#Irreverent Answers

[irreverent-dobermans]

Alright, I'm gonna chime in here also because this Anon seems really bitey about an honest answer, and I have feelings... And it might be because we can't adequately discern emotional context as filtered through text, as filtered through the internet, as filtered through our own emotional lens. But anyway, some things about this.

First: I really don't think Jaz was trying to be a dick about this. I think he was trying to be straight forward, and matter-of-fact, which I think many of us in the community (service dog, sport dog, working dog, queer, and otherwise) develop in order to best communicate with those around us. [Sidebar] In my personal experience, those that are out there that might be misguided or just a little spoiled can sometimes be redirected or corrected if you are a little point blank about your stance. Whatever that is, be it about cropped ears, a working dog, your sexuality or pronouns or what is or isn't up for discussion. There are times you get a better response, or a more respectful response, if you are clear on where you stand.

I would love to tell you "scary dog privilege" exists. I would. And in a small way, it very well might. If people are scared of dogs, or of a certain breed, they might avoid you. But guess what? The majority? You're not gonna be that, err, fortunate? with. There are dozens, hundreds, thousands of assholes that are going to mess with you regardless of whether you have a service dog or not, regardless of what your service dog *is*, in terms of breed or size, etc etc. Scary dog privilege is not nearly as common as the inverse, which might just be 'entitled public' privilege.

People feel entitled, to your personage or your time or your dog's attention. I might get some flack for this but I liken this to the issues pregnant women have with their bellies. Do I understand why complete strangers feel they have the right to touch a pregnant woman's stomach? No. No I do fucking not. Do I see it? Way too goddamn often. Same with a Service Dog. You can have 'Do Not Pet' till the cows come home. If that person's got no boundaries, they're gonna try it. So that means many of us need to develop the ability and the willingness to advocate for our dog. "No, you can't touch him, he's working. No, you can't call him. No, don't approach us." We have to be PROACTIVE about this. You have to keep one eye on your dog, and one eye on the public. If there's someone that's constantly lingering in your space, or repeatedly returning, they might be considering an approach. You'll need to invest more attention, make sure they don't approach. Put yourself between your dog and them, put your dog in a down or a sit in a corner so they can't be reached, etc. To be honest, it can be an outright pain in the ass. It can be stressful, it can be dangerous. These are things to think about.

In addition to being a competitor and an SD handler I am a trainer. I have physically been training my working SD, and another of our working breed dogs, in public. I have had people approach the dogs in a sit, tucked out of the way, and push their hands into a dog's face in an attempt to get the dog to bite. Why? Then they can sue. It's apparently one of those new bullshit schemes floating around. So rarely do I want people to approach my dogs. The dogs in question? A Doberman. A Malinois. No SDP here, friends.

You get people that follow you around the store going on and on about how scared they are of the breed. But they're following you. They want a chance to pull something. You as the handler have to keep an eye on them to make sure they don't, they can't. Sometimes this means you abandon the shopping trip, sometimes this means that even with a Service Dog you need a Service Human. It sucks.

I would agree that a Doberman would not be what I would pick or suggest for psychiatric or any stress disorder. They're a highly calibrated, high strung working breed; devoted and finely tuned to you. With these health concerns, it easily can result in you both spiraling, and it's not a good scene. Picking something solid, level, no-nonsense would be better.

For the record I wasn't asking you about your opinion on a dobe because I'm hell set on dobes I was asking because I didn't know much about them other than "working dog" so please don't be making comments implying my potentially "putting dogs in stupid situations" because that's not the fucking case here clearly that's why I asked someone I thought more knowledgeable than me. My genuine reason is that there are people who are wary of dogs, especially breeds that "look mean" and that's why I like the notion of a non-standard service breed is because I know people with those service breeds and they are constantly dealing with harassment in the form of "OH LOOK! FLUFFY PUPPY!" by kids and grown ass adults I guess maybe my naive hope is that would be curbed somewhat.

And this is the reason I don't really love answering these types of questions, because people tend to get very defensive the second someone tells them they think it's a bad idea.

The implication that I have not dealt with harassment, access challenges, and targetted breed discrimination as a result of my breed choice is laughable. Creed had kids run up and grab him by the nub and around the neck. I was literally laid out on a bench in the middle of a fainting episode with him tied to me and a woman came up and grabbed him and kissed all over his face. I had people swat at and kick him. I had to fix a fear of shopping carts because people kept ramming him on purpose. I had people run away screaming and jump over tables and counters as we walked into the room. I can't tell you how many times I had to tell people to stop reaching for him and calling him. I can't tell you how many times people got angry and invasive just seeing me with him. I can't tell you how many people told me to my face that they'd shoot him or that they were calling Animal Control to have him taken from me.

If you don't want to hear it, don't ask. I told you my opinion. Clearly it's not what you wanted to hear.

I don't think a doberman is a good choice for a psychiatric service dog for someone with any panic, anxiety, or stress related disorder. I think you should pick a different breed. And I think you should work with a trainer skilled in the needs you have, in person, to help you find the right dog for you. That was my answer from the start. That remains my answer.

[hauntedppgpaints]

Ovi as mama wolf with cubs pretty please!

animals moodboards // not accepting

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Lightning, Fire, Pirate, Chainsaw, Stethoscope <3

Awwww thanks dear. You’re too kind. XD Oh to be allowed a chainsaw... or fire...

[scraps-n-starters]

So it's gonna have to wait until I dig a little deeper and have a minute to sink further into Genshin lore but

Fic I fuckin might write where Diluc is a reincarnation of the red head warrior we see with the nameless bard who over time/maybe bc of some magic plot device starts to remember

and some ppl have fun playing with The Nameless Bard and the Red Headed Warrior having been An Item

so It'd be a 5+1 of all the DIFFERENCES between Venti and the Nameless Bard but Diluc coming to love the ways they differ (and the one thing they have alike)

so like

Eye color

Laugh

Favorite food?

Smile too like I wanna give them differing smiles gdi

I'll figure out something else I've got time (maybe favorite song?)

And the temptation to give Venti and the Nameless Bard the same disgusted expression is so funny to me.

Maybe with a prologue or bonus chapter on 5 ways Diluc does or knows things that don't make sense unless you Know What's Up With Him. (Knowing extremely old songs or fighting stances, ruthless tactics from someone who has never actually been on a battlefield, ancient recipes, correcting someone on alcohol tips as a wee lad)

[0ystercatcher]

aimee terese is such wasted potential wow

[cursesavior]

tag drop :P

[rotdotmp3]

ok i know we have maybe one remaining twenty one pilots follower but does anyone else remember how weird people were abt josh and debbys relationship esp around the time they got married. like i know the answer as to why people were Like That is misogyny but do we have any remaining followers who remember how fucking weird people got about it

[delirious-donna]

Kento finds your journal and vows to return it, but not before he accidentally sneaks a peek… or, the time he read that you wanted to climb him like a tree.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

tw: embarrassing situations, teacher Kento and teacher reader, thigh riding, use of pet names (darling and sweetheart), dirty talk, Kento being more forward than usual, rewrite of an old story (it’s better now, promise), brief appearance of Satoru

The notebook caught his eye; magenta in colour, clearly well-thumbed and definitely not meant to be here, in the teacher’s lounge. He rolled his neck against the uncomfortably lumpy couch until the cracking noise of stiff joints popping made him wince.

With a resigned grunt, Kento sat forward and glanced at his watch.

His next class was due to begin in ten minutes and if he were honest, he felt rather unmotivated to inspire the next generation on this particular day, a feeling that was becoming painfully regular. Fixing the knot of his tie, which he had loosened upon entering the lounge, he lamented on how every day seemed to bleed into each other.

It had been so stiflingly long since anything new or of interest had occurred and he was starting to feel drained from the mundane, walking through each day like a zombie. Heaven help him, it was a frighteningly familiar feeling.

On his way towards the door, he picked up the offending notebook that was stuck between the couch cushions and glanced at it curiously. Your name was emblazoned on the front cover, written in glittery silver ink. Nanami passed a finger over the lettering, his lips tilting into a thin smile at how irreverent it appeared.

He knew you were a few years younger than he was, that you had only become a teacher at the start of this academic year after a sudden change in career, and to say you were a little shy would be a gross understatement. Kento could probably count the times you had spoken to him on one hand, and each one had been a rushed experience, as if you couldn’t wait to retreat from his presence–was he really that intimidating?

At that rather depressing thought, he resumed walking, intent on delivering your notebook before arriving at his own classroom to greet his darling little bastards charges for the afternoon lecture.

Of course, things would never be that simple, nor straightforward when you worked alongside Satoru Gojo.

The white-haired whirlwind hurtled into him as soon as he ventured into the hall. A barking laugh bounced off the walls as Gojo clapped him heartily on the back and effectively knocked the notebook from his grasp to flutter to the floor.

“Ah, Nanami-san, just the man I was looking for,” he thundered. “Could you do your bestest friend in the whole world a favour?”

“If you are referring to yourself with that sentiment, Gojo, then the answer is of course, no.”

Satoru pouted, Kento grimaced.

Celestial blue eyes peered over the rim of his round sunglasses whilst Kento bent to retrieve the book that had tumbled out of his hands and was now spread open at his feet. His eyes narrowed on the hastily scrawled text that he couldn’t quite make out, but… that was his name that he was staring at.

He was aware that Satoru was still talking, the man would continue to ramble away to himself forever, but Kento held his hand aloft to cease the incessant drone.

A strange, but not unpleasant heat coursed through his veins, and something he hadn’t felt in the longest time stirred in his chest. The wild thump of his heart drowned out his pesky colleague’s yammering as he was finally able to read the line of text that referred to him. A sentence that you had hastily scrawled and then ringed again and again with a fluffy cloud border.

Why does Nanami-san have to be so goddamn big and sexy? What I wouldn’t give to climb him like a tree…

He was sure that he could feel the warmth spread up his neck, his collar suddenly too tight, and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the runny saliva pooling inside his mouth.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t admired you, although always from afar. He knew he wasn’t the most social of men, a sentiment his annoying friend constantly reminded him of. Added to the fact that Kento had been sure you were terrified of him, and he had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable, he kept his distance and his daydreaming to himself and the privacy of his bedroom and shower.

Only now, did he wonder if that discomfort had been something else entirely…

“Will you do it?” Satoru asked, shaking his arms with his long spindly fingers and offering a wide cocky smile.

“I wasn’t listening, and no. I’m going to be busy,” he replied, brushing his fellow teacher’s hand from his forearms and pushing past him to his classroom.

He could care less for the deflated look that the snowy-haired menace threw over his shoulder, there were more important matters on his mind and a knowing smirk curved his lips. The smirk was mirrored by the very man he gave his back to, and that was just fine in his book.

No longer did he detour to return the notebook. Oh no--he’d deliver it back to you safe and sound once the day was over and everyone else had cleared out.

~

It had been a long day. A tiring one too, and the prospect of spending your precious evening hours behind your desk marking exams and writing assignment commentary was unwelcome.

As if the universe could hear your lament, they sent you a curve ball you could never see coming…

A determined knock shook you from your thoughts. The pen in your hand fell to the desk at the same moment you leaned back in your chair, inviting your unexpected visitor to enter.

Your mouth ran dry as the very man you least expected to be calling in on you, walked inside. Least expected but most wanted, secretly, of course. There was no way you were earning yourself a reputation for flirting with your colleagues, even if he was so painfully handsome it made you chew the insides of your cheeks every time you were in his presence. Not because you were shy, because you were a little, but because you didn’t trust what might come out of your mouth! Best to keep those thoughts inside your head where they were safe.

Kento turned to shut the door, the lock flicking silently into place so as to avoid any embarrassing interruptions, before he bowed his head in greeting.

“Nanami-san, what can I do for you?” you asked, impressed that you had managed to speak without tripping over your words. It was certainly an improvement on previous attempts.

It was near impossible not to admire him as he stood near the back of the class. The collar of his azure dress shirt had been loosened, the tie askew as if he had been pulling at them both with insistent fingers. Fingers that were currently drumming against the taut muscles of his forearms. There was something about a man with his sleeves rolled to the elbows that never failed to send you into a feral kind of heat, and right now was no different.

Why did he have to look so downright tantalising? Why did your thighs have to clench together like you were some horny beast in an actual heat?

The aloof expression, the way that he seemed to caress you with his hazel eyes and the simple pleasure of how big he was. At the end of the day, you were no better than an animal, and you animal brain was saying that big was good. Big would rock your world given the chance.

“I found something that belongs to you and thought I should return it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh? That’s kind of you, what is it?”

You wondered what he could have found, mentally scanning your memory of something you might have misplaced or been looking for. Standing, you took two steps forward but froze in place at the sight of your personal notebook held in his large hand. Surely your heart had seized in your chest, it certainly felt like it had.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

Your eyes widened, looking from the notebook to his face and back again. For a second you thought your silent pleas had been answered, but when had life ever been so benevolent to you before? Kento winked almost imperceptibly, and you wished that a sink hole would form beneath your feet to save you from this mortification.

Heat rose to your cheeks in rushing waves. You swayed unsteadily on the spot with your hand outstretched for the book, desperate for some distance but needing the offending item back in your possession.

Kento chuckled and the deep baritone rumble felt as if the sound resonated within your own body. It stroked at you with exploratory phantom touches although he hadn’t moved. Your every muscle tightened whilst you waited for him to hand over the notebook that held some of your wildest fantasies.

When he held it over his head instead of depositing it into your awaiting sweaty paws, you swore it felt like the air was sucked from the room. It seemed like he had read a very specific piece of information, and you would die of embarrassment.

“I suggest…” he drawled almost lazily. “That if you want it back, you best climb me for it.”

“You—you weren’t meant to read that,” you whispered, staring into the depths of the floor.

A pair of sturdy but unassuming boots came into view. You frowned, surprised.

Two fingers fit beneath your chin and raised your head up to meet his gaze. There was a prominent frown between his eyes that hadn’t been there seconds prior, and you couldn’t help but admire his sharply angular face even if you were doing your best to look anywhere but into his eyes.

“I apologise… perhaps that was a bit too forward. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you see... I’ve thought about you a lot and not just because I found your notebook? Journal? Doesn’t matter.” Kento exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “You think I’m big? I don’t see it myself, but then I was never my best critic.”

You nodded in affirmation, where was the point in denying it now? His eyes softened, crinkles forming in the outer corners whilst his thumb lightly grazed your jaw. Roasted coffee grounds and notes of sandalwood invaded your nose as his head bent lower, towards your ear.

“Then I will repeat myself only once, sweetheart, climb me if you want it back.”

And so, you did.

You climbed him like a feral little animal.

You reached the offending notebook and hurled it to the floor without a second thought. His laughter was warm and the most boisterous you had heard from him. It made you follow through with your impulse to hook your arms around his strong neck, fingers curling into the rough undercut at his nape. Your legs were quick to follow, circling his waist until your entire front rocked into the wall of muscles that was his body.

“Tell me, what else have you put in that saucy little journal about me, hm?”

“You didn’t read it all?” you asked, almost shocked at his level of restraint if it were true.

Kento shook his head, and you believed him. He wasn’t one for lying. “I wanted to hear them from your mouth.”

“Oh… that’s… mm. Anyone ever told you that you’re as perfect as a fictional man, preferably one created by a woman? Don’t answer that,” you clamoured, pressing your hand across his mouth as it stretched open to reply.

“There’s—uh—this one thing.” You nudged the tip of his nose with yours, moving to speak directly into his ear.

Kento’s breath caught in his throat as you whispered about getting off on his thigh, his hold at your waist, which has stayed appropriate until then, tightened and moved towards your backside—squeezing.

With you still attached to him like a koala, he seated himself on the edge of your desk, lowering you until you were spread over one of his incredibly thick thighs. Your skirt bunched around your middle to accommodate the position as his expansive palms wandered your sides, pawing at your hips and palming your ass with a groan.

In no time at all he was dragging you along the length of his thigh. Your underwear was ruined by this point, your clit throbbed from the friction, the seam of yours and his clothing catching you in deliciously new ways and you still hadn’t kissed him.

You remedied this terrible oversight with enthusiasm, delighting when he startled at your forwardness before he melted, shoulders sagging. It was everything and more. No fantasy could live up to the reality. Kento kissed softly, thoroughly. Whilst he continued to lead the rhythm of your body as you rode his thigh, he was more than happy to let you lead here.

His mouth was surprisingly hot for a man who always seemed to remain cool and composed, a deep groan rumbled in his throat when you curled around his tongue and sucked on the warm, wet muscle. The warmly spiced scent and taste of Kento filled your lungs and evaporated any sense of reason you might have had about making out with a fellow teacher in your classroom. It didn’t matter. Only this mattered.

“Feel good?” he asked as you parted for much-needed air. His rough fingers gripped into the fat of your behind, reaching beneath the hem of your skirt to bunch the cotton of your underwear until he was forcing the material between your slick pussy lips.

You nodded enthusiastically, drawing his lower lip into your mouth and sucking on the tender flesh in earnest. Kento was manhandling you in a way that would make any staunch feminist blanch, but it was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed.

“You’re making a mess on me, darling.”

“So, I’m you’re darling, am I?” You quipped back despite sounding out of breath. He was right about the mess, there was an embarrassingly long wet streak on his tailored slacks from being manipulated along his thigh. You were fucking yourself against the strong muscles that flexed beneath you and leaving the evidence for anyone to see.

“I think I’d like that,” he admitted with a hum, planting kisses to your neck and collarbone.

Your orgasm was coming in fast; the combination of the friction against your clenching cunt, the large palms gripping into your ass as if he owned it and his delicious mouth teasing your skin was speeding you towards the finish line in haste. His admittance that he might like some kind of relationship with you was the final nail in your coffin, so to speak.

“Nanami-san!”

Blond hair fell into your vision, urgent lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cleavage and the swell of your breasts. His tongue flickered at your flesh, warming you up before sucking possessive purple bruises that would be hard to explain later.

“Kento,” he breathed against your collarbone, “call me Kento, my darling.”

Gods, could he be any more perfect? It was as if he knew exactly what to do and say to set you off like a firecracker!

You shrieked in surprise when Kento lifted you like you weighed nothing—you most definitely did not weigh nothing. He held you tight as he turned your body so your back was flush with his chest, rearranging you over his broad thigh once more but this time you could feel the prod of his prominent erection at the outside of your hip. It was thick and imposing, distracting but only in that you wondered what it would look like, feel like—in your hand and stretching your walls.

“Go on, be a good girl and get yourself off on my thigh,” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe.

Kento grabbed at your breasts, squeezing the doughy mounds between his fingers whilst you rode his thigh to completion, pinching you through lace and chiffon. The orgasm that hit was staggering; it stole the air from your lungs, the equilibrium of your body and the sight from your eyes.

White lights pulsed behind your eyelids as you gushed like a surging waterfall over his trousers, ruining your underwear and skirt in the process. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't for the primal-sound growl that emanated from his chest. The almost bestial sounding war cry that made you shiver whilst you floated back down from ecstasy.

“Atta girl. There it is. Mhm, so good for me. So receptive. Can I take you home?” Kento asked, his voice thick and strained with unspoken emotion. “Cause I think it’s my turn now, and I can't wait to see how goddamn perfect you’re gonna look taking my cock.”

You smiled, drunk on the bliss. “Sure thing, big boy, but let’s not make this our get together story for the grandkids, yeah?”

You were so glad he found your notebook, even if you had no idea that it was Satoru Gojo that you needed to thank in the first place...

[pumpkinbxtch]

Hi, I just saw that you said that Jason is a little possessive, so I was wondering can you do a request with Jason and reader in that scenario, where he is a little jealous and possessive boyfriend?

he wrote 'mine' on my upper thigh

— jason grace x fem!reader

warnings: jealousy, language, jealous jason

a/n: I live for this face of everyone, it makes me very irresistible, lol.

— Want to die? — Jason asked, his expression completely changed. As if his pale skin wasn't enough, the way his face turned into a deadly calmness gave them enough reason to doubt every decision they had made in the last two miserable years of their lives. When they felt a cold breeze run down their spine, confirmed they had definitely messed with the wrong guy. What Jason didn't know was that normal mortals didn't find it hard to play that game because, well, those threats were never as real as he was used to.

— It's just a woman, no big deal, buddy — maybe was the brown-haired guy said it in a disdainful tone, or maybe was the last word that made Jason's stomach churn, but he remembered he was still in public, so he tried not to incinerate them with a snap or at least not to keep gritting his teeth the way he was because he swore he was about to shatter them.

— Just a woman — he repeated the words, dragging each one with hatred and disgust. The guy with the red hair looked more nervous than his other friend, so he tried to make peace, but that was something Jason had already left behind as an alternative to that argument. He wouldn't forgive any disrespect to you, because you were his best friend, his girlfriend, the person he would die for without a second thought, and if they wanted to see him that way, then you weren't just a woman, you were his woman.

He glanced to make sure you weren't anywhere near the checkout and took a few steps toward the pair. The redhead was close to wetting his pants, but his friend still had that stubborn look, pretending to downplay the significant difference in height and muscle mass between them.

For a moment, Jason struggled with his morality, because it was stupid to fight with his clearly abnormal strength for something that was easy to ignore because they would never be able to lay a finger on you while he was alive. However, he couldn't help but notice the way their eyes had been roaming over your body or the way they looked at you while you smiled at him. It made his blood boil and awakened the most primitive part of his being causing his logical side to drown and disappear, almost like those days when he was with the wolves. Besides, if he thought about it, it wasn't just them, it was every damn man and woman who dared to smile at you in a way that suggested more than just kindness, especially if they were the ones making you laugh. That's when he always felt on the edge of losing control.

Jason could feel shame somewhere in his conscience for his behavior, but this was also too real to hide for a little longer. That moment alone with those idiots had only given him the golden opportunity to unleash those piled-up frustrations.

— Yeah, just a woman — it was stupid, the conversation didn't go beyond that, but the retort was enough for the air to smell metallic and their hair to stand on end warning of the electricity beginning to fill their surroundings. How bad would it be if two mortals were struck by lightning for earning the title of the biggest idiots of the month? The answer was obvious to Jason: very bad, useless, in fact. So he took a deep breath and watched their hair return to normal.

— She's mine — he said, starting to turn around to go help you, but he stopped when he heard the other mocking him.

— Who says? —Jason was fed up with the irreverence and turned back to them, his fingertips sparking again.

— Beat it —he said as he sent a small electric shock to both of them. Mild enough not to cause harm but enough to make them scream. His eyes literally sparkled, making them doubt what they were seeing, scaring them, and confirming that the Mist hadn't helped when he saw them run. He wondered if he had gone too far, if he had let himself be carried away too much by that part of him that didn't make him proud but that he knew was part of him. In the end, he decided he didn't care, remembering that someone had once told him he had to stop holding back. So, with that philosophy in mind, he decided to go look for you.

The picnic tables weren't as crowded as you expected, in fact, there was hardly anyone around you, and you wondered if it was because for a moment there was a hint of rain or because of the heavy aura that Jason had been carrying since you left the grocery store, and now that you thought about it, you considered that both reasons were possibly related.

— Jason Grace — you called him sweetly as you opened the picnic basket, and he immediately softened his frown and looked in your direction. He was struck by the gentle way the breeze swayed your hair, it was an almost imperceptible movement but it highlighted how beautiful you were. He knew why you were calling him by his full name, his behavior couldn't be more obvious, but those words echoed in his mind.

»Who says?«

He slid along the bench to get closer to you as he watched you set things on the table. He wrapped his hand around your waist, and although you smiled in that way that was like oxygen to him, it wasn't enough for him. So, taking you by the hips, he forced you to stand up.

— C'mon, let's eat, baby — you said giggling, and he sat you on that old wooden table while he returned to the bench.

He looked up at you with his blue eyes, and seeing you from that perspective that made you look majestic. he rejected the idea of letting anyone else be the person who hugged you or who was close enough to smell your sweet scent. The idea of someone else other than him being able to kiss your lips, which were so perfect and soft, drove him crazy, he couldn't handle it.

»Who says?«

With that thought, he started searching in your bag that was lying next to you, you never stopped him, but you wondered about that change in attitude because he seemed a little rougher and severe, his eyes were even a little darker, but you couldn't deny that he looked handsome, that you even liked it.

When Jason found what he wanted, he stood up supporting only his right knee on the bench as support and he enjoyed the way that velvet skirt rose, leaving your thighs in his view. Before leaning towards them, he searched your eyes for any kind of disapproval because for him, the most important thing was how you felt, and not finding anything like that, gave him enough confidence to continue.

He felt your muscles tense and tried to undo it by caressing your leg, but failing that, his lips kissed a bit above your knee, which made you swallow saliva, what the hell was he trying to do and why now? Jason was never too public, any major display of affection was always in a more intimate place. When he straightened up, in his hand you finally saw what he had taken from your bag: your eyeliner.

Dazed, you reached out to try to take it, but he quickly caught his hand with yours on the table and before you could do the same with the other, he placed the open eyeliner between his lips and trapped your other hand in the same way.

He raised his gaze above his glasses and slowly shook his head, sending a silent warning before leaning towards you again, exactly on your upper thigh. You felt the moisture of the pen on your skin and with a given precision, you started to see that he was writing, but it wasn't until he finished that you could barely read it. The air left your lungs when you deciphered it and you didn't understand how after doing that, he had sat back down with the same serene smile as always, his hands spreading the tablecloth for you to eat while he hummed a familiar song.

Had you missed something? It was definitely something new in him to behave openly in that way, but you didn't dislike it. After all, what it said there wasn't a lie.

— Do you have any objections? — His demanding question didn't match the sweet tone in which he had said it, and you got off the table to put both hands on his shoulders.

— No, sir — you confirmed with the same tone and kissed the line of his jaw before taking a seat beside him.

Jason continued to arrange things, he seemed peculiarly focused, so you took the opportunity to discreetly look down once more, but your skirt had covered the word. Slowly with your hand, you lifted the fabric until it was visible again:

"Mine"

You felt a warmth spread through your body and crossed your legs on purpose to make it visible. That action drew a smile on your boyfriend's face, and not long after, he kissed you. No, it wasn't a lie, but as you was his, he was yours.

[chocopokkie]

Love your work❤️🩷 Could I request Alastor X Female Reader kissing for the first time since they been together. Starts off slow then intensifies. Can be fluff/spicy

Hi!! Thank you for the request, I really hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it!

Warnings: None?

"So, toots, you're telling me you and Freaky Face haven't done ANYTHING? Not even KISS?" Angel Dust exclaimed boisterously, his voice reverberating through the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel as you two lounged in the plush seating.

You felt a flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks at his blunt question. "N-no, that's not true! We... we hold hands!" you hastily defended, your words tumbling out in a rush as you sought to explain the extent of your relationship with Alastor.

Angel Dust let out a raucous laugh, his scarlet eyes glittering with mischief. "Holdin' hands, huh? Real scandalous stuff, toots."

You rolled your eyes, playfully swatting at his arm. "Oh, shut up, Angel. It's not like you're one to talk about romance."

He grinned wickedly, leaning in closer. "Oh, trust me, sweetheart, I know plenty about romance. Just not the kind that involves hand-holding if ya know what I mean."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his irreverent teasing, grateful for the distraction from your own awkwardness. Despite Angel Dust's antics, a warm fondness for your peculiar relationship with Alastor filled your heart. Yes, you wanted more but you didn't know how to voice your desires to him.

"Ok, Angel, what would you do if you were in my situation?" you asked, hoping for some feedback that might help from your friend.

"Oh, what WOULDN'T I do, toots?~" Angel Dust purred in response, a suggestive gleam dancing in his crimson eyes as he leaned closer with a playful grin. You playfully swatted him again, sharing a laugh. It was typical of him to respond with something sexual, and you should have known you'd get an answer like that.

--That night--

You were just about ready to head to bed after a long day, lights turning off when you hear knocking at the door. Who could that be at this hour, you wonder. Slightly annoyed, you flip the lights back on, get out of bed, and answer the door only to see your partner Alastor at the door. "Hello, Cher, I hope I'm not intruding on anything!" Alastor happily exclaims, his voice carrying an eerie cheerfulness as he steps past you, inviting himself into your room. Despite your initial surprise, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at his unexpected visit.

"Oh, Alastor! Not at all, make yourself comfortable!" You hastily say, flustered at his surprise appearance. You two have been in a relationship for a while but this is the first time he has been in your room.

Alastor's smile widens, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he saunters further into the room. "Well, well, aren't you the hospitable host!" he chuckles, his voice smooth as velvet.

You can't help but smile at his playful demeanor, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his words. Despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach, being with Alastor always feels like coming home.

You move over to your bed and sit down at the edge, casting a tentative glance towards Alastor who remains standing in the middle of the room. "Soooo, what can I help you with?" you ask, the words tumbling out awkwardly. You've never felt this awkward around Alastor before, except perhaps in those early days when you were still getting to know each other. But there's something different about him right now, something that sets your heart racing and leaves you feeling inexplicably anxious.

Alastor starts stalking towards your position on the bed with an almost predatory grace, his movements fluid yet purposeful. He stands directly in front of you, his presence looming over you, and delicately places a gloved hand on your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I just wanted to come and see you, darling," he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety rumble that resonates deep within you. "It's been such a busy day for us both, after all." His words are laced with a hint of longing, a vulnerability that you rarely see in him, and it fills you with a strange mixture of tenderness and apprehension.

He moves gracefully and takes a seat next to you on your bed, his hand still gently caressing your cheek as his gaze remains locked with yours. "And also, maybe I came here to be a little selfish," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of mischief that leaves you intrigued. Selfish? The word hangs in the air, leaving you momentarily perplexed as you try to decipher its meaning. Before you can even process the thought fully, Alastor leans in closer, his eyes closing. His lips meet yours in a sudden, unexpected kiss, catching you completely off guard. What has come over him all of a sudden? In that instant, time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sweet rhythm of your shared passion, the world fading away until there is only the two of you, bound together in an electrifying embrace.

The kiss intensifies, and you feel the gentle pressure of Alastor's tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip, a silent request for permission that you eagerly grant without hesitation. With a soft sigh of surrender, you part your lips, inviting him in with a newfound sense of urgency. The taste of him, mingled with the heady scent of desire, sends a thrill coursing through your veins.

The kiss was only a minute or two, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. As you break apart, breathless and exhilarated, you can't help but utter a soft "Oh wow," your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. Alastor lets out a breathy chuckle, his crimson eyes sparkling with amusement. "What? Did you like that, cher?" he teases, his voice laced with playful affection. The warmth of his gaze washes over you, and you find yourself smiling in response, unable to contain the swell of happiness that fills your chest.

Oh you couldn't wait to tell Angel Dust about this.

[lovelybotblog]

bed quem !

“– Who’s that cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent? ”

satoru gojo! x female reader!

summary: You're at a party hosted by the company you work when fate brings you together with the most breathtaking man you've ever seen with a unique sense of humor, but, can you play along? contents: slight use of "y/n", suggestive, cursing, sunshine x grumpy, fluff, non-curse au word count: 8k

The investment fund you worked for, one of the great pioneers in the New York economy business, was throwing a party to celebrate the merger with a Japanese company, several exchanges of partners and workers between countries were already underway, and you were one of the workers who benefited with a promotion.

So at the same time you credited a small part of the celebration to your position as one of the new company's controllers. And also your colleagues in the area, because from time to time they came up to you to congratulate you.

“Hey, y/n!” You heard a voice calling you in a festive tone.

You looked around trying to find where that voice was coming from through the speakers that were playing electronic music louder than the normal for an executive event. The owner of the company loved to rock his parties, you could describe it as unforgettable and overdoing.

You were surrounded by people talking and dancing, your vision under the liquors you acquired during the night made your vision poorer and the phosphorescent colored lasers that ran throughout the event hall blinded you when they passed through your sight.

“Congratulations.” You felt the hairs on your neck stand up when you felt an unfamiliar grip on your shoulder, the warmth exuded from the voice meeting the flesh of your ear.

You glanced over your shoulder, taking a preemptive step back. “Jackson.” You greeted.

"If I was harsh with you earlier, it was because I wanted to motivate you." It was one of your male colleagues, not one you liked. “I always knew you'd get here.” You knew he hoped you didn’t.

“Thank you.” You responded with a pursed, thin, not heart-holy smile.

He mirrored your expression, taking a small breath before speaking again, “Now that we are in the same branch, any misunderstanding we may have had is best forgotten.”

You forced yourself to control your eyes from popping out of your sockets as your glare intensified, feeling the grip on the glass in your hand tighten. He was a real punk. When you were working for him as an analyst not more than a couple of months ago, he yelled at you calling you ‘useless bitch’ when his irreverent purchase went wrong and blamed you for your numbers being wrong (which were not), when he was the one risking it all for a few million when the estimates you’d given him were clearly low.

“You think so?” You didn't know if the heat you felt was because of your growing anger or the high temperature of the place.

“Definitely,” He answered you, letting out the annoying laugh that you had to endure so many times after hearing him tell one of his sickening jokes first thing in the morning. You brought your French 76 to your mouth, settling the taste of the vodka into your system to put up with more of the thug in front of you.“For the sake of the team.” He winked at you.

The glass stopped on your lips, your eyebrow suffering an unnoticeable twitch. For the sake of the team you should break the glass over his head.

“You guys having fun?” Another one of your colleagues joined the conversation, breaking the closeness the man had forced between you and him.

“Akira! I was hoping to see you.” Your voice came out with happiness, surrounding your senior colleague's shoulders, full of gratitude. She chuckled, fully knowing the reason for your mannerism.

“Am I interrupting something?" She questioned, bringing her index finger to her chin in curiosity, staring sharply at the man in front of you.

Who shook his head, bringing the hand that was previously on your shoulder to the back of his neck, a nervous giggle escaping from his lips. "Not at all, I was just congratulating y/n on her achievement."

Akira nodded, grappling one of her arms to your waist, her gaze not slipping from the man at any moment. The “Mama bear” nickname given by the employees was truly accurate and Jackson was a known pain in the ass, so it was her job to keep him in line. In addition to being treated with fear for being CFO, Akira was also respected for being the only woman with her position in the branch.

Jackson scanned the room, looking for someone else to bother, "If you'll excuse me, ladies." He vowed his head before leaving the scene.

You laughed next to your senior while watching the man's back. “He’s such a moron.”

“He is.” The woman sighed, finally concentrating on your state. “And I should get you a drink, we have to celebrate my little chick hatching.” Akita teased you, squeezing your side. She was the one you did your internship with. She made you go through hell with paperwork and marathons to hand out schedules from one executive to another, but with impeccable effort and paranoia of failure, you managed to get through it with honors.

You both walked towards the bar, making your way through the crowd and greetings from colleagues. You felt your feet starting to ache from the pointed heels you were wearing, shiny black with an ankle strap, they were beautiful of course, but they were higher than what you usually wore.

Although the thought of your accomplishment rolling through your head cancelled it out. You could claim to be happy, it had been a long time since you felt proud of yourself.

"You said earlier that you were hoping to see me, is there anything in particular you want to talk about?" Akira asked you, her gaze searching for empty seats at the bartender's counter. Your arms let go of the woman when you realized how long you had been holding her.

"Oh, yeah. Before I came I was analyzing your idea of ​​buying that new company you rambled on a few days ago and it's actually not a bad idea, despite the small income they have now, in a year's time they will grow their incomes 45% percent. I think we should take the risk." You began to explain quickly and concisely as you were guided by the other. A smile escaping your lips at the idea of ​​all the new possibilities.

A small, incredulous laugh was heard from Akira, "M’kay, babes, I know you're all-excited and your child prodigy nature makes you hungry for action,” She interrupted herself to point to two lonely seats, heading towards them. “But enjoy your first big accomplishment.”

You felt a cold wave washing you out. Every cell in your body felt electrified, eager to learn, excited about how efficiently or poorly your ideas could turn out.

The other woman knocked the wood plank of the bar twice as she climbed onto the stool, you mimicked her action. “Two Margaritas, please.” She asked the bartender as he approached the two of you, he nodded at the petition and walked away.

You noticed that the bar was packed, people were really taking advantage of the free drinks. Groups stood close to the bar for easy ordering, couples were talking in the stools, and baristas paced back and forth with a mental list of the many orders.

“You are very smart, but you're also young. You shouldn't spend all your time working, go loco, screw up sometimes, it'll be okay." Akira lectured you, everyone with eyes could notice that you were a very committed person with the complement of your responsibilities, a little too much. "I know you mean well, but it can wait until we're on work hours." She continued, "We're at a party."

The party was formally work-related, so technically you were in work hours, you thought.

“When you get to your mid-forties depressive crises, you can bussy you up with work, but girl- a few years ago you were just a graduate, you still have time to live out the silly, saccharine crush and drunken weekends. What are you doing?” She made you question yourself.

You knew you were very dedicated to your career, but you realized you were starting to act like your father. A chill runned through your body.

"Look at me, I wish I had the availability you have." Your eyes scanned the woman from top to bottom. Her hair was thick and curly brown, her skin was a dark cinnamon color, and her eyes were tiger-like. Even though she had birthed two children, her curves were preserved intact.

I wouldn’t mind being busy if I looked like you in my forties, you restrained yourself to say. But you were a smart person, you understanded what she was trying to say from the beginning, the thing was that you had no motivation to do it.

The drinks arrived, “Thank you.” Both of you said to the bartender, following him with your eyes as he walked away again.

“I’m not a boring person.” You defended yourself, watching the woman raise her eyebrows and slightly widen her eyes.

“I know.” She answered, smiling with her lips, paying attention to the train of your thoughts.

“I go out.” You continued trying to remember interesting things you have done, Akira nodded as she said ‘okay’, “I date, I have gone on dates.” You added, remembering the dude who asked for your number in your local coffee shop and your old college friend who you ran into while waiting for the subway and asked you out, the one you’ve been texting for three weeks.

“I’m glad you do.” Akira responded, waiting for more opening from you. “My husband will pick me up, I can give you a ride if that's what you're worried about.” It was hard times with the security of women, she understanded if that’s what got you doubting, she would too.

“That would be nice.” You mumbled, that would change the cards on the table. You were celebrating, you reminded yourself. “I guess I could get a few drinks.” Akira’s composure regained its excitement.

“And maybe some shots after!” She added with a smile, moving closer to the edge of the stool.

“Yeah!” You nodded your head, trying to match her enthusiasm, realizing that maybe she was the one who needed the fun night and she was just trying to find a reason to go loco, as she said. There was obviously a lecture in her words, a try to change your mindset, and she kind of did, because you don’t remember well how she managed to convince you to drink the two margaritas. Then you ordered a line of shots that made the warm go up to your neck. Suddenly the loudness of the party didn’t bother you, and you felt happier, making you match your senior extrovertness.

People started to join your circle, one of your Mexican coworkers started shouting “Fondo, fondo, fondo!” As other of your coworkers drinked his beer from top to bottom. Everyone around cheered when he finished, it reminded you of your college days.

In any other business party that behavior would be completely judged, but apparently the ambience of this was given to do any kind of exaggerated outgoings for people to do. You knew that they were gonna regret that the day after and on Monday, everyone was gonna pretend they didn’t go nuts.

“Miss Campbell, the CEOs would like to introduce you to someone," One of the secretaries of the office whispered in Akira's ear, who nodded quickly. You got off the stool, reaching to your coworker, worried about being left alone.

“I'll be right back, wonder girl,” Your senior captivated your attention, patting you on the shoulder. “If you need anything, feel free to call me or text me, whatever.” She said before walking away, leaving you amazed that she looked like she hadn't had a drop of alcohol, walking upright and a stoic expression settling in when it came to business again.

You waved at her when Akira turned her head to see you, you smiled at her, trying to calm your nerves down when you noticed everyone around you was unknown to you. You stepped back to your seat but your back bumped into something.

“So, you are the wonder girl?” You heard a voice behind you making you jump, taking you out. You turned around, facing probably the most handsome man you have ever seen. You quickly noticed his unique white-snow hair, whose locks of hair decorated his big blue eyes as clear and bright as the sea water on a sunny day. The next thing you noticed was that he stole your seat, the one you left alone for like ten seconds. "I pictured someone different." He admitted with a smirk, letting a chuckle out.

You scoffed, trying to figure out if you were surprised by his boldness or his looks, probably both.

“Are you gonna tell me your name or…?” He asked, leaning his arm on the bar, tilting his head slightly, allowing himself the luxury of observing your facial features freely while you looked around to check that it wasn't a prank because there was no way someone could talk as shamelessly as him.

“My name? Who are you?” You questioned him. You noticed his slanted eyes, you assumed he was one of the Japanese employees who blended in with your company.

“I asked first,” He stated.

You huffed at his words, watching him roll back his shoulders, making you notice how broad he was compared to you.

You forced yourself to return your gaze to his eyes, not without first noticing the sunglasses hanging on his unbuttoned formal shirt, slightly giving more room to see his chest.

“And I didn't mean anything negative when I said I picture you differently.” The white-haired man clarified, leaning closer to your face. Even if you were standing and he was sitting, his face was leveled slightly higher. You crossed your arms, waiting to receive a worse comment, “I imagined someone more nerdy looking, maybe with ugly, giant glasses, and a somewhat evil personality.”

Your body relaxed at that, quickly changing your surprised expression to a questioning one, “What assures you that I’m not evil?”

He held your gaze for a few seconds, his smirk still plastered on his face. He leaned back, resting one arm on the bar and placing his other hand on his thigh. “Although you have quite a few envious people talking badly about you behind your back,” He began to speak, making you furrow your eyebrows at his words, “While I was waiting in line for my order to be taken, I noticed that, of all the people you were surrounded, you were the only one smiling so sincerely and purely the whole time.” He unfolded himself, his cheeky smile faded into a smaller but still sincere one.

“So, not only you stole my seat but you also were stalking me?” You pointed out, trying to focus on something other than the fact that someone who looks like him took the time to observe you. The heat returned to your neck and cheeks, it made you feel flattered, a bit of excitement even.

“Well, I'd say that you just happened to stand right in the spot I wanted to lay my eyes on. And the seat was empty, so I took it." He teased you, throwing his hands in the air.

“Oh, and you’re also a comedian.” You say before drinking the rest of the cocktail you still had in your hand, the ice cubes had already melted and the flavor was diluted. You were trying to figure out what to expect from this interaction.

Your sense of self-preservation was telling you to back away, he was making you nervous and that wasn't a good sign. You didn't know how to handle this type of situation -whatever his intentions were-, you deduced that he was probably just playing. But he was magnetic, he made your heart race, his mere presence was imposing. You felt drunk by the way his features seemed sculpted by the gods, by the way his voice was like a siren's song drawing you to the bottom of the sea, by the way his beauty numbed the pain caused by your heels.

He leaned forward as he watched you remove the contact of the glass with your lips, although it stopped midway when from the corner of your eyes you glanced at the way his arm muscles flex under the fabric of his white jacket, immediately sliding your gaze to his eyes. Now that he was closer you noticed how long and full his eyelashes were. “And you are pretty.” He admitted.

You feel your chest rise up and down at this, taking a deep breath that crashes into his face, making him flicker his eyelashes brushing the top of his cheeks. His innocent words might not have any meaning, he might be messing with you, but you also couldn't help the nauseous feeling of highschool-like when the popular guy smiles at you.

You didn't want to smile at his compliment, you didn't even know his name, you were being irreverent. But it was obvious that he worked for the same company, so it shouldn't be so dangerous to trust him, no, you shouldn't let your guard down. Your internal fight was making you more confused.

“I don’t know your name.” You verbalized when no other response came to your mind.

The man didn't seem unfazed, he quickly catched that his name was not your only concern. "Well I don't know your name either."

“But you know my nickname, I think that's already an advantage for you over my personal info. It’s only the fair to give me your name." You fought back.

His brows cured together with a hint of hesitation. His soft smile was intact but it was more than obvious that his thoughts were plotting, he licked his lips, “Then no names.” He proposed.

You could reject him and walk away from the situation without any problem, but you would be lying if you denied that you were curious about him. Plus Akira’s lecture had an impact on your brain chemistry.

“Fine by me.” You agreed, leaving the glass of your hand on the counter.

And as if planned, the barista just happened to leave three diluted reddish drinks that seemed to be cosmopolitans and another dark red glass in front of Gojo. “Thank you,” He muttered, handing the man behind the bar a generous tip. He turned to look at you out of the corner of his eye but you managed to look away before he catched you. “Are you keeping me company?”

“Uhm, weren’t you supposed to take this somewhere?” You pointed out the glasses on the counter.

“I am in no hurry.”

You raised an eyebrow at his immediate, smugly and playful response. “Won’t your friends miss you?” You questioned him with a smile at his smooth talk.

“They’ll understand.” He tried to play it off knowing damn well his friends were in fact not gonna understand.

“Kay’,” You nodded, leaning on one of your feet, your left hand playing with the edge of the counter next to you. “Cool, cool, cool.” You said, instantly regretting it.

You looked down as you pulled your beautiful black sheer dress with nude bottom from your stomach down, which had gathered at the base of your waist from when you were sitting.

You wanted to lean on something, preferably sit down, but you also didn't want to change the position of the man in front of you. You didn’t even realize you were stuck in the middle of his manspreading.

“So, are you staying with me?” His voice took you out of your thoughts as he rested his head on his bicep, lowering the level of his head to be able to connect his gaze with yours, still on the ground.

You couldn't help but let out a small smile as his eyes shone craving to capture your attention, his smile widening when he succeeded.

Then reality hit you, you shouldn’t like being enthralled by his charms, you couldn’t. It was exciting, yes, but it was wrong because, “I’m with someone.”

That sounded ugly, it turned your stomach to say that, but it turned your stomach more to see his smile slowly disappear, you were starting to get used to it.

“I mean, he’s not my boyfriend yet.” That garbage of a sentence escaped from your mouth, the man in front of you tilted his head as a confusion expression grew on his face, “But I’m talking to someone, and he might get to be my boyfriend at some point,” You should stop talking, “-and I think it would be immoral of me to talk to you being aware of the other person's feelings, not that I think you’re flirting with me! Ha-ha,” You should really stop talking, “He trusts me, I wouldn’t like to betray him.” You finally finished, letting out a sigh, closing your eyes against your verbal diarrhea, that was humiliating.

That's why you didn't go on dates or go crazy like Akira told you, because everything ended up screwed up like now, painfully accurate like she said. You were about to apologize and leave, your burning face buried in your hands as a bursted laugh cut you up.

“Good, I hate betrayal,” he told you, his accent slipping through his words. You separated two spaces between your fingers to make way for your eyes, noticing that his hands were now resting on his knees, at your sides. He offered you a soft smile as he tried to imagine a man more handsome, polite, stronger, funnier and skillful -in any kind of way- than him, but he couldn’t, “But us sharing a drink while we chat isn’t overstepping the mark, is it?”

You thought about it a bit, you didn’t know anything about him, but he was at the company party, so he had to work in one of the companies, probably the Japanese one, and seeming that they became one, that turns you into coworkers sharing time to strengthen the union of companies. Camaraderie, that’s it.

“I guess not.”

His smile grew -watching as your expression relaxed- proud and cheeky, but his eyes remained soft, trying to remain understanding if you denied his invitation.

Even if he was a smooth talker, when it came to girls he never really needed it, it was natural that they always approached him. But you were a totally different kind of afterglow, everything he'd heard about you, good or bad, wasn't enough to prepare him for a stunner like you.

If he took your seat, it wasn't because he wanted to sit as he said, but because from the moment he was in line to order you caught his eye, eclipsing everyone in the room, making his legs weak with your dancing silhouette under the fluorescent lights of the disco and your smile that could light up the darkest nights.

“Okay, then let’s talk,” The mysterious man pressed, his gaze piercing your hands still over your face, trying to see that little giddy smirk of yours. He pulled away again and slid one of his drinks towards you. “You set the limit.”

You let out a giggle-sigh like, he was truly breathtaking. And a skilled manipulator, because it was the first time a man charms had convinced you to give in to your own warnings.

You shifted your weight to your other foot, still hesitant, “Fine.” You agreed, lowering your guard as you reached out to the drink, the tip of your fingers brushing against his as he took a couple of seconds to let go of the glass that shuddered on your hand when you were obnoxiously pushed from behind with a subsequent ‘sorry' from a person poking their head in the bar trying to get the barista’s attention.

“Let’s go to the sofa, it’s too noisy here.” You forced yourself to say to the white-haired man in front of you when you noticed the slight annoyance that grew on his eyebrows towards the person who pushed you.

He nodded, as you didn't miss the way he effortlessly took the remaining three drinks between his long fingers. When he stood up you felt a flutter run through your body when you noticed how he towered you and his muscular shoulders and flexed arms significantly framed your figure.

He guided you, making you way through the crowds, to where you had previously pointed out some sofas in the corner of the place, which although it was the quietest area, it was only because all the people there were flirting or hiding in the darkness to smooch. If he was honest, he wouldn't mind if your old monologue was thrown out the window and you opted for the second option.

He sat down first, then you imitated him, putting more distance between the two of you that you would like.

“I don’t bite.” He growled at you, watching as you leaned over on the edge of the sofa now gaining enough confidence to attentively observe the drinks he had placed on the table in front of you.

He rolled his eyes although that was just a facade to hide the fact that he almost tripped when you were walking behind him and he peaked a glance at you just to catch you checking him out.

In any other time he would use that to make the other person nervous, but in this case, your case, was just different. He knew you were smart enough to quickly throw a comeback, and even if it wasn’t a very strong one, you had the power to make him giggle with anything you said and he still couldn’t understand that.

“Are you serious? Cranberry juice?” You snatched at him, passing your nose over the glass he previously had in his hand, completely ignoring his silent request. “This is what kids drink.” You chuckled.

He raised an eyebrow, placing his arm on the back of the sofa and cupping his cheek on his hand, expectant to hear your thoughts.

“I understand if drinking isn’t your hit, but there are so much better things to drink, you know?” You said as you turned to him, returning your gaze to his eyes.

“Like what?” He played along with you, a roguish tone dancing in his voice, low and taunting. You noticed how his eyes traveled from you to the arm's length of empty space between you, clearly bothered by it. “Something like that?” He loosely pointed out the drink in your hand, the one offered to you earlier.

“I mean, this has alcohol, but yeah,” You responded, you knew what was probably coming next but you still let it continue.

He smirked, beautifully, godly and unreal. He was the kind of person you meet once in a lifetime, the type of person that leaves you awestruck with his beautiful, ethereal presence. And you had him in front of you, talking to you so casually, so willing to do what you said that made you annoyed.

It took your breath away to think how far you could take it.

“I wouldn’t mind trying it.” His calm voice silenced the techno music blasting your ears. You reached your hand towards one of the cocktails on the table, but he stopped you, “No, I want to try that one.” His gaze layed on the glass held by your fingers.

When he told you he wanted to share a drink you didn’t expect to be literal.

“All three drinks are the same,” You clarified, the corners of your mouth curling up but freezing the moment the white-haired man slid across the sofa towards you in one motion.

The fresh, mannish scent of his perfume made its way into your nostrils.

“But this one looks extra delicious,” he replied, watching the way your lashes brushed against your high cheekbone in disbelief. “Would taking a sip be crossing the line?” He continued talking, placing his hand on top of yours that was holding the glass, you were as surprised as he was that he dared to do so.

It took you a couple of seconds to release your grip on the glass until you were sure he had a good hold on it. You were really trying not to fall for his charms, for the sake of your situation-ship, but it was like his hands were meant to meet yours.

You watched him bring the glass to his lips, his attention never leaving your expectant eyes. You brought a hand over your heart and formed a fist as you felt the rhythm increase and beat harder when you realized your knee was brushing against his.

“Did you like it?” You forced yourself to ask, biting the inside of your cheeks trying to ignore the heat that grew after taking awareness of your contact with him.

He took the glass from his lips with a tight-lipped smile. At this point the alcohol punch should already be settling and his tongue flavoring the acid from the cranberry and lime juice. He slowly nodded at your question, trying to widen his smile but it only turned into a distorted grimace.

You let out a chuckle, his eyebrows unknitted together when you inadvertently patted him on the shoulder, “Do you want to spit it back into the glass?” You questioned, noticing how his cheeks were still puffed out.

He nodded again, quickly bringing the glass to his mouth to spit the liquid out of his mouth, not before covering the action with his free hand to not disgust you.

“Yuck…” He chirped while his facial muscles twitched, leaning towards the table to leave the glass, you were close enough to catch a hint of his perfume in the breeze he produced. Yet you got so carried away that you didn't notice when your body moved forward on its own to catch more of him.

It smelled woody, sensual and expensive.

“I like your scent.” You took the opportunity to give him a compliment when he had his back turned, a way of establishing that you had no problem with him.

You sat up straight again, nervously playing with your fingers, glancing at his profile, catching a pleased smile forming on his face.

“Thank you.” He appreciated, bringing one knee up onto the sofa as he twisted his torso to look at you again, a witty smirk warning you, “Now let me smell you.”

That hitched your breath, unsure if you heard right. “Kinky~,” You tried to tease him.

“You heard me right, don’t think I didn’t notice you sniffing me.” He laughed, sounding coming from the belly, like when children laugh and throw themselves back.

You felt the heat burn your cheeks, if it weren't for the low lighting of the place, you're sure you would be as red as a cherry. You had just been exposed by him.

“It’s only the fair!” He recalled your earlier complaint.

“What? No!” You replied with a frown, crossing your arms with your hands on the opposite shoulder as you remembered that your dress made you sweat, so you probably wouldn't smell as nice as you did in the beginning of the party. Plus, it was a ridiculous request to ask and accept.

“Why?” He asked, still with his playful tone lingering.

“Because it’s weird!” Your voice rose in exasperation, nearby couples looking at you in annoyance, causing the white-haired man to suppress a laugh when your tense expression turned into one an anxious one, wishing to stop being the center of attention.

“Well, then I could say the same about you.” Compared to you, he remained calm despite the insinuations.

Your head moved slowly from side to side, you couldn't believe how intimate the situation felt, the way his voice coaxed you, or why you were still there with him despite your own limitations.

It was clear that he was attracted to you, but you didn't understand why. He could have anyone he wanted, he could bewitch people with his mere appearance, and yet you were the person in the room he devoted his time to.

He confused you, he made you doubt yourself and your knowledge, when in your whole life you had always had everything clear and established.

You didn't know if he was a divine gift, or if he was a test of restraint.

“Come on.” He pressed on, adjusting himself in his seat, a smug grin widening in his face.

A flutter began to trot across your chest, your fingers pressed deeper into your skin, the thought of his figure near you made your body tingle.

“This is such a weird way to flirt,” You muttered, lowering your gaze to the sunglasses hanging on his shirt.

“I don’t see anyone flirting.” You heard him reply in the same low tone as yours, moving closer.

You couldn't even look him in the eyes, you were too embarrassed at the realization that you liked his attention, because you shouldn’t.

“You are stupid,” You said under an incredulous chortle, letting your arms slide down your body into your lap.

You felt guilty for keeping talking to him knowing his intentions and your reveries about the cute boy in front of you.

It wasn't entirely your fault, because although the guy you were romantically involved with was smart, attentive and average looking, but he was also kind of boring, you could never laugh with him because he never understood your jokes and he was quite judgmental.

Maybe it was just excuses, like the ones cheaters make after committing the act.

“Then let me continue being stupid,” he said, putting his arm on the edge of the sofa behind you. Your heart lifted as you felt his figure close once again, heat beginning to ignite your body.

From then on everything began to feel like it was in slow motion, from the moment you looked up and you were enchanted by his sparkling and magnetic eyes, as blue as the sea in summer, until your head leaned back without your order, opening the way for your bare neck as if you didn’t owned your body.

And you sat there, waiting for him to get close, “Am I crossing a line?” He mumbled just a palm away from your face.

“You’re about to.” You responded in the same playful tone with a bit of a warning written under lines which was forgotten the instant he made you nervously giggle when you felt his warmth breath electrify the bridge of your neck, causing your skin to prickle.

His hand was still on the side of your hip, his forearm gently brushing your waist, almost unnoticeable if it weren't for the heightened level of your senses. It was like you were trapped in a bubble, immersed in innocent intimacy.

“Am I crossing the line?” He teased you, his azure gaze connecting with yours, leaning forward just a few inches from your skin.

His malicious smirk spread across his face, making you roll your eyes at his mischief. He was too cheeky, too cocky.

You felt so hot, both because of the temperature of the place and the situation. He laughed, confident and amused by the situation. Having him close, led you to notice that he was as tipsy as you.

You looked up at the ceiling to try to ignore the reasonably strange looks from the people around you, although you could still get a sight of the man's whitish hair at the corner of your eyes.

It didn't take long for you to feel his nose touching and sniff the crook of your neck, hitching your breath, “Am I crossing the line now?” He whispered, sending a goosebump through your spine. You slowly shook your head, trying to keep your hand on your lap and not brushing with your fingers his hair that looked so silky and shiny, that even from a distance it was easy to detect the smell of his shampoo.

Then his touch traveled from your cleavage to the crease of your armpit and you quickly pushed him back with a hand on his chest, he immediately bursted out laughing.

“What is wrong with you?!” You scolded him, smacking him in the chest, dying of embarrassment. Your face burned hotter than you'd ever felt before, your nose and cheeks itched and burned as if a bucket of boiling water had been thrown on you.

He was lying on his shoulders, his chest going up and down with each laugh he let out, you could distinguish his abdomen contracting even through his shirt.

“M’ sorry! Sorry, ” He apologized amidst giggles, trying to sit up, one of his hands traveling to your wrist when you tried to stand up. “Just so you know- you didn’t smell bad at all.” You stood up again with your back to him, but he pulled you back and turned you around, plopping down on the couch again, “In fact, you smelled like really good.” He promised now seated properly.

His jeering voice had faded into a convincing sweet one, with puppy eyes and all.

“Don’t go.”

You should, but didn’t want to.

“I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, well- I did want to annoy you but because that’s the only way you look me in the eyes with your eyebrows furrowed and a little pout.” He started chattering, desperate to explain himself.

Your eyes traveled to his grip on your wrist, just tight enough to keep you close without hurting you, one of his fingers slowly massaging the palm of your hand to calm you down. “You command.”

You looked up again, now watching him lick his plump pink lips. Your breathing was labored, your thighs were pressed together, and your free hand was squeezing your knee.

Something inside you felt minisculely change, your gaze joined with his felt heavier and more connected than before, it was as if you could feel him deep in your chest, like a knot that you couldn't swallow.

“Is your heart racing?” He asked you in a breath, his hand twitched against your skin.

“How do you know that?” Your breath was trapped, trying to climb up your rib cage, sending a burning ache you couldn’t let out.

“Well, because mine is,” He let out with a chuckle, bringing a hand to his chest and pressing it into a fist when he felt his heart was going to jump out.

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream, both at the same time. The feeling of his eyes made you feel as if you two were dancing under a spotlight in a room full of darkness.

At first you thought it was his incomparable beauty that kept you hooked on the conversation, but it was actually him, his jokes, his teasing, who made you feel like you were in a fever dream.

And he was the one who was confessing to you that his heart was racing, he was the one who looked at you like if you were a tasty meal he craved, he was the one who you would allow to pin you down on the floor just because his jokes just hit different.

He scooched over to you, his free hand laying on the side of your thigh, his thumb caressing over the cloth of your dress, trying to steal your attention out of your thoughts. And when you did, you drove your eyes to him, although you felt unable to hold his gaze, his eyes softly sparked with his pupils dilated and his grin stretched, his head tilting afterward.

Your mouth was gaped half open, being interrupted by a shy beam spreading across your face, sinking at your sight. Your body moved closer to his and you giggled, after the nervous cute rant the man in front of you threw, now you couldn’t deny to yourself that he was genuinely interested in you. Unthought-of words were about to spill out of your mouth.

“Gojo!” Gojo?

A loud, rigid voice broke the moment, whisking away your low guard, walls starting to build up again. By inertia you removed your hand from his grip.

“Satoru Gojo!” Satoru? “You have erased any non-existent respect I had for you.”

The white-haired man paled, his expression twisted as he slowly turned towards the voice marching angrily towards your way.

“Nanamin- ouch!” The man in front of you standed, trying to defend himself two seconds before being flicked in the forehead. Your eyes went wide.

“You prick, do you know how important the man you promised to invite a drink is?” A stoic voice coming from a muscular body spoke. You knew him, blond hair, prominent cheekbones and deep eye bags due to overwork. “Y/n…” His hard expression faded when he noticed your presence.

Kento Nanami, you were colleagues in the same branch, he was transferred from the Japanese company no more than two months ago.

“Hey,” You greeted him with a sheepish smile, standing immediately when he addressed you.

His hazel eyes analyzed you and then the man in front of you, well, Satoru Gojo, now you knew his name.

“You know each other?” Satoru questioned, adding himself in the conversation, one eyebrow raised mistrustfully, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“I didn’t know you hung out with people of his kind.” The blonde man told you, straightening his tie, embarrassed that you saw the stiff demeanor he specifically saved for Gojo, who Nanami looked up and down.

“My kind?” The white-haired man whined, a hand on his chest exaggerating his offended feelings. “How do you know each other?” He pressed, masking a smile, trying to step closer to you but ineffectively succeeding through being pulled by the collar of his jacket by the other man.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you, y/n.” Nanami turned to you, his friendly tone returning with a subtle smile. “But our flight back to Japan leaves in less than eight hours and we still have to apologize for ditching an executive and finish packing.”

“Wait-” Satoru called.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” The blond man apologized, pushing his companion away.

“No, Nanamin-” He was cut again.

Your gaze tried to pay attention to Nanami but Satoru's voice stole your attention, leaving your stomach in knots from the rush. The white-haired man who was constantly covered by his colleague tried to connect his gaze with yours, the urgency to find a way to contact you again grew in him.

“We shall go.” Nanami quickly said goodbye, pushing Satoru into the sea of people again, you tried to keep up with them. But you got stuck in a crowd of unknown people, you didn't even had the chance to stop them, to say goodbye to him.

A sudden, despondent weight fell upon you. That newly found harmony had been overwritten, you were left with a disjointed heartbeat and unfinished confessions. You felt as if you had been thrown into the driest and hottest desert, accompanied by a withered hope.

You sat down in the first seat you found, your legs feeling devastated not only by tiredness, but also by the fact that you actually got carried away by a conversation with someone whose name you didn't know. You never had experienced this, what should you do? You weren’t sure if you should even look into the matter further. You wanted to think that it was meant to end like this anyway, after all that was the agreement, just a quick chat over a drink.

Your stomach felt queasy, although that was probably due to the alcohol you had ingested.

What ifs came to your mind, what if even after all Satoru was actually playing? Nanami said ‘his kind’, what kind? A player? You didn’t believe that was the case, still, it wouldn’t surprise you if it was.

But, what if everything was truly heart-felt? What if the mesmerizing glimmer of his eyes when he soft-spoke to you was sincere? That damn drowning blue eyes, mocking pearly-white smirk, face carved by the gods and purring delirious voice.

You buried your head in your hands and lost count of the time you spent replaying the memories of the night in your head over and over again, every look, every touch, every breath taken.

You deep in thought scolding yourself at how ridiculously pathetic you were for giving so much importance to an interaction that you didn't know if your thoughts intensified the relevance when someone tapped your shoulder.

“Y/n.” Someone sweetly whispered.

When you raised your head you saw Akira in front of you, a pleased smile on her face. She didn't even knew the reason why you were melted in your seat alone but she could assume it was because you followed her advice.

“It’s time to go home.” She continued saying. You covered your eyes with one hand to block out the radiance of the lights, you didn't even notice when the place began to empty.

“Okay,” You accepted, getting up from your spot, the woman in front of you linked her arms with you to give you support, now the liquor had hit you properly. “My head hurts.” You complained.

“Wait ‘till tomorrow, it will get worse.” She laughed as you growled.

You both walked to the reception to pick up your jackets and bags and then went out to the entrance of the place, watching the cars passing by on the street, not taking long to find Akira's husband's car, who greeted you from the driver's seat.

Akira helped you get into the back seat and then climbed into the passenger seat, you quickly closed your eyes and leaned your head back. You heard her ask if you were okay and you just nodded, taking a sip of the water she offered you.

Your mind was no longer worried about giving the direction of your apartment because they already knew the way from the times you invited them to eat dinner, now you could agonize in peace of mind while you fell asleep.

The movement of the car against the street lulled you and the air conditioning leveled your temperature.

The movement of the car against the street lulled you and the air conditioning leveled your temperature, your consciousness was about to turn off when a 'ding' woke you up, you grimaced at it and tried to go back to sleep, since the ride to your house was long, but the same sound rang out again.

You turned on your phone screen and the notification bubble returned energy to your body.

Nanami (work):

Satoru Gojo

Create new contact / Add to existing contact

You scrolled down the messages and it was an attached photo, you clicked on it and zoomed it, it was a photo of Gojo asleep in the Uber, your lips curved up when you saw how angelic he looked when he wasn't acting like a jerk, his long eyelashes curled when they reached his high cheekbones and his hair looked more disheveled than when you met at the beginning of the night.

The photo had a description on the foot.

Nanami (work): I just send you his contact. If you're really going to give him a chance, do it soon because he whined until he fell asleep about how I sabotaged his chance with a ‘baddie’.

You couldn't help but laugh at Nanami's message and his sincerity. I made you question if he phrased it that way to help his friend or to boycott him. Even so, a relief began to drain your dreadful thoughts from your body, as if that revelation canceled all your personal issues to resolve.

And It did, a little, because deep down you knew that what you lived was real, that the way he saw you was how you supposed, that everytime he tastes cranberry juice he’ll think of you.

But what you didn't know was that you left quite an impression, and that you enchanted him and became the reason his heart pounds even if you're not around.

hi guys!!! I saw a tiktok of a girl who said she wanted to read something about satoru with sabrina’s song bed quem so I worked on it. please tell me if this funny or weird because wrote it in the lapse of 3 weeks and idk how to feel about it. Pls share your thoughts xoxo

[hauntedppgpaints]

For the gods/NHL moodboards, how about Nicklas Backstrom and Hera? (extra points available for Ovi!Zeus of course)

children of gods moodboards // not accepting

[mclalan]

Can you share what your art-making process is? What software and tools do you use?? I'm falling in love with your work!!

Thank you, I'm so happy you like my work and are interested in the process. The short answer is I mostly use Adobe Animate.

I hate how I'm using an Adobe product (although I still regard it as a MacroMedia Flash product), but there's just no other software that compares to its jankiness. Perhaps it's just my long familiarity with the program, but nothing I've experienced matches how it simultaneously feels like drawing in MS Paint and using Microsoft PowerPoint vector shapes. The result is something that feels in-between the two; handmade yet computer-generated.

Typically, I'll start with a hand-drawn sketch, often beginning as a thumbnail done with pencil and paper.

I'll then do a mix of hand drawing and vector shape tool rendering. I use the Paint Brush tool to hand draw strokes, and the line and shape tools mixed with transform to make more geometrically accurate shapes. The design is rendered into divided closed loop shapes, ready to be filled with a solid. The strokes are kept or removed depending on the design.

These fill shapes are then either coloured and rendered in Adobe Animate, using fills, gradients, or a more complex process of masks and effects.

Alternatively, I'll bring all these vector shapes into Photoshop and use them as clipping masks. The vector shapes act like masking taped areas or shields to maintain sharp edges, while the brush is like an atomized airbrush used to build soft volumed forms.

Please excuse all that horrible Adobe Cloud and AI bloatware...

And there we go!

Variations in the process include just using MS Paint, index color in Photoshop, or 3D programs.

Very old works of mine were almost abstract, just exploring digital mark-making, which was a trend I was following in the mid 2010s that I loved. This kind of stuff.

While my current work uses its digital material specificity as an intermediary to the subject in the illustration.

For example, #ersatz.world parodies clip-art and flash edutainment styles but imagines the characters living within that kind of world. The designs are meant to be cute, easy to read, light in computer processing, but also irreverent, janky, and generic too.

People typically regard this sort of clip art style as ephemeral trash, but I always found them charming. I use Ersatz World primarily as a satire vehicle, parodying educational formats to spoof corporate explainer content and digital media.

However, part of the problem with Ersatz is I've made it look too polished, complex, and I've grown too attached to the characters, which I imagine is a typical issue with overbuilding a world. So recently, I've made an even jankier Ersatz-like set of characters to play about with, using an even simpler style with less cohesion. I like to try and use slightly different styles and digital material styles to relate to the property at hand.

That’s why #autonymus has a bitmap digital material and a denser feel to it. Unlike Ersatz, Autonymus is not meant to be an overt semi-meta fiction. It’s not exactly pixel art, but the pixels are just about visible, as the intention is to create a digital expressionist depth to the setting. Although it’s still stylized and not realistic to our world, I definitely still want to evoke semblances of our world. That’s why there’s attention to landscape, plant life, and implied life beyond what you see in the frame with the characters, etc. But I'm still making a cartoon, and I still want it to feel at ease with itself being a digital material work. Characters are therefore flat, simple, stiff, and the speech style is like a bad Shakespeare parody. I like to balance between ugly and appealing, simple and complex, familiar and unfamiliar.

In regard to things like inspiration, references, and my relationship to aesthetic genres; these things certainly factor into my work, perhaps I'm even overtly dependent on them. My work can definitely be post-modernist in method; creating new, ironic, or fragmented interpretations through deconstructing a mix of various styles or methods. But at the same time, I'm still trying to make a digital gestural representation where the aesthetic is driven by my relationship to the software and techniques directly—not simply in an attempt to reference a style. For example, I like drawing lines in sweeping strokes, not to a point of geometric perfection, but just in a way where the curves are smooth and simple. But if I want perfectly curved or straight lines, I'll use the vector tools.

Working this way, you can sort of learn why certain styles and design choices in past vector aesthetics were made, as they would have also needed to make similar choices. That’s why I’m more mindful of using digital material specificity as a foundation to build narrative and subjects upon these days.

For example, genre references like cyberpunk clichés for #cyberhell or late medieval design for #autonymus or 2005 to 2015 era subculture fashion for #gradientgoblinz.

I think it’s important to take inspiration and reference from a wide variety of sources, but I think they’d mean nothing without having something to say or express. Autonymus, although it is a collection of tropes and clichés, isn’t just about that. It’s a story about the tensions of socially constructed systems and how that shapes faith, technology, and the natural world, or at least that's what I'm aiming for anyway.

But despite all that, I think there’s a danger of locking myself into the past by using these methods. For example, using nostalgia and references to past aesthetics can result in just recreating the past in a form of role-play. To avoid that, I try and evoke the past through a messy, inaccurate pastiche rather than caring to accurately re-enact anything. I’m probably not always successful at communicating the deliberateness of this, and it can certainly get very frustrating and pedantic. To be honest, I do kind of hate aesthetic labels (terms like Y2K, global coffee house, utopian scholastic designs from a pre-9/11 world).

I do not believe that a project aimed solely at mapping history through aesthetic styles is worthwhile. Sure, they can be handy for organizing style trends, but they can also be reductive and ahistoric. Who are these people to define the history of these design eras? The result is a kind of suffocating simulation of design history but removed from context, perfect for moodboardism. I wish it felt more tongue-in-cheek, less absolute of itself in its own practice. Instead, it acts to legitimize and engender those making these labels, almost giving them ownership of the design styles. It’s similar to the logic and process of generative AI and its databases in a way, just done manually.

I’m very inspired by artists like Oneohtrix Point Never in this regard, as I think he’s able to create an aesthetic portal to all kinds of memories, feelings, and worlds reminiscent of the past, while still being in the present. It’s more a reflection of how timelines are messy now, like a memory or dream, rather than an audacity to say the past was actually like that, or to try to actually map some kind of timeline.

I think the benefit of this process is how it avoids the other side of the spectrum—being locked into chasing the cutting edge of digital processes. I don't necessarily think using an old digital process means your work inherits the semiotics of old aesthetics. Non-digital mediums don’t have this issue to this degree, as you can still paint in oils and be considered contemporary, or at least it's not frowned upon to such a degree. And I also don't think anyone in the heyday of Flash ever made work the same as I do, especially as computers are more powerful now so can handle more. I probably shouldn't boast too much about that though, as artists at the time probably just had more sense than to use Flash like a painting program! So then, why is my use of Adobe Animate critiqued as obsolete and an aesthetic dead-end? Because to whose standards is this process obsolete? If you value digital aesthetics as an apparatus in industry practice, then sure, my work is redundant.

But as wonderful as the latest tech can be in creating new aesthetics, I do feel it can be overtly dependent on the trends and directions of tech corporations, and therefore act as an indirect propaganda tool to their hegemony over digital aesthetics, such as the ever-demanding processing power needed for simulated realism. If anything, work that does follow in the direction of the latest tech trends is ironically the quickest to date once the trends move on.

I've noticed I've not really described what my work is about, just the process, in this text. But I don't know, maybe I like Flash because it is regarded as redundant. No one really cares about it, so I feel free to make whatever I want, and can decide on form myself, to my own standards, the quality of my work. As fun as making images is, I find it difficult to put into words what it is exactly I'm expressing in my work, and perhaps that would spoil it anyway.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Worst's Chapter 369

Brief summary: Sword of the Sun becomes a lie detector. CH and Alberu spar. CH approves Alberu.

===========

Most of the chapter today was Alberu's monologue and the actual spar, so the atmosphere was serious. There was some funny moments though.

CH: gives the sword Alberu: gets rejected by the sword CH: gives the sword to Cale Cale: does not get rejected by the sword Alberu: To get the sword, one must gain your recognition. CH, do you not recognize me? CH: !!! I do recognize you! You are strong! Alberu: still gets rejected by the sword CH: ... Everyone else: ... Alberu: smiles brightly So you do not recognize my power.

So the sword became a lie detector. 😂 CH did recognize Alberu, but as the crown prince only. When Alberu asked if CH thought that Alberu could fight against a wanderer, CH had no answer. Thus, Alberu silently became angry and challenged his "master" to a spar.

CH: accepts Alberu's challenge Alberu: I always feel this way. You guys are truly irreverent. CH: smiles in embarrassment Cale: No, why me? Why are you suddenly calling me irreverent? I was just sitting still? CH, Alberu, and HD: ignores Cale's protests

Cale, you're not irreverent? You who shamelessly disguised yourself as Alberu? Really? 🤣🤣🤣

The spar condition was that Alberu would win if he could stop CH's attack in 10 minutes. He was allowed to use whatever means possible.

I won't say much about the spar because it was the cliche fight. Some self-reflection that strengthened one's resolve, serious fighting, and then our protagonist won. Alberu was completely serious and used his mana while fighting with a spear. In the end, he stopped CH from landing an attack on him even if his spear broke. So he won against CH, and the sword no longer rejected him.

Ending Remarks I honestly thought the author would not fully write about the spar, but she did. Next chapter would be HD's first round in the preliminaries. Would our HD really not get himself into trouble? 😂 But with CH guarding Pasote, it was now Alberu acting as HD's escort. I now look forward to HD and Alberu's interaction.

[numbers-31-blog]

There is no one, orthodox way to commit yourself to Lord Satan. It can be as elaborate as a high black mass or as simple as whispering a prayer over a single black candle at midnight. For me, it was lighting a candle one night when my mom was away at church and reciting the Pater Noster (the Lord's Prayer) backwards and promising Satan that if he answered my prayer, I would renounce Jesus Christ and his Father forever and serve him (Satan) in whatever capacity I could for as long as I lived.

However, if you want to show Satan you are serious, I recommend that you precede your commitment to him with an act of blasphemy. In Matthew 12: 31-32 Jesus informs us that there is one sin that God will never forgive: blasphemy of the Holy Spirit. Blasphemy is deliberate irreverence or profanity directed at something that is held to be sacred, and the Holy Spirit is that part of the Christian Godhead that dwells within every Christian. If you were baptized, even as an infant, you have it -- though it be dormant. By blaspheming the Holy Spirit you are rejecting that part of God which is in you and thus irrevocably cutting yourself off from His grace! Think carefully before you do it since it is a line that, once you cross it, you will never be able to step back from; but when and if you decide to do it, then it will make your commitment to Lord Satan all the more powerful!

If it were me, I would light a black candle and tell the so-called Holy Spirit to f*** off; that it is no longer welcome in me or my life; that I reject forever God, the sacrifice of his son, his grace, and all that he might have planned for me. I would then take the plate of unleavened bread (signifying the body of Christ) and drop it unceremoniously into the garbage. Likewise the glass of wine, signifying the blood of Christ, should be poured onto the ground or into a toilet or sink. Then I would ask Satan and all the denizens of Hell to witness my commitment to Lord Satan and his righteous cause.

[the-californicationist]

No comment.

MDNI

"Didn't I tell you to keep those filthy little fingers out of your cunt 'til I came home?"

His hand was gripping your jaw so roughly that it made it hard to speak, but you nodded, looking up into John's eyes with lurid need.

"Yeah?" He spat into your open mouth as he held it in his grip, strings of his saliva coating your nose and lips, dripping and begging to be licked off, "So, why did I find my pretty fuckin' wife with her legs spread open, knuckle deep in this juicy cunt, hm?"

You tried to answer, but he was too quick. He shoved two wide fingers into your mouth, smearing his spit around on your tongue, purposefully pressing your head back so you'd need to swallow against them in order to breathe.

His cock was fighting for release behind his zipper, and you could see its fat outline in the soft fabric, aching to be used against you. Your eyes were fixated on it, hungry for it, and your pussy throbbed for him.

"I'm beginnin' to suspect that you like being a dirty fuckin' slag. Innit that right?"

"Yeah," you said around his hand.

"Yeah? My fuckin' slag, huh? Mine."

"Yeah," you could barely form the word around his huge knuckles, but he seemed to like that.

John Price took his hand away from you and stepped behind you as you sat, kneeling naked on the ground.

"Put those fingers back in your cunt, missus."

You obeyed, suddenly submissive in contrast to your previous, bratty behavior.

You knew what was coming.

You heard the jangle of his belt buckle. You listened as the leather slithered out of each loop, snapping and hissing as it was freed. Then, you felt the cold strap wrap itself around your throat and everything inside of you relaxed. All of your tension and your fervor was cooled by your makeshift collar and you sighed in relief.

He pulled it tight around you, looping a finger between your neck and the strap for safety, willing to get dangerous but only on his terms.

"That's it. You like this, hm? You like it when you're at my goddamn mercy. Show me how wet you are. Now."

He jerked the strap, pulling your body against the belt threateningly.

You shoved your fingers even deeper, collecting your come on your hand and pulling it out of yourself, holding it in the air to show him what he wanted to see.

You couldn't see his expression since he was behind you, but you felt his mouth. He bent over, pulling the belt tighter, and began to suckle from your fingertips, licking between them to eat your clear stickiness off of your skin.

"Turn around," he barked.

You didn't actually have to do anything. He spun you on his own, holding the end of the belt nice and high to keep you under control. Then, with his free hand, he unbuttoned his pants, letting his drooling dick loll out of the opening. It was pink and swollen, engorged from his pleasure and veiny with blue, dark blood.

You leaned forward to lick him, but he caught you, yanking you back like a bad dog.

"What do we say when we want something, pet?"

John looked down at you with a sinister satisfaction, his smile full of decadent lust and longing.

You met his eyes and gave him your best helpless fawn impression,

"Please..."

He tightened the belt until it bit into your skin, pinching you. Then, he was crushing your face into his pants, shoving your nose into his pubic hair like a naughty puppy.

"What was that?"

"Please! Please... I want to suck your cock. Please, please, please."

Now, you were wriggling and crying in earnest, no longer just playing the part of his helpless victim, but fully submitting to him, eager to be used.

The belt loosened, and a twisted part of you already missed the pain of its steel against your neck.

"Good girl. See? I knew you had it in you," he laughed softly, tapping your cheek with his rigid muscle, rubbing his cock across your face irreverently.

"Hope you're hungry, missus."