#its short and not that sweet but!!

[waterfallofspace]

Just something small for D/azai's birthday. Whipped this together pretty quickly, so don't expect anything great, but I love this man so I had to do something~!

Mentions it being his birthday, but it's not focused on that situation, as Poni and Vic already did top quality wavs about that kinda thing! (Totally go check them out, Poni's also features art from Hachii which is ADORABLE!!)

Characters: C/huuya and the Birthday Boy D/azai Word Count: 1.5k (jus a lil short thing!)

(References to violence, swearing, implied death and blood, just in case anyone doesn't like those!)

~~~~~~~

The remnants of their mission lay strewn across the open plains, the smell of copper lingering in the air. Chuuya wipes some dirt from his jacket, pointing a snarl at Dazai. The bastard seems oblivious, a light shining in his eyes as he surveys the scene. One word pounds at Chuuya’s head as he watches. Majestic. 

A light wind whistles through the grass, gliding along the fields as Dazai lifts himself from the ground, wiping something red from his hands. The draft rustles his hair, each strand seeming to dance on the breeze. Chuuya can’t stop himself from looking, mind captivated by the beauty Dazai possesses, even in a place like this. 

“Is Chuuya planning to keep staring? I know my beauty is show-stopping, but we do have some papers to find in one of their pockets.”

“Huh!? Wh- what are you on about, you ass?”

“I believe I just said, finding the papers. Must I do everything myself?” 

With an effortless motion, Dazai dips to his knees, leaning towards one of the fallen soldiers. Chuuya feels another surge of affection, quickly dulled as he aims his focus at another body nearest to him, gloved hands rifling through their jacket. ‘It’s just the adrenaline rush from the battle, that’s all. It’s jus- what is he doing?’

Chuuya finds himself leaning against the ground as he watches Dazai’s movement pause. There’s a beat where time seems to stand still, Chuuya unable to break free from the spell.

Finally Dazai moves again, his back shaking slightly as he reaches down to steady himself. Feeling his heart stop, Chuuya’s mouth hangs open, thoughts racing. ‘I- is he… crying..?’ 

Dazai stands again, this time jerky and forced. Chuuya echoes his movements, activating his gift to add a fluidity to the actions. Once they’re both upright Chuuya lets his gaze drift over Dazai’s form.

‘Despite a slight shine to his eyes, there doesn’t seem to be any sign of tears… Maybe he was laughing? I didn’t hear anything, but that would be just like the bastard.’ 

“You really couldn’t use corruption? Even just a little bit?” Dazai pouts, twirling on his heel to face Chuuya. He raises a hand to sniffle against, a fake sigh spilling out as he raises an arm to drape across his face, dramatic as ever. “I had to get my hands dirty.” 

“You ass- you know how- you… you just… it…” Chuuya growls, shouts dissolving into furious muttering. Dazai laughs in return, a strained sound that leaves Chuuya’s hairs standing on edge. ‘Maybe he really was crying…? No, that’s ridiculous… he can’t be… but-’ 

“What a way to spend a birthday; out in a field.” Dazai’s voice cuts into his mind, a quality to it that Chuuya can’t seem to place. “Not my ideal choice, I hope you know. I’d much rather be in a nice cozy river, drifting along with a beautiful gi-” 

“It’s not like I wanted to spend my day like this either. Besides, birthday’s don’t really mean anything. You’re a year older, so what? You’re constantly getting older, who decided that ‘a year’ is the important one?” 

“Chuuya’s awfully cynical today. Is it the idea of me finding happiness, or the bohh… bodies-” 

There was more to the taunt, but it’s lost in the wind as Dazai dips back towards a body, kneeling as he jerks forward. His hands graze over the jacket of the fallen, but it seems more like an afterthought. Finding the papers is certainly not important enough to cut off his brilliant comeback. 

“Okay seriously, what’s with that?”

Dazai doesn’t make any effort to turn himself to Chuuya, instead sending a “what’s with what?” over his shoulder. Chuuya’s about to reply when Dazai answers for him, a squeak breaking free as his shoulders tremble once more. 

“Are you crying?” 

A tense silence falls over the meadow, even the birds seemingly pausing their songs. With an air of grace he lacked before, Dazai brings himself up to his full height. Letting his eyes drift down he meets the harsh gaze, a water present in his eyes that sucks Chuuya’s breath away. At least, until he begins to speak.   

“Yes, I am in fact. It’s just such a tragedy. Such an important day, one that should be filled with celebration! Instead I’m wasting it in this field with Chuuya, who didn’t even get me a present!” 

He wipes his eyes with a convincing sniffle, only downplayed by the smirk creeping across his cheeks bringing a glint to his watering eyes. Chuuya huffs in response, pointing a snarl at the ground as his head rushes over the facts.

‘He wants me to think that he’s crying? No wait- he wants me to know he’s joking, but there’s still tears in his eyes? Damn it! Knowing that bastard, me being uncertain is exactly his plan. It’s all a distraction.” 

“I mean,” Dazai begins once more, clearing his throat lighty before continuing, “Chuuya’s just so useless now. It’s enough to bring a tear to your eye.” 

“Huh?!”

“I mean, sure sure, Chuuya shot the bullets. But it was my plan, all you did was follow it. To the letter, might I add. Quite boring honestly.” 

“You were hoping I’d ignore your plan?!” Chuuya gawks. Dazai smiles at this, a deep chuckle breaking out, laced with the familiar superiority that sends chills down Chuuya’s back.

“I was hoping you’d do something in- inter… eh’gNT-! ek’nXT-! Interesting. Or at least not make me do work on my special day!” 

The sneezes are directed into his fist, expertly stifled, almost as if it took no effort whatsoever. A pang of jealousy runs through Chuuya; he’s never quite been able to get the hang of that trick. ‘Okay, so he’s sneezing… why wouldn’t he just tell me that?’ 

Dazai seems to be too preoccupied with his nose to notice the intensity of the look Chuuya shoots his way. It’s clear there’s something irritating him. Each breath leaves his nose scrunching, there’s a pinch to the corners of his watery eyes, and his tongue peeks out between his lips. 

Oblivious to the scrutiny, Dazai turns a glare over into the field. Chuuya tracks his gaze over to a group of lilies sprouting near the edge of a stream. The wind swirls around them once more, a wave of yellow floating into the air at the water's edge.

From the corner of his eye, Chuuya catches Dazai noticeably shuddering, before ducking into his collar with a harsh, “heh’yeEISHHH’shoo-! ah’yiiESHHHihhh’oo-!” 

“Shit-” Chuuya yelps, catching himself as the volume nearly knocks him off his feet. “You bastard, warn me-” 

Dazai turns to face him, nose almost quivering, a deep pink tint seeping down into his cheeks from the dripping appendage, tears spilling down his face. He opens his mouth, seemingly to speak, but hitching spills out before any words can break free, his hand raising to pinch his nose long enough to get a weak sentence out. 

“N- nohhht… notdone-!” 

“Oh fuck, are you oka-”

“hH’KIIEESHHhh’oo-! ah’YIZIISHHh’oo-!” 

There’s no attempt to cover, instead Dazai leans away from Chuuya, aiming towards the ground as another set of explosions bursts free. He mutters something through the gasping that might have been an apology before spinning further away and dipping once more with a full body shudder. 

“ihhHKEIZSHhh’oo-! Sorry I- I hahhh… have to- I’mgonnakeep- hahh’TIEZZHHh’shoo-!” 

“Just- hold on, okay? I think I have… somewhere around here,” Chuuya offers, digging through his pockets. Finding his prize, Chuuya holds out the handkerchief with a snarl, pointedly avoiding meeting Dazai’s eyes. “Blow your damn nose.” 

“Aww, is this a birthday present after all Chuhh… hehh… Chuuya?”

“No!? I- I just want you to shut up, that’s all. You’re gonna be sniffling and whining all day anyways. I don’t need to deal with you having an ongoing allergy attack as I drive you home.”

“Whatever you say! I knew Chuuya ca… heh… cared-  ahh’YIIECHHUUU’ya-! heH’KKCHHUU’ya-!” 

Chuuya aims a roundhouse at his chest, snickering as Dazai has to take a step back to catch his balance. The bastard coughs lightly and Chuuya crosses his arms, “You wanna keep bathing in your allergen, or can we leave now?” 

“ihhKIESZShhh’oo-! ek’eAASHHhh’oo-! Oh ouch…” Dazai snaps into the handkerchief, staring to straighten up as his eyes gloss over once more, “W- wait… heH- tiEZSHhh’oo-!” 

The third catches them both off guard, Chuuya practically kneeling on the ground as he lunges to grab Dazai’s shoulders. The bastard nearly faceplants from the force of it, Chuuya shooting a rough, “Christ, you dumbass.” 

Dazai dips back into the cloth with a fierce blow, moaning as an airy “hh’tiezshh’oo-! kiezshh’oo-!” slip out. Chuuya huffs, tapping his foot as Dazai blows again, before finally giving Chuuya a genuine look over the folds of the cloth.

At a volume only Chuuya would be able to hear, barely a whisper above the rush of the wind, Dazai lets another moan fall from his lips, nipping on the heels of, “Tibe to go hobe.” 

Chuuya smiles. An actual smile, one he hasn’t let himself do in a very long time. Taking Dazai’s arm and wrapping it around his shoulder, they head off back towards his motorcycle, Dazai pausing every so often to dip into his collar with another, softer, outburst.

“Hey, you better not sneeze on me while we’re driving.”

“I make no prohh… prombises- ek’tiezshh’oo-! hk’enzshh’oo-!”

“Bastard. And uh… happy birthday…” 

“en’kshhh’oo-! eh’tiezshh’oo-! Why thagk you Chuuya!”

“Shut up, you ass.”

[grey-sides]

On a Monday morning, Steve's dad frowns at his paper and throws Steve a sidelong glance. On the entertainment page is a black and white photo of Bruce Springsteen kissing Clarence Clemons.

Steve swallows his toast and shifts in his seat. But his father doesn't say a thing and Steve doesn't know where to begin. He's not asked to get rid of his Springsteen tapes. But he does find the paper later, tossed on the pile to go in the trash and clips out the picture.

It's not the first time he's seen this exact scenario with Bruce Springsteen. But it is the first time in a long time he's been interested in doing it himself.

He tucks the paper clipping away in a book under his bed. And he thinks about the cash he has saved up and how much longer Robin has to be in school for.

On a Friday evening, he fixes his hair and kisses his mom's cheek on his way out the door. The newspaper clipping under his bed is delicately frayed already, the thin paper worn thinner by his eager fingers.

He picks Robin up, waves to her mom and drives them just outside of town. Eddie's van is already there, quiet and dark because he and his band are already inside.

On a Friday night, Steve tucks into a beer and looks up at the stage. He smiles despite himself and thinks of Bruce and Clarence when Eddie and Jeff lean into the microphone together.

His palms sweat and he presses them to his bottle. The edges of the label are peeling like the newspaper clipping. He taps his toe to the music and smiles wider when a woman takes Robin by the hand to show her how to rock out.

On an early Saturday morning, so early Steve would call it late, he helps Eddie put the instruments away in the back of the van. He watches as Eddie stacks each piece carefully and curses when a cymbal crashes against an amp.

And he thinks about his newspaper and the judgement in his dad's eyes. He twirls his keyring around his finger and thinks of another life where he kept up with his piano lessons instead of baseball.

On an early Saturday morning, Steve closes the van doors just enough to block people from seeing them and he pulls Eddie close. And he wonders what it would be like to do on a stage.

And Eddie is not Clarence Clemons and he is not Bruce Springsteen. But his heart still races and his palms still sweat, and he knows he could bellow out of his lungs with joy if he was standing in front of a crowd.

And later still on that early Saturday morning, Steve feels the calluses of Eddie's guitar worn fingers on his cheek. And he listens to his halfway to hoarse voice tell a story. And he tastes cheap beer and song lyrics on his lips. And he thinks next Saturday, he might join Robin dancing in the dark of the bar.

[almondpiglet]

needed to draw something this year for tomes bday...really wanted to draw her highschool friends

[tojisun]

like everything with john, it ends with a quiet admission.

"i'm tired."

the words fall from your lips like needles dragging along the curvature of your throat. they puncture, aching with their vengeance, until they slip into the open space, never to be taken back. never to be unsaid.

you do not look at him when you say this, incapable of facing your limits. your shortcomings.

you are a fraud dressed in fluffed up costumes, preaching about true love and never-ending devotion but look where you are right now—straining behind the stained walls of this relationship, splintering at the fleeting weight of his affections.

and you thought it was poetic how flowers could grow in between cracked asphalt.

the reality of the situation is like this—john loves you.

but it's not enough to silence the doubts and the jealousy, because you are jealous. you're not a jealous person, god knows many tried you, but this thing with john—this relationship that ever so fluctuates—it is troubling. insufficient, truly.

your friends told you to be better; that people who are jealous are just insecure about their relationship and yes, you are. that is the crux of it; that is what drags the voices from the pits of your stomachs to spit to each other’s face, spewing with vitriol because john has made you this beastly being, always pawing for his attention, always begging for the scraps.

he's left you rotten and all hollowed-out.

an empty opera house.

“is it because o’mary?” he asks, quick to find the rot in your core only to prod at it. gawk at it. to marvel at its festering like he had not been the cause of such unravelling.

is it because of mary he asked like you had not spent sleepless nights crying to him, telling him that you do not feel good when it was just the two of them. that you do not want whatever it is they have—hell, his friends had called her his work wife; crooning to each other like you were just a pinned butterfly stuck behind glass, watching as they coloured the details of john’s life beyond your grasp. of his love outside of your arms.

is it because of mary he asked like he hadn’t just told you of mary’s love for him, the confession she’d whispered as he held her in his arms after she had lost her pet to an illness. like he didn’t tell you, in awed whispers, how mary told him that he was the best thing that ever happened to her; the loveliest thing in her life like john was hers to begin with. like john wasn’t wearing a gold band on his ring—the promise he’s made in that courthouse, when the two of you were still too young and obsessively in love.

is it because of mary he asked like he hadn’t just told you, in angered puffs, that he couldn’t have rejected her then. she was in pain, he’d said. i couldn’t do that to her, he’d added like it was mary whom he married. like it was mary who he needed to protect and reassure and cherish.

so yes, it is because of her. but also, it is because you are tired.

tired of asking for his love. for his devotion. for him to choose you, come what may.

“just,” you begin, too weak for anything more. “sign the papers, please john.”

even when you are leaving him, you are still unable to stop yourself from pleading to him for his kindness. for his grace.

he stares at you, pinched lips and flared nose, and you stare back because this man—this john that stands before you—this isn’t the man you’ve loved. not the one who loved you back.

your john wouldn’t have hurt you this way; he would have listened to your whispered confessions, see the ache in your admission, and move himself away from mary because why did it matter if she had loved him? your john wouldn’t have cared for her affections; your john would have only cared for your own.

your john wouldn’t have—

your john wouldn’t. and now he is gone.

so you walk away from… this man amidst the suffocating silence, feeling nothing wash over you.

they said divorce feels like liberation; that it feels like the start of something kinder and better and brighter. but this just feels like a bruise on your tender skin—something blooming, pain so muted that it hurts only when you poke it.

and like how you were with all your previous bruises, you cannot stop poking at this one too.

[lesbiangiratina]

TESTAMENT DOUJINSHI BIRTHDAY BLAST

HI!!!! Im celebrating testament’s birthday by sharing scans of 3 testament-centric doujinshi anthologies: totentanz (2007), gentle grim reaper (2014), and potatoment (2015), as well as a collection of short stories by 1 of the writers as a bonus. Generally sfw, untranslated. Dizzy sol and johnny are also in there sometimes, some others too.

Google drive might not be the neatest way to share this, but its the best ive got right now. Hopefully anyone else out there finds these as extremely charming as i do. :) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TESTAMENT YAY

[sororygilmore]

pop girls of all time

[jaeshoney]

Thinking about meeting rockstar!Geto out on the street one night...

You spot him under the glow of the streetlights, his dark hair pulled up in his signature half up bun and wearing all black from his shades to his shoes, giving off that mysterious and alluring aura that made him a heartthrob and icon. Your heart races as you work up the courage to approach him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

"Excuse me, Suguru, can I get a picture with you?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

He looks at you, and for a moment, you think he's about to say no. But then, a slow smile spreads across his face, and he nods. "Sure, let's do it."

Just as you pull out your phone, the screen goes black—completely dead. You groan, trying to hide your disappointment. "Umm, actually... Can I get an autograph instead?"

"I actually don't have a pen, but..." Before you can say anything else, Geto is already pulling out his own phone. "No worries. Let's take it on mine," he says, leaning in closer. He snaps the photo and, with a casual grin, asks, "What's your number? I'll send it to you."

You blink in surprise, fumbling for words as you give him your number. You watch as he types it in, and within seconds, you have the most sought-after man in the country's number.

From that night on, the two of you start texting and calling each other every day. What begins as casual conversation turns into a deep connection neither of you expected. Soon, he's flying you out to his shows, VIP passes and security waiting for you at the entrance to take you to him. And in between sound checks and performances, he's asking you out on dates, treating you to a side of him the world rarely sees.

[mintypsii]

doodle dump :3

some of these r comic wips that i prob won't get to (the last one is post w7 where an anxious usopp places traps around the sunny and sanji gets caught in one bfhdkjs)

[buwheal]

I'm sorry, Spamton. I know you won't believe me, but I'm sorry we hurt you.

[divine-misfortune]

Aether waking Rain up with a cup of tea, Rain all bleary eyed and his curls are just wild - sweet thing only ever communicates in little chirps when he's this out of it and Aether loves every sound - sits beside him and lets Rain lean into his side while he drinks

It's that lovely mint blend Mountain spent forever trying to perfect for the water ghoul's birthday, he drinks it sparingly even though he knows Mountain would replenish the stock in a heartbeat but because there's something special about those dried herbs in that tin. It's the thought behind them that makes them so important to cherish

When he's done, he passes the mug back and leans up to kiss Aether as a thank you but like most mornings (especially the ones where Rain's feeling a little extra sappy for one reason or another) it's never just one kiss, neither of them ever want it to be just one either

There's a reason the two of them are always the last to the breakfast table after spending the night together

[tarosei]

thinking about husband!bakugo teaching your son how to ride a bike. he's holding onto the back of the seat, walking beside your kid as they peddle down the sidewalk across your house. bakugo's heart swells with pride when he lets go of the seat, and sees his son peddling along all by himself. he jogs beside the child, laughing and grinning and cheering him on. you're watching all of this, a warm smile spreading across your cheeks and hands holding onto your phone to capture this perfect moment. bakugo's been teaching your son for a few days now, determined to make him the best bike rider in the world. thinking about how husband!bakugo buys your son the best bike there is - nothing less for his kid. it's dynamite themed, of course. bakugo refused to get any other kind.

[postmortemnivis]

“it’s just a girl harmonising with her fan”

so close! it’s actually simon who has to come back to base after johnnys death, his best mates blood still on his vest and hands. hands, because he even took off his gloves, thinking it’d save him.

the barracks have never felt and sounded so silent, even the light buzzing of the led lights is quiet.

simon opens the door to johnnys room in his usual silence, but this time he’s not knocking on the door and asking johnny if he fancies a fag outside, he’s sitting down on his bed in a trance. looking down between his leather boots he notices some dark red, dry spots. his eyes immediately go somewhere else. his throat dries and his eyes start to sting. he decides to leave the room immediately.

his brain hasn’t registered yet that price will soon come and tell him to put johnnys stuff in cardboard boxes and ship them to his family. no, simon could never. he’d get on the first train and bring johnnys mother her boy’s stuff himself.

simon takes johnnys journal from under his pillow, he knows it’s there, he’s seen him hide it there so many times. flipping through the pages he finds unlinked quotes, thoughts and many, many drawings. sketches. polaroid photos and digital ones. a few flowers pressed between some pages and even ferry tickets, receipts. trinkets.

“simon.” kyle’s voice calls him from the door he left open without noticing. “simon.”

“wha’?”

“captain wants to talk to us.” the man replies. “to you.”

“tell ‘im m’busy.” simon grunts, closing the journal and holding it tightly in his hand.

“simon…”

“did i stutter?”

kyle raises his arms in defeat. before leaving the room he takes a glance around what used to be johnnys personal space, where he and him had gotten drunk in the middle of the night countless times during the years. “do as you please, lt.” he sighs.

simon looks at kyle as he quietly shuts the door.

simon sniffles, and a whiff of johnnys aftershave reaches his nostrils. he coughs it out, hoping to get it out of his system, it burns his lungs like smoke and makes him sick.

[hauntedrose555]

short n’ sweet

[octopus-defence-squad]

a sweet, peaceful moment; out of time and away from the world that would drive them apart.

(pose referenced from AdorkaStock on Deviant Art)

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Premise of this Threadfic: Homelander suckles on Billy Butcher’s d!ck until the stress and white noise in his evil blond head is gone. That’s it. That’s the plot.

CW: ⚠️🔞, some surface level Homelander whump because I think he deserves a lil pampering after the new episode. Vaguely inspired by The Boys 04x04 and Butcher’s gorgeous manly tatas

(You can read the rest of it here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

A/N - I can't believe this threadfic has its own behind-the-scenes backstory, but the first 25 tweets of how this threadfic initially started had been very different from what you see in this version. It was full of poignant lore and future S4 speculation, a dive into HL's psyche regarding his traumatic upbringing, and commentary about Compound V causing madness and tragedy to tie into what'll happen to Hugh Sr, ect.… It’d been saved in my Drafts; I’d been ready to click “Post All” after I found the perfect GIFs for the starter tweet. But then I'd accidentally pressed "DELETE" instead of "Save”—and all that work, vanished. Banished to the ether. RIP to what could've been. 🥲 I wasn't about to retype all that in my second attempt so I ended up simplifying it. And that's how we arrived here. :) Hope y'all enjoyed regardless! <3

[weepingalaxy]

lets see if it works this time

hello parvis (and parvill) enjoyers. i have some food for you