#killingbirdocs

[killingbirdjack]

Happy (sorta late) Birthday to Devin!!!

[jackzyyykillz]

some ocs. theyre in a band!

quinn doodles!

[killingbirdjack]

Be Nice To Me

The heavy aroma of weed made Matt uneasy.

Devin, in the past, had been appalled by the mere suggestion of taking a sip of beer, and much more opposed to the idea of recreational drugs. But then again, they were younger then.

Now the scent of nicotine and cannabis clung to Devin's person.

Matt wondered if Devin had picked up these habits in New York because of him.

He hoped it was just the new friends he made and their influence.

But deep down he knew he wasn't blameless.

Matt had developed plenty of his own vices in Devin's absence.

[killingbirdjack]

say hello to mister mateo ruiz!

he's a character in my (currently unstarted LOLZ) comic/graphic novel project White Ravens!

White Ravens is a story centered on grief, authenticity, and overcoming the terrifying reality of our own mortality. Sprinkled with queerness, neurodivergence, forest magic, and psychic visions.

[killingbirdjack]

HAPPY (late whoops!) BIRTHDAY MATEO!!!

[killingbirdjack]

Excerpts from New York - 1

Devin wondered when, if, existence would stop feeling so tiring.

He always ended up in the same place. His bed, indented in the form of his heavy body. His eyes squinted against the harsh overhead light in his room before he dragged himself across the bed where he could reach his light switch to turn it off. Grey light creeped in through the closed blinds on his window, not enough to illuminate the darkness but enough to paint everything dull and lifeless. He laid back down.

He always ended up here.

With his limbs sinking into unwashed bed sheets. Pile of clothes on the bed, both unworn and unwashed, a mix of filth and cleanliness. He’d lit a candle earlier because he feared the stench of his rot might be noticeable now. He could still smell fresh tropical springs before he tugged his blanket over his face and sighed.

He had plans today. Good, attainable plans. And yet he ended up back here anyways. Because as much as he wanted to have the energy to leave the apartment, something kept pulling him back to his bed. Like a magnetic force keeping him tethered to the one place where he wasn’t expected to do anything at all.

He shouldn’t smoke indoors.

But he reaches for his cigarettes anyways.

It doesn't make him feel better. It doesn't bring any new meaning to his life, doesn't soothe the ache between his ribs or the burning behind his eyes, but it gives him something to do.

He has nothing to be sad about. His life is good here in New York, better than it was in Port Buford. He has a boyfriend who loves him, but who's texts sit unanswered. A mom and a step-dad who can afford to give him most things, whether it's a shoulder to cry on or a new car. But he hasn't spoken to mom or Kevin much since they moved here.

They assumed everything was fine. Because it should be. It should be perfect. He's told them everything is fine.

And so they didn't know to look for it when Devin started smoking, or drinking, or when he replaced all his sunshine yellow clothes with black. When he stopped riding his bike. They all seemed normal symptoms of adolescence. Devin tried to convince himself of it too.

But existing stopped feeling worth it a long time ago. And his body kept failing him.

The thought scared him.