OCs Based On My Birds

river and keanu, i miss them

Chinese artist Shou Xin creates the most wonderful cats with just a few pencil lines

Penelope: I'm going to get our wedding bed moved for you

Odysseus:

I wish I could talk to everyone I've ever loved tonight and be like hey it's spring

"but they are not canon"

Do I look like I give a fuck

☀️

did you know they made paper out of fruits and vegetables? they are red radish and red apple

the older i get and the closer i am to reaching 30, the more the people around me try to deny me my age. it’s a constant ‘oh you’re just turning 29 again teehee 🤭’ or ‘dont tell your SO that, he’ll leave you for a younger model 😉’ and i just???? hate it?????????

i spent my entire teenaged years fighting for my life. i crawled through the deepest pits of my depression to cling to the promise of a life beyond that pain. i was so convinced that i was going to die young, that i would never see the grace of my age starting with a 2, let alone 3.

so im going to turn 30, and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do to stop me from loving it.

Katsuki’s right arm still trembles sometimes. 

Rarely, usually so imperceptibly that no one would even notice, but today you do notice, as he reaches for a glass of water set on the coffee table before you, and knocks it over, simple millimeters off its trajectory. 

It’s a silly, inconsequential mistake, not anything you haven’t done once or twice even this very week, but as the water spills to the ground and you, too comfortable in the arms of your lover as you lay on the couch, move a little too slowly to catch the glass from rolling off the table and shattering on the ground, you can tell that this has become more of an issue than it should be. 

A pause hangs in the air with the crash, then a heavy silence over the next split second, enough that you can feel even your heartbeat slow to a stop with the aggrandized gravity of the situation.

Then, without a word, Katsuki moves you gently out of your cuddle and disappears into the kitchen. As his figure disappears, you can see him holding onto his right arm, bent at an angle, with his left hand. In some ways, he almost looks like he’s accosting a criminal, not a part of his own body. 

You know better not to move in closer to the glass, lest he find you and start to complain about not taking your safety seriously, yet you find yourself practically on your knees, quickly picking up small pieces of glass from the carpet. You are, of course, careful, and nothing cuts into your skin more than the pain you can tell he must be feeling does in your chest.

Katsuki returns with a dustpan, a small brush, and a rag draped over his forearm, and stops, standing a few feet away from you. The majority of the broken glass pieces are collected into a small pile next to you by that time, you working ever so quickly, and when you look up at him, he’s scowling, but no longer at himself.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Moving into the space quickly, he kneels and cleans up your collected mess. Setting the glass aside, safely collected, he murmurs,

“Show me your hands.”

Obediently, you offer them up, and he checks every one of your ten fingers, twice, then sighs.

“Stop cleaning up my messes. I’m not a child.”

You nod.  “But you’re the man I love.”

Katsuki looks at you for a moment then quickly forces his glance elsewhere. The sweetness in your eyes is too mollifying; he can practically feel his entire spine turn to jelly when it comes to you.

But still you place your hand on his treacherous right arm, rubbing your palm gently over scars, calloused bone and roughened skin.

“It’s fine. Just an accident.”

You don’t need to say anything more. He sucks in a deep breath, pauses, then kisses your lips.

“Yeah. Just an accident.”

feverish and forsaken. on my second glass of mulled wine. never kill yourself