#but I hope you all enjoy them!~ c:

[ccherrybloom]

Ashtrays & Antihistamines Pt. 1

oc, m, hayfever, wc: 2.8k

Part 2

CW: foul language and allusions to gay sex lol

~~

a.n. + summary: i don't think i've ever posted a snzfic on this blog, but there's a first for everything, right? featuring my lovely little ocs and their stupid dumb little band. i don't normally write them in snzcerions, but...every now and again i can’t help myself and one slips through the cracks lol. This particular one centers around my absolute shithead of an Irishman, Peter, as he deals with a hayfever flare up for the first time in like…twenty years, lol. of course, ever the lucky one, this begins to happen during the band’s first mini-tour. Cue shenanigans. I hope you all enjoy!

~~

“hH’RRSHhiue!” Peter fell into himself with a harsh sneeze, the band’s rundown van jerking sporadically with its driver’s sudden movement. “Goddamnit!”

“Bless.” Geoff offered lazily from the passenger seat as he turned a page of his book, unbothered by the vehicle’s erratic veer. “That’s like the tenth one since we’ve left Dublin.” The bassist pointed out, shooting the guitarist a pointed look from the corner of his eye. “You alright?”

“Fuckin’ hayfever,” Peter answered as he scrubbed his palm aggressively against the underside of his nose, careful not to put too much pressure against his nose rings. He followed it up with a drawn-out sniffle. “I’m fine. Christ.”

“I don’t remember ya being like this before,” Maurice quipped from the back of the van, leaning forward to join in on the conversation. “I mean hell, ya lived in Dublin fer how many years…?”

“Longer than you, Frenchie.” Peter retorted as he thrust a tattooed hand backwards to try and shove the singer away. Maurice easily dodged with a laugh, swatting at Peter’s hand as Geoff instinctively reached out to steady the van as it began to swerve again. “You can piss right off.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’, yer born and bred Irish — who knew all it took was a few months in London for yer own country to turn on ya.”

“I said piss off.”

“Who gives a shit!” Chris suddenly interjected as he pulled his headphones from his ears, a curly lock of the drummer’s dark hair falling between his eyes. “Just keep your bloody eyes on the road! I dunno ‘bout you lot, but I’d like to get there in one piece.”

Maurice backed off with a snicker, hands up in surrender as Peter quickly flipped Chris off in the rear view mirror before returning his full attention to the road.

After Peter and Maurice had both left Dublin for London a few months shy of one another, the four men began to pour almost all of their free time into their passion project, The Undergrounds. Much to their genuine surprise, people seemed to really enjoy their band’s sound and performances, so much so in fact that they’d hit a point where pubs across the UK were beginning to reach out to them, asking the group to come play for their open mic nights, with some even offering payment. With the requests getting further and further away from their homebase in London, the band finally decided to bite the bullet and buy themselves some transportation, namely their shithole of a van lovingly referred to as Van Halen. Despite its old clunkiness, it really did do the trick, and allowed the men to head across the border on their first ever ‘Let’s-Not-Call-It-A-Tour’ Tour. Realistically, with two of the four members being from (or as close to ‘from’ as one could be, in Maurice’s case) Ireland, the band had picked up quite a bit of traction across the small country with the men getting many open mic night requests which they normally had to turn down, much to Peter’s dismay.

At least until now, that is.

Peter had noticed something was off after their show in Dublin the night prior. At first he just assumed he strained his voice singing backup vocals — a product of over-excitement from getting to play in his old stomping grounds. But by morning the scratchiness in his throat lingered and was now accompanied by faint itchiness in his nose that forewarned him of worse yet to come. 

By the time the men packed up their gear and filed into the van late that afternoon, the unwelcoming prickle that had been festering in his nose demanded more attention, and his eyes began to itch in a maddening way that he hadn’t experienced since he was a kid back in Belfast. Initially he tried to ignore it, chalking it up as a residual reaction to dust from the old pub, or that it had been awhile since Van Halen had gotten a good clean. But as time slowly passed on their nearly three hour drive to Cork, and the itchiness in his sinuses progressed into full-blown sneezing, the reality of the situation began to dawn on him. He was immediately thrust back to Belfast, memories of summers spent constantly sneezing thanks to the fields near his old home, his eyes watering, his nose running, each summer spent absolutely miserable. He hadn’t had a hayfever flare-up in years, thinking it was something he had thankfully outgrown once his mum had moved them to Dublin, but yet here it was, back to rear its ugly head once more all these years later. The familiar lush scents of the countryside that used to conjure such vivid memories of home were now turning every intake of breath the guitarist took into a gamble. 

The itchiness in Peter’s nose only seemed to increase in urgency as Van Halen bumped its way through the Irish countryside. The landscape blurred past the windows, a mix of greens and greys under a sky that threatened rain.

“Nearly there.” Geoff hummed, taking a peek at the map app on his phone. “About another twenty or so.”

“Thank fuck.” Peter grumbled with a sniffle, his eyes squinting past the relentless itchiness. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and pulled his glasses up slightly before slamming his wrist into one eye and scrubbing hard.

“I think we could all do with a pint,” Maurice chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. “Especially you, Peter.” He added, gently poking the man’s shoulder.

Peter managed a weak chuckle in response, his wrist still pressed hard into the corner of his eye. 

“Just keep it steady Pete, yeah?” Chris leaned himself forward and rested his elbows onto his knees, eyes scanning the road ahead. “Not much longer and you can go ahead and drown yourself in whatever local brew you fancy.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but the van hit a particularly bumpy patch of road, jolting everyone inside. Instead he just swore under his breath, turning his full focus back towards the road as Cork began to appear on the horizon.

“There she is.” Geoff whistled, pointing ahead. “Welcome to Cork, lads.”

Peter managed to manoeuvre Van Halen expertly through the narrow streets of Cork despite battling his allergic reaction, the van’s tires crunching over cobblestone as he pulled them into the parking lot of their dingy motel.

“Home sweet home.” Maurice hummed as he clapped a hand onto Peter’s shoulder, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as the other two members filed out. “At least fer the next few days.”

Peter leaned back into the driver’s seat and let his eyes drift closed as he exhaled deeply, shutting off the engine. He only cracked an eye back open when he felt Maurice give his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You alright?” The singer asked, his voice low and expression soft.

“I’m grand, Mur.” Peter grumbled, his voice heavy with sarcasm. The real truth of the matter was that he was miserable, itchy, and absolutely dying for a cigarette — not that he cared to say any of that out loud. 

The guitarist pulled off his glasses to give his watery eyes another scrub before continuing. “Just got a fierce bad dose of this nonsense…This shite best be all said and done before our show or I’ll–hh! hH’ITSHHhiue!”

“See, but that’s what we don’t wantcha doin’, actually.” The blonde teased as he patted the guitarist’s shoulder before the other quickly slapped it away as if he were swatting a mosquito.

“You fuck right off, Murry.” Peter sniffled hard, dragging the backside of his hand beneath his nose. “Just get yer shit and get goin’.”

Maurice did as he was told and hopped out of the van with Peter not far behind as the pair hurriedly began to help the others unload. With the sky steadily darkening the four moved quickly, eager to avoid the potential rain. Luckily the unloading and reloading of Van Halen had become more and more familiar with each passing gig, and it didn’t take them long to have all the necessities laid out beside the van, ready to go.

The motel itself was a shabby vintage looking two-story building, its neon sign flickering with an almost uncertain intermittence as if it were clinging onto its last shred of life.

Maurice and Geoff took the lead, carrying the group’s heavier equipment while Chris and Peter followed suit with their four bags. They bustled their way to the reception desk where they were met with a disinterested looking clerk who simply handed them a single worn key with a faded plastic tag attached.

“Yer in room 107.” He mumbled, barely looking up from his magazine.

“Cheers, mate.” Geoff scoffed as he shot the others an exasperated look and snatched the key. He led the group down the dimly lit hallway, their feet dragging against a carpet that had clearly seen better days. When they reached their room Geoff wasted no time unlocking the door and shoving it open, revealing a tightly packed space with two queen beds, a small television, and a bathroom that looked like it hadn’t been updated in at least two decades.

“Alright, how we doin’ this?” Chris asked as he tossed the bags he had onto the closest bed.

“By drawing straws, of course.” Geoff instructed as he pulled a set of straws he had prepared earlier out of his pocket. “Shortest straw shares with the other shortest straw.”

The others agreed on this being fair enough and drew their straws, quickly comparing them.

“Well, it’s you and me, innit?” Chris said as he held up his short straw next to Peter’s. He gave the other a playful nudge and smirked. “Just don’t go tryin’ nuffin, yeah?”

Peter sniffled thickly and shoved Chris away before pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, careful to avoid the rings, and itched it aggressively. “I got enough of ya the first time.” He moved from rubbing his nose to scrubbing his eyes, trying to ignore the way Maurice bristled at the mention of their one-off fling. “Won’t be doin’ that again.” Chris flipped him off and called him a wanker, but he went ahead and ignored that too.

“Hey, Pete,” Geoff called out as he tossed his bag onto the other bed. “Why don’t you take a shower? Might help clear up a bit of that hayfever.”

Peter, who’s eyes had started to glaze over, did his best to nod in the ginger’s general direction. “That’s the best ideee-hha I’ve heard all d—hh! hhUH’DITSHhhiuew! ‘IGKSHhhiueww!” He doubled over hard into cupped hands, his entire body tensing violently with each sneeze before he groaned thickly against his palms. “—all damn day.” He finished on an exhale, voice cracking. “-snf- Jaysus…”

“Bless you.” Geoff offered, a twinge of sympathy in his voice. “You know you really ought to—”

“G’way outta that.” Peter interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand as he trudged his way to the bathroom, eyes half-lidded. “Last thing I need is yer bloody mother hennin’, Geoffrey.” He added before pulling the door closed behind him. 

Flicking the light switch, Peter had to wait a full second before the dull fluorescents sputtered to life, illuminating the unsightly bathroom as he dragged his feet towards the shower. The tiles were cracked and the floor was splotchy, but he didn’t care, he just wanted some relief. 

The pipes whined in protest as he turned on the taps before water began to sputter out from the shower head. The water pressure seemed abysmal at best, and Peter cursed to himself as he leaned his weight against the sink, waiting for the water to warm. As steam steadily started filling the small space, he could feel the tightness in his sinuses ease up slightly, making his nose run. The liquid caught on his septum ring and trailed rapidly down towards his upper lip. Blowing out an annoyed breath, the guitarist took a second to wipe his nose haphazardly against his sleeve before stripping and stepping into the tub, letting the warm water cascade over him with an appreciative sigh.

Outside of the bathroom Geoff and Maurice were seated on each side of their shared bed as they sorted through their bags.

“Think he’ll live?” Maurice asked as he pulled out his plastic toiletry bag, setting it to the side.

Geoff gave a small shrug in return, glancing towards the bathroom door. “I reckon it could go either way with that dumb git.”

Maurice snorted at this, but his knit brow betrayed his feigned air of nonchalance. “Just hope the shower helps, I s’ppose. Don’t think we can really afford to have him down fer the count.”

Chris, already sprawled out on the other bed, headphones back on, piped up. “Eh, he’ll be alright. Just needs to wash off whatever’s settin’ ‘im off. It’s no big, yeah? You French people are wound too tight.”

Maurice rolled his eyes at this but chose to ignore the drummer’s comment. “I just don’t want anythin’ to screw this up for us.” He murmured as his eyes fell onto the bathroom door. “That’s all.”

“hh-Hh! hH’dDZTShiueww!” Peter sneezed loudly and openly, his head snapping downwards as the shower’s stream continued to steadily pelt against his tattooed back. He blinked hard, eyes bleary as the need to sneeze lingered in his nose like an unwelcome houseguest. Instinctively he brought up a hand to hover over the lower half of his face as his breathing began to come out in shuddering, shallow gasps. “hah…Ha’TdSHhhiuew!” This one bent him double and he swore immediately afterwards, more than a little frustrated as he blew his nose harshly into his hand. Had his hayfever always been this maddening? He couldn’t remember. It had been a long time since he’d had a flare-up, probably pushing two decades at least. The thought that it had come back now during the band’s first tour just pissed him off further.

Sighing, Peter turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, reaching out for one of the worn threadbare towels from the hotel rack. He dried himself off quickly before wrapping the towel dangerously loose around his waist – the only member who had yet to see his dick was Geoffrey, and the guitarist couldn’t give less of a shit if today was the day that changed.

Wiping a hand across the fogged bathroom mirror, Peter allowed himself a moment to peer at his reflection as he dragged a hand through his damp, dark hair and threw on his glasses. His green eyes were still red-rimmed and watery, his nose and cheeks were decorated with a soft dusting of pink…he looked pathetic, but at least the shower was helping him breathe a little easier.

Residual steam billowed out into the cooler room as Peter made his way out of the bathroom, catching the eye of Maurice.

“Peter,” The singer looked up from his bag and offered the dark-haired man a small smile, taking in the other’s lean frame. “How ye fairin’?” 

“Bit better, I’d say.” Peter hummed, though a small sniffle still escaped him as he wandered over to his bag, making Maurice frown.

“Reckon you’re up for a drink?” Geoff asked, not looking up from his phone. “We were thinking of checking out this pub nearby. Interested?”

Peter mulled it over for a moment, turning his back on the others before dropping his towel and pulling on a pair of boxer-briefs. “Yeah, g’wan then.” He finally affirmed, clearing his throat against a fist as he fished an old t-shirt from his bag. “Pint’ll do me some good.”

“Are ya sure?” The singer asked, chewing on his lip nervously as Peter wiggled into a pair of jeans. “If yer not feelin’ up for it–”

“Sod off, Maurice, will you?” Chris suddenly retaliated as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Actin’ like you’re his bloody mum or somefin’ just cos you’re shaggin’. Prat.”

Peter couldn’t help but snort as Maurice glared daggers at Chris, his face turning a delightful shade of crimson. The fact that he and Maurice slept together on occasion wasn’t exactly a secret – their initial one-night stand was how the two had met in the first place, after all – but it wasn’t something that was often discussed amongst the group. Peter personally didn’t care, but Maurice clearly did.

“You don’t see me actin’ like a bloody bellend even though I’ve also sucked his–”

“Ça commence à bien faire!” Maurice shot up suddenly from the bed, cutting Chris off as his native tongue spilled rapidly from his mouth. “Fer the love of God, no more, thank you!” 

The singer hurriedly made a beeline for the hotel room door, grabbing his coat as he rushed past the others, his face absolutely aghast as the others snickered. “Just…hurry up, then! Christ, I need a feckin’ drink…”

“I think we all do.” Geoff huffed as Maurice stepped into the hall. “C’mon, lads. Let’s go.”

[rosylamb]

Happy Sunday, friends c:

It has been a while since I shared a baking post so here is something I made today! ♡

It’s chocolate chip banana bread !! My brothers really like this dessert so I make it whenever I see them :D

I don’t think I’m a fantastic baker, but I really enjoy baking and feel like this came out pretty good! ♡

What sort of things do you like to make? How has your weekend been so far, my friends ??

Wishing you much happiness today, and praying for your safety! Love, Rosy XO

🤍 . ˚ ⊹ 🧸 ⊹ * ·̩͙ 🧁 🎀

[bleue-flora]

i didn't remenber cdream had a parrot. Now o need to rewatch. Cdream has a curse or something bc why alll his pets die or are killed

Yea… for real. And most of them have really tragic and strange deaths. :’( It’s no wonder he has such attachment issues, only furthered by the death of his horse then later endangerment of his friends and blackmail…

Here’s the link to the parrot stream

Time stamp for finding the parrot: 2:23:21

Time stamp for the death of the parrot: 3:18:02

Here’s the link to the memorial (which I actually mentioned in my recent Dreamcatcher blooper)

Though to truly understand how tragic it is you should watch the whole section of the stream where he has his parrot, because he really goes through so much trouble to bring the parrot (and Spirit) back home with him.

“I loved him like a son he was a like father to me.” — Dream —

[spaciebabie]

does any other demiromantic (or arosepc doesnt rlly matter) feel like. extremely awful when they experience romantic attraction or is that just me.

[jannelle-o]

It's been about 8 years since I've stumbled across Rhett & Link/GMM/Mythical content ~ (´∀｀σ)σ ･。:*ﾟ;+．

Thanks a whole bunch for enjoying my silly drawings and for the support/kind words throughout the years, I appreciate it so much and hope they brought a little bit of joy~ 🥺💙💜💖

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

i know the conversation should focus on palestinians first and foremost (although i'm not an expert on how palestinians feel on the matter--others have posted about how heinous it is for israelis to claim palestinian dishes as their own, and notably how they are destroying the plants and land which produce those dishes while enjoying them) but I suppose as a form of solidarity, I hope none of y'all zionist fuckers enjoy any vietnamese cuisine either. i hope every bowl of pho you buy is spat in because i'd rather my home culture's dishes be tainted than to let you enjoy them

[loppiopio]

the chances of the people seeing this aren't super likely so this is highly inefficient but i'm too afraid to approach people personally…. yet i've been burning with the need to express my gratitude for the tags i've received individually somehow and figured, i could do it the way i do best. in the tags 😅

(sorted by most recent) (i capped the limit hard here) (some ✂️✂️ had to be done 😔) (i still like this format a lot though) (might do this again in the future idk would people like that??) (i hope it's not mortifying for anyone……..)

it's sorta the way i like it, indirect and unimposing, even if it's kinda. wieldy. but it's just on my blog so anything goes right? although in saying that, i am open to being imposed on. like if someone wants to talk about aci or something, like other fic?? i'm a big fic fiend. or anything else lol not sure what else you'd wanna chat about since so much of the stuff i've put out is just. about fic. but hey, if you're a person i don't mind being approached :>

(lol the way i've made this like a *throws out a bunch of paper slips* find your's 🎉) (might be obnoxious hm) (sorry...) (find your's if you want though 🫡)

[waterfallofspace]

Thank you to the lovely @onetrickponi for this request:

From a little ask I intend to work my way through using ~this list~ (I actually am writing 2 things for this one, hope that's alright <3) I went with D/azai for the first one, featuring C/huuya ofc. It takes a minute to get into the actual snz, but hopefully it's still enjoyable~ 2.1k words, Prompt #17, story under cut! 17. What did you do to your nose to piss it off like this?" (References to swearing, and mild violence, in case anyone doesn't like either of those!)

~~~~~~~

Walking into his office in the morning Chuuya has learned to expect a certain number of problems to be waiting for him. Being an executive in the Port Mafia means cleaning up a lot of messes. It also means handling a lot of issues so they don’t become messes. All that to say, he expects problems, just not… this one. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Aw Chuuuya, that’s no way to greet your pahhrtner!”

“Former. Now? You’re just a traitor.”

“Words hurt you know.”

“I should kill you on sight.” 

Dazai casts him a dark smile, letting the chair tilt as he leans back, eyes void of anything you could call ‘human’. It’s an intense look; emotionless and calculated. He has with ease a terror inducing quality that even Mori lacks. Something that leaves you feeling cold and itchy. Almost as if how calm you feel in his presence sets off every alarm in your brain. 

“Come now. We both know you hhhaave no intention of that.”

“Why you-” 

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what I want? I mean- sneaking into the office of a Port Mafia executive? I must want something.” 

Considering punching a hole in the wall, Chuuya settles for a shaky sigh, fist clenching around his jacket as he drapes it over the desk. ‘If I killed him now I’d have to deal with Mori. Besides, I need him to leave here without alerting anyone else or I’ll get accused of aiding and abetting. It’s my office after all, and he’s sitting here like he fucking owns the place.’ 

“Fine. But only this once, you hear me? And get your feet off my desk, you bastard.” 

“There’s the Chuuya I know and love!”

“I have seven knives hidden within my reach.”

“What an interesting fact! My turn! I have a video of Chuuya snoring on my phone.” 

“Eh?! You- Ach. Just out with it. The sooner you tell me what you want the sooner you can leave. And get off my chair, would you?” 

A smirk spreads across Dazai’s face, a grimace appearing on Chuuya’s in response. With a noncommittal noise he vacates the chair, Chuuya quickly taking his place. ‘Better, but I won’t be able to relax till he’s gone.’ They pause for a minute, trading stares as Dazai’s hand twitches to his face. A single movement, but one that Chuuya decides not to ignore.

“Something wrong with you?”

“Manners, Chuuya! Even Mori has more tact. But since you ahhsk, yes actually. That happens to be why I’m here.”

Chuuya’s face pales, a shiver running down his spine as he attempts to scan Dazai’s form. ‘No obvious wounds, he doesn’t seem that pale so likely no blood loss… It shouldn’t be some sort of special ability malfunction, he’s carrying himself with too much confidence. But his breath has been shaking. I didn’t notice it before, maybe-’ Dazai tilts his head, letting a hand rub against his nose again. 

“Are you worried, partner? How kind of you~! I knew you cared!”  

“I- I do not! I just w- want you out of my office. That’s all.”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. Along with all the rest.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you want or not!?”

“Right! Nearly forgot. It’s a bit heh-! Scuse me. Bit embarrassing.” 

"Everything about you is embarrassing.”

The anticipated retort never comes. Instead, Dazai’s eyes shift to the wall, a slight haze coming over them as his hand hovers in front of his face. Chuuya finds himself unable to look away, mind running through possibilities. ‘Is he gonna faint? Maybe I ruled out blood loss too soon. No… not pale enough. Maybe it’s an enemy's special ability? How would that be embarrassing though…’

“Not again, guhh- I really thought I had it that time.”

The voice pulls Chuuya from his thoughts, eyes refocusing on the man standing in front of him aggressively scrubbing at his nose. It’s only now that Chuuya starts to piece it together. The watery quality of his eyes, the slight flush to his face, and finally the dampness surrounding his nose. ‘Are you fuckin-’ 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You broke into the Port Mafia because you’re sneezing?”

“Actually, no. But good try, you’re very c- huhh-! close. I broke into your office because I can’t sneeze.”

“Wha-” 

Dazai lifts his hand back to his nose, sniffling with a quality that makes Chuuya flinch. He pinches it lightly, eyes starting to unfocus again, before huffing out a sigh and drifting his focus back to Chuuya. In response, Chuuya huffs out a laugh. ‘Wish I could say this is the weirdest reason he’s ever had for coming to see me. Unfortunately, this is pretty standard Dazai.’

“It’s not nice to laugh at someone who’s suffering!”

“Why the hell would you break in here for a sneeze?”

“Weren’t you listening? It’s the lack of sneeze that’s brought me here.”

“You know what I meant, jackass.” 

“It’s not exactly a problem I’m eager to share with just anyone. Not ex- hahh-! guhh… not exactly the proudest moment of my life. I needed someone I trust.” 

Chuuya pinches the bridge of his nose to fight off the growing headache. ‘I always seem to get one when interacting with him.’ Weighing the pros and cons of killing him here and now, Chuuya lets another sigh out, a low growl nipping at its heels as he offers a response. 

“Don’t you have someone over at the agency? The tiger kid, or that ideals man.”

“Maybe, but I wanted you.” 

A warmth starts to spread over his cheeks before he can stop it, Chuuya roughly huffing to distract from it. Judging by the smile that appears on Dazai’s face, he was unsuccessful. ‘Ach. What does it matter anyways, he’s the one embarrassed here. I don’t even care! I should just throw him out on his ass.’ Despite the sentiment, Chuuya finds himself vocalizing the complete opposite.

“Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Aw, see? I knew Chuuya would hhhhelp me!”

“Ju- just shut up, bandage waste. D… did you h- have something in mind?”

“Actually, yes. You see, this tihihhh- tickle has been bothering me for quite some time. I attempted a few rehhmedies myself, but it seems to be ineffective- heHH-!” 

Another pause fills the room as Dazai’s breath catches, a tear fighting to free itself as his hand flutters in front of his face. After an entirely too awkward amount of time, Dazai finally sighs, rubbing his nose against his bandaged arm as a light cough spills out. Chuuya fills the silence that follows, wanting to end this experience as quickly as possible. 

“So?”

“So, I figured it haahhh… has to be someone else. I checked around your office for something effecti-”

“-You did what?”

“-tive, and landed on this feahhhther. Not sure why you even have this, but I suppose it’s none of my business.”

“I- I uh-”

The look that crosses Dazai’s face has Chuuya’s fists clenching again, his entire body begging him to knock it off the bastard's face. Instead he stands, ripping the feather from Dazai’s hands and pushing him against the wall. A breath is snagged from Dazai’s lungs at the force, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s with a dirty look.

“Someone’s bossy a- hahh-! all of a sudden-”

“S- shut up and close your eyes.”

“Close my…?”

“I’m not doing this with you looking at me l- like that.” 

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he does as he’s told. ‘For once.’ Chuuya grimaces, fighting the warmth that threatens to reignite against his cheeks as he brushes the feather against Dazai’s nose. Dazai’s breath catches as his head tilts back on its own. ‘This’ll be easier than I thought. Bastard really couldn’t do this himself?’

“heHH-! ehh… hihh-! hEP-! guhhhh…”

“What the- are you fighting it?”

“Nohhhh… Ihhehh-! It’s been l- heAH-! like this all da-ahhhy-! It’s been driving me in… insane- hEP-! Damn…”

“Shit Dazai, what did you do to your nose to piss it off like this?”

“I had to ho- heHP-! huhh… holdback for a meeting, and I thhhhink this is… is… heAH-! is payback.” 

Chuuya can’t help but laugh, prompting a watery glare from the tortured man in front of him. He pulls the feather away to reevaluate, Dazai moaning slightly as it’s removed, breath catching again- leading to nothing once more. ‘This isn’t working, I need a better plan…’

“Whatever it takes, right?”

“You have my phehh-! permission to do anything your little hhheart requires. As long as it gets results.” 

“Got it. Stay here, and don’t touch anything!”

With that, Chuuya brushes out of the room, heading straight for Mori’s office. ‘There’s something in here… I think he keeps it in this- there it is! This whole thing might end up being enjoyable after all.’ Grabbing the item, Chuuya returns to his office, surprised to find Dazai pressed against the wall where he left him, eyes still shut.  

“Ready?”

“Go fohhh… for it.”

Offering a tight nod in response, a grin starting to spread over his mouth, Chuuya holds up the cologne, spraying it right onto Dazai’s nose.  The effect is immediate, his eyes snapping open, staring right into Chuuya’s, before fluttering closed again, jerking as far away from Chuuya as he can manage.

“heH-! hAH’KXSH-ENXSHH’diue-! Oh thank go- AIYZSHH-hNNXSHh’iew-!”

“Christ, Dazai.”

“heHh… wait there… there’s… huhH-! eh’KZSHH’shiew-! dAHZZSHhh’uu-!”

“A- are you-” 

“hh- hah’ihZSHHh’diue-! hehh’knESZHh’oo-! hehh.. huhHH-! ihh’tnZSHhhieww-!” 

The third seems to surprise them both, Dazai managing to bring a hand up to scrub at his face, pinching his nose shut and prying his eyes open. Chuuya can’t help but wince at the ticklish look of his face, nose quivering, still hitching despite the iron grip he has placed over it. A desperate look flashes across his features as he ducks into his chest, fingers still glued to his nose being used to stifle.

“hH’GNXT-INDXXT-! tehhh… heh’inGT-aiNGT’shh-! ihHH-! hh- knnGT-eh’dNT’chh-!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t-”

“eh’kznngt-inndgt’chhh-! huhh-! hk’nxxt’chh-geh’dxxt’choo-! heH-! dnNXt’choo-ainGT’choo-!” 

“Seriously you moron that’s only gonna-”

“ihh’knnT’oo-! iNDXT’oo-! hahHHh… gehh- hehH-! hehH’KXXNT’shoo-! eh’dENXGT’shhoo-!”

Each breath increases the tickle, Dazai only seeming able to inhale when he’s building for the next sneeze. Before he can think it through, Chuuya finds himself prying his hands away, holding them together. Dazai opens his eyes again, desperation flooding them as he tries to break free.

“Ch- Chuuya.. I hhhaaaa… haavee to… guhhh-! gonna… heHh-!”

“J- just sneeze, okay? That’s why you came to me isn’t it? Besides, this is hard to watch.”

No time to fight Dazai gives one last effort to break free. It fails spectacularly, and instead he attempts to aim for the floor, only succeeding in reaching Chuuya’s chest. Chuuya growls at the display, but ultimately resigns himself to the outcome. ‘Technically it’s my own fault. Still, bastard’s probably doing this on purpose.’ 

“ahh’tezshhiew-knnezsshh’iew-! heHh… guhh- hiH-! aih’YIZSHHhh’oo-YIEZSHH’shhoo-!"

"Bl-"

"hahhh… hAHhh-! ah’gnZUSHHh’diew-eh’zzUSHHhh’diew-!”

“Bless you.”

“Th- thahhhnnk… hH’INCHh’oo-! knNCHHH’oo-!”

“Don’t waste your breath.” 

“See- heH-! Seems like you’re the sneeehhh… eh’tzsshh’oo-! tzzshhh’oo-! sneeze whisperer, Chu- choo… ahh’CHH’uuya-! heh’CHH’uuya-!” 

A blush spreads across Chuuya’s face as he aims a kick for Dazai’s stomach, just a little satisfied when the bastard grunts in response. ‘It wasn’t strong enough to do any real damage.’ Dazai attempts to laugh, the noise coming out strangled as the congestion seeps into his voice. 

“Something the matter?”

“I- I will throw you out the window, Dazai.” 

“Might be doing me a faahhh… again..? heH’KZSHhh’oo-! kEHSZHH’oo-! Scuse me. Might be doing me a favour. This is gonna laahhh… last all day.” 

“You asked for it.”

“Yehh- yes I did.”

Freeing himself from Chuuya’s grasp, Dazai starts to head for the door, pausing with a spin to face him once more. A look spreads across his face, one that steals Chuuya’s breath the way the sneezes had stolen Dazai’s. A look with real emotion laced in it. 

“I don’t regret it, you know. Coming to you. I made the right choice.”

Leaving no room for a response, Dazai gives a wave, before crushing his nose into his palm again as he exits the room. Chuuya pauses, seemingly frozen in place as his mind races through the interaction. Replaying every moment as if he’s watching a recording in his head. 

‘Smug bastard. Just wanted an excuse to break into the Port Mafia, I bet that’s it. He just wanted to prove that he could get into my office whenever he wanted. Picked the dumbest reason just to piss me off.’ 

It’s a lie, and he knows it. But just for now, it’s easier than the truth, so Chuuya decides to stick to it, ignoring the smile that starts to form. A few floors down as Dazai makes his escape, the same smile graces his features.

“It was nice to see you too, partner.” 

[quanblovk]

The greatest warrior in the galaxy goes shopping with the shadow of the greatest swordsman.

▪︎Prologue

▪︎Chapter 1: A mysterious encounter!

▪︎Chapter 2: Shadow Cashier Dee's fate.

▪︎Chapter 3: A new friend or foe?

▪︎Chapter 4: Shopping spree!

▪︎Epilogue.

Ever since they "lent" that scary bum money, he hasn't been seen in 2 weeks. This means our old friend, Shadow Cashier Dee, didn't need to sound the Dark Meta Knight alarm in 2 days! The weight on the waddle dee's has been lifted entirely, the feeling of being free was so relieving...until.

*Ding Dong!*

"Hello, Welcome to Pupupu Mar-"

Just as the cashier dee was about to greet the customer with their monotonous voice as always, someone very familiar stepped in through those automated doors. Their eyes widen in horror....could it be? He- He's back...

They stared at each other for a few seconds before the waddle dee made a dash towards the button to sound the alarm, but unfortunately, it was too late. Giant blades shot through mirrors, blocking their way to the alarm. The sudden appearance of the swords sent the cashier stumbling backwards. They could feel their face warming up as tears started to build up. They just renovated the store yesterday and went all out......all that hard work revamping the entire store....all those new fridges.....they'll be destroyed just because they got too overconfident that the dark knight won't show up. They'll be corpses everywhere too....ahh....all the Necrodeus Day decorations will be stained with blood too!

"Cut it out. I'm not here to cause any chaos."

"H-huh?" They wiped their tears, struggling to get back on the stool.

"You lent me money two weeks ago, so i'm here to return it to you."

He halfheartedly throws a small pouch onto the counter to the waddle dee's surprise. They cautiously pull it behind the glass and open it.

Yep....14 coins.

"T-thanks sir...."

"I would've paid you a week earlier, but finding all the shopping baskets took much longer than I thought."

"What...do you m-mean?"

Dark Meta Knight makes a sharp turn towards the entrance, pulling his cape to him. "......you may want to go outside."

Then as his cape unfurls into dark, torn bat wings, he leaves the store immediately.

"Gee.......that's the most he's ever talked to me. I wonder what could've changed him that much?....i should probably see what he meant by going outside..."

Shadow Cashier Dee hastily runs out of the store to find.....

"Holy moly....."

Baskets upon baskets upon baskets....

Some torn, some dirty, some even chewed in half?? No basket was truly undamaged, but they were all still usable...somehow. Should Shadow Cashier Dee feel happy about this? They don't even know anymore.....but Dark Meta Knight's sudden change in temper was something to look forward to. Since that meant more chances of survival for them!

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

I genuinely do love the prison arc and find it fascinating and I wish it was easier to find content and analysis about it that didn't veer to any of the Very Not Fun extremes

[rosylamb]

I love your outfits so much! I hope the rest of your day goes well 💓 wish you the best vibes 💓

🎀 ⊹ ｡⁺ 🧸 :*:。♡

🤍 ⊹ ｡⁺ ♡ :*:。🧁

🧸 ⊹ ｡⁺ 🎀 :*:。♡ ♡ ♡ ~ !!!

My sweet friend ~ !! ♡

Is this for *me* ?? Really ??

Oh .. I wish I could give you a hug this was so kind of you !! You didn’t have to say this !!

(Truly! I got so excited hehe :’) Made my whole day !!)

Honestly, my outfits are just a silly thing I do to spread some cheer, and I’m sure they aren’t the best, but this encourages me *so* much !!

Thank you for this! It really does mean the absolute world to me ♡ ♡

So I’d have to say that my day is in fact going very well now !!

What about you though? Are you happy today ?? Has anything nice happened ?? c:

If not then I will pray that someone comes along, and makes *your* day, too !! Cus you deserve it so very very much ♡ ♡

Sending many well-wishes, warm thoughts, and all heartfelt gratitude for you in return !! Please take care, and stay safe, my friend ~ !!

♡ ⊹ ｡* 🧸 * ｡ ⊹ ♡

🤍 ⊹ ｡⁺ 🎀 :*:。XOXO

[bigboobyhalo]

hi neon homestuck anon here bringing it back with a cool sick question Hashtag hells to the yeah. what made u come up with ur skeppy design having wings ? i think i remember you saying how he reminded you of one of those tiny glass angel sculptures but, is there any other reasons that lead up to you giving him wings? maybe something hes said, maybe something bads said? (or maybe it could simply just be the glass angel, that would be cool too) and that does actually bring me to the question, why doesnt jr have angel wings like skeppy and horns like bad ?

ooo, good question!! basically, I originally gave my c!skeppy angel wings to parallel c!bad being a demon! bad once said skeppy is “a little diamond angel” or something and I thought it’d be cute!!! I was originally on the fence on if wings would be a trait that every member of his species had, or if it would be unique to him, and I eventually settled on it being unique to him !

pretty recently I actually thought up WHY they’re unique to him. basically, you know how kristin is the goddess of death and phil is the angel of death? well I think that maybe gods on the DSMP can grant someone angelhood if they really really really love them, and so kristin did that with phil … and bad did the same with skeppy! bad was the god of games before he renounced his godhood to be with skeppy, but while he was still a god, he made skeppy the angel of games :D (also I know I missed some lore involving kristin today, so sorry if that lore contradicts this in any way but also I don’t really care all that much <3) and so that’s WHY skeppy’s wings are unique to him, and why skeppy jr doesn’t have angel wings himself (angel traits don’t get passed down, which is why c!wilbur doesn’t have any as well) the end ^_^ <3

[plugnuts]

For the playlist ask game: Jack ?

For SURE my good moot!!

J: Just Like You - Three Days Grace

A: Animal - The Living Tombstone

C: Choke - IDKHOW

K: Killer In The Mirror - Set It Off

[phantomrose96]

Okay I have a story.

So my birthday is this Sunday (May 26th). My mom ordered some presents for me but one of them (an Etsy purchase) was seemingly stuck in transit and might not make it on time. I tell my mom all good, no worries. She gets in contact with the seller. After a long delay in response they get back with "Right we'll fix it!" It ships, tracking label and everything, good to go! ETA May 22nd (yesterday.)

During the work day I check the tracking and it says it's been delivered in/at mailbox! I double check with my mom "hey, is it mailbox size?" because if not, I don't want it sitting at the front door where anyone walking by could snag it.

She says "it's definitely NOT mailbox size." Okay. I text my neighbors in the building "Anyone seen a package delivered? It's a birthday gift from my mom and I wanna make sure it gets inside!" Success! Floor 2 David (not to be confused with Floor 1 David) had brought it inside. Inform my mom. All good!

I stop by home briefly around 4pm, because yesterday was hot-hot and I just installed my window A/C that morning in the living room, and according to my cat cam my stupid cat hasn't spent a single second in the climate controlled living room and is, instead, voluntarily baking herself elsewhere so I'm like "great" and hop on my bike to go home (10 minute ride) to check on her.

I get in the building door. Patches is crying from the top floor because she heard me. I maneuver my bike in the front hall. The ugliest fucking 6-foot-tall cat tree(?)/totem(?)/statue(?) I've seen in my entire life is just. Standing there.

My first thought is "What the fuck is that." My second thought is "Oh fuck that is for me." I look around at the floor in case there's perhaps anything else that might, in fact, be the gift.

No. Me and Cat Pole.

It's taller than me. I turn it around to face me and its face is painted and this is, in fact, uglier than it looked from the back.

Um.

Patches is crying. So I just haul it up to my level. MAYBE it was supposed to come with twine that I wrap around it (and hide its face from the world) for Patches to scratch. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe this is an inside joke, because when my mom moved into her current house the neighborhood gifted her some ugly-as-hell totem that apparently, by tradition, each newest-comer to the neighborhood is required to have and display in their window so maybe this is a very good riff on that.

Patches rubs against it. She's not afraid of this horrid facsimile of her kind.

Great.

Meanwhile SHE'S fine and the condo is a little toasty but totally liveable so I'm like "Good, cool, you're not baking. You're having a good time. Enjoy your new sister, I guess, I'll see you later."

I go back to work because this is a problem for later me.

After work, after my run, after whatever, I get home and it's like 8:00pm and Patches is so happy to see me and the totem pole is still just. There.

I text my friends like "so a bday gift is here from my mom and it's the Biggest Ugliest cat pole I've seen in my life. Is this a bit? Did my mom go 'that's so ugly haha! send!' Maybe she genuinely found it cute. How do I navigate this." My friend Sarah has the good advice to maybe text my mom neutrally like "Got the cat pole!" and feel the waters whether my mom is like "Isn't it ugly? 😂" or "Hope Patches likes it! 🥰"

My mom goes to bed early so I don't do any of that yet. Problem for tomorrow me.

This morning, Patches wakes me up for breakfast. I get her situated and I'm staring at the fucking Cat Pole again. I wonder if my Mom's been wondering all night what I thought of it.

I take a picture. I text her.

Okay.

I get on call with my mom. I ask for clarity that the ungodly horrid thing is NOT my birthday gift and is in fact a mix-up from the seller who sent me this instead of my actual gift. She's wheezing between words. She thinks I'm being too charitable for the amount of Absolute Fucking Ugly this is. I have to gently talk her out of using the word "monstrosity" while messaging the seller asking what the hell happened here.

I tell her I need to apologize for harming her dignity with Floor 2 David, who thinks this fucking thing is my mom's idea of a great birthday gift for her to-be-28-year-old daughter.

My heart goes out to the poor soul who did actually order this cat totem and is lacking it on this lovely day.

[tkbrokkoli]

:O

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"