#i need to actually

[sugurusladyknightt]

gojo x gn!reader

when you finally make it through the front door of your home, your expression drops, and with a deep sigh, you flop onto the the carpet covered ground.

you're just so tired.

simply opting on laying there, you didn't get to make it that far into your home. the ache in your body and heaviness in your mind leaving you unable to do much else but enjoy the view at your home from the new perspective; worms are living the life man. you know, it's important to expand ones horizons by experiencing life from different perspectives.

you're not quite sure how long you've been laying there, or when the heavy of your eyes started fluttering shut, taking over mind as it's blissfully teleported to the land of some dream you likely won't remember by the time you wake.

it's soft. you're home. the gruel of the day left behind you now becoming only a fading memory of the agony you had endured and survived.

it's difficult not to be thankful to satoru for his lavish over spending on home furnishings in moments like these. the soft carpet brushing against your face, welcoming you into its embrace with a saccharine sweetness you never thought possible for a floor covering.

~~

you find yourself waking to the feeling of fingertips softly brushing over your features. with your eyes still closed and somehow fully aware of your surroundings. a small grey space between reality and senseless images the mind can devise — it's difficult to tell whether your still dreaming or not.

tracing the column of your neck, the shape of your face, your hairline, and the arch of your ears.

the sensation a comfortable ticklish sort.

along your brow bone, down the bridge of your nose, and against the curve of your cheek. the lines your lips, the round of your chin, and back up to count the lashes that protect your slumbering eyes.

your woken up by the gentle feeling. your on a cloud, floating through the sky. or maybe it's a little boat, drifting further away guided only by the tide. your eyes once again begin fluttering; a butterfly's wings preparing for flight. your adjusting to the glowing lights that come through the windows, a pinkish orange hue.

slowly your sight is regained, eyes droopy though trying to focus. you can see the image of a man laying next to you, hands tucked gingerly below his neck. soft white locks splayed over the carpeted floor, crystalline blue eyes gazing softly upon your own, faded summertime freckles that can only be seen if you're this close (hardly anyone else is ever this close), and a soft smile playing on the lips; replacing the usually smug, boyish grin.

and you smile back, mouth dry from your nap and evidence of the now-dry drool that has collected in its corners. but you smile back anyway. you don't think you could ever do otherwise.

his smile grows, revealing the pearly white hidden by his pink lips as he greets you in a cheery whisper.

"well, hello there sleepy."

softer than the tone you'd have approaching a stray cat, soft and welcoming. carried with an air of happiness you think only satoru could ever manage to mean genuinely.

a hand comes back up to pet your head, fingers moving to play with the ends of your hair,

"tired?"

the lights coming through the window dancing along the white of his hair and his enviously long eyelashes. there's a halo around his head. the pink and orange glow making it so his eyes glow in the dimmed natural light collected in the room.

your only reply is a nod. you can't speak, not before such divinity. you wouldn't dare.

his thoughtful tone followed by a more serious one.

"hmmm, shit day?"

pfft. there's nothing to be so nervous about. after all, this is your boy. your perfect blue-eyed boy. your lover boy. your silly man. yours. because he wants to be.

there's your gentle laughter and the soft smile playing on his lips grows. newton's third law of motion.

what a lovely sound, he thinks.

"no, not especially so. 'm just tired"

"mmh"

it's rare that he's so quiet. well, it's rarer to others than it is you, but nonetheless rare. you're somewhere between missing the loud of his voice and enjoying the quietness of understanding.

it's not difficult to understand one another without the use of trivial things like the spoken word. satorus eyes, reminiscent of the endless depths of the seas, they will tell you everything you could ever want to know.

your own hand moves to play with his hair, eyes as razor focused on the piece you've got between your thumb and index finger as can be, before the whole of your hand gently rakes through his soft hair.

the silence is so comfortable, you really are on a cloud. or a little boat. you don't wanna share it with anyone else. you wonder if you could feel this way with anyone else, and the answer is so easily available to you.

no.

possibly being the quickest you'll ever answer a question.

your eyes drift back to his before you say,

"toru, what are your thoughts on snacks and a movie in bed in place of dinner. just tonight. .... though i don't think we've got any right now." you think out loud. voice coming out a little raspy but you pay it little mind.

you're pulled closer by the strong hand at your hip, the muscles under his skin, shifting with the movement and you can't help being mesmerized.

he smells clean. the fresh scent of aloe clinging to his skin, your hands curl around the pale blue button up he wears. it's instinctual. newton's third law of motion.

"i like that idea. although, we both know that it's very obviously very clearly been stolen from me. y if you will. robbed from my countless thoughtful recommendations that have always remain ignored. dismissed. without a second thought" he says matter of factly and in the most dramatic tone imaginable ending it with a little hmph. acting as if all the lights are in him as he presents his dramatic little soliloquy. the cherry on top? satoru is trying to make his voice sound a little posh to really drive his performance home.

(he doesn't have to try too hard)

he's trying to make you laugh. again. to hear that lovely sound. satoru accomplishes his goal but is it what it seems to be?

his own success? or are you only indulging?

divider by @saradika-graphics

[dovewingkinnie]

i opened a patreon!!! i'll post stuff like concept art for AUS like goldies inferno, animation wips, previews of stuff, and things exclusive to patreon here is link!! https://www.patreon.com/realbunnycat

[m-awile]

this was episode 4 right?

[r-u-b-y-18]

Why is my boyfriend talking to his ex girlfriend and her boyfriend and my best friend more than he’s talking to me.

[wishfulsketching]

Girl dad Silco is a source of endless entertainment for me

Extra doodles:

Someone save Sevika, she is in hell

[cosmiicchaoss]

im alive i swear. bf got a phrog 🙏

[adam-scott]

ROMEO + JULIET (1996) + IMDb Trivia

[gillyeowalters]

Because it is the anniversary of his death, I wanted to share a small story about my grandfather.

Before I knew that I was intersex, I identified as a trans man. And I went the way any trans man has to go if he wants to transition in my country. My parents thankfully were supportive but I was afraid to tell my grandparents. My grandparents were German and lived/were raised during the third reich. While both of them never said or acted in a way that suggested that they had fascist views (my grandfather was until he died part of a leftwing political party), but there still was this fear in me. "They are old, they grew up surrounded by abhorrent beliefs...". And then there was my aunt. Who would constantly claim that my grandfather was homophobic.

The problem was, back then, there were no openly out gay people in our area, so I never got the chance to see my grandfather interact with someone who was queer. So I just believed her. Because she was so insistent on it. And because it confirmed my fears and my brain loves to be constantly afraid.

But I knew I wanted to come out. I had to, eventually, because I had stopped my estrogen treatment (back then, I did not know that I got that because I was intersex) and went on testosterone instead and first physical changes began to show. We all lived in one big house, so my grandparents would eventually notice.

I was so afraid that my father at some point offered to talk to his parents. I waited outside in the hallway that led to their kitchen and listened.

My father explained, easy to understand, that I was going to transition from female to male because I felt terrible in my body. My grandfather asked, "Is that why the child* is so depressed all this time?" I had been in and out of multiple clinics for manic depression at that point. My father gave a yes. And my grandmother made the incredibly selfish comment, "Can't that wait until I am dead?"

Before I even got time to be upset, my grandfather slammed his fist down on the table. I had never seen or heard him do anything like that before. He was a very calm and collected man who preferred to leave the room before he got too angry. "No, it can't wait. The child gets to get well now. And if that is what is going to help, then it needs to be done."

From that day on, he never used my deadname again or used the wrong pronouns for me. Sometimes, he would stop in a sentence to think and remind himself, but he did always address me correctly.

He celebrated with me when my name was legally changed. He built the bed frame for me and my boyfriend's bed when we moved in together, just like he had built the first adult sized bedframe for me when I outgrew my small bed. He drove my boyfriend to his chemo sessions because my grandfather also had cancer and knew how terrifying it was to go alone.

Did he fully understand what it means to be intersex? To transition? No. But he understood that one of his loved ones was suffering and that he could help to alleviate that pain. And so he did.

He taught me calligraphy. He taught me how to sew. He taught me bookbinding. He gave me many gifts.

But the biggest gift he gave me was, that when someone hated me for what I am, I could stomach it. Because this man was willing to unlearn the bigotry he had been taught for decades so he could love me for who I am.

*in my grandpa's dialect it was normal to refer to children as just 'the child' (genderless)

EDIT

I was blown away by how many people have reblogged this post. I believe my grandfather would be very happy to see that he can give some hope and love to others even now.

I do not want him to stay faceless; so here is a piece of art I made for his obituary, with a slightly altered quote added now.

Dahlias were his favorite flowers. Orange ones especially. They reminded him of the home he had to flee from as a child.

[fosliie]

College roommates, lab partners, to basically married pipeline

[reesiereads]

I need ya’ll to realize running back to TikTok like nothing fucking happened is exactly what this motherfucker wants. He wants you to run back and to be grateful. He wants you to forget that the Supreme Court has just passed something that indicates they can pursue intense censorship and remove our access to free speech and non-propagandized/monitored spaces whenever they want. He wants you to be so focused on all this that you completely forget that he’s about to pass at least a hundred horrific policies stripping us of our rights as soon as this week. He wants you to stop talking about Palestine who is still in danger and is in desperate need of aid despite the ceasefire. He wants you to turn your attention away from all the people in LA suffering thanks to the fires.

I don’t want to say it’s just an app, because it’s not. I was incredibly sad about losing TikTok yesterday. Many of us had a community that meant a great deal to us torn away suddenly and I am not saying we shouldn’t be upset about that. But I am saying that as much as the Supreme Court has more important things they should be focusing on over banning TikTok we have more important things to do then run back to an app that was obviously used for a publicity stunt by Trump and will inevitably be influenced by him and his fascism.

We’ve been discussing boycotting Instagram, Facebook, Twitter/X, and other Meta platforms due to their connections to Trump and his posse of billionaires. TikTok must be treated the same way so long as the CEO and company is in Trump’s pocket.

[markwateneymemorialcrater]

Please note. The orange one is not included because A. He isn’t a billionaire. And B. Calling him obnoxious is too kind for him.

[scruus]

I wanna write like 500 things at the same time🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

And i am unable to get a single word out

This isnt going well.

[qiinamii]

new guy in the Express

bonus:

adding more to the whimsy

[wuntrum]

the brushes you use for digital art dont Actually matter that much and its more about core art principles and technique or whatever. but maybe this next brush will be the one

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was young my dad offhandedly told me he thought people treated fish with so much casual cruelty because fish can’t scream.

The words branded themselves across my soul.

As an adult I think he may have been joking. He payed no especial attention to any indignities fish suffered in our household but I could never forget. I saw fish in a different light after that.

Fish kept in tiny bowls, breathing their own poisons, dying by inches. Fish kept in cold tanks, casually disposed of. Fish touted as being short lived when they could outlive the better loved family dog if only they could breathe. Fish casually won and discarded in cheap plastic bags, thrown away a week later.

How they would scream, if they could.

[paintedcrows]

In my heart, Ford once went to an ice dimension and got Really Good at ice skating, and now he's absolutely insufferable about it.