#Social Justice Clothing

[noisycowboyglitter]

Excuse Me, I'm Speaking: Kamala Harris Apparel for the Unapologetic Visionary

The phrase "Excuse Me, I'm Speaking" became inextricably linked with Kamala Harris during the 2020 U.S. Vice Presidential debate. This moment not only defined a key part of Harris's public persona but also resonated deeply with many viewers, particularly women and minorities who have faced similar experiences of being interrupted or talked over.

Buy now:19.95$

During the debate with then-Vice President Mike Pence, Harris firmly but politely asserted herself when interrupted, stating, "Mr. Vice President, I'm speaking." She repeated variations of this phrase several times throughout the debate, each time reclaiming her right to finish her thoughts without interruption. This moment quickly went viral, capturing the attention of millions of viewers and sparking widespread discussion on social media platforms.

The phrase struck a chord with many people who have experienced similar situations in professional, academic, or personal settings. It became a rallying cry for those advocating for equal respect and representation in conversations, particularly for women and minorities in male-dominated fields. Many saw Harris's calm yet assertive response as a masterclass in handling interruptions and maintaining composure under pressure.

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Harris's use of this phrase also highlighted the broader issue of "manterrupting," a term coined to describe the tendency of men to interrupt women in professional settings. This moment brought increased attention to gender dynamics in political debates, workplace meetings, and other professional contexts.

The impact of this phrase extended far beyond the debate. It quickly became a cultural touchstone, appearing on merchandise such as t-shirts, mugs, and face masks. Many people, especially women in professional fields, embraced these items as symbols of empowerment and solidarity.

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However, the popularization of this phrase also led to some criticism. Some viewed it as an oversimplification of complex gender dynamics or as the commodification of a serious issue. Others debated whether the focus on this moment detracted from substantive policy discussions.

For Kamala Harris, this phrase became a defining part of her public image during the campaign and beyond. It reinforced her reputation as a strong, assertive leader and resonated with her campaign's themes of breaking barriers and giving voice to the underrepresented.

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As the first woman, first Black person, and first person of South Asian descent to become U.S. Vice President, Harris's use of "Excuse me, I'm speaking" took on additional significance. It symbolized not just her individual assertion in that debate, but also the broader struggle for representation and respect faced by many in politics and beyond.

In essence, "Excuse Me, I'm Speaking" and Kamala Harris became intertwined in the public consciousness, representing a powerful moment of assertiveness, a call for respect, and a symbol of changing dynamics in American politics and society at large.

[justalittlesolarpunk]

Sorry not sorry to grannypost again but look at this amazing jacket she made me??? She wove it herself on her loom out of wool, silk, banana fibre and scraps of old cloth. The buttons are made of antler. It took her a year and a half and I love it! It’s not vegan, but it is handmade, largely local and very sustainable. It’s an item of clothing I have a personal connection to because of the story behind it, and it shows that reducing how much cotton and polyester we wear doesn’t have to mean drab or boring clothing. So it feels pretty solarpunk to me! Now to learn how to do this kind of thing myself…

[eccentricphilosoph]

Both can be true. Perhaps balance is key.

There are women who wear a hijab and cover their skin as an act of feminism. There are women who wear next to nothing as an act of feminism.

[fairiedance]

I run a fundraising shop where I sell Palestine related designs and all income goes to keeping my best friend's family safe. My friend graciously agreed to model the gym shirt I got him from the shop:

The left is the product mockup, the right is my friend (cropped to protect privacy of course). It's still a little wrinkly from the package here but I think it turned out nicely. The printing is pretty light and thin which I guess is unsurprising for a stretchy exercise shirt, I imagine it will be heavier on the standard clothes. He says it's comfortable and it held up through our workout with no issues.

You can find my full shop here. To see a design on different products click on the display product and scroll down or go here to browse by design. Each design is available on a range of products such as stickers, shirts, pins, bags, puzzles, posters, notebooks and mugs. The selection varies depending on the design.

Here are some examples of other shirt/sweatshirt designs:

Again visit my shop here if you want to see more. Thank you to everyone who has helped out so far! We really appreciate your help and we hope you are enjoying your purchases!

[itsbansheebitch]

Anti-Homeless Architecture is a Tax Dollar Black Hole

Why pay for this:

When we could pay for something more like this:

Or, you know, HOUSING the HOMELESS. As someone who has done construction, it REALLY doesn't cost that much to build a house. You could probably get volunteers to help, too. This is NOT that hard. Politicians are just greedy and (nonconsensually) sadistic. They use weaponized incompetence and are purposefully obtuse.

[nochd]

Naturism as social justice

← Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Part 4: Disability (neurodivergence)

This is where the issue touches me personally. I am autistic, and among other things that means I have sensitivities that other people don't. I feel food moving around inside me, I need more anaesthetic than dentists expect, and I have what's called "tactile defensiveness", where light touches to my skin are irritating and uncomfortable. And that includes clothing. All clothing, with the sole exception of hats.

The problem is mild (but never zero) when it's cool; in the winter, I prefer clothes to the cold. When it gets warmer and I start sweating, the discomfort gets very bad very quickly.

This means I can't stand exercising with clothes on. I know perfectly well what not exercising does to my life expectancy and general health, but the feeling is unbearable.

How bad could it be, you ask? Imagine everything you're wearing next to the skin is made of sewn-together burlap sacks, and you're trapped in a slow-cooker.

Notwithstanding the origin of the word "gymnasium", I doubt that nudity is going to fly in any gym in town for more than about thirty seconds. Any physiotherapist would suggest swimming as a solution; trouble is, wet swimming-togs are worst of all. They cross the pain threshold. They feel like knives.

There's a Catch-22 for neurodivergent people when it comes to talking about sensitivities. If you do it often, you're just a whiner and your complaints are dismissed. If you don't do it often, well, it can't be that bad if you didn't say anything before, can it? -- and your complaints are dismissed.

The trick is to find the middle ground where your complaints are dismissed for both reasons at once.

I have exactly two options for dealing with this sensitivity, which are (1) naturism, and (2) shut up complaining about it no-one cares.

As far as what good it does me, any proposed solution which does not allow me to practise naturism amounts to "shut up complaining about it no-one cares." I'm sure people mean well when they express their sympathy, but it's exactly as much help to me as "shut up complaining about it no-one cares."

(Which doesn't mean I think any the worse of you, if that's your primary concern. "Shut up complaining about it no-one cares" is society's default response to autistic sensory issues. At least it's better than "I'm going to trigger you on purpose to teach you not to be a pussy.")

There's this one particular beach in my home town that I go to for nude walks. (There was a time when I was in a naturist walking group, but that's long past now.) It's not an official nude beach because New Zealand doesn't have any because technically there is no law specifically banning public nudity for them to be exceptions to.

What there is is a law against "offensive behaviour", and where and when nudity counts as "offensive behaviour" is complicatedly context-dependent.

(There's also a law, with more serious penalties, against "indecent exposure", but public nudity alone hasn't been the legal definition of "indecent exposure" in New Zealand for over forty years. Since 1981 it must also be "obscene", i.e. done to harass people. Surprisingly few people know that.)

There are thirty years of legal precedent saying beach nudity is not offensive behaviour -- on a beach where it's common practice or can be expected to occur.

This is one of those. Currently. Occasionally. It's had quite a few naturist visitors while I've been going there, but no regulars except me.

Most people ignore me; some are friendly; there have been a handful that were hostile. There's been one particular guy, recently, who kept hanging around where I was. I don't mean like chilling on the beach, I mean he kept kind of walking around and walking past me, making sure I knew he was there.

I came back after my beach walk to my stash of stuff to find the messages "No nudists!" and "Cover up cunt" written in the sand nearby.

(I wrote a reply saying "See you in court: Police v. Ceramalus 1991", referring to the court case that proved nudity on a beach is not an offence in New Zealand. But, well, I wasn't getting the vibe that he was threatening legal action.)

There is no other beach that is both clothing-optional by established custom and within reach of public transport from where I live. And I take care to go during school hours so I don't run into kids. And I stay out of people's way and, apart from my walk, I try and stay at the less-populated end where you get about one passer-by per hour on a weekday. And that's apparently not good enough.

Yes, I know. This world has other people in it besides me. I can't ask society to rearrange itself for my sake. I can't expect an entire culture to suddenly overturn all the associations and meanings it puts on the human body, all in a day.

Naturist organizations have to vet new people very carefully to make sure they're not going to behave inappropriately, which just goes to show society at large isn't ready to turn naturist just yet.

All of that is true and none of it is unreasonable. But the consequence of all this reasonableness is that my needs as a neurodivergent person will always come last.

[bijoumikhawal]

got reminded of the "saying Arabs conquered and colonized North Africa is Zionist because obviously no one saying that coulx possibly draw a distinction between North African Arabs and Palestinian Arabs, and even drawing a distinction between Arabs and Imazighen is colonizer shit" school of thought

[dazedasian]

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[fifthdegreeus]

How Rastafarian Clothing Empowers the Black Community and Promotes Equality

Rastafarianism is a spiritual movement that originated in Jamaica in the 1930s and is deeply rooted in African culture and the fight for social justice. It is a way of life that centers on love, peace, and equality, and its followers, known as Rastafarians, are known for their distinctive Rastafarian clothes that incorporates bold colors, natural fabrics, and African-inspired designs. Rastafarian clothing

jah rastafari

[miuartofficial]

The reality of fast fashion. 30 cents an hour to work in a factory that could collapse.

Fashion has become available and cheap. You can get T-shirts for just a few bucks, and the collections in stores change so quickly that it's hard to keep up. However, this colorful and beautiful world of clothes also has a second, much less colorful face...

BEHIND A T-SHIRT from a famous brand for only $5, there is suffering, exploitation and environmental pollution. The factories where summer colorful dresses and comfortable cheap trousers are sewn are located in uncontrolled buildings. Sometimes disaster strikes, the building collapses. Workers die. The same ones who got a maximum of 50 cents for making one t-shirt. For a t-shirt that may have been made of cotton produced by Uyghur slave laborers. Or maybe polyester, which is the most environmentally polluting of all materials, and its production is associated with high CO2 emissions.

This is the real price of fast fashion

What is fast fashion?

Simply put: these are cheap, easily available clothes that correspond to current trends and quickly find their way to stores around the world. The idea for fast fashion is to deliver new collections as soon as possible, as well as to react quickly to the needs of consu(...)

Learn more https://miuart.store/blogs/news/the-reality-of-fast-fashion-30-cents-an-hour-to-work-in-a-factory-that-could-collapse

[digitaldreams04]

Rise Above Hate Classic Tee(via "Rise Above Hate: Spread Love, Not Hate" Classic T-Shirt for Sale by DigitalDreams04)

[noisycowboyglitter]

Excuse Me, I’m Speaking: Elevate Your Speaking Skills Today

"Excuse Me, I'm Speaking" is a powerful phrase that has gained prominence in recent years, particularly in the context of gender dynamics and professional discourse. It encapsulates the struggle many individuals, especially women, face when trying to be heard in various settings.

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This phrase serves as a firm yet polite assertion of one's right to complete a thought or argument without interruption. It highlights the common occurrence of people, often women or minorities, being talked over, dismissed, or having their ideas appropriated in conversations, meetings, or public forums.

The statement gained widespread attention during the 2020 U.S. Vice Presidential debate when then-candidate Kamala Harris used it to reclaim her speaking time. This moment resonated with many who have experienced similar situations, sparking discussions about respect, equality, and communication etiquette in professional and personal spheres.

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Beyond its literal meaning, "Excuse Me, I'm Speaking" has become a rallying cry for those advocating for equal representation and respect in various fields. It encourages individuals to stand up for themselves and demand the space to express their thoughts fully.

The phrase also invites reflection on conversation dynamics, urging listeners to be more aware of their behavior and to practice active listening. It challenges societal norms that often allow for the interruption or dismissal of certain voices.

The phrase "Funny Kamala Harris Joe Biden Trump" evokes a complex political landscape filled with moments of unintentional comedy and satirical commentary. It refers to the often-humorous interactions, gaffes, and rivalries between these prominent American political figures.

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Vice President Kamala Harris, known for her occasional awkward laughter, President Joe Biden with his tendency for verbal slip-ups, and former President Donald Trump with his unique speaking style and Twitter habits, have all provided ample material for comedians, memes, and political satire.

Their contrasting personalities and communication styles have led to numerous memorable and sometimes absurd moments in American politics. From debate stage confrontations to social media mishaps, these figures have become central characters in the ongoing political theater that often blurs the line between serious policy discussions and unintentional comedy.

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This keyword encapsulates the lighter, more entertaining side of recent U.S. political history, reflecting the public's appetite for humor in the often tense world of politics.

[justalittlesolarpunk]

Some visible mending I got done on old clothes at the repair cafe this weekend!

[sahkuna]

OH, HIM? HE'S SPOKEN FOR — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: one too many women at this wedding think they've got a shot with gojo satoru. but what they fail to realize is none of them are you, the one who holds his unwavering devotion.

content warning(s): non-curse au, plot before the eventual smut so 18+ mdni, afab/fem! reader, mentions reader wearing a dress, established relationship, unprotected sex, gojo's impatient so you guys get it on an empty room upstairs, exhibitionism (sorta kinda?), brief mentions of jealousy, pet names.

word count: 4.6k+ // i lurve weddings.

For the fifth time this evening, Gojo’s teeth catch his inner cheek, biting back a smile that threatens to spread across his lips.

You’ve got a cute habit of toying with pieces of your clothing or whatever object was within your range whenever something’s nagging at your mind. He wonders to himself if this was something you were aware of.

Unconscious of Satoru’s intense gaze on you, you idly gulp down a cold glass of water and breathe a heavy sigh.

As the evening persists, you’re starting to feel your social battery deplete by the second. It’s been almost a whopping 5 hours since the wedding reception began, and with every hour that crept closer to midnight the more you wanted to throw in the towel and go home.

The poor music selection blaring from the speakers stationed around the venue— a collection composed by the newlywed couple, you presume— didn’t aid in your fight to stay here any longer than necessary.

Your index finger mindlessly loops and unloops around the straps of your attire, and Gojo can’t help but softly knock his foot with yours underneath the table to pull you out of your daze.

Rather than blatantly asking what was wrong, Satoru settles for something else. 

“Relax,” he says in an attempt to settle your nerves. Any effort that he’s previously made to stop himself from smiling is ultimately shot down the moment your eyes catch his. “You look nice, quit worryin’.”

Though you did look nice, the word alone wasn’t enough to bring any justice to how you looked tonight. The venue’s warm and orange lighting flattered and illuminated you too well. There’s more he wants to say, and it’s all on the tip of his tongue. 

But Gojo opts to sit back, eyes soft as they make a trail across your bare shoulders, eventually working his gaze up to your face. There, he traces your features slowly, from your eyes down to your cheeks and they finally stop at your lips.

And his eyes just stay there for a few seconds, lingering on your mouth.

He wants to kiss you so badly. 

To him, it didn’t matter if there was a group of old geezers who you two had to share a table with. Gojo would tune them all out if he had to. But knowing him, the moment his lips would press against yours he wouldn’t be able to pull away on his own accord. 

And you’d rip him a new one if you two ever became “that couple” engaging in heavy practices of PDA in front of such critical eyes.

So, picking up the same glass that you drank from, Gojo drinks from it, swallowing down the rest of your water along with the nagging urge to nip and lick his way into your mouth.

Huffing at the fact that he’s chugged down your drink in one go— despite clearly having more than enough in his glass— you wrestle the cup out of Gojo’s grasp and place it far from his reach.

“Thank you for that, Satoru,” you respond, to both his compliment and how he’s done away with all your water.  

Gojo hums in acknowledgement, completely missing the snarky tone your voice carried. “I’m serious though, you look really good.” 

You flash him a small smile at this. However, it’s short-lived because seconds later your lips pull into a soft pout. 

Noticing the drastic change in your mood, Gojo scoots his chair closer to you so he can get a better read on the situation.

He presses his finger to your forehead, tapping once, then twice. “What’s going on up there, hm?” he inquires.

A bit apprehensive, you start with a drawn-out, “Well…”

Throughout the evening as Gojo's plus one to his distant relative’s wedding, you’ve noticed that no matter where you step the guests at this venue seem to have eyes on you. Or more so to speak, who you came with.

It’s no secret that Gojo draws attention to himself wherever he goes, that part doesn’t need much explaining— especially when his appearance sticks out like a ridiculously beautiful, jaw-droppingly gorgeous sore thumb. But today his magnetic charm has pulled much more than you expected.

Like now.

A couple of tables away from where you two sit— perhaps two or three— is where you spot them. There’s a small group of women who hide their blushes and bashful smiles behind their hands, giggling and blatantly ogling at your dashing boyfriend.

You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bother you.

…Because it did, big time. 

Suppressing the urge to cringe physically, you turn your sights toward Gojo. “Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask, nodding your head toward the table of women who were whispering amongst themselves.

You could count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to pretend not to eavesdrop whenever one of the bridesmaids would muster up their courage and make their way up to Gojo whenever he was away from you— which was rare because despite being the one who invited you to the wedding, Satoru stuck to you as if he knew no one here.

Humming for a bit, Gojo throws an uncaring glance over his shoulder to view the mini fan club he had unknowingly accumulated tonight. A few have the decency to abruptly look away when he does so, not wanting to be caught in the act. But the others? They boldly send him flirtatious smiles and shy waves, accented with blushing cheeks.

None of which he returns, but you still feel a gnawing ache settle in your stomach.

Gross. 

Finally answering your question, Gojo meets your troubled gaze. “Nah, not really,” he replies. “It gets bothersome, sure, but I usually just ignore it all.”

You don’t respond to this and decide to flick your gaze elsewhere. If he isn’t bothered by it, then this isn’t even that big of a deal. Don’t let it get to you. It’s fine! Perfectly fine.

Blue eyes trail along your face, tracing your expression slowly. Gojo’s face softens, and his hand slips under the table and brushes against your knee before he squeezes. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Does it bother you?” 

Yes. “No,” you respond a bit too quickly.

“‘No’?” he tries again. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to crack.

“Fine. It does a bit,” you hiss bitterly, your poker face falling into shambles completely. Gojo’s smile stretches a little wider. “So can we leave now, please?”

You don’t know if you can withstand another hour in here with all things considered. 

It’s also essential to note how you gradually find yourself nodding off to sleep every ten minutes or so the longer you’re here at this venue. You’re hoping and praying Gojo takes the bait so he would finally shoot Ichiji a text telling him he should be coming to the venue to pick you two up soon. 

Behind his rounded shades, confusion swirls in his gaze and a subtle pout tugs at his lips. “But they haven’t even handed out the cake yet!” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

You want to throw your head back in exasperation at the fact that the sole reason why you guys were staying out so late was over a damn cake. 

Throwing a cautious glance over your shoulder, you spot the culprit. An extravagant-looking tower of vanilla fondant stares back at you, where it’s situated many tables away from you and over to where the bride and groom sit. 

You don’t know why Satoru likes that crap anyway, fondant is known for its notoriously awful flavour because of how it tastes like an extremely sugary, yet stale donut glaze left out for far too long.

“Oh my God,” you wail, but you’re abruptly aware that your volume has garnered a few pairs of curious eyes to land on you and Satoru from various tables around you.

Smiling awkwardly at your tablemates, you’re prompted to lean in close to the stubborn white-haired man and lower your tone so only he’s privy to what you say next. “Can’t you ask Ijichi to grab something sweet for you on our way to your place?”

Unyielding, Gojo shakes his head. “I’ve tried, believe me,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. “But he's always on about how impractical it is for a sweets shop to be open at this time of night.” 

He can’t be serious right now. You think you’re starting to reach your wits' end. “You’re kidding me.”

Thinking you also find Ijichi’s claims outlandish, Gojo leans back in his seat more comfortably. He’s relieved you’re taking his side. “Right?! I tell him all the time that there’s bound to be—”

“I mean you, Satoru,” you say, flashing him a face of disbelief. Gojo wilts a little at this and pouts. 

Pursing his lips, it seems like he’s seriously giving your question some thought. You don’t fault Gojo for having a sweet tooth, but sometimes you wish you could ween him off it. Especially since they got you into predicaments such as this.

But, there is one more thing that Gojo Satoru loves more than his sweets. 

And that’s you.

“Those women really did a number on you, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you throw an incredulous look Gojo’s way. The abrupt topic change flipped so fast it could’ve given you whiplash. He’s purposefully trying to provoke you. 

But why?

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, “What does that have to do with—”

Gojo pushes his chair away from the fancy table and shoves himself up to his feet. Just where does he think he’s going? “You wanna leave, right?”

Like this, you’re able to drink in just how appealing he looks tonight. It’s no wonder since walking in, everyone seemed to rubber-neck their attention to where you two were seated.

You nod slowly, and your hesitant nature has him practically purring when he says, “So let me take you upstairs then. Show ‘em that I’m spoken for already.” 

And at that very moment, you swear you hear the middle-aged woman whose chair is seated one space away from you choke on her drink— you don’t blame her. 

But there’s no way she could’ve heard everything… let alone understand the connotations of what he’s said, right?

She aims a displeased once over toward you and Satoru’s direction and dramatically shuffles her seat closer toward her unsuspecting husband. “My goodness,” she mutters under her breath.

Okay, so she’s heard everything.

Gojo laughs under his breath at the guest’s over-the-top antics and your blood runs a little hot.

Pushing his frames off the bridge of his nose, Gojo’s hand slides them past his hairline to rest on his head. He offers you his hand. “Come with me.”

And you’re sitting there, staring dumbly at his perfectly glossed lips that are decorated with a wicked smile because he knows. He knows you’ll let him whisk you away upstairs to do what even God wants nothing to know of. 

Carefully, Gojo wraps a hand around your wrist and tugs you to your feet. “Let’s go.” Delicate fingers slide down past your palm and lace themselves with yours. You move with him when he pulls you toward the back of the venue, near the huge wooden double doors and toward the exit. Leaving behind many shocked guests and a dejected party of bridesmaids.

Which reminds you…

Before you both slip out from view entirely, over your right shoulder you childishly poke your tongue out at the group of women right as the door is about to click shut. 

A sense of relief washes over you when you both finally step out of the ballroom and into the vacant grand hallway. There’s no boisterous noise to pound away inside your skull, just the gentle sound of you and Satoru’s footsteps padding down the marble flooring.

There’s a mix of emotions that swirl inside of you with each step that’s taken toward the main staircase and up to whichever room Gojo wishes to… well, fool around with you in. “You stick your tongue out at them?” he asks.

How in the hell would he have been able to guess that? You stare long and hard at the back of his head, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a third eye you didn’t know was there. However, there’s nothing but white tufts of snowy, white hair glaring back at you.

Or maybe you’re just that predictable.

“By accident,” you murmur, not even bothering to think up an explanation for your weak excuse.

Repeating your answer to himself, Satoru grins. “Cute.”

Stopping in front of one of the doors, with your hand still in his, he knocks on the door with his free hand, silently waiting for a response. 

When there are no signs of life on the other side, Satoru twists the knob and carelessly kicks the door wide open with his black leather shoe. The action was so harsh that the metal knob clunks loudly against the wall,— seeing that there was no door stopper— its sound reverberating off the many walls inside the building.

“Satoru!”

Uncaring for the commotion he’s made, Satoru squeezes your hand before he releases his grip and pulls you inside the small room. 

“Relax,” he drawls, before flicking on the light and kicking the door shut behind him— this time with a little more tact. “It’s fine, no one’s here anyway.” 

No longer tethered by your intertwined hands, Satoru plops himself down onto one of the two leather couches and sinks into the seat. 

Exhaling softly, you shake your head and follow your boyfriend to where he’s seated. You’re about to sit down adjacent to him until his hands abruptly shoot out to stop you.

“Y’know…” he starts, and you’re prompted to stand in between his open legs. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders when he glances up at you, cerulean eyes shimmering when he tells you, “It was kinda cute seeing you get all mad down there.”

“I wasn’t mad!” you deny, a half-truth and half-lie. “It just got to be too much is all.”

Pulling your body closer in between his spread legs, you feel something firm press against you. He couldn’t possibly be… “Are you seriously…” You swallow and clear your throat, trying to not let the heady tone of your voice take over. “Are you seriously hard right now?!”

You emit a pathetic squawk when Satoru’s hands brush up against the back of your knees. His palms run higher and higher up your legs, and the fabric of your dress pools around his forearms until they stop right under the swell of your ass.

“What can I say?” he breathes, his eyes burning with intensity the more he stares at your face, searching for something. “I like it when you get jealous over me.”

This man…

“Wasn’t jealous, either,” you say, leaning more into his touch. The more you stay like this without the two of you doing anything to combat the growing sexual tension, the more desperate and needy you become.

“Yeah?”

A heavy heat settles through your entire body when you slide down and sit on Satoru’s lap. “Yeah…”

His breath heaving in his chest, Satoru leans forward and kisses you, sighing blissfully against your mouth the moment they’re pressed together. Eyes closing, the gentle press of Satoru’s lips— soft and warm— has got you smiling against his skin, to which he returns one of his own.

Dragging his mouth away from yours, he presses a trail of searing, lingering kisses from your cheek and down your jaw.

Pressing in closer, a puff of warm air fans out over the curve of your neck. 

“I’ll make you forget aaall about them,” he whispers his promise to you, fingers curling into your waist. “Make you feel so full.”

Growing flustered with how explicit he’s become with his words— a habit of his that seems to materialize only when you two get like this—your face is screwed tight with embarrassment and you faintly nudge his face out from your proximity and bury yours into his neck. 

“You… you talk a lot,” is all you can muster as you pull him tighter into your embrace.

Satoru’s lips curl into a small smile and he squeezes your hips. The deliberately slow trail of his fingertips smoothing their way from your waist down to the bottom hem of your dress had your mind dizzy with anticipation. 

When they slip underneath your attire, you’re not surprised when he starts to get more handsy. Palming at your thighs before ultimately winding up to the lacey material of your underwear. His index fingers hook around them, making an effort to tug them off you, but he can’t seem to do that just yet due to the obstacle of you sitting on his lap. 

Groaning, Satoru jumps his shoulder, prodding you to lift your face from his neck so that you may see what he wants from you. “Help me out, will you?”

You’re more than happy to oblige by a simple lift of your hips off his lap. With the weight of you temporarily gone, Satoru lowers the underwear down your thighs and to your knees.

One leg at a time you step out of them, leaving nothing but the cool, air-conditioned air of the room breeze past your exposed cunt.

Bunching the garment in his hand, Satoru skillfully tosses it across the room… only for it to land unceremoniously atop a fake fern tucked into a corner of the room.

“Hey!”

Breezing past your sudden exclamation, Satoru's hands slide up your bare thighs and his fingertips tease over your skin, eventually grazing your pussy. When your hips inadvertently jerk back the moment they brush over your clit, your boyfriend holds you still against him.

“Sensitive, huh?” he asks, turning his head to press an affectionate kiss onto your warm cheek. “That’s one of the things I like most about you, how reactive you are.”

Not stopping with his ministrations, your boyfriend’s fingers stroke your bud, rubbing excruciating slow circles against you that send you reeling at the palm of his hands. 

Sounds of content are breathed out from his lungs when he starts to feel you grow wetter and wetter the more he toys with you. Your heart’s pounding loud against your chest, and you’re positive that if Satoru were to press his ear against you and listen real close, he’d be able to hear it.

Groaning, you exhale a pathetic string of nonsense into your boyfriend’s clothed shoulder, tugging harshly at his tie when you start to feel that familiar searing heat start to come undone when he slinks a finger inside you— gathering at the slippery arousal pooling around your inner thighs— only to take it back out again, drawing intricate shapes onto your clit.

“Oh my God,” you mewl, riding his hand now, shedding out of the once flustered facade you had moments prior.

Whispering your name, Satoru unwraps his arm from your waist so he may turn your face to look at him with the free hand that isn’t currently hidden underneath your dress. The tips of your noses brush and he watches you silently with unadulterated desire as you practically come undone by his hand. 

“Kiss me,” he demands, his palm pressing against the back of your nape to bring you closer to him, and you do as you’re told. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, your boyfriend presses one wet kiss after the other against your mouth before his tongue slides inside. The kiss is sloppy and fevered, and your whines are consumed by Satoru when his fingers are poking and curling inside you with passion.

You don’t think you can keep up with him if this continues.

Gasping, you pull away from an all too eager Satoru, who chases your lips only to be met with your cheek when you turn away from him. 

Pouting, the white-haired male searches your face for an explanation. “Why?” he whines, and a brief flash of disappointment strikes his features.

“It’s too much,” you murmur. At this, you feel Satoru’s fingers slow down inside your receptive pussy, but there is the subtle wiggle maybe once or twice to let you know he’s still there. “If you keep going like that I’ll—” You fling a lame hand in the air, hoping the unspoken gesture would speak for itself.

Seemingly catching your drift, a boyish and devilish grin is tacked onto his lips. “Want me to put it inside, then?” He bucks his hips up against your core, not caring if you’d make a mess of his lap. “I want you to feel all of me before that happens. Will you let me, sweetheart?”

There’s some sort of strangled scream that’s caught in your throat the moment the precious pet name drips off his tongue.

 You nod dumbly, to which Satoru laughs sweetly in response.

Lifting you off him, he settles you down onto the black leather seat beside you, not before hiking the bottom half of your dress up to your hips, exposing you completely to him. He presses your back down into the cushion and rests his knee between your legs.

Peeling off the black blazer from his shoulders, Gojo lets the article of clothing drop to the floor before his hands unbuckle his ridiculously expensive belt.

He’s taking his sweet ass time and he knows it because there’s an amused glint that swirls in his eyes the more he looks down at you.

“Hurry. Up,” you bite, unsure if you can withstand any more of his teasings. 

“You’re impatient as ever,” he jabs, tone laced with artificial annoyance.  Finally undoing his zipper, Satoru frees himself from the confines of his slacks and boxers before his hand finds the back of your knee, pushing it down toward your chest to get you ready for him. 

Right before the crown of his head can slip past the entrance of your slit, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking down the hallway catches your attention.

Shit, shit, shit!

You make moves to sit up and at least get yourself together, in case the oblivious stranger miraculously chooses your room out of all the others to walk into for God knows what.

However, Gojo has a different agenda. 

The corners of his lips quirk up as the sounds of what you predict to be two people, approach closer and closer down the hallway and toward your door. Satoru pins you back down and offers you a few words of encouragement along the lines of how good of a job you’re doing, before the thick head of his cock slides into you.

You both moan at the intoxicating sensation. However the sound of his runs deeper, like a pained grunt. It was as if he were a man possessed.

Fucking himself sweetly inside your tight, greedy hole, you can’t stop thinking of the fact that with each step you hear, the closer you are to toeing the line of you and Satoru being walked in on.

God, what would even do in such a situation? Keep going? Stop altogether?

“Fuuuck,” Satoru breathes, the vulgar somewhat audible sounds of your bodies grinding and bucking together had you thinking with other body parts rather than your head.

Yeah, no shot were you stopping anytime soon.

“I should’ve known he was taken, Airi!” You hear a voice exclaim from down the hall. “I mean, look at him!”

Yeah, look at him.

A furious pink blush crawls up Satoru’s neck and hues the tips of his ears as his hips drive in and out of you at such a gruelling, slow pace. His mouth is slightly parted open and the harsh sound of his laboured breathing can be heard echoing off the room’s wall with each thrust he sends inside your pussy.

He looks positively debauched right now. 

His tie (if you could even call it that now) barely can hold itself together, and a few buttons of his linen white shirt are now loose— revealing the milky expanse of his chest. He can’t seem to control his facial expressions either because one moment pale, white brows are furiously pinched together as he obscenely stretches your insides, and the next moment pleasure is etched onto those angelic features of his.

A second voice chips in, who you assume to be the woman’s friend. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

You can hear the sulk in the woman’s voice when she mutters, “I guess…” 

You’re half relieved when you hear their footsteps walk past your door entirely, unsuspecting of the pure filth that was going on behind it. 

But deep down in you, tucked somewhere far away is the feeling of excitement, knowing that you and Satoru could’ve been sniffed out at any second had you been a wee bit careless and more loud

With the coast clear, you cry out as Satoru sinks his throbbing hard length deeper inside you. His cock expertly works you open, leaving you twisting and writhing in pleasure as you start to near orgasm.

“Feels good, right?”

“So good,” you choke out, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him impossibly closer to you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, please, please don’t stop, Satoru,” you beg him weakly, you feel like you’re about to explode. It’s too hot. It feels too good and a bundle of nerves in your core is ready to snap.

With one hand secured on your leg, supporting how it rests around his slender yet muscular waist, Satoru’s other hand comes up to palm and kneads at your clothed breast.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he groans, kissing you through your panting breaths. “You take me so well, just hold on…”

Giving into the pleasure, Gojo’s hips now snap faster into you, his big hands gripping and squeezing your ass possessively, pinning your hips to the couch.

Rocking harder and faster now, Satoru’s whimpers reach a whole new octave as he’s forced to pull out of you when his balls start to pulse threateningly, alerting him that he’s nearing his release.

Shuddering, Satoru strokes mindlessly and you gasp when something warm and gooey dribbles down your lower belly and toward your pubic bone.

“Agh! I—” He’s still pumping and there are small beads of cum weeping out the slit of his tip when’s rubbed all that he’s had left to give out. It drools off his dick and drips onto your lips. “I couldn’t help it…” he responds, knowing that he had nothing nearby to wipe you off with.

At least he had the sense not to come on your dress. 

Content with his performance, Satoru gives your butt one last cheeky pinch before tucking himself back into his pants. You close your legs. “We should do this more often.”

Shimmying your dress back to its proper state, you turn to him with a questioning glance. “What— What do you mean?” you ask.

You’re hyper-aware of his cum that’s beginning its slow descent down your leg. You need to take of that and fast.

Gojo points a tired finger between you and him, and then circling it around the room, he adds to this by saying, “Getting it on in public? I like it, it heightens the ‘experience’.”

You push him away from your body and mutter for him to shut up as you prop yourself off your back and into a proper sitting position. 

Throwing an arm across his face with his forearm shielding his eyes, Gojo laughs a little. “So, are we heading back in?” he asks you. “They must’ve cut the cake by now…”

You have the most insufferable boyfriend known to man. After this whole ordeal, he was still thinking about that fucking cake. 

“I can’t stand you, Satoru.”

thank you for reading :)

[pebblegalaxy]

The Intersection of Fashion and Socio-Political Commentary: Exploring the Impact of Clothing as a Form of Protest and Expression

The Intersection of Fashion and Socio-Political Commentary: Exploring the Impact of Clothing as a Form of Protest and Expression #FashionActivism #ClothingProtest #SocialJusticeFashion #CulturalCommentary #FashionForChange

Fashion Activism: The Power of Clothing in Socio-Political Commentary In recent years, fashion has transcended its traditional role as mere clothing and evolved into a powerful tool for socio-political commentary. From runway shows to streetwear, designers and individuals alike are utilizing fashion as a platform to express their views, challenge societal norms, and advocate for change. This…

[ponyboi-69]

Life and the world are heavy. Here’s my cat who forgot her tongue.

Read tags to learn more 🙃

[image ID: a brown striped tabby cat is sitting obliviously with quarter of its tongue sticking out while looking past the camera /End ID]