#Contract Notarization

[alcimenotaryservicesllc]

Ever heard of a jurat notarization? It might sound a bit formal, but it’s actually pretty interesting and super important when it comes to keeping things honest and above board. Think of a jurat as the ultimate truth serum for documents.

[digitaldiseas3]

extremely frustrating situation

[chaotic-carnifex]

What's the most unusual thing your parents explained to you as a kid (or at least tried to)? Like, what's something kids (and possibly most adults) generally don't know much about that your parents told you about, e.g. bc of their jobs or hobbies?

[verifbox]

VerifBox is a secure and reliable solution for digital image verification, enabling you to notarize your images on the Ethereum blockchain

Table of Contents Introduction What is VerifBox and How Does it Use the Ethereum Blockchain to Notarize Images? The Benefits of Notarizing Images on the Ethereum Blockchain with VerifBox How to Ensure the Security and Reliability of Digital Images with VerifBox What You Need to Know Before Notarizing Your Images with VerifBox What is the Cost of Notarizing Images on the Ethereum Blockchain…

[rubycruzin4abruzin]

Forbidden Crown - V

Summary: During a sleepless night, you stumble upon Kit alone in the garden. After making up from your fight, discussions of your future lead to a night of confessions and heated passion.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: smut!!, oral, light fingering, kissing, first time, outdoor sex, nipple play, confessions, forced marriage trope, nightmares, making up, 18+

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: It’s finally here!! This is not the end. There’s gonna be 2-3 more chapters after this. Also, is this intimacy lowkey beautiful? I had such sappy little feelings writing this.

Not speaking to Kit after your fight was agonizing. Each morning, you woke up and spent the day assisting your mothers with wedding planning while avoiding each other at all costs. You had to admit, you missed her terribly; there were nights you lay awake, wondering if you should go find her and apologize, until you replayed your fight in your mind and anger washed over you once more.

One morning, you had woken up slightly later than usual, and descended the stairs into the Great Hall to find Kit sitting with her mother, accompanied by two men you didn’t recognize. Sorsha chatted with the men excitedly, while Kit sat quietly, wearing a pained and bored expression.

One of the men, identifiable as a diplomatic envoy by his fine garments dyed in Galladoorn green, reached into his satchel, pulled out a document, and slid it over to Sorsha. “I can assure you, your highness, the kingdom of Galladoorn is in high spirits over this alliance. I trust the contractual negotiations are to your liking?”

Sorsha scanned over the document, humming in approval. “Everything seems very fair, yes. My daughter is immensely grateful for the opportunity to marry Prince Graydon, isn’t that right Kit?”

Kit scoffed in response. Sorsha (not-so-gently) nudged her under the table, causing her to stifle a groan and reluctantly nod. With one final nod of satisfaction, Sorsha dipped her quill pen in ink and signed the bottom of the contract, sliding it back across the table.

“All we need is a notarization,” the envoy stated, looking towards his partner. The notary, donning a modest tunic and a feathered hat, took the quill from Sorsha and signed his own name just underneath. He passed it to the envoy to tuck into his satchel, and handshakes were immediately exchanged around the table.

“Prince Graydon is quite eager to make your acquaintance, Princess,” the envoy assured Kit as he shook her hand. “And who could blame him? I would be too if I were betrothed to such a beauteous young maiden.”

He shot her a sly wink, prompting her expression to crumple in disgust. You couldn’t hold back the audible gag that left your throat at his comment, causing Kit to turn in your direction. She met your gaze, finally noticing your presence in the doorway and froze in place.

The finalization of her betrothal should have left you emotional. Normally, you would cause some sort of commotion, or rush over to the envoy to attempt to destroy the contract. Instead, you simply offered Kit a curt nod as you turned away and calmly made your exit.

That night was spent tossing and turning as a recurring nightmare from your fifteenth year overtook you. Familiar fears revisited your subconscious, using recent events to transform into a new horror.

The dream began as usual, with you and Kit making flower bouquets in the Tir Asleen garden. This time however, instead of leading you astray, she offered her bouquet and pulled you in for a sweet kiss. You closed your eyes as you savored the familiar warmth of her soft lips, almost pillowy against your own.

When you pulled away, expecting to see Kit’s shining face, you gasped when Airk suddenly stood before you. Glancing down, you found that once again, a wedding gown had replaced your everyday clothing, and the bouquet Kit gifted you had wilted in your hands. Faceless guests lined chairs in rows, the weight of their stares falling upon you as you stood at the altar.

Behind you stood a priest, wearing a stoic expression as he spoke mechanically. “We are gathered here today in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen,” chanted the guests in unison, their monotony making your skin crawl.

“Do you,” the priest eyed you. “Take Prince Airk Tanthalos to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

“No!” You shrieked, but none of the guests reacted. You tried to break away, but found your hands had been chained to Airk’s. “I cannot take him, please forgive me! I don’t love him!”

You felt someone nudge your shoulder, and turned to see Kit standing behind you. She wore a wedding dress eerily similar to yours, and her hands were bound to another faceless character presumed to be her own groom. Any previous color had been drained from her features, and she spoke with a tone as lifeless as her facial expression.

“Marriage isn’t about love, Princess.”

Once again, you shot up in bed, gasping for breath as you clutched your pounding heart. A quick glance out the window showed a still-black sky, with no indication of the morning sun. You grabbed your pillow and buried your face in it, the linen helping to muffle your frustrated groans.

Fearing a repeat of the nightmare, you decided sleep was futile. Abandoning your bed, you quickly donned your nightrobe and prepared for an insomnia-induced stroll through the castle.

Cool January wind pricked your face as you ventured outside. Usually, you would wrap your nightrobe tighter around yourself, but tonight, you welcomed the cold air as a distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your mind.

You wandered the castle grounds with a lantern in hand, your feet inadvertently guiding you towards the Tir Asleen garden. Yielding to your subconscious, you sought solace among the shrubs and snowdrops. Just as you reached the gated entrance, a soft rustle echoed from within the garden. You froze as you saw a shadowy figure shift in the distance, fearing you had stumbled upon an intruder.

With a trembling hand, you raised your lantern to reveal the figure. Your heart skipped a beat when Kit’s face came into view, sitting beneath the tree where you shared your first childhood kiss. Neither of you dared to speak. With a sigh, you turned to leave, reaching for the gate latch.

“Wait…” she called out.

You paused, hand still on the gate. Kit looked at you with pleading eyes, hugging her knees to her chest. “Please don’t go…”

Pity washed over you, overriding any lingering anger. Kit appeared like a wounded bird: fragile, frail, a fragment of her former self. You approached and settled opposite her, facing but keeping your body pointed away.

Silence enveloped you both. You continued to study Kit’s newfound decrepitude as she rested her head on her knees. The lantern you had set aside highlighted her dark circles, shadowed like bruised fruit yet to ripen.

“I have so much to apologize for,” she murmured eventually, her voice coming out soft and meek. Lifting her head, she tucked her chin between her knees but avoided your gaze. “I really, truly do. I’ve been so… angry, and I took it out on you.”

“Why me?” You asked sincerely. “Have I done something to offend you? Because if so…”

She shook her head, cutting you off. “There was no order, no reason. I was hurt… and I wanted someone else to feel that hurt… and you were there. That’s all.”

You continued to stare, resisting the urge to reach out and soothe her tousled hair. Instead, you remained still, waiting for her to speak again.

“I was so lost in my own despair, I neglected to consider your distress,” she continued. “I’ve been so contrite, but I don’t expect your forgiveness. I’d understand if you were to loathe me.”

She didn’t need to beg; you crawled over and wrapped your arms around her. “I could never loathe you.”

Kit looked up, her big blue eyes brimming with tears. “You couldn’t?”

“Of course not,” you reassured her. “I love you.”

The word slipped out before you could stop it, the one word neither of you had uttered to each other before. You froze, feeling her tense in your arms. Those brilliant baby blues, the ones you had fallen for, continued to stare up at you, but you refused to meet them.

“You do?” She asked, disbelief coloring her tone.

You bit your lip, nervously playing with the ends of her short locks. She studied your features for a moment before a sly smirk spread across her own. Reaching behind her neck, she grasped your hand and pulled you into a captivating kiss. Your lips immediately melted into hers, engulfed in the familiar warmth you craved during her absence. She snaked her free hand around your waist, and you reciprocated by clutching the fabric of her nightshirt, both of you desperate to draw closer.

It was her who finally broke the kiss, pulling away with a sigh. “I love you too, if that wasn’t clear,” she chuckled lazily.

“It was,” you giggled, still a bit dizzy. Unsure of what to do next, you made a feeble attempt at a joke. “Such a pity marriage isn’t about love, isn’t it?”

Kit’s smile vanished instantly, guilt returning to her widened eyes. “I didn’t—“

“No, no, you were right,” you cut her off, repositioning so your head could lean against her chest. “Marriage isn’t about love…” you admitted sadly, regretting your jest. “Though… it should be…”

The last sentence was murmured under your breath, but Kit heard it anyway. She stared off into the distance, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she contemplated her next words. “I’ve heard whispers…” she began.

You glanced up at her, curious. “Whispers?”

“Of other kingdoms, far more… advanced than ours. More innovative. More… accepting.”

Turning to face her, your expression twisted with confusion and disbelief. “Kit… what exactly are you suggesting?”

She took your hands in hers as she carefully surveyed your features. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to watch you walk down the aisle to my brother. I don’t want to marry Graydon, or any man, or anyone else but you…”

“Kit…” you interrupted gently, urging her to get to the point.

She sighed, squeezing your hands. “I want you to come with me.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a smile. “Somewhere that will allow us to be together, somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Kit…” you began, shaking your head in disbelief. “Surely you’re not suggesting we… run away?”

“Not immediately,” she assured you, brow furrowing in thought. “It will take some time. We’ll need a plan. Some essentials. Research on different kingdoms and villages. We could even flee to an African country! I’ve read of societies that encourage the union between two women…”

“Kit,” you cut her off with a chuckle as you tried to be the voice of reason. “How could we possibly get to Africa?”

“We’ll devise a way!” A crazed smile crossed her face as she pulled you closer. “In the worst of perils, we’ll retreat to the Wildwood and live as simple woodswomen!”

Your expression turned serious. “But our kingdoms. Our responsibilities. Even if we were to flee to a different kingdom, we wouldn’t be princesses. We would be common villagers. You wouldn’t harbor the same power you do here, Kit.”

Kit simply sent you a lopsided grin. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.”

A defeated sigh left your lips as you searched her expression for humor, but found none. “You’re truly serious about this?”

All the love and admiration in the world couldn’t compare to the way she gazed at you. “I’ve never been more serious about anyone my entire life.”

There was nothing you could do to stop the way your heart lurched at her words. You nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“The weddings aren’t until next month. We can use that time to plan and leave the night before.”

Kit grabbed your face and pressed her nose to yours with an excited giggle. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered joyously before crashing your lips into hers. She eagerly reciprocated, grabbing handfuls of your hair in an attempt to draw you closer. Your arms encircled her, fingernails clawing at the back of her nightshirt as if you were underwater, desperately seeking a surface.

She moved atop you, swinging her leg over until she straddled your hips. The tree bark pressed against your back, scratching against your nightclothes like a scribe’s quill on parchment. Her lips traveled to your jaw, rolling your sensitive flesh between her teeth and eliciting soft moans from deep within your throat.

“Kit…” the name fell from your mouth in short gasps. Her hands were everywhere, roaming your body with the urgency of a desert traveler seeking water. Each brush, every gentle caress burned at your core, causing your body to tremble under her touch.

Desperate for release, your hips instinctively bucked against hers. You expected her to pull away, as she had when you were teenagers. She didn’t. Instead, her moans filled your mouth and vibrated against your lips.

You were the one to pull away, panting heavily as you pressed against her shoulders. “K-Kit? Are you… I mean… is this alright?”

Kit seemed to be lost in a daze. Her pretty pink lips were slick with spit and parted slightly as she fought to catch her breath. “I love you, Princess,” she began. “I long to share the remainder of my days… every fiber of my being with you. But only if you’ll allow me.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. All you needed to do was sit up and pull her into a tender kiss to convey your agreement. Her hands wandered to your midsection, untying your nightrobe and slipping it off your shoulders. All that remained between you and her was your thin nightgown. She traced the hem with her fingers, looking to you for permission. You nodded, shifting to allow her to pull it up over your shoulders before casting it aside.

Kit gazed upon your naked body as if it were a work of art sculpted by the Greek gods. She layed you back down, gently lowering your head unto the base of the tree as the cool grass tickled your bare skin. Her visage could only be defined as lovesick. “Will you tell me if I should stop?”

A breathless sigh escaped your lips. “I can’t imagine I’ll want you to.”

“Promise me,” she insisted, and you saw her request for what it was. Behind her hungry stares, amidst her growing need was a real, genuine pursuit of consent. You nodded, agreeing, and she was on you again.

Her lips traversed beneath your jawline, leaving a trail of kisses before stopping at your chest. “Continue?”

“Please,” you purred.

She took one of your breasts in her hand, pinching the erect bud. The soft sounds that elicited from your throat could have been enough to cease her heart’s beating. Her mouth found its way to your other breast, suckling at your swollen nipple with careful curiosity.

You groaned as your hand flew to the top of her head. “Kit… please don’t tease…”

Removing herself from your bosom was a task that Kit was initially reluctant to do, but soon complied after your hips began rolling into her once more. She resumed peppering kisses down your torso, pausing just above your mons. “Surely you’d like to stop now?”

You gave her a small laugh, shaking your head. “Far from it.”

With a serious determination, Kit dragged her index finger up the length of your wet folds, noting the way your breath hitched when she came in contact with your clit. Lowering her head, she squinted to observe the pink pearl, barely visible in the dim lantern light, which seemed to sweeten your sounds. She experimented with her fingertips once more, gently encircling your clit with the fascination of a honeybee drawn to a blossoming flower.

“Kit…” you growled, hips chasing her touch.

Your novice lover couldn’t help but marvel at the way your juices glistened on her skin. Overcome with intrigue, she stuck her slick-covered finger in her mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Is it pleasing?” You asked.

“Very,” she replied. “Like a salted peach.”

It didn’t take long for Kit to dive into you like a woman starved, using her tongue to explore every inch of your wet slit. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she was a determined and fast learner, each breath, each shift, each guttural cry from your throat helping her to gauge your needs and proceed from there.

Soon, amidst your labored breaths and electric shocks of pleasure came an unfamiliar sensation deep inside your pelvis, as if someone had wound a spring tightly around your muscles. “K-Kit…” you sputtered. “It feels quite tense…”

Kit groaned in recognition, murmuring something akin to ‘the lewd literature.’ She spoke while her mouth was still on you, each word vibrating against your core and adding to the stimulation. “Breathe, beautiful. You’re doing so well. Trust me, lean into it, it’ll feel so good.”

You did as you were told, relaxing your muscles and leaning into the powerful sensations. The way Kit looked up at you as she lapped at your folds only spurred you forward, nearer, closer to wherever you were going. It wasn’t long before a burst of warmth exploded in your abdomen, causing your legs to tremble and your vision to blur. You squeezed your thighs together against her head, ragged breaths pleading with her to stay right where she was as you rode out your climax.

Kit lifted her head up once your breathing evened out, grinning up at you with a mouth coated in your slick. “Was that alright?”

“More than,” you assured her, still panting. “Much more than.”

She crawled back up to you and tenderly brought her lips to yours. Hints of your arousal still lingered on her tongue, irrefutable evidence of the events that just transpired. You hummed as she pulled back, goofy, embarrassing grins spread across both of your faces.

“Shall I return the favor?” You asked, trying to be seductive but your eyelids were drooping heavily.

Kit chuckled, taking your face in her hands. “At a later time,” she responded, thumbing the dark rings under your eyes. “It appears we both could use some sleep.”

Too tired to argue, you let your head fall back onto Kit’s chest. She smirked, reaching for your discarded nightrobe and draping it over both of you. Her arm settled upon your shoulders as she nestled into your hair, planting a kiss on your head. “Sleep well, Princess.”

That night, you both slept in the Tir Asleen garden, intertwined under the tree’s protective branches until the first light of dawn crested the horizon.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @lovinglynny @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sofi4v13 @detmarmalade @at1nyzen @ikyk-leeknow

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Disgusting comments of a sexual nature. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Your mother rushes into your room, followed by her many assistants. "It's today," she tells you. You give her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. "The marriage. It's happening today so you'd best dress up. My ladies will do your hair and makeup so you can look somewhat decent for your new husband."

"Yes, mother," is all you can say. Any attempts at pointing out you'd had no notice would be futile. And should you dare try to state a preference in your looks it would be immediately dismissed, paired with an insult. Best to just comply and do as she says. You make sure to follow the instructions of the hair and makeup team. They have to put up with your mother, too, so you always try to be polite to them.

As soon as they finish your mother shoves you in front of a mirror. "There," she coos. "Don't you look so lovely?"

You think you look like a clown. Like a lesser copy of her. "Yes, mother. Thank you."

"Would have gotten you a better dress but you refused to lose weight," she sighs. You bite your tongue. The doctor said you were healthy, that should be enough. But not for her.

"Now," she continues, "we will be meeting your father and brother at the Jensen estate. Apparently they've already go the paperwork and notary crap sorted out. Remember to walk gracefully, be polite, and for the love of everything, smile. I don't need my daughter's wedding photos to look like a funeral had happened!"

"Yes, mother."

Jake is really trying to keep calm. His father, father-in-law and brother-in-law are all drinking to the "marriage" happening this afternoon. Apparently they're just waiting for the bride and her mother to finish getting ready. Jake is scared she's going to be just like his own mother: power hungry, demanding, backstabbing, cold. Meeting the bride's family has not helped assuage his concerns. If anything, it only further drives his conviction that he did the right thing, breaking his sister's engagement. The only thing keeping Jake calm is Clay's presence. Having an ally makes a world of difference.

Montgomery, his father-in-law, is already three drinks in. "And as a wedding gift to the happy couple, your father and I have purchased a penthouse and a car that you won't be embarrassed to be seen in."

"Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?" Clay raises an eyebrow.

"It's a pinto," Travis, the brother-in-law, scoffs.

"Exactly," Clay calmly says. "An American classic."

Travis rolls his eyes before turning to Jake, "I'm kinda disappointed you agreed to this thing. I was kinda hoping for that niece of yours. You know, once she turns 18. The young ones are so much easier to train."

Jake's gripping his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He has to behave, it's in the contract. And punching his brother-in-law would not be behaving.

Thankfully Clay has his back. "Young man, you've got problems. I'm specifically talking in the bedroom, but I'm sure you've got plenty of problems outside as well. If you need some lessons on how to please a woman, I'm happy to give you some pointers."

Travis glowers at him but Clay just smirks.

A knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. An attendant comes in, "the bride is here."

The first time you see Jake, your heart falls. He looks angry, mean. You didn't have much hope about being treated well to begin with but this just solidified it.

The first time Jake sees you, his own heart does the same. You're the spitting image of your mother. He mentally prepares himself for a life of being scolded for never being enough, a life of being cheated on, a life without love.

The documents are signed and notarized. The fake smiles are pasted on for the photos. Jake is given the keys to both the penthouse and the car. Clay promises to meet them there, driving his pinto.

You and Jake sit silently in the car. Both wanting to cry.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[fuck-customers]

🌠 I have a fun story. Some of this was filled in by a relative of mine who works upper management.

Where I work, we have this employee. She's a bit of a jack-of-all trades but seems to choose to stay on the bottom rungs, since she'd honestly not thrive in higher management positions. I'll call her X. X is pretty introverted, quiet, kind and above all, willing to help.

Our door greeter has some hang-ups and inconsideration they won't work through, so they call out very often. (Boss won't fire them because they are elderly.) X was always the first to offer to take their shift. Did our forklift guys need a spotter? (The guy they used to have walked out one day.) X is on it, no questions asked. Does a customer need an employee to help them shop? X is there! X has covered more of my shifts than I can count, due to personal life issues.

A lifesaver and a sweetheart. We all were inspired by her and also branched out to help, sometimes.

Despite how nice she is, X takes bullshit form no one. One day, one of our main supervisors got a position changed and some asshole took their place. This asshole seemed to hinge a lot of their projected success on what they perceived as X's submissiveness. Well, X felt disrespected by every interaction, it seemed. She always denied this jerk.

He'd demand X do something. "I'm sorry, that is not within my responsibilities as a cashier. If my responsibilities have changed, I would like to see a notarized and documented form that bares my signature before I take on other tasks." Honestly, to-a-T, brutal compliance of business shenanigans.

Well, Jerk got mad she stopped being so complicit and, one day, confronted her on her "behavior." Other employees, myself included, recorded him yelling at her while she looked unmoved and unbothered. When he was done, he shouted. "You do all of this for anyone else! Why not me?"

X was quiet for a long time. "You didn't treat me like a person when you bullied me in high school, and you still don't now. So why would I?"

Y'ALL, I WAS FLOORED. He was her high school bully and her revenge was not doing anything beyond her contracted job to help him, KNOWING HIS SUCCESS HINGED HEAVILY ON HER.

He was about to snap again, but saw we had cameras pointed at him. His face was red, he looked like he realized something.

"I don't remember that."

"Yes you do. Leave me alone, please."

Then, he didn't ask her to do anything. When he's wasn't scheduled, she goes above and beyond. But X didn't do a god damn thing for Jerk. He couldn't look her in the eye anymore. And honestly, good for her. Our store will never fire her; she knows too much and is too helpful, and she's the highest paid cashier after all her raises and such.

His "projected" productivity suffered since all of his promotional promises hinged on the cashiers being willing to help him with tasks outside of their job. We'd help if X did. She stopped so we did, too. One day he stopped showing up as our supervisor. Our new supervisor told us he'd taken another position.

X is a badass.

She eventually quit and took up her true passion, which was coding and programming. I still text her and we play Balder's Gate together. I love her to bits. She even said she'd teach me some code stuff and see if I can't work with her and her company... Wish me luck!

Posted by admin Rodney.

[rcmclachlan]

Revisiting "Stuff Yuuri Katsuki Full of Cock 2k17"

AO3 should make you sign a contract in blood and have it notarized before you're allowed to orphan one of your stories. The "R" in "R.C." stands for regret in this case!

Of the many fics, ficlets, drabbles, and WIPs I churned out for the YOI fandom that I wish I could un-orphan, these four were my favorites:

immaculate dream, made breath and skin (E)

Almost half his life has been spent training for the day that Victor Nikiforov takes him to bed, so when it finally happens after the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri's prepared. More than prepared: he's ready. No one's ever touched him as a lover, sure, but there's nothing that he hasn't already dreamed about doing or having done to him to make anything that could happen a shock. But apparently Victor's sole purpose in life is to subvert all his expectations. (this is easily the filthiest thing i've ever written)

with the engine inside (E)

Victor brought this on himself.

Full (E)

On the second day of the 2017 Worlds Competition, he takes a bumpy taxi ride from where they’re staying at the Hilton Helsinki Kalastajatorppa to Hartwell Arena, skates a gold medal-winning singles program, gives at least an hour’s worth of interviews to every major network that exists, meets with an insanely wealthy couple that wants him to give pointers to their daughter who would much rather talk to him about horses than skating, and goes out for dinner and drinks with the usual suspects—all with a thick plug inside him that rubs up against his prostate every time he so much as breathes.

Mercalli (E)

There’s an earthquake in Yuuri’s hands as he slides them up the meat of Victor’s thighs, and it threatens to shake Victor to ruin.

Bonus: Thwarted (M)

Yuuri snorts. "Not even you would've taken 'Victor, I fantasize about getting pregnant' seriously."

[wolvesofinnistrad]

Buck pulls up to the costume shop with the widest, most manic smile.

Eddie and Tommy say together "what are we doing here?"

Buck turns slowly, still grinning like a maniac. "Do you know how many new group costumes open up when its three adult men? Four if we count Chris?!"

Eddie and Tommy both turn to one another.

"You should have warned me about this," Tommy says with a pointed look.

Eddie shrugs "he's never done this before how was I supposed to know?"

Buck just continues to smile "ive never had this option before, i was usually with girls that didnt want to dress up as a couple or a tag along with Eddie and Chris, but this year I have a boyfriend," he points at Tommy, "and Eddie already agreed to the group costume at the bachelor party."

Eddie points an accusatory finger "that wasn't a blanket agreement."

"Yes it was actually, I have signed contracts."

Eddie laughs and looks to Tommy who just says "I notarized them" then whispers "if I'm going down youre coming with me Diaz."

Buck proceeds to dress them up like his own personal Ken dolls for the next hour as they try on every costume known to man.

They leave with about 6 different costumes which has Eddie raising his eyebrows.

"Are you planning on switching costumes through the night?"

Buck waggles his eyebrows and smirks. "Oh the other ones aren't for halloween."

Tommy grins and kisses his boyfriend's cheek, "ok so this was worth it then."

"Hey it was worth it already!"

[missmagooglie]

Seven Several Sentences Sunday!

Since a few people seemed curious, this snippet gives a little bit of background about what the hell is even happening in this fic. Previous snippets here, here and here.

The problem with becoming pregnant literally as he presented as an omega, Eddie realizes, is that processing both of those pieces of information is too much to do all at once, and being pregnant is so much more urgent and immediate. His attention these past few years has been so fully occupied with his pregnancy, and then with raising Christopher, that consequences of existing in the world as an omega have always seemed distant and unimportant by comparison. The thing is that Eddie knows, in a generalized sense of how the broader world works, that when an omega comes of age their pack is required to find them a mate. If they don’t, well. The less said about that the better. No respectable pack would ever let that happen. And even though he's never really thought all that much about it, Eddie also knows, on a purely technical level, that he is an omega. He has a son to prove it, even. On reflection, his son might be the reason that he failed to put those two pieces of information together to anticipate that he, specifically, would someday need to go through the whole mating process. Getting mated is supposed to be a normal part of growing up and, as far as Eddie's concerned, being someone's parent means that he's already grown. He has been so consumed these past few years with raising his own child – and missed so many other “normal” milestones because of it – that it never occurs to him that technically, legally, he's still a child too. And so he's never really thought about what will happen when that changes. All of which is to say that being mated off not long after he turns eighteen completely blindsides him in a way it absolutely shouldn't.  “His name is Evan,” his mother says. “He's still very young to be taking a mate, but his pack leader assured us that he has a large extended pack that will help support you.”  “We were very fortunate to get this contract for you, Eddie,” his father adds. “It wasn't easy, given your circumstances.” Eddie grits his teeth, furious that his parents didn't so much as tell him they were looking for a mate before they'd already given him away. They hadn’t asked for his opinion, or set up courtship meetings, or given Eddie any chance to try and find a mate he will be compatible with.  Instead, there's a legally binding contract, already signed and notarized, sitting on the coffee table while Eddie's parents break the news to him that he already belongs to someone he's never met.

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[darkmaga-retard]

William M Briggs

Aug 14, 2024

Ed Feser has a long and reasoned argument why, in some but not all circumstances, voting for Trump would be wrong. I’ll assume you have read it, and read all of it, and then spent a moment thinking about it. I agree with his points. But I think he missed a couple of things.

A reason to vote for Trump, instead of not voting at all, for voting for any Democrat can only be countenanced if the contract to sell your soul to the Devil has been witnessed by at least four Supreme Court Justices and notarized by your mother and all her sisters, and then you are still screwed, is that Trump—not the man, the idea of Trump—drives them insane. Let me explain.

The left starts out at Crazy. When it hears even rumors the Great March Off The Cliff might be slowed, the left descends into Madness. When it believes that the March might not only be slowed, but possibly, and only possibly, could take one, and only one, step back from the Cliff, it flies from Madness into Gibbering Apoplectic Blackness.

Remember the lunatics who took to the streets after Trump won in 2016 and wailed in the streets? What a performance! How they hersterically (there is no misspelling) shrieked “He is not my President!” How they ran in circles whimpering about the End of the World? All this was before Melania had the chance to change the sheets on the Whitehouse beds.

To the left, it didn’t make one whit of difference that Trump often governed to the left of Bill Clinton. Two words: covid panic. They swore they wouldn’t take the “Trump vax.” Then they swore you had better take the “Fauci ouchie”.

[verifbox]

Notarizing Your Images on the Ethereum Blockchain with VerifBox: A Secure and Reliable Solution for Digital Image Verification

[candiid-caniine]

Bug, I need advice

I want to ask my master to start using it pronouns for me (not for gender reasons- I'm staunchly they/them- but BC I'm pathetic and don't deserve anything else). I want to show him that I'm nothing more than his pathetic toy.

...but I don't want to just ask him. That would be too easy- to put it into conversation like I'm a person. I don't deserve that.

So what can I do to ask him? What show should I put on to make him stop respecting me? I want to be degraded and sobbing and a desperate leaky mess for him when I ask but I can't think of anything 😭

Assume nothing is off the table. Edging covered in drool, licking the toilet, anything.

Help,,

Thank you bug. Us leaky cunts gotta stick together.

arf this is a tough one!! obviously you know your master, but just in case it hasn't come to mind, remember that for some people this may feel like misgendering or orientation play, so it's always best to gauge your partner's limits first. (this warning isn't necessarily for you, bc i trust that this is a committed relationship w good communication, but for anyone else interested in something like this!)

here's what i would do. think of the thing that makes you cry. humiliation? pain? edging? whatever it is, think about that. for me, it's easier if i'm put into subspace slowly before whatever makes me cry is starting; i'm more open and emotional that way.

ask your master to plan a scene for you. you're basically asking him to break you, possibly in a way he never has before, so please please take advantage of his care for you--make sure you'll have ample time and supplies for any aftercare you might need; this is gonna be a tough scene, a show of devotion and ownership that is going to be intense. tell him that at some point during this scene, you're going to give him a gift somehow.

what i would do if i was doing this (pls bear in mind im a dumb fuck): i'd write it down. maybe on a piece of paper. maybe on a dog tag to attach to my collar. or go fucking crazy and have a plaque made, or a custom paddle, or cross-stitch some shit...make it unique, but tangible. here are some ideas for how i would say it:

pathetic toys don't deserve pronouns (and on the back it says "it/its")

congrats! it's an it! (im trying to riff on cringey cishet 'gender reveals' but idk if its working lmaooo)

fleshlights don't have pronouns (this prob only works if ur a bottom and he's a top so disregard if needed lmao)

dildos don't have pronouns (if ur the top and he's the bottom)

certified object (TM) (and on the back it says "it/its")

sex toy (and on the back it says "it/its")

if i was a toy 👀and u were a real person 👀would u respect me 👀or nah? (check yes or nah) and if u checked nah 👀would u maybe 👉🏽👈🏽 call me it/its? 👀 haha jk,, unless....?

omg or,, one of those like fake certificates? or a deed of property?

Here on this 14th of February, 2024, by Notarized Declaration, has been bequeathed to You, the Undersigned, a certification: that [sub's name] has been deemed a Material Object, pursuant to Code 98.706 of the Consensual Dehumanization Act, and shall hereby be referred to by "it/its" pronouns throughout any Proceedings of Consensual Power Exchange (PCPA). (Initial)___ I, the Undersigned, hereby agree to this Declaration and the Conditions elaborated herein...

did yall think i was joking about being a clownpuppy

anyway. whenever you've figured that shit out, be it a plaque, a fake contract, a dog tag, whatever the fuck, hide that shit. whatever your master has planned for the evening, incorporate it.

is he gonna tie you up and put you in a suspension rig and pretend he's livestreaming you? hide that shit in his ropes.

is he gonna make you hump his shoe and bark? hide it in ur mouth and drool it out onto his thigh.

is he gonna edge you and call you names until you cry? fam, put that shit in your holes. that is the ultimate objectification (to me): be the vase you hide your v-day roses in.

so that's my advice, basically. if you don't want to ask outright like a person, then symbolize it in your play. it's still communication, which is vital for a scene that's gonna be as intense as you want it to be, but it also fits the theme of what you're trying to tell him. come up with a basic plan for the night, then place your declaration somewhere accessible either by you or him when you hit the point in the night that you want to reveal it.

i'm so excited for you. idk if i really helped, this is just *my* style of play (read: stupidtown to the max), but regardless i'd love to hear how it goes, whatever you end up deciding!

[sunder-the-gold]

Taking a posthumous look at Durrenmatt, Vermeil's benefactor and Executor's client

All information about this NPC can be found in 'Survival Notarization' from [Operational Intelligence], as well as Vermeil's archive files and voice lines.

The Sankta named Dürrenmatt began and ended his long life in Laterano.

We do not know how long he lived within the city before leaving it. We do not know if he plied his trade as mechanic within Laterano, or abroad.

We do know that at some point, Dürrenmatt threw his law-abiding life away to pursue revenge. Among his crimes, he shot at least one person dead. Either he did not use a Patron Firearm, or he did not shoot another Sankta, because he had no horns or tail.

Either to enact his revenge or simply to avoid arrest, Dürrenmatt left Laterano and apparently did not return until the end of his life. In this way, he evaded the Notarial Hall's law-enforcers.

By the time that Dürrenmatt became an old man, he came to rue his life choices.

Vermeil

Afterwards, while passing through a stretch of Siracusan wilderness, Dürrenmatt found and took pity on a dying young Vulpo girl.

"How could I look past a respected colleague, short one arm and lying in a pile of her own guts next to a big old tusker?"

A tuskbeast (presumably a boar) either surprised Vermeil or exceeded her expectations. While she managed to kill it herself, it mortally wounded her.

If Dürrenmatt did not exaggerate, then he had impressive medical abilities, to put Vermeil's bowels back in her stomach and also to amputate her ruined arm in that condition without killing her.

Just as impressive, before she recovered enough to walk again, the former mechanic managed to design and manufacture a new mechanical arm for Vermeil, from scratch.

Rhodes Island could not find another model like it anywhere, so he did not purchase it. We do not know the extent to which he purchased pre-made components or fabricated everything himself. Possibly in a cave, with a box of scraps.

When Vermeil awoke, Dürrenmatt introduced himself with an alias and lied about being a hunter like her. Vermeil saw through him, claiming that she didn't smell any dirt on him at all.

Never having seen a Sankta before, she remarked on the circle above his head and the wing-like things at his back. She made no mention of horns or tail.

After he showed her how to attach her new arm, she told him of her plans to seek revenge.

"Revenge, huh? Well, I can't decide your fate for you. But when you pull your bowstring with this arm, I hope you'll think about why it is we're alive, besides revenge. If you don't think enough, you might just end up like me.

"I don't want to hear you say 'I live for revenge.' That's too cliche. …Damn right. Totally played out."

So he did not decide to help her on her quest for vengeance, and neither did he try to stop her.

But some time after that, before she finished achieving her revenge, she contracted Oripathy.

And perhaps for the childless old Sankta, that was the last straw. He could not bear to see her die before him.

So he returned to Laterano to do what he could for her.

Final Rites

Regarding his sentence, he told Executor, "Justice? Maybe what I did was justified, Mister, if the Notarial Hall could find it in their hearts to forgive me. But it still wouldn't be anything to cheer about. Honestly, it just makes life seem like a big joke."

Given that Vermeil claims to smell her benefactor's blood on his final letter to her, and that we know he died in Lateran custody, it stands to reason that he received a death sentence for his crimes.

Yet it also seems that the Notarial Hall excused some of his crimes, and deemed him fit to have the time and agency to decide what to do with his legal possessions. As well as to hear and accept a final request.

"The above is my last will and testament in its entirety. However, I have one final, selfish request. In the forests of Siracusa, I met a one-armed Vulpo girl. She had long walked a single-minded path of revenge. In my compassion, I gave her aid. While this might have hurt her pride, I found myself moved by her stubborn determination to survive. I later learned that the aid I gave her only strengthened her obsession with revenge, which left me uneasy. I want to give her all that I have. Sadly, that is very little. Only a few sad heirlooms."

"Pardon the interruption, but there is no Vulpo on your list of kin. This will make our work rather difficult."

"As such, this is but a petty request from a childless Laterano citizen on his deathbed."

///

To Vermeil, Executor would confirm, "He sold all of his property, paid a number of additional fees, including those of the Notarial Hall, as well as the costs of your future medical treatment."

"But, why? I'm just some girl from the forest…"

"He wants you to live."

"And I'm asking why!"

"Because he believed you deserve to live."

///

"Thank you for accepting my request."

"It was the Notarial Hall's decision. I am merely executing my duties."

"Hah, sure enough. And while you're looking for Vermeil, I have another little request."

"Depending on the nature of the request, I may reject your verbal appeal. I would prefer you submit it in written form to the Notarial Hall."

"You're a real hardass, huh? Doesn't matter. It's just a little thing. Don't tell her anything about my past, if you can. Make up some story. Tell I died on the operating table."

"I do not understand the need for this request. Nor does it fit with the truth. You fled the Notarial Hall's justice for many years, and you shot dead…"

"Enough. What if I told you doing it this way would save you a lot of trouble in getting your job done?"

"If in my judgment I agree with your assessment, I will consider your request."

///

"As the report states, the heir is fickle, slow to trust, and difficult to communicate with.

"If the object insists on rejecting her benefit, according to regulations, I am permitted to abandon the task. But the client and my superiors issued a subordinating clause. I must execute it.

"'Let Vermeil live.' As this is a rather broad request, executing it will be quite complicated. It is my hope that you cooperate."

///

"Please take good care of her, Mr. Executor. Really, it could be good for you, too. Don't give me that look. You know what I mean. Get her out of that mud hole. Don't let her end up like me.

"Her. She's my legacy, though. My hopes and dreams. May the Lord bless her and keep her."

[nicnacsnonsense]

Look, I can believe that Bob Rickman has a magic power where he can make anyone do anything he wants them to just by holding their hand, including getting Jonathan to sell the farm. But you cannot convince me that selling the farm was accomplished in a single afternoon via a two page contract with one signature from Jonathan and none from Martha, the (presumed) co-owner. The signatures weren’t even notarized!

[contentment-of-cats]

Just give me the coffee, I will do the rest.

Loki is settling in. Mostly, he wants to eat and sleep. The few times I have let him out of the Borg Cube, he's been out for 10 minutes, gets overstimulated, and runs back to his Safe Place. Right now he is learning how to play with toys, and loves his scratching posts and pads. He's been through so much. I have asked that the ex get a visit from his karma.

Unpleasant Subject Ahead

Another thing that this whole thing has driven home is how important it is to get your affairs in order - even if you don't have cancer. Loki's mom was getting a divorce and fell so ill so fast that she was unable to make her own medical decisions within days of admission. Even if you are getting a divorce, even with an actual protective order, your spouse is still the legal default person to make decisions for you. They are your legal heir. If you don't have a legal spouse (marriage certificate), it's your adult children, if you have no kids then your parents make those decisions even if you're a legal adult. If you have no immediate family, then your extended family gets called in.

Power of attorney legal and medical

Will for personal property

Living trust for investments and real estate

Medical orders (supersede those of the POA) such as Do Not Resuscitate

A health care directive like this one.

It's hard to think about, but when your surviving extended family is a mess (like mine) you want these things in order. Hell, have them notarized so that a judge can look at the plaintiff and say, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

Golden Treadmill

I'm strapping myself in with another 'write to spec' contract. Yep, it's more porn. I negotiated for one every six weeks from February to November. I need to visit Amazon and stock up on barf bags and brain bleach. I did say that I won't write noncon or (yes, this is a thing) racist tropes. It's hard for me to write hardcore body horror. I might be writing horrible porn in order to pay off my medical bills that makes my pussy slam shut like an angry clam, but I have standards. That being said, the editor delivered the advance to my freelance bank account and the outline to my inbox.

Whoo boy.

In my defense, I did not know that 'monster fucking' was commercially viable.

Cat in the Kitchen

Rediscovering food has been a wonder. As promised, my rearranged innards make it trial and error, but the errors seem to be self-correcting. Gut flora does come back, but I have not been brave enough to venture into my spicy Indian, Chinese, and Mexican foods.

I've been making casseroles/hotdish because they freeze well and sometimes the fatigue renders me incapable of anything other than pushing a button.

For casseroles/hotdish you need:

Vegetables: Frozen works fine. Canned is saltier, so if you go canned use 'less salt' brands. If you are using mushrooms, frozen, fresh or dried is best. I find canned mushrooms have a very weird metallic taste.

Starch: Potatoes, rice, pasta/noodles, bread. Yes, tater tots count.

Protein: Can be vegetable protein, beans, canned tuna or salmon, or meat. Smoked salmon is delicious in casseroles and soup, so I go to my local deli on Friday to get lox ends and trimmings.

Sauce: Canned soups (cream of ____), jarred or canned pasta sauce, or packaged cooking sauces and gravies.

Topping: Cornflakes, tater tots, cheese, potato chips, stuffing, etc.

Flavor: Dried herbs, onion and celery, garlic, spices.

Slowcooker meals are great, too, and follow the same rules as casseroles/hotdish. But my favorite caserole dish is my Gran's Lancashire hotpot - lamb neck chops, potatoes, onions, and more sliced potatoes on top for a crispy lid.

Back to work.