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#Birthday Burst
swingsetindecember · 2 years
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whatever happened to the 90s obsession with bath oil beads? they were everywhere in drug stores, dollar stores and bath soap shops then gone. it felt like a fever dream
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rosepompadour · 3 months
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DICK VAN DYKE and MARY TYLER MOORE in an advertisement for Joy Dishwashing Suds
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fizzytoo · 6 months
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celebrating birthdays at grandma and grandpa’s!
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cheshirehedgie · 7 months
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This is a daily reminder to vote Kazui innocent! Do it for dad!
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dreamingpartone · 1 year
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all fear gives way: the light looks after you
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monkie-see-monkie-do · 3 months
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haven't seen s2 in a while but i think this is a fair assessment
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abyssaloite · 8 months
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i'm not strong enough for this
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m1d-45 · 1 year
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wandering
summary: my scaramouche pulls, but make it sagau
word count: 1.8k
-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru (3.2) archon quest, author has not done 3.2 archon quest but had been spoiled by tumblr :/, probably ooc scara. based entirely on me and my prior pulls (pulled miko, pulled + built childe, has an itto), like two swear words?
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3
< masterlist >
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scaramouche didn’t know what to think of the stars.
he’d kept an eye on them, out of curiosity, watching as constellations rose and fell, rose and fell, their cyclical nature never ending. he never saw any importance in them—not even when he heard of the forest watcher in sumeru being used as a vessel and his glass heart twisted—and hence never paid any attention, focusing on his mission in sumeru. he kept a passing eye on them, sometimes trying to guess how long the current rotation would be up during particularly boring fatui meetings, or trying to guess which constellations would light up when the stars began to fall.
after a while, he began to pay a little more attention to the patterns. he didn’t know why, but suddenly they drew him in more, even as he rolled his eyes whenever tartaglia boasted about a star crossing his constellation. never mind that that guuji from inazuma had hers too, no, he was the one that mattered.
and he was probably right. his bow had been replaced, he was a better shot than ever, and his water blades burned with skill. even the tsaritsa noticed his increase in strength, irritatingly, sending him a letter of congratulations on becoming a vessel. he’d even spent a whole day drafting a three-page letter to his family detailing it all, all the new skills and power he’d picked up by being with you.
what made him so favored?
he pulled down the brim of his hat, repressing the need urge to look up at the sky. he’d never been one to believe in astrology, or astronomy, or whatever that witch in mondstat wanted to call it. he wasn’t going to start now, not when his whole plan in sumeru was close to toppling.
he arrived at his camp. he accepted reports with a scowl. he marched to his office. he glanced through the window. he sat down.
he didn’t know why he was being so contradictory. he’d never felt this before towards anything, let alone something he actively despised. there was no reason for this. at all.
scaramouche picked up his pen, pulling over another dull report. the words bled together, the handwriting atrocious, and he was tempted to burn it. the only thing stopping him was the knowledge that it meant he’d have to ask for another from whatever recruit turned it in.
he tapped his pen on his finger. it was hard to focus, unnaturally, and he chalked it up to the weird feeling that’s been bugging him all day; the same one that wanted him to look at the stars. he sighed, adjusted his hat, glared at where a tassel caught on his chair, and picked up a pen again.
‘troops near chatrakam cave…’
purple eyes glared at his page, at where the ink bled a bit as he left his pen too long. what was his problem?
his eyes flicked to the window, to the curtains waving in the breeze coming though.
‘…have encountered no problems. all…’
‘…all…’
‘…all is going gwe-‘
scaramouche slammed his pen on his desk with a loud groan, standing from his chair and sending it skidding back. with stomping steps, he approached the offending window, reaching to shove the pale green curtains aside. he fumbled once on the lock but quickly pushed open the whole window, removing his hat to put his head through and glare at the sky.
“what the fuck could you possibly-…”
scaramouche stared.
his steel tongue was stilled, no quick remark or scathing quip coming to his mind. his thoughts were empty, his mouth suddenly dry as he looked upwards.
at his constellation.
he knew the moment he received a vision—how he wanted to see it shatter—that he had one, the image filling his mind alongside the elemental abilities. he knew what it was, he knew it’s name, he knew the six stars that composed it and the lines drawn between.
he didn’t know it was in the sky.
but there it was, blue stars shining brightly next to some orange bull, almost mocking him as he looked up at them. in his disdainful study of the stars, he knew that only a few were delegated to the prime positions in the sky, and that the latter of the two had been rotated in already. even if he didn’t, the way it’s stars outshone his made it clear.
curses rose and fell on his tongue, like a relentless tide that dared him to speak whilst taking away his air.
he knew what having a constellation in the sky meant. he knew it, and it was why he tried earnestly to destroy it the moment he got over the shock when he received it. he wasn’t picky about power, but power that came at the cost of being another gods puppet?
he’ll pass, thanks.
so to see himself in the sky, to know that at any moment strings could be tied around his wrists once more, that he could be jerked and pulled across a stage of another’s making-
the stars shone brighter.
his office fell away, his hat slipping from between his fingertips.
no.
he reached for it, he reached for his last semblance of a shield—he wouldn’t need it—from another god, but he barely felt the fabric before it was gone.
a white haze surrounded him, vaguely bubbling into clouds far beneath his feet as he stood on an invisible platform. a blurry rectangle was far out in front of him, a distorted voice warping through.
“-i have 45, that makes… i just have to get lucky, then…”
the voice was soft- you were soft, urging him to relax even as his rational mind fought. he could feel his heart speeding up in his chest, feel the war of emotions clouding his thoughts.
this wasn’t fair. you didn’t get to show up, after everything he’d been through, and expect him to fall into your lap. you didn’t get to do that, not to him, not now, not ever.
how he wished you’d catch him.
stars lit up the sky, one after another, and he saw one of them cross a flower-like constellation. you ooo’d and thanked whoever it was for answering—as if they had a choice—and sent out more stars, more wishes, the dust certainly fogging his head.
your voice grew clearer the more stars you summoned, his heart rate increasing in turn. how many did you have? would he be forced to go? why did he want to? would you wrap your divine hands around his and pull him into your team? why did his paper front of a soul leap at the idea?
emotions he’d never felt filled his chest, heat and warmth and icy frost pooling in his veins.
“50,” you called, voice alarmingly gentle in his ear. “please, scara, please?”
he should be proud to have a god so high begging for him. he should cross his arms and puff out his chest, he should smirk and glare with a comment about how even the divine can fall.
he was one of them.
“60,” you whispered, flaring the boil in his chest.
what did he do? what could he do? how did he get out of here? why didn’t he want to? what were you doing to him? what were these feelings? why did he never want them to fade?
“70. please? pretty please?”
he felt himself lurch as the star passed but gripped desperately to the invisible air around him, wide eyes searching for a way out. it was all clouds and stars, as far as he could see, with vague shapes slowly coming into focus around him. he saw something that he thought would direct your attention elsewhere, then realized it would take your gaze off him would only be temporary and saved his energy.
“80. come on, scara.. i promise i’ll be nice.”
nice? he wanted to laugh. he would have if he wasn’t so short on breath already- and yet somehow still lightheaded, his vision swimming as his fingers began to buzz. he could feel it, the invisible rope around his chest pulling as the purple stars whizzed by, and yet he held firm in his place amongst the clouds. he couldn’t answer you he wouldn’t be able to stay composed. he wouldn’t allow himself to be put under another’s jurisdiction again but he knew you were different, you were warm and soft and so different from her.
you would not have him yet.
you were not his god you were his true creator.
you laughed. he hated loved that it was edged with bitterness.
“damn. making me go to the shop again, huh?”
he wanted to apologize tell you it was a lost cause.
“well scara… 4 more wishes. i know it’s useless but… please?”
one.
the pull knocked the wind out of him, his treacherous to who? hands faltering their grip on the walls around him. in the blue light of the stars, he knew he was flushed with exertion.
he could feel it, the chance he was given. the choice to stay, to hear your voice falter and slip and plea, or to go. to answer the string pulling at his heart of glass, to trust and hope that you wouldn’t betray him like so many before.
two.
did he dare believe you? did he dare to trust the only one he could another god, to put his cracked trust in your palms and hope you wouldn’t drop it? did he go against his rules, did he follow the reputation he had built up, did he cling to the clouds before crashing down in regret his office?
who knew if you could be trusted? if he went, you’d have two harbingers under your thumb. what if you wanted to topple the fatui? what if this was a ploy to get him to trust you? what if you didn’t treat him like you did childe or any of the others, what if you wanted him to laugh and scorn and taunt? what if you wanted him just to see him try and pick himself off the floor where he landed, expecting nothing and yet still disappointed?
what if you wanted him for him?
three.
enveloped in gold, the wanderer could only wish that you would catch him.
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dorothygale · 13 days
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*checks calendar 15 times before sending a happy birthday text to someone whose birthday i've had memorized for the past decade*
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miyaoto72 · 8 days
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becca-e-barnes · 2 years
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this for subby!bucky 😵‍💫
There’s nothing hotter than a man moaning his way through a make out session and grinding his hard-on against your body, idgaf. Men moaning in general fucking floors me 😵‍💫
But I really like the thought of him starting off thinking he's in control of himself. Not necessarily in control of you, he just thinks he's pretty composed, all things considered. The featherlight kisses have his heart beating just a little faster than normal but it's manageable.
It all just gets away from him though. The tiny pecks turn into tender, deeper kisses and your hands start to wander. Those kisses inevitably develop into a kind of frantic passion that he has difficulty keeping up with. His brain goes a little foggy and nothing else matters except getting more of you and getting it now.
He loses himself in the feeling of you so entirely that he hardly notices he's been trying to ease the throbbing need in his own cock. "O-oh fuck." He groans, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, lips slick and dick twitching in his pants.
"We can go slower if this is too much for you, baby." You whisper softly, keeping your face close to his. God, he's beautiful like this and you know he'd whimper if you told him that.
"No, God. I don't need you to go slower. I need more." There's no shame in those blown out pupils when his eyes flutter open. He's not embarrassed by his own need. Instead, there's a complete trust that you'll take care of him because you always do. There's no judgement or reservation between you both because there simply doesn't need to be.
"I can do that." You laugh quietly, tugging him towards you so your lips can crash together with the exact same intensity as before and it never fails to amaze you that he melts into your touch so entirely.
You feel how hard he is and in truth, it would be difficult not to given how he's grinding it against your body with more purpose than before. His mouth is so hungry, never managing to taste enough of you and in no time, it's trailed down your neck, sucking at your skin while his frantic grind continues.
"Good boy, Buck. That's it, rub yourself silly on me." You encourage, drinking in his pathetic groan. That permission almost makes him wish he could cum in his pants.
"You're like a puppy, aren't you? So eager. You just can't help yourself." Your hand drifts downwards, rubbing over the bulge in the front of his sweatpants and you feel him absentmindedly thrusting into your touch. He's a moaning mess, babbling and begging, lost the lust that's now making the fingertips of his flesh hand tingle and his head spin.
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shumaiherelol · 6 months
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I technically wasn't late when I posted this on twitter
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Joke that has the target audience of me and me only
and yes, I did jump on the trend bandwagon. What about it
bonus under cut
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zennx-23 · 7 days
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Happy Birthday & Happy Beyblade Day!
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musashi · 6 months
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im fr going to burst into tears because i love my girlfriend so much. i didn't realize it was possible for a person to be so nice to me. none of my partners ever treated me this way before.
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toughpaperround · 1 year
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Gag gift from Buck to Eddie 😆😆
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[ID from alt text: A white mug with red handle. On the mug are drawn two stick people. One figure (winking at us) has grabbed and removed the line representing the spine of the other figure. The text reads, "Don't worry, I've got your back" /end ID]
Link to selling page, image source X
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