here have a transparent not at all suggestive picture of aoba enjoying some popsicles in the summer heat
(u can use him on ur blog as long as u give credit wooo)
Unfair sample watermark, but Gin-san… (˶‾᷄﹃‾᷅˵)♡
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virus w/ piercings is my kind of virus \m/
i saw someone put it up on the aoki tag soo
Happy Birthday Midorima Shintarou!!! 7.7.2014
Nobody wonders what happens to Allmates when the owners die. It’s obvious, in a way; parents buy their children their own Allmates when the time is right, hardly ever handing one down throughout a family line. Allmates are too precious for that. Too personal to be gifted from one person to the next.
Allmates don’t live without their owners.
Perhaps it’s selfish, then.
Because when they grow old, hair turned white or grey, faces riddled with wrinkles and lines…
Koujaku cups Beni in his hands and gently runs his thumb along the feathers on his back. The gaze they share is long, silent words shifting between them, before Koujaku gives Beni a watery smile, draws him close to his face, and gently whispers for him to sleep, letting his tears fall as soon as the tiny body held gently in his hands falls still.
Noiz spreads the cubes out in front of him on a desk, lips pulled into a thin line. They’re silent, somber, no longer filled with the energy to bounce or squeak. He calls the command, and slowly their programmes are erased, lights turning off within them with a soft click. He picks them up, one by one, carefully, tenderly, cups them in his hands, and gently taps his fingers against them, wondering why the silence bothers him as much as it does.
Tori, perched as always on Mink’s shoulder, goes limp with a soft click. He falls to the floor, lifeless, but is caught before he hits the ground in a wide palm. It means nothing, will bring him nothing, but Mink draws Tori up to his face, presses their foreheads together, and murmurs a soft prayer of thanks as he gently rubs his fingers across each of Tori’s wings.
Aoba holds Ren close, face buried in thick blue fur. He strokes his fingers through soft fluff, chokes back a sob, laughs as Ren’s pink tongue laps comfortingly at his ear. They whisper back and forth for hours, voices low and choked - Ren’s with sadness, Aoba’s with tears. Ren’s fur is soaked by the time Aoba whispers I love you, Ren. He lies back in his hospital bed and waits, Ren sitting on his chest, both keeping their gazes firmly fixed on each other. And when Aoba’s eyes start to shut with something other than sleep, Ren starts to shut himself down, their lifeless heads dropping to the side at exactly the same time.