Colored One Of My Last Works!

Kaya!

Good morning to Dr. Sunshine, Mr. Capgras, compound fractures, babies with autism, ceiling fans, dandelion seeds, people trying to replace themselves, apples and worms, special and strange people, cicadas, mushrooms, leaves fallen from trees, vampires, teenage screaming sweetbreads, people with stevens-johnson syndrome, Hungarian harmonics, lipstick on the mirror, skeletons and various bones, old-time religion, red moons, places to get away from it all, people who don't remember 2012, murderers, agnostics, people captured in the ice, policemen, people who are afraid of the dark, those who are the sunshine and the moon at night, thermodynamic lawyers, main characters, protagonists, antagonists, rhumbas, campers, computers, people who wish to be a girlfriend-boyfriend, 2ight 2eers, people with shovels, those who were sent by heaven, boys, girls, neither, both and in-between, and people who are going to stay awake tonight.

Well, guess I'll get working on that! Thanks to everyone that voted! I'll rb again tagging the ask acc when it's done and we reach follower goal! (40) x3

Some art for a new OC!!

giving this to someone for secret santa!! hes so silly :]

old men that kiss

reblog if u agree

Tobais!!

Colorized!!:3

IM UGLY CRYING THIS IS BEAUTIFUL 😭

A thread of Hope

jonathan ohnn/the spot x reader

๑ summary: amidst all the destruction and dejection you've found yourself in the last few months, you still missed your husband, and you'd do anything to have him back again.

๑ warning/content: mention of crime, being homeless, allusion to depression, kinda hurt/comfort, use of pet names (lmao sorry) this is actually kida corny lmfaoo I'm sorry 😭

๑ word count: ± 2500

๑ a/n: thank you to everyone who commented and motivated me to finish this, and to everyone who voted on the poll 🩷

๑ gif not mine, all credit to original creator.

Every day seemed to stretch on into forever, blending into the next to create one long, unbearable loop. Having to wake up every morning with the hope that the last few months had only been one bad dream. That you'd turn your body around in bed and find your husband sleeping peacefully next to you, and then you'd close your eyes again and drift back to sleep.

And every morning when you'd turn around to find his side of the bed cold and empty, you'd face the heartbreaking realization that your husband was gone, presumed dead.

You've never known hurt like this; being told that your husband was dead, most likely caught under the thousands of pounds of rubble from what had been Alchemax's buildings. You've cried, you've been angry, you've even been at the verge of a complete breakdown, but you refused to mourn. A person only mourned the dead, and you refused to believe that your husband was dead.

But it has been months, and the already thin thread of hope you had been holding onto was waning thinner with every passing day. Every long, exhausting day of fruitless efforts and disappointment. Your friends and family had already tried convincing you—in the nicest way they could put it—to stop searching for him, to accept it and let him "rest". But you wouldn't let him rest, and neither would you rest. You were aware that at some point that thread of hope would certainly break, but until then you'd try and search until you found something.

˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𖡼˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚

The nights truly were the worst part of it all. Everything seemed to get so quiet now that Jonathan wasn't around, and it felt like the silence was slowly driving you towards an inevitable insanity. You had grown so used to returning from work every day, getting food ready as the scratchy sounds of the old radio filled the small apartment kitchen.

And every evening you'd be greeted by your husband's voice announcing his arrival and loudly settling in, throwing his coat, briefcase and loose files on the whichever surface he could find. He would clean your bedroom that the both of you had neglected that morning while you finished cooking (because neither of you trusted him near a pot nor pan).

After a while he'd join you in the kitchen, helping in areas where he couldn't burn anything, quietly humming along to whatever song would be playing from the radio. And when dinner was done, you'd sit at your small couch, knees touching and each with a couch pillow in your lap acting as a folding tray.

You'd listen to him jabber passionately about what he had been working on recently and how it worked, talking in terms you'd never even dream of ever understanding. You'd listen to it every day though, gladly.

But now, every day you'd come home from work to a dark and empty house, and you'd saunter around like a ghost, the usual singing and humming replaced by your sighs and heavy footsteps as you make your way to bed, ready to call it a night.

Tonight the silence was suffocating you; you needed to get out of the apartment before the walls swallowed you up whole. So you found whatever jacket was laying around and made your way to the roof of the building. It was your favorite place to go to when you needed to think, or to get away from the commotion of everything and just find your bearings once again. Ironically, tonight you needed to get away from the lack of commotion.

It was somewhat your little secret spot, so you were surprised when you found someone else sitting by the ledge of the building, their back to you as they stared down at the busy building beneath. Your first thought had been to warn the person about sitting so close to the ledge, but you decided to approach them differently. Besides, they might have been here for the exact same reason you were.

"Excuse me," you said softly, trying to not startle them. It hadn't worked apparently, and they still flinched upon hearing your voice, the scratchy material of their jacket faintly rustling with the movement. He didnt turn around though, and you grew a bit concerned as to what exactly the stranger was doing here.

"You don't have to go or anything, but," you started, "maybe you shouldn't sit there? You could easily misjudge your step or something, then you could hurt yourself." Still, the guy didnt answer, and just when you wanted to speak up again, maybe turn back inside to call for help, he suddenly spoke up.

"Im sorry, I'll be out of you hair I just—" by now he was making his way down the ledge, assumebly getting ready to leave completely. "I didnt mean you have to lea—"

"No, Im going. Im just in the way," the man spoke, tugging at the hat he wore and keeping his head down as he passed you, slightly bumping into you to get to the roof hatch behind you. It was also when you noticed the odd pair of pant he was wearing. Tghts? A leotard?

It wasn't till the man was already at the roof hatch, ready to make his way down the stairs, when it hit you. The voice, you'd be able to recognize that voice in your sleep—perhaps courtesy of how often he's plagued your dreams in recent months, or maybe simply because he was your husband and you've grown so accustomed to everything him.

"Hey wait a minute!" you shouted, hating the way your voice was already sounding weak and shak. You were mentally kicking yourslf at how you were getting your hopes up.

The man froze once again, refusing to turn around and hunching over like someone trying to make himself seem smaller, trying to not be seen. You took a few cautious steps closer to him, until you were facing his back, close enough to see the panted breaths he was taking, chest rising and falling rhythmically yet frantically.

"Jonathan?" you tried, and God, you couldn't stand how desperate you sounded, even to your own ears. You were grasping at straws at this point, even you could see that. This could've been the first sign of your impending insanity, but it was too late to turn back now. "Jonathan," you tried again, voice a bit more confident this time around. The man said nothing, did nothing, and just when you were getting ready to apologize for making him uncomfortable, he turned around in one swift movement. The quick motion made you gasp, the man suddenly so close to you that you had the chance to examine his features, only there was nothing there.

He was lacking all and any facial features, except for the big black splotch moving around on his face frantically. And for some reason you could've sworn you could still see the emotion etched onto his face, even without any indication thereof. You could so clearly see the distraught, the sadness that seemed to ooze from him.

"Jonathan?" you tried one final time, your eyes focused on his featureless face, the black splotch now moving around at an almost concerning pace. "What happened?"

Then you saw it again. You saw the emotion in his face, so clearly displayed that it almost felt like he didn't even need a face for you to see it. "How did you know it was me?" he whispered, voice so small you would've missed it if a strong enough wind blew by. The words seemed to jackhammer at your already torn and hurt heart, and you already felt the tears pooling in your eyes, making them feel as heavy as the lump that sat in your throat. "Only you would wear a hat that ugly," you said with a wobbly voice, trying desperately to not cry even though the tears had already fallen the moment the words left your mouth.

For a second, the spot on his face morphed into what you believed was a substitute for a smile, and the sight made a similar streatch onto your face. You reached out a shaky hand to touch his face, and when you were sure he wouldn't flinch away, you gently placed your palm on his cheek. You were so used to the feeling of the scruff always present on his face; the smooth, cold skin felt so foreign to you.

Your hand moved to where his mouth was, fingers ghosting to where his lips would've been until they reached the hole in the middle of his face. Your fingers traced the edge, and when you wanted to run your fingers over the surface, your hand sunk right into the hole.

You panicked, trying to get your hand back from wherever it had disappeared to, when Jonathan's hand came to your wrist, trying to get you to calm down. When you did manage to calm down, he gently pulled your hand from the hole, his hand still holding onto yours when you dropped it from his face. "I'm sorry, I probably should've told you about that first," he said, his large hand still engulfing yours. You noticed how incredibly cold his hand was.

"What was that even? What happened to you?" you asked. He sighed before looking down at your joined hands. "Do you mind if we go somewhere a bit warmer? You must be freezing."

˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𖡼˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚

"So, to put everything briefly, after the accident at Alchamex you merged with a vial of dark matter, and it gave you the ability to create portals and travel inter-dimensionally."

"Yes."

"But it also mutated your body, and now you don't have a face."

"Yes."

"And for the last three months you've just been wandering around New York sleeping in alleyways and committing petty crimes to get some money?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Why didn't you come home, Jonathan?"

He let out a tired sigh, his head bowing a little lower in shame. If he still had a face his eyebrows would almost certainly have been furrowed, his brown eyes big and almost woeful.

"I was afraid you'd be scared of me," he said quietly, "that you'd find me repulsive and chase me away, like everyone else has when they see me." Your heart ached when you heard his confession, even more so when you had to think about how long he had been wandering around on the street, afraid and alone without anything to eat or anyone to go.

Too scared to come home.

You once again took his cold hand in yours, giving it a tight and hopefully reassuring squeeze, to which he lifted his head in reaction. "You don't ever have to feel afraid to come home, Jonathan," you said softly, watching the black spot on his face.

"This is our home, the home we created out of an old rundown apartment, together. You've seen me at my utter worse more times than I'd like to admit, and I want to feel that comfortable with me too." His head dropped once again, opting to stare at his legs as they bumped against yours. Your gaze followed his before they returned to his face, trying to coax him to look at you.

"Honey, please look at me," you said softly and his head lifted slowly. "I'm.. hardly the Jonathan I was. I don't even feel human anymore." The ache in your heart only worsened, the feeling making your chest feel heavier by the second.

"You're still my Jonathan, I know that," you said. "You're still the sweet guy I met all those years ago, who used to be terrified of me." you smlied when you heard the playful scoff from him. "You're still so kind, and compassionate and *** and nothing can take that away because that's just who you are. You're still human, Jonathan, because you still have your humanity."

The room fell into a long silence, and for the first time that night you couldn't tell how Jonathan felt, you couldn't read him at all. "Please say something," you said softly, practically begging Jonathan to once again fill the silence, like he'd always done.

"I missed you," was what he said after a few more moments. You don't know why, but the confession had shocked you a little bit. You found yourself thinking about how often he'd been thinking about you. How many nights have we probably thought of each other at the same time. "I thought I'd never see you again," he added, voice heavy with dejection.

You hadn't even noticed that your grip had tightened until you felt Jonathan's hands squeeze you back, to ground both you and himself. "You don't know how much I missed you," you said, "I never stopped looking."

"I know," he said, the hole on his face once again trying to streatch into a smile. "Can I— can I hug you?" he asked, very unsure of his request. You didn't answer him, just letting go of his hands and wrapping your arms around him. His head fell to your shoulder as his arms also wrapped themselves around you. At once you could feel the weeks worth of tension, stress and *** leaving your body as you felt Jonathan's cold skin against your cheek.

"What am I supposed to do now?" his voiced asked softly, his embrace on you tightening the slightest. "I don't know," you said honestly, "but I know you're not gonna do this alone. I'm gonna be here every step of the way."

That night the apartment wasn't as quiet as always.