#Smart Contract Testing

[mobiloittetechblogs]

Smart Contract Audit and Development  by mobiloitte 

[solxamber]

Hiii!! first time requesting and I absolutely love your white rabbit and angel one, but what about a jellyfish mc with the octavinelle trio and diasomnia group? Where their head empty an airhead but is actually really smart but gets distracted easily.

Octavinelle + Diasomnia with Airhead! Jellyfish! Reader

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was prepared for almost anything—except you. At first, your airheaded nature confounded him. You’d stare blankly into space during conversations, occasionally blurting out unrelated thoughts like, “Do you think stars get lonely?” or “What’s the difference between squid ink and octopus ink?”

To Azul, you seemed like an easy mark. Someone too scattered to notice loopholes in contracts or the fine print. But the first time he tried to rope you into a deal, you stared at the contract for an uncomfortably long time, then pointed out five contradictory clauses and suggested a more efficient way to write it.

Azul had never been so humiliated yet so intrigued. How could someone so spacey also be so sharp? He began inviting you to the Mostro Lounge under the guise of needing “assistance,” but it was just an excuse to pick your brain.

He’d grumble when you got distracted mid-conversation to follow a particularly shiny object, but he found himself watching you with a mix of exasperation and fondness. Your unconventional intelligence challenged him, and your whimsical nature softened the edges of his ambition.

Jade Leech

Jade found your airheadedness endlessly entertaining. At first, he mistook it for naivety, but when you casually corrected one of his mushroom classifications while admiring a random shell, he realized there was much more to you.

You fascinated him. The way your attention flitted from one thing to another like a butterfly, yet you still managed to come up with solutions to problems no one else could. Jade often tested your intelligence by subtly steering conversations into complex topics, only for you to surprise him with insightful answers delivered in the most absentminded tone.

“Jade, did you know the anglerfish has a symbiotic relationship with bacteria for its light?” you’d say, staring off into the distance. And just like that, Jade’s carefully laid plan to throw you off would unravel.

He enjoyed the unpredictability you brought into his life. Your head-empty demeanor paired with startling intelligence kept him on his toes, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Floyd Leech

“Oh, Shrimpy’s got no brain cells, huh?” That was Floyd’s first impression of you, and for a while, he treated you like his personal amusement. He’d throw random questions your way just to see what absurd answer you’d come up with.

But the day you absentmindedly explained the physics behind the Mostro Lounge’s faulty pipe system and how to fix it? Floyd was floored. His mouth hung open for a good five seconds before he burst out laughing. “You’re a sneaky little jellyfish, aren’t ya?”

From then on, Floyd decided you were his favorite. He’d sling an arm around your shoulders and drag you around, showing you off like his prize catch. “Shrimpy’s dumb-smart,” he’d declare to anyone who’d listen, grinning ear to ear.

He loved how unpredictable you were, never knowing if you’d say something brilliant or completely off-the-wall. Floyd thrived on chaos, and you were the perfect mix of calm airhead and hidden genius to keep him entertained. He might tease you endlessly, but deep down, he adored you for being unapologetically yourself.

Malleus Draconia

When Malleus first met you, he found your airheaded nature oddly calming. Unlike others, you didn’t seem intimidated by his presence. Instead, you’d blink at him in wide-eyed wonder before blurting out random thoughts like, “If dragons hoard treasure, do they also have snack stashes?”

At first, Malleus assumed your absentmindedness was due to a lack of understanding. But during one of your meandering conversations, you casually corrected his misconceptions about a historical event—one even he hadn't noticed. He realized you weren’t just carefree; you were deeply knowledgeable in your own peculiar way.

Your ability to switch between whimsical musings and sharp observations fascinated him. He found himself seeking you out for your unique perspective, even if you occasionally got distracted by a passing butterfly mid-discussion.

“Child of Man, you are quite… unique,” he’d say with a soft smile, finding solace in your unorthodox approach to life.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia thought you were adorable. Your head-empty demeanor reminded him of the carefree youths he’d seen in his centuries of life. He’d often pop out of nowhere to startle you, laughing when you gasped and then immediately got distracted by a question like, “Why is it called a jump scare if I didn’t jump?”

But it didn’t take long for Lilia to notice the flashes of brilliance hidden behind your seemingly aimless chatter. You’d drop profound insights into conversations as if they were afterthoughts, leaving him pleasantly surprised.

“Oh-ho! You’re sharper than you let on, aren’t you?” he’d tease, ruffling your hair affectionately.

He loved how unpredictable you were, and he often encouraged your tangents just to see where your mind would wander. To Lilia, you were a delightful enigma—one that made his long life all the more entertaining.

Silver

Silver appreciates your calm presence, even if he sometimes struggled to keep up with your wandering thoughts. He’d sit quietly as you mused about the stars or wondered if birds dream, finding your voice soothing no matter how odd the topic.

He initially thought you were simply a kind but scatterbrained individual. However, when you offhandedly helped him improve his sword stance with an unexpectedly insightful comment, he realized there was more to you than met the eye.

“You notice things most people overlook,” he said, his tone soft with admiration. From then on, he started paying closer attention to your words, knowing they often carried hidden wisdom.

Silver respected your unique way of thinking and found comfort in your presence, even when you got distracted mid-sentence. To him, you were a gentle yet brilliant soul, someone who brought unexpected light into his life.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was baffled by you. At first, he couldn’t fathom how someone so easily distracted could survive at Night Raven College, much less so many Overblots. He’d often lecture you, only for you to nod absentmindedly and then ask something completely unrelated, like, “Do crocodiles ever get lonely?”

It drove him up the wall. He thought you lacked focus, which was unacceptable to him. But then, during a heated argument about magical theory, you calmly pointed out a flaw in his reasoning that left him speechless.

Sebek stared at you, wide-eyed, before clearing his throat and crossing his arms. “Hmph! I see you’re not as oblivious as you appear,” he muttered, trying to mask his begrudging respect.

Despite his initial frustrations, Sebek grew to admire your hidden intelligence. He’d still scold you for your airheaded tendencies, but deep down, he appreciated your unique perspective and the unexpected wisdom you brought to the table.

Masterlist

[prometteursolutions]

Blockchain Game Testing: What You Need To Know

In the ever-evolving landscape of online gaming, the integration of blockchain technology has opened up a world of possibilities. 

Blockchain-based games offer increased security, transparency, and ownership of in-game assets, enticing both developers and players alike. 

However, with this novel technology comes a unique set of challenges that necessitates meticulous testing processes to ensure a seamless gaming experience.

Prometteurs, a leading technology company, delves into the realm of blockchain game testing to provide insights on what enthusiasts need to know. 

This blog post highlights the key aspects that make blockchain gaming different from traditional setups and emphasizes the importance of thorough testing to ensure flawless execution.

From testing smart contracts to validating asset ownership and in-game transactions, the blog sheds light on the critical components of blockchain game testing.

 Prometteurs' experts emphasize the significance of testing for potential vulnerabilities like security breaches and loopholes that could otherwise jeopardize the entire gaming ecosystem.

For gamers, developers, and blockchain enthusiasts alike, understanding the intricacies of blockchain game testing is essential to make the most of this transformative technology and to create a gaming experience that is secure, engaging, and captivating. Read More 

Tags: Blockchain gaming, Game testing, Prometteurs, Smart contracts, Asset ownership, In-game transactions, Security, Transparency, Blockchain technology, Online gaming.

[duskidolsmut]

"Chaewon: Digital Whore, Brutal Revenge"

Tags: Slutty idol with a collar / Painful butt plug / Slobbery blowjob / Virgin anal fuck / Contradictory orgasms / Ripped lingerie / Shower sex / Dirty words on the body / Hardcore SimpSpace / Neon speakeasy / Turned on with beating / Humiliation with marker

Words: 5.825

Seoul at night is a neon monster, with flashing signs and the smell of fried kimchi mixed with exhaust. In the midst of this chaos, Chaewon, 21, runs through the streets of Hongdae, her black hair messy, her worn-out sneakers slapping on the asphalt. By day, she is the proper intern at Starlight Entertainment, a K-pop company that promises to transform newcomers into brilliant idols. Chaewon spends hours filing contracts, serving coffee to idiotic producers and dreaming of the day she will stand on stage, microphone in hand, singing until the world forgets she was once a nobody. But reality is cruel: the internship pays a pittance, and the rent in Seoul is unforgiving. So, at night, she becomes someone else — or rather, another Chaewon, with red lipstick and a short skirt, serving shots at a speakeasy called Black Velvet, hidden in the alleys where the police turn a blind eye.

Black Velvet is a dirty but lively hole. The walls are covered in graffiti, the air smells of cheap vodka and incense, and the electronic music thumps so loud it makes glasses shake. Chaewon glides between the tables, balancing trays of drinks with names like “Hot Sin” and “Wrong Night.” She wears a uniform that’s more fetish fantasy than workwear: a tight black top, a leather skirt that barely covers her ass, and fishnet stockings that scream trouble. The customers—guys in suits with pert hands, girls with colorful hair giggling loudly—stare at her as if she’s the main course. Chaewon doesn’t care; the tips pay the bills, and the bar is her secret stage, where she tests out the charisma she’ll one day wield as an idol. “One more shot, princess?” a drunken customer asks, and she smiles, leaning in just enough for him to toss her an extra bill. “Only if you can handle it, uncle,” she says, her voice sweet with a hint of venom, and sways away, hearing him laugh.

But it’s not all that easy. Chaewon lied to get the job. She forged an ID, changing her age to 19, and used a fake name, “Soo-min,” so she wouldn’t be tracked. The bar owner, a guy named Min-jae with neck tattoos and zero questions, doesn’t care about the rules, as long as she sells drinks and doesn’t cause trouble. The problem is Yuna, the other waitress, a 23-year-old blonde with a lip piercing and a talent for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. Yuna is smart, sarcastic, and has a laugh that cuts like glass. She and Chaewon have never gotten along—Yuna thinks Chaewon is too big for herself, with her K-pop dreams and good-girl ways. “You can’t fool anyone with that angelic face,” Yuna always says, blowing cigarette smoke in her face during breaks.

That night, the bar was packed, the air heavy with sweat and perfume. Chaewon dances between the tables, pouring a round of green shots that glow under the neon lights. She’s in the flow, laughing with a customer, when she feels Yuna’s gaze fixed on her. In the corner of the bar, Yuna is leaning against the counter, fiddling with her phone, her piercing glinting as she smiles in a way that gives you goosebumps. Chaewon ignores her, but during her break, when she goes to the bathroom to touch up her lipstick, Yuna appears, blocking the door. “Soo-min, huh?” Yuna says, her voice acidic, dragging out her fake name like it’s a joke. Chaewon freezes, her heart racing. “Or should I call you Chaewon? You know, I thought it was funny when I saw your real name on a Starlight form that got passed around in the bar’s gossip group. Fake ID, huh? How ugly for a future idol.”

Chaewon tries to keep her composure, her lipstick trembling in her hand. “What the hell do you want, Yuna?” she says, her voice steady, but fear seeping through her. Being exposed could ruin everything—her internship, her dream of singing, the life she’s been building. Yuna laughs, crossing her arms, her vinyl top reflecting the dim bathroom light. “Calm down, princess. I won’t tell… yet. But you’re going to do what I tell you, or I’ll show Min-jae and his fancy little company that you’re a fraud.” She steps closer, her minty, cigarette-like breath hitting Chaewon’s face. “First task: tomorrow, you cover my shift. And there’s more coming, Soo-min. If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll keep your little secret.” Yuna winks, sways away, and leaves Chaewon alone, the mirror reflecting a girl who’s about to enter a game much more dangerous than serving drinks.

The streets of Hongdae are a carnival of lights and chaos, with crowded bars, karaoke bars spewing K-pop, and the smell of fried tteokbokki hanging in the air. It’s Friday night, and Seoul’s nightlife is booming: girls in glitter makeup spill out of clubs, guys with bleached hair yell drunkenly, and couples make out in alleys like the world is ending.

Chaewon is in the middle of the chaos, covering Yuna’s shift as part of the blackmail. She carries a tray of blue shots that glow like poison, dodging cheeky hands and smiling at customers who shout “Baby, another one!” Her red lipstick is already a little smudged, sweat dripping down the back of her neck, but she holds her pose, swaying slightly as she serves, the charisma of a future idol shining through even in that hole. Inside, she’s a wreck: the fear that Yuna will open her mouth and ruin her life at Starlight Entertainment—where she dreams of being an idol—is on her mind. I'll fix this, she thinks, but her anger towards Yuna only grows.

During her break, Chaewon runs to the bathroom, a cubicle with cracked tiles and a smudged mirror. She’s touching up her lipstick when Yuna walks in. “Are you enjoying my shift, Soo-min?” Yuna teases, her tone acidic, leaning against the counter to block the exit. Chaewon grits her teeth, the tube of lipstick clutched in her hand. “Just say what you want, Yuna. I’m sick of this shit,” she snaps, her voice shaking with anger. Yuna laughs, pulling out her phone and showing a screenshot: Starlight’s form with Chaewon’s real name, which she found in a gossip group. “Look, your idol life is in my hands. One click, and Min-jae kicks you out. Another, and Starlight kicks you out. Imagine the producers knowing that the nice intern serves shots in a whore’s skirt.”

Chaewon’s stomach churns, but she tries to keep a brave face. “You’re a bitch, you know that?” She says, but Yuna just smiles, leaning closer until her breath hits her face. “Bitch is in charge of you, honey. And now, new assignment: you’re going to create an account on SimpSpace.” Chaewon blinks, confused. “What?” Yuna explains, her tone amused: SimpSpace is a platform where girls sell intimate content to horny fans—messages, photos, videos, anything that makes guys spend money. “You’re going to join, post some hot stuff, and give me half of the profits. Or I’ll send your story to everyone, including your bosses at Starlight.”

Chaewon wants to punch Yuna in the face, but she’s cornered. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do that,” she spits, but Yuna leans in, her finger poking her in the chest. “You’re crazy, thinking you have a choice. You start with spicy messages, some light things. But you’re not wrong, Soo-min — I’ll want more. Pictures in your panties, videos of you dancing like those sluts on TikTok, audios of you moaning as if you were getting fucked. And if you complain, your life will turn to ashes.” Yuna laughs, tossing her blonde hair, and leaves, leaving Chaewon trembling, the mirror reflecting a girl who is sinking into a bottomless pit.

Back in the tiny apartment Chaewon shares with an intern, she throws herself on the bed, her bar uniform thrown on the floor, the smell of vodka still clinging to her skin. It's 3 a.m., and Seoul rumbles outside, neon signs shining through the window. She grabs her phone, her heart heavy, and creates an account on SimpSpace with the name “VelvetKitten,” an ironic echo of Black Velvet. The platform is a sea of ​​profiles with panty pics and promises of “exclusive content.” Chaewon swallows her pride and starts with light messages, responding to guys who send her fire emojis and “Hi, kitty.” “I'm in my pajamas, wanna know what it's like?” she writes to one, bile rising in her throat, but money dripping into her account. Each message is a stab at her dream of being an idol, but also a spark of rebellion — if she's being forced to do this, she'll do it her way.

The next night, at Black Velvet, Yuna doesn’t miss a chance to humiliate. As Chaewon serves a table of screaming guys, Yuna walks by and whispers loud enough for some to hear: “Are you sending nudes properly, VelvetKitten? Or do you want me to teach you how to suck on a phone?” The customers laugh, thinking she’s joking, but Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking in her hands. “Fuck you, Yuna,” she mutters, but Yuna just blinks, blowing a sarcastic kiss. Later, at the bar, Yuna checks Chaewon’s phone, laughing. “Texts? That’s it? I’m serious, Soo-min. I want pictures of you in black panties, twerking in a video with that slutty skirt, and some audio clips of you moaning ‘oh, fuck me’. Otherwise, your career is over.” Chaewon stares at the bar, the glass of soju Min-jae pours gleaming like a way out, but she knows she’s trapped. The bar throbs around her, the graffiti on the walls seeming to laugh at her, and Chaewon, for the first time, feels the weight of a double life that could swallow her whole.

As “VelvetKitten” on SimpSpace, Chaewon has sent racy messages like “Wanna see my pajamas, you rascal?” and the money is pouring in—50,000 won here, 100,000 there. But Yuna, the bitch with the lip piercing, wants more. Yesterday, she demanded panty shots, videos of her twerking, and audio of her moaning, and Chaewon, her heart in her throat, was starting to give in. She opens the app, and the notifications explode: “You’re so beautiful, Kitten, I want to see you on your knees,” says one subscriber. “I’m paying you to be my little slut,” writes another. Chaewon feels her face burn with embarrassment, but also a treacherous heat between her legs—the compliments, even dirty ones, ignite something she hates to admit. They want me, she thinks, and for a second, it’s like being on the stage she dreams of as an idol.

But then the shame hits harder. Each message is a reminder of how far she is from the Chaewon who files contracts at Starlight Entertainment, smiling at producers who may never see her sing. She throws her phone on the bed, her heart sinking, and mutters to herself: “Fuck, I’m not that.” But Yuna doesn’t let up.

The next night, Chaewon is serving soju shots in a corner of Black Velvet, her uniform tighter than ever — Yuna “suggested” a top that barely covers her breasts and a vinyl skirt so short that she feels the air on her thighs with every step. The fishnet stockings are ripped on purpose, and the red lipstick, now smudged from biting her lip, completes the “adult movie waitress” look. She tries to ignore the stares of the customers, guys in suits with hands that “accidentally” brush against them and girls laughing loudly, but Yuna is watching, leaning against the counter, fiddling with her phone like a villain in a cheap comedy. “Hey, VelvetKitten!” Yuna screams, loud enough for a few tables to turn their heads. Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking. “Come here, your little digital bitch needs a lesson.”

Chaewon approaches, teeth gritted, and Yuna hands her her phone, open to SimpSpace. “Read this one out loud,” Yuna orders, pointing to a message from a subscriber: “Kitten, I want you on all fours, moaning my name.” Yuna’s voice is pure venom, and a few customers laugh, thinking she’s joking. Chaewon swallows hard, her face burning. “Yuna, stop this shit,” she whispers, but Yuna leans in, her piercing glistening. “Read it, or tomorrow Min-jae and Starlight will know you’re a fraud. And say it nicely, like the little slut they think you are.” Chaewon wants to punch her in the face, but she’s cornered. Her voice trembling, she reads softly: “Kitten… I want you on all fours… moaning my name.” Yuna laughs, clapping her hands together. “Louder, Soo-min, or I’ll turn it on the bar’s stereo!” Chaewon repeats, her voice cracking, and a guy at the next table whistles, shouting, “That’s it, kitten!” The humiliation burns, but Chaewon’s eyes shine with something new—anger mixed with a confused lust, as if the shame is turning into something else.

Later, in the back of the bar, in a small room that serves as a storage room and dressing room, Yuna throws a bag of clothes in Chaewon’s face. “Time to step it up a notch, VelvetKitten,” she says. The bag contains a black lace bodysuit that looks like a spiderweb, a pair of strap-on panties that barely cover anything, and a leather belt with chains that screams porn. “This is for your next video,” Yuna explains, crossing her arms. “I want you to dance, shaking that ass that the guys are paying to see. And record an audio moaning ‘fuck me, daddy’, really naughty. If you don’t, you know what I mean.” Chaewon stares at the clothes, her stomach churning. “You’re turning me into a… a…” She doesn’t finish, and Yuna finishes, laughing: “A digital slut? Congratulations, Soo-min, you already are. Now do it right.”

Back at the apartment, Chaewon puts on the lace bodysuit, the fabric brushing her nipples in a way that makes her gasp. She records the video, dancing to a slow beat by SimpSpace, shaking her hips in front of the mirror, the chain belt jingling. “You’re so hot, Kitten,” one subscriber comments, and others send: “Be my slave, please.” Shame swallows her — she’s the intern who wants to be an idol, not this — but excitement comes along with it, like a betrayal of her body. She records the audio, moaning “Fuck me, daddy,” her voice hoarse, and when she sends it, the money pours in: 200,000 won in one night. Chaewon throws the phone on the bed, her hands shaking, her heart in pieces. At Black Velvet, Yuna checks it all out, laughing as she humiliates: “Look, the little idol is learning how to be a slut properly.”

It’s Saturday night, and Hongdae is a hive of lights and sound, with bars blaring K-pop music, girls in high heels stumbling on the sidewalks, and the smell of soju and fried chicken in the air. Black Velvet is packed. Tattooed owner Min-jae’s counter is covered in sticky glasses, and the electronic beat, like something from Jay Park, makes the tables vibrate. Chaewon darts between customers, her uniform—a black lace bodysuit that looks like a web, strappy panties, and a jingling chain belt—leaving her exposed to hungry eyes. Her red lipstick is smeared from biting her lip, sweat drips down the back of her neck, and every “Hey, kitty!” from a drunk customer is a stab to the soul. But she keeps her smile on, pouring shots of “Hot Sin” while thinking about SimpSpace, where, as “VelvetKitten,” she’s making money from dirty texts, twerking videos, and audios that make her want to vomit with embarrassment.

During her break, Chaewon hides in the back room, a cramped space with boxes of liquor and a cracked mirror. She checks her phone, her heart sinking, and sees a new message on SimpSpace. It’s from a guy with the nickname “GoldKing88,” a VIP subscriber who’s already spent thousands of won in the past few days. The message is straightforward: “Kitten, I’ll pay you 5 million won for a personalized video. I want you on a leash, on all fours, moaning my name and begging to be mine. 10 minutes, no cuts.” Chaewon’s stomach drops—5 million is more than she makes in months at Starlight Entertainment. But the thought of humiliating herself like this, on a leash, begging, is too much. She tosses her phone into her bag, muttering “No way,” but Yuna’s shadow is already looming.

Back at the bar, Chaewon is serving a table of guys in suits when Yuna appears. “Time to check out SimpSpace star VelvetKitten!” Yuna announces, loud enough for a few heads to turn, and Chaewon blushes, her tray shaking. At the counter, Yuna grabs her phone without asking, laughing as she scrolls through her messages. “Wow, look at this! ‘GoldKing88’ wants to leash you? And 5 million won? Damn, Soo-min, you’re hot!” Chaewon tries to grab the phone, her teeth grinding together. “Yuna, stop this shit. I’m not doing this,” she spits, her voice low, but Yuna leans in. “You’re not?”

Chaewon feels the floor disappear, the bar spinning around her. “You’re destroying me, Yuna,” she mutters, her eyes watering, but Yuna laughs, tossing her blonde hair. “Destroying me? I’m making you rich, you ungrateful bitch. Now take the guy’s offer, record this video, and give me half. Or do you want me to send your slutty face to the Starlight gossip group?” Yuna pokes her chest, her finger digging into her lace bodysuit. “And do it well, huh? Collar, on all fours, moaning like the little slut he wants. If not, it’s over.” Yuna throws the phone in her hand and walks off, shouting “Good luck, Kitten!” to the audience of customers, who laugh, thinking she’s joking. Chaewon stands still, her heart racing, the humiliation burning, but a spark of excitement — dirty, wrong — grows at the thought of so much money and attention.

In the apartment, the silence is broken only by the buzz of a neon sign outside, casting pink light on the peeling wall. Chaewon stands in front of the mirror, her body trembling as she puts on what Yuna sent her: black lace panties, a jingling chain belt, and a cheap leather collar she bought at a sex shop in Itaewon, her heart clenching with each click. The lace bodysuit has been replaced by a top that barely covers her nipples, and she feels the fabric brush against her skin, igniting a heat that embarrasses her. She turns on her phone’s camera, SimpSpace opens, and takes a deep breath. I’m not that, she thinks, but Yuna’s threat—Min-jae, Starlight, her career—weighs more than her pride.

Chaewon kneels on the carpet, on all fours, her collar glinting in the lamplight. “Hi, GoldKing,” she begins, her voice husky, forcing a sensual tone. “I’m here for you… your Kitten wants to be yours.” She moans his name, as if he were asking, and grinds slowly, her belt jingling, her panties slipping slightly. “Please… make me yours,” she murmurs, the words cutting like knives, but the money—5 million won—shines in her mind. The embarrassment is suffocating, but the comments that pop up on SimpSpace—“You’re perfect, Kitten, my hot slave”—get to her. The video lasts 10 minutes, every second a test of her limits, and when she turns off the camera, she’s sweating, her face flushed, her body strangely hot. Money drips into her account, and Chaewon throws the collar on the floor, muttering, “Fuck, what have I become?” But deep down, a part of her—rebellious, lively—is starting to enjoy the game, even if it’s dangerous.

The next night, at Black Velvet, Yuna checks the video on Chaewon’s phone, laughing out loud. “Look at that, the little idol with the collar! She’s turning pro, Soo-min!” She squeezes Chaewon’s arm, forcing her to look at the screen while the customers around her jeer. “Don’t forget: half of it is mine, or I’ll fuck you up.”

As time goes by, the messages from subscribers start to explode: “Kitten, you with a collar are my fantasy,” says one. “I want to see you cry from cumming,” writes another. Chaewon feels her face burn with embarrassment—she’s a Starlight Entertainment intern, dreaming of being an idol, not a “VelvetKitten” on all fours. But, damn, there’s something about this that gets to her. Every dirty compliment, every won dripping into her account, is like a drug. She’s scared, of course—scared of Yuna, of being exposed, of becoming this forever. But there’s also a perverse pleasure, an adrenaline rush of being desired, of exposing herself and, in some twisted way, controlling these guys through her cell phone. They want me, she thinks, and the thought makes her pussy throb, even though she hates to admit it.

On another day at work, Yuna drags Chaewon to the back room, a claustrophobic space with boxes of liquor and a cracked mirror. “Time to spice things up, VelvetKitten,” Yuna says, her tone acidic, tossing a black marker into her hand. “The subscribers want more, and you’re going to give it to them. Write what they tell you on your body.” Chaewon blinks, her heart racing. “What?” she blurts, but Yuna shows her phone, open to SimpSpace, with messages from subscribers: “Write ‘whore’ on your boobs, Kitten,” says one. “I want ‘slave’ on my ass,” asks another. Chaewon feels her stomach churn, but Yuna just says, “Do it, Soo-min.” Chaewon grits her teeth, anger mixed with that twisted pleasure she’s starting to enjoy. “You’re trash,” she spits, but takes the marker, trembling.

In the mirror, Chaewon pulls up her top, exposing her breasts, and writes “whore” in large letters, the marker cold on her skin. On her thigh, she scribbles “slave,” and on her stomach, “yours.” Each word is a stab, but also an electric shock—she’s humiliated, but the idea of thousands of guys paying to see this makes her feel powerful, even if it’s dirty. Yuna laughs, clapping her hands together. “Perfect, you little bitch. Now record a video for the subscribers. I want you dancing, rubbing those words, and moaning like they’re fucking you.” Chaewon wants to scream, but Yuna has her phone out, recording the humiliation. In the apartment, Chaewon films, dancing with the words exposed, shaking her hips as she moans, “I’m your whore, daddy,” her voice husky, her body hot. The subscribers go crazy—“You’re my queen, Kitten!”—and the money pours in, but Chaewon is torn, her perverse pleasure fighting with the shame of seeing herself like this.

When she returns to the bar, it ends up more crowded than ever, the air thick with sweat and incense. Chaewon pours shots, her vinyl top gleaming, the words “whore” and “slave” hidden beneath her clothes but burning into her skin. Yuna appears at the counter, her villainous smile shining. “Good news, Soo-min. A top subscriber, ‘DiamondLord,’ wants a private meeting. He’s offering 10 million won to see you in person.” Chaewon freezes, her tray shaking. “In person? Are you crazy?” she spits, but Yuna laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re the crazy one, thinking there’s a way out. He’s powerful, like he owns a club or something. He wants you in a suite downtown, and he said he wants to… satisfy you. You go, you’re going to be his little whore for a night, and you give me half.”

Yuna leans in, her finger poking Chaewon’s chest. “Imagine, Soo-min, a Starlight producer knowing that you write ‘whore’ on your body. Or Min-jae kicking you out for lying. Accept the date, or I’ll fuck you.” Chaewon feels the bar spin, the customers screaming in the background, the electronic beat like a hammer. The imaginary collar tightens — and, fuck, that dirty pleasure is there, whispering that maybe she wants this, just a little. “You’ll pay for this, Yuna,” she murmurs, but Yuna just blinks, blowing a sarcastic kiss. “Good girl, Kitten. If you play nice, who knows you might like it.” Chaewon stares at the bar, her soju glass glistening, and knows she’s sinking into a game where limits no longer exist.

Chaewon leaves Black Velvet after another hellish shift, her body exhausted, her uniform stuck to her sweaty skin. Her red lipstick is smudged, and the words “whore” and “slave,” which she washed off with force, still seem to burn into her skin. In her apartment, Chaewon flops down on her bed, her phone flashing with messages from SimpSpace. “DiamondLord” has confirmed the meeting: a suite at a luxury hotel in downtown Seoul, tomorrow night. “I want my Kitten live, ready to serve me,” he writes, and Chaewon feels her stomach churn. 10 million won is a fortune, but satisfying a stranger? That’s a line she’s never wanted to cross.

But Yuna doesn’t give her a choice. At the bar, before Chaewon could leave, Yuna cornered her in the back room, the cramped space smelling of vodka and dust. “You’re going to do it, Soo-min, and you’re going to make him cum with happiness,” Yuna said with a laugh. “If you try to run away, you know what. Imagine your bosses seeing the little idol moaning ‘fuck me, daddy.’” Yuna threw a bag with a “costume” — a red lace lingerie, a rhinestone collar, and a butt plug with a shiny jewel — that made Chaewon gag. “He asked for it, Kitten. Be a good slut,” Yuna mocked, poking her in the chest.

Chaewon stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her heart racing, the bag of “costume” that Yuna had thrown in her face open on the sink. The red lace lingerie is so thin it shows off her nipples, the rhinestone collar sparkles like a trophy, and the butt plug with a red jewel makes her swallow hard. Chaewon has never worn anything like this—her asshole is virgin, and just thinking about the sensation makes her stomach turn. But Yuna is clear: “DiamondLord wants you in this, Kitten.” Chaewon takes a deep breath, her red lipstick trembling as she applies lip gloss. I choose to do this, she thinks, trying to convince herself, the perverse pleasure she’s been feeling in SimpSpace fighting with her fear.

She slips on the lingerie, the fabric brushing against her skin, and puts on the collar, the rhinestone cold on her neck. Then, hands shaking, she grabs the plug and a tube of lube she bought at a sex shop in Hongdae, her face burning with embarrassment. Chaewon leans over the sink, her lace panties pulled to the side, and spreads the lube, the cold gel making her gasp. When she pushes the plug in, the pain is immediate—a sharp burn that makes her bite her lip, her eyes watering. “Fuck, that hurts,” she murmurs, her body tensing but pushing harder, her virgin asshole resisting before giving in. The plug goes in, the jewel glistening between her buttocks, and each movement sends a wave of pain mixed with a strange pleasure, as if she’s crossing a line she never wanted. Chaewon looks at the mirror, at the collar, at the lingerie, at the plug—she’s no longer the Starlight intern, but “VelvetKitten,” and that, in some twisted way, makes her feel alive. She pulls on a black trench coat over it, grabs her high heels, and heads out for the date, the plug tightening with every step.

The suite at the Lotte Hotel in the heart of Seoul is a dream of wealth: floor-to-ceiling windows with the skyline shining down, a king-size bed with black silk sheets, a bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne sweating on the table, and the smell of leather and jasmine in the air. Chaewon enters, her coat falling to the floor, revealing her red lingerie, her rhinestone collar, and her heels clicking on the marble. The butt plug sends shocks of pain and arousal with every movement, and she tries to maintain her “VelvetKitten” pose, even with her heart in her throat. DiamondLord, or Jin-ho, is waiting: in his 40s, with slicked-back hair, an Armani suit, and a smile that mixes charm with hunger. “Fuck, Kitten, you’re a living sin,” he says, his voice deep, pouring champagne. Chaewon smiles, her lip gloss glistening, and accepts the glass, the cold liquid calming her nerves. “I want to make you happy, Lord,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse, knowing she’s there by choice — Yuna forced her, but she wants the 10 million and, perhaps, this dangerous game.

Jin-ho leans in, his eyes fixed on her, and pulls Chaewon into a deep kiss, his tongue invading, the taste of champagne and whiskey mingling. She responds, her hands on his chest, feeling the heat through his shirt. “On your knees, Kitten,” he orders, his voice firm, and Chaewon obeys, the soft carpet against her knees, the plug tightening as she moves. She unzips his suit, his cock already hard, and licks the glans, slowly, like she learned from the SimpSpace videos. “Fuck, you know how to suck,” Jin-ho groans, his hand on the collar, tugging lightly. Chaewon swallows harder, her throat tight, the wet sound echoing in the suite. She’s nervous, but the wicked pleasure grows, the control she has over him even on her knees. He comes fast, the warm liquid filling her mouth, and Chaewon swallows, cleaning her lips with her tongue, her eyes fixed on his. “Good girl,” he says, laughing, and grabs a bottle of blue pills from the table, swallowing two with champagne. “I’m just getting started, Kitten.”

Jin-ho lifts her up, his hands ripping her red lingerie, the lace falling in shreds, exposing her breasts and strappy panties. “You’re mine today,” he growls, but Chaewon, sensing the power of the moment, whispers, “Then use me right, Lord.” He throws her on the bed, exploring her body with his hands and mouth, sucking on her nipples until she moans, his fingers in her pussy, wet despite her shame. Chaewon arches her body, the butt plug intensifying everything, and comes for the first time, a muffled scream, the pleasure fighting with the guilt of being so exposed. “Fuck, you come good,” Jin-ho says, and flips her onto her stomach, pulling her panties aside. “I’ve never done anal,” she confesses, her voice shaking, but adds, “I want to try… with you.” He lubes the plug, pulling it out slowly, the pain making her bite the sheets, and thrusts his cock in, slowly at first, then harder. Chaewon screams, the burning mixed with pleasure, and obeys when he commands: “Touch your pussy, Kitten.” She masturbates, her fingers quick, and comes again, her body shaking as he fucks her ass, ejaculating with a hoarse groan.

Exhausted, he leads her to the shower, steam filling the marble bathroom, hot water running down her skin. Jin-ho presses her against the wall, penetrating her pussy this time, his wet collar glistening. “You’re my slut, Kitten,” he says, but Chaewon, feeling the pleasure taking over, replies: “I’m yours… but only today.” They fuck until exhaustion, she coming once more, her legs weak. When they’re done, Jin-ho hands her a fat envelope—10 million won—and dresses her in one of his shirts, the fabric smelling of cologne. “It was perfect, Kitten,” he says, his tone hardening. “But if you open your mouth about this, I’ll find you, and you won’t like it.” Chaewon smiles, feigning submission, but inside she is plotting. In the elevator, the envelope in her bag, she feels her body aching, but alive, and one thing is certain: this game is changing her.

At Black Velvet, the next day, Chaewon was still serving shots, her vinyl uniform shining, her short skirt exposing her thighs marked by her encounter with Jin-ho. The rhinestone collar is hidden in her bag, but the weight of it — and the 10 million won — gives Chaewon a new confidence, an anger that is ready to explode. The encounter with DiamondLord was more than sex: Jin-ho let it slip that Yuna had worked with him, selling nudes on SimpSpace and doing “extras” at nightclubs, things that Min-jae, the bar owner, never knew about. Chaewon dug through the app and found old messages from Yuna on a deleted profile, with explicit photos and promises that could screw her over with Min-jae and even with the police, since Black Velvet is illegal.

Chaewon waits for the break, her blood boiling. When Yuna walks past her at the bar, laughing and shouting, “How was your date with that rich guy, VelvetKitten?” Chaewon can’t take it anymore. She grabs Yuna’s arm, her nails digging in, and drags her into the back room, ignoring the stares of the customers. “What the fuck, Soo-min?” Yuna whines, trying to pull away, but Chaewon slams the door shut, the sound muffled by the noise of the bar. Chaewon pushes Yuna against the wall, her vinyl top glistening in the dim light. “Enough of your shit, you bitch,” Chaewon growls, her voice shaking with rage, and slaps Yuna hard across the face, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Yuna stumbles, her piercing shaking, her hand on her face red. “Are you crazy?!” she screams, but Chaewon doesn’t stop, landing another slap, her red lipstick shining as she spits, “You’re the crazy one, thinking you can fuck me forever.”

Chaewon pulls out her phone, showing Yuna’s old messages on SimpSpace. “Look here, you hypocritical bitch. Selling nudes, sucking dick in nightclubs, and Min-jae doesn’t know anything about it. Do you want me to show it to him? Or to the police, who are already looking at this bar?” Yuna goes white, her eyes wide, but tries to defend herself: “You have no balls, Soo-min.” Chaewon laughs, an acidic sound, and grabs Yuna’s blonde hair, pulling hard until she moans in pain. “Balls? I became a bitch in SimpSpace, and now you’re going to be mine.” To humiliate her even more, Chaewon grabs the black marker from the table — the same one Yuna used to force her to write “whore” on her body — and writes “SLUT” on Yuna’s forehead, the thick line shining on her skin. “See how good it feels?” Chaewon scoffs, throwing the marker on the floor. “If you open your mouth, I’ll show your pictures to the whole bar.”

Yuna is shaking, her face red, the word “SLUT” shining like a stamp. “You’ll… regret it,” she mutters, but Chaewon slaps her again, a lighter one, just to make a point. “Regret it? You made me a whore, Yuna. Now shut up and obey, or I’ll make you swallow this piercing.” Chaewon leaves the little room, her heart racing, her anger mixed with a sadistic pleasure she’s never felt before. At the bar, she serves shots with a new smile, her uniform shining, while Yuna, still in the back, wipes the marker off with shaking hands. Chaewon has won this battle, but she knows Yuna won’t stay quiet.

[birthanon]

Exam in, Baby out

Answering this ask that came through my messages from @yaiofanficbombon2022: 

"The class president is in labour (Mpreg). He had a sexual encounter with the popular boy of the school and as a result of this encounter he is pregnant.

His water breaks at home at night, he wants to miss school, but he can't, so he goes to class anyway.

The contractions are intense and constant, and the baby tries to come out, but he refuses to push until the exam is over.

He ends up giving birth in the school bathroom."

I’ve aged them up to a very high school like college because even 18 yo high school students feel too young to me. Hopefully you don’t mind.

This fic contains: mpreg, birth denial, pushing baby back in, clothing birth

“Hey, pres, you all right?” Jason asked, coming to sit next to Max. 

Max grunted, forcing a smile for the man who was rather popular with the other people at their very small church owned college they both attended, and also the father of the child that was currently trying to expel itself from Max’s womb. They’d had a secret encounter in Jason’s dorm room after a particularly intense study session—and well, they hadn’t repeated said occurrences since then, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly. “Fine,” Max managed as the contraction that had been wrapping its way around his belly finally eased off. “Just worried about this exam.”

Specifically, he was worried about passing the final exam of his health class while also managing to keep the kid in him, you know, in him. Particularly since his water had broken last night, and he hadn’t gotten a whole bunch of sleep between the increasingly intense contractions. This was his last final of the semester, though, he just had to pass this test, or at least make it through it, and he was home free. So he’d hobbled his way to class from his dorms. It wouldn’t do for the student president to just not show up to an exam.

“You’re the smart one,” Jason said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Only it doesn’t look like you slept at all.”

“Stayed up all night studying.”

“For health?” Jason asked. “Look man, I know you’re a perfectionist and all that, but no one cares what grade you get in this class. All you gotta do is pass. It’s not worth killing yourself over.”

Max tried to formulate a nonchalant shrug. “Gotta keep that scholarshi—mmmhg.” Another contraction cut him off. He wrapped his fingers around the bottom of the desk and forced all his pain and the screaming desire to push into them instead of downward. Still the contractions were getting insistent. The force of his body pressed the baby’s head against his lips, which began to spread and sting. As soon as the contraction ended, the head slipped back inside, the stinging easing. Still, that wasn’t a good sign. The two hour exam hadn’t even started and the baby was already sitting right behind his lips. 

Jason stared. “Man, you sure you’re good?”

“I’ll survive,” Max said, trying to sound sardonic, though his breathlessness gave him away. Jason didn’t know Max was pregnant. No one did. He’d carried small, and Max was good at hiding his body in shapewear and too big hoodies. If anyone did find out, he’d definitely lose his scholarship, and probably get kicked right out of the school. It had very strict rules about sex outside of marriage, and babies don’t just happen.

Max was saved from further questions from Jason by the professor entering the room and beginning to pass out a massive pile of paper that was the final exam. “You will have one and half hours to do the question and answer portion of the exam,” the professor explained. “Then I will show a video of a live birth. As the university wants you to know how to give birth at home, with prayer and without medical intervention as God intended. You all must know how to give birth. After watching the birth video, you will be required to write a paper discussing what they did correctly and what they could have done better. Understood?”

The class nodded.

“All right then, you may begin. You have an hour and a half.”

Max reached out for the packet, grabbing his pencil and his scantron, eager to go as quickly as possible and get this over with. Two questions in, and his stomach was seizing again. Freed from Jason’s questioning gaze, Max wrapped his hand around his stomach to try and soothe it, feeling it shrink underneath the shapewear he wore. He tried not to push, focusing on breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, but the searing stretch of his nethers continued throughout the contraction nonetheless. 

According to his studies, contractions lasted about 60-90 seconds, so Max counted out the seconds in his head, one hand wrapped tight around his stomach, the other clutching his fragile wooden pencil dangerously tightly.

As soon as the contraction began to ease and the stinging stopped as the baby returned to its place just outside his lips, Max continued with the test. His contractions were coming every two minutes, lasting about a minute. Which means while the rest of his class had an hour and a half to complete the test, he only had an hour. 

The words swum in front of him and he leaned forward to get a better view of the words, curling around his stomach and triggering another contraction. Sitting forward as he was, the hard plastic chair pressed against his lips. Which gave him an idea. Experimentally, he pushed with the urge instead of trying to hold back, grunting softly as he did. The head spread him open, shooting through his stretching lips, and then stopped moving as it struck the chair. Max whined, softly, tapping out of the push early. Except this time, the head didn’t go all the way back in, it stayed at that partial crown, stretching his lips. 

Stealthily, he reached down under his desk and explored the area between his spread legs. A massive bulge of straining jeans was wedged between them, pressed up against the chair.

Max let out a shuddering breath. All right, he thought, as long as I can stay sitting down, we can keep the baby in. And thus the test stretched on, in increments of three minutes, two of answering questions, one of pushing fruitlessly into the hard plastic chair, his wet jeans bagging out with the emerging head. 

Some of the questions were about health, but a lot were about sexual health and reproduction. Labeling the different parts of the birther’s anatomy felt particularly ironic when Max could feel the stretch of so many of them, the diagram a visual reminder of how small everything had been before a baby had been shoved through it.

Another question asked which sex position was most likely to result in successful reproduction, which had him flashback to his room, with Jason leaning over him, his warm chest on Max’s. It brought a blush to his cheeks which led Max to lift his head and glance over at Jason.

Jason had been looking back, his brows wrinkled in concern, but when he caught Max looking, the face changed to a forced smile and a hidden lewd hand symbol. Maybe the test was bringing up memories for him too.

Their moment was broken by another contraction. Max forced his head down, as though he was working on his test, leaning as far forward as he could, his stomach pressing against the bottom of the desk, his crotch against the seat to keep the baby in as his whole body pushed down.

The pain was just letting up when the teacher called for their attention, and put on the birthing video. A woman moaning, crouching, her husband supporting her from behind, praying. Her stomach visibly contracted as Max’s own pain returned. Their contractions had synced up, but while she was naked and pushing freely, he was covered in clothes, unable to push or make progress. Her grunts of effort and cries of pain masked his own moans.

The voice of the camera-person ordered the woman, “Push! Push!”

And having sat at a partial crown for an hour and half, Max couldn’t help but obey, pushing in sync with the woman on screen. He leaned back instinctively, lost in the grasp of instinct. He and the woman pushed, and pushed. The babys’ heads emerged slowly, fighting to stretch out the body and, in Max’s case, force the jeans out of the way.

The woman screamed as her head reached a full crown, losing her crouch and falling backwards, caught by her husband. Max’s own softer exhalation, as his own crown, freed from the confines of the chair, reached its own crown.

The next few pushes were unfruitful. The baby’s head bobbed in the woman’s crotch as Max’s own baby fought against his tight jean crotch and lost. He wasn’t trying to hold back anymore, wasn’t thinking consciously, only knew he needed to push.

Then the head on screen gushed out, followed by the rest of the body in rapid succession, but Max’s was still stuck, no matter how he pushed and grunted. The screen went black. 

“You have twenty minutes to write your essays.”

Max panted, realizing his situation. His hand explored downward, gasping at how large the bulge was, his legs spread apart, his lips screaming in pain, stretched to their fullest, his whole body soaked in sweat.

He could not write, could not focus on writing, but he had to. So, ever so slowly he leaned forward. The head of the baby caught on the chair, then began to be shoved up inside him once more. Max shoved his pencil in his mouth, biting down hard to hold back the scream that threatened to bubble in his throat at the pure agony. 

Another, harsher contraction came, but he weathered it, biting his pencil and pressing himself down against the chair. It faded, and he tried to write. The next contraction was just as bad. His weakened pencil snapped his hand. He whimpered as the head began to emerge once more, stretching him little by little. 

It didn’t seem like he had two minutes of leeway anymore, no matter what their professor had taught. The contractions didn’t seem to end. It hurt so much. He was so sweaty, so confined. The baby was coming out again. He didn’t have the energy to push it against the chair. It was stretching his lips, so wide.

“Time!” The professor called. “Pencils down.”

Max’s pencil was in pieces before him, his essay a mess, his multiple choice portion, not quite complete. But he didn’t care. He had to give birth. He had to get out of there.

The old professor toddled around, collecting tests as Max tried to look normal after having been in active labor for fourteen hours and actively crowning for two. 

He’d had a plan, take the test, go home, give birth in his empty apartment. But as the baby reached a full crown once more, Max knew that wasn’t happening. He would at least make it to the bathroom. It was on the first floor. Max planned his route as the professor said his final goodbyes, and then, finally, finally, fifteen minutes after the test ended, released them. 

Max stayed where he was, unsure how to stand as the rest of the students burst out of the room. Another student stayed and talked to Jason, pulling his attention away from Max.

Now, Max thought. He awkwardly turned in his seat, and removed his hoodie. It revealed his very low belly, curved and sweat-soaked, but he used it to tie around his waist, hiding the massive bulge in his crotch. Then, oh so gently, he leveraged himself to his feet.

Gravity shifted, his jeans loosened a bit, and the baby dropped down just a bit further, the head stretching him wider than he thought possible. Max gasped and swayed, catching himself on his desk. Jason glanced over, clearly concerned, but his conversation partners drew him back in.

Free. Max began to waddle, slowly, awkwardly, out of the classroom. Each step was agony, his jeans jostling the fully crowned head in his pants in and out just a smidge. His exhausted legs trembled, and he kept one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. The stairs were right next to the classroom, the elevator was on the other side of the building. He could either walk the entirety twice (to reach the elevator and then walk all the way back to the bathroom at the base of the stairs), or go down the stairs. He chose the stairs.

He went down two before he realized it was an awful idea. He clung to the railing, his legs forcefully spread around the head, which brushed his thighs each time he maneuvered himself awkwardly down the stairs like a new-born deer.

Finally, red faced, panting, exhausted, he reached the bottom of the stairs and practically fell into the door of the men’s bathroom. A guy at the urinal gave him a look.

“Really gotta. . . go,”  Max panted, then stumbled into the stall and locked the door. He reached immediately for his jeans. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt. As the contraction struck, he crouched naturally, spreading his legs wider, but that only forced the jeans up tighter against his opening, forcing the head further in. 

Finally, the belt gave way, and he began forcing the jeans down. They got caught on his hips. He needed to move his legs together, but another contraction hit, and the baby descended further, its nose stretching him and popping out. The head was touching his thighs. He couldn’t spread his legs further to give it more room with his jeans, he couldn’t get rid of the jeans because of the head.

He was stuck.

Mind frozen with fear and exhaustion, he weathered out several contractions, pushing as hard as he could. But the baby didn’t move. It was stuck. The jeans had to go, but that meant. . . 

He heard speaking over the roar of his ears, but couldn’t make out the words. It was definitely Jason.

But Max could spare him no thought. The baby had to come out. Quivering, Max placed his hand on his baby’s head, feeling its wet hair. He took one deep breath, trying to get oxygen in his panic, then began to push the baby up and back it. 

It was agony. He screamed in pain. The baby kicked in protest. His stomach contracted. In the chaos, he lost his balance, falling to his knees, striking his elbow on the side of the tiny stall. 

Jason was pounding on the stall door. 

Max couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t do anything but give birth. He shucked off his jeans and boxers, spread his legs, and pushed.

The much denied baby shot out, to its ears and Max cried out again. The contraction faded, and he could hear Jason now, asking if Max was okay.

“I’ve cleared the bathroom and put a sign out saying its closed. Tell me what's going on, or I’ll call 911.”

Well, Max would need help getting out of here. And it was just as much Jason’s secret as it was his. With a shaking hand, he reached up and undid the latch, just in time for the next contraction to hit. He pushed, and the baby’s head shot out of him just as Jason flung open the door.

“Holy crap!”

Max gasped, leaning against the toilet, spreading his legs just a bit further. The dirty bathroom tile was cold. It felt good. The baby was turning inside him.

“Is that mine?” Jason asked. That health class did something for him after all.

Max could only nod. 

“Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Max didn’t have the breath for explanations. “Wanted you safe,” he gasped. “If I was. . . if they did. . .”

Another contraction. He pushed, weakly. The head bobbed forward, but didn’t move. God, he was exhausted.

Jason knelt down beside Max, his health class training coming into play. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Water broke—nngghh—last night.” The head still didn’t move. He was so tired.

“Last night!”

“Head crowned. . . just. . . just before the—” Another contraction. Max pushed with the pain as hard as he could, but the head wasn’t moving.

“Shit, man.”

Another contraction. No progress. Something was catching on his narrow hips. His body wasn’t made for birthing the way a woman’s was. “I think, I think it’s stuck.”

“I got you, give me a moment.” Then Jason left, leaving Max alone, spread wide and bare, a baby head between his legs, on a dirty bathroom floor. He flopped his head back, resting it on the toilet seat. Gross, yeah, but he didn’t have the energy to care any more.

Another fruitless contraction.

Then Jason was back. He crouched down by Max. “this is going to hurt,” he warned. Then he shoved his hand into Max’s crotch alongside the baby’s neck. Max opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He was too tired. The pain was awful, the stretch terrible. Then Jason was fumbling around in there with his whole-ass hand, pulling and tugging. Max’s hips strained. 

Another contraction began, tensing Max’s stomach which was peeking up through his shirt, which had ridden up. 

With the hand that wasn’t currently inside Max, Jason pressed down on Max’s stomach. “Push!” he ordered.

Max pushed. Jason pushed with one hand and pulled with the other. The tension, the pressure built, and built. Max was being torn apart. He was going to die. He was—

Something gave. With a gush, the crying baby shot out into Jason’s waiting hands.

The three of them sat, panting, staring at each other. “I want to raise this baby with you, if you’ll let me,” said Jason. “Only reason I haven’t been with you more is, well, I didn’t want to get us both kicked out. But I think you’re amazing and—”

Max smiled. “You’re pretty good too. Let’s do this.”

[kokonoooi]

✧ cockwarming draken while you study :

cw: fem reader, cockwarming, draken teasing, dirty talk/praise, hair-pulling, backshots, spanking, big dick warning lolol

wc: 634

Imagine cockwarming Draken while you study. You're sitting on your bed with your laptop and books all around you and you're naked from the waist down as you try to focus on taking your notes, but it's hard because all you can think about is how deep his fat cock is nestled inside your warm hole.

He's got an arm wrapped around your waist, making sure that you don't move as he watches your screen over your shoulder while you type.

Experimentally, he gives you a little nudge just because he loves to see you fall apart for him so easily. He smirks and nips at your ear when you whine and your fingers fall from the keyboard and onto his thigh.

"Keep typing. Be a good girl for me. Gunna ace this test, aren't ya, baby?"

You're too dumb to talk so he grabs your jaw and squeezes, making you face him as he moves your head up and down in a nod.

"I know you are, because you're my smart girl, after all. Get to it, baby, so I can fuck this sweet pussy just how she needs to be fucked."

—-

“Focus.”

Draken growls into your ear as he kneels behind you, balls deep in your cunt.

You’re bent over your laptop taking a quiz, breasts dangling heavily beneath you and almost touching the keyboard from the mean arch that your boyfriend has you in.

“‘m focused, Ken…” Your voice wobbles as does your hand; your mouse shakily hovers over a wrong answer before you suck in a breath and correct it.

“That was a close call, but you caught it, baby. Look at you, you’re doing such a good job.”

He spanked your butt a couple of times then rubbed the supple flesh with his big hands.

“I-I’m done…” The quiz was now submitted: you scored 100%.

Draken’s grin grew wider, showcasing two rows of perfect white teeth that you could see reflected in your laptop screen.

“Good fucking girl.”

He moved over you to close the computer lid and slide it onto the floor, pushing himself even further against your womb before he eased about half of his length out.

“Put the rest of that shit on the floor,” Draken commanded, referring to your multiple books, pens, and highlighters.

You hurriedly brushed the items off the edge of the bed, some of the pens rolling across the hardwood while Draken grabbed your hair up into a makeshift ponytail and began fucking into you relentlessly.

“Ah ah ah ah! Ken!”

The bed squeaked and rocked, the headboard banging loudly against the wall that was sure to have your neighbors pissed at you, but how could you care when you were getting the best fucking reward? Literally.

Draken slowed down and eased himself in and out of you to let you hear the squelch of your wet pussy a few times before he was buried deep once again.

“Shit girl, your greedy pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Something in him snapped, and the next thing you knew, his entire weight was pressing down on you as he pulled your arms behind your back and held your wrists against your ass.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Draken pummeled your pussy with ferocity until the both of you were moaning each others’ names out and spiraling into mind-numbing orgasms.

Finally, you were released and your fatigued body collapsed into the soft mattress. 

You could still feel your legs twitching while simultaneously your cunt contracted, releasing a thick gush of Draken’s cum.

Soft pecks were then pressed into your sweaty back until you rolled over to face your handsome lover, eyes fluttering dangerously as the urge to sleep swept over you.

“Rest for now. When you wake up, we’ll be on to the next subject.”

[sexhaver]

great ragebait. who’s your idea of a smart person?

idolizing anyone as "smart" in the general sense is going to inevitably lead to embarrassment when they do or say something stupid. building up an expertise in any one field to the extent that you serve as an inspiration for others in that field will result in shortcomings and blind spots elsewhere. great authors are going to have dogshit takes on IP laws. great political theorists are going to make dumbass points about technology. one of my coworkers at my old job could practically rework PCBs blindfolded and also regularly forgot to include water when microwaving cup noodles. Herman Cain was a genuinely groundbreaking neurosurgeon who invented novel procedures to separate the brains of cojoined twins and also thought that the Great Pyramids were used as grain silos.

the reason i'm so dismissive of people who ever held a positive opinion of Elon Musk is because the only things he's ever been held up as "smart" about are things that he's very obviously (to anyone with actual expertise in that field) a dumbass about. he's not good at "technology"; all of his press events featured untested and faked demos (like an "autonomous" humanoid robot being puppetted from the next room over or his brain implants killing test subjects) and listening to him talk about potential future advancements belies a complete lack of experience in the field. he's not good at urban planning: every suggestion he makes in that field is transparently motivated by his desire to sell more cars. he's not good at making cars: they blow up, catch fire in special ways that require FULL IMMERSION IN WATER to put out, have their autopilot fail fatally, and are only cheaper than the competition because of government contracts. he's not good at aerospace: his rockets blow up, are worse than what NASA has been doing by every conceivable metric, and all of his "advances" in that field are focused around fulfilling contracts for the US military centered around sending arbitrary payloads anywhere on earth really fast (which they also can't do). you can't even fall back on the "well at least he knows how to run a business" argument because he's been running Tesla into the ground since buying it from the original inventors with stunts like getting rid of OSHA-mandated yellow safety markings because he doesn't like yellow, to the extent that literally any other human being on Earth would have been forced out by the board of directors years ago. even if you narrow your focus to any one field, Elon Musk has never been anything other than a fraud to anyone who cared to investigate

[crownics]

The curious “love triangle” between Paul, John and Brian (A long sequence.)

“This was the state of play in the music business and wider world on the day the Beatles had their arranged second meeting with Brian Epstein to discuss management — the day they said yes. [...] John, George and Pete arrived, Paul didn’t. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Brian became edgy. [...] Beyond this, Paul’s non-arrival made things awkward — Brian wouldn’t want to say everything twice, so they waited for him to show… and waited. 

Brian’s irritation couldn’t be suppressed. [...] ‘I was a bit put out’, Brian said two years later, more coolly collected. ‘I thought, ‘This is the first meeting, they want to do something about management…’. He had every right to wonder what was going on. Paul was patently ambitious, liked to impress, and the Beatles needed a manager, so why was he doing this to the one person trying to help him, probably the only man in Liverpool who stood any chance of getting him everything he wanted?

After three-quarters of an hour, Brian suggested George phone Forthlin Road to establish when Paul had left for the bus. He returned saying Paul had only just got out of bed, was now having a bath, and would be along when he was done. Brian blew… but ended up being charmed and laughing, the usual Beatle mix.”

“It’s unlikely Paul arrived much before six, when Brian finally got to explain in detail the London meetings he’d had on their behalf. [...] Brian was, in several ways, the ideal manager for Paul. [...] However, John remembered Paul’s attitude to Brian being very different. John was always emphatic that Paul didn’t want Brian as the Beatles’ manager and presented obstacles to destabilise him, to make his job difficult, like turning up late for meetings.

‘Three of us chose Epstein. Paul used to sulk and God knows what. [Paul] wasn’t that keen [on Brian] – he’s more conservative, the way he approaches things. He even says that: it’s nothing he denies.’

Paul’s stance may in part have been a reaction to John’s, who always made snap judgements and leapt right in. It was a major and constant difference between them. As Paul says:

‘John said to me once, ‘Look, imagine you’re like on a cliff-top and you’re thinking about diving off. Dive! Try it!’ I said, ‘Like bloody hell I’m gonna dive. You dive and give us a shout and tell me how it is, and then if it’s great I’ll dive.’ John always had a strong instinct to do that, but it’s not my personality.’

Paul has confirmed that he asked Brian most of the questions about the contract: there had to be a signed agreement between them, but there wasn’t one yet because Brian was still looking into it. Paul says they didn’t know the going rate for a manager’s commission — ‘We had a little discussion about percentage, whether it was going to be 20 or 15 or maybe 10 perhaps, you know, because isn’t that what they charge? We were pretty naive then’ — but, having mixed with other artists for the best part of eighteen months, they surely had some idea.”

“The decision, of course, was John’s. This democracy had a leader and only he approved the moves. It was time for another of his big decisions. His first was to bring in Paul and his second was to allow Paul to bring in George. This was the third. Should he admit Brian Epstein into their partnership, or not? [...] Brian was a man who might achieve it for him. Of all the characters he knew in Liverpool, no one better suggested the possibility. It was plain that Brian had a fragile personality, but he was also intelligent, cultured, a fellow reader and thinker, generous, smart, civilised, cool, edgy, arrogant and, most vitally, a risk-taker. There was enough here for John to decide, and to disregard Paul’s games. In time, he’d subject Brian to a few tests of character, to find out how he really worked — but, for now, John had seen and heard enough.”

— “The Beatles – All These Years – Extended Special Edition (Tune In: Vol. 2)” by Mark Lewisohn (2013)

“[Brian] was to love them in a platonic, almost paternal way, calling them ‘the Boys’ until well after they became men, and dedicating himself to their welfare and protection.

But he was in love with just one. Not with Paul, the most obviously attractive, but with John, whose tough-guy exterior hid a middle-class upbringing not unlike Brian’s own, and who’d needed an all-protecting father figure since the age of six. So, yet again, a back seat for Paul — one which this time he took with some relief.”

“On the Beatles’ side, there was never any doubt that being managed by such a prominent local businessman, for whatever reasons, would be a major step forward. But, as lords of the Mathew Street underworld, they had developed a super-sized attitude from which even their most career-conscious and punctilious member was not immune. When an exploratory meeting with Brian was arranged at the NEMS store after hours, Paul failed to turn up. George telephoned 20 Forthlin Road to ask what had happened to him and learned he was taking a leisurely bath. [...] At further meetings which didn’t clash with Paul’s bath-time, Brian set out what he’d do for the Beatles if they put themselves in his hands. [...] Paul was the one who questioned Brian most closely, asking if the plan involved changing the music they played or the way they played it.”

“Living on the fringe of Liverpool’s underworld as they did, the Beatles knew all about Brian’s secret gay life and quickly guessed his fixation on John. (Strangely, none of their families ever seemed aware of any of it.) [...] John wasn’t the only Beatle to arouse Brian’s ardour: Pete Best has since claimed to have been propositioned by him on a car journey to Blackpool while John and Cynthia were sitting in the back. But never once would he show the tiniest flicker of attraction to Paul.

‘I think Brian felt a bit guilty because he ought to have fancied Paul, but didn’t’, a former NEMS employee recalls. ‘That always seemed to make him a bit uneasy around Paul and try extra hard if he ever had to do anything for him.’”

— “Paul McCartney: The Life” by Philip Norman (2016)

“The Beatles spoke directly to the conflicts in Brian’s soul. Here were oddballs who exuded a shameless candor; here were rough-looking young men with the blithe arrogance of a charmed circle. It was as if Brian’s nocturnal life and daylight fantasies had met and fused on the Cavern stage. Epstein’s enthusiasm for the Beatles has been glibly explained by his sexual attraction to them, and to Lennon in particular. This rather begs the question of who, in that club, regardless of gender or sexuality, didn’t fancy the Beatles — they were polymorphously captivating. It is true that Epstein was sexually magnetized by Lennon, but it’s also true that he fell in love with the Beatles as a group, and it was this that led him to offer them a style of management unprecedented in the pop industry: one based on devotion rather than profit-seeking.

The Beatles agreed to a meeting with Epstein at his Whitechapel store, on Wednesday, November 29, after a lunchtime session. They regarded him as a serious player, a successful businessman with music industry connections — an ‘expert’, as Lennon put it. They knew Epstein was ‘queer’ too, which didn’t bother them much, although McCartney was alert to what it might mean for the balance of power within the group.”

“Epstein fixed a follow-up meeting with the Beatles for Sunday, at 4:30 p.m. This one was nearly disastrous. John, George, and Pete arrived on time; Paul did not. Half an hour went by. The small talk ran out. Finally, Brian suggested George call Paul at his home. George returned with news from Jim McCartney that Paul had just got out of bed and was in the bath. Brian was angry now and only somewhat mollified by the others’ good humor. (‘He may be late’, said George, ‘but he’s very clean.’) Eventually Paul turned up. [...] Brian was already thinking of America as well as Britain. ‘You’re going to be bigger than Elvis’, he said, a prophecy they found outrageous and thrilling. They agreed to be represented by him. Lennon later claimed to have made the decision himself, over Paul’s objections: ‘I make a lot of mistakes, character-wise, but now and then I make a good one… and Brian was one.’

We should be wary of John’s retrospective tendency to present himself as the driving force of the band, but Paul’s lateness to the Epstein meeting is well attested. Why did he throw a spanner in the works? He seems to have been uneasy about what Brian’s appointment would mean for him. Paul, who like John was a close reader of people, could see that Epstein was besotted by Lennon. He understood what that felt like. As he put it later, ‘I’m sure Brian was in love with John. We were all in love with John, but Brian was gay, so that added an edge.’ What worried him was John’s power over Epstein, and therefore his power over the group if Epstein became their manager. His concerns were not groundless. In his first months as manager, Epstein treated John as the most important Beatle, running any proposed changes by him before talking to the others. Lennon reveled in this role. He later said, ‘I was pretty close to Brian because if someone’s going to manage me I want to know them inside out.’”

“As for McCartney, he had given over school and the prospect of becoming middle-class for a career in music, against the advice of his father. He would have felt responsible for his family’s economic security. He was ambitious. Given how much was at stake, the idea he might become a backing musician for John Lennon was not worth contemplating. In the contract that the Beatles signed with Epstein there is a clause that says the manager may split up ‘the Artistes… so that they shall perform as separate individual performers’. Epstein’s assistant Alistair Taylor claimed that this was inserted at Paul’s request. Taylor recalls Paul saying, in an early meeting, that if the group didn’t work out he would pursue a solo career.

Despite his initial hostility, and one occasion when he sorely tested Epstein by skipping a show, Paul’s problem with Brian — or John and Brian — largely resolved itself. Brian learned to consult Paul, and his efforts on behalf of the group began to pay off.”

— “John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs” by Ian Leslie (2025)

“They knew [Brian] was homosexual, but that was all. John was the only one I discussed it with, as he was quite interested, but Paul I think was upset by it. Brian realized this and was always especially concerned about pleasing Paul, giving him the biggest presents. Brian’s staff told me that he worried most about keeping in with Paul and always answered his calls first.”

— Hunter Davies, “The Beatles: The Authorized Biography”, 1968 (Revised Edition)

“I heard there was an English guy drunk in the next-door bar, who I first thought must be a musician. But when I go in there, I find Brian Epstein sitting up at the bar, passed out cold with his head on the counter. So I go back into the Star-Club and tell John to come and help me get him out of there. When John comes into the place, he just picks up a half-empty glass of beer from the counter, pulls back Brian’s collar and pours the beer down his neck. I asked him if that was any way to be treating the Beatles’ new manager. ‘It’s OK’, John said to me. ‘I already gave him one up the ass.’”

— Horst Fascher about when The Beatles went to Hamburg for open the Star-Club on April 1962. (“John Lennon: The Life” by Philip Norman, 2008)

“Toward the end of April 1963, Lennon went on an eleven-day holiday with Brian Epstein to Barcelona — the one he informed Cynthia about at the hospital. It’s not clear why he chose to go with Brian rather than staying with Cynthia and Julian (‘what a bastard I was’, said John in 1970, recalling this), or why, if he was determined to go away with friends, he didn’t go with Paul, George, and Ringo, who all went to Tenerife. His decision may have been about consolidating his status as the Beatle who was closest to the manager. That was Paul’s theory: ‘John was a smart cookie. Brian was gay, and John saw his opportunity to impress upon Mr. Epstein who was the boss of the group.’

John was curious about Epstein’s sexuality and perhaps his own.”

— “John & Paul: A Love Story in Songs” by Ian Leslie (2025)

“LENNON: I was on holiday with Brian Epstein in Spain, where the rumours went around that he and I were having a love affair. Well, it was almost a love affair, but not quite. It was never consummated. But it was a pretty intense relationship.

It was my first experience with a homosexual that I was conscious was homosexual. He had admitted it to me. We had this holiday together because Cyn was pregnant, and I went to Spain and there were lots of funny stories. We used to sit in a cafe in Torremolinos looking at all the boys and I’d say, ‘Do you like that one, do you like this one?’ I was rather enjoying the experience, thinking like a writer all the time: I am experiencing this, you know.”

— “All We Are Saying: The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono” by David Sheff (2000)

“Although Paul was the friendly one, within the setting of the band he was always slightly apart from the others, on his own. It was triggered by the fact that Brian Epstein was in love with John, so Paul felt isolated. Even after Brian had gone, it was something he always felt.

I remember after they had a Number One hit with ‘She Loves You’ in 1963, they came out to stay with me in my father’s house in Tenerife. Paul, George and Ringo. But no John: he’d gone on holiday with Brian. While George was busy trying to befriend the girl in the shop down the road, showing her the cover of the single, and Ringo drifted through the days, Paul resented John going off. It showed.”

— Klaus Voormann, “Who Killed John Lennon?: The lives, loves and deaths of the greatest rock star” by Lesley-Ann Jones (2020)

“‘Actually Pete’, he said softly, ‘Something did happen with him one night.’

Now that wiped the grin right off my face. Had I even dreamed there might be any truth whatsoever to the rumors, I would never have made light of the subject in the first place. Still — as John surely knew — I would have stood by him, and let the rest of the world handle the business of passing moral judgement, even if he had just told me he’d committed murder. And John would surely have done the same for me.

Which, after all, is what true friendship is all about.

‘What happened’, John explained, ‘is that Eppy just kept on and on at me. Until one night I finally just pulled me trousers down and said to him: ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Brian, just stick it up me fucking arse then.’ And he said to me, ‘Actually, John, I don’t do that kind of thing. That’s not what I like to do.’ ‘Well’, I said, ‘what is it you like to do, then?’ And he said, ‘I’d really just like to touch you, John.’ And so I let him toss me off.’ 

And that was that. End of story.

‘That’s all, John’, I said. ‘Well, so what? What’s the big fucking deal, then?’

‘Yeah, so fucking what! The poor bastard. He’s having a fucking hard enough time anyway.’ 

— Pete Shotton, “John Lennon: In My Life” (1983)

“John told me he had a one-night stand with Brian, on a holiday with him in Spain, when Brian had invited him out, a few days after the birth of Julian in 1963, leaving Cyn alone. I had alleged this brief holiday in the book, but not what John had alleged had taken place. Partly, I didn’t really believe it, though John was daft enough to try almost anything once.”

— Hunter Davies, “The Beatles: The Authorized Biography”, 1968 (Revised Edition)

“John admitted to [Hunter] Davies that he had slept with Brian ‘to see what fucking with a guy was like’.”

— Peter Brown, “The Love You Make: An Insider’s Story of the Beatles” (1983)

“Lennon’s sexuality has long been a subject of fascination for Beatles acolytes. [...] ‘It’s kind of well-known that Brian and John had some sort of fling, the extent to which we will never know’, Leslie says. ‘But it happened — probably. John was such a mess in so many ways; I think it’s been underestimated just how much of a mess he was. The others in the band continually had to manage him in order to keep him in the band.’”

— “Beatles biographer Ian Leslie on John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s ‘erotic’ bromance” by Nick Duerden (AOL, April 2, 2025)

“I changed the subject and told [Brian Epstein] that the few times I’d seen the Beatles, I’d found them so powerfully emotive that I almost felt I could have screamed along with all the crazy 14-year-olds.

‘Me too’, he agreed. ‘In fact, once I actually did. One night I pushed my way into the middle of ten thousand screaming kids, right in the middle of the chaos, and let myself go in a falsetto voice. I went absolutely berserk and it was the most erotic thing I ever did in my life. Like the first time I got to kiss John after I’d been crazy about him for ages. But afterwards I was incredibly ashamed of myself. I felt really guilty, as if someone might find out.”

“He obviously fancied me, and I made use of it to ask dozens of questions about his business and personal relationship with The Beatles.

‘There’s real love between all five of us’, he told me.

‘Despite the giggling guru?’ I asked, remembering that at that very moment all four Beatles were in North Wales with the Maharishi.

Brian looked hurt. ‘I never minded other people being around. I’m not jealous. Not of girlfriends, wives, even other boyfriends, but the Maharishi seems to want to kill their affection, not for anyone specific, but affection in general. He wants them to feel uninvolved with anyone or anything, but of course that’s a fallacy because they’re all completely involved with him, especially John. At the moment I feel I’ve completely lost him.’

It was obvious that it was losing John that hurt the most.”

— Simon Napier-Bell, “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me” (2005)

“Lonnie Trimble: He sat me down once after he’d gotten rid of Diz. It was the first time I ever went into his bedroom when he was actually in bed, and he said, ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you about this and that.’ I said, ‘Wait a minute, now. Do you really want my opinion of what you’re gonna tell me?’. He said he did and I made sure to ask him three times if he really wanted my opinion. So eventually I laid it on the line.

I said, ‘Diz is in California now. Leave him there out of harm’s way’. Then Epstein said, ‘Oh, I’m gonna make him a star. He wouldn’t harm me’. It was during the same discussion that he told me that he and John Lennon had been lovers. Now that’s too much for me to take on. We’d never talked about his personal life before, so I left the room.”

— “In My Life: The Brian Epstein Story” by Debbie Geller (2002)

“Former Beatles manager Brian Epstein engaged in homosexual acts with one member of the legendary band — the gay pop mogul’s ex-aide claims in a sensational new book.

Joanne Petersen is working on ‘There’s A Beatle In My Closet’, which will expose ‘revelations of intimacy’ with at least one of the Fab Four, but she refuses to reveal which member.

Epstein, found dead by his devoted assistant after an overdose in 1967, was tormented by inner demons and had a hopeless crush on John Lennon, leading many to conclude the mystery lover was the Imagine star.”

— Irish Examiner: “Book to reveal Epstein’s ‘homosexual acts’ with former Beatle” (20 April, 2005)

“Paul McCartney loved John Lennon, who loved Brian Epstein, who loved Paul McCartney. All the whole London music scene knows this, and there, the famous suspicion about Paul’s ‘death’, which originated with an American DJ, didn’t catch on.

The ‘death’ theory is well-constructed, but the true story (the one about their faggotry) makes much more sense. And it’s much spicier. I prove what I said:

Everything was going great in the John-Paul-Epstein triangle. Everyone loved each other, they adored jelly beans, everything was rosy, smoke and mirrors, etc. Ringo and George Harrison were always on a different page. The duo was Lennon and McCartney — they sang together, composed together, did everything together. Together with Brian Epstein, of course, who was openly queer and quite relaxed about it.”

— “It’s queer!” by Nelson Motta (O Pasquim, 1970)

“Q: Have you ever fucked a guy?

A: Not yet, I thought I’d save it till I was 40, life begins at forty you know, though I never noticed it.

Q: It is trendy to be bisexual and you’re usually ‘keeping up with the Jones’, haven’t you ever… there was talk about you and PAUL…

A: Oh, I thought it was about me and Brian Epstein… anyway I’m saving all the juice for my own version of THE REAL FAB FOUR BEATLES STORY etc… etc…”

— “INTERVIEW/INTERVIEW WITH BY/ON JOHN LENNON AND/OR DR. WINSTON O’BOOGIE” by John Lennon (Interview Magazine, November 1974)

“Paul, with all his charm, knew how to bend people to his will. Tony Barrow, who saw Brian interact with all the Beatles in the London offices, recalls how John’s attempts to bully Brian never found an erotic charge in John’s bully-boy personality, but it was Paul, Barrow said, who knew how to seduce him. Platonically, but still. ‘Paul used the fact that Brian was gay to get his own way. He’d come in and put on his bedroom eyes. He’d use his own sex appeal to manipulate Brian into doing what he wanted the band to do.’”

— “Paul McCartney: A Life” by Peter Ames Carlin (2009)

“I found a love letter from Brian Epstein in Paul McCartney’s Aston Martin DB6… It was a love letter from Brian to Paul. It was begging… I don’t need to say anymore than that…”

— Francie Schwartz, BBC documentary “The Beatles’ Biggest Secrets” (2004)

“PLAYBOY: Pop historians spend a lot of time analyzing ‘the Beatles phenomenon’ and the dynamics of the band — your personalities, Brian Epstein’s secret love of Paul...

LENNON: It’s irrelevant. He wasn’t in love with Paul. He was in love with me. It’s irrelevant, you know.”

— “All We Are Saying: The Last Major Interview with John Lennon and Yoko Ono” by David Sheff (2000)

[sweet-but-vicious]

What if it's all malicious compliance?

Remember the joint in a van video?

The theory was that Zayn and Louis were trying to trigger the morality clause in their contract, only they didn't realize that the record company doesn't HAVE TO drop an artist who breaches the morality clause and they were just worth too much money to drop.

BUT!

That showed their cards. The studio now knows that the boys are willing to make themselves look bad in order to get out of their contract so Syco tightens up. They get very specific about what constitutes a breach of contract and include things like ANY leaked footage of a gay nature. According to Ed, Harry leaked his own nudes. Maybe that was a test to see how the PTB would react? The studio cracking down would explain why H and L can't even acknowledge each other in public. Any slip ups could mean ruination.

So they comply, but just.

They follow the letter, be seen in public with a lady, be papped kissing a lady, they forgot to add "confirm relationship to the media" into the contract which is why the boys never do.

All the while they do Every. Single. Thing. They. Can. to let us know that it isn't true, that they're still fighting.

I don't believe that Harry is unlabeled. I believe that it's in his contract that he can't say that he's gay but I don't think it says in the contract that he has to say he's straight, and therefore he pushes the line as much as he is capable of and says neither.

Think about when Louis was asked about Dunkirk, he spoke very slowly and specifically and thoughtfully, just to say he was proud of Harry. Lou is very smart, if it was a blow off statement it would have come out as easy as anything, not taken serious consideration. He needed to make sure he didn't say the wrong thing. That he didn't say anything that would screw him over.

With the resent stunting, there's been a lot of people online saying why would they do this?Why would they lie? Why would they not believe that we would be supportive? And I don't think that's the case.

I think the boys have chosen a side and I think it's ours.

I think that they do all of these things and give us all of these signs so that someday when they are able to come out and say yes, we were under contract, we couldn't say anything, but we did everything we could to be as honest as we were able because we love you and we wanted to tell you. And they will point to all of these outfits and videos, and say, SEE! WE WERE SCREAMING IT! WE DIDN'T WANT TO DECEIVE YOU!

And YES THEIR CONTRACT CAN BE THAT SERIOUS.

A common breech of contract punishment is to have to pay back the contract to the studio along with possibly reverting all work done by the artist to the studio.

THAT WOULD MEAN THAT EVERYTHING THEY HAVE *EVER* MADE FROM MUSIC WOULD HAVE TO BE PAID BACK IN FULL. RIGHT NOW. And possibly EVERY BIT OF MUSIC THEY HAVE WRITTEN SINCE 2010 NO LONGER BELONGS TO THEM i.e. THEY CAN NO LONGER PERFORM IT OR EARN ANY MONEY FROM IT.

That is BILLIONS of dollars. With no income with which to pay it off. That is selling everything they own, filing for bankruptcy, possible jail time type shit. And you KNOW Sony would black list them from all their media. Look at what happened to Lou for leaving Syco! Look at what Sony did to Kesha!

Their love is SO strong and pure to have gone through everything they've had to endure all these years.

This is Fairytale love.

It is beautiful, and worth so much more than they have been given.

I, for one, am not willing to doubt that for some pictures of a blonde in a jacket at a self check out. 💙💚

[dinogoofymutated]

Okay so like,,,,I usually never make requests (I’m a lurker fr fr) but your writing Is god tier, so I gotta ask:

Could you do a fic for Hank/Beast? He’s my personal fave but I never see any content for him ever, like the fic scene for this man is a ghost town. he’s underrated as hell. My man is ripped, highly intelligent and respectful of the arts! Yet he doesn’t get any attention.

I would love to see some general headcanons (SFW & NSFW) if you’re up to it. no problem if you don’t write for him or something, I just thought i would ask.

Thanks!

SFW!Beast/GN!Reader

To be honest, I actually wasn't really sure about writing for Hank at first because I've never really had a connection to the character, but he grew on me!! Plus, I'm here to serve lolol we've been starved of fics as a Fandom for basically forever and it would be a disservice not to fill the Hank void out there! Hope it's okay that I only wrote Sfw headcannons, I have a separate req for NSFW for him so I decided to split it into two to save my sanity lol. Finals are gonna be hell for me.

-ps- Should I be writing right now? no. Am I doing it anyway? Yurp. Also, I'm basing his history off of the fandom wiki, so I'm sorry if anything is off.

Tws: none that I can think of atm. As always, reader written while picturing fem but no pronouns mentioned.

Hank, despite what some would think, was most definitely a heartthrob, particularly in his college days!! I mean, a man who's confident, smart, respectful, and also an athlete? Who wouldn't swoon? He was 110% the guy that everyone wanted to take home to their parents.

And He's such a sweet, attentive lover too!! Acts of service almost definitely is a love language for him. He cooks for you, fixes the broken things that you didn't even realize were broken, even organizes your notes before a difficult exam.

He loves to surprise you with flowers, even if it isn't any special occasion, and if you ask, he'll help you preserve them as well!

He loves to kiss your forehead, temples, and hands. On top of that, he's very touchy. The two of you were most definitely seen as the parents of any friend group.

Things changed a little after he took the serum that mutated him further. His confidence had taken a blow, and he just didn't quite know how to approach you anymore.

It took a hot minute to reassure him that you didn't really care if he was blue, or furry, or beastly, he was still Hank Mccoy, wasn't he? He was the man you were in love with, and you certainly weren't going to stop now. Besides, you still thought he was handsome. With the kinds of books he's seen you read, you're a bit surprised that he didn't think you would find him attractive.

Things gradually got back to normal, but for a while, he didn't kiss you as often as he used to. Well, he didn't kiss you period. Even though he knew the incredible extent to which you loved him, the shape of his mouth had changed. Hell, he had fangs that he would rather die than mark you with.

You practically had to tie him down into a contract to get him to kiss you again. He was always one to experiment, why not treat this the same? If you kiss, and it goes well, you do it again. If it goes well a second time and a third, you have a pretty reliable test. Validity shouldn't matter when he knew that you loved him to bits already.

He felt like he was falling in love with you all over again, and yet he still hesitated. It wasn't until you had grabbed him by the collar to drag him into a kiss that he actually relaxed, and what do you know, it was a pretty reliable test after all. A predictive one too, with how often you continued to kiss him afterwards.

Domestic was the best way to describe your relationship with Hank.

    You yawned as you made your way down to the lab, still in your pajamas and slippers. Just a few hours previously, after a shower and self-care routine, you had settled into bed with an eyebrow-raising book as you waited for your husband to come to bed. This was a normal routine for the two of you, you immersing yourself into a book to stay awake until Hank entered, kissed your temple sweetly, and began his own nightly routine. It was a set of events you were used to. 

    Today, however, you felt like you had done a lot more reading than usual. When you finally pulled yourself out of your book and checked the time, the clock by your bed read 11 pm. A rather late time for Hank to be out, but you already knew where he would be. The lower levels of the mansion were extra cold at night, and you find yourself rubbing some warmth into your arms as you approach the lab. 

    The doors open with a swish, the light of the lab having all been darkened exempt for the lamp on Hank’s desk. He’s so immersed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t even realize when you come in. You walk up behind his chair, running your hands through his hair softly when you reach him.

    Hank isn’t surprised, sighing at the pleasant sensation as he tips his head back to encourage you. You giggle a little, leaning down to press a kiss to his head as you begin to massage his scalp.

    “It’s late.” You say gently. Hank hums in response, eyes closed as he appreciates your touch. 

    “I’m sorry, my love. Seems I was a little entranced.” He says. You huff at him playfully.

    “You say entranced, I say you’re overworking yourself. You’ve been working on this project all week. Don’t let it cut into your rest time.” Your scolding always sounded too nice, but he knows you mean it. Hank sighs again, this time sounding a little more tired, but he doesn't argue. He rolls around to face you, pulling you into a tired hug from his chair. 

     “Perhaps it is time I go to bed. What time is it, my dear?” 

    “Eleven.” Hank lets out a quiet chuckle at your quick reply, finally standing up. He doesn’t let go of you however, choosing to rest his head on your shoulder as he sways the two of you back and forth.

    “You’re most certainly right, it is late. Much too late for a man to leave his lovely spouse waiting. Oh, whatever shall I do to make it up to you?.” His words come out as a purr, and you let out a curt laugh at him. You pull away a little, taking his large hands in your own as you lead him to the door. He smiles widely when you stop for a moment, remembering his glasses and placing them on his face before starting to drag him to bed. 

    “I’ll let you decide that, Love. As long as you make it to bed, that’s apology enough for me.”

[ninii-winchester]

Behind Closed Doors (Part 1)

Pairing : Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, not proofread, and tbh I don’t even know where this is going.

A/n: new series (hopefully) First time writing an AU. Don’t let this flop please🙏🏻

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean Winchester is the CEO of Winchester Co. for the past four years. He’s the oldest son of John Winchester, the founder and owner of Winchester Co., a real estate business. His office corner suite on the top of the floor in the building with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The décor is modern yet understated, featuring a large mahogany desk, plush leather chairs, and abstract art on the walls. Behind the desk is a sleek bookshelf lined with awards, framed contracts. A smart wall panel controls lighting, climate, and the room’s privacy settings.

On the top floor other than the CEO’s office is his personal assistant’s work space. It’s a sleek, efficient area with a streamlined desk equipped with multiple monitors for scheduling, managing calls, and overseeing the flow of appointments. The space is minimalist, with soft lighting and ergonomic seating, offering both a professional and welcoming atmosphere for visitors waiting to meet the CEO

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Y/n said entering his office. Dean looked up from his computer and glanced at the woman standing in the doorway with a styrofoam cup in her hands. “Got you your coffee.” She said holding it up. The man nodded and she entered the room completely, moving to hand him his daily dose of caffeine, which has been the routine for the past four years.

Y/n reached his side and he took the cup from her hands gracefully and placed it onto the table before pulling her down onto his lap. Y/n gasped at the sudden pull and he grinned up at her.

“Good morning baby.” Dean leaned up to place a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re late.” He commented resting his hands on her hips.

“Sorry boss, my boyfriend is a bit clingy in the morning.” She replied with a mocking smile. “Acts like a baby doesn’t let me leave when I spend the night.” She added with a pout. Dean barked out a loud laugh and it was moments like these that he was thankful for having the whole floor to himself.

“Acts like a baby, you say?” Dean feigned curiosity. “Well tell him you’re my mine and I need you here on time.” Dean mock reprimanded her. Y/n rolled her eyes at his teasing.

Dean Winchester is a private man. He doesn’t like expressing his emotions or talk about his personal life. He’s a workaholic and is married to his work. He had been working at this company ever since he was in college. While perusing his degree in business he did part take in business matters, worked as an assistant for his father. He’d worked hard for this title and four years ago he was appointed at the CEO of the company when his father stepped down.

When Dean was appointed CEO, he clearly needed an assistant too. He confided in his best friend, Castiel. Although Cas also had a degree in business administration he was not interested in taking over his father’s business and was rather interested in charity work and philanthropy. Castiel had suggested Dean to appoint Y/n as his PA, since he knew her from college and she had remarkable skills as well.

Although Dean did appoint her on Cas’ insistence he was a bit skeptical of her skills she needed a ‘recommendation’ to get a job. For the whole year, Dean made her work relentlessly, putting her skills to the test and demanding a high level of performance to prove her worth. And she did. With her hard work and extremely remarkable skills she impressed Dean, more than professionally.

In a typical cliche manner, the grumpy boss fell for his assistant. Though persuading her was a challenge for Dean. She was hell bent on keeping things professional and not wanting to cross the boundaries at her workplace. She was a hard nut to crack but eventually Dean worked his charm on her, showing her beyond his grumpy boss personality and wooing her with extreme gestures.

Now the two had been dating for almost three years and the only person who knew about them is none other than Castiel, the one who introduced them. Even Sam was not in on the secret.

“Can I go back to work, now?” Y/n asked getting up from his lap but he kept his hold firm on her hips, not letting her leave.

“No.” Y/n pouted in response, she hated when he did this, holding her hostage while at work . She really wanted to keep her personal and professional life apart, not wanting anyone to find out or even think for a second she’s sleeping with her boss.

“Dean.” She scolded when he kissed her pouty lips.

“Relax sweetheart, nobody’s coming up here anytime soon.” He shrugged and she sighed loudly, indicating her defeated even if she was reluctant. “Besides, I’ve got news for you.” Y/n raised her brow in curiosity urging him to continue. “We,” he traced her arm with his finger. “are going on a vacation.” Dean beamed at her.

“A vacation? We?” Y/n furrowed her brows. “Who’s we?” She questioned, clearly not understanding the situation. Is this a office vacation or the top officers vacation or just the two of them.

“You and me. A week in Bahamas.” Dean replied casually.

“A week? You want us to take a leave at the same time? It’d rise suspicion.” She whispered alarmingly.

“Baby, if I’m on leave then you’re on leave automatically. Besides, I’ve asked Cas to manage for a few days for me.” Dean replied. “We both have been working our ass off for the past four years, I think we deserve a vacation.” Dean grinned at her and for the first today, she agreed without interjecting. She’s just as much of a workaholic as Dean. She had taken a day off here and there but never a complete vacation. “Besides I’m dying to spend some time quality time with my girl without her grilling me about work.” Dean sassed and she smacked his arm lightly making him laugh.

“I’m not gonna slack off at work just because I’m dating you.” She said matter of factly. “And I do think we could use a vacation.” She finally agreed making his smile broaden. “God, if anyone could you see right now, Mr. Grumpy Winchester.” She giggled when he rolled his eyes. He loved it when she teased him about being a grumpy ass to everyone else except her but he would never accept it in a million years.

The door swung open and sauntered in Castiel in the flesh. Y/n quickly jumped off of Dean’s lap but relaxed when she saw it was Cas.

“Ever heard of knocking, Cas?” She taunted her friend, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Ah lovebirds. Ever the cautious.” Cas sassed back and Dean snorted earning himself a glare from her. “Don’t stop on my account, just wanted to deliver these, personally.” He said holding up two flight tickets to Bahamas.

“Thanks man.” Dean said getting up from his chair and getting the tickets from his friend. Castiel shot Y/n a teasing grin and she rolled her eyes at him, clearly unbothered by his teasing. He thrives in teasing her because she was the goody two shoes in college and the two had become friends after being paired up for an assignment, so seeing a different version of her around Dean, leaves him anything but amused.

“You are a bad influence on the both of us.” Y/n said feigning an angry glare at Cas.

“Oh dear Y/n, I know.” Cas winked and Dean laughed at his best friends shamelessness. The trio’s camaraderie was a reminder of how personal and professional lives often intersect in unexpected ways.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

[alexanderlightweight]

It’s that day again! I’d like to ask for another bit of The Beauty of Knowing/birthday story, or The Price of Lust, or either of your deruned Alec stories, or Agile Predator, oh, or Elysium’s Tears… I’m not picky. I love it all and will happily read anything you write. SFW or NSFW whatever inspires you today.

it was really hard to pick which one but here is a bit more of the price of lust because i have been feeling that one lingering in the back of my mind. thank you for the options though! it was fun even if it was tough, the problems of loving my own work! yes, this was always supposed to be a wing fic.

i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

the price of lust

There’s an energy that clings to Alexander as Magnus kisses him.  It keeps him one thought away from Magnus and that? Well that is unacceptable.

“Certainly I haven’t bored you already?” Magnus tugs on Alexander’s chest hair with a little smirk as he pulls away from the kiss, “and here we’ve been getting along so well.”

“You could never bore me.”

Alexander’s fingers hold Magnus hips with a tender desperation, his words as steady as a vow as if he’s promising Magnus the world with his words. There’s exaltation in the gentle way he holds Magnus, as if he aches to leave marks and yet fears Magnus will shatter into oblivion under his touch.

“The contract, it’s not done yet. Is it?”

“Clever boy.” Magnus praises and enjoys the way Alexander shudders under his touch and words, “you’re right. It’s not complete yet.”

“Why?”

Because it could be and it should be and Alexander’s smart enough to know the only reason it’s extended is because Magnus wants more than what he’s gotten.

“Because I’m selfish, Alexander.” Magnus leans down and nips at Alexander’s earlobe with a dirty chuckle as he grinds against Alexander. “The contract can hardly be complete until you’ve fucked me in turn, now can it?”

The way Alexander whines, shuddering and pushing up into his touch is answer enough.

Magnus kisses him, savoring the flavor of his desire and the way Alexander writhes and then he pulls back.  Alexander chases him, a groan of complaint followed by greedy fingers and lips and Magnus indulges him a moment more before deliberately pinning Alexander in place with magic when Alexander’s stomach growls.

“Come Alexander, lets ensure you’ve the stamina you’ll need first.”

—

Alec isn’t sure how he survives eating with Magnus.

The entire thing is a test in both willpower and patience and it’s only because Alec has to make some serious choices that he manages to keeps his eyes on the sky rather than on Magnus.

— and Magnus’ fingers and his lips and the way his eyes light up and how his shirt dips low enough to remind Alec of watching Magnus sleep and tracing over his chest and belly—

If Alec looks at Magnus, he won’t be able to think and Alec needs to make a choice now, while he can still think and before he and Magnus have more sex — because Alec won’t be able to think for a while after.

Alec can’t go back to the Institute.

He knows that, intellectually — and it’s harder to process that he can’t go back, rather than he just doesn’t want to.

Except now he has a timeline — a deadline really — and while the idea of fucking Magnus certainly thrills him and excites him, it isn’t what Alec needs. 

Alec needs more than a farewell fuck and he needs more than just one more taste of Magnus and he needs a future that won’t slowly kill him.  Alec can’t go back to pretending he can someday want or marry a woman.  Alec can’t go back to anything anymore.  Not even his own family, because what is there left of that? What trust can there ever be between him and his siblings again.

So Alec can’t go back, to any of it.  Not his position or the Clave or his family or pretending he wasn’t hanging on by a bare thread.

His life is over whether he likes it or not and it’s going to be pure luck if Magnus decides that yes, he does want to keep Alec.

Because even if it’s not Alec’s fault, the Clave will hold this over his head like his parents use his siblings failures against him.  It will be the same thing just on a larger scale and Alec can’t go back to that life.  Not when he’s had just a brief taste of being appreciated and adored.  It’s addicting, being with Magnus, being the focus of Magnus’ attention and Alec feels a little as if he’s floating.  The safest choice is Magnus.  As ridiculous as it sounds, the warlock Alec’s just met and got bartered to for sex seems more considerate of Alec’s preferences and protection and even just his feelings than his family or his people.

—

The food is eaten in near silence, Alexander’s thoughts further away than the horizon.

Magnus had expected more conversation, but Alexander’s melancholy is harder to shake without sex and touch distracting him. 

There is a seriousness that is hollow with exhaustion that lingers on him since they met. While Magnus understands why last night wouldn’t have been restful — even if it was enjoyable — for Alexander, that doesn’t mean he wants a subpar fuck.

If that means ensuring Alexander is well fed and truly rejuvenated first, then that’s what Magnus will do.  Alexander can fall asleep fucking Magnus another time, not this first time when Magnus can hardly hold back his hunger or the way heat coils in his belly at the thought of Alexander fucking him.

Alexander isn’t looking at him, he’s looking out at the new view of Brooklyn and if he has an opinion or has noticed the fact that Magnus has changed the location of the lair, he says nothing.

It’s with the sun-setting that he stands up and take a few steps towards the setting sun.  His wings unfurl and Magnus just barely holds himself back from stepping forward and simply touching,  taking what is already his by blood and vow.

“Would you accept, if I offered something more? Something longer than just finishing the ritual?”

Alexander is hesitant as he asks.

There is something almost uniquely shy in his demeanor.  It hits Magnus then, that Alexander wants the stability of something more than a deadline.  Alexander doesn’t know how deep the claim Magnus has woven into him is.  His boy wants proof, he wants tangibility and he wants Magnus to claim him in an undeniable way.

Magnus knows it’s purely symbolic, the offering of the wings. 

Alexander can fly and fight regardless of Magnus claiming a few feathers.  An iratze can have it regrown in a few heartbeats and yet Magnus cannot help but feel as though he is handling something priceless and fragile as he steps forward. Despite the strength he can feel under his fingers, the feathers themselves are soft and sleek. 

Alexander grunts as Magnus plucks two primary feathers, one from each wing and even if he’s standing tall and still, Magnus can feel the near imperceptible trembles of his muscles.  His feathers rustle, shaking before steadying under his touch.

“Tell me what I've done to deserve this honor, Alexander?” Magnus is loath to part with the feathers, yet he wants them somewhere secure and he has access to the bounty that is Alexander’s wings. The feathers are sent to one of his safe and his fingers go back where they belong, deep into the thick, soft plumage of Alexander’s wings.  Magnus has already accepted, Alexander has no reason to lie to him now and Magnus wonders what truth he will share.

“The Clave won’t take me back, not without compromises I’m unwilling to make. Not after this. I thought that even once you get what you want that you might also want me.” 

Alexander is blunt, his gaze firm and the only thing that betrays his nerves are the way his fingers twitch towards Magnus’ own before he catches himself, moving his hands behind his back in a parade rest.

“So you're making yourself my problem?” Magnus teases, scritching just so against the feathers instead of taking Alexander’s hands in his own and Alexander relaxes again. 

“Well you may not have caused this mess, but you did help to create it.”

Alexander isn’t wrong and Magnus just laughs, because he already has everything he wants and yet here is Alexander, offering up even more to Magnus.

AN:

it will get smoothed out more later, but basically Magnus is already in the 'he's mine and i'm keeping him so nothing else really matters' mindset.

alec is playing catchup and going 'how can i get him to keep me' not realizing he's already been kept.

alec: so... if one were to bribe magnus bane how should they go about it?

magnus: money, power, favors-

alec: me, magnus. how should i go about bribing

magnus: you are the bribe? and the reward? alexander you just have to ask, sweetheart.

-

alec: how to get kept by a warlock

Magnus, the warlock in question who is already keeping him: ... does he need a pamphlet? should i write it on the sky? how am i not being clear enough?

-

Magnus: i've ruined you for any other

alec: oh no, i don't have enough experience to ruin him for anyone else. i guess i'll just practice? consistency?

magnus: ... no thats not, you know what. you keep trying lovely. you just have fun with that. i'm certainly not complaining even if i'm still not sure how you got to this conclusion.

Alec is going to be very confused, waiting for like, something to happen or anything and Magnus is just eventually like 'alexander. you've been mine since that first night, when you swore yourself to me and we exchanged blood and oaths, darling. there was never any chance you were getting away or i was giving you up.'

alec: and you couldn't have let me know sooner?

magnus: you couldn't have paid better attention?

[yanderes-galore]

In my half asleep stardew valley binge I thought of something for a very opposite fandom.

Hazbin Hotel, with Husk and a naturally lucky gambler darling. I'm going to sleep now.

Yandere! Husk with Lucky Gambler! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Possessive/Protective behavior, Dubious relationship/companionship.

I can see Husk getting interested in someone like you.

Even more so in his Overlord days.

You're no doubt a common face in casinos.

Husk probably even remembers you when he had power.

You're quite the formidable opponent.

Many Sinners are either nervous to challenge you or even wish to test their own luck.

You are a demon who has been blessed with quite the luck in your gambling.

Many even think you're cheating.

If you are or not, well, that's for you to know only.

I wouldn't be surprised if you knew of Husk.

Husker... He too was an infamous Overlord who knew his way around a deck of cards.

Perhaps his obsession begins with you two playing a few games occasionally.

You're adamant that you don't gamble souls in your games.

You happen to enjoy the game, yet you aren't willing to hand yourself over to an Overlord.

Even if you'd probably win.

Husk probably was amused by your confidence when he first met you.

Which inevitably leads to a few games... You manage to win as usual.

He almost envied your luck... Your games together actually made quite the bond between you.

The cat found himself eager to see you, mostly for the challenge you gave him.

He always wants to figure you out, to find out how you win.

You must have some sort of trick, right?

His obsession definitely just starts as a mutual friendship between two of the best gamblers at the casino.

Unfortunately, Husk's luck ran out when Alastor challenged him.

That was pretty much the last time he saw you, stripped of his Overlord status.

You were still well known to many Sinners.

Husk, even with his Soul contract, kept tabs on you.

Although... It's not like he could track you.

Husk hates being Alastor's pet, forced to be summoned and do his wishes.

But imagine his surprise if you came to the hotel?

Maybe you want to be redeemed... or heard he was being a bartender here.

At first he couldn't believe it... In fact, he's a bit nervous Alastor will challenge you too.

Although... You've always been rather smart when it comes to deals.

You introduce yourself to Charlie as a friend of Husk's, which immediately makes her excited.

Husk almost finds it annoying... and amusing... when Charlie drags you to his bar, asking all sorts of questions.

He's changed since you last met him.

He's less confident now... much more serious and apathetic.

He may even be a bit more rude now... Mostly because he's scared to be attached again.

You're... oddly patient with him though...

It's been years... yet you still treat him like you did when he was an Overlord.

Certainly more casual now but...

He can't help but agree when you offer him a deck of cards... another round for old time's sake....

Husk is in a much better mood when he sees you again.

You only ever speak with him most of the time, playing cards and making small bets.

You swear he purrs when you're around, but he'd never admit it.

You two become inseparable again.

You may even agree to help Charlie since you want to try and spend more time with Husk.

She agrees because you seem to make him happy.

Charlie just loves making her friends happy.

Husk is a subtle yandere... watching your every move with interested eyes and carefully analyzing your interactions with others.

He's actually protective in a way since you still have a bit of an ego.

After all... Alastor may want your soul... and Husk even doubts your luck will overcome the radio demon's.

You're mostly around his bar, attention fully on Husk.

He enjoys it... In fact, he worries he'll lose you again to some other Overlord.

He never wants you to have your soul owned.

Part of him wishes he was an Overlord again just so he could make a deal with you.

Not to exploit you... much.

But to protect you from others like Alastor.

The truth is... Husk does care about you.

Yet he tries to keep it to casual games of cards... just like you usually would play.

He still has thoughts of how he could make you stay, though....

He's... allowed to be selfish, right?

It's Hell....

For now Husk will keep in contact with you at the hotel, being your companion to practice your craft.

He still wonders how you win so often.

Yet... When he has the time... He'll think of his options.

Alastor may own him... but he can probably still make a deal or two.

He wants to research your craft and figure out how to beat you.

Once he manages that... Then he'll challenge you to a game.

If he wins... he wants your soul.

He won't harm you... not like Alastor does him...

But... if he has your soul, then he can't lose you to another.

It's been too many years of him being unable to see you...

He doesn't want to force you into anything... so hopefully he can figure out your tricks and win fairly.

After all, you always honor your deals, right?

At some point... Husk plans to win against you... No matter how long it takes...

Then you'll be all his, fair and square.

[obsidianpen]

Watching Tom work was fascinating.

The way he emitted magic, either from the tip of his wand or from his very fingertips, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. He moved with an enviable fluidity, weaving and unweaving enchantments as though he had always been able to do so, as effortless for him as breathing.

Well, perhaps not quite so easily, Hermione thought, observing him none too discreetly from over the top of her book. Tom’s brows were furrowed in concentration as he coaxed and prodded at the temperamental memory in the basin, forcing magic into and around it in rushing spells that were sometimes gentle and sometimes not. Beneath his hands and wand the memory flared, shimmered, or sparked in response.

My memory. The violated, tampered-with memory of my test…

But Hermione couldn’t allow herself to dwell too much on how Tom might go about fixing it—literally. If she so much as attempted to ponder what she, personally, would do to reconstruct it, she was struck with an instant and debilitating headache.

It had already happened twice, and her mind was still buzzing uncomfortably. Tom hadn’t been pleased when she’d needed to explain what was happening to her and why. 

She couldn’t try and repair her own tampered memories… because she had signed away the right to when she’d signed the contract. She could do nothing to help him—which was a shame, really, because she was quite good with memory charms of all kinds, having cast and reversed many of her own.

Hermione could hardly blame Tom for being as furious as he was when she’d told him this. He hadn’t technically yelled at her once for signing a magically binding contract with the MACUSA (with a blood quill, no less), and it was almost worse that he hadn’t. His response at the reminder had, instead, been a glare that made her feel much too small, a frigid bout of silence that made her feel like hiding under the table, and the simple, softly spoken instructions to sit down, make herself useful in some other way, and to not distract him.

At least he let me get dressed first, she thought sourly—albeit he still hadn’t revealed what clothing he may have gotten for her, if any. She was still stuck wearing his much too large clothing, and she was starting to think that the only reason he wasn’t giving her anything else was because he liked seeing her in it. 

Making herself useful, however, was proving to be difficult. Focus, Hermione told herself. She looked back down at her book, this time reading one Tom had brought about advanced warding techniques—and immediately lost focus. Again.

The broken memory in the basin flaked angrily. Tom murmured something under his breath, his eyes narrowed as he cast some new sort of magic over it, trying something else.

The MACUSA really must have done a number on my memory, for it to be this difficult to repair, Hermione lamented. But that was about as much as she could dwell on it before her head started to hurt.

Concentrate on the book—try to find some passage to convince him to alter the wards around the cottage, maybe. To let me influence them too, so I’m not trapped here.

That would be the smart thing, Hermione knew. And she was trying. But as soon as she would find herself immersed in the text before her, there would be another flash or a spark and Hermione would find herself looking up, her eyes drawn to the Pensieve and the rippling magic and—

Tom was simply too fucking attractive.

It caused Hermione no small amount of shame to find herself continuously drawn to watching him. Ogling, more like, she admitted to herself. Tom was shirtless, for one—he was wearing nothing but a pair of the same sweatpants that hardly stayed up on her, and that was all. His chest was bare, the flickering light of the magic he conjured casting shadows that enhanced every line on his torso, every muscle—and those arms. How did he have such nice arms? Which was to say nothing of his agile hands; those long, nimble fingers were mesmerizing, the way they exuded magic, the way they deftly handled his wand, and it was no wonder he was so good at—

Hermione quickly raised the book up to cover her face, grasped by the irrational fear that he might catch her staring and blushing. He wouldn’t. Tom was so deeply focused on his spell casting that she might as well have not been in the room.

Maybe I shouldn’t be in the room, Hermione realized. She wasn’t exactly focusing properly herself. I might be better off locking myself in the bedroom where I can’t see him.

She was just about to do that, had just gotten to her feet, when there was an especially bright flare of magic. Tom lifted his wand, and his face, which had been drawn in frustration before, lit up in triumph.

Hermione approached the Pensieve, and she could see at once that he had succeeded. The memory was no longer a cloudy white, furious thing, swirling like a small storm in the basin, but was calm, a languid quality to it as it ebbed and flowed, not quite liquid, not quite gas.

Exactly what a healthy memory should look like.

“You did it,” Hermione said, both deeply impressed and yet not at all surprised. “You fixed it.”

Tom wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and looked at her, grinning. A moment later, however, and his victorious expression fell, turning to that cold, analytic stare. He looked from her to the basin and back again. His grip on his wand tightened. 

“Don’t you dare,” Hermione said, as though she were in any position to issue threats. “I swear, Tom, if you think about watching my own memory without me, I will lose it.”

Tom’s lips twitched. “Am I that predictable?” he said, not denying that he was considering doing exactly that.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “You are. And if you do something to keep me out of there while you go in and watch what happened, leaving me in the dark, trust me when I say I’ll find a way to make you regret it.”

To her surprise, Tom didn’t look angered by her daring; he seemed amused. “That’s no way to thank me for my incredible prowess,” he said, nodding towards the Pensieve. “There were some very tricky spells in that memory… you probably wouldn’t have been able to break them, even if you could have tried.”

“I—yes I would have!”

“We’ll never know, will we?” Tom’s smile darkened a little, tinged once more by the rage at her past, poor decision making. “But that, hopefully, will be one of the few mysteries we’ll never get to solve… unlike this one.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close to him. When he looked down into the basin, Hermione could see the swirling, smooth silver of the memory reflected in his eyes.

“Shall we?” he said. 

Hermione swallowed back her fear and nodded. Here goes nothing, she thought. Or everything.

Tom held her tighter, and together, they tipped into the past.

[space-blue]

Modern AU Feydpaul, hear me out

Imagine... Just imagine... Feyd's older brother (canonically called Glossu Raban btw lol) is in line to inherit the Harkonnen business, leaving him to enjoy the life he wants. He not really going to uni, one of those smart kids who shows up for the test only and smashes it, *somehow*. He prefers to spend his time working on his band (the Harpies, it's him and 3 bald ladies).

And then one day a student transfer comes in... And destroys Feyd on every test score. Wouldn't you know it, the Atreides conglomerate just won an enormous contract usually taken by the Harkonnen, and his family has moved in town.

Feyd goes to the club to shake the mood off and spots this weird dark academia style twink completely out of place there.

Then they chat, and Feyd gets rocked so hard in the club's toilet, he discovers himself several new kinks. He knows nothing about the guy who just dommed him into oblivion, just that they apparently go to the same uni.

Now picture his face when he rocks up to uni the next day looking for his new rival only for someone to point the 'Atreides guy' to him and it's last night's freak, in black corduroy and cable knit sweater, looking like his only experience with sex is from books, like butter doesn't melt in his mouth.

Anyway.

[rl0w]

this is my official manifesto as a very real official candidate for the fia president who isnt just a random 19 year old whos only motorsport experience is mario kart

we're keeping the cost cap. its a smart idea and removing it just makes no sense to me

bring back v10s ! like for realsies ! they sound nice. in addition we will test that sustainable fuel sebastian vettels...not working on but puts in his cars ykwim

MIAMIS OFF THE FUCKING CALENDAR FUCK THAT TRACK. AND VEGAS. JUST COTA IS FINE.

madrid can also fuck off

renew a contract with the spa-francorchamps track for a really long time because WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS EVERY OTHER YEAR

NO FUCKING INFLUENCERS AT THE TRACK. I WILL RELEASE THE HOUNDS UPON THEM UNLESS THEY CAN NAME EVERYONE ON THE GRID.

danica patrick is banished.

drivers must have a contract of at least one season and you cannot change your drivers mid season unless it is for emergency purposes or theyre so fucking shite they get their super license revoked

last place gets replaced by the f2 champion. i am very tired of f2 champions not getting a seat (and i will blame aston martin)

flavio briatore is also banished.

at least 1 female driver per team in at least one free practice session in the year

if i like you you get free pictures of my cat :)

k thats it bye