#resignation and termination | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deikshen · 4 months ago

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I love getting Shen Qingqiu pregnant (and it's funny that just today I've done it twice already), so... Shen Yuan who transmigrates into Shen Qingqiu, and in the midst of his medical check-up with Mu Qingfang about that whole qi deviation thing, Mu Qingfang hints that perhaps the qi deviation was due to using too much of his qi to pause his pregnancy.

Shen Qingqiu it's like: pardon??? Pregnancy?????

Sure enough, the System confirms: Shen Qingqiu's body is pregnant! And Mu Qingfang, falling into all that of a certain amnesia after the qi deviation, explains to him that he has a pregnancy in a very early stage that he never wanted to interrupt, but "the responsibilities around him, responsibilities that only grew" were too much to have a baby at that time. And he's been putting off his baby's growth with qi... for a long time.

Shen Qingqiu asks him very, very quickly how the hell he can keep doing that. No. He's not having a baby. He's just getting a new body. He just died. What the fuck. Thanks, but no thanks.

Of course, later on, with Without-a-cure, it is very difficult to continue diverting his qi to keep the baby hidden and not growing inside him. At this point, Shen Qingqiu does not terminate the pregnancy just because... Because he does not feel capable. Plus, he feels a little guilty; the original goods could have terminated that pregnancy if he had wanted to. What gave him, an impostor in a stolen body, the right to end a life that the original Shen Qingqiu was so jealously protecting? He had already taken one life. He would not take a second.

So even he does need more qi about it, and if he needs Mu Qingfang's external qi to hide it during the larger outbreaks of Without-a-cure, Shen Qingqiu decides that maybe he'll give the baby a chance to be born when he has to throw Binghe into the Abyss. The house will be empty by then, won't it? And will be sad. And painful. And he'll need a distraction.

One month before the IAC, Shen Qingqiu lets go of the qi seal and allows the baby finally to continue growing. It is strange to feel it, and even stranger to feel it grow. Mu Qingfang congratulates him on his decision, explains what symptoms he will have to deal with in the coming weeks, what tea is best to avoid, what herbs he should drink. Shen Qingqiu is tense, distant and somewhat nervous, fearing something dangerous or close to a qi deviation since he was not actively sealing the baby now. His body still has to get used to the enormous hormonal chaos that will gradually subside; Shen Qingqiu is resigned and hateful, but he simply decides that it will not be something that will keep him awake at night.

The IAC passes. The morning after Shen Qingqiu throws Binghe into the abyss is painful and filled with tears and the first signs of morning sickness. Unfortunate timing, as many other Peak Lords and Sect Leaders see him nearly faint and run off to vomit.

What Shen Qingqiu doesn't expect (or, knowing the reputation of the original Shen Qingqiu, should expect) are the rumors.

Shen Qingqiu is jealously protecting his small belly bump, hiding it before it is necessary to say it, but it is inevitable that it will be discovered. It's surprisingly less well received than he expected. His refusal to speak about what happened to Luo Binghe, his refusal to give him up for dead, his enormous sadness, her refusal to tell the identity of the baby's other father... Shen Qingqiu is hearing the rumors from his own disciples before Shang Qinghua and his spy nets of An Ding disciples bring him the news that the rumors have already spread.

Apparently, everyone believes that Shen Qingqiu was having an affair with his spoiled disciple Luo Binghe ("He even bet so much on him and his victory in the IAC!"), and when a beast killed his beloved disciple, Shen Qingqiu fell into a heartbreaking sadness from which he could only be freed by the fruit of his love that was now growing in his womb.

Sensitive, loud, chaotic. Shang Qinghua mocks him. Shen Qingqiu hits him with his fan and insults him. Living with the author is an unpleasant nuisance when Shang Qinghua confirms that he never wrote about Shen Qingqiu being pregnant, although he didn't actually write about things that later happened either. The world filling in the plot holes, he says, and Shen Qingqiu hates it.

Pregnancy is a painless process. Shen Qingqiu suffers through it like anyone else, but he has his good moments. He gets excited about the baby. Mu Qingfang confirms to him that its a boy. He lulls him to sleep when he wakes him up in the middle of the night with kicks. Even before he is born, he is already causing trouble; Shen Qingqiu finds himself loving this little boy very much and wishing, after all this time, to finally meet him.

The baby is born. If Shen Qingqiu was curious about the identity of the second father, nothing on the baby's face tells it; it is a sweet and cute baby identical to Shen Qingqiu, except for some undeniably big and beautiful eyes.

He also has his own character: he cries a lot, he only calms down in Shen Qingqiu's arms, he hates strangers coming close, he cries when someone else carries him, and enjoys when Shen Qingqiu sings to him. He is quickly loved and spoiled by the entire sect and his disciples.

Shen Qingqiu allows himself to forget that he will only have four years to live for this baby. Luo Binghe will return seeking revenge, and Shen Qingqiu does not plan to escape; as long as he allows the baby to live, and as long as Cang Qiong don't burn, he can hand himself over to Luo Binghe's revenge.

(Of course he has prepared sun-moon dew mushrooms. He's not an idiot. He also has enough legal scrolls that in case he dies, his baby will stay with Shang Qinghua and the anonymous brother Shang; Shang Qinghua will run away with his little one and they will meet in a village far away, where the "anonymous brother" lived. Shen Qingqiu would raise his son as an anonymous herbalist and they would live as simple NPCs without bothering anyone.)

Shen Qingqiu has his beloved little baby and a plan. It is a surprise to him when, one night, there is a knock on his door. His baby is just over a year and a half old, he stammers a few words, he learned the dangerous art of walking and running; so little time, so much domestic comfort, of course Shen Qingqiu does not expect disciples returning from the Endless Abyss directly to his doorstep.

Yet there he is. Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe who looks at him with an unfathomable expression, dirty in blood, with torn robes. He is unbearably handsome, tall and with a heavy black sword on his back.

Shen Qingqiu is frozen, only thinking about running away with his baby, when Luo Binghe just falls to his knees in front of him.

("Shizun, the rumors are strong, even in the Abyss. When did this horrible disciple disgrace his Shizun like this? Will Shizun be able to forgive this one for his mistakes? If the Abyss was the punishment Shizun intended for this disciple's behaviour, then this one understands. Please forgive this horrible beast for his audacity.")

Shen Qingqiu had already made peace with the rumors. He actually tried to ignore them most of the time. So, for Luo Binghe of all people to believe them ("As if there was any way to forget... that!!! It takes two to make a baby, and you and I didn't do it...!!!"), and even more so, to feel guilty about them… As if something in Luo Binghe's head made him believe that if he were to get infected by the sex pollen of some flower, he could really dishonor his Shizun like that! For that you first need to want it with this Shizun, silly boy!

Shen Qingqiu knows that he has no chance to lie to him, less in something like that. As soon as Luo Binghe finds out that his son has no Heavenly Demon blood in his veins, it will be risky and dangerous. He wants to tell him the truth. He has to tell him the truth.

... However, who can blame a man for having a little hope that everything will eventually work out? Perhaps he should show the baby first, his little offspring, to making him understand that its a harmless baby and does not deserve to suffer. But who could blame him for wanting Luo Binghe to not notice the truth and just accept it and stay as if he had never left?

... Probably the same people who might blame Shen Qingqiu when he presented his sleeping son to Luo Binghe (after letting him bathe and eat something decent), and just a caress on his baby's pale forehead with the careful claw of Luo Binghe caused a red zuiyin to appear.

What the fuck, WHAT THE FUCK?! Airplane, WHO THE FUCK DID SHEN QINGQIU HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH??! WHAT OTHER HEAVENLY DEMONS ARE THERE?! HOW FUCKING LONG HAS THAT BABY BEEN HIDING?!

...

(Somewhere beneath the mountain, Tianlang-jun sneezes. Ah. Strong-willed human cultivators of pretty faces and bad temper. They were always his weakness. One would think that someone like Tianlang-jun would learn after being abandoned by a wandering cultivator apprenticed to a demonic cultivator with a very bad reputation, but, it was not the art of love also having a broken heart?)

#svsss #scum villain self saving system #scumbag villain #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #svsss au #svsss ideas #mxtx svsss #bingqiu #mpreg #magic pregnancy #more or less #shang qinghua #luo binghe babytrapped himself #shen qingqiu is doing his best #sqq: I will have a pregnancy right after my beloved disciple was given up for dead #sqq: and I will behave like a widow in mourning while I insist that he is not dead #sqq: definitely nothing suspicious #sqh: ... bro #mqf could kick all the rumors out of the water with only one clinical record #unfortunately he won't do it on his own and sqq does not consider his reputation to be important enough to get the heavy cards out #i just think how funny tianlang-jun's genetics are #babies identical to their gestational moms but with those eyes #i guess it will be fun when those eyes are more evident on the child's cunning face and even mqf is like ?????

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julymusings · 6 months ago

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you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT next: love in withdrawal

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep.

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow.

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam.

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing.

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?”

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not.

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly.

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered.

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

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narriose · 21 days ago

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Saint Nerevar’s Companions

Queen Almalexia ☆ Alandro Sul ☆ Sotha Sil ☆ King Dumac ☆ Voryn Dagoth ☆ Vivec

Aka I’ve seen so many people described as his close companions, I’m convinced it’s an allegory atp.

Headcanons/Straight up fanfic about these relationships

Almalexia

I feel like her ruthless/soft duiality was there from the beginning, but she never showed the latter due to being afraid of any sort of vulnerability. I think maybe she was threatened by rumors of some upstart warrior preaching unity and organizing on her land and she might have even tried to kill him. I think then Nerevar would drop everything and march up to her castle dropping a blade of the assassin by her feet. Almalexia would ask "What else is a queen to do in a situation like this?" Maybe Nerevar says “A queen is to elect a general.” To which Almalexia would respond “It I would be scandalous to elevate and outsider to such a prestigious role.” Then Nerevar would go like “Then we’ll have to remedy that.” with bedroom eyes etc etc. I think maybe she was able to feel vulnerable around him for the first time, which scared her. Also possibly what here corruption spiral was about that she got from the tools. Something about expecting Nerevar to betray her first. And then later her motherly nature as a god is another mask on top of her ruthless self so she could be in total control.

Alandro Sul:

We do not know much about him but I suspect he met Nerevar when he was uniting the Ashlander tribes. I personally see one of the tribe tasks be something like defeating Alandro Sul in battle of honor, which proved his strength and resolve. I like to also think that like the claim that he was Azura's son is mainly because he was serving her to the very end, pursuing the tribunal after what happened at red mountain.

Sotha Sil:

In my mind's eye he was very reclusive and resigned due to a chronic and potentially terminal illness(an interpretation of his childhood) and perhaps offered to help Nerevar who was traveling with Vivec at the time with magical aspects of their adventures? something something, navigating ancestral tombs and dealing with daedric shrines. Maybe he taught Vivec to read and write? Idk I see Nerevar inspiring Sil to feel life and passion again. I picture his corruption train of thought to be that despite his resignation as a sagely character prepared for his fate, he still wanted to live so much and seeing godhood as his way to do it.

Dumac:

We don't know much about him but I think that perhaps he enjoyed Nerevar's company precisely because he wasn't highborn and knew of other places in the world. I picture them playing some kind of strategy board game and having long conversations. Nerevar would intently listen to everything Dumac would say about the Dwemer society(He was eager for his society to thrive too) and that intrigued Dumac. At some point he was spilling secrets he was not supposed to, and I think when Dumac realize that Nerevar did not expose that information to anyone, that he could really trust him. I think maybe he was one of the few people that Nerevar expressed doubt about not feeling confident enough to accomplish his task of unification causing Dumac to commission the Moon-and-Star ring which turned out to be a placebo, because Nerevar already had what it took. (Seriously the stats on that ring are hilarious)

Voryn Dagoth:

So before meeting Nerevar, he was a leader in his own right and a powerful mage. I feel like the way they met was: Nerevar wanted an in with the dwarves but he needed an introduction. House Dagoth was supposedly the only house the Dwemer had good relations with and so Nerevar went to Kogoruhn. I think his house would be very very traditional and uptight, without any nonsense but sort of had a strange nobility to it. Nerevar would aproach Voryn and before he would even say anything, Voryn would straight up go "Are you just here to butter me up for a reference" and Nerevar would go "So it's not working?" And I think this sort of like honest disregard for procedure and playfully terrible diplomacy is what drew him in. Eventually he would soon go from a solemn, responsible leader, to Nerevar's servant wrapped around his finger. Nerevar's advances at first would be treated without any regard for the longest of time. "I'm not your wife" Voryn would say and then one day he found himself by Nerevar's side, ready to move mountains for him. And his corruption would be around being tired of feeling like a servant and wanting to feel more equal to him.

Vivec:

I like to picture him having like a Senpai/Kouhai thing with Nerevar with a serious case of hero worship.(Based on even his name being inspired by Nerevar) To me, before ages made him the person we meet in Morrowind, he had sort of the same vibe as a kid that got famous online too soon and too far, stunting hisdevelopment in weird ways. Maybe Nerevar saw the potential in him and asked Sotha Sil to teach him how to read and write. Maybe after a lifetime spent as a brute, his creativity exploded leading to him eventually becoming worthy of being Nerevar's advisor. I do think that at first it was Vivec reading a bunch of bad poems to them and Nerevar encouraging him. And his corruption would probably have to do with wishing for Nerevar's spotlight. Like I feel like Vivec was not a balanced and wise sounding god figure for the longest of time judging by his writing and what people say about him. I also like to picture him and Almalexia competing for Nerevar's attention.

Anyway, that's what I've got, feel free to add or correct or anything.

#Morrowind #the elder scrolls #indoril nerevar #almalexia #sotha sil #vivec #Voryn Dagoth #Dagoth Ur #Dumac #Alandro Sul #suggestive #beautiful game with beautiful lore and here i am zeroing in on the slash again #sigh #MyArtTag

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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Federal regulators on Tuesday [April 23, 2024] enacted a nationwide ban on new noncompete agreements, which keep millions of Americans — from minimum-wage earners to CEOs — from switching jobs within their industries.

The Federal Trade Commission on Tuesday afternoon voted 3-to-2 to approve the new rule, which will ban noncompetes for all workers when the regulations take effect in 120 days [So, the ban starts in early September, 2024!]. For senior executives, existing noncompetes can remain in force. For all other employees, existing noncompetes are not enforceable.

[That's right: if you're currently under a noncompete agreement, it's completely invalid as of September 2024! You're free!!]

The antitrust and consumer protection agency heard from thousands of people who said they had been harmed by noncompetes, illustrating how the agreements are "robbing people of their economic liberty," FTC Chair Lina Khan said.

The FTC commissioners voted along party lines, with its two Republicans arguing the agency lacked the jurisdiction to enact the rule and that such moves should be made in Congress...

Why it matters

The new rule could impact tens of millions of workers, said Heidi Shierholz, a labor economist and president of the Economic Policy Institute, a left-leaning think tank.

"For nonunion workers, the only leverage they have is their ability to quit their job," Shierholz told CBS MoneyWatch. "Noncompetes don't just stop you from taking a job — they stop you from starting your own business."

Since proposing the new rule, the FTC has received more than 26,000 public comments on the regulations. The final rule adopted "would generally prevent most employers from using noncompete clauses," the FTC said in a statement.

The agency's action comes more than two years after President Biden directed the agency to "curtail the unfair use" of noncompetes, under which employees effectively sign away future work opportunities in their industry as a condition of keeping their current job. The president's executive order urged the FTC to target such labor restrictions and others that improperly constrain employees from seeking work.

"The freedom to change jobs is core to economic liberty and to a competitive, thriving economy," Khan said in a statement making the case for axing noncompetes. "Noncompetes block workers from freely switching jobs, depriving them of higher wages and better working conditions, and depriving businesses of a talent pool that they need to build and expand."

Real-life consequences

In laying out its rationale for banishing noncompetes from the labor landscape, the FTC offered real-life examples of how the agreements can hurt workers.

In one case, a single father earned about $11 an hour as a security guard for a Florida firm, but resigned a few weeks after taking the job when his child care fell through. Months later, he took a job as a security guard at a bank, making nearly $15 an hour. But the bank terminated his employment after receiving a letter from the man's prior employer stating he had signed a two-year noncompete.

In another example, a factory manager at a textile company saw his paycheck dry up after the 2008 financial crisis. A rival textile company offered him a better job and a big raise, but his noncompete blocked him from taking it, according to the FTC. A subsequent legal battle took three years, wiping out his savings.

-via CBS Moneywatch, April 24, 2024

Note:

A lot of people think that noncompete agreements are only a white-collar issue, but they absolutely affect blue-collar workers too, as you can see from the security guard anecdote.

In fact, one in six food and service workers are bound by noncompete agreements. That's right - one in six food workers can't leave Burger King to work for Wendy's [hypothetical example], in the name of "trade secrets." (x, x, x)

Noncompete agreements also restrict workers in industries from tech and video games to neighborhood yoga studios. "The White House estimates that tens of millions of workers are subject to noncompete agreements, even in states like California where they're banned." (x, x, x)

The FTC estimates that the ban will lead to "the creation of 8,500 new businesses annually, an average annual pay increase of $524 for workers, lower health care costs, and as many as 29,000 more patents each year for the next decade." (x)

Clearer explanation of noncompete agreements below the cut.

Noncompete agreements can restrict workers from leaving for a better job or starting their own business.

Noncompetes often effectively coerce workers into staying in jobs they want to leave, and even force them to leave a profession or relocate.

Noncompetes can prevent workers from accepting higher-paying jobs, and even curtail the pay of workers not subject to them directly.

Of the more than 26,000 comments received by the FTC, more than 25,000 supported banning noncompetes.

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flux1563 · 30 days ago

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Selling Herself

Words : 4k

Tags : Creampie, BBC

"Annyeong," Minju said softly to the air as she stepped off the plane, the word echoing in the vast emptiness of the airport terminal. America had always been a whirlwind of unpredictability, a stark contrast to the quiet orderliness of her hometown in Korea. The journey had drained her, leaving her stomach grumbling like a distant thunderstorm.

The clock above the baggage claim ticked closer to midnight with every weary step she took. The air had the scent of jet fuel and the lingering aroma of fast food. A sense of urgency gnawed at her, but she had nowhere to be, no one waiting for her. The only thing she had to look forward to was a hot meal.

Her eyes scanned the restaurant signs, looking for something familiar. The neon lights flickered in a cacophony of color, each promising a taste of home. Her stomach growled impatiently, making the decision for her. She pushed open the door of the nearest establishment, a small diner with a flickering "Open" sign.

The bell above the door jingled a feeble welcome as she stepped inside. The warmth of the room enveloped her like a comforting embrace, the smell of grease and stale coffee a peculiarly comforting scent. The only other soul was a large black man, his name tag reading 'Y/N'. His eyes met hers, and she offered a tentative smile. He nodded, his expression a mix of boredom and resignation. It was clear that the restaurant was about to close.

Minju slid into a booth by the window, her reflection staring back at her. Her white skin looked almost translucent in the fluorescent light, and her long, black hair was a tangled mess. She sighed, running her fingers through the knots, and glanced at the menu. The words swam before her eyes, a mix of English and Korean. Her stomach protested again, making the decision for her. She closed the menu and called out, "Excuse me," to the waiter, who was wiping down the counter with slow, deliberate strokes.

Y/N ambled over, his heavy boots scuffing against the linoleum floor. "What can I get you?" he asked, his voice a smooth bass that filled the empty room.

"I'll have the bulgogi," she said, her voice small in the vastness.

He nodded again, scribbled something on a pad, and disappeared into the kitchen. Minju leaned back, watching the world outside the window. The occasional car passed by, their headlights painting streaks of light across the rain-slicked pavement. The neon lights outside danced a silent disco across the puddles.

As she waited, she couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. It was moments like these when she missed her family the most. Her mother's warm cooking, her father's gentle teasing, and her siblings' laughter. But she had come to America for a reason, to chase her dreams, and she couldn't let a little hunger or solitude deter her.

The sound of the kitchen door swinging open brought her back to reality. Y/N placed a steaming plate of bulgogi in front of her, the scent of sizzling meat and onions making her mouth water. She thanked him, and he retreated back to the counter, his eyes never leaving the clock on the wall.

As she savored each bite, Minju felt a sense of home wash over her. The tender beef melted in her mouth, the sweetness of the marinade a balm to her soul. She chewed slowly, trying to make the meal last as long as possible. When she had finished, she reached for her purse to pay, but her hand grasped at empty air. Panic set in as she realized her wallet was gone. She whipped around, but the diner remained empty except for the two of them.

Her heart racing, she checked every pocket, her mind reeling. She must have left it in the plane, she thought. But no, she had used it to pay for the airport Wi-Fi. The truth dawned on her. Someone had stolen her wallet while she was lost in her thoughts.

Her hand trembled as she pulled out her phone to call for help, but the screen remained dark. The battery had died. She slammed it on the table in frustration, the sound echoing through the empty room. Now what? She had no money, no ID, and no way to contact anyone.

The waiter looked up from his magazine, his expression unchanged. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice as calm as ever.

"My wallet," she gasped, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's gone."

Y/N's eyes widened, and his hand hovered over the phone. "You okay?"

Minju took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "I... I think someone stole my wallet. I can't pay for the food."

Y/N's gaze didn't leave her for a moment. "But u need to paid the food," he repeated, his tone not unkind, but firm.

"I understand," Minju said, her voice small. "Can I pay it tomorrow?"

Y/N studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. The silence grew thick, heavy with the weight of her desperation. "I promise," she added, her voice stronger now, "I will come back tomorrow. I swear."

"I am sorry," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But I can't let you go without paying."

Minju looked at him, desperation etching lines on her youthful face. "I swear, I didn't mean to cause trouble. I don't have any money. Please, can't you make an exception?"

Y/N sighed, his expression still unreadable. "Look, I can help you out, but it's not free," he offered, his words measured.

Minju felt the color drain from her cheeks as she processed his proposal. "What...what do you mean?" she stuttered, her eyes darting around the empty diner.

Y/N leaned in, his gaze intense. "You pay with your body, I pay for the food. It's simple. You owe me a night, and I'll cover the bill."

Her stomach lurched. Was he serious? She searched his face for any hint of a joke, but found none. The gravity of her situation crashed down on her. She had no money, no identification, and no way to contact anyone. This was her only option.

Her eyes fell to the plate, the food now cold and untouched. She knew what he was saying was wrong, but the alternative was unthinkable. Slowly, she nodded. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N's expression didn't change. He took the plate away and wiped down the table with the same slow, deliberate strokes. "Come with me," he said, gesturing to the back of the diner.

Her legs trembled as she followed him, her mind racing. She had never done anything like this before. The kitchen was a stark contrast to the cozy dining area, cold and sterile with stainless steel surfaces gleaming under the harsh lights.

He led her to a small room in the back, the door creaking as he opened it. Inside was a single bed, the blankets rumpled. She could feel the heat radiating off his body as he stood behind her.

"Take off your clothes," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Minju's hand shook as she reached for the button of her blouse. She felt the fabric part, exposing her pale skin to the cold kitchen air. She shivered, but not from the temperature. Her eyes remained downcast as she slipped off the garment, revealing a black bra and matching panties. They were simple, but they clung to her in a way that highlighted her curves. She felt vulnerable, like a deer caught in headlights.

Y/N's eyes roamed over her, his gaze lingering on her breasts, which heaved with every anxious breath she took. She felt his warm hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. His touch was firm, but not harsh. He studied her for a moment, his gaze intense.

"Take it off," he said, nodding to her bra and panties.

Minju's heart hammered in her chest, but she complied, her fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. It fell away, revealing her small, pert breasts, the tips already hardening with fear. She slid the panties down her legs and stepped out of them, feeling the cold floor against her bare feet. She kept her eyes on the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

He took a step closer, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. His hand reached out, gently tracing the curve of her spine. A shiver ran down her body that had nothing to do with the cold.

He turned her around and she saw the hunger in his eyes, a stark contrast to the calmness he had displayed earlier. He took in her naked form, his gaze lingering on her most intimate parts. For a moment, she felt a flicker of something other than fear. Desire? No, she couldn't be feeling that, could she?

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice a rumble in the quiet room. He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached out and cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. "But don't get any ideas," he warned, his expression serious. "This is just business."

He led her to the bed, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her like a gentle force. She sat down, her legs dangling over the edge. He sat beside her, his weight making the bed squeak in protest.

"Lie down," he said, his voice firm.

Minju took a deep breath and lay back, the coldness of the bed seeping into her bones. She felt his hand on her thigh, his touch sending waves of heat through her. His thumb traced small circles, moving higher and higher until it brushed against the sensitive flesh between her legs.

Her body responded despite her fear, a betrayal she couldn't control. She bit her lip, trying to muffle the soft gasp that escaped her. His hand moved away, and she felt a moment of relief, but it was short-lived. He leaned over her, his breath warm on her face.

"You're mine tonight," he said, his voice low and commanding. "And you will do everything I say."

He kissed her, his lips rough and demanding. She didn't resist, her body going limp beneath him. As he kissed her, his hands began to explore, his touch growing more insistent. He tugged at her nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a moan from her.

Her mind screamed at her to fight, to run, but her body was a traitor. It responded to his touch, her hips moving of their own accord. His hand slid down her stomach and into the wetness between her legs, his fingers sliding easily inside her.

He broke the kiss, looking down at her with a smug smile. "See," he said, his voice thick with lust, "you want this."

Minju's cheeks burned with a mix of shame and anger. She knew she had to find a way out of this situation, but she also knew that right now, she had no power. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was to come.

Y/N's fingers continued to probe her, his thumb circling her clit with a skill that was surprisingly tender for a man who had just forced her into this situation. Despite her resentment, Minju felt herself growing wetter. His touch sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body, making her toes curl and her breath hitch.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "It's like you want this as much as I do."

Minju's eyes snapped open, and she looked at him with a mix of anger and defiance. "I don't want this," she spat out.

Y/N's smile grew wider, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "You're a bad liar, sweetheart," he said, his fingers still working their magic. He stood up and began to strip his body, each article of clothing hitting the floor like a declaration of war. His shirt came off first, revealing a chest that was a tapestry of muscles and tattoos. Her gaze was drawn to the dark ink that swirled over his skin, telling a story she couldn't read.

Her eyes widened when he unbuckled his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing through the room like a gunshot. He stepped out of them, and she couldn't help but stare at his erection, which was thick and imposing. She felt a strange mix of fear and fascination. This was the man who had just taken control of her body, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do to her.

"No, it's so big," Minju said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and disbelief. It was a reflexive protest, a last-ditch effort to maintain some semblance of control. Y/N chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to resonate through the room.

"Don't worry, I'll make it fit," he assured her, his confidence unwavering. He climbed onto the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hand slid down her body, his fingers playing with her wetness once more, spreading her open. The anticipation was almost unbearable, her body trembling with each touch.

Y/N's tongue replaced his fingers, tracing the delicate folds of her sex with surprising gentleness. Minju gasped, her body arching off the bed. The feeling was overwhelming, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips. His mouth felt hot and wet, his tongue flicking against her clit with a skill that was both alarming and exhilarating. She had never felt anything like it before.

Her hands found his hair, tangling in the soft curls as she pulled him closer. His tongue delved deeper, licking and sucking with a fervor that was both terrifying and thrilling. She could feel her orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every stroke. Her legs quivered, and she was powerless to stop the sounds of pleasure that spilled from her mouth.

As she approached the edge, his fingers slipped inside her, curling to find that spot that made her eyes roll back in her head. He began to pump in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue. Minju's moans grew louder, her body writhing beneath him as she gave in to the sensation. The fear and anger were momentarily forgotten, replaced by a need so primal it was almost animalistic.

Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, making her whole body convulse. She screamed his name, her nails digging into his scalp. He didn't stop, riding out the waves of pleasure until she was limp and trembling. Only then did he pull back, his mouth glistening with her arousal.

"How does it feel?" he asked, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction.

Minju stared up at him, her eyes glazed with a mix of lust and anger. "It feels..." she began, but her words trailed off. How could she explain the tumult of emotions coursing through her? The fear and disgust were still there, but now they were tangled up with something else, something that made her body feel alive in a way she had never experienced before.

"Good?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded, unable to form coherent thoughts. Her cheeks burned with a mix of pleasure and humiliation. "It felt good," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

With surprising tenderness, Y/N helped Minju to her feet, his strong hands guiding her shakily to stand in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection, the fluorescent lights highlighting every curve and angle of her naked body. Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of pity or disgust, but all she found was a smoldering hunger.

He positioned himself behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. She could feel his arousal, hot and insistent, pressing into her thigh. His breath was warm on her neck as he whispered, "You're going to pay for every bite of that meal."

Minju's heart raced as she nodded, the reality of what she had agreed to fully setting in. But she had made her choice, and now she had to live with the consequences. "Be gentle," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's grip tightened, but his touch grew surprisingly tender. He kissed the side of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "I'll be as gentle as you need me to be," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

Minju felt him position himself behind her, his cock nudging against her wet entrance. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the intrusion. Slowly, inexorably, he pushed inside her, filling her in a way she had never felt before.

"FUCKKKK, it's so big," she screamed, the sensation overwhelming. His size stretched her, a mix of pain and pleasure that made her head spin. Y/N's grip tightened on her hips, holding her steady as he pushed deeper and deeper, his movements deliberate and measured.

Minju's eyes were squeezed shut, her nails digging into the bedspread. "More," she panted, surprised by her own words. She had never felt so full, so claimed. The initial pain had given way to a deep, gnawing need that was insatiable.

Y/N chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing her ear. "I ain't done yet," he said, and she felt him push against her, the last few inches of his thick length sliding into her with a slow, deliberate thrust. The sudden stretch was intense, and she let out a cry that was half pleasure, half pain.

He didn't move for a moment, letting her adjust to his size. She could feel his heart pounding against her back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts, his thumbs flicking her nipples. The sensation was almost too much, and she felt her stomach clench around him.

"Ahh, it's inside my stomach," she moaned, the words slipping out of her mouth without thought. His chuckle was dark and smug, and she felt his grip tighten on her hips as he began to move.

Each thrust was a symphony of pleasure, sending Minju spiraling into an endless cycle of orgasms. Her eyes remained glued to the mirror, watching their reflection. The sight of his large, muscular body claiming hers was a heady mix of fear and desire. His thrusts grew faster, harder, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing through the room.

"I can feel you," she gasped, her voice hoarse with need. "You're so deep."

He grunted in response, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. His strokes grew more demanding, more powerful. She could feel herself losing control, her body responding to his every command.

"Cum for me," he ordered, his voice low and guttural. "Cum all over my cock."

And she did. The orgasm ripped through her like lightning, making her scream and buck against him.

Her body convulsed around him, her muscles contracting in waves of pleasure. He groaned, his own release imminent. The sound sent Minju spiraling into another climax, her legs giving out beneath her.

Y/N caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist as he pounded into her, his eyes locked on their reflection in the mirror. The sight of their bodies, joined so intimately, was both erotic and terrifying. She could see the pleasure etched on his face, his teeth gritted with the effort to hold back.

"Ahhh, ahh, ahh," she moaned, the words spilling out of her mouth like a chant. She could feel every inch of him, filling her completely. It was as if she was being split apart, remade in the image of his desire. And yet, she wanted more.

Y/N's pace grew erratic, his breathing ragged. "Again," he growled, his hips smacking against her ass. "Cum for me, baby."

Minju's eyes rolled back in her head, a whimper escaping her lips. "Again," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Y/N's grip tightened on her hips as he pumped into her with a fervor that bordered on desperation. She could feel his muscles tense, his body poised on the edge of release. The sight of their reflection in the mirror was almost too much to bear, a visceral reminder of the depraved act she had been forced into.

And yet, Minju couldn't deny the pleasure that was building within her. It was a wildfire, uncontrollable and all-consuming. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she screamed out her orgasm. The sound was guttural, primal, echoing through the empty diner like a war cry.

"I'm gonna cum, Minju," Y/N growled, his voice strained with effort. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and it only served to push her closer to the edge.

"No, not inside," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not safe."

Y/N's eyes narrowed in the mirror, his gaze intense. "You're mine," he said, his voice a low rumble. "And I'm going to fill you up."

Minju felt his cock swell even more inside her, the pressure building until she thought she would burst. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "Not inside, please."

But Y/N was past the point of reason. With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, and Minju felt the hot flood of his cum fill her. She gasped, her body convulsing around him as he emptied himself with a roar of triumph. His eyes never left hers, and she knew in that moment that she had lost any semblance of control she had clung to.

He held her there for a moment, panting and spent, before finally pulling out. She felt his warmth slip away, leaving her feeling empty and used. The room was silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the diner's kitchen appliances.

Y/N leaned in and kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice still thick with lust.

Minju nodded, unable to find the strength to speak. The reality of what she had just done settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. The taste of him was still in her mouth, the smell of their sex filling the room. She felt soiled, used, but also...satisfied. It was a confusing mix of emotions she didn't know how to process.

"It is so good," she whispered to herself, trying to convince her racing thoughts to calm. Her body felt like it was on fire, each nerve ending still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She had never felt so alive, so...consumed. It was a feeling that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"What did you say?" Y/N's voice was gruff, his chest still heaving from his exertion. He leaned over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his eyes searching hers in the mirror.

Minju licked her lips, tasting him on her mouth. "Your dick," she said, her voice still a little shaky. "It's amazing."

The smug smile that spread across his face was almost infectious. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "I knew you'd like it," he murmured, his voice full of satisfaction. "But tell me more. What makes it so amazing?"

Minju's cheeks flushed a deep red, but she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "It's so big," she said, her voice breathy with awe. "It fills me up like nothing else."

His chest rumbled with a laugh, his hands sliding down her body to grip her thighs. "You're so tight," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "It's like you were made for me."

The compliments rolled over her like a warm wave, soothing some of the fear and anger that had been building. "It's true," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before."

Y/N leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "And the way you cum around it," he said, his voice a dark promise. "It's like watching a firework display."

Minju couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine. "It's...it's just so much," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It's like nothing I've ever experienced."

"I know," he said, his voice gentle now. "But you're safe with me. I'll take care of you."

The words were like a balm to her soul, and she found herself nodding, her body relaxing against his. "Thank you," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Y/N leaned back, his gaze never leaving hers in the mirror. "You don't need to thank me," he said, his voice thick with lust. "You paid for your meal in full."

Minju's stomach twisted at the reminder, but she couldn't deny that there was a dark thrill to his words. She had given herself to this stranger, and he had taken her with a passion that was both frightening and thrilling.

"Can we do it again?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's smile grew wider. "Oh, baby," he said, his voice a low purr. "We're just getting started."

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #gg smut #izone smut #izone minju smut #minju smut

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xo100 · 10 months ago

Text

Airport - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando Norris offers a woman, who missed her flight, a ride on his private jet to Monaco. They bond over light conversation and flirting, leaving with the possibility of seeing each other again.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1323

୨ৎ

The race weekend had been long, grueling, and filled with adrenaline. Lando Norris was ready to head back to Monaco, to the comfort of his own home where the sound of engines could be swapped for the quiet of the Mediterranean breeze. As he made his way through the airport, sunglasses perched on his nose and his cap pulled low, he weaved his way through the flow of people without drawing too much attention to himself.

It wasn’t until he neared the private terminal that he noticed something out of the ordinary: a young woman standing near the gate of a commercial flight to Monaco, her expression a mix of frustration and panic. Lando slowed his steps, curiosity piqued. She stood there, gazing hopelessly at the closed gate, gripping her passport tightly. Her bags were tossed haphazardly by her feet as though she’d raced through the airport only to fall seconds short of making it to her flight.

The sharpness of disappointment etched on her face was all too familiar. He’d been in similar situations before, dashing through airports, missing flights by mere moments. Only, she didn’t seem to have the luxury of a private jet waiting just down the hall like he did.

Lando hesitated. He didn’t know her story, but something about the way she stood there, looking so defeated, tugged at him. He glanced at his watch. His jet was leaving soon, but he still had time. And, well, maybe this wouldn’t be the worst idea. What was the harm in offering a bit of help?

He pulled his cap down a little further and crossed the distance between them, moving casually as though he were just another traveler making his way to his flight.

“Missed your flight?” he asked, his voice light but laced with concern.

She turned to look at him, startled at first, then quickly took him in—cap, sunglasses, and all. Recognition flickered in her eyes, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Just a flicker.

“Yeah,” she breathed out with a weak chuckle. “By about three minutes. They wouldn’t let me through even though the plane is still sitting there.”

“That’s tough,” Lando said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Where you heading?”

“Monaco,” she said with a shrug, though it seemed like a more resigned gesture. “Guess I’ll have to wait for the next one.”

Lando nodded, glancing around the terminal. The airport was buzzing with the usual chaos, and he could see the stress rolling off her shoulders. He thought for a second, then made a split decision. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I’m heading there too,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got a private jet leaving soon. If you want, you can take the flight with me.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and her lips parted slightly, a mixture of surprise and hesitation crossing her features.

“A private jet?” she asked, a little skeptical. “Isn’t that...a bit much?”

Lando laughed softly. “Maybe, but I’ve got plenty of room. Plus, you look like you could use a break from airport stress. I promise it’s less chaotic than commercial flights.”

She blinked, clearly processing his offer. The idea of getting onto a private jet with a guy she just met—even if he was Lando Norris—probably wasn’t something she had expected when she woke up that morning.

“That’s...really kind of you,” she said after a moment, her voice soft. “But I couldn’t—“

“Sure you can,” he interrupted, his tone teasing but warm. “Think of it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You miss your flight, and instead of waiting around, you get to fly in style. How often does that happen?”

She laughed at that, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “When you put it like that…”

Lando grinned, taking her hesitation as a positive sign. “C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You get to Monaco an hour earlier, and we both get some company for the flight. No need to sit around waiting for the next one.”

She looked at him again, weighing her options. He could see the internal debate playing out in her eyes—logic versus the sheer spontaneity of his offer. Finally, she sighed, her lips curling into a tentative smile.

“Alright,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Why not? But I’ll warn you, I might be a terrible conversationalist after the day I’ve had.”

“That’s okay,” Lando replied with a wink. “I’m known to talk enough for two.”

With that, he grabbed one of her bags effortlessly, motioning for her to follow him toward the private terminal. She trailed behind, still looking a little shell-shocked, but there was something about the ease of his manner that made her feel less anxious about the whole thing.

As they walked, Lando kept the conversation light, asking her about her trip and how she ended up almost missing her flight. She shared a story about how her taxi had gotten stuck in traffic, the minutes ticking away as she helplessly watched the airport get closer and closer. Lando laughed, offering a few of his own travel horror stories in return. By the time they reached the sleek jet waiting on the tarmac, the mood between them was light and comfortable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she muttered as they approached the aircraft, eyes wide as she took it all in. “This is...wow.”

Lando chuckled and waved a hand. “It’s not bad, right?”

They climbed aboard, and soon enough, they were airborne. The hum of the engines was soothing, and the view of the clouds stretching out below them was a peaceful contrast to the chaos of the airport they’d left behind.

“You know,” she said after a while, leaning back in her plush seat, “I still can’t believe I’m on a private jet with you. This feels surreal.”

Lando smirked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Trust me, I’ve been in a lot of surreal situations lately. This one’s pretty tame.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I guess that’s fair. Monaco, huh? Do you live there?”

“Yeah, for a while now,” he replied, glancing out the window. “It’s a nice place to unwind after the craziness of race weekends.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit,” she admitted. “I mean, I’ve been through a few times, but never really had a chance to stay.”

“Well, maybe this is your chance,” he said, eyes twinkling. “What’s your plan once we get there?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend,” she said with a sigh. “But it’s not set in stone. What about you?”

“Just heading home,” Lando said, then added with a teasing grin, “But if you need a tour guide while you’re there, I might be available.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you offering to show me around Monaco, Lando?”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin widening. “Depends if you’re up for it.”

She laughed softly, glancing out the window again. “I might take you up on that.”

For the rest of the flight, the conversation flowed easily, peppered with light flirtation and comfortable silences. There was something so natural about it—like they’d known each other for longer than just a chance meeting in an airport.

As the jet began its descent toward Monaco, Lando glanced over at her, feeling a strange sense of contentment.

“Guess we’re almost there,” he said.

”Yeah,” she replied, though her tone held a hint of reluctance. “Thanks again for this, Lando. You really saved my day.”

He flashed her a playful grin. “Anytime. Maybe I’ll see you around Monaco.”

“Maybe,” she said with a smirk of her own. “But next time, let’s hope it’s under more normal circumstances.”

“Deal,” he replied with a wink.

As they stepped off the jet and into the warm Monaco air, Lando couldn’t help but think that maybe missing her flight had been the best thing that could’ve happened to either of them that day.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, I hope y’all enjoyed! Remember requests are open if you would like to request something. Also question for you guys, is there someone who can help me with the link of the requests so I could put it in my masterlist? I don’t know where to find that link, DM me if you know.

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2-dsimp · 3 months ago

Note

Question would Temothy still be just as protective of a cow boy darling? Just a male cow, trying to make sure his bull assistant is taken care of. I like to imagine he really likes Temothy’s horns and is a bit jealous that his aren’t as big.

Any time someone new calls him a lady because he’s a cow his eye twitches with annoyance as he corrects them.

Yandere Bull x male!cow darling

Tw: fluff, mentions of blackmail, gender affirmation, Temothy being your devoted assistant.

◣────•~❉᯽❉~•────◢

“Ah b-boss your horns are looking especially nice today! Would you like me to p-polish them?” Your devoted assistant would always make sure to compliment you on your horns. He knows about your complex about them being small. And he’d go to no lengths to stroke your ego.

“Oh how I w-wish I could have horns like yours. T-they’re easy to m-manage and it won’t get you stuck in the doors. Or scrape the paint off the walls unlike mine.” Temothy stammered, making it a habit to tell you about his woes with having huge horns like his. Making it seem like a burden you wouldn’t want to have. Putting himself down just so you’d feel better about yourself.

—————

The Bull is always on the alert should someone so much as attempts to misgender you. It was common that most cows are considered female thanks to the small ratio demographic of males present.

But Temothy couldn’t have his darling boss stressed out from such ignorant comments. So he always emphasize about how his Boss was such a capable man. His endless praise, alone is what made the employees get the gist that you were in fact a male cow.

And if a certain someone happened to be deaf Temothy would pull them aside for a “small talk” on the side.

The next day the worker who joked about you being a woman trying to pose as a man. Willingly resigned, looking so traumatized and banged up from an “accident”. Which was the main cause for their termination with your company. It left them unfit mentally to work at your establishment.

It didn’t pose a problem for you to cut one loose. But it irked you how they couldn’t even look your sweet assistant in the eyes. After you’ve heard about Temothy’s efforts to be accommodating for the rude employee from whispers in the office.

“Ugh good riddance, that one was a bad apple I tell ya. Not so much as one thanks for how much you’ve helped em out” You chuffed, ears flickering as you started stamping some papers to permanently remove them from your workforce.

Meanwhile Temothy merely preened under your praise wagging his tail. Acting as if he didn’t threaten to maul that worker to death and leak their family’s IP address to the loan sharks who’ve been looking for them.

#Temothy the Bull #cow hybrid #bull hybrid #yandere hybrid #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #yandere monster x reader #yandere x male reader #yandere x male darling #yandere character #yandere blurb #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere stories #yandere boyfriend

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justinspoliticalcorner · 7 months ago

Text

Keith Edwards at No Lies Detected:

Fascism doesn’t come for every generation, but it has come for ours. This is not a fight on the beaches of Normandy, but in our own country. This article begins a series on what opposing Donald Trump and his movement can look like. I hope you will join me as these progress.

[...]

Do not leave. Faced with the might of the United States government aligned against you, you might consider resigning preemptively to avoid the humiliation of inevitable termination. This is counterproductive for at least two reasons: If you leave, you save Trump Administration officials the time and effort of identifying you, which otherwise could have taken months or years. Second, your principled stand would likely only result in your replacement by an unprincipled Trump loyalist. By staying on, you may find yourself helping to implement policies you find hateful, but by refusing to leave, you can ensure that you have some influence on those policies, because then you can...

Delay. Delay. Delay. Waiting out the enemy until he moves on, gives up, or forgets is a time-honored strategy not just among civil servants but also history’s best generals. That email about a proposed rule change to healthcare protections? Bury it in everyone’s inbox by sending it late. A meeting on reviewing the U.S. government’s foreign aid commitments to a region you oversee? Oops, you’ll be out that day! That agency conference your political-appointee boss requested you arrange? Next month didn’t fit everyone’s schedule, so you had to push it to after the new year! Slow-walking is the classic tool in any bureaucrat’s toolbox, and in the next Trump Administration, you can use it in defense of the Constitution.

Be intentionally incompetent. As a career employee, you likely have always had the advantage of knowing your workplace better than your politically appointed overlords. This is perhaps your most potent weapon against Trump. Draft rules unlikely to survive judicial review. Favor lengthy rulemaking or review processes over expedited ones. Complete tasks sequentially rather than in parallel to draw out timelines. Add complexity, stakeholders, and process wherever possible. In short, exploit the knowledge gap you hold over your bosses to diminish, defuse, and defeat their plans.

Leak. Federal employees have the right to report what they believe to be illegal or abusive of authority to their agency’s inspector general (IG) without fear of retaliation. Trump however has singled out IGs for replacement after one played a pivotal role in his first impeachment, so the availability of this option may depend on how politically prominent your agency is. Fortunately, you can anonymously tip prominent news outlets like the New York Times and Washington Post, which boast extensive investigative units and employ rigorous safeguards to protect sources’ identities. You can also seek out sympathetic elected officials, such as Democratic members of the House Oversight Committee, whose main function is investigation of the federal government. (If you choose disclosure, be sure that the information is not classified, the unauthorized disclosure of which carries stiff federal penalties.)

Disregard and refuse. When you have exhausted all other options, you may want selectively to resort to riskier behaviors. These include going behind political appointees’ backs to subvert their activities, say by picking up the phone and countermanding their directions. In extreme cases, you may have outright to refuse direct orders to the appointee’s face. Though such actions seem like a fasttrack to termination, you may still be protected by the fact that overwhelmed political appointees might hesitate to go through the onerous process of finding a politically reliable replacement. Remember, the longer you stay in, the harder you make it for Trump to do what he wants. Know your rights. If the worst happens and your agency moves to terminate you, you can still fight back. There are multiple avenues an employee designated for dismissal can pursue to delay, reduce, or reverse agency penalties against them.1 The beauty of these options is that they can take months or even years to resolve and may be appealed to higher bodies, further extending the process. All the while, you are collecting a salary and occupying a full-time equivalent (FTE) position that your agency can’t fill until you finally depart. (This is not legal advice. If you find yourself in this situation, please seek a lawyer.)

Keith Edwards writes in his No Lies Detected Substack on how civil servants can show resistance to the tyrannical Trump 2.0 Regime from within.

#Donald Trump #Trump Administration II #Kash Patel #Robert F. Kennedy Jr.#Tulsi Gabbard #Elon Musk #Keith Edwards #Civil Service #Civil Servants

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