#tina turns the country on

[bitter69uk]

The Beyhive was abuzz when Beyoncé dropped a teaser for her two new country-adjacent song (“Texas Hold 'Em” and “16 Carriages”) during the Superbowl. But when it comes to African American soul divas dabbling in country music, as so often the case in pop culture history, Queen Tina got there first! I’d always mistakenly assumed Acid Queen (1975) was Tina Turner’s debut solo effort, but no – the record Tina Turns the Country On was released in September 1974 (so it turns fifty this year. Note that Tina started releasing solo material when she was still married to Ike). On it, the R&B tigress wraps her gravelly rasp around material by the likes of Kris Kristofferson, Dolly Parton, Hank Snow, Bob Dylan and James Taylor. While Turns the Country On garnered Turner a Grammy nomination that year for "Best R&B Vocal Performance, Female" it belly-flopped commercially (no singles from it were released) and the reviews were decidedly mixed (“She sounds so woeful doing country on Turns the Country On, you would think she grew up overseas” Ron Wynn concludes in his 1985 book Tina: The Tina Turner Story). You can judge for yourself – the album is streaming on Spotify. Ultimately, as the Saving Country Music website notes “perhaps Tina Turner’s biggest country music contribution came from being a muse, not a performer. In 1969, Waylon Jennings was hanging out at the Fort Worther Motel in Fort Worth, TX when he breezed by an advertisement for Tina Turner describing her as a “good hearted woman loving two-timing men.” Waylon immediately recognized the phrase as the perfect premise for a country song” – and it resulted in his 1972 hit “Good Hearted Woman.”

[chaos-from-basil]

Just listened to Tina Turner’s debut album (Tina Turns The Country On). It’s so good.

[boricuacherry-blog]

[guessimdumb]

Tina Turner - Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You (1974)

I was reading a short NY Times article about Dylan covers performed by women artists. The writer mentioned this version that I'd never heard. It's pretty damn great - from Tina's first solo LP Tina Turns the Country On!.

[tha-wrecka-stow]

Tina Turner Discography

[seasonofthewitch06]

Tina Turner’s country era was one for the books!

[vogelmeister]

thinking about the australian cultural cringe on this sunny sunday hbu

[hearts4johnwick]

— CASUAL.

SUMMARY. you’re mad at tyler after an argument, he decides to win you over by bringing in your favorite food and taking you to a rodeo, when you think that his charm was working, an EF-4 tornado strikes.

WARNINGS. angst (happy ending though), tornado attack.

WORD COUNT. 1.2k

you were lying down in your bed, attempting to go to sleep or at least take a nap given that it was 8:21 p.m. you found yourself staring at the ceiling, listening to the music and people singing outside.

you can’t help but toss and turn around as you overthink about the argument you had with tyler. tyler was your best friend, childhood neighbor, situationship, you don’t even know at this point. and although tyler and you were always risk takers, some risks are too hard for you to handle, but boone and tyler are a dangerous duo.

when you graduated high school you went straight to college and studied meteorology, you didn’t waste another second of your life and did everything that it took to where you are now. but, tyler and you were separated for college, you were halfway across the country while he stayed in his hometown. but when you graduated college, you went back home.

the both of you caught up on everything each other missed, and next thing you know, you ended up joining tyler’s storm-chasing team, the thing is, by something that happened to you in the past, you always rode alongside Dexter and Dani, there were moments where you rode with tyler, but you were always harnassed up even if you weren’t inside the tornado yet.

your train of thoughts were so rudely interrupted by the knock at your door. you sit up and take a breath before walking over to the door. before opening it, you were thinking to yourself that maybe it was going to be your mother, or your sister, not tyler owens. he sees the expression on your face and smiles, attempting to cheer you up.

“hey…” your nose flares, he notices and chuckles. “i brought your favorite… Tina Mae’s chocolate pie…” he hands it over to you and you take it. “maybe if you let me in we can sha—“ his words were cut off by the door slamming on his face. his eyebrows raised and he froze.

you put the pie on the desk next to your bed and open the bag, and it is indeed your favorite chocolate pie. you smile to yourself and head back to the door, as expected, tyler was still there.

“if you think you’re always gonna take me back with my favorite food, you’re wrong.” i inhale sharply and tap on the door.

“well, i wanted to do it another way if you’d let me show you…” you raise your eyebrows and cringe. “no—no, not like that, well…” he cocks an eyebrow and glances at you, you were about to close the door again but he stops it. “no, hey, i’m serious. get changed i want to take you somewhere.” he smiles. you hum and close the door gently so you can get changed.

“you can’t be serious. do you want me to forgive you or hate you more, tyler owens?” you say as you take your seats in the rodeo’s benches.

“bit of both.” he smiles, and you chuckle whilst shaking your head. “look, y/n, i’m sorry.”

“you’re apologizing here? rea—“ tyler touches your knee softly, cutting you off.

“i’m sorry, sorry for what i said earlier. i shouldn’t have said those things. you’ve been through so many things i can’t even begin to imagine, and it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. you know i would never do anything to hurt you, i am sorry.” the soft glow in his eye made you feel the truth he was saying. you nod and smile.

“and why would you ever think i wouldn’t forgive you?” tyler smiles at your words and so do you. “i think i should be the one apologizing, i tried to stop you from doing something you gave years of experience, and that was out of place and overprotective and unnecessary.”

“no, no, it’s okay. you of all people know about these stupid risks i take, i was a bull rider for God’s sake! I know you hated that.” you laugh.

“yeah, i think i hated that more than storm chasing.” he chuckles and glances at you, there was a small silence until you broke it. “i just… i don’t want to lose you, ty.”

“you’re never going to lose me.” you look over at him, your eyes stinging as you feel some tears coming. he wraps an arm around you and holds you. “you won’t.” he reassures you nod and after a while, let go.

“you and that stupid face…” you look away, trying to hide a smile.

“wait what?”

“every time i was cleaning blood off of you, whenever you got knocked off your bull, you would always make that stupid face, or like look at me some way like you were trying to get me to kiss you.” he raises an eyebrow and you look at him again.

“oh, you mean my charm? i already come with it, it’s not something i do on command.” you roll your eyes and click your tongue.

“well, “your charm” has never worked on me. never has, never will.” the two of you share a soft smile, all while maintaining that potent eye contact.

you don’t know if it was the tension, but you had sudden goosebumps and started getting chilly. although your hair was in a ponytail, your bangs were getting in the way, you never took your eyes off of tyler’s but you could see his hair starting to get messy too.

“well, i don’t know about you but, i think it’s working pretty well now.” he moves the strands of hair out of your face and tucks it gently behind your ear before cupping your cheeks.

“about time.” you manage to let out seconds before his lips are on yours. your heart was racing the whole time, but you felt it could come out of your chest any second now.

the kiss started slow and gentle, but the moment you smiled into it, tyler deepened the kiss, you placed your hand behind his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, which made you notice how much his hair was moving around, as much as it pained you doing it, you pulled away and saw people walking away from the stands. you look around and pick up a leaf from the ground.

tyler notices and the two of you exchange a look. you both stand up and head for shelter, you feel the winds get stronger and that’s when you start to run, helping some people who have tripped along the way, but not wasting more than a second.

tyler and you managed to find a motel and in that motel an empty pool, where you sought shelter until the tornado passed over you. at that moment tyler had to help a man that had twisted his ankle, and a vending machine was blocking his way, due to the man panicking, he was gone.

tyler hid with you and another family of a mother and her daughter. the grip you had on tyler and that he had on you was like no other. you felt tyler plant kisses on your head to calm you down as you felt the tornado right above you, you held onto some pipes and his arms tightly, fearing for your life at that very moment.

when the tornado passed, you didn’t even want to let go of tyler, you hugged him and stayed with his arm wrapped around you the whole night, even when you shared your bed with him.

❛i know, “baby, no attachment.” but we’re… ❜

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

here's my masterlist!

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[rockitmans]

Red, White and Royally Screwed (1/12)

Summary:

"Kurt is not your arch nemesis," Tina says patiently down the phone. "You're not a protagonist in a Sunday morning cartoon."

Blaine scoffs. "We’re natural competitors. Both the children of the most powerful leaders in our respective countries. Or… well. Kings don't actually do anything do they?"

---

Or Kurt is a Prince and Blaine is the First Son of the United States. A Red, White and Royal Blue retelling.

Rating: E

Tropes: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake Friendship turned Real Friendship, Texting, Banter, Royal Kurt, General Disaster Blaine

Notes: Hey there demons. It's me, ya boi. This one is the @klainesecretsanta2024 but more importantly for @annepi-blog and for all you wonderful readers of course!

I thought I had forgotten how to write words but when I saw that Anne also loved RWRB it felt like fate, nay it felt like DESTINY to finally write this fic. Anne thank you for enabling me to write this. I won't get it all posted in the Christmas period so I'm posting weekly. I do apologise but hopefully it's worth following along 😅 I hope you have a wonderful Christmas 🩷

Everyone please go check out all the other works!

---

"This is so unfair," Blaine wails. 

He's planted face down on his bed, making his complaint to his mattress. And to Tina, who sits beside him with a magazine and pats him absently at the appropriate intervals. But mostly to the mattress. 

"So deeply unfair. Probably the most unfair thing that has happened to anyone ever," Blaine continues. "Not to be hyperbolic."

"God forbid," Tina mutters. She flips a page. 

"Tina," Blaine whines. "I don't think you're offering much sympathy here. I'm in agony."

"Do you know how many people would kill to go to a Royal Wedding, Bee? On the level of first world problems, we're talking Twitter levels of petty here."

Continue on AO3

[whenmemorydies]

Breakdown of a racist microaggression in Ice Chips 3x08

This title is misleading because any scene with Donna in it is likely going to be one gigantic macroaggression of some sort lol but I wanted to talk about this scene in Ice Chips and how subtly but impactfully it was played by all the actors in it:

Recall the beginning of 3x08 Ice Chips. Donna has just done her narcissistic thing in the parking lot of the hospital, ignoring-a-very-pregnant-and-about-to-give-birth Natalie's pleas to "shut the fuck up" and we are now in the hospital room with the two of them.

Donna is continuing to do her narcissistic thing and has begun to regale everyone in the room (which at this point is Natalie and a nurse) with stories about being a mother, asserting herself as an expert on the journey her daughter is about to embark on.

She tells Natalie and the nurse (who happens to be Black) about how badly she wanted to be a mother. She said its because:

I wanted someone to love me the way I had seen.

So yes, alarm bells. Wanting a baby so you can feel loved? Probably not the best reason to bring a whole other person into the world.

Note: Mikey entered the world with so much of Donna's expectations and trauma waiting to receive him like his first swaddle. No wonder he knew from a young age that pursuing a singular passion of his own was not going to happen for him because he had people to look after (recall his discussion with Tina in 3x06 Napkins). Parentified, eldest siblings unite /sob.

But back to Donna, Natalie, the nurse and the hospital room.

Donna then hits us with this curveball - her feelings about the exact parent/child relationships she had seen:

You know, all those smug mothers down at the Jewel, blocking the aisle with their strollers.

Yikes.

Donna is jealous of those mothers. She wants to be one of them. She wants to block the aisle at the Jewel (which a quick google tells me is probably short for Jewel-Osco - a chain of grocery stores in Chicago). She's so resentful of mothers with children, that she calls them "smug" for no other reason than they're probably not yelling at their kids in public (lol, also more yikes). She wants to be smug too. It's almost like Donna doesn't want a child, but what she thinks a child will give her: love she clearly hasn't experienced either as a child herself or as an adult . And also the power to be smug and take her place at the Jewel. Its almost like, to Donna, a child is an object, a means to an end.

But we're not done.

Then Donna says:

Do you know what Gina said to me? Gina fucking said to me - she looked down at my stomach - she says to me,

'You know, Donna, there are lots of good Chinese babies, honey.'

And then Donna turns to the only racialised person in the room, the Black nurse and says:

I mean, can you imagine?

And to her credit, that nurse did not kiss her teeth (she has so much more patience and professionalism than me lmao) but I felt her reaction to my CORE:

The biting of tongue, the looking up for divine intervention to get the person speaking to shut the fuck up, the looking down and pursing of lips when you realise no such help is coming, lmao.

I felt that reaction because I have been in this situation so many times as a racialised person (specifically as a non-Black POC). What is the situation exactly? The situation is a white person making a racist comment or "joke" in front of BIPOC folks in order to feel validated in their racism. The situation is getting BIPOC folks to collude/cosign in racism by doing it in front of them and trying to get them in on the "joke" too. This nurse was not having any of it.

For folks who are unsure about what was racist about Donna's comment: the "Chinese babies" Donna is likely referring to are the wave of Asian-American adoptions (where largely white Americans adopted children from China, South Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia and other East Asian countries) that began during the Cold War. The racism is the exporting of Donna's previously discussed objectification of a child, to the East. If she can't make a baby to fill the emotional vortex of her heart, Donna can buy adopt a "Chinese" one (the use of "Chinese" to refer to a myriad of nations and people is also racist). To be clear: white people treating BIPOC folks as objects to fill their needs and not as humans deserving of dignity and respect, is racist.

And yes, this is Donna recounting what someone named Gina has said to her. Its not technically what Donna has said so she's innocent right? Wrong. Donna is recounting a racist incident in front of a BIPOC person whom she has no relationship with. She's not condemning the racism of her friend so for all we know, she may have the same views as Gina - that Asian babies are fine to be adopted if you're a white woman who's feeling very lonely and just wants a baby really badly. This is deeply uncomfortable. My skin was crawling during this scene.

Natalie, observant woman that she is, clocks the nurse's discomfort right away:

And then Donna says:

The joke was on her. God rest her soul. I was two months gone with Michael at the time.

So we know Donna is not condemning Gina for her racism. She's condemning Gina for assuming Donna couldn't get pregnant on her own. Great. So now we and the nurse have a better sense of Donna's position here (Natalie being Donna's daughter surely already knows her mother's position).

Understandably, the nurse does not take Donna's bait and does not affirm her statements. So Donna doubles down in her condemnation of Gina, trying to get the nurse to affirm her any way, any how.

Natalie can see where this may end up going (when JLC does that upside-down-smile-grimace, even I know this is about to get messy lmao) so, being the well-practised parentified daughter that she is, she intervenes:

Then Donna reassures Natalie and the nurse that she did call Pete and she did leave a message and that everything is good. Still Donna needs affirmation from the nurse (can we talk about white folks needing BIPOC folks, in particular Black women, to affirm and hold their feelings for them? Can we talk about the demands of emotional labour?) so she tries another tactic:

The nurse can see right through Donna's posturing:

But she remains respectful and professional, politely responding: Wow.

(which wasn't as sarcastic in the scene as it might read here lol)

Natalie, like the nurse, can also see that her mother is, in fact, on one:

When the nurse does not give Donna anything more than "wow", she gets visibly pissed off. She pulls a face like "That's it?! Wow? Don't you know how hard it is to walk while being in labour?!" JLC goes FULL upside-down-smile-grimace:

But before Donna can embarrass herself further, she gets interrupted.

By a visibly Asian nurse:

And proceeds to shut the fuck up:

The way I CACKLED at the end of this scene lol.

Anyway, I was rewatching this episode for another meta but as is often the case with this show, something else revealed itself in the rewatch, so here we are.

This scene in Ice Chips is literally only one minute long. But the subtleties of facial expression, the looks thrown, the silences, the script choices were *chef's kiss* for so accurately depicting a racist microaggression and the inherent narcissism of racism itself - above and beyond any other mental health diagnoses that Donna might have. This scene was a perfect example of someone having mental health issues and also doing tone-deaf and racist shit, and how blurry those things may appear when you watch them in action.

As humans, we can have multiple things be true of ourselves at the same time. Donna can be mentally unwell and can say and do racist things. Natalie can love Sydney - an unambigiously Black woman - like a sister and also love her unambiguously offensive (lol) mother Donna. Carmy can love his largely BIPOC staff but then treat them like cogs in a machine at work.

I'm not saying that humans contain multitudes, the end. If some of those multitudes are harmful to BIPOC folks or other groups that face systemic discrimination then it is imperative that we try to change the behaviours we have that are harmful. Donna has work to do, so does Carmy and so does Nat. But I'm also saying this shit is messy and its complex. I just thought I'd point out that 3x08 Ice Chips did a great job of showcasing a bit of that mess and a bit of that complexity.

[vivwritesfics]

warnings: mentions of death

Series Masterlist

"It's the first home race for Oscar Sainz and everybody is rooting for him."

Oscar was proud to be wearing orange as he stood on the circuit, listening his national anthem. The twenty four year old had his parents there, watching him and cheering him on.

He wanted his sister there, too, but she was busy. At nineteen years old, Valentina Sainz was running the Sainz family. Well, not completely, not yet. Carlos was still the head of the family, but Valentina did a lot. He was setting her up to take over the family one day.

So that her parents could watch Oscar, Tina stayed at home to take care of any work that needed doing. Her grandma was there too, helping her out. Women have always run this family, her grandma often said to her. There was one exception, Valentina's mother, but she let that part out.

By the time Tina was sixteen, she was used to having bloody knuckles. She loved the feeling of it, that might have made her a monster, but she didn't care. She loved seeing the imprint of the ring her father gave her on somebody's skin.

Valentina had watched Oscar's races on television whenever she could. When he moved into F2, she watched on the television with her mother, while Carlos travelled with him. The family hated being apart, but it was for Oscar. The Sainz family would do anything for their children.

Oscar was an insane rookie. Valentina had watched on the television as he scored points in almost every race in his first year. It was crazy just how good her brother was. It was a mystery to everybody how he hadn't gotten a seat until now.

Oscar brought along one big sponsor, his family. Of course, they were known as something else, a front of a company to hide the real nature the of Sainz family money.

Oscar scored points all the way through his rookie season. He finished eighth in the drivers championship, which his family understood to be incredibly good for a rookie.

For his last race of the season, Tina wanted to be there. Her grandma took over the role of head of the family for the weekend, with Carlos on speed dial, while they went to watch Oscar in Abu Dhabi.

He did incredibly well in his final race, achieving his first podium. His mother was crying, his father was beaming, and Tina was incredibly proud of her brother. Oscar ran straight into their arms.

Many of the families congratulated Oscar at the few events he had to turn up to. Almost all of them watched racing, watched as he climbed his way to the top. Fernando of the Alonso family told him that he would be a world champion in no time. And he would be. He really would be.

Oscar knew who he was named after. He knew that Oscar Piastri, the man that had saved his mother, the man he was named after, had wanted to race. He wanted to do what Oscar Sainz was now doing.

Oscar visited his grave site. Over the Australian Grand Prix weekend, Oscar and his parents went to visit his grave. There were always fresh flowers, Carlos made sure of that.

"Hey," Oscar said as he sat in front of the headstone. He'd asked his parents for privacy and they'd given it. "It's Oscar, Y/N and Carlos's kid." He'd visited the grave only twice before, when he and his father were in the country for racing purposes.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited you more," he said as he pulled his orange McLaren hat from his head. "I made it to Formula One, by the way. I know that was your dream, too." Actually, Oscar had something written on his helmet, so small that most couldn't read it. It was his mothers idea to have 'For Uncle Osc' printed on the back of his helmet.

"I wish I could have met you," said Oscar as he placed his hat on top of the headstone. "I bet we would have raced together. I think that would have made my mum really happy."

Oscar stood up from the ground. He touched his fingers to the headstone and turned around, walking away from his Uncles headstone, back to his family.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @hiireadstuff @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @chonkybonky @shobaes @celesteblack08 @watermelonworries @gracielukey @cassie0sstuff @goldenharrysworld @venusesworld @sparklyperfectionstranger @evans-dejong @graciewrote @formulaal

[lovelytsunoda]

can't stand the rain // george russell

summary: the nights are always long and lonely when she misses her lover. but dating a formula one driver isn't easy, and she knew that when she started dating the most wonderful and exciting man that she had ever met.

pairing: george russell x female reader

warnings: longing and pining! the harsh reality that which would be dating someone like george russell, but there is a happy ending! allusions to sex, but not written out.

I can't stand the rain, against my window cause he ain't here with me//hey window pane tell me, do you remember how sweet it used to be? when we were together everything was so grand//now that we parted there's just one sound that I just can't stand

it was on nights like these that she missed george the most.

rain drops crashing down against the window panes, a steady haze of fog rolling across the english country side.

she hated that sound when he wasn't here to share it with.

y/n was sitting on the couch by the window, a scented bath and body works candle on the coffee table, burning and filling the main floor of the house with that simple, summer scent as she wrapped herself in a blanket, powerpoint presentations reflecting off the blue light lenses as she typed.

dating someone as magnetic and larger than life as george russell was no easy feat. the days and nights were long, the timezones too much to bear as his schedule demanded he jet off to some faraway country every weekend.

sometimes, it felt like her george wasn't actually her george, but the world's george.

she slammed her laptop shut, rubbing her eyes under her glasses before she turned on the tv, dialing in to sky sports as the warm up for the evenings race began.

if george were here, they would be watching some stupid movie on netflix (last rainstorm it was bait, a movie about tsunamis and twelve foot long sharks), with the plush calvin klein blanket pulled tightly around their bodies until one of them got tired of the film and started getting handsy.

something about the rain always got george russell going. those afternoons usually ended up with y/n on her back, georges gentle kisses against her skin as he made love to her, the pitter patter of the rain in the background.

she missed him.

the race ended, and she sent him a congratulations text, knowing that he did the best that he could in a car that wasn’t where either mercedes driver had expected it to be.

she blew out the candle, phone in the back pocket of her jeans as she moved to the kitchen of a house that felt too large for just her alone as she warmed up the kettle.

her phone rang, and she slipped the small device out of her pocket, beaming as she swiped up to talk to the most important man in her life.

“hey, beautiful.” george russell beamed from the other end of the line, and the other side of the world. “how are you feeling?”

“tired.” y/n laughed. “uni is relentless. remind me why I decided to go to law school?”

“because I wanted a strong, powerful girlfriend?”

“hilarious. it’s killing me slowly.” she grimaced, placing a bag of peppermint tea in her indigo mug. “you had a good race today, honey. I know the car is shite this year, but you’re driving the hell out of that thing.”

“you know what, I think I’m finally getting the hang of the car.”

“that’s really good, georgie. I’m proud of you.”

george smiled sadly, wishing that he could reach through the phone and hold his lover in his arms. every part of his skin, his body aches for her touch, for the feeling of cradling her in his arms again.

“I miss you. I’ll be home before you know it, yeah? you’ll wake up in a few mornings and I will be there and you’ll get to wrap your arms around me and we’ll make the most of the time we have before I have to go to the next race.”

“I wish it were easier. I wish I could come with you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

two days passed since that phone call, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. a few times the downpour has lightened to a manageable drizzle, but it was still as if the clouds in the sky were reading her emotions.

reading how much she longed for georges presence.

how she missed watching him play backgammon with his mates at the table by the french doors, sunlight refracting on his face.

how she missed his touch, even when it was the touch of his cold, cold feet in bed.

how she missed his cooking, even when he burned the simplest of dishes and ended up ordering takeaway (and swallowing his pride).

the weather outside reflected how she felt, but that fact did nothing to make her feel better. george was stuck in team meetings, despite the promise of a two week break before the next double header began.

she was debating the merits of going to visit her parents in the city, reconnecting with the world and getting away from her feelings and her term papers. it seemed like all she had done since george left was drink peppermint tea and pore over old court documents.

until the morning all was right again.

the sunlight was orange as it filtered through her curtains, the sun just beginning to rise over the hilly countryside. she heard footsteps, and the sound of the creaky bedroom door swinging open.

she’s have to to tell george to fix that.

george.

she didn’t believe her eyes. there he was, kneeling in front of the bed to kiss her forehead. she grumbled his name, trying to peel her groggy eyes open.

“I’m right here, darling. caught an earlier flight. there’s an iced coffee in the fridge for you.”

she smiled, reaching for his hand. “I missed you.”

“I know, love. can I join you?”

“you may.” she hummed, pulling the blankets back up over her shoulders. normally she would have loved to watch her boyfriend undress, but this morning she was far too sleepy to care about the sound of georges heavy hilfiger belt hitting the hardwood floor.

eyes still closed, she felt the mattress dip next to her as george slipped underneath the covers, taking her into his arms. she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his bare chest as the driver ran his large hand up and down her back.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, george william russell.”

TAGS

@daydreamingleclerc @libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @cl16version @cartierre @monzabee

[scratchybongvt]

Sidemascots for beginners

Basic Info:

Created by: @scratchybongvt (credited as Vinicius and Sumi)

Illustrated by: Various artists (individual parts), @sashley1912 (full episodes, illustrator), @kurosaiko12 (full episodes, Vice-illustrator)

Run: 18 September 2024 – Present

Season 1: 20 September 2024 – 24 November 2024

Season 2: February 2025 onwards

Inspired by:

Sidemen (created by KSI, Miniminter, Zerkaa, TBJZL, Behzinga, Vikkstar123, W2S)

Frontmen (created by Dean Stobbart)

Olympic and Paralympic mascots (designed by various artists)

Spinoff of: Disabled Figures (created by @scratchybongvt)

Introduction: Sidemascots brings together 10 mascots who compete in wild challenges, typically 3 times a week. It replaced Eleventh Gear, where Tom and Powder tackled motorsports chaos. The show continues the universe of Disabled Figures, both launched in 2022.

Characters: Going into the Season Finale, the active cast includes:

Vinicius (founder, co-creator)

Sumi (founder, co-creator)

Burke (founding member)

Miraitowa (founding member)

Wenlock (founding member)

Borobi (founding member)

Fuleco (since 1.15)

Honohon (since 1.2)

Tina (since 1.7)

Someity (since 1.7)

Former members:

Copper (fired, electrocuted in 1.1)

Chenchen (KO’d by Honohon, fired in 1.2)

Miga (resigned due to eye strain from watching Sumi’s YouTube channel, 1.4)

Myaku-myaku (fired for a -1/10 score in the "sabotage Paralympic Phryge" challenge, 1.4)

Olympic Phryge (resigned for therapy after her sister's death; killed by a missile in 1.9)

Soohorang (arrested for failing the "sabotage Olympic Phryge" challenge, 1.9)

Mandeville (out with 4 votes in 1.12)

Zakumi (appointed and fired after making fun of his own country in 1.14)

Clyde (due to his temporary role as Burke’s stand-in in 1.15)

Rejected Members:

Yodli, Bandabi, Izzy (all out with 0 votes in 1.7)

Ettie, Tazuni (out with 0 votes in 1.10, the former being out again in 1.13)

Saola, Clyde, La’eeb (each out with 1 vote in 1.10)

Tani, Perry the Bull (each out with 0 votes in 1.13)

Moongcho and Tom (refused to join in 1.13)

Banned:

Coal (banned in 1.10 after drawing his own name by chance)

Episodes: All episodes contain strong language and are recommended for mature audiences.

Click on the blue text to read the respective episodes.

Trailer: Vinicius introduces Sidemascots (Content warning: character falls out of a window)

Auditions: Vinicius and Sumi pick the remaining members (Content warning: choking)

Episode 1: Americas vs. the world in mascot challenges (Content warning: choking and mildly suggestive content)

Episode 2: Paralympic Phryge hosts “Finish or Forfeit” (Content warning: alcohol references, dead memes)

Episode 3: Mascots compete in a parody of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (Content warning: distressing to Canadian MLS fans, AFL fans, Subway fans, mentions of feet pics)

Episode 4: Helping Olympic Phryge sabotage her sister for a massive pay rise (Content warning: political satire, sports rivalries, alcohol references)

Episode 5: 30 mascots in a pole-vaulting tournament for $1,000,000—or is it? (Content warning: distressing for Qataris)

Episode 6: Mascots play FC25 for an even bigger pay rise (Content warning: match-fixing, choking, last-minute equalizer PTSD)

Episode 7: Someity vs. Mandeville for the final Sidemascot spot (Content warning: mild political tension, Sumi jumpscares)

(Very cool line break because there's a 4096-text-characters-per-block limit. While you're there be sure to follow @scratchybongvt and turn on notifications to NEVER miss the Sidemascots Season 2!)

Episode 8: Mascots spin the wheel of misfortune (Content warning: bland)

Episode 9: Sabotaging Olympic Phryge for the Greater Good (Content warning: violence, bullying, satire, disturbing and traumatizing to Phryge fans)

Episode 10: Spelling Bee challenge (Content warning: medium-level violence)

Episode 11: Weakest Link, aka the Miraitowa and Someity challenge (despite having nothing to do with them) (Content warning: Unfamiliar to certain audiences)

Episode 12: Americas take on the world again, this time in a penalty shootout (Content warning: Distressing to certain audiences)

Episode 13: Mascots read mean tweets (Content warning: Actually mean to some people)

Episode 14: Mascots make clickbait life hacks (Content warning: National stereotypes, sports rivalries, violence, one recurring character is shot by a laser)

Episode 15: Mascots battle in a game of 5-a-side football (Content warning: Sports rivalries, referee bias, tumblr, and national stereotypes)

Episode 16: The Season Finale (Content warning: A lot of violence and a very bland boss fight)

How You Can Support: If you enjoy Sidemascots, we welcome:

Nice comments, likes, reblogs, or follows.

Episode suggestions (Click the "Ask me anything!" button in the bio to submit your ideas. It is said that suggesting an episode for the Sidemascots is the hardest job in the world)(If you plan to illustrate parts with original or lesser known characters, take this as reference.)

Illustrations (Your artwork can be added to episodes, and you’ll be credited).

Suggestions Guidelines:

Feel free to send ideas, but please don’t go too far.

If your idea is accepted, allow a few days to a week for it to be developed.

Concepts may be adjusted if needed (either enhanced or toned down), let us know if that's not what you want.

While we accept anonymous ideas, providing your username is recommended if you’d like to be asked for more ideas in the future.

Sumi’s Patrons: This series is dedicated to those who’ve, or would've, supported it from the start:

@cutesymiga (aka @witchytom, the series is dedicated to her)

@elbene15

@crackheadfromsainsburys (appeared since 1.0)

@miraislashtowa

@coro-nana

@mintazuii

@cuddleslover1738

@jaymewolf999

@eternalmooniii

@lettucecookie7 (aka @lettucecookiebrainrot7)

@verarussin8 (created the first illustration for the Myaku-myaku segment of Episode 5)

@giothefuwafan2

@akaylawithalotofideas

@fireworkshuan

@seabunnyprincess

@sashley1912 and her family

@azulisumy0-0

@thebfdifan

@kittywishmagic

@vitorcdv

@ducky-purintan-mascots11

@scal3tt

@kurosaiko12

In Memoriam: Let’s remember those who tragically passed away during the series:

Powder's Genetic Clone (choked by Tom in 1.0)

Quatchi (sabotaged by Miga off-screen in 1.1)

Paralympic Phryge (killed by a cannonball during Red Light Green Light in 1.4)

Copper (electrocuted twice in 1.5)

Olympic Phryge (killed by an Iranian missile launched by Wenlock in 1.9)

La’eeb (burnt to death in 1.12)

@sashley1912’s grandfather (Tragically passed away a few days after the release of 1.13: he did not know the Sidemascots. 😢)

@crackheadfromsainsburys (being shot by a laser beam deflected by Burke in 1.14)

Fuleco (crushed by a 100kg weight dropped by Tom in the Season Finale)

Thank you for your service.

[babsvibes]

15!

“Zeke, there you are!” Jimmy Jr. called, voice echoing in the large expanse under the pier. “I’ve been looking all over. I thought we were supposed to meet at the Zany Plane? I think the beers I got from the restaurant are all shaken u-”

He stopped in the sand suddenly, close enough to see the bump on a log Zeke had become with his messy hair and downtrodden gaze. Old country music poured out of a beat-up portable speaker next to him, the grief of man speaking to his soul.

“Whoa. You look like a wet dog.”

Zeke ignored him and turned his sad song up.

“Come on buddy, talk to me.”

“No.”

“You’ll feel better if you do.”

“Nah, if I talk ‘bout it I’m gonna cry and while that’s all good and well for some of y’all, I just don’t wanna feel- I feel- gah get back in my eye, tear!” Zeke sniffed, trying by sheer force of will to keep from crying.

“Alright alright I won’t push.” Jimmy Jr. kicked at the sand and looked out to the ocean. After a moment, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a couple of stolen bottles. “But hey, let’s still crack these open. We can drink and watch the ocean together in silence, like sea cowboys.”

“Pirates? Or like the retired grannies in Florida,” Zeke snorted. Taking a beer, he cocked his head. “You’d wanna hang around with a sad sap like me?”

“Sure, you’re my brother.” He pat his chest above his heart then tried to twist the cap off his beer. “Besides, I’m not feeling too hot either. Tina’s seeing some guy... Jannik.” He said the name with disgust while still struggling with the beer. “What is it with new kids always being irresistible to girls, huh?”

Zeke laughed at how JJu stumbled through the word irresistible, his lisp returning on some of the tougher S words. He wiped at the half tear that almost fell, waving at Jimmy Jr. to hand him the bottle that he was getting increasingly frustrated with.

“Gimme that,” Zeke chuckled. “It ain’t a twist off.”

Zeke used his teeth to tear off the caps and pass one back to Jimmy Jr., cheersing as they slumped into the sand and commiserated together. Shoulder to shoulder and staring out at the waves, they both knew it would be okay. They had each other after all.

[evita-shelby]

Hello Juli! Your turn to create something around Eva and Tina, I’m curious 🤭

this was very fun to write shark

cw: mentions of torture

The witch and the butcher

Tina Cacciatore has brought out a fear only seldom few had ever done to the Witch.

Cheerful and even bubbly, and yet her hands had more blood than Porfirio Diaz's most seasoned torturers.

“She really spooked you.” Jack finds himself at the end of her knife after he caught her unawares in her greenhouse. He had wanted to make use of the place now that he’d left work early knowing she’s on edge after their encounter with Luca and his pet murderer.

Luca will want to settle the score after Jack taught her how to wrap the piano wire around the man who bombed Wall Street to get rid of them. Celestina Cacciatore was who he needed for his revenge against them…against her.

“People that gleeful and bloody wouldn’t hesitate to torture a child.” Eva reminds him even if she knows his lack of worry is merely a façade.

“Spinetta doesn’t torture kids, goes against their honor code. No kids, no women.” Jack gently pries the knife from her hands and pretends he hadn’t increased the security around their family because of the butcher girl’s reputation.

“I don’t want to lose you, Jack.” The witch has not slept well, always fearing her husband wouldn’t come back one of these days.

“You won’t. You’ve said it yourself, Tommy Shelby will kill Luca in a few months. Butcher Girl will probably go to England to avenge him and will be their problem.” The Bostonian assures her as if he knew the future better than she did. “We’ll go back to Boston or your folks at Rockhall if you want, doll.”

“Can you stand being in my aunt’s company until Christmas?” the witch asks knowing it will be a trial but the Mafia can’t afford to trouble the crème of the crème no matter how high they climb.

Besides with the holidays coming up soon, it’s a good excuse to leave their home in Riverdale and seek safety in the country. They don’t need much to prepare, they only have four children and their suite has a nursery for baby Kathrine.

And yet, on the last day in the city Eva comes face to face with the yellow eyed fiend that haunts her nightmares.

“Hi.”She is bubbly and cheerful despite the unsettling mismatched eyes. Appearing friendly even if a bit too energetic despite the horrors she is capable of.

They were rumors of an exorcism done to see if it could fix her talent for cruelty, but it was no demon behind it, that was just who Celestina Cacciatore was.

“What do you want?” the witch steels herself and tries to remind herself the Black Hand was strict with it’s rules.

No women, no children, just buisness.

That the witch had humiliated Luca at a bath house after making him believe she’d fuck him was enough to make a man forget his own rules.

It had felt good, to corner Luca and get him to drop his guard long enough to get his cock in her hands and wrap the garrote around his balls.

He had been able to hold back his pain, the initial arousal making the experience quite unforgettable. Strega, he’d drawled as the pleasure turned into pain, you’ll pay for this.

Eva had laughed and tightened the wire as Jack helped her do it. They had thought themselves invincible, so untouchable  she and her husband had fucked as Luca laid there bloody and humiliated just across the room.

And now karma had come.

“Nothing, I just wanted to tell you how much I admire you.” The Butcher Girl had said as if she were a shy girl meeting her hero and not her enemy. “Just so fashionable and beautiful and they way no mob wife can even come close to you. Spinnetta's wife wishes she could have as much glamour as you do. And that’s not even talking about how your godfather is the Pope---”

Eva is not sure what to do about this.

Her reputation spoke for itself, she was the impossible ideal, the one and only Mrs. Nelson. That the girl who may one day torture and kill her and Jack was a fan, was the last thing she expected.

She could work this to their advantage.