#especially not if it requires me to update

[stargatelov3r]

hmmmm..

*BOOP*

*runs*

(Trying to find a good gif and failing)

*dramatically drags myself across the floor trying to reach you*

*must. boop*

My paw trembles, just moments away from its goal it stops, i collapse completely, unable to boop.

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

gamers has this been done yet

[arolesbianism]

Y'know I should rly do a comb through of the wiki and correct any mistakes in the logs cause even if I'm too lazy to add all the ones not there it would make double checking the ones that are on there much easier

[navramanan]

This battery draining issue really is increasingly getting on my nerves

[feedthefandomfest]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

Very simple rules: connect 5 squares in a line by commenting on fics that suit the task in each square

Very simple goals: encourage readers to comment on older fics; encourage fandom writers to KEEP WRITING

STEPS:

Download Bingo Card HERE (png) or HERE (jpg) or HERE (pdf)

Complete the tasks on the card, marking off each as you go, until you've completed 5 in a line (vertical, horizontal, or diagonal; NO double-dipping; center ♥️ is a free space)

POST your winning card (or list your filled squares) and tag @feedthefandomfest! Glory in your victory.

SEARCH TIPS:

This card requires some familiarity with AO3's search filters. Once you've narrowed your results according to fandom/ship/additional tags, certain squares require you to sort the results by Date Updated, which is the default. Other squares require you to search for fics posted within a certain range of years, which you can do by scrolling on the search menu to More Options:

Note that to enter a date range, you must format the date as shown.

REWARD:

✨ victory badges ✨

New badge for this card, but here are examples from previous cards:

Tag me when you earn a bingo (or double, triple, quadruple... FULL CARD bingo) and I'll reblog a shiny badge with your name on it to commemorate the win.

FAQ:

Can I comment on tumblr or only on AO3?

Either one is great! This card especially is more designed with AO3 in mind, but some can be adjusted to suit tumblr as well, so I say go for it. Tumblr fics deserve love, too.

Can one comment count toward multiple squares if the fic fits more than one category?

Since the goal is for as many fics to receive comments as possible, try to comment on a different fic for each square.

Is there a time limit?

Nope! Take your time or set your own deadline, whatever works for you. This blog is still in its early experimental stage, so feedback welcome. Play around and let me know what you like and what might be added/changed—including ideas for squares on future cards!

Do I have to record progress on the actual card?

Nope! If it’s easier to keep track in a different way, that’s fine. This is all very honor system, so if you say you earned a Bingo, we’ll call it a win 🎉

Some people have been tracking not just completed tasks, but the fics they read along the way, so that when they post a bingo, they can also promote the fics/authors in a little rec list. Not required, but definitely cool to see!

Can I adjust the task in a particular square to suit my comfort level?

Of course! If you deliver something in the spirit of the task, then it’s all good. Use your best judgement in constructing a comment that will make the author smile, and you can consider it a job well done.

In general, so long as each square has produced at least one comment, you’re golden and I salute you 🫡

Happy commenting!!

[silentpinessave]

V.1: Silent Pines, 1998 Special Credit: Silent Pines is heavily inspired by and uses a very similar style to the stunning @windbrook savefile by @folkling, the gorgeous portsim savefile by @florwal, and the amazing builds by @moonwoodmillz. Thank you all for your hard work, I take a lot of inspiration from you all. Silent Pines is a base-game only save file inspired by Life is Strange with 3 major worlds, a whole new set of townies, and a complete mystery to solve.

Version 1 contains;

Willow Creek as Silent Pines

13 Community Lots

3 move-in ready homes for your sims

A total of 9 houses, 6 of which are filled with townies

18 households with jobs, story, and drama

A complete mystery to solve (should you want to)

DOWNLOAD, INFO, AND SCREENSHOTS BELOW

I used S4Studio to rename all the worlds, and I've decorated all the neighbourhoods with T.O.O.L. As I said before, Silent Pines is completely base-game friendly, absolutely no packs or kits are used. There is some custom CC, mainly posters that add to the story. The CC is one package file and adds nothing other than some customisation to the story. It is not required.

For example the missing poster of Cleo Emerson, a girl who disappeared under mysterious circumstances;

SPECIAL THANKS Thank you to my beta testers @theemodernsim, @authorspirit, @acuar-io, @aridridge for all your help! You've been amazing and I really am very grateful. And thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, followed, and generally supported Silent Pines. It means the world to me to be able to share my work with people!

🌲 Download (Patreon) 🌲

Gallery ID: Cosmoosims

DISCLAIMER: There have been reports of the 'build mode item missing' message popping up, especially in the downtown area. I've tried to fix this to the best of my ability, and I hope it's alright! Also, if there is anything I should fix or have left out, please let me know. Thank you for your patience <3

ALSO: Due to the Sims 4 being a broken game, I really don't recommend playing Silent Pines with Rental Units, in case the T.O.O.L objects up and disappear lol.

Silent Pines is heavily inspired by Life is Strange, the Windbrook save file, florwalsims' Portsim save file, as well as the hazy nostalgia of the late 90s and early 2000s. I hope to see you all soon for V.2!

The Mystery Update A more comprehensive outline for this update will be coming soon, but essentially it will contain;

Hopefully the fixed Harris household

More mystery clues to make the mystery more engaging and easier to solve

Better and complete lot descriptions

Love from, Silent Pines.

[fairy-princette]

Got an email from my work that I need to update my ‘equality and diversity’ info - shockingly my ethnicity hasn’t changed since I got the job

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Updated! A few days ago the contract Crowley signs in S1 came up on discord. Being the crazy person that I am, I set on the quest of finding out what it actually says. I couldn't make out everything, especially at the end where Crowley's hand and the sparks obscure the lines but I made out most of it (transcript below the break).

One of the things I like the most is that the contract specifically says "Anthony Crowley of Mayfair, London." In the book, Hastur tells Crowley not to use that name: "No. Not A. J. Crowley. Your real name.” Crowley nodded mournfully, and drew a complex, wiggly sigil on the paper. It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded."

Interesting things:

The contract is referred to as "the Agreement" - HA!

The contract is between Hastur and Ligur ("the Customer") and Crowley ("the Service Provider"). Not with Hell itself or with Satan.

The contract never actually says what "the Service" is nor does it say how much Crowley is supposed to be paid (so is it just delivering the baby to the convent, or all the upbringing too?)

There is a part that says Hastur and Ligur will pay the costs when the operation is done. But later on it also says that Crowley will not be reimbursed for his own expenses. Talk about being shortchanged!

Hastur and Ligur will NOT provide any help

Crowley must contribute to a retirement plan (Superannuation) for himself and his employees if he has any (how thoughtful)

And lastly, I learned the UK has Superannuations and it is not just an Australian thing! (go figure! the things GO teaches me)

So here you have it. A contract from Hell! literally If anyone can make out the words I couldn't or finds an error, please let me know and I'll update this one.

Full transcript:

[Line covered by clip and Ligur’s fingers] (the "Agreement")

BETWEEN

HASTUR AND LIGUR of HELL (the "Customer")

AND

ANTHONY J CROWLEY of MAYFAIR LONDON (the "Service Provider")

BACKGROUND a. The Costumer is of the opinion that the Service Provider has the necessary qualifications experience and abilities to provide services for the Customer. The Costumer will pay the Service Provider per project agreed. Each project has its own costs and the Service Provider agrees to inform the Customer what are the costs involved when setting the operation and the Costumer agrees to pay the total amount when the project is delivered. b. The Compensation will be payable upon completion of the Services. The Service Provider is responsible for paying any Superannuation Guarantee contributions that may be required in relation to the work performed by the Service Provider or by the employees of the Service Provider under this Agreement c. The above Compensation includes all applicable sales tax, and dues as required by law

Provision of Extras a. The Customer will not provide any resources, assistance or extra for use by the Service Provider in providing the Services Reimbursement of Expenses b. The Service Provider will not be reimbursed for expenses incurred by the Service Provider in connection with providing the Services of this Agreement. Independence of Services c. In providing the Sevices under the Agreement it is expressly agreed that the Service Provider is acting as an independent contractor and not as an employee. The Service Provider and the Customer acknowledge that the Agreement does not create a partnership or joint venture between them, and is exclusively a contract for service

Notes a. All suits, requests, demands or other communication required or permitted by the terms of this Agreement by will be given in writing and delivered to the Parties of the Agreement as follows

ANTHONY J CROWLEY of MAYFAIR LONDON

HASTUR AND LIGUR of HELL

and each [Illegible words due to Crowley’s hand] notify the other.

[ILLEGIBLE WORD]

ANTHONY J CROWLEY

[choerypetal]

Little Accidents / Paul Atreides

Summary: Paul's obliviousness was soon shattered when frequent visits to the nursing room revealed the true essence of love at first sight.

Ps: This is a short fluff I had in mind, but I hope you enjoy and also english isn't my first language so bare with minimal errors, (once upload i always make sure to update now my works, if there is any errors) Enjoy! XOXO

As the heir of the Atreides' House, Paul effortlessly following in his father's esteemed footsteps. He possesses an acute sense of ownership, ensuring he's well aware of everything under his purview. Whether it's news of your battle injuries or workplace mishaps, Paul is always the first to know, abandoning any prior engagements to rush to your aid. While you're being tended to, his concern is palpable; his eyes scan for any signs of harm as he utters all while using the voice. ‘Where?’ This gesture of worry has become familiar, a reassurance you've grown accustomed to, especially when your visits to the infirmary often serve as an excuse to steal moments with him. ‘Dropped a weapon on my foot,’ you explain with a hint of ruefulness, ‘guess my impatience got the better of me, inadvertently knocking out one of the armories. Pity.’

Indeed, quite a pity. Paul couldn't help but notice your composure, devoid of any telltale signs of injury. It either seemed that the nurse had efficiently tended to you before his arrival—a stroke of luck, perhaps. However, Paul wasn't fooled; this wasn't the first time you'd urgently summoned him to the infirmary. Today, he harbored suspicions that you might finally reveal the true reason behind your frequent visits. “If you'd prefer I refrain from using the Voice," he remarked, a hint of seriousness in his tone, "you'll need to be more forthcoming than simply labeling it an accident, my dear."

However, you eventually reassured the head nurse, explaining that it was merely a minor issue requiring attention. Your heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and affection as Paul insisted on tending to your wounds himself, rather than delegating the task to anyone else. As the room cleared, leaving just the two of you alone, Paul attempted to devise a plausible excuse while discreetly observing your work. This added another layer of challenge for him, yet he remained determined to keep a watchful eye on you. “Now tell,” A pregnant pause was felt soon as he sat next to you. “How I am suppose to know, that there is probably more reason than just a visit at the nursery?” 

You find yourself drawn in by his innocence, but observing Paul working alongside his father and their associates, it becomes evident that innocence was not his defining trait anymore. In fact, there's a possibility he understands more than he lets on. Maybe he's even willing to engage in the game you're playing. You nonchalantly dismiss any concerns, offering the excuse that you're just adding a bit of spice to the situation. However, Paul's reaction suggests that perhaps it's not the right moment to discuss such matters, especially anything related to the Spice itself.

Paul tilted his head, almost taking offense at your attempt at humor. Despite his awareness of your desire to spend more time alone with him, he understood that convincing him to stay a little longer each time wasn't as simple as it seemed. Even if his attempts at pampering you, like tending to invisible wounds that morphed into cuddle sessions, were charming, he recognized that your discussions about the 'Spice' were more about politics than relaxation. Poor thing– that was all he knew about out. This realization led to a soft chuckle from you, followed by an apology for bringing up the topic. However, Paul dismissed your apology, urging you not to discuss such matters, especially around him, as he couldn't help but wonder why you frequented the nursing room more often than before. “Now tell me, or I might just become as impatient as you’ll be when demanding kisses..”

His voice trailed off, almost seductive when Paul was right about to expose this little game of yours. Instantly you could feel his lip curve slightly into a smirk as he saw your expression, your eyes winding in shock, trying your very best to obliged. That you were the one who meant to shock Paul out of his work for some time but, perhaps you were indeed right about your wonders. That in fact, Paul knew that the exact reasons why you obliged yourself to the nursing room more often than ever. Only to find out, it was to spend more time with him. But Paul being himself, being the type of guy that he is, did not to confess his wrong at first or to be completely oblivious. After all– he is the duke’s son. 

"So, let me get this straight," Paul Atreides began, his tone tinged with a mixture of disbelief and introspection. "I, Paul Atreides, am so easily ensnared by your little charade? It's rather disheartening, truth be told." There was a hint of a pout on his lips as he contemplated your adeptness at expressing your desires, though he couldn't entirely fault you for it. With the constant demands of dealing with the Harkonnens and managing CHOAM affairs, finding time for you had become more challenging than he and you had anticipated. 

Unlike his parents, whose marriage was purely political, Paul had chosen a different path, one where your presence held a significance beyond mere political alliances. For him, building a future within the confines of the Atreides' House with you by his side was a deeply personal and cherished desire. Material wealth could wait; what mattered most was the connection he shared with you. With a sigh, he reached out to gently caress your cheek, a silent acknowledgment of your correctness all along. Perhaps it was time to prioritize his own happiness, even if it meant putting paperwork aside momentarily. "Maybe you're onto something," he admitted, his voice softening. "Perhaps you’re right, perhaps it's time for me to take a break from the endless bureaucracy and spend some quality time together. After all, even I need to unwind–."

Paul's words carried a weight of remorse rarely heard, especially within the esteemed Atreides family. As he neared the end of his sentence, you leaned in swiftly, feeling the soft brush of his lips against yours in a lingering kiss. The longing shared between you both was palpable, though circumstances often made indulgence impractical, intensifying the desire even more. When Paul finally pulled away, he gently nibbled at your lower lip, a playful chuckle escaping him at the sudden surge of hunger between the two of you. There was an undeniable yearning to touch, caress, and love you. "Perhaps I'll request a day off," he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of promise. “Perhaps you will.” You both end up chuckling as he cups your face, his eyes gazing from your eyes to your lips. Paul confessed once more,

“And perhaps, we don't always have to use the excuse of happy accidents, so I can exile from paperwork every now and then.” 

[blackbirdie1234]

Paul's Imprint

What being Paul’s imprint would be like.

A/N: Not proofread. Hope you guys enjoy this and let me know if you would like me to do the other pack members or the Cullens(what being their mates/bloodsingers would be like). I really appreciate all of the likes and reposts! Thank you all so much and I am glad you like my fics :)

Being Paul’s imprint would require A LOT of patience.

He has a soft spot for you, so his anger wouldn’t be taken out on you or directed much toward you, but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t see his bad side. When someone in the pack pisses him off he usually gets upset and phases. They fight it out, and then he comes home. He is either still upset or wants serious attention. If it’s the former expect some attitude and him taking it out on basically everything else but you. He might be aggressive with things, slamming things down and being loud. You would probably need to give him some time to cool off some more before trying to comfort him. If it’s the latter then you will have to have a cuddle session, his favorite position is laying in the bed or couch with his head in your chest and you playing with his hair and talking about your day. Your voice soothes him and calms him down, so he likes it when you talk to him. He could care less what you talk about, you could tell him about your day, or how much you hate that one girl in your math class because she chews gum loudly, you could literally talk about anything and he would be content. 

Being Paul’s imprint means a lot of love and affection.

When he isn’t on patrol, he is with you. He will be on you and hugging you all of the time. Now if you have trauma with affection or just don't like to be touched he would 100% respect your boundaries, but he would try and find small ways to show and get affection. Like holding your hand or even just touching his pinky against yours when you are next to each other. He would find ways that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable and was still getting his needs met. He doesn’t mind showing his affection in front of others either, he could give less of a fuck if the pack teases him. He loves you and doesn’t care who knows it. At the beginning of your relationship, he was very careful, learning what you liked and what you disliked. He was also very subtle with his affection but he still craved it just as much as he does now. He would softly play with the hair on the back of your head while talking by the fire, small and soft touches here and there, he would DEFINITELY do that thing where guys softly touch your waist while moving behind you.

Being Paul's imprint means you would spend a lot of time with the other imprints.

You would probably be close with the other imprints. Having a werewolf boyfriend isn’t exactly normal. You might feel alone or lost a bit in the beginning. Paul was one of the first to phase, which means you most likely were also one of the first imprints. Especially if you knew Paul before the transition. Emily was one of the first imprints you met, she was so sweet and welcoming to you, and your bond turned into a sibling relationship. She treated you like family right away and made sure you knew that you were always welcome. You met the others as they became a part of the family and now you spend a lot of your time with them. You do a bunch of group things together, shopping, baking, cooking, movie nights, and of course bonfires. You all enjoy each other's company. The boys are on patrol a lot and it helps everyone get their minds off of missing them. 

Being Paul’s imprint means late-night texts and calls.

Again, the boys are on patrol any time of the day or night. When Paul takes the night shift he makes sure to update you and let you know that he is safe. He is also expecting the same from you. He misses your voice, especially when your schedule gets busy and you can’t see each other as much. Sometimes he’s able to slip away for a second to see you, give you a hug and a kiss and then he is back out patrolling. He does it more often if he is patrolling near your house, mainly so he can do it quickly before Sam notices that he is missing and makes him come back.

Being Paul’s imprint means he is VERY protective of you.

He is already a protective person, it doesn’t matter if it is his friend, family, or even a stranger. He will take a bullet for someone he doesn’t know, it’s just in his nature. For you on the other hand, he would take that bullet and then hunt the person who shot it down until they beg you for forgiveness for even daring to THINK about hurting you, all the while he is still bloody and hurt. His protectiveness also correlates with his jealousy. He is a very jealous person when he is in a relationship. Even though you are his imprint he still can’t help but let the green-eyed monster loose whenever another person hits on you or checks you out. He knew you were hot, but you were for his eyes only. Being a werewolf means having to control your anger, but Paul was never really good at that, so most of the time it was you who had to calm him down. You didn’t want your boyfriend to maul someone, especially not in public. You were the only person who could calm him down fully, you would reach for him with your soft touch and everything else would fade away. Sometimes all you had to do was give him a stern look and he would cool himself off not wanting to make you upset. It bothered you sometimes how angry he would get, you tell him all the time that he is the only one for you and he has nothing to worry about but he still lets his jealousy get in the way of reasoning. 

[thee-horny-thicky]

Worship

A/N: This season has made me simp for both Akaza and Douma, so here's a smutty headcanon thing.

Akaza and Douma cannot stand each other. They’re complete opposites in almost every way, especially when it comes to their treatment of women. Akaza believes them to be untouchable, while Douma thinks that the most delectable flesh comes from beautiful young women.

However, they do have a single thing in common. Both men are huge fans of worshipping their partner’s body, in their own unique ways.

You see, both demon’s ideology steams from their adoration for women. Douma, being an egotistic hedonist, indulges his love for them by devouring their bodies, in my ways than one.

He enjoys making his partner feels good, as it's another way for his ego to be fed. Not only does he like their reactions, but he loves the taste of pussy. Yours in particular. He's a munch, your honor.

Getting a taste of your slick is a daily requirement, and when he's particularly desperate, he'll fall to his knees and pleasure you where you stand.

Given his sadistic streak, he adores blending pain and pleasure together. He’ll tie you up to make sure you can’t run from him, and when he’s feeling particularly cruel, he may blindfold you, so you won’t be able to guess his next move. The one thing he’ll never do, though, is gag you. He adores hearing your noises too much for that. He likes seeing you be pathetic, so he’s a huge fan of edging. He’ll play with you until you’re on the brink of orgasm, then stop his motions until you’re begging for him to let you cum. And once he does, he switches from edging to overstimulation. He’s a demon with stamina a human can only dream of, and he’ll keep going until you’re sobbing for him to stop. Often, you two are at it until the sun is peaking over the horizon.

And if you make him upset, he has an array of paddles and whips to spank you with.

On the flip side, Akaza despises the idea of inflicting pain onto women, making them completely off-limits when it comes to killing. When it comes to sex, he’ll treat you like the most precious thing in the world and draw orgasm after orgasm from you. He has a hard time expressing his emotions, so sex is his way of showing his love for you.

The only way he’ll taste a woman is when he goes down on her, and like any good munch, he’ll be licking and sucking for a while. His favorite way to eat you is when you’re resting on your forearms, ass propped in the air, and pussy on display. It gives him a great view of your glistening folds and throbbing clit, and when your pussy starts to get too sensitive from coming too many times, he’ll allow his tongue to venture to your ass. As taboo as it is, it makes you feel good, which is all he cares about. He doesn’t look like Sukuna for nothing.

Only when you’re well-prepared will he fuck you. He’s inhumanly large, and if you aren’t well-stretched and very lubricated, you have no hope of taking him. He’ll refuse to fuck you if your pussy isn’t dripping with your juices because God forbid that he hurts you.  There’s a reason those pants are baggy.  

Not only is his dick inhumane in size, but in appearance, too. His shaft has bulging veins and ridges that offer you some delicious stimulation. Instead of doming off, his cockhead is more of a pointed tip, providing you with an interesting sensation as he pounds into you. His unique additions make him even harder to take. But though the stretch may be a little painful, once you’re adjusted, he’ll have you drooling and cock drunk in no time ♥️

A/N: I might write a proper threesome with them because I'm down BAD 😩

Update: A year later, and I finally wrote a Douma/Reader/Akaza piece 🤭

[lqveharrington]

Behind the Scenes | V.

summary: Being Vox’s girlfriend requires some patience after twelve hour work days.

pairing: Vox x fem!reader

includes: Vox and Velvette bullying one another, VALENTINO BEING A MENACE, mentions of Angel’s job, drinking, fluff, yelling, Vox being a baby, cursing, implications of being a prostitute, suggestiveness, both of them being teases (that’s it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i think writing hazbin fics is my stress outlet 😭

You were Vox’s. And Vox was yours. Every demon and sinner in Pride Ring knew due to Vox taking time out of his busy work day to shower you with compliments in every press interview or host show when you were brought up. Especially when Vox would be the first one to find you after you finished modeling for Velvette’s show, making sure the paparazzi had photos of him praising you with kisses and soft touches.

Of course, you reciprocated every moment… In the public eye. Behind the cameras and screens, Vox was very much loving. But he did work for almost twelve hours each day, which required patience from you whenever he came home to you in a sour mood.

“Do you need me for anything else, Vel?” You glance back at your phone as you pour red wine into your glass.

“No,” She scribbled down measurement adjustments for another model’s design, looking back up at her screen after hearing an electrical shock from your side of the phone. “But do tell your boy toy that you have a dress rehearsal early tomorrow morning, and that you have to be there on time.”

Vox wrapped his arm around your waist, glaring at the young overlord through your phone. “Fuck off, Velvette.”

You feel him resting his head against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses on your neck, your dead heart fluttering. “I’ll be there on time.”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes at your boyfriend’s actions before ending the call.

“What’s your damage today, handsome?” You ask before sipping on your drink, red lipstick staining the clear glass. You watch as he mutters something incoherent, static emitting from his hat. “Vox, talk to me.”

“That bitch Carmilla won’t meet up, and it’s been several days since our last update on Vox technology.” He sighs as he moves around you, his voice crackling with electricity. “Shareholders have been up my fucking ass all morning about it— Valentino keeps trying to get me to watch his stupid porn feels featuring Angel.”

He removes his suit jacket as he complains, walking toward the large living space including a minibar. Vox pulls at his tie and reaches for the whiskey underneath, “Now Velvette wants to be an ass and complain about me wanting to spend time with you—“

“My love,” You hand him a glass from the cabinets, letting your hand linger on his for a bit. “Vel’s my boss, and I’m her best model. She needs me for these rehearsals.”

“You’re really taking her side?” He tilts back his head and downs the drink in one go, pouring another.

You roll your eyes at his childish behavior, “I’m not taking sides, I’m pointing out a fact.” You sit on the stool by the bar, letting him slot himself between your legs. “If anything, I’m listening to you describing your day.”

“Mm.” He let one hand come down and rest on your hip, rubbing soft circles. “Tell me about your day.”

“Boring, tiring. Pretty much the same every day.” You grab his wrist to ensure he doesn’t go any lower or any higher. “According to your assistant, I do have a lot of things planned tomorrow. So that should be exhausting.”

Vox linked your hands together, “Sounds stressful.”

“Not as bad as yours every day.” You press a kiss on his palm. “I was gonna watch a movie while waiting for you, but now that you’re here—“ You shift your wine glass in your hand as he puts his own glass down, letting him trail his hands to your waist. “Want to join me?”

“Of course.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before trailing after you. “What movie are we watching?”

“Whatever the first thing I find.” You let Vox sit on the couch before doing the same, swinging your legs over his lap. “You need a new rotation on Voxflix, I’ve watched almost everything.”

“I’ll get on that.” He mumbled as he ran his hand up and down your leg, occasionally squeezing.

You hum and shift your gaze to the television, scrolling through the different movies. “How do we feel about—“

A ringtone filled the air, both of you freezing at the noise.

“Vox—“

“Give me a second.” He let you pull your legs away and pulled the ringing from his screen to his phone, camera-ready voice leaving his mouth.

You sigh but find a movie worth watching, pulling your knees up. Around halfway through, you decided that the movie was meretricious, heavily judging the poorly made movie more than the other ones you’ve watched. You typed your review on your phone, giving the movie two stars before—

“—THEN GET SOME LOW LIFE SINNER TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB FOR YOU!” You heard Vox scream from the kitchen, making you wince for the poor soul on the other end. “AND IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SHIT I GIVE YOU, JUST KNOW I HAVE YOUR FUCKING SOUL IN CONTRACT!”

You pause the movie and get up, taking slow steps to your hotheaded boyfriend. He shuffled across the kitchen, walking back and forth as his fans kicked on. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up like he was going to commit a crime.

“YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—“

“Vox,” You come up from behind and wrap your arms around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s outside of your work hours.”

“Fucking—“ He rubbed his temple as he heard the sinner go silent on the other line. Vox took one hand and laced it with yours, “You’re lucky my wife is generous you ungrateful fuck.” He ended the call before muttering more curses, turning you in his arms so you were facing his front.

You let your hands move up to his shoulders, massaging the heavy tension in them. “Am I your wife now? Is that what you’ve been telling those sinners?”

“Maybe.” He let out a loud groan from the sensation, fans still running. “The fucking bitch in accounting is—“

“You’re not working right now, stop.” You give him a pointed look. “I need you to relax.”

Vox wrapped his arms around your waist, walking you backward toward the living area once more. “God, I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too.” You chuckle as he peppers kisses on your face. You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you into his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Vox!”

“Yes?” He pressed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

You sigh in content but grab the corners of his screen, giving him a cheeky grin. “Tomorrow, my love. Velvette will murder the both of us if I show up late with bruises.”

“I’ll pay her to let you have a day off tomorrow.” He slipped his hand up your shirt, sharp claws bringing chills to your skin.

“So now you’re paying to be with me?” You raise a brow, stifling a laugh when he stops all movements. “Am I some kind of—“

“Of course not! Do not finish that sentence.” He pushed you down on the couch, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh at how protective he is over you from himself. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, I was kidding.”

Vox dropped his head down to your shoulder, “You’re such a tease.”

“I’m the best.” You squeeze his bicep. “But seriously, Vel will have our heads strung outside the tower.”

“Whatever.” He flipped you both over, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I’ll have you all to myself this weekend.”

You hum, pressing a kiss on the corner of his screen. “I’m sure you do, handsome.”

“My love, I will cancel all your plans this weekend if you tell me I can’t have you.” Vox traces his finger down your spine. “Don’t tell me you have any.”

“I don’t…” You turn your head as he runs his claws through your hair. You feel yourself warm as he wraps a blanket over the both of you, flicking the television to play with a snap of his fingers.

“What do we rate the movie today?” He played with the ends of your hair, face pulling a grimace at the movie’s corny script.

“Two stars.” You mumble as your gaze shifts to the television. As the television fades to black in an awkward transition, you see Vox staring at you rather than the screen. “What are you looking at, weirdo?”

“My beautiful girlfriend.” He squeezed your hip. “Who I love very much.”

You let a small laugh slip through your lips, grinning brightly at his words. “I love you very much too, weirdo.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,�� he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[meowzfordayz]

analysis (; — hashira men

Author’s Note: took this not-actually-a-prompt and got carried away heh... 😌

analysis (; — hashira men

Himejima Gyomei x Reader, Iguro Obanai x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~2,200

CW: 18+NSFW, degrading language, explicit language, Fem!Reader, oral, spit, squirting

Thirst Fulfilled: I NEED someone to settle an argument between me and a friend-

Do you think sanemi has a big [redacted]-

Because I KNOW he is packing a huge one.

Ps I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to ask 😭

~faqs~

Update as of 12 May 2023: A foreword that these headcanons are first and foremost indulgent !! 😌 They are not intended to be realistic. They’re supposed to be fun. Hot. 🥵 Within the realm of possibility, but not ~normal. 😉

Dick so big it has him blushing 🤭

—I mean, c’mon: Look at him 😳

That being said, it’s also very pretty — not monstrous or scary (besides its size heh)

A nice, rounded head that oozes precum throughout foreplay, sensitive and rosy pink as you flick your tongue across it, thick and heavy balls tightening at the breathy moan in your throat

A delicate vein curves from its base to the underside of the tip, thankfully not too pronounced, bc it’ll stretch you out enough regardless

Speaking of stretch…

Your fingers can barely wrap around its girth — it’s much easier to drool and lap at the shaft than commit to anything close to deep throating (unless your jaw stamina’s through the roof 👀)

Doesn’t exactly groom himself, but that isn’t too much of an issue since it’s not like his pubic hair’s getting in your way too often (re: dick too huge to regularly deepthroat) 

As for length, Gyomei’s in the ball park of ~reasonable (10 inches when erect), but it still requires a hell of a lot of prep before you’re fully seated on his cock, ass flush against his flexed thighs while large, sweaty hands grip your hips in a feeble attempt to restrain himself from immediately thrusting into your dimly throbbing cervix

“This okay?” he murmurs, thumbs pressing firmly into the softness of your skin, low groan caught in his chest at the suffocating heat of your pussy, your shaky, faintly pained breaths keeping his desire in check

“Take as much time as you need,” as you use his stomach to steady yourself, muscles rippling beneath your palms

“You feel wonderful,” whispered gently—patient as ever—even as he longs to raise your trembling body up and almost off of his cock, only to fuck the air out of your lungs w/ a single, smooth drop of your wanton weight, unsuspecting wail music to his ears as you convulse in orgasm at the overwhelming pressure of his cock stuffing your puffy walls

Obanai’s closer to average, but he isn’t small (at least, his dick isn’t 😆 #short king)

Def a grower, slim, veiny shaft elongating (to ~6 inches) as you stroke him w/ a practiced flick of your wrist

Not exactly related to his dick, but he also def growls during foreplay, needy and eager to melt into you and to ruin you — just depends on his mood, yanno?

His head is the kind of head that you almost wanna chomp 🤗, all squishy, bulbous, and fat, quickly reddening and weeping precum, making a mess of your fingers

Perfect lubrication for touching yourself while sucking him off, gleam in his eyes at how filthy you are

Typically can’t be bothered to trim his pubic hair, but it doesn’t get especially long anyway — more so coarse and curly

His shaft doesn’t stretch you out significantly, sliding easily into your slick heat, hovering above you as his hands keep your legs parted widely, “You like being splayed out for me, hm?” pinching lightly at your inner thigh, grinning smugly as you whimper contently, “My precious plaything.”

But it (his shaft) does have a wicked, upward curve, tip grinding firm and repetitive against the spongy bundle of nerves deep in your pussy

And its veins 🤤

What he lacks in girth, he makes up for in texture

Plus, Obanai 11/10 fucks aggressive and erratic, pubic bone flush to your clit, friction delicious and constant as he thrusts full force into your hole, sweat dripping from his brow onto your clavicle, his eyes narrowed in lust and passion, balls slapping sticky against your asshole, less concerned about hurting you since he’s aware that he isn’t ~the biggest guy on the block

Altho, if he’s tired, then he lowkey enjoys you on top, edging him w/ every slow and steady undulation of your hips, your tits pressed warm and hot to his chest as he clings to you and the squelch of your cunt

For whatever reason, my immediate thought was: Raging! Hard! On! 😂😍

Kyojuro’s absolutely packing, but still decently proportionate to his stature (177cm aka 5’10”)

—Bc, contrary to porn-pular belief, comically large dicks hurt 😒💀

8 inches erect, and a sizeable bulge when flaccid

—Never thought I’d use this term, bc (imo) it’s hot when I’m horny, but 🥴 when I’m ~sober 😆…

BREEDER BALLS

As much as Kyojuro loves worshiping your pussy, he might love when you worship his balls more 🤭

You kissing, sucking, licking his balls while he jerks himself off = 100% orgasm guarantee

Drooling on his shiny, reddening tip, your spit trickling down between his fingers, making a mess of your lips as you return to fondling his balls w/ your mouth?

110% orgasm guarantee

Prefers cumming on your tits, btw — will stave off his orgasm until you can get ~in position ☺️

Nothing like an even messier round two 😎

Bc, ofc, he is more than happy to reciprocate the pleasure 💞

W/ enough girth to warrant a gradual sinking (vs an abrupt thrust to the hilt), his shaft fills you breathless, its last couple of inches just barely fitting into your heat

“Can’t believe you’re already hard again,” you giggle delightedly, eyes hazy as he smears his cum across your nipple, throbbing head pressing deeper into your pussy, “You’re insatiable, I swear.”

A heady groan is his only response, gaze bright and attentive as always, reaching for your hand, dipping your thumb into his cum splatter, tasting himself on your skin as he maintains eye contact

“Fuck,” you gasp, pussy clenching at his nonchalance, tongue swiping subconsciously along your bottom lip

“Taste?” he offers, enthusiastic tone muted by the determined pressure of him lapping at your other nipple, his cum bitter and warm as he kisses you sloppy and needy, grip gentle on your jaw as he inhales your scent

And then you whisper Umai!

One word: brutal 😵‍💫

Not bc he’s ridiculously hung (i.e. Gyomei), but bc he’s ridiculously good (at using his dick)

—I actually headcanon Sanemi being a ~bashful virgin (sex can be intimate, and intimacy can be scary, but he loves you, so if that means being soft and scared w/ you… then he’s willing to go there 🥺🤍), buuut once he’s comfortable/well practiced?

—😈😈😈

Not much of a show-er when flaccid (and absolutely, positively shriveled when cold 😂), but an ideal 7 inches when erect w/ girth in between Gyomei and Kyojuro (slimmer than Gyo, thicker than Kyo)

His tip seems to get ~angrier the longer you tease him, going from an almost cute pink to an engorged, lustful red — def the hardest part about fitting him in your pussy, breath catching every time he finally slips into your dripping hole

Which, he has to get you dripping before attempting to penetrate, or at least use lube, bc rushed sex + his dick = not super enjoyable

Alternatively, he’ll facefuck you to get his dick wet enough for your pussy, 7 inches manageable, albeit veering on unpleasant, your nails digging into his flexed ass as he shoves himself languid and satisfied into your mouth, head twitching and leaking precum down the back of your throat whenever you gag on his length

“Watch your teeth,” he grunts lowly, tugging warningly at your hair, swallowing a moan as his cock muffles your whimper, eyes watering at his roughness, “Don’t make me gag and choke you,” calloused fingers brushing soothingly—promisingly—at your neck

In terms of pubic hair, he keeps it neatly trimmed, but not clean shaven: he likes hearing—seeing—the filthy mess of your saliva, tears, and precum as he fucks up and into your pussy

“Is this fast enough for you?” he snarls, your body balanced precariously atop his pelvis, grip nearly bruising on your hips as he smirks knowingly, “Obviously not,” pace frenzied as you moan raggedly, “If you’re still moaning like a whore, then it isn’t fast enough.”

Feet shifting beneath him in search of a different angle, grin triumphant and deadly as you shout silently, head tilted backward, tits bouncing in mesmerizing sync w/ his thrusts

“There we go,” he murmurs, balls tightening at your fucked out expression, “There’s my perfect cunt, squeezing all pathetic and hopeless around my cock,” stamina never ending, pussydrunk on the feeling of you, “Can’t wait for you to cum on my cock, gonna make this cunt so fucking sloppy.”

The prettiest dick 😭

—Ik I mentioned Gyomei’s dick being pretty too, but Giyuu takes pretty to another lvl 🥺

Aka Giyuu has the Goldilocks Cock™ 💀

Just shy of 7 inches, w/ thin veins that curl neat and yummy around his shaft — which, btw, is thick enough to have you pushing on his shoulders Slowly, p-please as the tip catches on your entrance, his eyes hooded and glassy as he ignores you in favor of thrusting in further Sorry not sorry at all You feel so g-good

A faint shudder trembles down his spine, pooling in his groin, traveling along his girth, head twitching in the viscous grip of your heat

Maintains a tidy patch of pubic hair, delicate happy trail tantalizing and subtle whenever he stretches 🥱

As for his balls… once again: Goldilocks Balls™ 🤤

Optimally sized for sucking into your mouth, hanging beautifully even, downy hairs tickling your nose as he cups the back of your head, quiet groans spilling from his cherry bitten lips as you glance toward his fluttering lashes, your vision obscured by the muscle of his tensed inner thigh

Giyuu’s fave position? 

—for these headcanons, at least 😆

Cowgirl 🤠 #yee #haw

Your pussy clings to his shaft like a greedy vice, creamy essence smearing from your swollen folds to his lower abdomen, tits presented as you arch backward, using his legs to steady yourself as you fuck yourself on his (perfect) cock

“Touch yourself,” he demands softly, spreading your asscheeks w/ surprisingly cool hands, easily supporting your weight, eyes closing at the satisfying smack of your skin bouncing against his

“Touch yourself till you cum,” his biceps hardly straining as you chase your orgasm, rhythm smooth and delectable, “I want to feel you fall apart,” murmured slick and gentle, in stark contrast to the lewd squish of his balls tapping your asshole

“C’mon sweetheart, fall apart for me, so gorgeous on my cock, love feeling you gush all over me.”

—I pondered long and hard about Tengen’s dick (both puns intended 🤗)

—Lemme organize my thoughts for a sec…

—Girth (from wide to slim): Gyomei, Tengen, Sanemi, Kyojuro, Giyuu, Obanai

—Length (from long to ~short): Gyomei, Tengen, Kyojuro, Sanemi, Giyuu, Obanai

In other words, as the second tallest, Tengen also happens to be the second biggest 🙃

—I initially considered putting him behind Kyo in terms of length, but 198cm aka 6’6” vs 177cm aka 5’10”... the math just wouldn’t have mathed 😆

Erect, Tengen measures a solid 9 inches, and if Obanai’s dick is veiny, then Tengen’s dick = veins GALORE 😵

“Even my dick is flashy! 😎” “It has ✨decor✨!”

His shaft bends slightly downward (blame gravity — his dick’s so fucking heavy 😌), so certain positions can be a bit tricky, but damn if he doesn’t rearrange your insides 🤪

Def enjoys being the center of attention, fucking slow and confident into your stretched out hole, dirty talk muffled by Makio’s thighs as he maintains a steady rhythm licking her folds, Hina’s index finger slim and practiced as she stimulates your clit, Suma’s tongue gliding wet and hot against Tengen’s taint

“What was that?” Makio coos, eyes twinkling as she grinds firmly onto Tengen’s mouth, “We can’t understand you dear,” squealing when he smacks her tits, “You seem a bit preoccupied, try speaking up.”

“S-shit,” you gasp, gripping Hina’s hand, pressure building as Tengen thrusts sharply into you, “D-don’t encourage him Makio,” whining as Hina latches onto your nipple, sucking lightly

“Why not?” Makio giggles, ass wiggling playfully, “Can’t take it?” knowing all too well that, ultimately, your pussy’s paying the price for her teasing

“Hm, you’re so messy babe,” Suma sighs contently, pausing her ministrations to kiss Tengen’s thigh, lips shiny w/ spit and your essence, “Seems like you want Makio to encourage him.”

Hina nods in agreement, eyes narrowed devilishly, twisting your other nipple, “Her clit’s throbbing,” spoken w/ unbearable casualness, “I think she’s going to cum.”

“Are you going to cum?” Tengen asks conversationally, finally taking a breath from Makio’s pussy, engorged tip twitching in your cunt, “I’ve hardly ruined you, and you’re already spasming on my cock.”

“T-tengen,” you whimper, clenching at his taunting tone, falling forward, cheek smooshed into Makio’s back, “So fucking d-deep,” stuttering as the new angle forces his fat head flush to the entrance of your cervix

“Think we can get her to squirt?” Tengen hums smugly, a hypothetical question, really, as you begin convulsing, pussy gushing messily onto his stomach, Hina’s hand glistening, ignoring your meek mewls of T-too much! as she continues rubbing your clit, Suma lapping at your cum as it coats Tengen’s balls, trickling between his asscheeks

[so-i-did-this-thing]

FLORIDA TRANS PALS, IT IS TIME TO PLAN

Especially if you are on HRT!

HB1421 is a bill that severely affects access to gender affirming care, including for adults. It outlines goals to:

1) Prohibit changing gender markers on birth certificates

2) Require that gender affirming care only come from physicians (not nurse practioners) who take on liability insurance for 30 YEARS after they provide care to a patient

3) Require informed consent forms at every single appointment, including distributing literature to dissuade patients

4) Ban transition care completely for minors

5) Make it so providers who accept state funds cannot provide gender affirming services (this is the big one that stands to affect anyone who takes medicare/aid, is a university, etc.).

6) Make it so providers who accept state funds cannot reimburse for gender affirming services.

We are facing a return to the Harry Benjamin days, or worse, an effective ban unless you are fortunate/wealthy enough to find a willing provider.

If it passes, this bill would take effect July 1, 2023. That is not a lot of time.

I would not count on any Rx or refill request to be honored after this date if the prescribing and dispensing sources no longer are allowed to grant care or decide to drop care because of the penalties.

July 1, 2023. Unless we hear otherwise, that is your clock.

This sucks, but there is comfort in seeing a clear date to plan around and the worst case is no longer completely unknown. It begins July 1.

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YOUR HOMEWORK, DUE ASAP:

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1) Get any and all your HRT appointments in now, including picking up your meds and doing bloodwork promptly.

2) If you think you will be living in FL come July, start looking now for providers where physicians - not NPs - provide the care. Get an appointment on the books for July. Be prepared to go in person for everything after July 1, because I believe telemed will also be shit-canned. Here is a map of informed consent providers.

3) If you are an old like me, also dig up your HRT permission slip from your therapist. Fuck, make a packet of all your transition documents, including Rx history.

4) If you are on private insurance, start budgeting now to prepare to pay out of pocket.

5) Create a simple spreadsheet of all your HRT dates (pls forgive, my experience is with shots on a 2 week cycle, so this is pretty easy for me to do) and plan out how long your current supply will last. Then, forecast how long all your upcoming refills before July 1 will last. Update it every time you pick up and take your meds. Refer to it for decisions like moving or finding backup providers.

6) Subscribe to the bill to get notified of changes asap

7) Follow this site to keep tabs on other very scary bills happening in Florida, including a bathroom ban and a child custody bill that is effectively kidnapping

8) If you need to change your birth certificate, do it now, pay the rush fees and write RUSH on the envelope. The Department of Health has the most up-to-date forms. Processing time for rush I last saw was around 18 business days.

9) Now that your own oxygen mask is on, so they say, boost mutual aid and recruit allies to assist in any way possible.

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Do try to continue seeing your current provider as long as possible, as they likely will need your support. Talk to them frankly about their plans if the bill passes.

Now. I am just a little guy and not a legal expert, but the aggressive enactment date on this bill makes me feel like everyone should plan now instead of waiting to see if it passes.

Be safe, plan, and then get a little rest. Do not lose hope - this bill could still fail.