nature's birthday gift!


HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @nightescanor

*Opens up my Asia dictionary*
Yo, Happy Reincarnation to the dankest Daddy-o that I know. Yo, I was gonna draw that sweet milf all over your old man but that witch be crazy hard to draw. Yo, yo, yo.


remember me to one who lives there

happy birthday, lunadvine // aerialrecovery!

Very late in posting this, but I did a little something for my lovely friend Lauren as a birthday gift - she has the original, but I thought I would share it with you here too.

Fir trees, pretty Folk dresses and axolotls are just a few of the many things I associate with her. :)  @laurenwilmshurst

gekihatsu  asked:

“No, no, don’t fall asleep. Just keep talking to me.”

blood & injury starters. | accepting

    his head may have fallen when he ran out of strength to keep holding it up ( with a crack against the ground, skin broken and air filling with the smell of iron – ) but his eyelids haven’t; not yet. calloused, trembling fingers bend and then extend so he can reach for her and then he grasps tightly on her wrist, first with the intention to pull himself up but whatever was left of his upper body strength has depleted – all he can do is squeeze, both to let her know he hears her and to keep himself aware. aizawa concentrates on the beat of her pulse that thumps from her wrist and through his fingers, counting silently and concentrating on one goal: resisting the overwhelming embrace of sleep that drapes over him and seeps through his veins, threatening to take control. 

    he won’t let it.

    shouta can’t stop the cry of pain that leaves him as he forces himself up, a sharp wheeze following and he holds tighter than before, growing frustrated with himself for weakness that is beyond his control. he’s done more than enough – more than he should be capable of – but his job isn’t done, even if this particular mission was. red, swollen, dry eyes finally lift and their gazes meet. his throat is as tight as his grip.  i’m – i’m fine. just tell me no one else – interrupted by his own groan, shouta dips his head again and puts everything into composing himself, but the rapid rate of deteriorating, jagged breaths is borderline on hyperventilation. j — just tell me the students got away. we can’t – we can’t waste any time —

    he doesn’t know it, but they’re all perfectly safe —– and not for the first time, it’s thanks to them. but his head is racing, and not just from the pain of the multiple injuries he’s sustained; the thought of having failed the people he was meant to protect was, simply put…  absolutely unbearable.

More of a “WHAT THE FUCK Customers”

This afternoon was pretty dead when a large group of people came in and asked to decorate one side of the dining area for a surprise birthday for a friend. That was no problem. My supervisor and I had fun watching them put streamers up and hiding behind walls and bushes for their friend to come down.

But once dinner was over and we were clearing tables they had left behind a third of the birthday cake (not too bad it looked like a $6 woolies one) …and an entire unwraped gift basket containing two bottles of wine (not sure if it was expensive stuff or not).

How the FUCK does anyone leave behind their present? Whether it was shit or not jesus christ someone else coulda nicked off with it. We plan to hold it for a day if they decide to come back for it, if not we’re taking it.

tldr; good natured guests left behind birthday gift basket


a birthday gift for the amazing, wonderful, completely beautiful, caring, hilarious, all-round A+ human, castihalo. citra, you are so fantastic, and I’m so full of happiness to count you amongst my friends ^U^

prompt by anon: destiel, superheroes, coffee shop?

read it here on AO3!

Dean stirred his cup of coffee, slowly. He was on a break, another barista covering his place behind the counter whilst he took five minutes to regain some equilibrium. He knew that the arrival of fall always made the coffee shop busier, but today had been another level of crazy. And there had been that spillage, right in front of the till, that he’d had to clean up, which had meant that the cappuccino machine had overflowed, and he’d had to mop that up too whilst being grumbled at by the loud-mouthed customers waiting for their drinks…

All in all, as covers go, this was one of the worst that Dean had ever had. Going undercover was one thing, but being completely humiliated was something else, and Dean was losing patience with being treated like trash just because he couldn’t make up someone’s double-caramel mocha frappuccino in two seconds flat. He was going to call up Sam as soon as he got off work today, and tell him that the coffee shop was a bust. The guy they’d been chasing wasn’t here; he’d probably caught wind that the Winchesters were in town and headed on out, like any smart scum of the earth would do. They could be on the road again by sundown, on the lookout for other people who needed their help – instead of being stuck in coffee shops, working hard for bad pay and lousy tips.

They’d arrived in town a week ago, on the hunt for a guy who’d apparently been abducting men and women, with his preferred hunting grounds being coffee shops. Sam and Dean had considered simply being customers at the coffee shops, but had decided that they’d be able to get closer to the customers – and potential suspects – if they were serving them behind the counter. Besides, it wasn’t as though they couldn’t use the money. Sam had used his Power to get them both jobs in different coffee shops on the East side of the city, within walking distance of the coffee shops where the last three victims been abducted. The guy never went to the same shop twice, and seemed to like working within a certain radius around his last successful kidnap. It wasn’t much to go on; Sam and Dean had always known that it would be a long shot – and it seemed as though the shot had missed. There were other places they could be, other people who needed help. Dean felt the itch in his feet, the desire to get moving. This place was stiflingly boring, he was tired of counting down the hours until his shift was over, of dealing with rude and impatient customers, of making freaking coffee.

“Dean, you’re back on in a few minutes,” Dean’s co-worker said as they brushed past him, scooping up a stack of plates and moving back over to the counter. Dean shifted from one slightly-painful foot to the other, wishing that there were a place that he could sit down whilst he was on his break. He cast his eye out over the coffee shop, wondering if there was a quiet table near the back where he could sit for a moment. As he looked out, he noticed someone walking into the shop out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see them fully.

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It's my birthday!

I have had a lovely day, with cake yet to come, and as a gift to me, I would like to ask you all to please stop sending me “happy birthday” asks.  Comment here or throw a little chair-dance party or whatever, but I feel obligated to answer every.  Single.  One, and it’s starting to become a little upsetting in its Sisyphean nature.  So for my birthday gift, please leave my inbox be.  :)