#HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALL MIGHT!

[the-thing-named-shallot]

[dogwaterdish]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Midoriya Izuku & Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Thirteen (My Hero Academia) Additional Tags: Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Midoriya Izuku is Not Okay, Trapped, Hospitalization, Head Injury, Parental Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Retired Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Tired Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Hurt Midoriya Izuku, Protective Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is a Good Teacher, Hospitals Summary:

All Might and Midoriya go out to the shops after getting Dekus updated hero mask, but things quickly go awry when the building collapses, with them inside.

Here’s a oneshot for All Mights birthday! Hope y’all enjoy it !!! 

[ititheteavillain]

Happy Birthday to the best dad!

[rimeswithpurple]

Happy birthday, Simon Snow!

I channeled my inner Lady Ruth and made a whole tea spread

Dragon petit fours | Sour cherry scones | Checkerboard cookies | Cucumber and beet tea sandwiches

@rainbowrowell

Bonus birthday biscuit tin under the cut!

[persuaison]

the boyfriend i can never have ♡

[vaguely-concerned]

the question is who taught lucanis to knit. was it something he already knew how to do or is he picking it up over the course of the game as part of his 'if I manage to cram enough hobbies in there I won't have to sleep again ever. easy' experiment. did he learn it out of a book (as a sometime knitter, a horrifying thought but I wouldn't put it past him). as hilarious as I find the mental image of caterina with knitting needles I do not believe in it, did he pick it up from someone in the household staff growing up the same way he did cooking. is the sweater he wears with his introductory armour his own work (very funny if so it's just so. incredibly neutral toned and sensible.) I understand why he never does it on screen because animating knitting is the devil's own work and bioware were right to dodge right past it no one should wish themselves that kind of pain, but do you think off-screen he's using it the same way davrin does whittling during team meetings and book club nights (for real the grandmas were so right for this: knitting during social group situations is a neurodivergent life hack like you wouldn't believe if doodling isn't your thing/isn't doing it for you). it's that or sharpening his knives and some people seem to get a bit nervous about that so he mostly sticks to the knit one purl one of it all. does he make things for the team. for romanced rook perhaps. boring but useful things like socks and scarves, to be clear. I think mr. 'I made you a cake (cautiously marital intent)' would not mean to impress just make sure your feet weren't cold jogging around the heights of athim killing darkspawn. knitting more socks for harding so she won't get cold walking around everywhere in her fereldan *checks notes written on palm* clogs. some of taash' outfits... you think rook and lucanis are letting them walk around the anderfels like that without at least a token sensible scarf on even tho adaari are built different in terms of body temperature. I say no not in my lighthouse they would team up and mother hen them to shathann levels before they'd let that happen. (the scarf has dragons on it taash thinks it's kind of cool actually.) a bobble hat for manfred not because he really needs it but because he wanted to feel included. assan indignantly tries to steal it and fly away with it so he gets his own scarf to promote peace between the lighthouse little guys and it works. help.

[heartofjasmina]

Toshinori has been offered many things on his birthday, from blowjobs to no strings attached breeding. And yet somehow the offer that had his cock thickening in seconds was from you- his cute little secretary.

"I, well, I made you something for your birthday sir." Watching you hurry to your desk in your modest heels (drove him crazy when he first saw them and they still do) and pull out a small present had his breath hitching in anticipation.

The gift fit perfectly into his massive palm and he could tell the wrapping paper that said "my hero!" and "we all love all might!" was homemade. You were shifting your weight from foot to foot as he carefully peeled the paper off. (Yes he was keeping it.) It was just a small token, a "world's best hero" keychain since he complained he lost his keys constantly when he changed costumes.

And yet Toshi's heart and dick apparently didn't care that you could see how hard he was getting from looking at his present. Your eyes went wide and warmth rushed to your cheeks, but it was when you licked your lips that sealed your fate.

A year later you'd teasingly get him a "world's best dad" key chain to remind him just how much he enjoyed your last present.

[classical-bluess]

Happy birthday old man 🫶

[slightlymad]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FREDDIE MERCURY! — september 5, 1946

[shih-coulda-had-it]

It's toshis birthday yay!! What do you think nana (and gran maybe?? 👀) would gift him??

they took him camping for a summer break!

[loserstripes]

happy LATE anniversary! lets-a go

[swanoel]

The way Vere's birthday sketch for Kuras is a single rendered drawing likely from memory, versus Mhin's having multiple attempts because they haven't spent much time together and it's drawn from his imagination...

[joffyworld]

Forever After, After Forever

It starts with sorry,

With who are you?

With how'd you do?

And wherefore here thou art?

It starts with understanding,

Breeding comfort,

With that comfort reaching far.

Who could have knew?

That this stranger standing,

Staring from afar,

Would so quickly take to heart

Our heart-to-heart beneath the stars

It leads to talk

That leads to answers for

Those questions that we

Feel the need to ask.

Yet there's no time for bitter tensions,

When these tensions cannot last.

For hard to mention,

Scarcer questioned,

This hollow feeling in my bones.

Yet feels so soothed,

Absconded quickly,

When with you, doth feel at home.

So listened closely,

Did us two,

Bonded quickly 'neath the homely

Fields at dusk.

When times were tough,

'Twas your company I desired mostly

And your laugh,

So nary dreary,

Always comforting and

Warming like the hearth;

Did light a fire,

It took a hoot or two,

But soon the future shon

With you and I as its main stars.....

There remains no trace of question,

Within my wizened mind...

I desire naught but your company,

Dost thou desire mine..?

I fear the answer to my worries,

May be tougher than I wish to find.

But truly,

If I chanced it?

If love truly commanded.

Would my passion and my loyalty

Be truly understanded?

All I truly wish for, granted,

Is the owl to be set free.

Happiness strides by his side in life,

But does he want that life with me..?

(Inspired by, and based on entirely, the oc ship by @twooftheluckyones between Baal and Oko and the fic they are in, which can be found here)

[selene-19]

Happy Birthday All Might 👊

The inspiration of our heroes. Some of my favorite bkdk and All Might in arts, posts and games 🧡💚

Also a good father to Izuku and a third dad to Katsuki 🥹 (second is Aizawa sensei for me)

They will definitely be All Might's greatest legacy 💚🧡

[mha-wof-wc-reader]

Happy Birthday Gran Torino!🥳🎂🎁🎉

Not my art

[to-rise-above-monsters]

dear bertholdt.

Summary: Reiner left his overcoat in preparation for a meeting and asked Annie to get it from his room. Begrudgingly, she agreed. Though she immediately regrets it when a box of letters falls from the top shelf. Maybe regret isn’t all there is. She found something more.

-

CW: angst, canon compliant (so major characters death,, Bertholdt is dead<3), rba centric, can be read as romantic or platonic reibert but reibert nonetheless

Takes place post-timeskip (the second one, post-war), a few years into settling into ambassador life.

Apologies for any ooc, I don’t think I’ve ever written a fic in Annie’s perspective/focus,, I also haven’t written on her before and also haven’t written and posted in general for forever

(This was meant to be a comic and is so clear in my mind but I don’t have the time nor talent to execute it 😔)

Happy Birthday Bertholdt can’t believe ur dead ♥️

-

Reiner told her to get his coat. What that asshole didn’t tell her was how ridiculously high his coat hangers were. It shouldn’t have loomed over her the way it did. It was almost taunting, mocking her with its impossible height. They had probably raised Reiner’s closet bar for his big, hulking self and possibly lowered hers as some sort of unspoken courtesy. Annie sighed deeply, already regretting being here. Sure, tell the short girl to get your big ass coat from your tall ass closet. Embarrassingly, she jumped; she jumped a few times. If a glare could kill, there'd be holes burnt into the pockets.

Fuck off.

The stupid coat was simply out of reach. She could usually manage by grabbing the shoulder and lifting it from there but even then she couldn’t manage. She kicked the closet door in frustration, hard enough to make it rattle, and looked around for reinforcements. Somewhere nearby had to be a stool or something, anything, to make this easier. 

She found a tall chair and dragged it over with a bit more force than necessary. The legs scraped against the floor and that sound annoyed her even more. 

Finally, she lined it up, climbed up with a huff, and snatched the coat off the hanger in one triumphant, final fuck you. But as she jumped off the chair with her prize, she heard something else fall. A clatter, a shuffle, the distinct sound of things spilling. She grumbled and turned around.

If I have to do one more thing, I’m killing someone.

She cringed when her eyes fell onto the mess. Her jumping and kicking and overall exasperation now had a bunch of shit spilled on the floor from the top shelf of the tall closet. An old box, the size and look of a shoe box, had lost its lid and scattered papers everywhere. She at first started to snatch them up without discretion, just trying to stuff them back in. But a name caught her eyes.

Bertholdt.

Her fingers froze. She didn’t want to snoop. She would have killed anyone who went through her stuff like this. She tried to cast out the memory of seeing the name. She quickly tried to collect them all and put the box, along with this moment, far back into the closet. But there it was again, unmistakable.

Bertholdt.

Something came over her. An overwhelming wave, pulling her under before she could even name it. It felt so sudden, so heavy, all-consuming. She held the pages in her hands, her grip tightening unconsciously. 

The small, trembling pool she had collected seemed insignificant against the sheer ocean of papers spilled out before her. They spread across the floor like a map of emotions she wasn’t sure she wanted to navigate. And each one… each one bore the same familiar name.

Dear Bertholdt,

Her chest tightened, an ache spreading in places she thought she’d long since numbed. With a breath, she carefully placed them in the box one by one. It blurred past her, the same line repeated over and over. Her eyes couldn’t help but snag on the same arrangement of letters, the same handwriting. There were a hundred, maybe even more, all addressed… and dated. She paused.  

They had an order. 

Written at the top of each of them was a date. Everything was spilled all over the floor and each one was supposed to be neatly tucked away in order. She bit the insides of her cheeks.

Forgive me.

Dates flashed by. She tried to put them in order without reading any of its contents. It felt impossible, especially when there were letters that seemed to be multiple pages long. She tried to group them to the best of her abilities, organizing them by date and putting them in piles face down when she found the correct order. But words blurred past, recognizable phrases, handwriting that got shakier, years and years and years, consistent dating on every one.

“I miss you.” “I’m sorry.” “If I could go back…” “I wish you were here.” “I can’t forgive myself.” “You deserved better.”

Her breath hitched, the edges of the pages almost cutting into her fingers as she clutched them tighter. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat, but it only grew heavier with every second she spent kneeling there, surrounded by years of unspoken… emotions; emotions she never knew she had.

When did I start crying?

A tear fell from her cheek and nearly hit the precious paper. An aching feeling had creeped into her body. Emotions she never really thought were there seemed to spill. She couldn’t name it. It felt like a sudden burn in her nose, the need to swallow a bitter taste, eyes blurring. She was drowning. 

30.12.854

The letter she held was dated shakily at the top. She’d seen that same date come up again and again. For a moment, she tried to remember if maybe New Years or any holiday around that time meant something to them; as warriors, they didn’t really celebrate holidays, let alone religion. 

She took a breath and put it in the 854 pile. She looked at the stack. 854. That would have been… that would have been the year of the rumbling. It would have been the year everything changed. 

And he never got to see it.

She looked at all of the piles she’d now made, how each represented a year. She tried to push any judgements or perceptions away from her mind. But some years piled higher than others. Three piles in particular. She gathered the final loose letters. 

Her mind drifted to her time in the crystal. The silence had been maddening, a suffocating void she couldn’t escape. She had been awake in that void, terrifyingly, agonizingly awake. The only light that had ever pierced through the endless dark had been Armin’s voice, Hitch’s chatter. Their persistence had saved her, kept her tethered to something beyond the emptiness. But it always puzzled her why they did it in the first place.

I know.

She placed the final letter. The paper felt different; crinkled and messy, rough and smeared. 30.12.850; old, the oldest one. She finally gathered all of them, stacking them neatly away in the box.  She stared at the box in front of her, now neatly packed, the letters arranged in quiet, solemn order. The shoebox felt heavier than it had any right to be. There was only paper within it. Something else weighed it down. 

I know.

She exited the room quietly, holding the coat tenderly in her hands. She gave it to him when they met in town without a single complaint. She never spoke about what she had found to Reiner or anyone else for that matter. 

Their now shared secret lay in a small box that once held shoes for a warrior.