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ciaossu-imagines · 4 months

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Since it’s Yata’s birthday today (July 20th), could you write a drabble of him and his significant other celebrating his birthday? He’s 30 today but that like always, you can choose the age or not specify it at all.

This had to be the worst birthday in his history of birthdays. That was all Yata could think as he worked his skateboard through the throngs of people on the sidewalk, gliding none too gracefully through the small gaps in the crowds. Yeah, his family had all called him to wish him a happy birthday, as they always did. His mother had also nagged at him about how they all wanted to see him, wished he'd come around more. But then, again, that was very par for the course, though the nagging had set him in a bad mood, considering she'd called at what seemed the asscrack of dawn to him. There'd be the usual social media messages wishing him well on his birthday.

But he'd only just recently moved in with his first serious partner and he'd kind of figured they'd do something together for his birthday. He'd hinted, none too subtly, tried explicitly making plans, but something had always seemed to come up that needed their attention and he'd never gotten a real solid answer. But still, he'd just expected it because who wouldn't want to celebrate their partner's birthday with them? It's what people who cared about each other did. But his beloved partner had hopped out of bed almost the second he was on the phone with his mother and had started rushing about in a little whirlwind that was, while amusing to watch, bemusing to poor Yata. Hell, though he'd tried to coax them back into bed, hoping for at least some extra cuddling time and maybe even some real nice physical love, they'd rushed out the door. Yeah, they'd said happy birthday. Yeah, they'd said they'd see him later but they wouldn't even tell him where they were going or why they had to leave so suddenly. And really, was it too much for a guy to hope for maybe a little birthday sex?

Yata could feel his face heating up at even just the thought of that, embarrassment still a thing he felt and hated that he felt at the thought of that kind of affection with his partner even after all this time, and it just made his temper even worse. They hadn't even answered any of his texts and none of the other HOMRA members had really answered his texts either. They were ignoring him on his fucking birthday and jesus, did it hurt him more than he'd like to admit and that hurt just made him angry. The fact that there seemed to be so many people out today, clogging up the sidewalks when all he was trying to do was make it to bar HOMRA to try to salvage any joy in the day, and that so many of those people seemed so happy? It was definitely not making things better for him.

He clicked his tongue angrily as he got stopped by yet another red light, having to slow a pace that already seemed to be a crawl to him. At least the little pause gave him the time to shoot off another, maybe not so nicely worded, text off to Kamamoto. Kamamoto always answered and the fact that he wasn't? Yata couldn't really wrap his mind around it. He bit out a curse as he looked at his notifications, searched for any new communications from any of the friends he'd come to consider his family or from his lover. Finding none, but with the walk sign now mercifully lit up, Yata sped off as quickly as possible.

Meanwhile, at Bar HOMRA, a closed sign hung on the door. Not an unheard of concept, but not something normal for the time of day either. Inside, amongst the crowded interior and flurry of activity, Kamamoto looked down at his watch to see the newest notification.

"Shit! Guys," he yelled out, catching the attention of most of the people in the bar. "Yata just messaged that he's on his way to the bar. No more than fifteen minutes away! We gotta speed shit up."

That, of course, started an argument, not the first one heard with Bar HOMRA that day. What was a first was that Yata's beloved partner was one of the loudest in the argument…but what could they say? After all their hard work planning and prepping, and as hard as they'd worked setting this up, they really didn't want it all to go to waste. At the end of the argument, it was decided that someone needed to go stall Yata. And it had to be someone who would really make him angrier, because he'd slow down to argue and fight. The rest of them would really kick it into high gear, but that person needed to buy them at least an extra twenty minutes. Just enough time to get the rest of the decorations up, to get at least the first round set up, and to allow the meal to finish cooking.

Thank god they sent Eric in some regards because it was about thirty minutes before, a little bloodied and bruised and cursing a blue streak, Yata pushed open the unlocked door of the bar, Eric trailing behind him looking a little worse for wear as well.

The curses that had been spewing from his mouth and the look of absolute rage on Yata's face abruptly stopped. So abruptly, really, that it would normally have been funny to his friends and partner…but looking at Yata, watching his expression change from anger to confusion to wide-eyed absolute glee? No one thought to tease him much, caught up in the excitement of screaming surprise, blowing noisemakers, pushing a drink into his hand, making good-natured remarks about how they'd gotten him so good this time. In a rare moment of Yata-approved PDA, his partner pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Happy birthday, love," they whispered in his ear. "I'm so glad you exist."

And in the end, Yata swore this, this first real surprise birthday party, was the happiest birthday in the history of his birthdays.

#replies #k project #project k #yata misaki #drabble #scenario #thank you for the request :)#and a happy very very very belated birthday to yata i guess lol

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tarabyte3 · 6 months

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Thank you for the tag @amywritesthings! I love this.

(Apparently this has been sitting in my drafts for about a month, oh no 😅)

Alias/Name: Tara

Birthday: August 6

Zodiac: Leo sun, Capricorn moon, Capricorn rising

Height: 5'9"

Hobbies: writing, painting, crafting (I make a lot of horror art), hiking, horror movies, going to thrift/antique stores, true crime

Favourite color: teal, emerald green, blush

Favourite book: The Lord of the Rings, The First Law series by Joe Abercrombie, Frankenstein

Last Song: Alt-J - Fitzpleasure

Last Movie/Show: The Fall of the House of Usher

Recent Read: Book: I listen to The Silmarillion narrated by Andy Serkis whenever I go on walks. Fanfic: Back on my Loki/Mobius bullshit

Inspiration: Right now it's anything that gets me in the mood to write fic. So poetry, or classic art with religious or macabre themes (Francisco Goya, Thomas Harris, Caravaggio, Peter Paul Rubens, Cornelius van Haarlem, Gustave Doré)

Story behind URL: It's been my screen name on stuff for like 17 years now because it's a play on my name and 3 is my favorite number

Fun Fact: I'm hypermobile so I can make my joints bend in ways they should NOT. Also my nickname is highschool was Taradactyl.

NP tags (assuming you haven't already been tagged): @tarrenterror25, @citrus-moonlight, @eupheme, @celestianstars, and any of my friends that want to do this because I want to learn more about you

#tag games #tara irl #i got distracted and never hit post #probably because i'm terrible at thinking of people to tag in stuff 😂#a very belated thank you!!

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graveraverz · 2 days

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merry birth!!

imagine me seeing this today. almost exactly three months after receiving this. i shouldn't be allowed on tumblr im so sorry

#my bday was on feb 22nd.........#so so sorry nova i wasn't ignoring you i'm just an idiot for a living #very belated thank yous

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cyberdragoninfinity · 2 months

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*slides in, falls over a table* so I heard you like zoneporia :3

(you actually got me pretty on board with it and I just wanna hear you ramble about it, only if you want to though)

YESS....HAHA, YESS!!!!!!!!!!! <--*WITH EACH PERSON ZONEPORIAPILLED BY MY HAND I GROW STRONGER*

i tend to fare better with specifics rather than just broad rambles, especially being just not a very shipbrained person in general, but hmm....mm....... god I just like them. So Much. I love you old people I love you the marriage of flesh and machine under the embrace of divinity i love your God and His Most Loyal Archangel i love you MESSY NASTY BREAKUPS!!!!

I'm an aro/demiromantic Aporia truther, i'll analyze ships through the lens of the beautiful ways aromantic people love and interact with the people they care about until i collapse into the earth, and there is never not something that warms me very deeply thinking about Aporia going through life under the assumption the feelings he felt for Eurea were a once in a lifetime occurrence, only to find a spark of joy and companionship once again decades later amidst a Polycule of THe Oldest Men You Can Possibly Imagine. In the glory of a man seeing himself as God. Aporia THE 'not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing (so devoted the lines blur)' of all time to me. He gave Z-one everything. Z-one gave him everything he could. they are both such deeply fucked up miserable unwell people and in the wake of Paradox and Antinomy's deaths they deserve only each other. Miss me with "first loves," we're on LAST LOVES NOW!!! A love burning in the embers of the literal last two people alive on Earth!!!! Z-one's chasing an Aporia that died However the Fuck Long Ago while the Aporia he brought back carries every weight asked of him and wants nothing but to share the hope he was reminded of with Him.

and z-one FUCKING KILLS HIM FOR IT!!! LIT HIM ON FIRE IN FRONT OF CHILDREN!!! YEAH SURE I'LL BE NORMAL ABOUT THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

im just obsessed with them. it's my god given duty to hook people on this dynamic that's just THERE. IN THE TEXT. MESSY AND VIOLENT AND TRAGIC. Their duel is the visual yugioh equivilent of your parents having a fight in the kitchen. Live performance of "The Chain" (Fleetwood Mac) ass duel. Divorce is real in Yugioh 5D's. They make me sick in the head and I cannot apologize anymore for this. Z-one doing delicate mechanical operation on Aporia's beat up robot body is one of Yugioh's most absolute This Too Can Be Gay Sex scenes. christ alive. and now theyre back in Duel Links and their entire dynamic is getting localized and it's making me explode.

ETERNAL FRIENDS. THEY WOULD FIND AND DIVORCE AND/OR KILL EACH OTHER IN EVERY LIFETIME. GRANDPA AND GRANDMA. GOD AND HIS PET LIGER. ZONEPORIA HOPELESSSHIPPING NUMERO UNO!!!!!

#VERY scattered but just. some thoughts. they make me fucking crazy. thank you!!!#asks #ygo posting #zoneporia #hopelessshipping #anonymous #iliasterliker9000 #i need to make a shareable abridged version of my zoneporia playlist and slam it over everyone's head.#happy belated international kiss an italian day

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chiropterx · 10 months

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❛ door . hold a door open

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

The room practically trembles as Man-Bat snarls, heavy door rattling in the wake of the immense bat's fury as he grips the handle and tries forcing it open. It doesn't and Man-Bat's fury becomes incandescent. It's not locked, he knows this and grows irate as to why it refuses to yield to his claws, even when he tries forcing the handle the other way. Damn this stupid cage! So fixated is Man-Bat on getting out of the building he'd accidentally trapped himself inside that he's surprised when a human wearing glasses steps into the room, small warm hands slipping past his furry bulk to reach the handle. Man-Bat doesn't attack. He vaguely remembers this dark-haired person, scurrying through the twisted tunnels outside some nights ago, when he'd found the shiny can that sprayed purple air. The bat grunts, shifting his wingspan so that the human can actually reach the handle and Man-Bat watches as... the person pulls the handle, door obediently swinging open. Huh, so doors opened in more ways than outwards? Man-Bat would have to remember this in future, and so the bat chirruped a grumpy thanks, satisfied that the door would no longer cage him inside this building. Shuffling past awkwardly as though he knew out to get out all along, Man-Bat brushes past Alexis, clambering up the chain fence until his wingspan can fully spread out before taking to the skies. How embarrassing. That would be the last time he'd enter one of man's caves for a while!

#goldenmedic #memes ;; loud and deafening silence #Very belated but no less appreciated!#Thank you gold mun this was a blast to answer!#I feel so sorry tormenting Alexis with my muses but they handle it so brilliantly #When you've been through half the shit they have a big dumb bat trying to get out is probably nothing to worry about #Either way they have Man-Bat's thanks lol!

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forlix · 6 months

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it’s been so busy recently and my term abroad is coming to a swift end so it’s only gonna get busier from here, but i hope u guys enjoy the new fic and i’ll get to all of your feedback this evening :’) thank you for bolstering my love for creative writing more every day 🤍

#and a very belated thank you for 1k. so so grateful for uuu #*musings

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cambria-writes · 10 months

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my prompt for you is: orange light!! good luck deciphering that!!

it took a few days but as soon as you said orange light i knew exactly what i wanted to include and what i wanted this to be about. this is actually a very personal and emotional piece for me, so i actually do hope you like it!

i even put this through two spell checks and a grammar check, so i made a genuine effort!

title from a novel by andré aciman called 'plus tard ou jamais', which means 'later or never' in french.

𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐨𝐮—

pairing: male!oc x gn!nameless!oc (barely tbh) rating: t cause i think there's swearing? warnings: nothing really, dreaming, revisiting the past, talking about feeling safe, mention of chronic illness, bitching about climate change the heat, this is just a vent piece where my boyfriend catches me at the end that's it lol

masterlist

It’s too hot. It’s been too hot for three days.

The air conditioner is barely providing any relief. In this heat wave, it would probably take three 18k BTU units to satisfy me. It’s horrible; everything is damp, everything smells like humidity and AC condensate. Every 5 hours, I have to force myself up and away from whatever I’m doing to haul The Bucket—used to be used with the mop, but since last summer, it’s exclusively used to collect the condensation from the air conditioner—to the bathroom and back again.

My fingers hurt. My head hurts. My back feels like it’s been twisted out of and back into shape too many time. Misshapen, I feel misshapen.

It’s 3:47AM and I’ve been on my back on my bedroom floor for... too long. Feels like forever, but I know it’s only been half an hour. But there’s nothing to do; I’m in between jobs, I did all the laundry in a bout of mania last night, the dishes were cleaned after I made myself dinner earlier...

There was a time when I would have known what to do with myself in a situation like this. Would have had a list of things that I could easily do whenever I happened to have the time for them. That list is long gone, though.

Maybe it's with my motivation; eloped, and forgotten about. Good for her.

Beneath me, I feel the old wooden floor shake when a loud clap of thunder sounds outside. Ah, finally, I think, something to cut through this wretched humidity and maybe return some sense of normalcy to my life. I pat my hand around on the floor to find my phone, but when I pull up the weather forecast, it’s grim.

92% humidity for tomorrow and yet more thunderstorms.

Carelessly throw my phone in the general area of the head of my bed. Miserable, this is absolutely miserable. I can’t go out like this; ten minutes in that kind of heat and nevermind heat exhaustion, I may as well just go straight to the nearest hospital for the inevitable heat stroke I’d be suffering from.

From its new place, probably half under a pillow from the sound of it, my phone dings. Probably another email to tell me that though my candidacy was appreciated and my résumé was impressive, they’ve gone ahead and hired someone else for the position.

Someone who was asking for a lower salary, probably.

Miserable.

The amount of motivation required to get myself on my feet again is gargantuan. But at this rate, I’m never going to sleep, and I’m not going to do anything productive. So I shuffle to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, pull open the mirror door, and pluck the bottle of melatonin from its shelf.

Mm. No. Put it back and grab the THC gummy bottle next to it instead. That’ll do. I only grab and pop one in my mouth to chew; I made the mistake of taking two once and only once, and I would rather lick the underside of my shoes than do that again.

I don’t both to get under the covers when I let myself fall into bed. Limbs akimbo, staring up at the ceiling, I wonder. I wonder what my life could be like if everything didn’t have to be so... this. There’s a bitter kind of resignation that sank in year ago, when my then-fiancé simply ghosted me the night before our trip to Japan.

Shit always happens. And sometimes who you are matters.

The light-headed feeling from the edible starts to sink in. I should’ve just grabbed a beer from the fridge. Or maybe made myself a rum and coke. I’m always a happy, sleepy drunk.

Forgot that I tend to get too pensive and subsequently high when I’m too baked.

Ah, god dammit.

My eyes feel dry and sore. I feel so much more exhausted than when I fell asleep. At least, I think I do. I don’t remember falling asleep. I definitely don’t remember falling asleep outside, out on the grass. But the feeling on my exposed arms and legs is unmistakeable.

Freshly cut grass that will undoubtedly make me break out in hives.

I remember this place so clearly. It’s the playground behind my old elementary school. When I sit up and twist to look around, there’s a swell of something in my chest. Some unknowable emotion that’s probably an amalgam. The unkept field is still there, and so are the woods behind it. They flattened it all out and made condos there years ago.

So this is definitely a memory, then. Probably of one of the fundraiser spaghetti dinners they would do a week or two before school let out. If I look out to the softball diamond, there’s a mountain of old wood and pallets for the bonfire that would happen later.

There’s only me here, though. There isn’t the tell-tale chatter of parents by the doors, no shrieking children, no firecrackers. I remember, being freshly eleven years old, looking at my friends and the setting sun and thinking, yes, I need to remember this. This is a moment I’m going to need to remember, someday.

Basking in the setting sun, it’s easy to understand why. Despite the lack of people, I can still smell the industrial quantity of spaghetti sauce simmering in the cafeteria kitchen. The heat isn’t overbearing; it feels comfortable, actually. I remember getting a rash on my arms and legs from the freshly cut grass. The small scar on my forehead left there by a burning ember that got blown my way.

The sun never sets, here.

Through closed eyes, I notice the shadow falling over me.

"Go away," I say quietly. There’s no bite in my voice—no one who would be here would be anyone I get angry at. "I’m trying to nap."

A scoff. Then, "The chronic fatigue doesn’t hit for another..." A brief pause, for contemplation, I suppose. "Seven years."

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. But I recognize that voice. I didn’t know that voice when I was eleven. Wouldn’t get to know it for a few months still. I sigh anyway and prop myself up on my elbows. I keep my gaze ahead when I open my eyes. I don’t want to know which version of him is here quite yet.

"Why are you here, Michael?" I ask, leaning heavily on my hands. I let my eyes flit from window to window, pausing on the windows I know look into the library longer than the others. I can just barely make out the diaphanous curtains my mother hung over one of the couches. The sheer fabric almost glistens in the orange glow.

"I show up whenever you need a reminder," he answers as he takes a seat next to me. Our shoulders are touching. He nudges my arm with his elbow. "What have you been forgetting?"

I can’t help but laugh. What have I been forgetting? Is that a joke?

"Everything," I grunt, scooching back a bit to lean forward and pull my legs up. "A lot."

Michael chuckles good-naturedly next to me. I missed—miss him. I miss him.

"Shooting stars, sib," he whispers, and I can feel the warmth of his fingertips when he starts to dig them into the nape of my neck. "You’ve forgotten that we’re shooting stars."

All at once, my eyes burn and my nose feels hot and itchy. I reach up for the hand at the back of my neck and bring it to my cheek instead. A thumb awkwardly brushes away the first tear to fall.

"I love you though," I manage to choke out. Look up at the sky like that’ll help my eyes dry out. "I haven’t seen you in forever. Did you get married? Do you have kids? Do you..."

Michael’s thumb stills on my cheekbone. I can feel him leaning in closer.

"...do you even think about me at all?"

Micheal sighs and I feel him rest his forehead against the crown of my head. His breath feels warm there, too. I can hear him inhale to answer, but I rush to speak first.

I don’t know if I want to hear his answer.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not having been a better friend to you. I called you a brother, called you family, but I—"

"It’s fine," Michael cuts me off, gently,quietly. Pulls his head up off mine and his hand away from my cheek in favour of wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. "We were young and stupid. You couldn’t have known. It’s not like anyone was helping."

"You did," I counter, a bit more petulantly than I’d like. "Even if you just let me get passionate about things, you—I didn’t get that from anyone else. You made it safe to like things."

Ah. There it is, isn’t it. Michael’s laughter is still so wonderfully soothing. A perfect combination with the warmth of the setting sun. The sound of his voice like perfume in the air, sparkling and sweet.

"Yeah," Michael says eventually,giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go to lean back and get a better look at me.

I forgot I didn’t want to look. He’s got the braids in, like I’d done when we were kids. Otherwise looks just like he did last time I saw him nearly a decade ago; smart, dark slacks, a button-up with the sleeves rolled up with no tie in sigh, shoes shining like his eyes. I can't help but reach a hand out for his own face—to feel the thick beard he’s growing, run a hand through the hair I’d straightened and braided and put flowers in.

"He’s done a great job too, y’know," Michael says, looking away with a smirk. He doesn’t take my hand away where it’s brushing back hair at his temples. "Your husband, I mean."

"We’re not..." I start, but trail off. We’re not actually married, which doesn’t feel fair. "Yeah," I settle with. "He does, despite it all. Despite everything."

When Michael turns back to look at me, it’s a boy, and I find us sitting in his mother’s basement, on her dark green leather couch. The outro to Fortier is playing on the TV.

"He’s not the only one," Michael says, and it’s strange to hear an adult voice come from such a young face. I remember feeling that way after his voice changed over summer break in 9th grade, too. He turns to look back at the TV, but grabs the remote on the couch arm closest to him to turn it off.

I can hear his mother talking to his younger brother upstairs. I hear plates being taken out of a cupboard and pots and pans being moved.

"You were always welcome, you know," Michael says, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. His fingers just barely reach my hair to play with it. "Mom worried about you like her own."

"I felt that," I laugh, quiet and airily. "I just never wanted that kindness to be revoked."

"Dinner’s ready!"

"Come on," Michael urges me to stand up. "She made shepherd’s pie just for you."

The smell of a fresh, home cooked meal lingers in my nose when I wake up. It’s a slow process; I eventually remember that I fell asleep, and work carefully to unstick my clammy limbs from the floor beneath me.

"There they are," I hear next to me, and I can only muster the energy to hum in acknowledgement. "Floor comfier than the bed?"

"F’koff," I mutter, rolling over on the side before pushing myself up. Rub a hand down my face when I taste salt on my lips. Sniffle a few times while running my hands through my hair to try and loosen up some of the knots.

I can still feel the hand on the nape of my neck.

"Bad dream?"

I shake my head. "No, not bad, just..."

"Hmm, just maybe a bit too much?" When I don’t answer, my boyfriend—husband?—crouches by me and guides me to my feet with patient hands. Brushes the hair out of my face and kisses my forehead before pulling me in. A hand at my lower back and the other on the back of my head until I let my forehead rest against his shoulder.

"It’s okay," he whispers, kisses the top of my head. "We’ll go to sleep and you can tell me all about it in the morning."

"Even if it’s ab—about Mike?" The question is out before I can think better of it. He exhales like it’s funny.

"Obviously."

When I wake up again, the sun filtering through the thin curtains above the bedroom window make everything look like molten gold. The dust in the narrow sunbeams coming through look like glitter. Boyfriend pressed up against my back, his nose pressed against the top of my spine, a leg between mine, and a hand curled over my stomach.

I want to tell Michael that he’s right. Despite everything, I do feel safe, here.

I won��t know until I’ve had breakfast and I’ve gone down in sleep shorts and an oversized Five Finger Death Punch shirt that definitely doesn't belong to me, with a coffee mug in hand, that there’s a wedding invitation waiting for me in the mail box.

#replies #alovesongtheywrote #prompt #original work #this is mostly just some emotional processing i'll be real with you #some very well timed albeit a bit belated processing lol #thank you!!#this was legitimately fun to do and think about #was almost gonna shoehorn eddie in here but #it felt disingenuous so #have a no-name boyfriend instead!#plus tard ou

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