Anyway, I Will Share The Good News — Today Is My Grandmas Birthday (the One Who Passed Away A Few Months

The everest chronicles

Want to learn something new in 2022??

Absolute beginner adult ballet series (fabulous beginning teacher)

40 piano lessons for beginners (some of the best explanations for piano I’ve ever seen)

Excellent basic crochet video series

Basic knitting (probably the best how to knit video out there)

Pre-Free Figure Skate Levels A-D guides and practice activities (each video builds up with exercises to the actual moves!)

How to draw character faces video (very funny, surprisingly instructive?)

Another drawing character faces video

Literally my favorite art pose hack

Tutorial of how to make a whole ass Stardew Valley esque farming game in Gamemaker Studios 2??

Introduction to flying small aircrafts

French/Dutch/Fishtail braiding

Playing the guitar for beginners (well paced and excellent instructor)

Playing the violin for beginners (really good practical tips mixed in)

Color theory in digital art (not of the children’s hospital variety)

Retake classes you hated but now there’s zero stakes:

Calculus 1 (full semester class)

Learn basic statistics (free textbook)

Introduction to college physics (free textbook)

Introduction to accounting (free textbook)

Learn a language:

Ancient Greek

Latin

Spanish

German

Japanese (grammar guide) (for dummies)

French

Russian (pretty good cyrillic guide!)

✧*࿐random cute texts: jjk ✧˖*࿐

✧ft: satoru, yuuta, yuuji, megumi & nanami

✧note: trying to get back into posting again. enjoy!!

✧ want your own customized texts from your favs? commissions are open!

i wanna see usurper!gojo's courting shenanigans plsplspls

in which gojo satoru, your beloved king and betrothed, knows his time is best spent in your company riling you up.

gojo satoru x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k genre: fluff, royal au, childhood friends to lovers type: one-shot reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, fem clothing including dresses) warnings: once again hes pushy n the reader's a lil bit hesitant but hed stop if she rlly wanted, vague references to violence note: see i was gonna do a few lil scenes but the first one got away from me.... but basically the period of him courting the reader (which full disclosure isnt technically courting bc that should be happening before one proposes but this occurs while theyre engaged bc Gojo Didnt Get That Memo but i digress) is just him being WILDLY inappropriate for cultural standards, everyone silently pitying the reader, and the reader having a whole ton of conflicting emotions but ultimately rlly liking it 😭😭😭

usurper!gojo tag || masterlist

“they say you’re inhuman, you know.” you’ve finished the flower chain. his eyes don’t stray from your fingers as they nimbly connect the two ends and tie them together with a final stem into a thick circlet. “they said it a lot that night. they said you were the gods’ fury made mortal.”

he snickers. “how dramatic.”

you lift yourself up onto your thighs, shuffle towards him further and reach out, and he bows his head to let you place your creation upon it. your hand trails down when you let go, drifting over his ear and along his jaw as he lifts his head from its bow to look at you. you certainly mean to pull it away but his hand beats you to it, darting up to keep your palm against his cheek as you settle back down on the backs of your heels.

“i know why they came to that conclusion,” you say. “you terrified me when i saw you.”

“did you think me inhuman?”

you hum, eyes tracing along the band of flowers now gracing his forehead, falling to rest on his hand over yours. “no. never. monstrous, perhaps. odious. but very human.”

Satoru finds you out on the grounds, tucked away at the edge where the manicured gardens give way to rough forest. The weather has been turbulent, but for the first time since the coup there’s enough sun to stand being outside the castle longer than a scant few minutes. You’d said that morning that you planned to venture out, now that early spring flowers were beginning to bloom.

You’re cloaked in heavy furs, layers of skirts and wool protecting you from the cold, all elaborate garments that he’s gifted you. It's adorable (satisfying) to see you dressed up in his presents. He tells you as much when he finds you, delves into the treeline long before you see him so that he can sneak up upon you and whisper it into your ear to make you yelp and jump away.

“You mongrel,” you accuse with wide eyes and a hand on your heart as you work to steady your breathing. “Have you no respect for your future wife?”

“Ah, she admits it readily now? Progress.”

Your face twists as if someone has struck you. He chooses to ignore it and drops to sit sprawled out on the grass, beckoning unabashedly for you to join him on his lap. You won’t relent, he’s well aware, but he’ll have his desires known either way.

“Presumptuous,” you say. He'd die a happy man if you kissed him as many times as you called him that, but in lack of the former he’ll be content with the latter.

“Sit with me, my queen. I've missed you.”

“I am not yet your queen, Satoru,” you correct out of obligation. “You saw me an hour ago, we ate together.”

“Ah, but every moment apart is agony.” Satoru wonders if you know how serious he is beneath the breezy tone. From the way you wrinkle your nose, he doubts it.

“You have a meeting with your advisors now. You should not be out here.”

He pouts. “But you’re out here, and if I have to spend more time with those old fools than you today then I'll throw a tantrum tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, let out a sigh that sounds long-suffering, but you shift your skirts and ease yourself down to sit gracefully before him with your legs tucked next to you. His threats aren’t empty and you know it.

“Fine.” You look down, as if inspecting the grass, spreading fingers along the blades as you begin to pluck wildflowers. Then you pause and glance up at him. “Remove those… oh, whatever they are. Let me see your eyes unhindered, at least.”

“Anything for my darling bride,” he coos at you, immediately doing as asked. He’d have done so anyway, if only to watch you lose yourself in staring when he reveals his eyes, catching yourself once he blinks and snapping your head back to the ground to busy yourself once more with plucking your blooms.

“How do you see a thing through those,” you grumble lowly, certainly just to break yourself from being flustered. It works too well; Satoru immediately jumps on the chance you’ve given him.

“Would you like to try them?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for a response, mind already conjuring an image of you draped in every golden chain and precious stone gracing his chambers.

He removes them from his face, pulling the chain from around his neck, and swiftly transfers them to yours before you can refuse—tilts your head up to look at him and tugs your hair out of the way with deft fingers, eases the gilded extremities onto your ears and lets the pads of his digits linger on either side of your head before pulling away. Pausing in your work and tilting your head back down to peer at him over the top of the frames, you blink at him owlishly from behind the glass, unused to staring through it. Precious, he thinks, and wishes briefly to kiss you—but he has to be smart about kissing you, calculating. Too much attention too fast and you have a tendency to pull away from him like the ebbing tide. It's agony for him, wanting nothing more than to hold you as much as he wishes, but as much as he wants there’s very little he hates more than when you tense under his touch and turn away from him.

“They suit you better,” he tells you, because they do. You look good adorned with jewelry of his design. “You oughtn’t wear them in public, though, or all the courtiers will be scrambling to get themselves a pair. Just for me, I suppose.”

Your nose wrinkles at the mention of your newfound influence, eyes darting to the side and lower lip pouting, an expression that makes him cast aside all his convoluted schemes to ease you into his affections. He leans down to peck at your lips, kiss away the pout, gone before you can complain. It’s fast enough that you don’t immediately recoil and give him a lecture on decorum, or perhaps you’re simply getting more used to it.

Satoru’s attention doesn’t stray as you return to your work. You’ve gravitated towards flowers with long stems, he realizes; collected them in a pile on your skirts, which you seem to have deemed large enough as you pick a notably long one up and begin to string them together in a chain. You don’t bother removing his glasses either, simply allowing them to slide down to the end of your nose. The golden chain clinks softly with every movement of your head.

He wonders when you learned to make them. You’ve always been so careful about the skills you acquire, but he thinks perhaps your mother might have taught you. Or his aunt, for how much she loves flowers, and for how much of her time as queen (he’s been told anyway) was spent doing such frivolous things as making daisy chains in the gardens. You’re so very meticulous with your actions, every choice carefully constructed. He knows you’ve been doing that less and less around him—perhaps it’s finally sinking in that he cares very little about your actions, that he finds everything you do to be enthralling. More likely you’ve exhausted yourself trying. You’ve certainly exhausted yourself attempting to rein him in, though he’d like to believe you’re beginning to allow yourself to enjoy his antics.

Posterity, he thinks, will paint him as you do—bold, brash, uncaring of tradition, unapologetic in pursuit of a woman far beneath his status. There are a great many reasons you hesitate to marry him, he doesn’t blame you for your doubt. Certainly when he was younger he’d never imagined himself the type of man you’d end up betrothed to; he couldn’t count on his fingers the number of more suitable matches for the both of you in the eyes of society, but whereas in his youth he might silence himself and go along with the whims of his advisors he’s lost all sense of decency now. His close call with death and the coup he’d spent years preparing for had rid him of any desire to compromise, and he stands now in a position where he can certainly refuse the very people who once held sway over him. And you appreciate all of that, he knows it. It’s one of the reasons he adores you so; beneath your veneer of decorum lies not a lady but a queen with desires all too different from those you’ve been forced to portray. He’s always known this, and to an extent he can’t find it within himself to regret the events that have led him to where he is today because if they hadn’t transpired he wouldn’t have you.

Satoru remembers a time in his youth when his mother made a passing mention that she enjoyed a certain hairstyle on young girls—two long braids, tied with ribbons. For months afterward all the upcoming court ladies wore it diligently, yourself included. He found it painful to see on you until he discovered that they made a lovely way to pull your nose from a book and fix your attention onto him, and that he could tug on the ribbons at the ends until they unfurled and he could pocket them to return later by tying them around the necks of one of his hunting dogs and sending it after you.

(If he were the kind of man you’d marry without hesitation he’d feel remorse for his childhood actions. Instead he’s the man you will marry, and he plots how to steal one of your hair ribbons again and return it in the same way. For memory’s sake.)

“They say you’re inhuman, you know.” You’ve finished the flower chain. His eyes don’t stray from your fingers as they nimbly connect the two ends and tie them together with a final stem into a thick circlet. “They said it a lot that night. They said you were the Gods’ fury made mortal.”

He snickers. “How dramatic.”

You lift yourself up onto your thighs, shuffle towards him further and reach out, and he bows his head to let you place your creation upon it. Your hand trails down when you let go, drifting over his ear and along his jaw as he lifts his head from its bow to look at you. You certainly mean to pull it away but his hand beats you to it, darting up to keep your palm against his cheek as you settle back down on the backs of your heels.

“I know why they came to that conclusion,” you say. “You terrified me when I saw you.”

“Did you think me inhuman?”

You hum, eyes tracing along the band of flowers now gracing his forehead, falling to rest on his hand over yours. “No. Never. Monstrous, perhaps. Odious. But very human.”

“You wound me. I might die by your cruelty.”

“Die, then.”

Satoru makes a show of it just for you. Falling back to sprawl on the ground, he gags violently, stabbing at his own heart with an invisible knife and convulsing with his tongue hanging out until you shriek for him to stop, voice filled with giggles. He takes that as a cue to still, to fall limp as if truly dead with eyes fluttering shut—then beckons you closer.

“I need…” he rasps out, barely audible.

You indulge him and do so. “My king?”

“…iss…”

“What?”

“True love’s kiss,” he repeats louder, pursing his lips expectantly. He doesn’t truly think you’ll do it, and you don’t—you lean in like you will, but bypass his lips entirely and bite his cheek instead.

He yelps, just for you, just so you’ll feel accomplished. And so he can see your smile, hear the smugness in your voice as you say, “It’s a miracle, you’ve come back to life.”

But he doesn’t give you weakness for free. No, he snakes his arms around your waist before you can pull back, and uses the grip to all but pull you on top of his lap as he sits up. Perhaps it’s his lack of insistence on you giving him a kiss, or perhaps he’s simply started to break down your walls enough, but whichever it is you don’t protest. Instead you seem to find flaws in the flower crown you’ve gifted him. Your lips purse, hands coming up to fiddle with the blooms. He realizes that he can’t stand a single moment of your attention on anything other than him, even if your fingers are nearly tangled in his hair.

“If I return to court with a crown of flowers made by my lover still on my head, do you suppose they’ll think me less inhuman?”

Your face falls at the suggestion, eyes widening in mortification. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“It's far more comfortable than that heavy gold. And I happen to personally adore the artisan who made it, so—”

“I don't trust you anymore, take it off! You’ve lost the right!” You attempt to remove it, but he reacts with the very reflexes that make him so inhuman, uses that monstrous height to lift his head higher than you can reasonably reach, though it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“It'd be rude of me to refuse a gift, my queen.” Laughing, Satoru holds you back with ease, eager for the excuse to put his hands all over you while you’re too worked up to feel self-conscious.

“Not yet,” you wail. “Not your queen yet, you knave!”

“Mine either way, though,” he replies smugly with a playful tug to the chain you still wear. “Covered in my presents. It’s only fair that I get to display a token you’ve given me, no?”

“No, it is not. You’ve stolen all of my outerwear and replaced it with these, I've no other choice. But you will not return to your advisors displaying that—that childish trifle, I won't allow it, you will not expose to the court that I made such a thing for yo—oh!”

He tackles you to the ground, careful not to even knock the wind out of you, though he steals your breath the moment you’re safe in his arms by pulling you into a kiss to keep you from talking further. He’d intended it to be faster, but his nose crashes into the tinted spectacles still upon your face and he’s filled with such ardor that he can’t help but deepen it.

Your hand slides behind his head, threads through his hair. He feels you snap a single stem between your fingers. The crown comes apart just as he takes a moment to pull away, and the flowers fall to scatter in the grass beneath him, a halo around your head. There’s a little smile on your face, your chest huffs with quiet laughter, and your palm slides down to the base of his hair. You use that hold and your other hand, which has fisted his tunic, to yank him down and connect your lips again.

Above, a cloud passes. Satoru can feel the sun shine warm on his back, hear the wind in the budding trees, smell the bite of melting snow and the petals of your wildflowers, yet there’s nothing that could distract him from the feeling of your kiss. His eyes close, he pushes closer though he hardly needs to with the way you still tug on his shirt. His arm comes up to brace next to your head, just to make sure he’s holding his own weight rather than crushing you, and the other leaves your waist to trail down your thigh and grip beneath your knee, shifting your leg to hook around him. If your mouth weren’t occupied he thinks you’d be lecturing him for such an obscene display in a place where anyone could stumble upon you—so he does well to keep it occupied, refusing to part even as your grip on his tunic loosens and he’s forced to grab your newly freed hand to pin it to the ground with fingers intertwined.

It's the first time you’ve ever kissed him. He already plots how to push you into doing it again when he finally pulls away, eyes locked on your swollen lips.

i didn’t know if you’d care if i came back ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

gojo satoru x reader | wc: 1k | L’s FOLKLORE event

“I can’t believe you.”

You’ve heard these words from him before, but not like this. They usually drip like honey from his silver tongue, with faux and teasing disbelief weaved in and around them. 

But right now, they sound cold, like a knife’s blade clinking against a glass table. He sounds hurt, you think, though you’re not sure what that sounds like coming from him. 

“Well, hello to you too, Gojo.”

“Don’t call me that,” he immediately heaves, as if your words burned him like a child touching a hot stove, “what is going on with you?” 

He stands a mere few feet away from you, but something far creakier than the wooden floorboards separates the space between the two of you, making it feel like lightyears rather than a few measly strides. 

His blindfold is off, it’s the first thing you notice. You can see his eyes—they’re just as beautiful as they were when you left, but something about them now appears weary. Slightly bloodshot, sulking into the bags that weigh beneath his eyelids, he looks exhausted. You can only imagine the headache pounding away behind his flesh. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back?” his question is desperate, almost as if he can’t believe he’s actually asking it to you right now. 

Keep reading

want this to be me

[03:47]

it was the sound of crashing pots and pans that woke oikawa up in the dead of night.

the boy instinctively reached out to the side of the bed, searching for any signs of you but you were gone. oikawa sighed as he turned onto his side, catching sight of the time before he mentally facepalmed. it was almost four in the morning, the boy thought, why in the world were you awake?

and so, in searching of answers to his questions, the boy pulled himself out of bed, padding out of the bed room and into the kitchen, the newfound bright light making him squint as he caught sight of you standing over the oven, eyes glued to the small timer displayed on the front of it.

“good morning,” he mumbled rubbing his eyes.

the sound of oikawa’s voice made you jump as you turned around to see a very sleepy version of your boyfriend, his slightly dazed eyes a significant contrast to your rather panicked alarmed ones. “shit,” you cursed out, walking towards the boy. “go back to bed, sorry for waking you,” you added as you began to push him back to the bedroom.

but oikawa gently removed your hands from him as he stood firm. “no, no it’s fine,” he mumbled. “why are you awake?”

“shit,” you sighed.

the boy laughed. “why is you being awake a bad thing?”

“kind of?” you answered. “i mean i did end up waking you, sorry about that.”

“no it’s ok baby,” oikawa reassured, voice as soft as the small smile on his lips. “now why are you awake?”

“this is gonna sound stupid,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“i’m all ears,” oikawa answered, now much more conscious than when you first saw him.

“ok fine,” you mumbled. “i had a dream about how i owned a bakery and how i baked a bunch of different sweets right?”

“yeah go on,” oikawa nodded intrigued a small smile curling on his lips.

“well, i remember baking a shit ton of chocolate chip cookies right? and before i could hand them out or sell them or something, i don’t know, i woke up, but here’s the thing,” you answered as oikawa followed along with your rather comical yet interesting story. “i ended up remembering the recipe to bake them.”

“so you remembered the recipe from your dream?”

“i mean i guess so.”

“how does that even work?” oikawa blinked before laughing.

“if i knew i would tell you,” you shrugged. “but anyway i woke up with a craving and a recipe and now i’m cooking before i can forget.”

“well that explains why you’re baking at three am,” oikawa mumbled with a sigh. “even if it’s for a rather weird reason.”

“hey! i was interested why my dream left me with a full recipe for cookies!” you exclaimed. “i just had to try it.”

“you really intrigue me sometimes love.”

“well that makes two of us,” you laughed as the oven went off, almost on cue. your eyes lit up at the sound before running back to the kitchen to go get them as oikawa watched on, a lovesick grin on his face as he watched you with adoring eyes.

you pulled the cookies out of the oven with a bright smile on your face, considering it was almost four in the morning. “wanna try them?”

“your mysterious dream recipe cookies?” oikawa teased. “of course.”

he walked up to you in the kitchen as you took the cookies off of the pan and onto a plate. the boy examined the cookies, nodding almost in approval at how they looked. you looked over at him. “what expected them to look like shit?”

“no,” he answered. “i just didn’t think you’d properly bake them at three in the morning.” he answered with a smirk, to which you hit him in the arm.

you rolled your eyes as you grabbed two fresh cookies off the plate. the two of you held up your cookies, looking to each other with admirable smiles. “to weird dreams.” you smiled.

“to mysterious recipes.”

“and to the loving boyfriend who would support me if i became a baker.” you giggled before the two of you took a bite, the cookies ending up much better than you had expected. “how is it?”

“write down the recipe,” oikawa answered before taking another bite. “i don’t want you forgetting this one.”

you laughed before grabbing a sheet of paper.

“way ahead of you.”

hey hey thanks for reading!!

for @maisbunny​ - thanks for being my therapist these past few days, kisses i love u

reblogs are incredibly appreciated <33

more of ex husband gojo i beg

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 | 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

cw/ tw. modern au. their daughter is an oc, mild angst, pet names (ex. baby), more of Gojo fawning over his ex wife | wc. 600+

an. okay, this is just a blurb my sleepy brain conjured up <3

Ex-husband!Gojo who doesn’t understand that the moms at Mio’s soccer games talk whenever he decides to pull you into his lap—a few sideways glances cast your way at how cozy you both must look as you watch your daughter run across the field.

He doesn’t hear the things they talk about, like “aren’t they divorced?” and “I’ve never seen anyone divorced act like that.” Although maybe he’s heard every word and doesn’t give it the same amount of thought or care as you do. 

“Satoru,” you hiss, trying to move off his lap to no avail. “I have my own chair.”

“Shh,” he tells you, tugging you further against his chest. “You’re missing the game.”

“But everyone’s staring at us.”

“So? Let them stare.”

Just then, the crowd in the stands starts cheering, and you both watch Mio chase the ball down the field, her smaller frame ducking between the taller kids. 

“That’s my girl!” Gojo shouts over the other parents. 

And then Mio kicks the ball into—well.

The wrong goal.

“Maybe we should have let her join t-ball,” you whisper, though you both clap as your daughter jumps happily in the middle of the field.

You’re probably scrubbing the plate in your hands rougher than necessary, doing everything to stop from staring out into the yard where he’s mowing the lawn. But it’s difficult when his chest glistens with sweat from the early-summer heat and how those gray cotton shorts sit dangerously low on his hips— 

Ex-husband!Gojo who still does work around the house every Friday, and to your dismay, shirtless.

It's almost like it's a ploy to torture you...and it's working.

He looks towards the kitchen window, a crooked smile stretching across his lips when he catches you staring, and suddenly the suds in the sink seem ten times more interesting.

Ex-husband!Gojo who strolls into your room while you’re folding laundry. And he’s still shirtless, you realize, as he presses his front against your back.

Your resolve slips at how familiar it feels (to be held like this), and you swallow the whimper working its way up your throat. “Satoru…”

“You know, these little shorts were always my favorite,” he tells you, his fingers playing with the elastic waistband around your waist.

Breathless, you ask, “where’s Mio?”

“Watching Paw Patrol.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who works your shorts and underwear off your legs before pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

“Satoru, we—we can’t keep doing this—”

Your words trail off into a lilted moan when he slaps your clit with his leaky tip.

“Yeah? Go on, baby,” he tells you, slowly splitting you open on his cock. “Tell me more about why we can’t keep doing this.” 

And you can’t, not with how he’s filling you up in the way only he knows how. Not when he wraps his long fingers around your throat because you’re getting too loud, pinning you against the bed, every sound choking into nothing.

You wriggle underneath him, fingers clawing at the comforter and your back arching.

“That’s it,” he growls, leaning over you, teeth bared. “Take it.”

Ex-husband!Gojo who pushes the sticky rivulets of cum back inside you after he pulls out, muttering something that sounds like, “can’t waste it.” 

Ex-husband!Gojo who stays for dinner for the fourth time that week, and none of the reasons have been because Mio asked if he could. It’s more about the fact that you’ve enjoyed how whole your family feels again, that you can pretend for a moment this is what you do every night. 

That your wedding ring doesn’t sit in the back of your sock drawer, and his isn’t tucked away in his wallet—

“Daddy, you gonna lose,” Mio tells Gojo as Mario Kart appears on the screen.

“We’ll see,” he laughs, ruffling her hair until she’s giggling and swatting his hand away.

You lean back against the couch, watching them with a small smile, content.

this is such a cool idea

A boring night......listening to my heart to relax to before bed...... 86bpm