#I will fucking write it don’t you test me

[buckys-goodgirl]

saying i’m trauma dumping when you brought up trauma first and i never specified what my trauma was is crazy 😭 then right after going into specifics about your trauma.

firstly I don’t know why you are calling yourself a fandom oldie and talking to me like i’m new to shipping or fandom culture, because i’m not. i’ve seen some immoral/toxic ships i like, some i don’t. there’s a difference between ignoring and scrolling past those and seeing someone romantize and support romanticizing extremely illegal things that creates something different entirely. you guys never stop to think “when I romanticize pedophillia and make it seem okay to thousands of strangers i am certainly affecting people IN REAL LIFE whether the ship is fictional or not.”

secondly you’re saying i’m a toddler throwing a tantrum, yet you’re saying fuck every sentence and acting like a moody teenager who just learned to curse.

you clearly don’t know what actual virtue signalling and having a purity complex is because I’m gonna reply to you whether nobody sees this (which i’m sure they haven’t) or it goes viral on here and every social media platform. getting mad over lawlight is a purity complex, you preaching about anti censorship because people are drawing little girls getting raped and most people think it’s odd isn’t.

so you can say you don’t support pedophillia but you are complacent in people acting out their fantasies which is just as bad if not the same thing.

(btw it’s not a coping skill, little fun fact psychologist used to use a similar thing with serial killers, having them written out their fantasies so they’d have an outlet. it made almost every person more delusional and led to them having more homicidal ideation. if this has been tested by psychologists in a similar fashion it’s obviously not an okay thing to do. do some other coping skill for childhood trauma like age regressing or damn regular therapy instead of getting off to someone writing about kids fucking.)

P.S. i’m an ex proshipper, I have cptsd that went undiagnosed until I reached out for help with this and a lot of other things. maybe you aren’t really a pedophile and you really are just traumatized. there is help always available.

Someone had to say it

[jenosbliss]

pls write a smut where haechan looks extra pretty before performing and his makeup artist can’t help but want to fuck him before he goes on stage

pairing. afab!reader x idol!haechan | genre. smut | wc. 1k | mdni!

warnings. hard!dom haechan, unprotected sex (don’t try in real life), slight hair pulling and spanking, mirror, creampie? calls the reader princess but also a slut

a/n: it took me 3 weeks to write this as i had a lot of uni work. Please please pardon me this time if it’s not well written.

Maybe it was the blush that made his cheeks look impossibly soft and warm, or the tiny stickers under his eyes that added a playful touch to his sharp features. Maybe it was the way his dark hair fell perfectly in front of his eyes, or how his lips—full, red, and devastatingly distracting—seemed to curve into the kind of smirk that could undo you in seconds. Whatever it was, something about Haechan today had you undone.

You told yourself it was just your work. You’d perfected the art of making him look his best, every contour and color carefully applied, every detail deliberate. But today was different. Today, his presence alone made it impossible to stay steady, his every glance and smirk making your hands falter and your professional demeanor unravel. It was the way his eyes locked onto yours like he could see right through the flimsy wall you were trying to build, the way his fingers brushed too casually against your waist when the room was packed, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of your shirt. It was the way he tilted his head just enough for you to lean in closer, as though daring you to close the space between you.

And you weren’t exactly innocent either. Your fingers lingered too long on his jaw as you blended the last touch of highlighter. Your breath ghosted over his skin when you worked on his eyeliner, your chest brushing against his shoulder in ways you knew weren’t entirely necessary. Then there was the lip tint—your thumb dragging over his bottom lip a fraction slower than you should’ve, your eyes dropping to his mouth, betraying just how much control you were losing.

“Careful,” he murmured when you pulled back, his voice low enough that no one else could hear over the bustle of the staff. His smirk deepened, a flicker of mischief lighting up his gaze. “You keep touching me like that, and I might think you’re trying to make me lose my job.”

Heat flared across your cheeks, but you refused to look at him as you turned away, busying yourself with cleaning up your station. You couldn’t let him get to you, not when the room was still crowded with staff and members. But when you bent down to grab a makeup sponge that had rolled off the counter, his voice came again, soft and teasing.

“Was that for me, or do you just like testing my patience?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words—and the low rasp in his tone—sending a rush of adrenaline through your veins, as he looked right through your little game. Without thinking, you straightened and turned, locking eyes with him as you reached out, brushing your thumb over the corner of his mouth. “You smudged your lipstick,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

It was a lie. You both knew it.

His gaze lingered on your face for a beat longer than was appropriate, and for the first time, you saw something shift behind his playful exterior. Something darker. Hungrier. Something that made you feel you won in this game.

Moments later when everyone was leaving for the final mic test, he straightened in his chair, stretching his arms with a casualness that didn’t fool you for a second. “Think I need a touch-up,” he said suddenly, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear as the members emptied out the room. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Before you could process what was happening, he was already locking the door behind you, his smirk gone, replaced by something far more dangerous.

If you thought you won the game, you were wrong because in no time Haechan had you bent over the same vanity. Your shorts and underwear were pooled around your ankles and fingers gripping the edges of the wooden table tightly as he pounded into you from behind.

He had one of his hands wrapped around your throat putting just enough pressure on your veins which made you lightheaded while he delivered hard thrusts from behind pushing you more into the table. “Had fun teasing me princess?” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he bit down on the sensitive skin of your neck before sucking harshly.

You let out a low whimper, eyes rolling back to your head as he hit that spot again and again. If the pleasure of him moving inside in that brutal way was not enough to send you into an overdrive, the moment his free hand slid down to press against your clit did break you apart. “Fucking princess can’t go a minute without my dick shoved in her little pussy?”

He moved his hand from your throat to grab your cheeks harshly as he lifted your head to make you look in the mirror in front you, your nose almost brushing against it. “Look at yourself…” he groaned, feeling you tighten around him “...why do i always have to remind you not to behave like a slut at work?”

He thrusted deep with each word making your eyes roll back. “Look at yourself” he whispered, tilting your head up. Your eyes roamed over the smudged mascara and disheveled hair as you met Haechan’s dark ones in the mirror. He leaned down to whisper again “What do brats like you deserve?”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, you knew what he meant and when he stopped his movements you almost cried out “Please… don’t stop.” He chuckled, running his thumb over your lower lip “Don’t worry Princess. I’ll take my time with you after this concert.”

If you weren’t crying before you did now. He moved relentlessly, holding your hips with both hands in a bruising grip as you fell flat on top of the vanity. The wooden frame shaking beneath you due to the intensity as he moved deeper and deeper.

Your orgasm left you trembling even more as he didn’t stop thrusting in you. “Haechan please” you cried and he yanked you up by a tight grip in your hair “Take it like the slut you are.” He groaned and your whimpers turned into the cries of his name pushing him closer to the edge.

And with one final hard push he came inside you, moaning as he pulled out before spanking your cheeks. “Stay like this. With my cum inside you, don’t you dare clean up.” He said pulling up your panties and shorts and zipping up his own pants.

“You know princess this isn’t over, is it?” you managed to mumble a small no as he ran his fingers through your hair. “So be ready when we get back home… I’m going to ruin you so well tonight.”

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

navigation.

[lunaswicked]

Stress Relief - J.U

Paring: roommate!Jey Uso, Fem!Reader Tags: Heavy smut, enemies to lovers, oral (male receiving), unprotected p in v, pure lust, breeding kink, hair pulling, cervix kissing, 18+, MINORS DNI A/N: Thank you ANON for requesting this one. I had more than enough fun writing this.🩷💛 Word Count: 4.5k

There’s just something about him that pisses you off. 

Maybe it’s that damn mullet—too perfect, like he actually puts effort into keeping it that way. 

Or maybe it’s those stupid grillz that flash every time he smirks like he knows something you don’t. 

Or the way his eyes get all dark and intense whenever you're too close, like he’s waiting for you to slip up. 

And don’t even get started on the hoochie shorts—him walking around the house like he owns the place, thick thighs out, no shame whatsoever—  

“Right, Y/N?”  

You blink, brain still stuck on him, and realize Jasmine’s looking at you expectantly. Fuck. You have no idea what she just said.   

“Huh?” you mumble, scrambling. “My bad, I’m just tired.”   

Jasmine side-eyes you before clearing her throat. “I said, isn’t it Xavier’s fault and not mine? Like, he was the one who stayed up all night gaming, knowing damn well he had a test, and then had the audacity to blame me when he failed because I didn’t wake him up?”  

Classic Jasmine and Xavier. Always on some dumb shit.   

“Yeah,” you nod, finally catching up. “That’s on him. He’s his own person. Can’t blame you for his L.”

After a solid hour of Jasmine ranting about Xavier’s dumbass decisions and you half-listening while nodding at the right times, you finally make it back home. The second you step inside, a heavy sigh escapes your lips. Silence. Thank God.   

You toss your keys on the counter and kick off your shoes, already mentally preparing to crash in your room and not deal with anyone for the rest of the night—  

And then you see him.  

Jey.  

Laid out on the couch like he pays all the bills, legs spread like he owns the damn place, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, the other scrolling through his phone. His infamous hoochie shorts are front and center—gray, slightly too tight, showing way too much thigh.   

Your eye twitches.   

“You comfortable?” you deadpan, crossing your arms.  

Jey doesn’t even look up. “Mmhmm.”   

You inhale sharply through your nose, debating whether it’s worth it to start an argument tonight. Spoiler alert: it’s not.  

With a shake of your head, you step toward the hallway, but before you can make your great escape, Jey finally acknowledges you—well, more like calls you out.   

“You had a good lil date with Jasmine?” His voice is lazy, that usual cocky drawl laced with amusement.   

Your jaw clenches. “It wasn’t a date. We were just talking about some shit.”  

Jey hums like he doesn’t believe you. “Uh-huh.”   

You hate when he does that. It’s like he enjoys getting under your skin for fun.   

Rolling your eyes, you keep walking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But just as you reach your bedroom door, you hear him mumble, almost like an afterthought—  

“Didn’t even say goodnight. Rude ass.”  

Your fingers tighten around the doorknob, and for a brief second, you consider turning around, throwing a pillow at his stupid manspreading self, and telling him exactly where he can shove his passive-aggressive comments.  

But you don’t.  

Instead, you exhale, push your door open, and mutter just loud enough for him to hear—  

“Goodnight, Jey.”   

You don’t have to turn around to see his smirk. You can feel it.

After shutting the door behind you, you waste no time stripping out of your clothes and heading straight for the shower. The hot water does wonders, washing away the tension from the day, but it doesn’t completely wipe away the lingering irritation from Jey’s annoying ass.  

By the time you step out, fresh-faced and wrapped in an oversized t-shirt, your mood has mellowed slightly. You towel-dry your hair, scrolling through your phone as you step back into the living room, just to grab your notebook off the coffee table.  

And then you see it.  

An empty water bottle. On the floor.   

You freeze, eyes flickering to the plastic offender before trailing up to the culprit himself—Jey, still posted up on the couch like he’s got no worries in the world, scrolling through his phone like the place doesn’t look like a damn mess.   

"Seriously?" you scoff, arms folding across your chest. "You just gon’ leave this here like we got a maid or something?"  

Jey barely glances at you. "Man, I ain’t got time for the arguing shit tonight." His voice is lower than usual, rough around the edges. "I’m already stressed the fuck out."  

You raise an eyebrow, leaning your weight onto one hip. "Oh wow. You’re stressed? No way. I thought you were just chillin’ in those hoochie daddy shorts with not a care in the world." Your voice drips with sarcasm, and you expect him to throw something smart back, to keep up the usual banter.  

But he doesn’t.  

Instead, his jaw flexes, his thumb stopping mid-scroll on his phone screen. He lets out a slow exhale, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes slipping shut for a moment like he’s forcing himself to keep it together.  

Something shifts.  

The air gets heavier, quieter.  

"You ever have one of those days," he murmurs, voice deep and tired, "where no matter what you do, shit just don’t go right?"  

You’re not sure what it is—maybe it’s the way his voice drops, or the way his chest rises and falls like he’s carrying more weight than he wants to admit—but something makes you pause.  

Your fingers tighten around your notebook as you stare at him. "Yeah," you say after a beat, softer this time. "'Cause you ain't the only one."  

He lifts his head then, dark eyes meeting yours. For once, there’s no teasing, no cocky smirk—just something unreadable, something you’re not sure you wanna figure out.  

The tension between you thickens, stretching into the small space between the couch and where you stand.  

And then, before you can even think to move, Jey shifts, legs spreading a little more like he’s testing you, eyes flickering down to your bare legs before dragging back up to your face.  

"You stay runnin’ yo mouth," he mutters, voice just low enough to make your stomach dip.  

Your breath catches slightly, but you don’t back down. "And you stay leaving shit around like a damn child."  

His lips twitch. Not quite a smirk, but close. "You really tryna argue with me right now?"  

"You started it," you quip, gripping your notebook a little tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of how the room feels smaller, how the space between you feels like nothing at all.  

Jey leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his presence pulling you in without even trying. His voice drops even lower when he says, "You sure you wanna go there?"  

Your heart kicks up. You should walk away.  

But you don’t.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head at him, but it’s not your usual annoyed laugh. No, this one is softer, teasing—like you’re calling his bluff. Because that’s all Jey ever does, right? Talk shit. Act like he’s that guy. Like he gets under your skin more than you get under his.  

But then you see it.  

The way his eyes darken.  

Your laughter dies down when he slowly—real slow—pushes himself off the couch, standing to his full height. He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that unreadable expression, tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he’s thinking real hard about something.  

You should’ve walked away when you had the chance.  

But now? Now it’s too late.  

Jey moves with a lazy kind of dominance, circling you like a damn predator, eyes dragging over your frame, taking his sweet time like he’s got all night.  

You swallow, gripping your notebook a little tighter. "What?" you say, feigning nonchalance, but your voice is already a little weaker than before.  

Jey lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Man…" He exhales sharply, flexing his jaw. "Just told yo ass I’m stressed, mama. I’m tryna keep cool."  

His voice is deep, smooth, but there’s something dangerous lurking underneath it. Like he’s on the edge of something, and you’re the one about to push him over.  

"You ain't the only one stressed," you shoot back, though it doesn’t hold the same bite as before. You feel hot, like the air thickened between you without warning.  

Jey stops behind you now, standing close. Too close. You feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of his cologne mixed with whatever stress he’s been carrying all day.  

And then—his breath is at your ear.  

A shiver racks through you before you can stop it.  

"Maybe I should relieve my stress and fuck the attitude outta you."  

Your breath catches.  

Your whole body goes rigid.  

Because what the fuck did he just say?

Your brain straight up short-circuits.  

Mouth slightly parted, hands gripping your notebook like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded—you don’t know what to say. Because what the fuck are you supposed to say when your roommate, the man you claim to barely tolerate, just whispered some filthy shit in your ear like it was nothing?  

Like he knew what he was doing. Like he knew the effect it would have.  

And fuck—fuck—it wasn’t your fault that your panties were now coated in the wetness from your meaty pussy. It wasn’t.  

Blame the stress, blame the long-ass day, blame him for walking around in them damn hoochie shorts with thighs thick enough to make a grown woman weak. Blame anything but yourself.  

But Jey? Jey knows exactly what he’s doing.  

You feel him shift behind you, not touching you, but standing so damn close that you can feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a vice.  

"You real quiet now," he murmurs, voice low and taunting. "Where all that mouth go, huh?"  

Your breath is shaky when you finally force yourself to move, spinning around so fast you nearly stumble back into the coffee table. But Jey—being the asshole that he is—catches your wrist, steadying you before you can escape.  

"Easy, ma," he says, voice smooth as hell. Too smooth. Like he’s amused. Like he’s enjoying this shit.  

Your heart pounds so hard it’s all you can hear.  

"I—" You blink, trying to get your shit together, trying to remember why you were mad in the first place. "You—You’re such a fucking ass, you know that?"  

Jey smirks, tilting his head slightly. "And you love it."  

His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin, slow and deliberate. It sends a jolt of heat straight to your core, making your thighs clench on instinct.  

"N-no, I don’t," you lie, voice barely above a whisper.  

His grin deepens, eyes flicking down to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again.  

"Lyin’ ass."  

The tension is so thick you could choke on it.  

And Jey? He’s standing there, looking at you like he’s got all the time in the world, like he’s waiting on you to admit what you both already know.

"Fuck it," you mumbled, your voice breathy and shaky, almost like the words were ripped out of you against your will.  

You didn’t care anymore. Not about the stupid notebook. Not about the stupid tension. Not about the stupid fucking game Jey was playing, getting under your skin and twisting you up all at once.  

You dropped the notebook, not even thinking twice, and yanked him in by his collar, slamming your lips into his.  

It was hard. Demanding. The kind of kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. Like neither of you could wait another second to feel what this fucked-up energy between you really meant.  

Jey’s mouth moves against yours like he’s starving, all heat and tongue, and before you know it, his hands are on you—rough, unforgiving—grabbing your ass like it belongs to him, pulling you flush against him. The pressure of his grip sends a surge of heat straight through your body, your pussy throbbing in response.  

You moan against his lips as his fingers squeeze your ass, the sound barely escaping before he’s swallowing it down. He’s devouring your mouth, like he can’t get enough, like he’s wanted this for way too long and finally got what he wanted.  

You feel it in every inch of your body, that pull, that hunger. You feel his breath mixing with yours, the ragged way he’s breathing, the way his chest is rising and falling like he can’t keep up with what’s happening between you two.  

Your hands slide up to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath your palms, and for a split second, you think about pulling away—thinking you should stop before it gets too far. But the moment your hands find his neck and your fingertips dig into the back of his hair, you can’t think about anything but the way his body feels against yours.  

"Jey," you whisper, barely breaking the kiss, your lips swollen and breathless. "What are we doing?"  

He doesn’t answer, not with words anyway. He answers with another savage kiss, deep and messy, like he’s showing you exactly how far this has gone. And fuck, you don’t know if you’re ready for it, but you sure as hell don’t want it to stop.  

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his dark gaze searching yours like he’s reading every inch of you, figuring you out. You feel the weight of his stare.

“What we shoulda been did,” he murmurs lowly, voice rough as hell.  

And in that moment, you don’t need him to say anything else. You already know.

His body was fucking tense, like he was barely holding it together. You could feel the strain in his movements, the way his shorts were stretched tight, his muscles flexing with every shift. And damn, you could see it—his hard dick pressed up against them, making your heart race even faster.

Jey was barely keeping his cool, sweat beading down his forehead, his breaths coming out in sharp, heavy bursts. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks, and you could see it in his eyes. He was struggling, trying not to lose control, but damn—he wanted to.

You felt the heat of the moment, the tension that was thick enough to choke, and then his voice broke through, low and rough. "Be a good girl and get yo knees fa me," he growled through gritted teeth, barely holding it back.

And fuck, those words hit you like a freight train. It was like a switch flipped in your brain, your body moving almost instinctively as if you already knew what was next. You didn’t even think about it—you just did.

Dropping to your knees, you looked up at him through your lashes, your gaze locking with his, and there it was. That darkness, that possessive hunger that always lurked just beneath the surface. Jey’s jaw was clenched, his hands gripping the back of your head for support, as if he needed it to stay steady.

His eyes roamed over you like he couldn’t believe you were really there, like you were some kind of temptation he couldn’t resist.

You took your time, letting the tension build between you as your fingers grazed his waistband. Slowly, you tugged his shorts down, watching them slip past his hips until they pooled at his ankles. The sight of him like that, completely exposed, made your breath hitch in your throat.

But you weren’t done.

You leaned in a little closer, your hands tracing down his thighs before sliding under the waistband of his underwear. You took a second, letting the moment drag out, before pulling those down too, inch by inch, until they joined his shorts on the floor.

His thick dick arched towards you, glistening slightly as if it had been waiting for this moment. The huge, meaty length, likely around nine inches, had a rosy tip that was already dripping with precum. 

As you traced your finger around the swollen tip, a deep moan escaped his lips. “Ugh, mama,” he murmured, sounding so fucking good. A low grunt rolled from him as you tightened your grip and began to move your hand, the sound of you stroking his wet, aching dick echoed in the living room. “Mmh, shit,” he breathed, tilting his head back.

You lean in, your heart racing, and place a gentle, wet kiss on the swollen, angry tip of his dick. The warmth of your lips sends shivers through his body, and without a moment's hesitation, his hips instinctively thrust forward, a reflex wanting for more. “F-f- fuck, please,” he breathes out, the desperate need in his voice sending a shock through you.

He tilted his head back, surrendering to the feeling moving through him. Veins bulged on his hands as he tangled them in your hair, desperately trying to mask the expressions that escaped him. With each flick of your tongue, his hips shuddered in response. Your other hand began a slow journey, trailing to his balls, where you gave a gentle squeeze, drawing out a gasp that escaped his lips as your mouth sucked him deeper.

You felt him hit the back of your throat, and a whimper slipped from him — a sound of pure need. The feeling made your pussy swell, your wetness pooling as you ground your hips against the fabric of your panties, craving more. 

You could feel his rough grip tightening in your hair, a mix of pleasure and desperation evident in his voice as he stuttered, “Mama —! SHIT, wait—.” His eyes widened, a clear sign of the overwhelming urge building inside him, a tidal wave of release.

But, rather than slowing down, you were only spurred on, sucking him harder while tightening your throat around him, matching the rhythm of your hand as it continued to tease and squeeze his balls. “Please— Mmmmm,” he moaned, pleasure erupting from deep within. Then, without warning, you felt it — a hot rush as he erupted, flooding your throat with warmth, each wave sending electric jolts of satisfaction through both of you.

Jey grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you up with barely any effort, his grip firm but not painful. Without saying a word, he pulled you toward the couch in two long strides, moving like he was in control of every inch of the space between you. 

His breath was still heavy, fanning against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.  

"You know you don’t hate me, mama," he murmured in your ear, his voice low, thick with something dangerous. His lips brushed against your neck, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to make you fall apart.  

"You just hate that you want me," he added, his teeth grazing your skin between kisses, making your knees damn near buckle.  

You let out a shaky whimper, barely above a whisper. "Jey..."  

His grip on you tightened. "Yeah, baby?" he teased, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming out shaky as your fingers gripped onto his arms for some kind of stability. His lips were still on your neck, warm, teasing, like he was waiting for you to say it.  

"F-fuck me... please," you finally breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, but desperate enough for him to hear exactly what you needed.  

Jey pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable—something dangerous. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip, and for a moment, he just watched you, like he was letting your words settle, making sure you meant them.  

Then, his grip tightened, and he smirked. "That’s all you had to say, mama."

He flipped you around like it was nothing, hands firm on your waist, making sure you landed exactly where he wanted you—ass pressed up against him. Your hands hit the couch for balance, fingers gripping the fabric as your breath came out shaky.  

Jey didn’t rush. Nah, he took his time, dragging his fingers down your hips before slowly peeling your shorts and panties down, letting the cool air kiss your skin. It was deliberate, like he was making a point—like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

You arched for him without thinking, body reacting on its own, and he let out a low hum—like he liked what he saw, like he was taking a mental picture of the way you were laid out for him.  

Jey peeled off his shirt and tossing it aside, his warm hands running over your hips before he positioned himself right at your entrance.

“Gonna be a good girl fa me and take this dick?” Jey rasped, his voice thick with need, his grip on your hips tightening. His teeth clenched like he was barely holding himself back.  

You barely had time to respond, a shaky “y-yes, I—” slipping from your lips before a gasp tore through you.  

“Oh my God—!”  

Your fingers dug into the couch as he pushed forward, taking his time, making sure you felt every inch of his meaty dick. He was ripping through the gummy walls of your pussy. The room felt hotter, the air thick with tension, his deep groan mixing with your breathy whimpers.

His movements grew rougher, more urgent, his grip firm as he drove deeper. Each thrust sent waves of heat through your body, the pressure making your breath hitch. The sound of his heavy balls meeting your clit filled the room, a rhythm that left no space for second thoughts.  

His low groans mixed with your breathy moans, his pace relentless, like he was set on making sure you felt every bit of him.

“Jey… J-Jeyyy,” you whimpered, voice breaking as he moved just right, hitting that perfect spot like he knew your body better than you did.  

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, rough and needy. “Yeah… lemme h-hear you, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with pleasure.  

Then he stilled, buried deep, making your breath hitch. His grip tightened as he leaned in, his next words dripping with heat. “You feel so. Fucking. Good, mama,” he growled, punctuating each word with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, making sure you felt every inch of him.

Jey’s grip on your hair tightened, pulling you upward just enough to feel the strain in your back as you arched deeper. He fucked you so smooth, almost hypnotic, as each motion seemed to draw out all the tension that had built up between you both. His breaths grew heavier, as if every second was another release of the stress he’d been holding onto all day. 

You were both so close, the tension building, each of you chasing that same overwhelming release. Your body trembled as the pressure inside you built up to an unbearable peak.  

“Jey, I—oh god,” you moaned, your voice shaky as he moved with purpose, knowing exactly what you needed.  

“Mhm, give it to me, mama,” he murmured, his breath ragged. “I’m close too.”  

You let go, the wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body shuddering as the world around you blurred. Jey’s grip on you tightened as he followed, his rhythm slowing as he caught his breath, both of you lost in the aftermath. The air between you was thick, charged, like you were both coming down from something intense and raw.

Jey scooped you up like it was nothing, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You could feel the heat of his skin pressed against yours, and everything felt so close, so right. You were exhausted, barely keeping your eyes open, but it didn’t matter. You just trusted him to take care of the rest.  

He didn’t even say a word—just held you tight and started walking, his hands steady on your ass as he carried you effortlessly. You didn’t even know where he was taking you, but you didn’t care. You were just so tired, so wrapped up in the feeling of him, the weight of your body melting against his.  

Then, he kicked open the bathroom door with one smooth motion, not even breaking a stride, like he’d done it a million times. He didn’t put you down, just shifted you slightly so you were still pressed against him as he turned the shower on. The sound of water filling the air was calming, almost like it was meant to wash away everything from the day.  

When he finally set you down, your legs wobbled slightly, but you steadied yourself, stepping into the shower as the warm water hit your skin. Jey followed you in, his hands never leaving your body as he stood close behind you, like he just couldn’t get enough of being near you.

You could feel yourself finally relaxing as Jey took over, the gentle motion of the washcloth gliding across your shoulders. His touch was soft but firm, like he knew exactly how to soothe you. When the cloth passed over your skin again, it lingered there for a second longer, and then, you felt his lips press a tender kiss to your shoulder. The soft foam of soap clung to his lips, but he didn’t seem to care. It was almost endearing in its own way.  

"Y’know, I always wanted this," he murmured, his voice hushed but full of intention as his fingers ran in slow circles on your back, the washcloth soothing your skin.  

Your stomach fluttered, and the feeling felt so real, so raw. You turned around to face him, meeting his eyes. His smirk was just enough for his grillz to flash in the low light, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable.  

“Yeah… me too,” you admitted, the words coming out quieter than you expected.  

You realized then, maybe you never hated him the way you thought you did. Maybe the whole time, you wanted him so badly, you hated how much you needed him.  

Before you could overthink it, your hand reached up to his wet mullet, tugging him down toward you. Your lips met in a kiss, slow and lingering, as his hand moved to your ass, giving it a softer squeeze. There was no rush now. No tension. Just the feeling of being with him, finally, in a way you never expected. 

There’s just something about him that pisses you off. 

Something about the way he makes you love him.

🏷️: @luvrsluxe @skyesthebomb

[heliosunny]

I absolutely LOVED your Himeko one, thank you so much for writing it! Now hear me out Herta x Ruan Mei x deadpan assistant reader (reader doesn’t give to fucks about anything lol, they just stay for the research lol)

You guys never cease to fail me with your hear me out

Yan!The Herta x Assistant!Reader x Yan!Ruan Mei

The whirring of machinery filled the laboratory. You barely blinked as you recorded the latest test results, your attention solely on the data in front of you.

"You're staying up late again." Herta’s voice rang out, her tone edged with a knowing confidence. "Humans are so inefficient. Unlike me, of course. I can do everything effortlessly. You should rest."

You didn’t look up. "Noted."

Herta sighed, stepping closer, her movements precise and deliberate. "If you collapse, your research will suffer. I could arrange for you to be taken care of. Permanently. It’s only logical."

You finished typing and clicked save. "I’ll manage."

Herta smirked. Anyone else would be intimidated, but you simply… weren't. She knew she was brilliant—capable of anything. Yet, you remained infuriatingly indifferent, treating her presence as nothing more than white noise.

From across the lab, another presence approached. "Still working?"

"I need to finish sequencing this data before tomorrow’s experiment."

Ruan Mei leaned in slightly, "Fewer distractions would make things easier. I could ensure no one interferes with your work."

You finally turned your head, but only to adjust the microscope. "No need."

Herta raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. Ruan Mei’s expression remained steady, though the knowing glint in her gaze deepened. They had tried everything—manipulating your schedule, controlling who you interacted with, ensuring they were your only company. And yet, your reaction remained the same: absolute, unwavering indifference. The data was what mattered.

A test tube clinked against the counter as you picked it up. "Pass me the notes on the last trial."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Ruan Mei let out a quiet chuckle. "Of course."

Herta tilted her head, smiling smugly. "You really don’t care, do you?"

"Not particularly."

Herta’s smirk widened. Ruan Mei’s gaze sharpened slightly. If fear wouldn’t make you acknowledge them, if obsession wasn’t enough…Then they’d just have to find another way.

---

An accident. The lab was a mess—shattered glass, overturned equipment, and the unmistakable scent of burnt circuits. You lay slumped against the console, blood seeping from a deep gash along your arm. Yet, your face remained as calm as ever.

Herta and Ruan Mei arrived together, their sharp eyes scanning the scene before their gazes landed on you. Herta clicked her tongue. "This isn’t just an accident."

Ruan Mei knelt beside you, pressing a cloth against your wound. "Someone was here" she murmured, her voice calm but firm. "This wasn’t self-inflicted, nor a malfunction."

Herta’s eyes swept across the wreckage. "Debris patterns suggest a struggle. Equipment was deliberately smashed—except for the high-priority research terminal. That means they weren’t just here to destroy. They were looking for something."

Ruan Mei nodded. "And they didn't expect resistance. You fought back."

You exhaled. "They were sloppy."

Herta smirked, "Sloppy, yes. But bold. To attack you directly? They were confident in their ability to subdue you. That alone tells us something."

Ruan Mei’s fingers hovered near a jagged fragment on the ground. "Here. This break is too clean—whoever was here knew exactly what they were doing."

Herta turned her gaze back to you. "Whoever it was, they underestimated you. But you’re injured. That irritates me."

Ruan Mei’s voice was softer, but no less firm. "We’ll find them and make sure they don’t get a second chance."

You merely closed your eyes for a moment. "That’s your business. Mine is still the research."

Herta huffed a laugh. "Of course it is. But don’t mistake our patience for leniency. Whoever did this… won’t be walking away from it unscathed."

Instead of calling for medical aid, Ruan Mei simply rolled up her sleeves. "Hold still."

You barely flinched as she used a syringe with a strange-looking liquid inside on you. The pain was sharp, then numbing, then sharp again. Flesh knitted together, the sensation alien but effective.

Despite everything, you spoke. "You shouldn't waste it on me."

Ruan Mei’s movements didn’t falter, though you caught the faintest flicker of relief in her steady gaze. "You’re talking. That’s good."

"You’d be unbearable if I died."

Herta huffed a laugh. "True."

Once the procedure was finished, exhaustion finally crept in. Your vision blurred slightly as you leaned back, head resting against the cool metal. Ruan Mei’s gaze lingered, but she said nothing further.

"Rest" she murmured, voice softer than usual.

As your consciousness slipped, you caught Herta’s voice, sharp and determined. "We’re finding the culprit. And when we do… well, let’s just say they won’t get the same kindness you did."

Ruan Mei simply nodded.

Ruan Mei and Herta stood amidst the wreckage, their keen eyes scanning every fragment, every overturned instrument, every small disturbance in the environment.

Herta broke the silence first. "Look at the footprints. The spacing is inconsistent—whoever was here moved quickly, but not efficiently."

Ruan Mei kneeled, running her fingers lightly over the ground. "And they stepped here. This area was clear before. Notice the scuff marks? They hesitated. Perhaps they realized they took the wrong direction."

Herta smirked. "A mistake. Good. That means they're not as competent as they thought."

Moving further into the lab, Ruan Mei's eyes landed on a fractured beaker. "The break pattern—this wasn't just knocked over. It was deliberately shattered, possibly to cover up another sound."

Herta tapped her temple. "A distraction, then? That tells us the culprit had prior knowledge of how the lab operates. They knew breaking glass would delay us, force us to investigate multiple possibilities."

Ruan Mei picked up a small metallic fragment, holding it to the light. "This material… it's not from any equipment we use. And the shape—it's a piece of a glove. Not standard lab wear."

Herta’s expression sharpened. "Custom gloves. Specialized equipment. That narrows our list of suspects considerably."

Ruan Mei's gaze moved to the security console, where a faint smudge lingered near the access panel. "They tried to bypass the system manually. The interface was touched by someone not wearing proper lab attire—there's residual oil."

"Sloppy work. A professional would’ve worn gloves throughout."

Ruan Mei exhaled softly. "Now we just need to run a material analysis on this fragment and cross-check it against the logs of personnel who entered the lab today. The answer is already in front of us."

"And once we find them… well, let's just say they'll regret thinking they could outsmart us."

Later that night, the lab remained dark, silent. Until a faint rustling near the storage cabinet broke the stillness. The intruder had returned.

As they reached for something inside, the overhead lights flickered on, bathing the lab in a harsh glow.

Herta’s voice rang out. "Took you long enough."

Ruan Mei stood beside her, arms crossed, her gaze steady. "You knew we’d figure it out, didn’t you? You left too many signs behind."

The culprit froze, their eyes darting between them two. Their hesitation only confirmed everything.

Herta sighed, shaking her head. "The footprints, the shattered beaker, the security panel..."

Ruan Mei took a step forward. "You needed to retrieve something. And now you’re here, caught in the act."

The culprit tried to bolt, but Herta was faster. With a flick of her wrist, an unseen force locked them in place. "Not so fast."

Ruan Mei approached, her voice calm but firm. "You should have left when you had the chance."

With precision and efficiency, they secured the intruder. The mystery was solved, and now it was time for answers.

---

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the unsettling presence in the middle of the lab.

A 'new specimen.'

It loomed in the dim lighting, its form distorted, a mix of organic and synthetic in ways that defied conventional understanding. Even with your detached nature, something about it sent a prickling sensation down your spine. But instead of panicking, you simply sighed, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes before standing up and heading straight to your workstation.

Herta had been there earlier, observing the entity with a critical eye, arms crossed as she muttered calculations under her breath. When she noticed you moving, she smirked. "Finally awake? I half-expected you to sleep through the discovery of a potential anomaly."

You sat down and powered up the console. "Unlikely. My schedule is precise."

She chuckled, amused. "Of course. Though, I have to say, you're remarkably calm for someone who just woke up to this... thing."

You glanced at it again. "If it's dangerous, it should be contained. If it's harmless, it should be studied."

Herta tapped her chin, watching you with a knowing gaze. "You're so predictable. Always straight to work, never questioning the bigger picture."

"I leave that to you and Ruan Mei" you replied, adjusting the settings on your interface. "Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Busy. Something about an ongoing experiment needing adjustments. Which means..." Herta leaned in slightly, a smug grin forming. "You're stuck with me today."

"That was already obvious."

Herta laughed outright at that. "See? This is why you're interesting. No panic, no hesitation. Just an endless march forward, like a machine."

"You're flattering yourself if you think you're much different."

Her eyes gleamed with amusement. "Oh, but I am. I acknowledge my own brilliance and enjoy it. You, on the other hand, don’t even bother to look in the mirror."

You exhaled, turning your attention back to your work. "Self-awareness is unnecessary for efficiency."

Herta tilted her head, watching you in silence for a moment before speaking again. "You know, I could analyze you like an anomaly if I wanted."

"You already do."

She grinned. "True. But I think I’d rather keep talking to you instead."

----

Ruan Mei may have been busy, but for now, this was enough. The next day, Herta was preoccupied with another project, leaving you to assist Ruan Mei.

Ruan Mei was busy fine-tuning an experiment, her fingers deftly adjusting various instruments. Without needing to be asked, you moved beside her, scanning the logs and adjusting parameters as needed.

She glanced at you, her voice as soft and composed as ever. "You should still be resting."

"Efficiency takes priority" you responded, eyes focused on the data.

She exhaled lightly, a faint hint of amusement in her tone. "You're remarkably stubborn."

"I simply follow the logical course of action. The work needs to be done."

Ruan Mei hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. "At least drink something while you do. I don’t want to explain why you collapsed from neglecting basic needs."

Without argument, you reached for the cup of tea she had set beside your console earlier, taking a sip before resuming work. "Happy?"

She smiled slightly. "Content. For now."

As the two of you worked in sync, she occasionally made small remarks about adjustments to the experiment, and you countered with brief, calculated suggestions. It was a rhythm the two of you had perfected over time, one of mutual understanding and unspoken trust.

At one point, she paused, observing you. "You always do this—work without pause, talk without hesitation. But do you ever stop to think about yourself?"

"Self-reflection is inefficient in moments like these."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "One day, you'll have to let yourself breathe. But I suppose today is not that day."

"Today is just another day" you replied.

She let the conversation drift into silence, but the warmth in her voice lingered. And as the hum of the lab surrounded you both, it was enough.

----

The following morning, you decided to do something different.

Carrying a tray of breakfast, you walked into the lab, setting it down near where Ruan Mei and Herta were working. "For saving me."

Herta barely glanced up before smirking. "Oh? A rare moment of generosity? How fascinating."

Ruan Mei took a delicate sip of tea, her expression unreadable but her tone teasing. "Perhaps we should make you thank us more often."

They both laughed, though you simply shrugged it off, indifferent to their reactions. As you turned to begin your work, neither of them made any further remarks, but something lingered in the air—an unspoken possessiveness in the way they watched you.

You didn’t notice.

For them, that was fine.

[kathlare]

fast times

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the middle of a busy day at the McLaren motorhome, Lando Norris stumbles upon Amelie Dayman’s latest music video release. What starts as a casual watch quickly turns into something else entirely as he realizes just how much has changed—and how much hasn’t.

Wordcount: 1.6 k

Warnings: kinda mature content

full masterlist // request over here!

February 25th, 2022 - Barcelona, Spain

liked by schecoperez, emiliamernes, and others

ameliedayman: fast times song/video are out now ❤️‍🔥

i’m always told how fast life goes and to make sure i really live it to the absolute fullest and appreciate the moment I’m presently in, cause we don’t get any rewrites- so i wrote this to remind myself of that and hopefully this song makes you feel that way too.

too many people to thank that help my silly little visions come to life!! so i put them in this scroll

go stream go watch go go go fast fast fast

View all 1,382 comments

madisonbeer: fast fast fast but why does time slow down when I’m staring at u? 🤨 → ameliedayman: @madisonbeer girl be so serious rn 😭

fan1: BLONDE AMELIE SUPREMACY IS BACKKK 🔥🔥🔥 → fan2: @fan1 we won but at what cost 😭 brunetties stay losing

fan3: "fast times" ?? nah cause i’ve been stuck on this post for 3 hours 😭

shawnmendes: this song is actually insane. proud of u always 🤍 → fan13: @shawnmendes SHAWN??? OH WE REALLY IN THE 2014 TIMELINE HUH

stelladayman: so this is what ur hair actually looks like huh?? wild. → ameliedayman: @stelladayman i KNOW u didn’t just expose me like that 😭

jackdayman: i’ve only ever known brunette amelie. who is this stranger. → ameliedayman: @jackdayman don’t be dramatic omg 😩

fan14: the fact that this is just the beginning of the wicked era… we’re so not ready 😭 → fan15: @fan14 nope. we’re DONE. i already feel overwhelmed 😵‍💫

fan9: SHES SO BLONDE. SHES SO HOT. SHES SO TALENTED. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE GOD’S FAVORITE???

fan5: brunettes just took a major L… but I’m lowkey okay with it 😩 → fan6: @fan5 she didn’t just go blonde, she returned home 🫡

fan7: nah cause she just casually changed her whole identity and dropped a BANGER?? 😭🔥 → fan8: @fan7 glinda era is gonna be dangerous i fear 😳

taylorswift: my pop princess era queen!!! this is a BANGER 👑🔥 → ameliedayman: @taylorswift ur the reason i write songs so. crying now.

florencepugh: the song? the video? the hair? the serve is too strong 😵‍💫 → ameliedayman: @florencepugh ur approval is all i ever needed 😭

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

The McLaren motorhome in Barcelona was buzzing with activity as the team prepared for another round of testing. Engineers were going over data, mechanics were discussing car setup, and drivers were in and out of briefings. Lando had just finished a long debrief with his engineers, his body still thrumming with adrenaline from his last stint in the car.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head before grabbing his phone. His group chat with Max and a few other friends had been popping off for the last ten minutes, all of them sending the same link over and over again.

Bro, have you seen this??? No fucking way she did that Holy shit, blonde suits her TOO much

Lando furrowed his brows, clicking on the link. It redirected him to YouTube. The thumbnail alone was enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

Amelie Dayman - "Fast Times" (Official Music Video)

He felt his stomach flip. This was her debut music video. He knew she had been working on her music for years, but he hadn’t actually paid attention to when her first song would drop.

And fuck. She looked stunning. Even in just the thumbnail, she looked unfairly good. Her big green eyes, her lips slightly parted, that undeniable presence she always had on screen. Lando swallowed and tapped play.

The video started with Amelie as a brunette—her hair just the way he remembered it, cascading over her shoulders, looking effortlessly beautiful. The opening shot was cinematic, her sitting in the driver's seat of a car, sunglasses perched on her nose. The song kicked in, upbeat and confident, her voice dripping with charm.

Lando barely registered the lyrics, too caught up in the visuals. And then—

Blonde.

His grip on the phone tightened as Amelie appeared again, but this time her hair was golden, flowing in loose waves, framing her face like she had stepped straight out of a dream. His jaw slackened, heart stuttering in his chest.

What the fuck.

She looked insane. Like, painfully, achingly beautiful. His brain short-circuited trying to process it.

Lando felt heat creep up his neck, his pulse pounding in his ears. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, pressing his lips together as the music video continued. Every shot of her blonde, confident, untouchable—it did something to him.

His mouth felt dry. His palms were clammy against his phone.

She had always been beautiful—he knew that. He had been obsessed with her back when she was brunette, back when she was his. But this?

This was something else entirely.

She looked unreal. Ethereal. And so fucking hot.

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, shifting in his seat. His racing suit suddenly felt way too tight, the fabric pressing against his body in all the wrong ways. He had to blink a few times, drag a hand down his face to try and snap himself out of it.

But the video just kept going.

There was a scene where Amelie was leaning against a car, twirling a lollipop between her fingers, lips slightly pursed in a way that made his mind spiral. Another where she walked through a hallway, her hips swaying, her confidence radiating off the screen. And the final shot? She tilted her head, staring straight into the camera, lips curling into the smallest, cockiest smirk—like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

—Fucking hell,— he muttered under his breath, adjusting himself in his seat.

This was bad.

Lando didn’t know how long he sat there, phone still in his hand, screen frozen on the last frame of the video. His heart was beating way too fast. His head was spinning. His lower stomach felt tight, hot, needy in a way that he really didn’t need right now.

He swallowed, clearing his throat, trying to will the feeling away. But it wasn’t going anywhere.

He needed to do something about it.

With one last glance around the motorhome, making sure no one was paying him any attention, he pushed himself up from his chair and made his way to his driver's room. His legs felt heavy, stiff, as he walked down the hallway. He barely registered the greetings from the team members he passed, only nodding in response before slipping inside and locking the door behind him.

His chest rose and fell in deep breaths as he leaned against the door for a second, squeezing his eyes shut.

This was insane. He shouldn’t be reacting like this.

Amelie wasn’t his anymore.

But fuck, she had to know what she was doing. She had to know how good she looked.

With a low groan, he pushed off the door and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

Yeah. He was gonna need a few minutes.

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I need a fic where Poe and Ranpo bond over both being orphans

[hana-bobo-finch]

JUST FINISHED MY STUPID LITTLE PDBC COMIC 🦅🦅🔥🔥🔥 it’ll be scheduled to post on the 13th because the comic is about the briar zome and if you remember The Lore™️, the briar zome can only be accessed on Friday the 13ths so I figured it’d be fitting to post it then been if it means delaying it a bit (wasn’t actually planned that way, it just so happened that the week I finished it was the same week as a Friday the 13th, lucky coincidence)

[deluxdollie]

Me because I found a fanfic author I like but they have the SHITTIEST WORST MOST DUBIOUS DUMB IDIOIC BLANDEST BLASPHEMOUS CRUNCHY MIND NUMBING BRAIN CELL HOGGING TOE SUCKING ASS FUCKING UNINTELLIGENT DENSE IGNORANT FOOLISH DULL SLOW WITLESS SIMPLE MINDED EMPTY HEADED VACUOUS MORONIC IMBECILE OBTUSE ACUTE EVERY FUCKING ANGLE TO EXIST EXCEPT THE FUCKING RIGHT ONE DOLTISH GULLIBLE NAIVE THICK SKULLED BOVINE WOODEN HEADED LIKE FUCKING PICCONCHIO DAFT NONSENSICAL UNTHINKING INSANE LUDICROUS RIDICULOUS LUDICROUS HALF ASSED OPINION THAT YOU COULD ONLY EVER HAVE IF YOU DIDNT READ THE FUCKING SERIES but you can’t hate on it because people are gonna send me death threats because it involves a really popular ship that I don’t like.

Bungo stray dogs fandom can we give characters life outside of their ship pretty please<3333

[lesbiansanemi]

I maybe potentially (most likely) have covid but my job is being so fucking cagey about if I’m going to be on the receiving end of disciplinary action for not coming in because of it. I have multiple symptoms of it and was in close contact for an extended period of time with two people who have tested positive for it. I went to get an official test from an urgent care place (because I was told I need proof for my job), and was told it would be up to 48 hours until I get results and until then I needed to self isolate and then obviously continue if the test is positive. They wrote me a note saying to excuse me from my job which I emailed to them. But they keep emailing me like “well the cdc says isolation is no longer necessary so…. If you don’t have a fever you’re supposed to come in” and now I’m so paranoid that I’m going to get write ups for not coming in despite having a literal doctor’s note telling me not to because all covid protections have been so thoroughly axed and it’s treated like any “normal” illness (though this shouldn’t be okay for ANY illness, not just covid) and if you don’t have sick time (which most places don’t supply at all, or if they do, it’s a dismal amount) you have to come in or experience the consequences and I’m just 🙃🙃🙃 so anxious about it and also I fucking hate this country for putting MILLIONS of people in this position where they have to choose between not going work but risking being fired and losing their livelihoods which leads to SO many risks if you have no safety net (and most people don’t) OR going in because you just don’t have a choice but you’re miserable and actively spreading highly infectious diseases to multiple other people. I truly don’t understand how there are people who look at this system and act like it’s fine

[desperatecheesecubes]

So back in the day in 7th grade our English teacher had the Gifted Kids in his class make read The Outsiders and then he wanted us to make a short movie based on it and all four of us (there were only four in our grade in the program) has to contribute. I was big into making AMVs at the time so I knew basic video editing and in an effort to not make a fool of myself I front of the other three who were all in the popular crowd I volunteered to edit it. Anyway I never heard of any plans to make this fucker until I came into class one day to see it being played and my name in the credits. I got an A for work I didn’t do because the other kids didn’t like me enough to work with me. I wasn’t even upset i was excluded that’s the easiest A I’ve ever gotten

[technicallyaminecraftsimp]

Tonight’s moodboard

[synthville]

the ‘raffi is so wild and impulsive and emotional and can’t handle her shit’ schtick has gotten real old tho can’t lie. like it was already stale when plcard told her she was being ‘too emotional’ literal seconds after elnor died (um hello sir have you ever heard of grief? you might not participate but let a bitch breathe! thank you!) but having worf (who im actually liking so far) pull the same ‘she’s irrational, violent etc’ thing is just like. eye roll. obviously the writing isn’t doing my girl any favours by cheaply and gleefully playing into it with cliches left and right but my goodness can they come up with something else!

[salsflore]

going to sleep soon ～ let me get some things off my chest here.... my eyes are super itchy again (fell into the trap of snuggling my cat even when i swore i wouldn't do it again)

[destiel-more-like-im-dead-again]

I love supernatural but I cannot even begin to describe just how shit the character development was in later seasons

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

In another time when I was a Sign Language Interpreting Intern I went and observed a nationally certified interpreter. She had two fingers on one of her hands - pinkie and thumb.

Nationally certified interpreters go through 2 tests, one being in front of a panel of judges. And it’s freaking hard.

She was fantastic.

And you know where I saw her working? Disney World.

I Hope she’s doing so well.

Could somebody be a paramedic if they were missing a forearm?

Y’know, sometimes a question comes along that exposes your biases. I’m really, really glad you asked me this.

My initial instinct was to say no. There are a lot of tasks as a paramedic that require very specific motions that are sensitive to pressure: drawing medications, spreading the skin to start IVs. There’s strength required–we do a LOT of lifting, and you need to be able to “feel” that lift.

So my first thought was, “not in the field”. There are admin tasks (working in an EMS pharmacy, equipment coordinator, supervisor, dispatcher) that came to mind as being a good fit for someone with the disability you describe, but field work….?

(By the way, I know a number of medics with leg prostheses; these are relatively common and very easy to work with. I’m all in favor of disabled medics. I just didn’t think the job was physically doable with this kind of disability.)

Then I asked. I went into an EMS group and asked some people from all across the country. And the answers I got surprised me.

They were mostly along the lines of “oh totally, there’s one in Pittsburgh, she kicks ass” or “my old partner had a prosthetic forearm and hand, she could medic circles around the rest of her class”. One instructor said they had a student with just such a prosthesis, and wasn’t sure how to teach; the student said “just let me figure it out”, and by the end of the night they were doing very sensitive skills better than their classmates.

Because of that group I know of at least a half-dozen medics here in the US with forearm and hand prostheses.

So yes. You can totally have a character with one forearm, who works as a paramedic for a living.

Thanks again for sending this in. It broadened my worldview.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

disclaimer    

The Script Medic is supported bygenerous donations on Patreon. Have you considered donating?

Fancy afree eBook?  

[pukicho]

You've changed, man. I don't know what it is but some time in the past six months your shitposting got a bitter edge to it. Sure you could blame the political climate or world events on it but...I dunno. I used to scroll your blog to momentarily escape the hardships of today but now it feels like even you're not a safe place any more. I wish you luck on your journeys onwards but I'm sorry to say I cannot travel with you any more. Be well, puki, and I hope whatever troubles you passes.

Escapism is important and I try to offer that to a degree, but ultimately, I am a person. I experience hardships, I empathize with the worsening conditions of my world. As long as I care about things external to myself, I will subtlety, or blatantly express them in some way in my blog, which I’ve done for years, not merely 6 months.

Unbeknownst to you, these concerns are often the inspiration for some of my most beloved posts.

You’re free to leave of course, if my 1 serious post out of every 30 fucks your day up that badly, then please, feel free! - I simply don’t see my blog as escapist fluff, it never has been, even if that is often the outcome. My page has always been about my interests, and I just so happen to enjoy making people laugh.

I see it more as a fun place to hang out and express the feelings I feel inclined to express, most of which are fun and goofy, some of which are not. I love our little playful back-and-forths, and I enjoy seeing your insights, even if some of you are fucking stupid as shit. Sometimes I just like using you guys as little guinea pigs, testing my odd expressions out on you, and sitting back and seeing the outcome.

Ultimately, I try to balance balance 3 things on my page:

Comedy, as you know - I like making jokes, I like testing them out on people. Even if they suck, I like writing them regardless. Sometimes I sit back after writing something I know objectively sucks, hit send, and watch as everyone tells me how much it sucks. It brings me joy.

A desire for money - because if not, I wouldn't be able to make posts half as often as I do (ie, shirt sales, promoting my music, etc) - Sometimes that anxiety for money also bleeds into my posts, it has for years; and I hold back from being even more desperate about money than I feel I should be sometimes.

And the point you brought up: The occasional comment on something real that matters to me. - Over the past 3 years, if not longer, I’ve made a few uncharacteristically-serious statements on things like Covid, Gaza, The Presidency, hell, even the indigenous people of Australia... and more.

Why do I feel inclined to discuss these things? Because I want to. My page has always been about what I want. Fortunately for you, what I usually want to do is to make you laugh! But sometimes I wish to express other feelings, because I have a platform that allows my voice to travel further than that of others!

For those angry at all the qualms I don't bring up, try to understand my balancing act, as someone who understands your desire for escapism, and the comfort that it brings you. If the veil falls, remember, we are of like-company - - and maybe, this veil was only ever in your head to begin with.