👽🛸💚

Don't mind the censorship thing. I don't quite know the policy on swearing that Tumblr has, but still. I also recently found this stuff out (today). I hate everything that the stupid bigotted rich pompous over painted toupee wearing politician has ever done and will ever do. I have more things I want to say about that oversaturated thing, but I don't want to get in trouble by the Tumblr people.

https://www.whitehouse.gov/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/2026-USCT-Strategy-1.pdf

That is the link for it.

so, regarding the sweethearticism stuff ig. im moots with her, we've been moots for months and months. for a long time, i was fine just ignoring the content she made that i found questionable or whatever you would call it. im not a good person, far from a saint, it's whatever.

but recently, within the last few weeks, it's been a lot. at first i was thinking "ok, let's let her defend herself ig" but there comes a point where a lot of bs becomes far too much bs. like, way too much bs. she's hurt a lot of people, that is totally undeniable now, and so ive been stepping back from supporting her. she posted something a while ago about the problem with this site being the volume of neurotypical-ness, and because I didn't take a second to think that she doesn't just mean general crap and that she was actually referring to the backlash she'd been receiving, I commented something like "wait you might have a point"

OH WHAT A FOOL I WAS, DEAR TUMBLR BLOG

in a moment of panic, I blocked a good friend of mine (if you see this 🎈💙 I'm sorry. I do not expect forgiveness at any point.)

frankly, I'm trying to hype myself up to completely cut off any contact with sweethearticism. her behavior will never be ok, and I'm uncomfortable even passively supporting her. people can do what they want with their free will, talk to whoever they want, but I simply can't anymore. I'm sorry to everyone that's been hurt by Eden or anyone actively supporting Eden

thank you for reading this total word vomit

-👽

heyyyy i don’t think this reads badly at all. it sounds like you’ve been trying to process a messy situation in real time, and that’s hard. it’s okay that your feelings changed as you saw more information and reflected on it more. it just means you’re reassessing things honestly

also, panicking and reacting impulsively when you’re anxious happens to a lot of people. the fact that you feel bad about blocking your friend and actually want to apologize says a lot already

stepping back from someone whose behavior makes you uncomfortable is a completely reasonable choice. you’re not responsible for defending or carrying another person’s actions, and it’s okay to decide you don’t want to be associated with that anymore

i hope you’re not being too harsh on yourself over the “wait you might have a point” comment either. one comment made before fully understanding the context doesn’t define your character

⁝ create a fantasy version of yourself on picrew and find out what type of whimsy you are through a quiz! let us see by sharing the results. ♡

↑ are my results! it's been a while since tag games are all over my dash and i missed doing it, so here we are! ( ✦ ) © picrew by snakeinajar, quiz by moongazing.

“But Lia, why does your sona have heart eyes?” Why, because I’m looking at Kento, of course

No pressure tags to my mooties: @sugusplaything @maru-the-alien @realalpacorn @lilithkleia @opalwyn @angelicwhispersofsin @mochichosoblog @luv4tati @stellarixe @smd-nw @coquettelust @sleepypulm

── ♡‧₊˚🍓⋆˚ ꒷꒦ 𝕿he sound of the saw must be known by the tree

˚₊‧꒰ა N. Kento x fem! Reader.ᐟ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚꩜｡ summary: You’re getting married. Just not to the man you envisioned you would. Now it is upto you, to either be chained by the shackles of what society expects you to be or to pick your freedom and run. | ⋆˚꩜｡ wc: 2.1K

⋆˚꩜｡ warnings/tags: angst with a happy ending, bad marriages, high society, classism, religious metaphors, yearning final boss Nanami Kento

✮⋆🎧✮.ᐟ recommended listening: Would That I, by Hozier

There was something about the arched altar of your wedding aisle that felt empty somehow, laden with the cloying scent of excessive flowers and lacquered with shimmering jewels; they held an absence so stark you couldn’t feel melancholous over this awaited union.

Your trembling gloved hand wrapped tightly around the unwrapped bouquet, a stinging relief of the thorns left by the careless florist. They provided you with the distraction and an anchor in the same sense, forcing you to look at the man at the other end of the aisle, your to-be husband.

“Everything okay?” Gentler hands steadied you, one around your waist, rubbing over your corset and the other pulling your free arm to loop around his own — Satoru was there, asking you, questioning your turmoil more vocally than you ever had the chance to wonder during the entire preparation.

The corset was tight around you, snug to onlooking gazes but suffocating to you, rendering you unable to breathe easily. Maybe it wasn’t the corset, rather, the hundred odd pairs of eyes steeled on you. Maybe it wasn’t the venue, but the person you were getting handed to. Maybe.

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed, eating back the ascerbic question rising like bile up your throat. You had to ease up, calm down; you were getting married. Married to the man people said was stellar, a perfect specimen, a young maiden such as you — bred in high society and betrothed to a brute double your age, for the sole reason of his many properties. People did, after all, see marriage as a way to ascend on the societal ladder. What was love in high society, after all?

What was love to someone of the lower class, in fact?

That's bad enough!!!!!!!! But the entire idea of needing permission from state authorities to access anything labeled mature by our friendly AI overlords is some fucking Boll shit. Die Gedenken Sind Frie baby. This is all a reaction to people getting uppity about their lowly lowly rights and is being propped up by the same bad actors tht have made life unlivable. Fuck that shit.

"Well it's only being rolled out in Brazil and UK" Yeah, to start. "Well they're being forced to do this by laws." YOu know it's always really funny when these tech giants (Or whatever you call owning tumblr dot com) get really antsy about laws considering they pick and choose which ones they abide by.

I'm also open to writing commissions as well, if you're interested please shoot me a dm!

I'm putting some examples of my work below as well!

the first thing you notice about choso is the cold. not the cold of his personality—he's surprisingly gentle, almost shy—but the literal, physical chill that seems to cling to his fingers and palms like a second skin. it's not his fault, he insists, but you've learned to brace yourself whenever he reaches for you.

it's become a running joke between you two, one that never fails to make him flush a deep, mortified red.

you're curled up on the couch together, some terrible reality show playing on the tv that neither of you are watching. choso is behind you, his long arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. you're trying to read a book, but his presence is distracting in the best way.

then you feel it. the familiar, icy press against your stomach.

you jolt, a half-laugh half-gasp escaping you. "choso—"

"sorry," he mumbles, but he doesn't move his hand. instead, he shoves it further under your shirt, pressing his palm flat against your warm skin. you shiver, but not from the cold this time.

"you said you were going to wear gloves today," you tease, trying to focus on your book.

"i forgot," he says, his voice low and sheepish. "and the heater's broken in my room. i've been freezing all day."

"so i'm your personal heater now?"

"yes," he says, completely serious. "you're very good at it."

you can't help but laugh, setting your book aside to cover his hand with both of yours, trying to warm him up. "you're so stupid."

"i know," he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. "but you like it."

he's not wrong.

it's not just the stomach thing, either. choso has a particular fondness for shoving his hands between your thighs when you're sitting together, especially in the winter. it's not sexual—well, not always—but it's intimate in a way that makes your chest ache. he'll be sitting next to you at the dinner table, and suddenly you'll feel those cold fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, and you'll have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

"choso," you'll whisper, trying to sound stern. "we're eating!"

"and?” he'll say, completely unbothered, his thumb tracing idle circles on your skin. "your legs are warmer than the blanket."

"you could just use the blanket."

"but you're better."

it's always the same excuse, delivered with such earnestness that you can't even be mad. he's not trying to be suggestive or flirty—he genuinely just wants to be warm, and he's decided that you are the best source of heat in his life. it's both hilarious and incredibly sweet.

tonight is no exception. you're both in bed now, the lights off, the room lit only by the moonlight filtering through the window. choso is curled around you, his front pressed to your back, his legs tangled with yours. you're almost asleep when you feel it again—those familiar, cold fingers sliding between your thighs.

you sigh, but you don't push him away. instead, you shift slightly, giving him better access. his fingers press against the warm skin there, and he lets out a soft, contented sigh.

"so warm," he murmurs, half-asleep.

"i need to start charging you," you whisper back, though there's no heat in your voice.

"i wouldn’t mind paying," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "i’d do anything to keep you here in my arms."

you fall asleep like that, with his cold hands tucked between your thighs, his breath warm against your neck.

and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Work In Progress 𓂃.

♡ Nanami Kento x Fem! Reader x Gojo Satoru ⋆˚୨୧｡⋆

TW for implied infidelity and cheating. None of them have moved on from their exes, this is messy as fuck. I want none of you in my inbox being, “b-b-but cheating.” Yes I know that. I wrote it. I wrote it the way I intended to bring this WIP along. Suggestive towards the end.

Beyond the cameras at the gate, the exhibition was small, and sublime, serene even. The pieces were wonderful, and besides taking a few pictures or looking at the details of the auction, Satoru didn’t have much to say about the art pieces. Rather, his eyes were affixed on you. Baby blues taking in every detail of you, from your shoulders to your waist, head to toe, he was steadfast in his gaze and touch. Satoru’s arm was firm, pulling you close by his side, as if you were the main attraction of the event, and the people should have been looking at you rather than the work that the wall showcased. 

The attention almost made you feel guilty, affronted at your own disregard and distraction. Admittedly, you were not staring at the paintings either. Not after your senses had been crowded by the scent of cologne you were sure you had thrown out rather angrily from your penthouse that you now shared with Satoru. Your distraction led you to agitatedly whirl your head in the direction of the intoxicating scent, your senses enthralled — sight and smell, both — because you caught just a sliver of blonde hair in the crowd, before you lost the person.

“Something wrong, sweets?” Satoru asked, tucking your bangs behind your ear from the confines they had escaped.  You fought the urge to bat his hands away, the smooth skin of his palm still a surprise to you whenever they caressed your skin for you were ever so familiar with rough callouses, and you exhaled, giving an unsteady smile, “No, I just…” He didn’t notice the cracks in your facade, “I thought I knew the person.”

“Did you?”  Depends, was it who you thought it was? You traced a path up to the place the man had gone to, and then to the mezzanine of the establishment… just a sign, that’s all you needed. A sign that it was the lost complementary pattern of the tapestry of your desires. But…

“No.” Your voice was brittle, “I didn’t.”

Satoru paid no mind to that, or well, he just wasn’t that attuned to you to notice. Instead, he asked, “Drinks?” he kissed your cheeks, a smattering of highlighter glittering on his lips when he broke apart, “There is a champagne fountain, and some really excellent sets. Vintage, from what I caught.”

“I thought you didn’t drink.”  “I’ll get a Coke Zero or something, in a flute to fit with the aesthetic.” He winked, and you laughed softly, “Sure.” You required a little getaway from the overwhelming sensation of his proximity anyway. After all, these were the small mercies you wanted to earn for yourself, considering the numerous times you had begged Satoru for a split would never come.

You saw Satoru get lost in the crowd, and somewhere you knew that was the fate of your relationship, too. It was sweet — and maybe if you deluded yourself into the touch of his eager fingers and gushing voice, you could lull yourself in the gilded cage of a love you never wanted from the very start. You felt bad for him and rage at yourself. You were miserable, and you were dooming a charming bachelor to your blight, too. Satoru didn’t deserve this unreciprocated attachment, but neither did you. What you needed was—

There was that whiff again. Ambergris and Saffron. 

Cosplaying as a mime was the little gimmick Satoru decided on the day he made an nsfw Twitter account.

The man was well versed in the pleasures of the human body, and that included his own. He wasn't shy when it came to experimenting or pushing his limits either, which was why he chose to film and monetising his content to fuel his raunchy lifestyle.

Sex dolls with hypersized breasts, silk ties that dug into his wrists, and even as going as far as to purchasing sounding rods that dug into the deepest parts of him no one would ever dream of hitting...

And Satoru did it all with a painted, blissed-out white face, throat working in front of the camera to conceal his slutty noises in with lewd hands signing gestures that'd make a nun blush.

Each and every one of his posts was tucked neatly into your likes. Post notifications were on, and it was safe to say that you were hooked on everything the white-haired male had to offer.

So when Satoru posted a little giveaway to spoil one of his followers after hitting a notable milestone, you best believe that you were first to enter, hands shaky as you put in your details in the comments without an ounce of shame.

It was a total stroke of luck that you won, the notification standing out amongst the few that you had. Maybe the stars had aligned just right for you at that moment. Or maybe some God out there had heard your frantic prayers. You could dwell on it later, however, because the prize involved spending one night at his place. And you found that your mind was set on one thing alone.

What must you do to make the Satoru Gojo, the beloved slutty mime of Twitter, break character?

.

.

Handjobs, apparently.

You had tried every other job you could think of — titjobs, thighjobs, even an assjob. The painted white face that had made you burst out into laughter when Satoru had opened the door had done nothing more than scrunch in pleasure as you focused your undivided attention onto him, not a single sound to be made.

"You're bigger in person. Thicker, too," you hummed in an attempt to get him to laugh, leaky cock snug between your bouncing breasts. Your words were met with a jerking sensation, reddened tip nudging along the underside of your chin until it glistened with a thin smear of precum.

What an ego boost, Satoru thought to himself through a smug grin. But he didn't speak, not a single word. Not even a moan or a breathy little whimper you knew he had in him.

You were right, too, because when you finally shuffled around and situated yourself against his back, the mime flinched.

Gasped.

Your thighs parted and dug into the mattress on either side of his hips, the dulling ache in your pussy quickly forgotten as your mission to make Satoru break came back to the forefront of your mind.

How heavenly your tits felt, pressing up against the sharp angles of Satoru's shoulder blades. How obscene the sensation was of your tongue tracing wet paths on the shell of his warm ear. But it was nothing compared the warmth of your palm engulfing his fattened length — fingers unable to meet due to the girth he carried.

The mime was sure his teeth had left deep indents into the tender, pink flesh of his lips seeing as though he kept biting down to withhold any noises. Even his hips had stopped rolling upwards so that sudden pleasure didn't take him by surprise and ruin his carefully crafted act.

"Still not going to talk, 'toru?" You crooned, smug when you saw, felt that the nickname had the desired effect you wanted it to have. The man tensed, the muscles of his back flexing against your front. "Nobody's going to hear you, you know. It's only me and you..."

He shook his head adamantly, hair tickling your nose as you audibly pumped away. You didn't need lube or spit or anything, feeling the way Satoru was dripping precum all over your palm. Being in a position as sexually humiliating as this was really getting to the mime, his tense thighs having spread until the moisture now trickled all the way down to his very full balls.

Shoving yourself further against him, pert nipples teasing each ridge of muscle, you rubbed the centre of your palm in a quick motion over his weeping cock head. At that, Satoru felt a pitched whine bubbling in his throat. It took everything in him to swallow it down, the pink hue on his cheeks deepening at the sheer restraint he had to exert — until it hotly spread down his neck, all the way down to his chest.

"You're going to collapse on me at this rate. Just let it all out. It'll feel so much better once you cum all over my fingers like a good mime."

The first sound that left Satoru was nothing short of broken, a chorus of garbled groans leaving his throat like a broken record. Then came the curses.

"F-fuck you," he gasped, fucking your fist earnestly after planting his feet on the floor. The paint on his face was streaky now, running down the curve of his neck and lower still after beads of sweat had left it patchy and ruined. "Gonna cum, 'm gonna blow a load all over—"

You squeezed, prodding at one prominent, throbbing vein with a singular fingertip. All of a sudden, Satoru couldn't shut up, lips loose as you continued to jerk him off through his untimely orgasm.

"Yesyesyes— oooh, that's...like that. Like that. Oh, fuck, I'm cumming—!"

Satoru wasn't kidding, your eyes wide and body thrumming with arousal as rope after rope of glossy, potent cum spurted out of him.

However, the sound of his voice was what had the squelching pace of your hand faltering. It was as if the very Heavens above had parted the clouds, allowing a choir of angels to sing as Satoru climaxed. You felt enlightened, pupils dilating as time seemed to slow down.

And then an unceremoniously wet slap of cock against balls seemed to bring you back into the present.

Satoru grimaced, his ample chest heaving as he tried to recover from that mind-shattering orgasm after you freed his flaccid length from your grip. With a hoarse voice, he turned around to look at you, hearts in bleary his eyes.

"S-say... you think we could do that again? Maybe with your pussy around me this time?"