’s close enough that his beard tickled kaz’s cheek. he watched him in the mirror, studying him and wondering if kaz could do the same, to appreciate the beauty of his sloping cheekbones and hooded eyes and slanted brow awash in the blue-white bathroom bulb. “i need you to be alright.”
the i need you echoed in his mind. i need you. he had fluctuated between believing snake had never needed him, and that he was indispensable for over a decade. he didn’t even know which he would rather believe; that he was useless and snake enjoyed his company, or that he was a valuable asset and he never mattered. was i need you synonymous with i love you? kaz had stayed by his side for the better part of 20 years, lying at his bedside, watching morning dew collect on the iridescent white petals of the star of bethlehem flowers that lined his hospital windowsill, and he still had no idea what he meant to snake. i need you. they had kissed, but never held hands. sometimes kaz had daydreamed about a life where he had known snake as john, where they were 13 years old and nothing bad had ever happened to them. he had grown up in a small american town, never touched by the deep, festering scars of war, and he had a hallway crush on the pretty boy with the blue eyes. instead, he had pulled the pin on the grenade and died, bringing snake down with him.
“kaz?” snake’s voice came again, softer, almost a whisper.
“i’m fine,” kaz sighed, “i’m always fine.”
snake paused, blinking his single eye slowly, watching kaz’s gaze dart from the drain to the mirror, catching a glimpse of his white pupils for a moment, glimmering with the threat of tears — kaz would see them as a threat. “course,” snake hummed, quieting his breathing to take in the muffled sound of the a/c from the next room and kaz’s gentle breaths, a symphony to his ears. he was glad he was alive. he was glad both of them were alive.
“snake, what are you—“ kaz was silenced as snake’s arms wrapped around him from the back, a bearish hold with his hands crossing gently at kaz’s collar, thumb grazing softly back and forth across the bone. he closed his eye and sighed, kaz’s half-hearted squirming quickly ceasing. i need you. the hug made kaz’s heart beat to a rhythm he could barely keep up with, his thoughts racing even faster. he relaxed, a tension he barely realized was there flooding out of him, relishing the support of the other man as he gently swayed, taking advantage of the fact that he was the perfect height for his head to rest on kaz’s shoulder and his chin to fit in the hollow of his neck. his hair — still sweaty, but kaz didn’t mind — grazing against his jawline as grass on a warm summer day. kaz let go of the sink and brought his hand up to snake’s, lightly holding onto his fingers. he leaned his head to the side to press against the other’s, closing his eyes to take in only the warmth and the comfort of the moment.
“yeah, i’m alright.”
i need everyone to understand the poetry of curly turning a blind eye to anya’s suffering only to be robbed of his autonomy and voice as she was and then forced to observe jimmy’s crimes and the abuse of his own body
💫 STARFIRE THEE STALLION 💫
Hi..look at raven i doodle tonite out of stress..ok bye :3c
