ouch-thats-harsh

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gojo is sure that he’s going to die today.

you’re gonna kill him, tsumiki’s gonna kill him. hell, megumi’s probably gonna kill him too.

once gojo finds him, that is.

the task had been simple: go to the mall and get a picture with the mall santa. easy. fool-proof. but he’d turned his back for thirty seconds to look at a nice shirt in a display, and now the brat’s nowhere to be seen.

he’d always been thankful that the seven year-old was relatively independent. it meant less work for him. but now it’s been fifteen minutes, he hasn’t seen that sea-urchin hair anywhere, and gojo’s now feeling the panic of a single, overworked parent in a mop commercial.

he shouldn’t have let you talk him out of the backpack leash. “it’s impossible to lose him now, he’s seven,” you’d said.

well, it was possible. bet you’re gonna feel real stupid when he says ‘i told you so.’

(stupid, amongst other things. anger might win out if gojo comes home alone, without even the picture with the knock-off santa.)

he slides his shades down every time a group of kids passes by, because maybe megumi’s made a friend and run off with another group of fellow delinquents? he hopes that’s the case.

a quick check to his watch confirms gojo’s now been searching for twenty minutes, and he’s really kinda worried. what if something had happened? he’s ready to call the police, the DA, maybe even nanamin—

“excuse me, sir?”

he whirls around to see a mall cop behind him, an almost laughable attempt of a stern look on his face and powdered sugar caught in his moustache. not exactly who he’d turn to right now, but he has a badge and probably has access to the intercom system.

“yeah?”

“we’ve been getting reports of a tall man with sunglasses staring at children. you’re going to need to come with me,” he says, almost boredly. there’s a pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt that gojo could crumble into pieces with a flick of his wrist.

yet he blinks, brain short-circuiting as he processes rent-a-cop’s words. what?

“staring at children— i’ll have you know i’m a teacher!” kinda. “and that if anyone’s child is in danger, it’s probably mine!”

“sir,” he sighs, “could you just come with me?”

“my kid is missing,” he insists. “could you just help me out before literally everyone i know chews me out and i’m responsible for losing one of the greatest things to come out of his shit family?”

this man looks like he could honestly care less, but heaves a great sigh and turns around, gesturing for him to follow.

gojo trails after him, eyes still roving around for any sign of megumi until they get to what he assumes is a very sad, not very secure mall jail.

and sitting there in a little room with a flimsy lock, is fushiguro megumi.

“holy— holy shit!” he laughs, with relief, with amusement, he doesn’t know. he pounds on the glass, watching the kid’s eyes widen slightly. “that’s my kid! megumi!! what the hell did you do?”

“he got into a fight with the mall santa and kicked an elf in the family jewels,” the cop at the desk answered. “we called his guardian.”

gojo stares at him, brows furrowed. his phone hadn’t rung once! “but i’m his guar—”

“satoru.”

uh oh.

“hey!” he grins, whirling around to greet you with a nervous laugh and a kiss to the lips that you don’t reciprocate. “babe! what are you doing here?”

“i’m here to bail megumi out of mall jail,” you answer flatly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “i asked you to do one thing for tsumiki. you just had to get a cute picture of her brother with santa claus. how are you going to tell her that he’s been banned from the mall until next year?”

the cop opens the door to let the little delinquent out.

megumi digs into his pants pocket, holding a crumpled photo out to you. “i went and got the picture when he left to look at clothes.”

the sorcerer withers under your glare as you take the photo, smoothing it out as best you can to take a look.

“megumi, this is a picture of you punching santa in the face.”

-

“hey, gojo-sensei, what’s this?” itadori asks, fishing a creased piece of paper from his wallet.

“i thought i told you to get my frozen yogurt stamp card,” he chuckles.

“you kept that?” megumi asks, staring at him in the rear view mirror.

“he made copies and sent it out as a christmas card,” you laugh from the passenger seat. “‘merry christmas from the fushigojos’”

“oh my god,” megumi groans. “you guys are so embarrassing.”

“we had to bail you out of jail.”

“fushiguro went to jail?” nobara gasps. “why didn’t you tell us this? you never tell us anything!”

“it was at a mall.”

“you were in a room that locked from the outside,” gojo quips. “sounds like jail to me.”

“let’s not forget the reason why he was there,” you grumble. “negligence.”

“you’re the one who said we didn’t need the backpack leash! i told you so.”

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Girls, i think I've got dermatitis.

MY FACE ITCHES AND MY EYELID IS ITCHY ANF FLAKY.

FUCK

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people will hear you talk about struggling with mental illness and say “you can do anything if you just put your mind to it”. brother what part of the body does the mental illness happen in. what do you think is the problem

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The sooner you reblog this, the funnier it is

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You've been isekai'd into a fictional setting. Spin this wheel to find out which one.

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who fucking litters

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Someone sent me this

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when people put "trigger warning" on their content without specifying what the trigger warning is for

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gojo reminds me of 2010 justin bieber

they’re literally the same person HELP

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suck, and i cannot stress this enough, my cock to the fucking base

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Ive never really met anyone that thought of ribs as interesting… that’s such a shame. Ribs and the things they do are fascinating…. I think about them everyday.

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Just wanted to draw a little wyvern doing that thing my cat does :)

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more bkdk.. fantasy au u will always be famous to me

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Can we please have more Peach? ♡♡

Okay! 

Here is Peach doing her very best rectangle. 

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there's a stage in sandwich consumption where it's falling to pieces & you're desperately cupping it in your hands & it's like this poor wounded animal that is covered in mustard & wants to die

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katsuki had never been more annoyed, but he secretly loved it. he lets out a loud sigh as he trudges into the living room and begins putting on his jacket. he looks at you, hopping happily, in front of him as you’re decked out fully in winter gear. you’re smiling so wide and bright that he thinks it may blind him if he continues. he smiles and shakes his head to himself as he looks down and begins pulling snow boots over his socks.

he stands and puts on gloves before wrapping a scarf around himself and throwing on a hat. he turns to you, once again, and you’re still beaming with so much joy he can’t help but smile. he glances at the clock before turning back to you.

“we were supposed to be in bed hours ago, dumbass.” he rolls his eyes at you and you scoff.

“okay, and you lost at uno and said i could have anything i wanted. this is what i want.” you pout and frown before you jab a finger into his heavily padded chest. he just chuckles and your frown disappears as you stand up and giggle a little. he rolls his head once more as he reaches for your hat and carefully places it on your head, fixing your hair as he does so. you smile at him lovingly and his heart almost bursts out of his chest. he takes a deep breath.

“okay cmon, sweets. hope you’re ready to get yer ass kicked.” he grins as he holds his hand out to grab yours as you both head outside into the snow. you scoff.

“nuh uh. i hope you’re ready to get yours kicked. im a snowball master.” you laugh. you’ll never admit it to anyone when you recall the story of having a snowball fight at 3 am but you did indeed get your ass kicked.

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What if the Truman show did a queerbait arc