Im Extremely Devout But Nobody Can Figure Out What Im Worshipping

god hes so hot i love his pixels

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.”

a typical carriage parasol of silk lace, france c. 1860s.

John Price who leans real close when you talk to him, dips his shoulders so he can hear what you’re saying. Makes you flustered everytime he ducks his head next to yours when you two sit together, his shoulder pressed flat against yours.

You think it’s because he likes you. A gesture to show you that he wants to be close to you and listen to what you have to say.

Whole time it’s cause he’s so old he can’t hear shit 😔💔

For @creatingblackcharacters ’ Black History Month Challenge!

It is Wyll and Karlach having a drink at the reunion party, particularly when Wyll asks with awe if you can smell forest, after their long demon hunting spree in hell. Karlach is looking at Wyll wistfully twirling some blades of grass in her fingers.

This is dedicated to Black creators for making your art, despite the fandom racism stacked against you (not just this! In every one). Thank you for bringing pieces of your heart to this place, you deserve the carefree indulgence of fandoms, and they’re better for having you in it. <3

If Shoko and Gojo had noticed Geto spiralling.

Sort of a rough continuation of the previous set of drawings on what would have happened had Geto called them.

Coffee ☕🩷

"history will absolve me" as the e-mail signature

they call it the "spn family" for the nepotism

POV: You caught the sheriff. What next?