#i think i blacked out writing this

[beauty-brains-braun]

His Pet

****18+ Minors DNI****

Wherein Yuji occasionally lets Sukuna borrow his girlfriend because you begged.

Pairings: Sukuna/FemReader, Yuji/FemReader (mentioned)

Please pay special attention to the tags on this one.

Tags/Tws: Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Heavy Degradation, Humping, Foot Humping, Pet Names, Face Slapping, Spanking, Anal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Vaginal Fingering, AFAB reader, She/Her pronouns, Master/Pet Themes, Reader is referred to as bitch and other similar names, Rough Sex, All Consensual, Unprotected Sex, Cumming inside, Not Beta Read, Aged-Up Character(s)

“Tell me. Do you really think you deserve my cock?” Sukuna asks mockingly. “Do you think your slutty little hole deserves for me to stuff it full?

“Please” you beg.

“Pathetic.” He says with a grin. “Does begging for a bone like a bitch excite you? Are you dripping right now over how much of a needy little whore you are? Do you feel shame in being so desperate for me? Or are you so cockstarved, you barely notice?”

The collar on your throat stands out against your skin as you look up at him with pleading eyes from where you kneel at his feet.

The sight of the tag swinging on it only widens his smirk and he reaches out to run his finger across it.

It read “If lost, return to Yuji Itadori.” The brat had been the one who'd gotten it for you. Who'd fastened it around your throat and immediately fucked you with the attached leash pulled tight as Sukuna watched from his domain.

His hand with you wasn't quite as firm as Sukuna's but he'd been pleasantly surprised by the brat’s relationship with you overall. How one dip inside your glorious pussy had awoken a beast in him that neither Sukuna or Itadori had known was there.

You were truly a work of art, though Sukuna would never admit he thought that way about any human. The first time he had gained control of Itadori’s body near you, he'd fucked you into the mattress so hard you'd cum on his cock 4 times, crying by the last one, unable to even hold yourself up.

You'd begged Itadori to let Sukuna out more often ever since that night. The brat always had him promise not to leave this apartment or to kill or maim you. He'd had no problem agreeing. He didn't want to kill you, preferring to bring you to your lowest and then pleasure you until you soared.

The brat always acted like he was doing you a huge favor by sharing you but Sukuna knew better. He knew how much Itadori got off to him fucking you. He got off to you groveling and begging him to let the curse fuck you and then he got off to watching Sukuna make you fall apart.

Sukuna jerks on the leash and you fall forward, catching yourself with your hands braced to the floor before you could land face down.

“What would you do for me to fuck you?” He asks casually.

“Anything.” You answer without hesitation. You immediately recognize that the smile spreading across Sukuna's face should have caused you fear but you’re too far gone already.

“Hump my foot.” He says, leaning back on the couch he was sitting on and sliding his right foot forward.

You froze, looking up at him in surprise “what?”.

Sukuna reaches out and smacks you, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your pussy. “That’s not how you address me and it was not a request. Now hump my foot like the bitch you are and I may let you cum.”

Shame fills you as you crawl over to him and position your dripping cunt on his foot. The pressure against your clit feels embarrassingly good and you don’t hesitate for more than a second before you start grinding yourself against his foot.

He laughs cruelly at you and your pussy throbs with need in response. You move your hips desperately pressing yourself against his foot, chasing your orgasm. Your arms circle around his leg instinctively and you moan as the angle change puts more pressure on your clit.

“Are you close?” he asks you, deep voice full of mockery, and your skin burns with shame as you nod. You speed up, movements becoming even more erratic as you near your orgasm.

“Stop.” He commands clearly and god help you, you actually whine.

He leans forwards slightly and cradles your head with his hand, rubbing his thumb against your hair like you really are his pet. Maybe you are. His little pet human.

“Such a good slut for me.” He says quietly and your cunt throbs from the praise he doesn’t give often.

He fists his hand in the back of your hair and stands up, dragging you to your feet with him. You stand there as his grip on your hair pulls your head back at a sharp angle so that you’re able to stare into his eyes. He uses his other hand to shove two of his fingers into your mouth, pushing them to the back of your throat until you gag and drool runs down your chin. He pulls them out but commands you to keep your mouth open. You do so watching as his own spit drips into your mouth, coating your tongue unfamiliarly. You swallow on instinct as he watches with approval, feeling like you might cum from the pulsing of your cunt alone.

He releases your hair but grabs the back of your neck, moving you so that your knees sink down onto the couch and you’re bent over the back of it. He brings one of his fingers, still wet with your own drool to your rim and begins to circle it as his other hand plays with one of your hardened nipples. Occasionally his finger dips just slightly into your ass and your cunt clenches around nothing.

“Do you want me to fuck you, my pet?” he asks you.

“Please, please, please” you immediately start to beg until he shushes you.

“So needy” he teases and pushes his thick digit all of the way into your ass, fucking you with it slowly. You arch your back and whine. Two more of his fingers enter your cunt and you try to grind down on them instantly.

He pulls away and you can’t stop the “no” his withdrawal pulls from your throat.

His palm crashes against your ass sharply and you cry out, pain and pleasure dancing through you. He pulls tight on your leash and your back arches, seconds before his palm lands again and then again.

“Don’t be impatient.” he growls, spanking you one more time.

“I’m sorry.” You say immediately, your voice pleading.

“Sorry what?” He asks, voice low. He runs the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it in your slick.

“I’m sorry, master” You try again and are immediately rewarded by his cock thrusting into your cunt. The stretch burns a little because no matter how many times you’re fucked with this cock, either by him or by Yuji, no matter how dripping and ready you are, it still fills you so impossibly full.

Sukuna pushes himself in to the hilt and loosens the pressure on your leash. You fall forwards slightly and grip the back of the couch. “You have the neediest cunt I’ve felt.” he tells you, enjoying the way it pulses around him. “Hold on tight.”

That’s all of the warning you get before he pulls almost all of the way out and slams back into you hard. He begins to fuck into you in earnest and the room quickly fills with your sounds of pleasure. His cock fills you perfectly from this position and you can already feel that familiar tightening low in your belly.

“Don’t hold back” he commands. “I want to feel you cum on my cock as many times as your greedy cunt will do so.”

At his words, you came instantly, already so worked up from before. He allows a low groan to leave him as your cunt clamps down around his cock, milking him tightly. He pulls you back, flush against his chest as he continues to fuck into you roughly. He kisses your neck, just above your collar, almost sweetly in sharp contrast to his rough fucking and harsh personality but then he nips at it sharply and releases you.

You catch yourself on the back of the couch again and he grabs your hips with both hands. His powerful thrusts make the tag on your collar clink, reminding you that it’s there, that you’d let yourself be collared and leashed and enjoyed it, as his balls slap against your clit roughly and you feel another orgasm begin to build.

“You really are something, my pet.” His voice behind you is a mixture of mockery and pride. “The dirtiest, more desperate whore I’ve met and I’ve been around a long time. A filthy bitch who begs her loving boyfriend to let a monster fuck her and then almost humps herself to orgasm on his foot. You might be even lower than a dog because you understand how pathetic you are. How wrong all of this is and you do it anyway, driven by your needy cunt. You beg for it.”

You cum again, this time so hard your vision fills with white and your legs shake so hard, you know that if it wasn’t for Sukuna’s tight grip on your hips, you wouldn’t still be kneeling. Your orgasm seems to go on forever and he fucks you through it, chuckling lowly.

“That’s my girl” he murmurs when you’re done then falls silent, concentrating on the feeling of your cunt squeezing around him and your sounds of pleasure. He follows the sight of the sweat rolling down your beautiful back and takes in the shape of your ass, still red with his marks. He knew he was going to cum soon and he wanted you to go one more time before he did.

Your legs are still shaking from pleasure but you manage to hold yourself up when he slowly releases your hips. He pushes his finger back into your ass and you push yourself back, meeting his thrusts.

He moves his other hand around you to the front and rubs circles on your swollen clit, in rhythm with the cock and the finger both fucking into you .

“Oh, god. Oh fuck. Oh god.” you’re practically chanting under your breath as he continues his ministrations, never once slowing his thrusts.

“I can’t cum again” you whine but he knows you can. That you’re already so close.

“You can, pet.” He says it firmly. “You will. Cum for me. Cum for your master like a good slut.”

Sukuna pushes a second finger into your ass and your orgasm crashes into you. Your cunt squeezes him so tightly, it pulls a full moan from him and he doesn’t even have time to be bothered by the loss of control because you milk his cock until his release pours into you, filling you. He keeps thrusting, riding out both of your orgasms and watches as some of his cum leaks out around his cock. He has to hold in another moan at the sight and pushes himself back in as far as he can, rutting against you and pushing his cum in deep with his cock.

The overstimulation eventually becomes painful and he forces himself to pull out of you. He spreads your cheeks and holds them open for a minute so he can watch his cum leak out of your swollen pussy and down onto the couch below you. He loves the sight of you marked with his cum. Marked as his in this moment just as clearly as the collar marked you as the brat’s.

Speaking of the brat, he can already feel him taking back over now that Sukuna had cum and this bargain was fulfilled. Aggravating little shit.

Sukuna reaches for you and pulls your head back so that your eyes meet his. An affection for him that should not be there is reflected in their depths and he frowns just slightly. He can’t stop himself, exhibiting yet another loss of control, as he leans down and claims your mouth in a deep and searing kiss moments before he is pushed back into his domain.

He sits back in his throne, watching as Itadori continues the kiss Sukuna had started. One day he’ll have complete control of that brat’s body and you’ll kneel by his side as the world burns.

[softkuna]

Megumi Fushiguro || Leave

Omg number 3 with Megumi *has panic attack bc Megumi saying that be making my knees weak* - the void

Content   ║ Megumi x Reader. There was something about that quality that made him feel considered rather than just listened to. Like his words had a weight past the superficial. Megumi could never fully express what he felt. For a long time, he had simply accepted the settling in his chest. Comfort was too small of a word at first. Home felt… too loose, all things considered. 

Count      ║ 756 words.

Consider ║ Bit of Angst. Vague? I think? Gender Neutral-ish. 

Creator    ║ Alright Void, sorry for the wait. I rewrote this many times but I like where it’s at. Hopefully I did Megumi a bit of justice for ya!

Megumi rand his fingers through their hair, savoring the feel of silk between his digits. It slipped through the knuckles, loose strands flicking up as they fell. His lips compressed and twitched as he gazed upon their face. Their features held the resemblance of a carved marble statue. The craftmanship of which was that of a master. The slope of their cheek, the tip of their chin, the way their eyes squinted at him when he spoke.

  There was something about that quality that made him feel considered rather than just listened to. Like his words had a weight past the superficial. Megumi could never fully express what he felt. For a long time, he had simply accepted the settling in his chest. Comfort was too small of a word at first. Home felt… too loose, all things considered.

 Pads of his fingers swept across their features, committing them to memory.  He wanted nothing more than to just remain in that moment.

 They opened their eyes, smile pulling loosely onto their lips. The delicate touch of their fingertips found residence along his jaw. The warmth of their body still rest on his lap, head laying on his folded legs. He curled then, pressing his forehead to theirs, smearing the sanguine liquid between the two. Who it came from exactly was a mystery.

 “You look like shit,” They muttered weakly, airy laugh following. Megumi felt hands tangling into his own locks, sending goose flesh and shivers across his skin.

 “Look who’s talking,” He breathed, the slightest bit of relief swelling through him. There was a strong tug at chest, a thread piercing the center of his heart and forcibly trying to rip it up his throat. This was all his fault. He was supposed to be there for them. He was supposed to keep them alive. They were a good person.

 It took time for the shaman to realize he had pressed his for head so hard to theirs that they whined, scrunching their brows together. Hastily, he pulled himself up to match their abyss-like gaze. Now was not the time to get lost. Under his breath, Megumi mumbled something of an apology, letting the palm of his hand rest along the now-sticking spot.

 “You act like I’m already dead,” They chuckled, lips perching into a smile yet again. There was a split along the swell.

 Maybe it was pessimism. Or maybe it was that he knew Shoko may not make it. Either way, he couldn’t grieve for them yet. The heavy black painting his chest, the fear of losing them, suddenly was swiped over with vibrant red. He couldn’t lose them. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t lose his sister. He wouldn’t lose them. Teeth grit together. What was the point in being careful or unsure if all it lead to was the sharp sting of regret?

 “Megumi?”

 “Kiss me.”

 Every syllable had an edge that betrayed the soft flick of his lashes, blinking away the glass coating along his irises. The words squeezed out on instinct. Megumi wasn’t an instinct person unless he was alone. Maybe it should be taken as a compliment. To finally be welcomed further into his domain.

 Silence filled the space between them. His head turned, red creeping up his neck. Hands stilled in their hair, the last flecks of stubbornness keeping them in place. Fingers twitched along their scalp as they pulled Megumi close. Lips connected in a coppery collide. It was the warmth of huddled bodies and the chill of rain on flesh. They were suddenly aware of the pain along their lips, but they didn’t care. The man ensnared in their arms melted into them like a shadow in night. His mind dizzied that it happened while their mind flourished.

 As the two separated, they hiccupped, turning their head as a roll of salted tears caressed open cuts, “I don’t want to leave.”

 He checked his watch. Shoko said 15 minutes ten minutes ago. It was cold. They both were bruised and bloody. He looked up to the vast stars, then to his hands. Slender fingers worked in signs. A white and black hound appeared. The backs of his fingers brushed their cheek, stealing away the tears, “Keep them warm.” Abiding by their master, both nuzzled next to and on top of his partner. An arm found its way across each dog. They could sense the fear.

 “We won’t let you leave unless it’s with us,” his words came with a newfound confidence, “I won’t let you leave without me.” 

[panevanbuckley]

harry potter exactly as it is except regulus never died and replaces snape (as the superior slytherin, y'all just won't admit it) and every time he sees harry he's reminded of a love he once lost (like snape with lily only it's because harry is the spitting image of james) only he's not a petty man and, instead of punishing a poor child for something he has no control over, he's overcome with a fondness he can't help and becomes a father figure of love and support for harry - an actual father figure, y'know, not like the ones trying to further traumatise the boy (*looking at you, dumbledore*)

[padfootastic]

summary: sirius tells harry he’s proud of him and our boy’s brain just. stops functioning. doesn’t compute. (for this ask)

“I’m proud of you.”

Proud. Of you.

Proud.

The word kept echoing in his ears, like a church bell, or a gong, or a siren, or a—

Well. One gets the point.

What one doesn’t get, however, is how to react to that.

Someone—an adult—was proud of him. For the first time, in his entire life.

And Harry didn’t know what to do with that.

Perhaps that’s why he’d beat a hasty retreat to the loo, seeing the befuddled look on Sirius’ face but not being able to do anything about it. He had a freak out to get to.

It had just been an offhand comment, thrown out like it meant nothing, like it didn’t upend Harry’s entire existence on its head.

“What- what did you just say?” he’d stuttered, incredulously, definitely taking it more seriously than intended.

“Er- that I’m proud of you?” Sirius had repeated. Slower. Uncertain.

Harry didn’t reply to that—atleast, he thinks he didn’t. Just remembered the owlish blinking, letting the words sink in, wrap themselves around him like a warm hug that was slightly too tight. One you didn’t want to get out of, but had to, if you cared for your circulation.

And so here he was, still sitting on top of the toilet lid, head hanging between his knees, wishing fervently he had a paper bag to breath into. That- that was a thing that helped, right? He’d heard about it on the radio once.

It wasn’t even- they weren’t even talking about anything serious. Just his grades, for god’s sake. And it wasn’t like—he was Hermione or anything. He knew he didn’t do well, but he got by, and frankly, it had seemed good enough to him, what with the yearly, er, distractions that were thrown his way. He didn’t fail, but he also didn’t die. Win-win.

Or so he’d thought, until he was recounting them to his godfather, keenly aware that both him and his father had been exceptional during their own Hogwarts years. (He knew, on some level, that the playing ground was so far from even it was almost funny, but that knowledge didn’t help in the moment). He’d been so sure that he’d fucked up in front of a man he hadn’t even known had existed until a few months ago- didn’t even want to look at him for fear of seeing- what? censure? disappointment? (why should it hit him so hard what a virtual stranger thought of him?)

(Harry. Two years old. Waddling up to Aunt Petunia, trying to call her ‘mummy’ the way he’d seen his cousin do. He knew it wasn’t - quite - right, flashes of red hair in his mind, but what else was he to do when his stomach was aching and his pants were soiled? He was rewarded with a smack and a hissed ‘Don’t you dare think of calling me that, you freak’)

(Five. Coming back from primary school. Mouth pulled up in a hesitant smile, showing off his missing front teeth. Holding a drawing with four stick figures on it. Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon. Dudley…Harry. Holding it up, eagerly. And then- darkness, as he was shoved into his cupboard, just as his picture was thrown into the bin. He never picked up a crayon after that)

(Eight. Gingerly clutching his report card, half behind his back, sufficiently nervous at this point. The page was marked with bright blue stars and praise heaped in loopy writing, a sharp contrast to his cousin’s bright red and block letters. ‘We feed you and clothe you and keep a roof over your head and this is how you repay us? By humiliating us- shaming Dudley? Off to your cupboard and you can expect to stay there until you’ve learnt your lesson’)

(Eleven. Drooping shoulders and bitten off remarks. A uniform patched out of rags the dimensions, and color, of a small elephant. A flicker of hope as a large man kicks down the door and hands him a letter. Harry J. Potter. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. A new chance)

Harry should’ve known. His entire life had led up to that moment, taught him all he’d needed to know, but he was too stubborn, wasn’t he? Thought he could beat the system, make something out of himself, step out from the shadow he’d been cast into all his life.

But no. Of course it wasn’t to be. From the moment he entered the Wizarding World—something that should’ve been a fresh start, his chance to be just Harry—he’d already lost. Hell, even before he’d stepped through the Leaky Cauldron’s brick wall, his fate had been sealed in stone.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. Constantly living under the pressure. Was it better to be a freak, then, he’d wondered sometimes?

Throughout all this, the Dursleys, his first two years, everything in between—not one person saw him, acknowledged his work. And Harry had grown used to that- the dichotomy of living in two halves, the famous, all-eyes-on-every-move Harry Potter, and the invisible Freak. He was somehow balancing them, however imperfectly, and managing to survive.

Until one Sirius Black came tumbling into his life, like a whirlwind of death and shadows and smoke all wrapped into one.

Harry thought he’d gotten a handle on how to deal with someone, an adult, who was there. Who—through all odds—looked at him. Wasn’t that what he’d wished for all these years? Someone to care?

Why, then, did he start panicking the moment he got it and how did he stop?

“Harry, you okay in there?” Sirius. Worry lacing his words. And why shouldn’t it? Harry’s internal clock told him he’d been in here for a long time, long enough for anyone to be concerned, let alone someone who’d been walked out on the way Sirius had.

“I- er- yeah,” he tried, voice coming out as a croak. He cleared his throat. Tried again, “Gimme a second?”

No answer, but Sirius was definitely waiting for him outside now. Dammit. Why couldn’t he just say something like- like- he needed time? Or he was engaged in something he couldn’t get out of? (Which, yeah, no, that would’ve probably been worse)

Well. Nothing for it then. He had to get out now. He placed one hand on the marble sink, and heaved himself up, cursing under his breath at the shakiness in his legs. Turning towards the mirror, Harry winced at the image looking back at him. Pale, bloodshot eyes. Hair looking like he’d stuck a finger into an electric socket. Blue veins visible on forearms.

Jesus. There went any chance at convincing Sirius he was fine.

Nevertheless, he splashed some water on his face, made a cursory attempt at getting his hair to behave—which, predictably, failed but no surprise there (The thing refused to cooperate on a good day)

Took another deep breath, released it slowly, and unlocked the door.

Almost immediately, it was thrown open and Harry had the rare opportunity of seeing a frantic Sirius Black.

Even in the short time he’d known the man, he knew that wasn’t something that happened often. Sirius was—cool as a cucumber, almost too much so. Not much seemed to faze him, and his entire effortless demeanour was something Harry wanted to very much emulate.

Now, though? He looked more like someone who’d run an entire marathon in half the time, or more accurately, spent the past however long time pacing the long hallways with his heart in his mouth.

Harry’s mouth twitched at that.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Sirius whispered, almost incredulously, before straightening up.

“Harry I- did I do something—?”

“No,” Harry cut in, “Well, yes. But not in the way that it was your fault, You couldn’t have known, and I didn’t know, and it really flew out of control and I-“

“Woah, woah, woah, Harry, honey, stop,” Sirius stepped right up to him, hands fluttering like he wanted to touch but not knowing if it would be welcome.

Honey. Lord. Was he pulling out all the stops today?

“Okay, good, see, deep breaths, okay?” he continued, exaggerating his own movements. Harry wanted to roll his eyes…right until he realised it was working, he could feel his chest expand, and the nerves settling.

“Huh.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised, you know?”

“I always thought deep breathing was a hack, who knew it worked?”

Sirius gave him a Look, but Harry’s impish grin must’ve been too much for him because his face relaxed immediately after.

“Alright. Okay. I have an idea. We go to the kitchen, make some hot chocolate, and not talk, how’s that sound?” Sirius’ voice was hopeful, still slightly uncertain, and hot chocolate sounded amazing in that moment, Harry had to admit.

So he nodded, followed his godfather to the weirdly large kitchen, and sat down as instructed—‘let me do this for you, please’—chin propped on a palm, watching the entire process and being oddly soothed by it.

By the time Sirius was done, and both of them had a large cup of hot chocolate, complete with a heaping quantity of marshmallows in their hands, Harry was feeling much, much better.

What had he been freaking out about again?

One look at Sirius’ eyes, grey and intense and fixed on him, even as he had a tiny little foam ‘stache on top of his actual one, and he remembered. Right.

Funnily, talking didn’t seem so daunting anymore.

“Did you put something in this?” He meant to sound accusing, but the slight slur in his voice gave him away.

“Only my love and affection,” Sirius replied, solemnly, cheekily.

Harry glared—or tried to, really, but he was finding normal bodily functions to be a bit hard. His brain felt like it was travelling through sludge. Warm, chocolatey sludge. That smelled heavenly. Like cinnamon and vanilla and citrus. Like home.

It wasn’t so hard, after that, to open up. Not to his godfather, who’d seen his despair without having to ask for it, who’d clocked him faster than anyone else.

“That was the first time I’d- that someone-,” he broke off to take another sip, hiding his face in the mug.

Sirius didn’t speak, gave him time, and Harry didn’t know he could be anymore grateful, that his heart could swell much more.

“No one’s ever told me that- that they’re proud of me.” His voice was a whisper this time, just barely travelling the length of the table to where Sirius sat. Harry still hadn’t looked up, could only see the other man’s fingers curled- too tight- tightly around his mug, tattoos in start contrast to the pale skin.

“I tried- so hard, but it was never…enough and after a while, I just…stopped trying because what was the point, you know?”

Sirius’ fingers twitched, gripping the mug tighter. Absently, Harry wondered how much force it would take to shatter the thing. Didn’t seem to be far off.

“If no one cared, and no one even saw, then did it really matter what I did, or didn’t do?” he asked rhetorically, having answered the question himself a while ago.

“Harry…” Sirius’ breathed his name, raw and broken and with so much feeling, like no one had ever before.

“I’d gotten used to it, you know?” Harry smiled wryly, “Being an afterthought, existing in the background. I guess I wasn’t prepared for how it felt to be yanked out in the open like that.”

It seemed like that was the final straw for Sirius, for he roughly dropped the mug on the counter, spilling some of the drink, and rounded the counter to Harry, who’d, much more carefully, placed his own to the side.

“Harry,” Sirius repeated again. He kneeled in front of Harry, tall enough to be level with his chest. One of his hands cupped Harry’s cheek, reverently, gently. (No one had ever treated him like this)

“I promise you, if nothing else, I will always care. And I will always see you, as you are, who you are.”

Harry bit his lip, torn between fear and joy at the absolute sincerity he could see etched into every line on Sirius’ face.

“That scares me,” he whispered, like a child seeking reassurance. (Isn’t that what he was, after all?)

“And that’s okay, because I’ll be there with you through it. I’m not letting go of you, my love, not when I’ve just got you,” Sirius’ thumb picked up the single tear that had slid down his cheek, “And I’ll spend every day telling you how proud of you I am. You can wear the same pants three days in a row and I’d still tell you that.”

Harry choked on the sudden laugh, not having expected that from the man currently looking at him with so much love he didn’t know what to do with it.

“I’m gonna need that in writing for the future,” he teased. His heart felt immeasurably full, his eyes thick and drooping, and for once, Harry was looking forward to what the new day brought with it.

“Anything you want,” was the last thing he heard before his eyes slipped shut and the sleep that had slowly been taking over his senses won the battle.

[the-east-art]

‘…But Ingos voice still echoes on the sound of a rushing train’

Commissions Open / Link to my Patreon in bio :3

[thesundanceghost]

this interview is constantly bouncing around in my head like the dvd logo screensaver

[rintoki]

You know, I've been thinking a lot about tokyo rev boys + feminization 😈😈😈🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

I want to dress them up in a prettiest dress, make them up and make them the prettiest girl!

Imagine making them wear a bra under that beautiful outfit, it would be so humiliating but he would be so turned on.

Imagine laying him in bed and fucking him only to see the eyeliner melt away with his tears, see his little dress getting all dirty with cum, his entire body full of your marks and his mouth with the lipstick smeared from so many messed up kisses

I want to see them whimpering and slowly becoming more stupid 😊

i know . u are a kazufuyu fucker …… but consider …. shinichiro …………….

SHINICHIRO WOULD BE SO PRETTY PLSSS and he’d body it too, feeling himself fr. he already canonically wears heels so i don’t think he’d be too humiliated to be dressed up like that. putting him in a pretty sundress omfg…… he only becomes shy when you start telling him how pretty he is, the prettiest girl you’d ever seen. and then he’s squirming and the panties he has on suddenly feels way too tight.

especially if you start feeling him up in the dress, hands sliding down his chest, and down to cup the tops of his thigh right underneath his butt. ohhh he’s stuttering and fumbling now, the blush you applied on him not the only thing making him all red.

hmgnhnnh pushing the straps of the sundress off his shoulder so the top part is now undone, revealing the pretty lace bralette he has on. fucking him on every surface of your house in that dress; bent over the kitchen counter with his panties pushed to the side, until his cum stains it and starts dripping down his legs. and then on the sofa with his legs pushed all the way up, panties ripped off and completely bare underneath, dirtying the dress.

and finally on your bed laying on his side, one leg hanging on your shoulder while you stuff his hole with cum. again and again till it’s all full and leaking out, he’d cry so much tbh. make up a mess but you’d still say he’s the prettiest girl. taking a picture of him afterward, covered in cum, sweat, and tears, completely drunk on pleasure and fucked out.

[thatdiabolicalfeminist]

The fat liberation movement and the disability rights movement are natural allies.

Fatphobia and ableism are enacted in very similar ways, and the goals of both movements overlap because of that.

Medical autonomy and competent medical care are often behind significantly higher barriers for disabled people and for fat people.

Disabled people with high medical needs often struggle to find competent doctors willing to actually address our needs, or to help us find someone who can.

The same is true even for fat able-bodied people with temporary or minor complaints that doctors may ignore. Fat people have been proven to be less likely to be provided with any kind of exam that requires a doctor to touch a fat patient, providing measurably worse outcomes for fat people.

Obviously these barriers can and do overlap, leaving fat people with high medical needs behind.

Fat people and disabled people also have their existence inappropriately medicalized - healthy fat people and people with certain nonmedical disabilities like autism are seen as having an “illness” or being part of an “epidemic” that must be treated or “cured” instead of a neutral state of being that must be accommodated.

This happens even though there are decades of research showing that people who lose weight gain it back and more within 5 years or less, that yoyo-ing weight is more dangerous than being fat, and that autism “cures” (for example) are frequently dangerous and never actually make someone neurotypical. 

Fat chronically ill people often struggle with doctors medicalizing their fatness rather than addressing actual physical illness that may be severe.

Both fat people and disabled people struggle with inaccessible public spaces built only to accommodate thin able-bodied people. Fat people with mobility aids may require wider aisles than thin people using the same aid or people the same size as them with no aid - this means fat disabled people often have the hardest time finding venues that just happen to have aisles wide enough for them and their aids. Safe and appropriate seating can also be an issue for both fat people and disabled people.

Fat people and disabled people also face employment challenges because of employment discrimination and lack of accommodation. Discrimination is incredibly hard to prove in court as an employee (and fatphobic discrimination is legal most places anyways), and employers are held to only an incredibly low standard for accommodation.

Fat people and people with certain types of disabilities are both considered less competent and/or less trustworthy and/or having fewer other virtues than thin abled people, by job interviewers, bosses in charge of promotions, and juries alike.

Fat people and disabled people with bodies or needs that aren’t normalized may both struggle to find appropriate clothing at similar price points and quality to that available for thin people and abled people. Some clothing designed to accommodate specific disabilities is not available at all in bigger sizes, again impacting fat disabled people the most.

Disabled people and fat people both face stigma that can incorporate desexualization.

Adults with certain disabilities, and fat adults above a certain size, are expected to keep any hint that they have a sexual life completely private to an extent others are not expected to. Disabled adults and fat adults are sometimes treated as though they are transgressing sexual boundaries when they aren’t, simply because they do, say or wear the same things thin abled people can socially acceptably do, say, or wear.

Disabled adults are often infantilized in a way that incorporates desexualization. Fat adults are often treated as though it would be morally wrong for them to be attracted to another person - a different kind of desexualization - or they may be thrust into caretaker roles or infantilized themselves as a form of desexualization. Fat disabled people, again, are in the overlap.

In media, attraction from a fat person or a person with certain kinds of disabilities is portrayed as grotesque and inherently inappropriate/aggressive. Fat characters may be implied or shown to have certain types of disabilities to make them seem more grotesque to a fatphobic and ableist audience.

Both disabled people and fat people are often treated as shameful secret fetish objects rather than recipients of healthy and respectful attraction from other adults. Both fat people and disabled people may be targeted by fetishizers who want to engage with them sexually, but lack the basic respect necessary to actually befriend or romance them in public.

When someone does befriend or romance a disabled person or a fat person, they may face social sanctions for publicly acknowledging the relationship among ableist and/or fatphobic friends or family. Fat people and disabled people are also more likely than demographically similar thin abled people to be considered socially disposable by their social groups, in part because of the stigma faced by thin and/or abled people for associating with someone who is fat and/or disabled. And of course, fat disabled people are again in the overlap.

Disabled people and fat people both face stigma that can incorporate degendering. Degendering a person is a type of dehumanization. Only a human person can have a full gender (rather than just an assigned sex), and disabled people and fat people are not always treated as fully human.

Disabled people are often treated as not really “counting” as a man or a woman, a boy or a girl, and disabled transgender people may face misgendering from people who don’t misgender abled people, because of a) degendering and b) an assumption that some disabled people can’t fully understand gender and/or should not have the autonomy to decide gender-related matters for themselves.

Fat people are also degendered, and fat transgender people may be misgendered by people who don’t misgender thin trans people, because fat people are held to a higher standard of gender performance than thin people. Fatness is seen as inherently degendering - fat men are told they’re not masculine because of their soft bodies esp targeting their chest, hip, and ass tissue, and fat women are told they’re not feminine because they’re too big.

Degendering doesn’t mean nonbinary fat people or nonbinary disabled people are more likely to be respected and gendered correctly. Instead, the question of gender is sometimes treated as though it doesn’t really “apply” to fat people or disabled people the way it does to thin abled people, and therefore it’s assumed they “can’t really be” nonbinary. 

(This is linked to desexualization - if disabled people and fat people aren’t “supposed” to be sexual according to fatphobic & ableist society, their genders are considered less relevant than the genders of thin abled people who ARE “supposed” to be sexual.)

I could literally go on for days about the ways the oppression of fat people and the oppression of disabled people overlap - this long post barely scratches the surface.

Both groups are oppressed in such similar ways, and so many of our goals for liberation overlap also. But this post is already so long I should probably end it here lmao

[emmet-appreciation]

Elesa meets the Submas

That headcanon post got me wondering about how Elesa would’ve met the submas bros, so I took the liberty of writing a quick fanfic about it (it was not quick, this took me almost an hour ahhhhh-)

Note: My writing is not the best, and this was minimally proof-read. lmk if you see any typos or uh, you have any criticism haha :V

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How long has it been, she mused, since she had first met the two? It had been long before she had risen to the title of “Gym Leader,” and even before she had become a model. Elesa wracked her brain further- time seemed to zip by so fast, faster than her beloved Emolga could dish out a speedy volt switch. Years of photoshoots, TV gigs, and training flew through her mind, making her head spin, spin, and spin, until suddenly: she caught the memory. 

She was just a child. Elesa was just as confident as she was today, but being lost in the bustling atmosphere of the subway had her holding onto her then Blitzle for dear life. She had just missed the train that would take her home, and with it, her parents as well. Where would she go now? Who could she talk to? Holding back tears, she slowly trudged through the crowd with Blitzle in tow, not really knowing where she was going. 

Suddenly, she felt a wall. No, not a wall- it was a person- a boy who couldn’t have been older than her. He had a stern expression on his face, with a downturned frown that could almost be a grimace. He wore a black peaked cap, which gleamed in the fluorescent light. To the left of him, a boy with about the same face stood, though his mouth was turned up in an almost eerie smile. He, too, wore an identical peaked cap, though its pure white colour contrasted with the black of its counterpart. 

She felt her stomach turn cold. In her panic, she had accidentally bumped into two strangers, and they didn’t look too happy about it. Before she could start apologizing, however, the boy in the black cap spoke. 

“Hello there, miss! You look rather disoriented- have you been uncoupled from your train?” She winced when he heard his voice. It was loud enough to cut through the crowd of people flowing through Gear Station, prompting her Blitzle to sputter a few sparks. Upon seeing this reaction, he cleared his throat and spoke again, this time at a more reasonable volume. “Ahem. My apologies, I am told the sound of my engine can be rather loud, if left unchecked.” The boy was met with the blank stares of Elesa and her Blitzle, who were both too stunned to respond. 

He was certainly an odd child. The way he spoke was much, much different than the way other children around their age spoke. And what was it about an engine? Elesa’s head spun. 

Oblivious to their disbelief, he continued. “I am Ingo, and this here is my brother, Emmet. We are currently en route to our next station: home, in Anville Town!” He paused, pointing to the platform that would presumably take them to the Anville Town station. As if on cue, the other boy- Emmet was it?- did the same. This display baffled Elesa, who could only stand and watch dumbly as they switched tracks and excitedly talked among themselves about their ‘cool pose.’ Internally, she counted exactly 5 seconds before Ingo suddenly snapped his hands back into place and turned to Elesa. 

“If you do indeed have a destination you must return to, perhaps my brother and I can be of assistance! Otherwise, I will leave the two of you to aimlessly wander the tracks in peace.” Snapped out of her confusion, Elesa finally took the opportunity to respond to the strange duo. 

“I-I’m lost! I missed the train going home and I don’t know where to go now!” Blitzle softly brayed in agreement, nuzzling her hand comfortingly. “I see… The Subway System can be quite disorienting for those who are unaccustomed to it. Emmet, what do you say we take a quick detour and see her off to her next destination?” He turns to Emmet, who gives them both a quick nod. 

“Bravo, then! Do not worry, miss. Our two-car train will lead you to your station safe and sound! Now, where are you headed off to?”

[elivanto]

DRASH vs. BLACK KRRSANTAN in THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT 1.03 The Streets of Mos Espa

[420technoblazeit]

y’all remember that post of changes that would be made to dream smp if it got bought by a big studio? you just know they’d make a longass spinoff movie of c!dream’s backstory to try and justify the fact that his favorite hobby seems to be manipulating teenagers 

obviously, he’s a white freckled skinny blond kid with pretty blue eyes. he turns out to have been orphaned bc the president of some country ordered his parents killed and that’s why he’s so against l’manburg. child soldiers were the ones who executed them. bonus points for a scene of 8-year-old dream drawing a smiley face on a homemade mask and then slowly putting it on with crescendoing music in the background. younger george shows up as like. a merchant’s son in a kingdom festival or smth. they make fleeting eye contact, ofc george has heterochromia so dream stares a moment longer, and he’s the one to give him the clout goggles. you can see phil in the bg for 0.5 seconds toting around baby tommy while kid techno and wilbur follow in the background, so the directors can include the shot in the trailer as sbi bait. eventually george leaves his home in the kingdom to be on the run with dream bc idk. he ‘looks like he’s going to change the world’ or some cheesy shit like that

flash forward a couple of years and dream’s been hardened from years of living alone and having to survive by himself. he shows kindness to a kid, sapnap, who gets targeted for being the son of a demon and that’s how they become friends. we never see bbh despite sapnap mentioning him several times because the directors don't want to cgi him, and it's implied that he's 'platonically' raising sapnap with skeppy. bbh’s girlfriend does show up though, she looks like him but shorter and with pink on her hoodie instead of red. 

there’s a montage of the dream team bonding and getting closer together. they’re teenagers and doing stupid shit like adventuring in a cave with barely any resources, one day dream gets surrounded by mobs and it’s a little too close for comfort and they dramatically slash him with a sword so that he gets this photogenic tiny little scar across his nose. sapnap and george say later that he almost died and that he was lucky to survive. at some point sapnap sets fire to a forest for no reason while they’re out at night so we can get a theatric shot of the flames reflected in their eyes and george’s goggles as emotional pop music plays in the background. callahan shows up as a side character. he doesn't talk but makes facial expressions and he's there for a single scene so the directors can say in an interview that he’s deaf and get brownie points for diversity. alyssa shows up briefly to flirt with sapnap, we can see her blushing and getting flustered as she leaves. we know nothing about her other than she’s pretty and she lives nearby. 

near the end of the movie dream makes a moving speech about ‘making something of himself’ and how he never felt like he’d made a difference before. he’s decided on moving away from all the big countries and kingdoms to make a server for himself, but george and sapnap don’t have to come with him, obviously. and then they both stand up from where they’re sitting in the grass in a field somewhere and go ‘obviously we’re coming with you, idiot. who else is going to keep you out of trouble?’ while he fondly smirks at them. the sun sets in the background and fireflies start to light up as they look up to the stars, symbolizing the beginning of a new journey. 

the aftercredits scene is several years after the end of the movie, when tommy and wilbur are leaving home. techno’s in the background but his face is covered by a book and he doesn’t talk because they haven’t cast a voice actor yet and they didn’t want to do the cgi. phil waves them off, and when they’re far enough away tommy asks where they’re going. wilbur ruffles his hair and tells him he’s heard of a promising new place without any citizens yet, and he’s excited to see what they can do there. tommy grins and asks if he can invite some friends.

[kamuikissed]

“I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself, Obito,” he said. “I’m never going to do anything but protect you.”

fanart for the wonderful @butter--peanut​ ‘s amazing role reversal fic Pitch Black !! this fic is a gift to this world, go read it if you haven’t already!!

[headfullofdolls]

The Rainbow High series 4 dolls are gorgeous and I love that we’re finally getting (mostly, relatively) solid cultural representation and more varied fashions in a main line. But I am once again asking...where is the textured hair?

Four core series and several side series in, and we have one doll with microbraids, Vanessa Tempo from the Rockstars line (a more expensive, store-exclusive line). And...that’s it? You could count Finn Rosado for his curls, but in a line of prominently girl dolls where none of them have hair anything close to his, I kinda don’t. Carmen Major and Winter Break Skyler have the curliest hair of all the girls, but the curls are still large and loose. Nicole Steel has curlier hair in her artwork and model on the show, but her doll still has those same big, loose ringlets. Even dolls that are supposed to have wavier hair (Daphne, Harper, Junior High Sunny, Natasha) have loose waves at best.

I love all the dolls with edges and baby hairs, and I think it’s especially impressive that they’re molded on! But the distinct lack of textured hair actively bothers me. There’s cheaper doll lines, even from smaller companies, displaying so much great hair diversity. And Rainbow High has a bigger budget and is thriving so much that it has a spinoff line in Shadow High. And yet Rainbow High has almost no textured hair.

I think Coco Vanderbalt is stunning, but she would’ve looked so good with microbraids or coils. It doesn’t help that every other dark-skinned doll in the line has sleek hair (even Daria Roselyn has those same big, loose curls at most).

The lack of hair diversity, especially this far into the line, is a problem. And, along with other missteps, I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it points to a lack of meaningful diversity in the RH design team. That’s not to discount the strides Rainbow High has made towards better representation and diversity, because it has definitely improved a lot since series 1. But keep in mind, a lot of that improvement also happened because fans prompted it and fought for it.

I’m so excited about the representation we’re getting in series 4, but I can’t ignore the lack of textured hairstyles, and even though they’re doing better with other avenues of diversity, I don’t think Rainbow High should keep getting a pass for that.

[kafkaguy]

tell me more about ur diary of a wimpy kid opinions im fascinated

ok since this is a general question im just gonna go crazy. disclaimer i havent read any of the most recent wimpy kid books the last one I read was number 12 also i am Aware that I am mentally ill so none of you are allowed to tease me about this. anyway the books are set while greg is in middle school right. and he has big dreams and he wants to be famous but the truth is he's pretty unimpressive and also he never specifies WHAT he wants to be famous for so I think he's gonna go through a depressed period in high school but he does a kind of richie from it storyline where he becomes a sort of well known comedian who is definitely depressed but also kinda funny in a pathetic way. he's gonna grow up to be a much less famous slightly more lame pete davidson. also he's super bisexual but also super repressed so he only realises in his late 30s. rodrick on the other hand will have his peak at 21 in his band which is basically a very underground my chemical romance but slightly less gay and slightly more incel-esque and they have like 2k listeners on Spotify. he'll have an epiphany in his late 20s while on acid and realise where he went wrong and will go into activism and raise loads of money for like. rare species of penguin or some shit and be super leftist and progressive etc. meanwhile manny will go into politics and cos he's a piece of shit of course he becomes a republican. naturally this causes tensions in the family and no matter how hard their mum tries to keep the family together, manny basically disowns himself, runs for state governor, loses, and then disappears off to new york or something. rowley is gay. end of story.

[grapecaseschoices]

we as a community need to discuss this tendency to give characters of color, particularly black characters, light/unusual colored eyes.

(and im not talking about characters that have silver eyes bc they're part of the moon people or something --- color-coded eyes has it’s own trope page for a reason. or even worlds where it is customary for people to wear green or burgundy contacts for some cultural explanation, whether that be aesthetics or religious or class or ... i could keep going. though, i think it is still important to be mindful about it in situations like that too.)

im saying why does your south asian character have green eyes and your african american one have blue eyes? or why are their eyes neon or teal or indigo? why is it that don’t often see white characters with ‘eyes so dark they’re nearly black’ or something?

i’m not saying it can’t EVER and should NEVER happen (again, like i said, maybe there’s an in-text reason. maybe there isn’t bc we all know that genetics likes to play the funky chicken). im just thinking we should consider, and question, why there’s a tendency to lighten / exoticize the eyes of your characters of color (particularly the darker skinned ones. even more particularly when they’re your only black or brown character ). 

this isn’t a new trend in fiction writing, never mind IFs,  and this isn’t a call out to any particular game --- it is just a request to be mindful.

[pearlsephoni]

Nicky was always the first to rise in the morning. Even on the rare occasions that Joe woke up at the same time, he’d always spend the extra morning hours drowsing in bed while Nicky got up and got dressed and began making breakfast.

Nicky never minded. It was their routine when they were between jobs - Nicky would rise early and make breakfast, and Joe would make dinner in the evening when Nicky’s eyes were already getting heavier. Nicky would coax Joe out of bed with kisses and the smell of delicious food floating in from the kitchen, and Joe would rouse a drowsy Nicky with a few choice whispered words.

But sometimes, every so often, usually after a particularly active night, Nicky would take his time getting out of bed. Sometimes, Joe’s eyes would flutter open and be treated to the sight of his beloved’s broad shoulders highlighted by the morning sun shining in through the window. Sometimes, Nicky would need an extra few moments before he could muster the energy to get to his feet, only to give in to the lips pressing kisses along his shoulder and the curls brushing his ear. Sometimes, their first meal of the day would fall closer to lunchtime than breakfast.

Neither of them would admit it out loud, but their actions announced it for them: those were their favorite mornings of all.