killmeorfuckoff - Tumblr blog

[killmeorfuckoff]

[killmeorfuckoff]

Remember when Tim and Martin got trapped in the backrooms for 2 weeks and as soon as they got out Tim was like "there's no point talking about it!! It fucking happened! I wish that it didn't! Next time it'll probably kill us! whatever!" And it was Never brought up again

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A man meant to be grabbed by his itty bitty little waist

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hang on

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The Renowned Orders of the Night (1997), Anselm Kiefer / Think You Can Wait (2011), The National

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its actually funny how the horrors never stop.

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here, you can have the grenade. i just wanted this cute little pin it came with

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*trying to call a woman beautiful but i've forgotten how to engage other humans in conversation* girl, you remind me of architecture

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BY THE WAY happy death day to my angel baby boy ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ "I dont forgive you but thank you for this" will be engraved in my brain until I die <33333333

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he has to be careful about smiling too much now that there are still-healing holes in his cheeks, but he gives a soft, crooked one anyway.

“ that’s the best thing about hotels mike— they give you that stuff for free. there’s probably a little bottle of it in the bathroom. ”

it’s perhaps a conversation for another time to insist mike tell him things even if it seems like it might upset him. tim would hate for it to seem like he’s scolding him, and there was likely not a convenient opportunity before he ran out of the heavy stuff they gave him fresh out of surgery.

“ does it ever catch up to you, then? ” he asks, though the answer might be obvious. “ the stuff you try to outrun and not think about. ”

" i didn't want to upset you bringing it up again. " a vague, half shrug. it wasn't as if tim had been in quite his right mind when he'd been discharged anyway, enough morphine and codeine in his veins to floor a horse. the poor man couldn't handle a box of juice much less talk these things through, by no fault of his own, and mike had not much felt like talking about it anyway.

" i was still ... processing everything, i guess. still am. " he rubs a patch on his hand with an opposing thumb absently. " i don't know if that was it. it was just ... something that happened. "

something, now spoken aloud, he is growing less and less fond of leaving hung out in the open air. the implications of it are even worse given sound. his eyes flicker down to his ashy, irritated hands instead as tim does his best to gesture at them.

" mm. " the dismissive sound is about the most he can conjure on the subject. it is not something he has been avoiding, by any means, merely, " haven't really been thinking about it, i guess. we still have some? "

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It is a rarity to hear mike speak so much kind of at all, but especially about himself. on instinct, he finds himself scanning over mike’s forearms, and winces a little at his dry, split knuckles and the pink patches from pure scrubbing that climb beyond his wrists.

“ you didn’t mention that before. I was obviously not completely conscious— is that how you were able to avoid being bitten? they didn’t like how you taste? ”

obviously it’s an incredibly good thing mike escaped unscathed, however it unnerves him to think that there was something repelling them. he chooses not to dig too deeply.

his hands were by far the most damaged of anywhere on his body, but the tips of his fingers still stick out beneath the thick layers of gauze, so he points with his middle finger to mike’s hands. “ were you planning on putting some lotion on those? ”

" it's ... " briefly, mike trails off, idly chewing the bottom of his lower lip. traumatizing is fair, he supposes, with the nightmares, hands peeling for as raw and often he has washed them, he cannot and will not pretend it has had no effect at all. he is, ultimately, human, even if not in quite the same way tim seems to be. " i don't ... i think in a way, your guess is as good as mine, " he says finally, drawing his legs back over the edge of the bed to sit on them. " i mean - i usually just don't think about it. there's more to it than that, probably, and ... obviously it was a rough go, i can't say it didn't get to me, but it's easier for me just ... not to sit with it too long, i guess? as much as i can, anyway. and the things that do stick with me longer are either awful or aren't even that important. " his eyes flicker down to his arm in his lap, brow slightly pinched, thoughtful if mildly hesitant.

" for example, you know what's - well, weirder, to me, than how weird than all of this has been. one of them did bite me. i mean ... not - not like yours, obviously, not even close. maybe it was confused or something, right when i came in, it jumped my arm, and i remember it just sort of ... fell off. end over end like it didn't know which one to use anymore. i remember that of all things, i thought it was ... really unsettling. like it just spat me out. i'm glad, clearly, i just don't know why. "

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TUMBLR SNIPED BATTY???

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@tempist / continued

his husband locks his arms around the book like it is his own beating heart held within the pages. tim is not a stranger to the terror that nips at mike’s heels, nor does he pretend its shadow hasn’t climbed closer since tim died. his husband has been hunted his entire life and the predator is right behind him. but what will save him can’t be a supernatural tome that exists for nothing except to create more suffering.  

“ mike, you haven’t slept in days. you won’t leave your room— just fucking talk to me! ” he is yelling by the edge of his sentence. “ look at this! ” he kicks at papers decorating the floor all coated from edge to edge in latin.  

he seizes hard his husband’s shoulders and forces him to look him in the eye— his bloodshot, storm-filled hues.

“ you want me to just stay out of the way while you kill yourself? just fucking tell me what’s going on! I’m scared, mike! ”