I Am Not Okay With It😭 I Started As S/ylus Girlie But Now I Fell Conflicted Af About Love Interests

average bsd manga experience

Lumine's reaction when she sees Kaeya's new outfit for the 1st time... SHE'S JUST LIKE US!🫠

He knows the power he has on us.

😍😍😍

Introducing, my first Al/hai/th/am wav, and first snz vid I am making!! Thanks so much to @hachiibun for helping me bring this to life by editing everything!! (And I hope you all enjoy the funny bonuses at the end)

CW: False starts, sniffling, stifles, some nose blowing, coughing (in ending bonuses)

You, the Traveler, visit Alhaitham at his home at the insistence of Kaveh only to find him struggling after purchasing books from the House of Daena without realizing how dusty they are.

Perhaps your company might be just what helps him experience relief from his allergies.

(This is our first time trying something like this! We hope you enjoy!)

Recorded in VRChat

Actor: @alans-snz

Editor: @hachiibun

🚫 DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS 🚫

😳🥵

Oh, So much cat fur || L/A/DS Z/ayne x MC

I made an ao3 a bit ago. I've been a lurker on there since...idk...years, but. I'm going to uhh...i think post fics there too haha. may or may not see some crossposting. i'm being wild and it's also going to have regular fics (haha, that is if i decide i'm writing in the first place xD) there's one snz fic and one vanilla fic right now lol. Am i nervous? sure, but like- also i've lost it, idk. here we are. anyways. I'm so into LADS rn. here we are. i want to write more, but i always say that, write one thing, and disappear for another 5 months. maybe i'll change, who knows. I’m taking advantage of my motivation while I’ve got it rn

the portal, to...a fic in my ao3 lol. but i'll also put the fic here under the cut...because..why not?

Zayne, sneezing, because little kitty Zayne is choking on his own fur!!?? HUH!? OK SIR!?

======================

Zayne was always a neat and orderly person. It irked him that he was the cause of the copious amount of cat hair that was beginning to collect–on him and his furniture. 

Ever since the bizarre event that had left him with cat ears and a long, fluffy tail, he had been doing his best to maintain his cleanliness. This was lasting longer than he had wistfully hoped. 

He was shedding everywhere. 

The elegant strands of his midnight fur that adorned his cat features had begun piling up, turning his couch and sheets a grayish hue. He practically ate cat hair with every meal now. If anyone had a pet that shed, they would understand. 

Zayne had decided in order to lessen the amount of shed fur, he would brush his ears and tail three times a day. It was just about time to start his midday grooming session. He figured there should be enough time before you came over for lunch. 

Oftentimes, if you spent the evening with him–whether it was in his office or in his apartment–he would let you brush him. It was soothing. He would just melt into your touch. 

He got to work, grabbing his brush and finding a comfy space on the wood floors. 

How long has it been since he’s vacuumed? He admitted to himself, he had begun to slack on the cleaning. It had gotten exhausting keeping up with the amounts of sweeping he had to do everyday and becoming a cat has made him more prone to naps these days. Therefore, his floors were gaining quite the collection of cat fur. 

Zayne sighed slightly as he settled onto the floor in a cross legged position. However, no matter how gentle he sat down, it  hadn’t stopped him from stirring up the stray strands of fur into the air. He started on his 

With the precise motions of a surgeon, he ran the brush over his ears first. An attempt to ensure that each motion was controlled as to not let too much cat fur fly. The feeling was pleasant, he almost purred. 

Strands of his soft black fur detached from the brush, regardless of his attempts, drifting lazily through the air. 

He watched them float.

A small sigh left his lips. No matter how careful he was, the fur would go wherever it felt. The sun’s rays illuminated the fur flying through the air, accentuating how they floated gently before landing on his clothes, his floor–his face.

He gave a frustrated exhale from his nose, blowing the cat furs away from his nostrils. Then, he moved on to brushing his tail. He wasn’t a big fan of brushing his tail. It was a human scaled version of a maine coone’s tail, those of which were already long and fluffy. He swiftly moved the brush through his tail. Unlike his ears, this took more effort and these strands were more prone to flying wherever they felt like. 

More and more fur lifted into the air, curling in invisible trails around him. It was like a mini cloud of cat fur always hung around him. 

That’s when he felt it. 

A faint, miniscule tickle on the tip of his nose. It was hardly worth acknowledging at first. Just a light sensation that teased the edges of his sinuses. His nostrils gave a tiny twitch, and then nothing.

Zayne continued brushing, doing his best not to acknowledge any sensations on his face. This of course, scattered more fur into the air around him. Not that it could be helped. Still, he refused to give into the growing irritation, or acknowledge the way his breath had begun to catch. He was still in control. He could do this. 

He finally made it to the ends of his tail. The fullest, most luxurious part. It was beautiful, yet he cursed it. Although, you personally loved when he let you run your hands through it. He gave a few generous strokes, running the bristles through the fur with precision. 

More and more fur detached, swirled through the air, landing everywhere. 

His breath hitched. The tickle was beginning to settle in the back of his nose as he continued. He gave a particularly harsh tug on his next stroke as a knot had nestled itself deep in his fur. Big mistake on his end. A small plume of fur flew up into the air, curling directly into his face. He could feel each ticklish strand land on, around, and in his nose. The teased and tickled as he shakily inhaled. 

“No, no, n-nhh…I d-don’t– don’t need to snihHh–sneeze–” 

His nostrils flared, protesting the cat fur that tickled his nose. His breath hitched and stuttered, chest heaving. Fighting a losing battle, he finally raised his hand up to his nose. He wasn’t allergic to cat hairs, but his nose was quite sensitive to the touch. 

At last, his breath caught.

“Hhh–hh’Tscht!” He pinched the first sneeze off behind his fingers. It was refined and quiet, yet it did not relieve him from the tickle that plagued his nose. Before he had time to think, his nose protested once again, and suddenly once became six times.

“Heh-’Tcht! –eH’Tcht! N–tchtt! ‘Tch! ‘Tch! ‘tchhh!” Zayne wasn’t going to stop anytime soon if he didn’t release his nose to expel the cat fur, but habits kept him from doing so. “ahH–...s-so tickly..s-stuhHh’tcht!! ehH’Tcht! S-stupid cat f-fur’TCHT! ehH–’Tcht!” 

Each sneeze–albeit quite–harshly jerked his body and shook more cat fur into the air.

“Sh-hiH-iHt’Tgxt’ch! ah–Tchtt! hihH–heh’Tchht!” 

His body repeatedly betrayed him as his nose gave in to the itch–even as he fought to suppress them. Somewhere in the midst, he heard his door unlock. ‘Oh no, they’re here already. How long hahH– has it b-been?’ With all the commotion from his nose he had forgotten you were coming over. 

Soon, he heard the sound of your feet headed in his direction.

“Zayne? Are you… wh-what happened to you?” You tried to cover up your amusement by coughing to hide your laughter. Zayne tried his best to glare at you through his bleary eyes.

“T-too muhh’Tchh! hehH’TChh! Toomuchcatfur ahH–’TChh!!!” He stuttered out through the sneezes. “Hehh…I-I can’t s-stohH–p…”.

“Do you maybe think, you should, perhaps, take your hand off your nose? Stop stifling mayhaps? Or would you rather forever trap those tickly–”

“hehH–eH’DTZsh’iiihh!!” Even the mere word tickly made his nose burst. At least he finally let himself release the sneezes freely, “ahEhH’DZSH–iihhh!! eHEH’DSZHIew! heh’DZSH–IIHH–…hhh..”.

You clicked your tongue in feigned disappointment, “Kitty Zayne choking on his own fur?”

His ears flattened as he sniffled the mess back, rosy cheeks gave away his embarrassment. You gave him a cheeky smile as you pulled some tissues out of your back pocket. You held them out, nudging them towards his face as he still glared (lovingly) at you.

“This is n-not amuHh…amusing…hh…hH’iHhh–’Tschhh!” He sneezed again and hastily grabbed for the tissues. He blew his nose harshly in an attempt to evict any stray cat fur left in his nose. 

“Well, I found it quite amusing,” You giggled as you plopped down on the floor right in front of him, “though you had me worried for a moment there when you wouldn’t open your door or respond to your phone.”

He looked back at you above the tissues as he examined the expression on your face. A look of both amusement and relief. 

“I did…not mean to worry you. Apologies, my dear,” He sighed, his lips twitched into a small smile. 

“It’s no worries! The scene I walked into made up for it. Imagine, me walking in, worried, just to find you sitting on the floor, sneezing your head off, surrounded by a cloud of your own fur–”

“OhH–no wh–y–heH’TSCHHH! eH’Tschh! eH’Tch! ‘tch–’tch–’tch…heh…haHh–e’Tschhhh! Why did you have to mention it again?” He once again blew his nose into the tissues. Though they were quite wet by now. You threw your head back, cackling.

“I’m sorry, Zayne!! I didn’t realize you were so suggestible!” Regardless of his embarrassment, your laughter was still music to his ears. 

“Mhm…what will I ever do with you, hm?” He let out an amused sigh. 

“Why don’t we settle onto the couch instead of going out today? Now seems like a perfect time for an afternoon nap, yeah?” You beamed as you reached to scratch his ears. Miraculously, your hand made it to his ears before he could stop you. He let out a small pur, which in turn caused his cheeks to turn a deeper shade of red.

“S-sounds good to me,” he finally replied after he let you scritch behind his ears. You knew he enjoyed that spot. You hummed happily and helped him up from the floor. Zayne followed without protest, unable to stop the small purrs that escaped his throat.

Moments later, the two of you were nestled together on his plush sofa. Zayne’s breaths were slow and steady, though a faint sniffle escaped him now and then. The sneezing had finally eased, leaving his little cat-self drowsy. His tail curled lazily over your legs and with each soft exhale, his ears would give a tiny flick. He was the first to doze off, with you not too far behind.

Mo xiang tong xiu be like😭😭😭

I always giggle when I think about it...

Am I psycho?

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

I'm honoured to have collaborated with the incredible @onetrickponi to celebrate a certain gravity-manipulating shorty's birthday! This has been in the works for a while now, and we're both really excited to finally share this with everyone!

Without further ado, we'd like to present Vigil.

— ♠ —

“I’ve always wanted to die in a church.”

Beside him, Chuuya snorts. “I thought you wanted to die in the Ooka.”

Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Not since it became a tourist trap,” he replies. “That wouldn’t be a peaceful death at all.”

“The amount of thought you’ve put into this disturbs me,” says Chuuya, his own nose creasing. His, however, is due to a low seated, buzzing itch along the bridge of his sinuses that has been lingering since breakfast.

Chuuya won’t give it the satisfaction of culminating into a sneeze, however; instead choosing to quash the soft tingle into oblivion with the sheer force of his willpower alone. Anything else would be unacceptable.

(—as well as fucking candy to the idiot next to him, if Dazai ever gets wind of…whatever this is.)

Chuuya swallows against a spark of itch that ignites in his nose and grits his teeth. When he thinks he can speak steadily he points to the pews with a gloved hand. “Find the flash drive,” he orders. “We’ve got a window of thirty minutes at—the fuck are you looking at, shithead?”

Dazai cocks his head to the side, blinks, and answers with, “Just admiring your striking resemblance to a cherub in this light.” It’s smooth and practiced, like most of Dazai’s bullshittery.

“Why, you–” Chuuya cuts himself off and exhales slowly through his nose. He tries not to wince at the slight whistling sound it makes. With a sharp sniff he stalks off to the sanctuary and begins sifting through the drawers there. Dazai scurries off to the apse with an excited noise, muttering something about how angelic his corpse would look strung up along the mosaics.

Chuuya’s nose gives a foreboding quiver.

It isn’t like Dazai hasn’t ever heard him sneeze, or vice versa. They’ve been working together too long for that. They’ve seen each other express every bodily function possible to man (in addition to the ones that aren’t).

And Chuuya might have even been okay with his current predicament, had it not been for a quip Dazai made last week about Chuuya being a “weakling.” It had stung because Dazai, whose lack of self care is, frankly, appalling, can operate seemingly unbothered by even the most serious neglects of basic needs. Chuuya’s seen him run at peak wit on days of sleeping ninety minutes a night, seen his hair and skin glow on a diet of crab cakes and sake…while on the other hand Chuuya’s the one with the—

Don’t say it. As if ignoring the problem will make it go away. It hasn’t worked with Dazai, so Chuuya is a fool to think it will work with his increasingly sensitive airways.

Chuuya rifles through some bibles, sparing a glance or two at Dazai before deeming it okay to swallow a couple of sneezes and throat clears into his sleeve. He’s perfected the silent stifle over time, which is a feat in and of itself since Chuuya tends to sneeze harshly, loudly, and in multiples. Perhaps the intensity is Corruption at work, but regardless, Chuuya enjoys scaring the living daylights out of people. Usually.

The flash drive is proving to be elusive. The Port needs it, badly, if they have any chance of winning over the west side gangs of the Pier. Chuuya jams a gloved knuckle against the side of his nose as he hitches, squints, and glares at the church pews like they personally offend him.

“Oi, Chuuya,” Dazai whisper-calls from somewhere behind a cupboard. “I think someone’s coming. You find it?”

“No,” Chuuya snaps. The dust of old, flaky books is making his already irritated nose twitch. He shakes his head and the tickle abates. Cocking his head he realizes that Dazai is right; the sound of slow footfalls is getting closer to the vestibule. “Shit.”

Dazai scurries lightly over to where Chuuya is glowering at nothing in particular, and takes him by the arm. “There’s a little den area over there,” he nods to a veiled corner, “where we can stay hidden until whoever it is leaves,” he says.

“Or we can just come back in the morning,” replies Chuuya, snatching his arm away.

“Mori-sama will be disappoinnnteddd,” Dazai sing-songs. Dammit. He knows how to hit Chuuya where it hurts and they both know it.

Chuuya sighs. “Fine.” He stalks over to the den and crouches in the darkness with Dazai just as the cathedral doors swing open. The gibbous moon twinkles through the stained glass windows enough for the two of them to make out one of the western gang’s right hands.

Dazai crouches low and squints through the shadows. “Maybe he’ll show us where the drive is,” he whispers.

“Shut up, slug.”

Dazai holds up his bandaged hands in a familiar, placating gesture. They watch the guy glide down the stone nave, rummage around some boxes along the altar’s steps, sift through a stack of papers, and make himself comfortable on a nearby cushion.

Well, there goes Chuuya’s hopes of a night in. And now with Dazai sitting so close, he’s bound to find out Chuuya isn’t in as good of shape as he claims. Chuuya’s not going to waste all of his energy hiding it, but he’s also not ready to be discovered because he couldn’t keep his damn nose under control.

He’d never hear the end of it from Dazai.

So when he feels a trickle of damp at the edges of his nostrils he takes a slow breath in and times a much-needed sniffle with their visitor’s dropping of a folder. Dazai shoots him a curious, but unsurprised glance, which Chuuya pointedly ignores.

The sneeze teasing the swollen membranes of his sinuses, however, is much harder to ignore. Chuuya knows he can stifle it, but he also knows that doing so won’t exactly solve the problem. The irritation needs somewhere to go, or it’ll just build fruitlessly until he lets them out proper.

He breathes carefully, making sure to hitch silently as he bunches up a handful of fabric from his jacket. Chuuya ducks his head in preparation for the sneeze (or sneezes, if this is indeed a…cold).

Dazai raises an eyebrow as he watches Chuuya curl into himself and shiver with two inaudible stifles. When Chuuya uncurls Dazai can see the bleary, hazy look of someone who still has desperately to sneeze but is trying very hard not to.

“Can you stop, Chibi?” whispers Dazai. Chuuya shoots him a look that is equal parts furious and embarrassed. It’s adorable. But…

“Frankly, I’d rather not get caught because you couldn’t tame your little nose there,” Dazai continues. “Are you suuure you’re good?”

Chuuya gives a curt nod. Which should be reassuring, but Dazai’s smile falters because this is actually very bad. He recognizes the lack of quip, even while hiding like this, means that Chuuya does not trust himself enough to speak. He’s seen it before.

Dazai flicks an errant strand of hair out of his eyes and sighs. “Maybe we really will die in a church, if you keep this up.”

Chuuya’s returning grin is feral. “Y-you wish.” No way in hell will he allow Dazai the satisfaction. The carpets blanketing the enclosed den mean that they can whisper without much of an echo. It’s a small relief, since Chuuya can feel the congestion crawling and pattering away in a far back place of his nose, dormant but threatening.

He focuses on how intently Dazai is eyeing him, knowing well what Dazai isn’t saying. Engaging would be easy, but it would be messy and they’re supposed to be currying favor with the west side gangs, not killing them (or in Dazai’s case, very emphatically bonking them on the head).

Chuuya’s right eye waters with the sharpness of the tickle, as the itchiness swells and becomes decidedly less dormant. He bites his lip. If this keeps up his nose is going to turn into fucking Krakatoa.

Dazai watches Chuuya massage his flaring nostrils through the fabric of his gloves and grins with as many teeth as he can muster. Chuuya’s losing battle with his nose is even more hilarious than the fact that he’s currently sitting on a pile of Communion pamphlets.

It won’t be long now, what with the way Chuuya has gone stiff and rigid. Dazai counts backwards from five in his head. He gets to two before Chuuya’s lip trembles as the itch erupts and overwhelms him.

“Gnt!” Chuuya’s able to pinch that one into submission, though it makes his head throb and the pulsating trickle along his nose intensify with unsatisfied need. “Gnt! Nt! H’Gnt!”

He starts to lower his hand, before—“Gnt!” Jesus fuck, can’t he be done?

The answer is no, apparently, because Chuuya feels his eyes begin to flutter shut and his chest start to jump with silent, building hitches.

Before he can sneeze again, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder. It successfully distracts him from the budding sneeze as Chuuya whips his head around to stare at Dazai’s familiar, shit-eating grin.

Dazai uses the finger he’d tapped Chuuya with to beckon. “C’mere.”

Chuuya sniffs carefully and squints. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Dazai grabs him (gently, Chuuya notices, which okay, is a little odd) and smashes his face into his long overcoat (a little less gently).

“Mnflgl?” Chuuya questions.

“Sneeze, Chuuya,” Dazai orders. Chuuya tries to shake his head because one, Dazai’s forgetting how harsh his sneezes are—sure to give them away, and two, Chuuya might hate the guy but he’s not going to sneeze on him.

Dazai seems to read his mind. “The fabric will muffle the sound,” he replies. “And you’ll pay for my dry cleaning.” Chuuya can hear his smirk. Asshole.

But he also wants very badly to sneeze. No; at this point he’s desperate to sneeze. His nose feels like one of his gravity bombs, pulsing, thrumming, and the itch is all consuming. It would feel so good to just let a few out. He really shouldn’t.

“I know you need to,” whispers Dazai.

So, against all logic, Chuuya does.

“Hep-MPPH! MPPHT! H’MPPH!” Somehow, the fabric dampens the sound better than Chuuya thought it would. So he decides he can sneeze a little more.

“Hh…hh…MPPHT! PHT! MPPHT! Hp!…H-Hep-MPPHH!”

He’s beginning to feel dizzy. It’s worth it, though, as the stuffy, spider-crawling prickle along his nose subsides for the time being. God, he’s never had to sneeze so badly in his life. Makes sense it’s now, when he needs to be quiet.

And Dazai—the utter prick—is patting his head, like Chuuya’s some sort of mutt. “You’re a mess, you know that?” he’s saying, fondly, as Chuuya shakes with sneeze after sneeze. It’s a wonder the gang’s right hand hasn’t discovered them yet.

Slowly, Chuuya comes up for air. He thanks some leviathan god that it’s dark, so he doesn’t have to look at what he’s done to Dazai’s coat. He’s not even going to look at Dazai, because this is probably one of the most humiliating things to happen to him in…well, not as long as Chuuya’d like to admit. This is Dazai, after all.

“Bless you,” Dazai says quietly. Chuuya’s head snaps to him because Dazai sounds wrong. Odd. Genuine. Ah, that’s why it took so long to place. Dazai rarely does sincere, and the few times he expresses genuine emotions tend to signify nothing good at all.

“Thank you,” Chuuya mutters between a clenched jaw because he may have made a mess of himself but he still has manners, goddammit. He blinks the remaining wetness from his eyes as he peers at Dazai for a suspended moment.

“Oh, and if you’re curious, the guy left five minutes ago.”

And the moment is over.

Chuuya jumps up. “You utter assho-ho–” He’s cut off by the familiar needling sensation at the back of his nose. Oh no you don’t. Jamming a fist under his septum hard enough to bruise, he points a finger at Dazai.

“I despise you,” he hisses. “All thihh…th…hih…”

Dazai holds a hand to his ear. “What was that?”

Chuuya shakes his head with a tickly sniff in hopes that his nose will make up its mind and move from where it’s currently settled—in the burning, stinging place between sneeze and not sneeze that’s driving him even more up the wall than Dazai is.

Dazai cocks his head at just the right angle that a piece of hair falls into his eyes. “That sneeze looks troublesome,” he observes. “Is it stuck? Like Chuuya’s growth spurt?”

Chuuya growls and kicks a nearby chair leg for good measure, now that they don’t have to concern themselves with being quiet. The sound is hollow and echoes across the large cathedral chamber.

There’s a wrinkled, damp spot on one side of Dazai’s overcoat that Chuuya pointedly avoids looking at. The crazy bastard had let him do that, all for, what? Funsies? To torture him? Chuuya will unpack that for later. It never bodes well to try to make sense of Dazai’s brain. Besides, the much-needed sneeze is still eluding him. If he could just–just…

“Hih…Hept! Hh…Fuck! Shit!”

Dazai sighs. “Okay, I can’t watch this,” he says, striding over to Chuuya. “Stay still, Chibi.”

Chuuya glares at him, irritation evident in his eyes and in his raw, wide-blown nostrils. “If you’re doi’g anythi’g other thad helpi’g, Dazai, I will obliterate you,” he says darkly, throat crackling and sore.

Dazai grins wide. “Relax,” he says. He wiggles a finger. “I know Chuuya’s sneeze spot.”

“What the fuck even is a—” Dazai presses a finger to the bridge of Chuuya’s nose, in the center, and gives it a circular rub back and forth. Chuuya stumbles back and manages a wavering, shaky curse in French before he snaps forward with a fusillade of unrestrained sneezes.

“Hih-ASHHHu! Hep’ASHHU! AHSSHU! AHSSH! AHSSHH! AHSSHU! Merde!…Heh-heh…hih’ASHHU!”

Chuuya sneezes and sneezes, for once uncaring about decorum. It’s a miracle his hat doesn’t fly off. He’s so overcome with finally scratching the itch in his nose that he almost doesn’t feel the tap at his shoulder. Dazai’s extending a packet of tissues that look like they were newly purchased.

“Goodness! I don’t know whether to bless Chuuya or call an exorcist,” he remarks.

“Shut up,” Chuuya mutters around a tissue. With that annoyance out of the way, it’s seeping in just how awful he feels. He sighs, heavy, and rubs at a temple. “Nom de dieu…”

“I really don’t know how someone so little can sneeze with such ferocity,” continues Dazai, ignoring Chuuya. It’s easy to say the man was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making Chuuya’s life miserable. “Hih…ASHHU!” Chuuya’s head gives a throb and things slide out of focus for a minute. He coughs, rough, and pushes some sweaty hair away from his face. How unsightly.

“Oh, and Chuuya?” Dazai makes a burlesque of leaning in and peering at him. “The next time you’re sick, call in, okay?” And then he reaches one lanky arm over and pats Chuuya’s head.

“I never said I was sick,” Chuuya snaps, jerking out of reach. Dazai makes to poke his nose again, but Chuuya evades him with a hoarse snarl. “Stop.”

In response, Dazai gives him a condescending look that Chuuya knows well. It’s the one where he purses his lips and crinkles up his large, dark eyes. The one he knows infuriates Chuuya the most. “Please,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew before we even got here. Just wanted to see how long you could keep it up.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to utter some expletive, he doesn’t know which one yet, but the sneezy feeling decides to return—bristling like a thousand tiny whiskers along the rims of his inner nose. Stifling it to refute Dazai’s point will only make his head pound harder, so Chuuya wrenches to the side with a sneeze. Which, naturally, makes him cough.

“Hmmm, you really don’t sound good, Chuuya.”

“Fuck you.”

Dazai makes a face. “Ew, no thanks. But since you’re already paying for my dry cleaning, why don’t I treat you to a nice bowl of leek soup and tea?”

Dazai is so confusing at times Chuuya could strangle him. Or at least blame him for the acute emotional whiplash.

“Hh’ASSHu! AHSSH! J'en peux plus…” Chuuya twitches his nose to the side and straightens his hat. “Whatever—let’s just find that drive and get the hell out of here so I can go to bed,” he grumbles. It’s not exactly a refusal (because tea does in fact sound nice), but Chuuya is more than done with this place.

“You mean this?” Dazai wiggles a little USB between two bandaged fingers. Chuuya sputters. “Yup. Found it ages ago and switched it with a fake.”

“AAH?!”

— Fin —

Fontaine soon

“I’m going to put a friendship bracelet RIGHT HERE! ON YOUR WRIST!!”

“HELL YEAHHHH I’M GETTING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET!!”

Какие котики🤲🏻🤲🏻🤲🏻

Первая пробная работа по спиннеракам, которой уже полтора года

В то время я заметила, что по этому пейрингу слишком мало артов, после чего пообещала себе создать кучу рисунков и радовать таких же любителей этого шиппа, как я🤣