Imightgoinsane - Serene Mist✨

Hello there! 🌷💖

I hope life is treating you kindly 💕

I’m reaching out to ask for your help in sharing my family’s story. 🙏🏼

Could you please reblog my pinned post or contribute $10 to help us rebuild our lives and secure the care my baby, Adam, urgently needs?

Your support, whether by spreading the word or donating, means the world to me and my family. Together, we can overcome this hardship. 🌼

Thank you for taking the time to read this 🌸

🌿✨💖

as always, anyone who has the resources to help please do so and spread the message

Hey there! ✨💛

I hope you’re having a peaceful day! 🌷

I’m reaching out to ask for your support in sharing my family’s journey. 🌹🤲

Would you consider reblogging the pinned post on my blog?

By doing so, you could make a real difference and help protect a family from war and hardship. 🕊️

Your support truly means the world to me. 💖

Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🌺

@momenalmdhounblog

🇵🇸

Hey there 🌍💙

I hope you're doing well. Today, I’m reaching out with a heartfelt request. My family is going through an incredibly difficult time, and I need your help to make our story heard.

🔄 A simple reblog of my pinned post can spread awareness.

💖 A small $5 donation could bring hope where it’s desperately needed.

@nasr-daher

Even the smallest act of kindness can create ripples of change. Your support means the world—thank you for standing with us! 🙏✨

🇵🇸

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Proving a point to my boyfriend.

PLEASE REBLOG if you (male or female) believe it is perfectly okay and natural for a guy of any age to cry

★ Where's my "I love you"?

Synopsis : Satoru is out of sorts for the rest of the day when you don't return his morning I love you.

Satoru crosses his arms, slumps his shoulders and curls his lips into a childish pout.

You have no idea why he's stalking you so closely today. When you peck him, he pouts his lips out to encourage you to kiss him again — but you scurry away on your teacherly duties.

He's been acting strange since this morning. And by "strange" I mean like a sassy drama queen.

When you and him had woken up this morning, he had rasped a half-asleep I love you into your pillow — which he always hogged. Sleeping with Satoru is awful in the summer but good in the winter — he glues himself to your body and clings to you, no matter if he's overheating or feeling your cold toes poke between his legs. He needs that closeness from you, and only you. Funny, considering that to everyone else, Gojo Satoru is untouchable.

Not only does he need your touch, but he needs to hear you say I love you in the mornings every day. If he doesn't hear his morning I love you, then he's all out of sorts for the rest of the day.

Satoru doesn't usually play games like this, but when it comes to reciprocating an I love you, he can't bring himself to verbalize his need. No, he can't just pull the "Say it back" on you. He has to linger in your footsteps like a ghost, trot after you from class to class like a puppy until even his students think he's acting funny.

When you kiss him again at the end of the day, he acts like a diva and gives you a sassy look.

"What is it?" you ask.

He sticks his nose up into the air and faces away from you.

This act continues, and it confuses you. He's not being serious, but you can't understand the joke until the next day, when you roll onto your side and wake up.

The usual wakeful exchange happens.

Good morning. How'd you sleep? You kicked me in my sleep. I had a dream about saving the world.

And then a few minutes are spent murmuring reminders of chores that the two of you have to complete today.

He flirts like he's a teenager. He aggressively tickles you. He rolls around in bed with you. Hearing your laugh makes something in his mind click. He looks down at you with eyes full of love.

Then comes the I love you. It rolls off his tongue.

You hum happily in response.

"Hey, where's my I love you too?" he frowns.

You chuckle at him, apologizing.

"... I love you too."

He hums happily and gives you a long, deep kiss, pulling back slowly and blinking open his puffy eyes.

"... good." he sasses, feeling giddy and ready to start the day.

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

Hi there 🌿 I Hope you are doing well .

I'm reaching out for your help in amplifying my voice and sharing my family's story

Would you be willing to reblog my pinned post on my blog? 🔁 or donating 💖 if you can

. By doing so, you could make a real difference and help protect a familly from war and hardship 🙏

Your support means the world to me

Thank you so much for your kindness💛

🇵🇸

IM CRYIN

be nice to me.

sicktember prompt 7: borrowed hoodie. PM Dazai + reader ~2400 words warnings: none also on ao3.

“—I’m cold.”

“Yeah, ‘s what happens when there’s no meat on your bones.” Even though you scoff at Dazai’s complaint, you’re already on your feet and padding towards the linen closet in the hallway. There’s a few old blankets folded and stacked on the shelves. You don’t put too much thought into which one you grab; maybe you should have, because when you drape it over Dazai’s sprawled-out form, he whines again.

“Don’t you have anything warmer?” He pouts up at you even as he pulls the threadbare throw up to his chin. His unbandaged eye is glassy; he’s already gaunt, but now he seems breakable; even with his new blanket, Dazai is still visibly trembling.

If you think about it, you should probably be glad he showed up on your couch instead of hiding away in his damned shipping container. This is about as close as you’ll ever get to him admitting he needs some kind of help.

Dazai lets out a dry cough, rolling over on the couch so he can press his face into the plush cushions. That does nothing to hide his sniffles. You roll your eyes and reach over to pluck at his shirt, damp with sweat. “Stop contaminating my sofa, you bastard.”

“‘M gonna go contaminate your bed next.”

You just roll your eyes again.

Dazai doesn’t move when you prop yourself on the arm of the couch, just above his messy head. He knows what’s next— he feels your hand dip into his damp curls and, embarrassingly, he leans into the touch. Your palm is cool against his burning scalp. He could finally fall asleep like this.

Unfortunately— predictably— good luck doesn’t surface this time. Your concerned hum breaks through the fragile drowsiness that had begun to settle over him. “You’re warm,” you say quietly. Dazai would argue that— he is shivering, after all. Before he can snark back at you, though, his breath catches in his lungs, and he curls in on himself in another coughing fit. Misery hits all at once; he can’t breathe, he can taste sick in the back of his throat, and he’s both freezing and overheating as his protective layer of bandages irritates his skin.

You make a vague noise of sympathy and pat his heaving back until he can breathe again. “—I think some steam would help with that.” You tug on the brunet strands at the base of his neck until he groans.

“Too much effort,” he rasps. And then he sneezes hard enough that his head bounces off the back of your couch. “Shit.”

“C’mon now,” your voice gets firm. “If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you. Entire way there.”

That threat is enough to send an unfamiliar pulse up Dazai’s spine; he’s not sure if it’s pleasant or uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care enough to analyze his own feelings right now, not when it feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton. Instead, he lets out another long whine— like a puppy that doesn’t want to go for its walk— but hauls himself upright anyways.

It takes some struggling, some wrangling; despite his height advantage, Dazai is stick thin and incredibly easy to manhandle once you actually get your hands on him. Eventually you get him to fold his gangly legs underneath himself and sit on the bathroom floor. Even as you’re turning the shower on, he’s clearing his throat and trying to stifle another coughing fit.

As soon as the hot water is on, the entire bathroom begins to heat up, and Dazai visibly relaxes, the shivers finally vanishing. He lets out another weak cough as the gunk in his chest starts to loosen up.

“Now,” you fix him with a firm stare as he tries to get comfortable on the tile floor. “I’d better not turn around and find you digging through my bedroom or somethin’, okay?”

Dazai rolls his eyes and scoffs. “As if you own anything interesting to begin with.” Still, he’s not in the headspace to argue the way he would on a normal day; his head is fuzzy, and the gathering moisture in the bathroom is already dampening his gauze wraps. He’s the very picture of a wet kitten.

You close the bathroom door behind you and Dazai is left alone with his thoughts.

Not needing to keep up a facade once he’s out of eyesight, Dazai scrambles over to the shower, half-hanging over the edge of the tub as he hacks up a wave of gunk. He doesn't care that the shower water is soaking his hair and clothes as long as it washes away the slime leaving his lungs. It looks gross, it tastes gross, and Dazai is sure your neighbors in the next unit have a very low opinion of him right now— but, after a few long moments, airflow comes easier. He’s finally able to take a few deep, shuddering breaths that fill his aching lungs with more steam and warm him from the inside.

Now that he’s breathing again, Dazai’s self-awareness kicks back in. Wet hair he can deal with, but feeling the warm droplets roll down his neck and soak into his shirt, his damp bandages curling and itching against his sensitive skin? Too much too much.

You’re alone in here, Dazai reminds himself. One of his hands absently fidgets with the buttons on his wet dress shirt, delicate fingers tapping against the smooth plastic. It’s okay, it’s okay— you’re alone.

With one more deep breath, Dazai peels his wet clothes off all at once. He shudders, not because of the temperature change that hits his skin, but because all his shields are down. Vulnerability is worse than sickness.

The steam in the room has Dazai’s sinuses draining as he works; he swipes his bandaged wrist under his dripping nose only to immediately sniffle again. In the back of his mind, he can already hear you fussing about how outright gross that was. It’s always nice when his typical inner monologue is replaced by your voice.

His gauze seems almost like a moisture magnet, because even the strips that didn’t get caught in the shower stream are sopping wet and heavy. That makes it a bit harder to unravel his defenses, but eventually Dazai is standing alone and fully bared. Thank whatever god that the mirror is already fogged— he’s not sure he could handle the full image of his own body, gaunt and frail, coming apart at the seams. It’s too much.

There’s gauze in the towel closet. He’s seen it on the second shelf, next to your oft-used first aid kit he’s come to know so well. When he gets his hands on the packaging, Dazai is pleasantly surprised to see you’ve stocked up on his preferred brand, the only one that doesn’t irritate his raw skin. Probably just coincidence.

Dazai is well-practiced in the delicate art of wrapping himself back up; even with no suspiciously-fresh wounds, it often feels like the strips of cotton are the only thing holding his fragile body together. Once he’s nice and snug in his second skin— and boxers, for the modesty he pretends he doesn’t have— Dazai cracks the bathroom door open and peers out into the hallway.

After being stuck in such a warm room, the air conditioning feels nice against his flushed face. You’re nowhere in sight and, judging by the sounds of clattering metal down the hallway, it seems you’re probably engrossed in putting a meal together. Meaning you’re very distracted. Perfect.

Dazai leaves the shower water running so you don’t suspect anything as he darts across the hall and into your bedroom. He shivers again as he nudges the door closed behind him— the breeze of movement against his damp skin had only been nice for a moment before getting too cold again. As long as he’s in this body, he thinks he’ll be miserable.

There’s probably not too much time before you abandon your chore to come check on Dazai, meaning he’s limited on how much snooping he can accomplish before he’s caught. Still, your bedroom is so full of your presence, even when empty, and he can’t help but try and commit it to memory; the patterns on your bedsheets, the titles on your bookshelves, the pictures on the wall. It vaguely crosses his mind that he should add his own photo to the mix sometime and see how long it takes before you notice. 

No time for that now, though. Dazai makes a beeline for your closet and tosses the door open.

When he thinks about it, your choice in casual clothes amuses him— the Port Mafia does have a semblance of dress code, so most of the shirts hanging here are things he’s never seen you wear. His hand drags across the various fabrics, enjoying some textures, jolting away from others. Ah, if only there wasn’t such a size difference between you both— he’d love to slip into one of the frillier shirts, just to see your reaction.

And finally his delicate fingers brush against an item he recognizes. It’s that oversized hoodie you’ve worn to the office more than once— the only item in your closet that he’s sure will fit his frame as well.

Fitting his broad shoulders is the main reason he’d been hoping to find that particular hoodie, but Dazai is still mildly surprised at how easily he’s able to slip it on, immediately enveloped in a sense of comfort he’s not sure he’s ever experienced. While it’s huge on you, it’s only a bit big on him; the hemline falls just past his hips, the sleeves almost long enough to cover his hands, and the whole thing is practically drenched in that perfume you’re always wearing. Dazai brings the fleecy fabric up to his nose and inhales deeply— in this borrowed hoodie and with his head clear for the first time all day, Dazai finally feels some level of okay.

There’s no time to stand around, though. If he lets the shower water run too much longer, you’ll demand he pay this month’s bill.

Dazai sneaks back into the hallway, making sure neither door slams shut as to not alert you to his wandering. With the hot water having run for so long, the tiny bathroom is nearly stifling, and he can immediately feel sweat beading at his hairline as he shuts the shower off. His clothes are still sitting abandoned on the bath mat, and he’d only bothered to kick the bandage wrappings in the general direction of the trash— meh, he’s sure you’ll make him pick it all up later.

There’s no real reason to creep down the hallway this time— you’re well aware that Dazai is in your apartment, after all, so he has no real reason to sneak around. Still, he finds himself toe-walking to keep his footsteps light as he passes the kitchen where you’re still banging things around as you cook.

Your back is to the door, so you definitely don’t see him as he tries to sneak past, but you seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to Dazai. “Are you feeling any better? Haven’t heard any coughing.”

At that Dazai forces out a light cough, not even able to make it sound bad now that his airway has cleared. “I think it’s terminal.”

“Mmm, too bad,” you hum without looking away from the stovetop. “Go lay back down an’ try not to die on my couch, okay?”

You hear Daza scamper away, no longer trying to hide his footsteps, and something prickles at the base of your neck. It’s suspicious when Dazai doesn’t argue.

Knowing your boss, Dazai probably hasn’t eaten in at least a day, possibly longer if his illness has smothered his already-rare appetite. Getting him to eat is hard enough on a normal day. Lifting the frypan off the burner, you slide the sandwich onto a plate before fishing cookie cutters out of a drawer. Chop the sandwich into cute shapes, spoon some tomato soup into a patterned bowl— it’s like you’re trying to entertain a toddler into eating their veggies.

“You’d better take at least a few bites,” you order as you carry the food into the living room. “I went through all the effort of a gourmet grilled cheese—” your voice falls off as you peer over the back of the couch, only to be greeted by Dazai wearing something that definitely doesn’t belong to him. That’s one of your favorite hoodies; it’s a bit surprising it fits him. “—where did you get that?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dazai hums, stretching out so his long legs hang over the far end of the couch. He makes a show of pulling the hood up until it covers his eyes. “It suits me, no?”

You just sigh. When you nudge him, he grumbles, but wordlessly makes room for you to join him on the sofa. As soon as you’re settled, he drops his head in your lap to use your warm thighs as a pillow. “You coulda just asked, y’know. Instead of sneaking around. I would’ve let you wear it anyways.”

The tone of your voice is different now. Dazai tilts his head back to read your face. “—you don’t mind?” He can’t quite get a read on you when you’re toeing the line of being too nice.

“Just eat your damned food,” you blatantly avoid the question by shoving the plate of warm food into his hands.

Dazai wriggles with a dramatic “noooo!” only for his whining to stop when you shove one of the sandwich bites into his open mouth. He pouts but doesn’t spit it out.

Your hand comes down to tug the hood back off his head, just far enough for you to slip your fingers back into his hair, and Dazai once again leans into your touch as he reaches for another bite of food. Even when he’s difficult, you stay gentle with him.

Dazai is only able to eat a little bit before his sensitive stomach begins to complain and he turns his face away. For once, he’s nice and full; the borrowed hoodie is deliciously warm, the itch to cough has vanished, and your hand in his hair is hypnotic. For the first time in a long time, Osamu Dazai manages to drift off into a pleasant sleep.

aaaaaaa I've never done sicktember before on any account and I know I literally had a death in the family but I'm irked that I wasn't able to finish much during the actual month,, I know the whole point is just to have fun but I'm only just now beginning to try and get over my perfectionism and stuff fghjhgfd

idk if anyone will read these so ig I'll just talk a lil bit. but man I started writing really young, and after college I feel like my writing got super messed up in comparison to how it used to be, so I'm really doing my best to try and get back to something I'm happy with. I've never written anything besides reader inserts!! I've also never ever finished a piece that had more than one chapter, even though I've been doing this for over a decade dfghjnhgfd. I want to start practicing other stuff!! but reader inserts are fun bc I wanna kiss the anime boys lmao

anyways!! I think I'm gonna keep trying to finish all my planned prompts even though we will definitely be rolling into at least october, possibly longer. and if I may be so bold, likes/comments/reblogs are all appreciated dfghgfd. if you read all this, thank you!!

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

🇵🇸