#thank you for giving me an outlet for it lmao

[drabbles-mc]

📂 For Marcus Alvarez Please!!

Marcus Alvarez?? My reformed domestic king?? 🥰

Alvarez in Full Dad Mode means everything to me. I don't have the words to convey how much I love it.

Once he made the move to the suburbs with Izzy, he really just got into that whole role. When in Rome, right? He grills in the summer, tongs in one hand and a cold beer in the other. He's really good at it, and very protective over his grilling space. No one else is allowed to touch his grill or utensils, including and especially Bishop.

The other guys in the club don't buy it until they show up and see it for themselves. And even then, they still can't believe it.

I can just so vividly picture him, Bishop, and Nestor standing around the grill, beers in hand, just watching it with that immense Dad™ energy. (I know Nestor isn't a dad but it's about the vibes you know what I mean)

Meanwhile Izzy is with their kids and the rest of the guys, who are just observing it all from a distance. And EZ just looks at Izzy like, "Are they always like this when they're together?"

And she just laughs, because she's so used to it, "Yes, almost every weekend in the summer."

Send me a "📂" for a random/useless headcanon that I have!

[blackbat05]

Peace Offering

Jason Todd x Reader (University AU)

Plot: You and Jason have gotten on each other nerves ever since you knew each other. This time, Jason may have gone a little too far. Does he have a solution?

Genre: PG-13

A/N: The headcanon of Jason studying Literature will go with me to my grave lmao. Not really enemies to lovers but you can see it as the beginning stage if you want! My fics always welcome different interpretations. Wrote this in one shot because I'm so done with my thesis and needed an outlet. Hence I'm sorry for the short fic and lack of brain cells. Hope you still enjoy though.

"Bird brain!"

"Uh oh, the baroness arrives." Jason dramatically mocks as you marched over.

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

"What's got in your pants?"

"Answer the question." You weren't having it this time. Your paper was due in less than twelve hours and your laptop has mysteriously gone missing when you woke up this morning to attempt to finish the last bit.

"Oh. That..." He gives you a lopsided grin that you want to slap off. If only he didn't look like a model that jumped out of Calvin Klein's front page. "I may have used it to complete my English Literature thesis. Researching the emergence of female writers in the 19th century and their impact on modern literature can take a lot out of you." He states that as if it's a well-known fact.

"My laptop." You had no time for the tiki-taka today.

"Yeah... I may have bought your laptop on a stakeout and it got broken in half by the Riddler..." Jason trails off, actually looking sheepish.

"What. Did. You. Say?" You grit your teeth, unable to process what he had just told you.

"Went on a stakeout."

You exploded. "You're a real piece of work you know that Todd? I'm so close to submitting my final paper and now I may not be able to graduate because of you!"

Before Jason can utter another word, you slammed the door on the way out, leaving him in the dust.

***

The professor signals the end of class, reminding everyone to submit their papers before the lecture hall empties out. You slowly pack your belongings, hesitant to make your way to the formidable woman.

But what must come, will come. You take a deep breath, rehearsing what you had practiced in front of the mirror. You'll beg if you had to.

"Uh, professor?"

What you didn't expect was the woman to smile at you through her silver-rimmed glasses. "Y/N. I'm impressed. You've outdone yourself this time."

"Excuse me?"

"I saw you submitted your paper already. I took a brief look at it, and your conclusion is stunning. I have high hopes for the rest of your paper." She slings her bag over her shoulder. "Happy graduation."

Stunned, all you could do was give a numb nod. You're left alone in the lecture hall, but not for long. The door opens to reveal Menace Number One - Jason Todd.

Jason Todd who's holding your laptop that looks as good as new. He quietly makes his way to you, extending what was meant to be a peace offering. You wait for him to explain.

"I know I've been a dick to you and this probably tops it all. I'm really sorry. None of... everything that I said to you was real. Sorry." Jason repeats his apology for good measure. When he notices you're still keeping silent, he continues.

"You were right, I was an idiot for doing that. I wanted to tell you that Babs was trying to fix it but it was going to take longer than I expected. I didn't expect she was going to have it already. Then again, it's her after all." He chuckles.

Silence. Were you mad that he got someone else to solve his mess?

"I wrote your conclusion. Hope you don't mind. I thought it was the least I could do for being such a jerk to you."

Jason towered over you but yet he couldn't seem to make eye contact. It was only by hearing you huff did he dare to look at you.

"I'm glad you know how much of an arsehole you were to me all this time."

Jason is on the edge waiting for you to continue.

"But thank you for doing all this for me. I'm really sorry too. For everything I've said to you. I don't think you're annoying. You're pretty smart." You give a small smile, causing Jason to break into a bigger one.

"What was that?"

For a spilt second, your smile slides off your face. "Don't push it, Todd." You take the laptop from his hands, making a mental note to thank Barbara the next time you see her. Making your way out of the lecture hall, Jason has become his usual self again. And this time, you didn't feel like your blood pressure was going to skyrocket.

"Aw come on! Say that one more time please?"

"You were a huge jerk?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Mm hm, a big baby then?"

"Come on!"

[babyboiboyega]

We are the Champions (Athlete!Shuri x GF!Reader)

Athlete!Shuri x GF!Reader

Summary: Dating an athlete meant constantly traveling for games and reassuring her when she needed it. Dating a champion meant having to fight for some alone time with her.

Word Count: 8.6k

Content: nothing but fluff y’all; well, the slightest bit of angst if you squint, but its really not angst at all; softball references; profanity; Shuri and Ri as athletes, that’s a warning in and of itself. 

Babyboiboyega’s Marvel Masterlist

Babyboiboyega’s Masterlist of Masterlists

TAGLIST FORM

A/N: HEY! Sorry I’ve been gone, but here’s a little oneshot that I was really excited to write after having a dream about it as an apology! Of course, thanks to Liya for giving me the idea of making her a softball player!

I tried to make sure that the rules of softball were explained pretty easily in this, but if you have ANY questions, don’t hesitate to reply with them or send me a lil message! I got yall :) But I will put a few definitions for a few words, just in case!

Also, the Women’s National World Series is fictional and based on the Women’s College World Series, but I just made it different to fit the ages as yall aren’t in college anymore in this oneshot! The UCLA Bruins is an actual team and they’re a mf beast, I actually love watching them play softball, but they’re a college team. But just forget that and pretend like they’re a little older and out of college lmao

“Ump/ Umpire”: a person who watches the game and enforces the rules; think of a referee

“Pitcher’s Mound”: the place in the middle of the field where a pitcher stands and pitches.

“Back catcher”: the person who squats behind the batter and in front of the ump who catches the ball the pitcher throws.

The last play is also called a “drop play”. To put it simply, if the back catcher drops the ball on the third strike, the batter can run to try and get to first base. In this scenario, there’s a runner on third who takes their chance at getting to home plate while the back catcher is getting the ball. When the back catcher isn’t at home plate, its up to the pitcher to be there and cover it, which is what happens here. I hope that’s easy to understand LMAO

Go and read! Hope y’all enjoy!

Song Inspo (the songs that were on replay while writing):

- Lockdown : Koffee

- Found : Tems feat. Brent Faiyaz

- Essence : Wizkid, Tems

- Gonna love me : Teyana Taylor

*******

Beyond the large opening were stands filled with softball fans, eager to see which team would win the WNWS (The Women’s National World Series): The UCLA Bruins… or The Panthers of Wakanda. Excitement radiated from every part of the stands and the field, from fans and players alike. The Panthers would be going against a team known for winning the WNWS multiple times; a team that was a huge fan favorite and famous for their wins and their skill.

This was only The Panthers' first time making it to the championships, and there had been multiple news outlets, sports companies, and fans in general that had doubted their abilities and how they had gotten here. It didn't matter if each player's stats spoke for them, or if their wins as a team were highly impressive for one as new as theirs; they'd always be doubted just a little more than other teams. It was partly the reason why they worked so hard to get to where they were today, as a way of telling all of those who doubted them that despite their words and their insults, they had gotten here on their own. The other part was simply because it always felt good to win, and winning the championships would accomplish both of those goals.

Shuri's confidence in her team never wavered, nor did it when it came to her own abilities, but there was something about today. Maybe it was because it was the championship and they were on UCLA's home turf, and the home team always had an advantage in some way, whether it came from crooked umps or boosted morale; or maybe it was because she was their top pitcher, and everyone was looking to her to close out the game in their favor. But as she leaned against the wall of the hallway, trying her hardest to block out the buzzing noise in the stands and the announcer's voice booming over the speakers about damn hotdogs, she suspected it was the latter.

You didn't have to be in Shuri's mind or hear her thoughts to know them; you could deduce from the nervous passing back and forth of the bright yellow ball in her hands that she was temporarily trapped between fighting thoughts of self-doubt and embracing the confident ones that would ensure her a straight head while on the field. It was a scene that you had walked in on many times before important games, and this time was no different. Not for you at least.

A soft 'psst' left your mouth as you approached, and it prompted her to immediately raise her head and turn towards you. Her mouth had been pursed in thought when she first looked at you, but they quickly upturned slightly as she copied the noise

"What's goin on, babe?"

Shuri knew better than to lie, and it wasn't just because she knew you would get on her. You had the ability to read her as well as she could read herself, and you weren't afraid to use this skill when you felt she was downplaying her feelings. She had learned early on in the relationship that that shit wouldn't fly with you; it was something you constantly reminded her of in times like this.

You paused in front of where she rested against the wall, resting your homemade sign against the wall beside her. It was a simple black poster with gold trimming and the words 'Wakanda Forever" on it in silver letters that sparkled. On the other side, it said 'I'm with #15' - Shuri's number. When she had first seen it she had thrown her head back and laughed before nodding and pulling you in for a kiss. 'Damn right, you are' she had mumbled against your lips; ever since then, you had kept it in pristine condition.

"I thought I was fine, but that was before I saw the pitcher's mound. Now…I'm feeling the pressure."

Her voice was slightly rough around the edges, a hint of frustration creeping into it; no doubt aimed at herself. The ball hit her glove a little harder after she spoke, and her eyebrows furrowed slightly. It was obvious that she was delving deeper into those thoughts, and doing that would only make the pressure grow for her. You turned and leaned against the wall beside her, giving her space but standing close enough to where her arm brushed against yours whenever she moved it.

"A bit of pressure is good, it means you care about the game. It means you wanna win, which I know you do."

The corner of her mouth lifted a little more as she glanced over at you, her head nodding in agreement. The ball paused where it rested in her glove.

"Of course I do. We've gotten this far despite everything- we have to win."

The determination in her voice didn't go unnoticed, but neither did the slight shakiness of it. Her eyes stayed focused on the bright yellow ball, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw clenched slightly.

"It'll be amazing for you to win…but even if that doesn't happen, and that's a huge fuckin 'if'," she huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. "It matters that you got here in the first place. A lot of people didn't want you to get here but look at y'all. Can't tell y'all shit."

You weren't the best at giving motivational speeches, but one thing you excelled in was making sure Shuri was good whenever you knew she wasn't. And if your words couldn't do the trick, you'd simply move on to the acts that you knew would. This situation called for a bit of both; it had to do with Shuri's self-confidence and how she applied it to something she was passionate about and damn good at.

Anyone could see how much she loved playing softball; it was just as easy to see how good she was at the game, but you knew exactly how much it impacted her life. She hadn't started at a young age, but she had always been connected to the sport in some way.

Her brother, T'Challa, had played baseball for their country, and he had been a star player in every sense of the word. Shuri had looked up to her brother- she still did, and that included wanting to be like him in every way she could. So it only made sense that when she was big enough, she had begged him to teach her how to throw correctly and how to swing a bat, and of course, being an older sibling who spoiled and loved on their younger sibling, he had done exactly that. He had been the first one to see her potential in the sport, and while he hadn't pressured her to try out for a team, he had always reminded her of what all she could do and how talented she was- even when she moved to America to pursue an education.

He had gifted Shuri her first bat when she had joined her first team in secondary school, middle school being the equivalent for Americans, and he had been in attendance at every game and tournament she'd had. Even after he had grown sick, he had promised her that he'd try his hardest to make it to every single game, and he had held that promise all the way until the time of his death. But Shuri had once told you that he still attended every game she had, as she still carried around that bat that he had gifted to her. She had outgrown it a while ago, but the metal still bore her brother's handwriting and it still held sentiment, so it'd always be like he was with her.

You had known her at the time of T'Challa's death, having met her in your first year of college and his death happening during both of your second years, and you had never seen her attend a game without the bat. In fact, that same bat peeked out of the side of her softball bag as it leaned against the wall next to you two, her eyes naturally drifting to it as another source of comfort.

It took no effort at all to reach for her hand, taking her glove off and placing it on top of her bag before lacing your fingers through hers, and then you were stepping around to face her. The curve of her back rested against the wall, though as you stepped around, she straightened slightly. Her gaze connected with yours and you could see the smallest bit of turmoil in them.

"What did T'Challa always say?"

The question was the beginning of a pre-game ritual you two always did, and the recognition made her smile grow in the slightest. There were traces of lingering sadness, but it was inevitable when she spoke of her brother. It wasn't exactly a mournful sadness, but rather one that showed how his memory lived on in everything she did.

"He'd say 'stay in the game.'"

"Exactly." You squeezed her hand as you raised it, placing it on your chest over the spot where your heart was while your other hand rested over where hers beat. It was something the two of you had started a while ago, following her first anxiety attack before a game. The game had been the first one she'd had to play after T'Challa's passing, and the only thing that had gotten her out of the locker room and onto the field had been you sitting in the corner of the locker room with her. You had placed her hand on your heart so that she could feel something solid and calm enough for her to try and match, the same way you were doing now.

Her heart wasn't beating as fast as it had been then, but it was still slightly faster than normal, and the little ritual still worked no matter how skilled she was at the sport.

"That means you take all of those thoughts that are frustrating you, and confront them by playing the game the way you know how to. You know you're good at what you do. Your team is good. Go out there knowing that they got your back, babe."

It was obvious that she was taking your words and trying her best to not only commit them to memory but also apply them to the current situation. She always did, eventually, but the importance of today's game made the process a little longer. You knew she had told herself whatever she needed when her eyes closed momentarily, a deep and slow breath flowing through her body. Her thumb absentmindedly rubbed your collarbone, something that was more for her benefit but still felt good to you.

It only took a minute or two for her to open her eyes, a look of decisiveness now accompanying that look of determination on her face. Her gaze once again met yours, a deep appreciation gleaming in them as her smile grew.

"And you say you're bad at pep speeches." You could practically see the clouds of self-doubt receding from over her as she spoke, laughter in her words. It made your own smile grow.

"Because I am. I just know you well enough to say the right things."

She hummed in agreement, her eyebrows raising slightly as she nodded. Her hand shifted, following the length of your arm before resting over yours where it still resided on her chest. You had been with her for 3 years and her touch still threatened to steal the breath from you, and she loved to remind you. As much was evident in the way her smile grew almost teasing as she used your hand to pull you closer until the tips of your shoes scraped against her cleats.

"You always know what to say, don't you? How'd you even know I was back here anyway? Not that I don't appreciate you coming to check on me, it's very sweet of you-" You smacked your teeth, lightly kicking her foot at her joking and causing a laugh to escape her mouth.

"Ri told me 'you should go and check on your girl', so here I am, checkin' on my girl." You reached a hand up, raising her visor to see her face clearly. Not only did her touch continue to affect you, but the look of adoration in her eyes as she looked down at you still managed to send shivers down your spine.

The joy and excitement on her face made your own anticipation for the game grow, knowing that it'd be an evenly matched game and knowing that if there was one thing Shuri would do, she'd make sure to play her ass off. It was always amazing watching her play…and hot.

(It was the uniform that hugged her legs. And the tucked-in shirt. And the short sleeves that bared her muscular arms from years of playing. And most definitely the sounds she made whenever she pitched or hit-)

"I should be out there getting ready to lead the wave for when y'all start-"

A sound left her mouth, partly horrified and partly comical. Leave it to her to be dramatic.

"Absolutely not, you don't do the wave at a softball game, when have you ever seen someone start the wave at a softball game-"

"Uh, today, the fuck? I'll do whatever I damn well please, Udaku."

She threw her head back as she laughed loudly, the sound making your own laugh bubble up from your throat. It completely drowned out all other sounds, effectively creating a bubble of tranquility around the two of you that you both were reluctant to leave.

She continued to gaze at you once her laughter had died down, a soft smile taking over her face. The pre-game ritual always ended with some sort of physical contact, and you knew that it was coming next as she released your hands to wrap hers around your waist, pulling you flush against her.

Your movements worked in tandem with hers as you slid her team visor off, showing off her cornrows that formed a pattern on her scalp. It was only that morning that you found yourself oiling them while she rested between your legs, head leaned back and eyes closed in contentment. You could still smell traces of the manuka oil you had used as you leaned your forehead against hers, letting out a small sigh that she immediately copied.

"You got this, usana." The nickname rolled effortlessly off your tongue, as you had heard it so many times that it was now a part of your regular vocabulary when it came to Shuri. The term of endearment resulted in Shuri's smile growing, her arms tightening around your waist.

Her shoulders had dropped as you two talked, the tension melting away and making way for the adrenaline she usually felt right before each game. Her jaw had unclenched, apparent in the relaxed feeling of it as you raised your hands to hold her face.

"And when y'all win- when, not if- we'll find some way to celebrate. Just the two of us. We can both take a break and just go somewhere, alright?"

There was a short silence between you two before she pulled back slightly, nodding her head.

"…only if you promise not to do the wave."

"See, I'm just tryna be nice and cute, and you playing games, Shuri-"

Not only were your words cut off because of her laugh, but they were quickly stopped as she leaned forward, placing her lips on yours. She placed a hand on your back and used it to press your body closer to hers while her other moved to tilt your chin up.

Not only did her touch have the ability to steal your breath away, but it also made you completely forget that she had a game to play. The reminder came in the form of one of her teammates appearing in the large opening that led to the field. Ri's voice traveled effortlessly and popped that bubble of tranquility surrounding you two.

"Ayo! I told you to check on your girl, not fuck her in the tunnel! We got a game to play, let's go!"

She received an annoyed eye roll and a curse in Xhosa from Shuri but only smiled and turned, bouncing back into the dugout. The interruption served its purpose for as soon as Ri was out of sight, Shuri was letting out a breath and picking up her glove, slipping it onto her hand. You couldn’t ignore the longing in her eyes or in your chest even if you wanted to, but she had a job to do. 

Her smile had the makings of someone who knew exactly what they were about to get themselves into but still carried that small bit of remaining anxiety, but it was easy to see that she was okay. She'd be okay; you knew it and now she did too.

"I'll see you in the stands."

She held out a hand and you immediately grabbed it, the both of you completing the little handshake you did before each game. It was another ritual stemming from when you had absentmindedly created it while playing with her fingers before a game, and she had insisted that your actions had given her that extra bout of good luck for that game. Now, before each game, she had to complete the handshake with you, otherwise, she'd feel a little lost on the field.

"And I'll see you on the field."

And just as every single one of your handshakes ended, she pulled you quickly to her, planting a kiss on your lips before squeezing your hand and letting go. There was a cheeky smile on her face as she grabbed her bag, slinging it over a shoulder before sending a wink your way.

"We've got a game to win."

********

"Folks, we're at the bottom of the 7th and last inning with The Panthers having 8 runs and The Bruins having 7. It's been a tense battle on the field today, both teams evenly matched in defense and runs."

The game had been tense but in the best way possible. The Panthers would never let The Bruins get too far ahead, and vice versa. While the home team could hit exceptionally well, The Panthers played defense as if their livelihoods depended on it. You had seen Riri go airborne to catch a ball, watching and wincing as she had fallen to the ground in a heap of limbs; she had caught the ball, though, and it had been an out. You’d had a front-row seat to her girlfriend letting out a string of curses, muttering ‘I’m not tryna go to the hospital while in California, she better chill out.’

 You had also seen Shuri run right into the padded wall separating the stands from the field trying to catch a ball. Of course, she had caught it, but you had also let a few curses slip after seeing her fall to the ground.

Being the girlfriend of an intense and serious softball player is kinda stressful.

"That's right, John, its been incredibly entertaining and a treat watching these two teams. The Panthers have come a long way from being the underdogs to now holding their own against the reigning champs of the tournament."

Even in a professional setting like a championship, there were still fans who had no trouble talking out of the side of their neck. If the ump called a play that ruled in favor of The Panthers, there were always groans and yells of anger that echoed across the field. At one point, a woman with horrible extensions had yelled at the ump for calling one of Shuri's pitches a strike. 'Stop giving them handouts' she had yelled, her voice shrill and laced with all kinds of malice.

It had taken a stern look from Nakia in the dugout and all of your willpower not to turn around and offer your own handouts of ass-whoopings to the lady. The last thing anyone had needed was you getting into a fight with a middle-aged white woman who had wanted to show her ass after seeing a successful, all-black softball team.

"You're right, Steve, and it all comes down to this. Shuri Udaku, number 15 of The Panthers is pitching to Layla Cavanaugh, number 22 of the California Bruins. Home team has two outs, and this pitch has 3 balls and two strikes. It's all falling on whether Udaku can get this last strike or whether her team can stop number 7 on third from scoring. If they get this last out, The Panthers are going home with the championship."

Your knee bounced nervously and your jaw had grown a little sore from stress-munching on a bag of pretzels by the bottom of the last inning. Shuri stood on the pitcher's mound surrounded by her teammates after calling an infield meeting. As they spoke, you could see Shuri's eyebrows furrow slightly, her eyes glancing about the field and taking note of which plays they could complete. Her teammates did the same before, their heads bowing together as they discussed the best course of action. You loved watching them converse on the field, as a team who communicated with each other was a team that won. It also helped to see their smiles as they hyped each other up whenever one needed hyping, and before long, they were bumping gloves with her and running back to their positions.

A tense silence had fallen over the stands, but the home team had no problem breaking it by yelling and hitting the fence in an effort to distract Shuri. It was obvious that she had noticed it, judging by her pursed lips and her narrowed eyes; but it was also obvious that she wouldn't let it bother her. They had gotten too far to be distracted by some yelling.

You found yourself nervously clutching the pretzel bag in your hands as she readied herself for the pitch. Her shoulders rose and fell once, a few seconds passed, and then she was stepping forward and wounding her arm for the pitch.

The ball left her glove at a speed that would result in one missing it should they blink.

The batter swung and missed…but the ball kept going past the back catcher's glove, hurtling into the fence. A series of things happened at once, and if you hadn't been to so many games and gradually learned the rules, you would've been lost as hell. But even with your knowledge of the sport, you still found yourself holding your breath as everything transpired.

The batter dropped her bat and began running to first base while the back catcher turned and lunged for the ball that had gotten past her. You heard multiple yells of 'she's running' before your gaze landed on the runner on third, now sprinting towards an unguarded home plate.

Between one blink and the next, Shuri went from being on the pitcher's mound to right at home plate…but so was the runner.

The catcher turned, throwing the ball to Shuri who then threw herself towards home plate, her eyes set on the runner nearing it. The ball landed in her glove and she turned quickly, touching it against the runner right before her foot landed on the home plate.

It was completely silent as the entire field waited for the ump's call, and you didn't know if you were breathing so quickly that you couldn't feel the breaths or if you had stopped breathing altogether. Your eyes quickly moved between Shuri and the ump, willing him to stop playing games and just call the play-

"Out!"

You heard the single word and saw his hand motion, but it didn't fully register how much weight it held until Shuri jumped up, her mouth instantly opening on a triumphant yell. Her teammates ran from the infield and outfield, gathering around her where she stood on the home plate, all of them embracing and cheering. That's when it registered in your mind.

The Panthers had just won the championship. They had just won the National Championship.

The scream that erupted from your mouth made your ears ring as you stood up, your arms pumping in the air in celebration. Riri's girlfriend, a wonderful woman named Imani, wrapped her arms around you, jumping up and down and yelling directly into your ear…but you didn't care. This was huge.

You didn't care about the few fans yelling at the ump to review his call, and you sure as hell didn't care about the ugly faces being thrown your way and toward the team from the opposing fans. The only thing you could see was a team of champions that had worked their asses off and that had reaped the rewards that came with it.

********

Turns out, the events that happen after a championship are very different from the events that follow just a regular game. And given that this championship was one at a national level, the difference was stark.

They had allowed the team members' friends and loved ones to join them on the field for the medal ceremony after the game, and having been given a lanyard with your pass dangling from it, that included you. The team had stood in a line along the first base line, smiles on every single one of their faces as their names had been called over the speaker along with their number and their position. You had cheered for each player, but as Shuri had stepped forward to receive her medal, you had nearly screamed yourself raw. Your volume had only increased when she had been given the game ball, the same ball she had used to get the last out and win the game.

As soon as the medal ceremony had concluded, she had ran towards you, opening her arms and effortlessly gathering you against her. You had learned a long time ago to ignore the sweat and orange dust sticking to her clothes after each game, so you had eagerly wrapped your arms around her, whispering your congratulations and how proud of her you were into her ear. There were a number of people gathering around her to congratulate her as well, but in that moment, she had only wanted to feel you in her arms. 

"T would be so proud of you, babe." At your words, she had only tightened her arms around you, burying her face into your neck. The possibility of the wetness against your neck being tears had been just as probable as it being sweat, but you hadn't called attention to it. Your words rang true, and she knew it. 

When she had finally pulled back, her smile as wide as ever, she had leaned forward and captured your lips with hers. She had tasted vaguely of salt and the mint gum she loved to chew during the game. You would have been perfectly content standing there in the middle of the field, kissing her silly and congratulating her in your own way, but she had been pulled away by none other than Riri who yelled an apology and said something about pictures. 

You had barely gotten a few minutes with Shuri before the entire team was being pulled away for a 'few photos'. 

That had taken almost an hour and a half.

After the photos, while on their way back to the locker room, a few of them had been pulled for interviews, and Shuri, having done the winning play, was among that group. 

That had taken another 30 minutes.

You had thought that after the interview the two of you would have had a little time to yourselves away from the photographers and the sports channel anchors, but alas, the next thing you knew, she was being asked to follow a representative from the softball's organization to answer questions about potentially joining another team. Even though both of you knew that she wouldn't leave The Panthers, it was still a proud moment to see other teams chasing after your girl. It had also been incredibly entertaining seeing Coah Okoye glare at the representative as they passed her. 

The last time you had seen her, she had been walking out of the locker room with her bag thrown over her shoulder and an apologetic smile on her face. While she had walked towards you, her team had walked the opposite way to where their bus sat. You had perked up, your smile transforming your face into an expression that made Shuri's smile grow. 

"Where y'all headed now? Damn, I can barely kiss my girl before they're pulling you away."

She had laughed, taking your words for what they obviously were, a moment of teasing. While you had wanted to see her for the past few hours, you had understood that they were now champions, and the title came with a lot of people wanting their attention for different reasons. Besides, the two of you had a suite where you could give all of your attention to her later. 

"I know, I'm sorry. That's actually why I was coming over here...to let you know that we've been invited to a luncheon with the president of the organization, and we're heading over there now. And then we have a conference that's closed to the public...and then we have more pictures to take-"

"So many damn pictures-"

"-I know right? And then we have that dinner later tonight for the whole team and their families." 

Out of all the plans she had relayed to you, you had only been aware of the very last one, the dinner. But judging by the look that had been on her face as she had told you, she had been in the same boat. There was no doubt that the entire team had just been told where they were going and what they were doing for the rest of the day, and they had no choice but to go along with it. 

That had meant that the guests who were with the team were to be left to their own devices until the dinner, and the thought had made you sigh. But the excitement for the team had still been evident on your face, even when Coach O had hollered for Shuri to 'move her ass'. 

"Well...then I guess I'll see you at dinner tonight...where more pictures will be taken."

She had rolled her eyes, pretending that the idea annoyed her, but the smile on her face had told you differently. There had been excitement in it with an abundance of pride, and you were sure that your face had echoed the same sentiments. 

That excitement had only grown throughout the day, even without Shuri by your side. In fact, it had only bounced off of you and Imani as the day carried on, the both of you deciding to spend the day together while your girlfriends received the props that they rightly deserved. It was fun, Imani being a person who made you laugh hard and whose personality constantly reminded you why she and Riri were the perfect match for each other. But as the two of you sat at a bar, having finally made it to where dinner would be held, you felt that longing for Shuri growing even while giggling about any and everything that came up. You suspected it was because of the environment around you…and the alcohol, of course. 

Dinner would be held at a restaurant called Blue Streak, and it was placed on the Santa Monica Pier. The restaurant itself was nice; minimalistic decor mixed in with that beachy vibe most restaurants on the beach would have. The walls were mostly made of glass so that you could see the ocean, and the bright neon lights from the pier's small amusement park streamed through the windows, making the inside seem more like a nightclub with food than an actual restaurant. The two of you had taken a peek inside once learning that the team would be there and it had only made the two of you more excited to try the food, but you couldn't do so until the team had arrived for their reservation. All it had taken was Imani pointing to the open bar on the outside of the restaurant for you two to find a way to pass the time, and that's where you two had stayed until Riri called her. 

"Hey, babe. Are you here yet?" 

"Yeah, we just pulled up. Where y'all at- damn, it's a shit ton of people here." The both of you snickered at Riri's words, and when Imani turned the phone to face the both of you, you could see her girlfriend's eyes panning back and forth on the other side of the screen. 

"We found a corner of this bar that's pretty empty. It's at the same restaurant we're having dinner at. Come around the side and you'll see us, Ri."

Instead of answering, Riri only pulled her phone closer, her forehead and eyes taking up the entire screen. Imani's eyebrows furrowed at her actions, a soft laugh leaving her mouth.

"Ri...babe...what are you doing? We know you got a big ass forehead, but you don't gotta show it-" 

A sharp laugh left your mouth, and at the same time, another familiar laugh came from the speakers. Riri's eyes widened, her mouth dropping as she looked from her girlfriend to the other person who had laughed from beside her. You didn't have to see her to know that it was Shuri who stood out of frame, her laugh being as familiar to your ears as your own name.

"And I was just about to tell Shuri how good the two of you looked, but nah... never mind. You get a drink in you and be talking all types of crazy." 

If anything, Riri's words only made the both of you laugh harder. Shuri's laughter also increased but quickly stopped once Riri quickly turned to her out of frame, raising an eyebrow. 

"The hell you laughing at Udaku?"

”Yo, don't start that with me. I'm a champion- you can't roast me tonight."

An exasperated scoff left Ri's mouth as she turned the camera so that Shuri was in the frame. The two of them looked at each other, both of them wearing grins that showed the playfulness that constantly existed between the two of them.

"Nigga, I'm a champion too, you're not special."

Before Shuri could respond, Imani spoke up, interrupting a conversation that surely would have become more comical. It was a normal one between the two women- one that you and Imani had both gotten used to breaking up at certain times. 

"Aht, aht. Don't y'all start. We're hungry and the alcohol can only do so much, so hurry up and get here."

"We're already here." Instead of Ri's voice coming from the speakers, it came from behind the two of you, prompting you to turn around. You sent a smile Ri's way before turning your gaze to your own girlfriend and the sight of her made you pause.

You had seen her in a few professional settings where she had worn formal clothing...but it was something about her appearance tonight that made your heart skip a beat. 

It wasn't just the short-sleeved, black shirt that hugged her torso and her arms, effortlessly showcasing how toned she was from years of sports. It wasn't just the gray slacks that adorned her legs, loose but still fitting her perfectly and secured with a black and gold belt. It wasn't even her gold accessories consisting of a number of rings on her fingers and a single, simple necklace around her neck. Despite how utterly hot her ensemble was, it wasn't what made you pause, your eyes roaming over her entire being. 

It was the confidence and professionalism that she exuded as she stopped in front of you. She had always carried an air of confidence in herself, but tonight it was amplified, for obvious reasons. 

You had no quarrels with it; it looked good on her. The self-satisfied smirk on her face, the way her shoulders were held back, her chest puffing out just enough to tell you that she knew her own worth, and the way she tilted her head as she, too, looked you over. Her eyes trailed slowly over your being, resting shortly on each aspect of your outfit. 

Her eyebrows rose slightly at the black, silk shirt adorning your top half. You left it open, opting to tie the two sides of the shirt into a knot that rested right in the middle of your torso. The look in her eyes had darkened slightly at the sight of your exposed skin, the pier's neon lights smoothly reflecting off of your skin and making it seem more vibrant. The smirk on her face only grew as her eyes trailed down to the straight-legged jeans covering your legs before raising once more to meet yours. 

You were suddenly longing for the two of you to leave and head back to the hotel, but the day wasn't over just yet. You'd just have to wait and pinch yourself whenever your thoughts started wandering...which they continued to do as Shuri stepped forward, wrapping an arm around your waist and bending down to brush a kiss against your forehead. You took a breath in an attempt to get your thoughts back on track, remembering that there were two other people with you and an entire crowd around you, only to get a strong whiff of her cologne; you had to bite your tongue to stop the small noise of content from leaving you.

She smelled mostly of lavender and something huskier, but there were hints of manuka oil in the air that she stirred around you. She had taken her cornrows out, her curls now washed and moisturized for everyone to see. They shined in the neon lights, showing just how healthy her hair was and completing her outfit seamlessly. 

"How was lunch and the conference?"

She shrugged lightly, nudging your legs apart so she could stand between them. Her hands lowered, resting on your thighs that dangled from the barstool. It sent a jolt through your body, your eyes narrowing in warning at the knowing smile on her face that had slowly started to form.

"Lunch was okay. The food was pretty good. The conference? Well..." She grimaced slightly, her eyes flickering over to Riri who had stepped behind Imani, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend's waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. 

At the mention of the conference, her eyes narrowed and her body straightened. The twist of her mouth made it obvious that she was about to say something, and there was a good chance that it would be out of pocket. 

Better here than at the conference, right?

"Some people don't need to be reporters or journalists, because some of the questions they were giving us were borderline disrespectful and just straight dumb."

Irritation laced Riri's words, and it also showed up in the way she rolled her eyes, drawing a laugh from Imani's mouth. Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked back to Shuri, your hands resting on top of hers. 

"You would think that they'd know how to act when interviewing the winning team, but they didn't. There was this one woman who actually asked Aneka -"

"Baby, I think the team is ready. But you can tell us all about it at the table." 

Imani's words were soft and reassuring while her gaze was teasing as she looked at you and Shuri. All three of you knew Riri well enough to know that when she got going, it took a while for her to stop. You all had a better chance of getting to the table and having her become distracted than sitting and letting her rant pick up steam at the bar, and you suspected that that knowledge was what prompted Imani to stand and take Riri's hand in hers. She slid off of the stool, alerting the bartender of her continued tab before pulling Riri behind her as she walked towards the main entrance of the restaurant. You heard only a small portion of their conversation as you gathered your things, and it made you laugh, your head shaking at the two of them and how they bickered.  

"Come on, I wanna get a good seat by the window."

"The entire restaurant is one giant window, babe, that won't be hard-"

"But the entire restaurant isn't facing the ocean, now is it?"

"Well...it kind of is-"

Their voices joined the countless others on the pier as they walked further away. There was still an amused smile on your face as you turned to Shuri, watching as she stepped back and made room for you to slide off of the stool. The smile turned to a grimace as you lightly questioned her. 

"Was the conference really that bad?"

Instead of answering, she simply sighed and shook her head, stepping to the side to approach the bar. You watched, slightly worried, as she proceeded to take a bill from her wallet and place it on the bar, turning to you afterward and offering a hand. 

"It was...interesting."

It was both easy and difficult to think about their conference not going well. Easy because experiencing hostility in the sports world was not new for The Panthers, and only someone without common sense would think that it would be magically fixed when they won the championship; if anything, you'd guess that the hostility and criticism would only increase from now. Yet, it was difficult imagining them being questioned unfairly and about the most trivial things when they should've been commended on their work ethic, their skill, and how well they worked together as a team.

You were upset for them, and you didn't know if you looked forward to watching the conference when it was finally released...but you admittedly wanted to know what had gone wrong. But it only took you looking into her eyes to realize that maybe now wasn't the right time. Now was the time for celebration with her teammates for a game that they had worked their asses off to get to. 

"Nevermind, let's just enjoy dinner. Apparently, they have this hot-smoked salmon that's popular as hell, and I can't wait to try it- wait, where we goin'?"

Shuri wordlessly led you in the opposite direction of the restaurant, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion and a questioning noise fall from your lips. Your eyes roamed across the crowd, looking for any indication as to what her plans were, but upon finding nothing, you squeezed her hand.

"Shuri, not only is Coach O going to get on your ass, but she's also going to get my ass if you miss dinner. I don't know why she always thinks I'm the bad influence."

The sound of her laughter reached your ears, even over all of the noises of the pier. It did become clearer once she pulled you into the little photo booth she had originally been heading to, quickly pulling you into her lap before making the two of you comfortable and closing the curtain. It was a relief that the booth didn't smell and that it was clean, but you barely paid attention to the state of it; you couldn't- not when her lips were immediately on yours, drawing the air from your lungs while breathing life and a familiar pleasure into your body as a whole. 

Her hand raised, cupping the back of your neck to pull you closer in the small space of the booth, her other hand landing on your waist to keep you seated. The surprised sound that left your mouth was immediately swallowed by her, quickly being replaced by a sigh of contentment.

The amount of time you two sat there, hiding in a photobooth and kissing was unknown; you just knew that when you two pulled away, you could positively say that you were dizzy.

"Oh- what was that for?"

Shifting her hand slightly allowed her to gently rub her thumb across your cheek, her eyes bright with adoration and the faintest hint of mischief. Her voice was slightly lower than normal as she spoke, and the sound of it speared straight through you. 

"I just missed you. I haven't seen my usana all day, and I just wanted some alone time."

It was endearing, her pulling you into a photo booth and making out with you as if you two were high schoolers. It was also obvious that she needed this. She was good at hiding when she was overwhelmed from her teammates, but not from you. Not to mention that the last time you had seen her, she had sported those strained lines of tiredness around her eyes. 

Now? Now she looked up at you with nothing but love and excitement that set your heart racing. 

"Ah, got it. Here I thought you actually wanted to take a picture with me." You didn't let her answer before leaning forward, placing a kiss against the underside of her jaw and smiling as her hands lightly squeezed your waist in warning. 

"Well, we can still take a picture. But then I was thinking..." You sat back, your eyes meeting hers as her words trailed off. There was the slightest bit of trepidation in her voice as she continued, her hands gently fidgeting with the silk material covering your body.

"Maybe we can get something else and head back to the hotel to just chill for the night? Today was a lot, and, and I'm sorry, but I haven't really had time to just... decompress and breathe without a mic or camera in my face."

As she spoke, the confidence and self-assuredness melted away a bit, revealing the fatigued and slightly overstimulated Shuri beneath. Eyebrows furrowing in worry, you cupped her face gently, running your thumbs across her cheeks. You made sure to meet her eyes when you spoke, wanting her to see and hear just genuine you were with your words. 

"Shuri, there is nothing to say sorry about. Of course, we can get something and take it to the hotel- if that's what you want, then we'll do it. You may be a champion, but you're still human. You gotta take care of yourself, first. I'm sure Coach O will understand."

And if she didn't, then you'd gladly talk to her...from the other side of the pier...preferably on the phone. The lady was kind of scary, you could admit that, but you’d do whatever you had to in order to keep Shuri from being chastised for simply taking care of herself.

If possible, the intense look in her eyes deepened as they gazed at you, the corners of her mouth lifting into a blinding smile. This time, when your heart skipped slightly, it was at the fact that you were the one person who could make her smile as brightly. The fact made you giddy, to be completely honest, and that giddiness was apparent in your actions as you quickly reached into your bag. 

In the span of a few seconds, you had taken out your card and swiped it. The booth's main menu was prompted, and you quickly picked the standard option, turning slightly to face the camera in front of the booth. The screen displayed the exact picture that would be taken, and a quick glance at it showed that Shuri's eyes were still on you. There was a swarm of butterflies that had been released in your stomach as you smiled, leaning back against her chest and looking into the camera.

"You gotta look in the camera, Shuri."

She reluctantly tore her eyes away from you, turning to face the camera and offering a crooked smile while her hands lowered to land against your thighs. The first picture was taken with a bright flash and a countdown that started immediately after. 

You could only think to turn your head with the intention of planting a kiss on her cheek for the next picture; however, as soon as you turned your head, your lips were coming into contact with hers and not her cheek. Your laughter and hers mingled slightly as the camera went off once again, capturing the moment at the perfect time before starting the countdown once more. 

This time, you gently grabbed her chin, turning her face to the front where the camera was and taking the chance to place your lips against her cheek, your lips still curled into a smile. Your eyes were shut, but if they had been open, you would've seen the way her smile had grown at your actions. The flash went off before restarting the countdown again. 

She managed to turn her face towards you, her eyes flickering down to your lips which were only a few inches from hers. You placed an arm around her shoulders, using your hand to lightly pick out the curls she had. Her eyes were half-lidded while her hands ran smoothly up and down your jean-clad legs, and it made your breath hitch slightly. The camera flashed once more before starting the countdown. 

"So what did you want to eat for dinner?" You asked, willing your voice to stay steady and not betray your inner thoughts. You were in public, for heaven's sake; you could wait until you got back to the hotel. It made it harder to do exactly that, though, when she was hellbent on touching every part of you that was socially acceptable in the type of environment you were in. 

That plan flew out the window as she leaned forward, kissing your bottom lip and gradually making her way down to the corner of your jaw. It was hard to mask your gasp as a soft laugh, but you managed to do it. The gasp only came back, slightly louder as her fingertips grazed just under the knot of your shirt, ghosting against the valley of your breasts. You took a breath, leaning more into her. 

"Shuri, we gotta figure out what we're eating-"

"Do you know how good you look tonight? And the fact that you dressed up for me..."

The temptation to tease her and tell her that you hadn't dressed up for her was right there on the tip of your tongue...but who were you kidding? You had absolutely dressed up for her, knowing that it was a special night and wanting to look good for her. Never mind the fact that she had told you multiple times that you could wear a literal garbage bag and she'd still be just in love with you, but tonight was a night for her and her teammates. It was a night for her. 

"You know I had to. Tonight's all about you. At least for the rest of the night it is."

"Good, because I think I finally know what I want for dinner."

"What's that?"

You tilted forward slightly, resting your forehead against hers and humming in question. Her hands continued rubbing against your thighs until they suddenly stopped and squeezed, making your lips part slightly as you jumped. She took the opportunity to fit her lips against yours, instantly sliding her tongue between your lips without any hesitation. 

It finally clicked in your mind what she wanted for dinner right as the last camera flash went off.

********

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed this! We should be getting back to our regularly scheduled program with “Next To Me” by next week, as I’ll be done with finals then! But I hope this can hold y’all over until then! <33

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If your username has a line through it, that means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you for some reason!

Just a reminder that if you’d like to be tagged on other Shuri x reader works, pls fill out the form at the top of the page; I don’t want to subject someone to constant tagging when they only want Next to Me or vice versa! :)

Stay safe, y’all! <3

[jamminvroomvroom]

unfinished business. part 2

GR x fem!reader

find the other parts on my ✨masterlist✨

george russell has me in a chokehold. that’s it’s. that’s the premise of this. enjoy lmao <333 yk i couldn’t leave my boy suffering like that in part 1. thank u merc admin, my beloved, for the immaculate timing of that pic i am literally unwell.

in which george gets his revenge and you get what you’ve been waiting for.

warnings: 18+!! it’s just smut. there is SOME plot but it’s smut fr. so much smut. pls take care when engaging with the sexiness of GR. language, the teeniest eeniest hints of fluff?? sure??

4.3k words

avoiding george had become a sport for you, a game of cat and mouse.

you had spent the better part of the weekend in baku giving him fuck me eyes from across the media pen, mentally undressing him with your lip caught between your teeth. of course, you never let him get close enough to do anything about it, turning on your heel anytime he came within ten feet of you. you didn’t think that your producer was particularly happy that you seemed to be ignoring the mercedes driver, but you managed to convince them that one weekend wouldn’t hurt, indulging a bit more with drivers you didn’t usually speak to.

george didn’t like that.

you’d been laughing away with pierre after sunday’s race, congratulating him on his best finish of the season, when you’d noticed a very tense george russell making his way towards you, bypassing a long line of journalists that were itching to speak to him after his third place finish. he stood awkwardly, lingering behind pierre. he had countless other places to be, people to speak to, but he would not move, not even swayed to speak to another outlet by his press officer. it’s not exactly like you could get away now, you just couldn’t let him gain the upper hand.

just as you were finishing up with pierre, you heard the brit behind him clear his throat and you rolled your eyes, not missing the way pierre smirked, obviously feeling the rise in tension. you thanked him for his time, suddenly eager to get to george. the very least you owed him was a quick chat. you plastered on a smirk, one that only he would know the meaning behind, and got to work.

“so, george, lovely to see you. you’ve been hiding from us this weekend!” you were far too over enthusiastic, and also blatantly lying. he’d tried his hardest to speak to you all weekend.

“have i? i think you’ve been too busy for me.” he leaned in against the barrier, doing that thing where he’d bring himself down to your level. you wondered how low you could get him to sink, preferably onto his knees.

“oh, george, i’m never too busy for you.” you upped the ante, unabashedly flirting with him now, no matter how playful your tone was. “back on the podium this weekend, maybe you are making a habit of it after all?”

“after all of that motivation you gave me in monaco, it was bound to happen.” so that’s how he wanted to play it. he quirked his eyebrow, as if to say game on.

“well, you’re very welcome. are you going to get another one for me in canada next weekend?” yeah, you were definitely getting called into someone important’s office once the weekend was over.

“i think that depends.”

“on what?”

“how i… prepare myself, maybe you and i can discuss all the ways i unwind.” he smirked. you narrowed your eyes.

“and what of the rumours about a wet race next weekend? does that make any difference to the way you plan on… preparing?” you tried to move on, not liking how flustered he’d gotten you with just a few words. george just shrugged at you.

“you know how good i can be in the wet.”

you watched the bastard lick his lips, the most arrogant smirk on his face, and you made the decision that the rest of this conversation should not happen on camera. or in front of people, at all. unless they were paying for it.

“good to see you, george. congratulations on another podium.” you said through gritted teeth, thighs squeezing together beneath your sundress.

fuck george russell, you thought, as he breezed his way to the next reporter, watching you subtly from the corner of his eye. that was the problem, all you could think about was fucking george russell. as much as it had satisfied you, leaving him on the yacht to handle the problem that you created, you’d desperately craved more of him since you’d stepped off of the boat.

you thought about the way he must have ached after you’d left him, rushing back to his hotel room to take care of himself. you’d done something similar. you thought about him every time you were alone, every single night since, when you let your hands wander your body to the thought of the way he looked with his head thrown back. you knew that it had to happen again, you knew that you had unfinished business. you needed more and you had a feeling that he did too.

you didn’t have to wait too long for him to get you alone.

-

you’d been walking through the paddock, finally done with your interviews and ready to go back to the hotel when you caught sight of him. a tilt of his head told you everything you needed to know, and you were blindly following him into the mercedes hospitality suite, somewhere you definitely shouldn’t have been. luckily the paddock was emptying out, and you were somewhat shielded by his tall frame and the fact that he was george russell; no one cared who you were.

as soon as he’d lead you into a dark enough corner, he had you up against the wall, hand wrapped around your throat.

“so nice of you to join me.” he said lowly, face only centimetres from yours.

“it seemed wrong to keep you waiting even longer.” you bit back as best you could with his fingers tightening around your neck. his knee slotted between your legs which you happily spread.

“have you enjoyed playing your little game, my love? enjoyed teasing me?” he ground his knee against your clothed cunt, your hips rolling to meet his movements.

“mhmm…” you trailed off, eyes fixed on his blue ones.

“words, sweetheart.” again, his fingers squeezed harder at your neck.

“i need this.” you groaned.

“this?” he scoffed. “think what you mean,” he pressed his forehead against yours. “is that you need me.”

he kissed you, full lips battling fiercely with yours. his body was pressed completely against yours now, hand dropping from your throat to run over your body. he grabbed your waist, tugging you into a room behind him, which you quickly realised was his drivers room.

“get on the table.” he gestured to the massage table in the corner of the room and you quickly obliged, spreading your legs. your dress fanned out across your thighs, riding up over your skin, and you watched with hooded eyes as his darkened ones trailed up your exposed legs.

“why don’t you show me what you did when you got back to your hotel room that night?” he murmured, stalking towards you. “bet you regretted it, leaving me there like that, having to take care of yourself.”

“i think i did a pretty good job by myself.” you retorted, dragging your hand up your thigh, your dress coming up with it.

“still pretending? come on, love, i think we’re past that now.” his eyes were fixed on your panties, now on display for him.

“don’t think that i’m the one pretending,” you slipped your fingers into your panties, “you’re a bit too demanding for a guy who’s desperate for me.” you teased, smirking at him. your fingers circled your clit, hips bucking up to meet your hand.

he closed the gap, standing over you now, making you lean back on the table as he hovered over you.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asked, as condescending as ever. as much as it pained you to admit it, you did, nodding frantically. he slipped two fingers into your mouth. “then be quiet and show me what you do when you think about me.”

you sucked on his fingers eagerly as you sped up your own fingers, dipping them into your wetness and bringing it up to your clit. you moved faster, drunk on the way he was looking intently between your face and your underwear, which were undoubtedly soaked through. as you edged closer and closer to your end, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, pulling your hand from your panties, which were swiftly torn off of your body.

“want my fingers? seemed to enjoy them last time.” he muttered, going in for another kiss, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip.

“yeah.” you gasped, panting as you pulled away from his lips.

“yeah?” he sneered, mocking you deliciously.

“please, george. please.” you whined, eyes wide, head thrown back. that seemed to do the trick.

he didn’t even waste any time teasing you, long fingers pinching your clit before they thrusted inside you, your pussy already wet enough for him to go straight in. you moaned pathetically, hips bucking wildly as you rode his fingers. your hand reached up blindly to cup his face, overcome with the need to ground yourself. he shivered under your touch, something animalistic snapping inside of you at the sight.

“want a taste?” you whispered seductively, bringing your other hand up to his lips. he groaned, opening up his mouth for your soaked fingers. he kept his eyes on yours the whole time, moaning around your digits as he felt you tighten around his.

you were teetering dangerously close to the edge, spurred on by the lustful way he was staring at you so intensely. your legs were shaking, skin flushed pink, panties in a tattered pile of the floor, and all you could see was blue eyes. mischievous blue eyes.

when he pulled his fingers out of you, with no warning whatsoever, you had hoped, prayed even, that you had fallen into some kind of sex crazed hallucination. but as you watched him back away, readjusting the bulge in his trousers and the fingers he’d been so delectably fucking you with just moments before being licked clean, you came to the shattering realisation that it was real.

george russell had one upped you in the most torturous way: by giving you a taste of your own medicine.

“i have a meeting to go to, darling. you can find your own way out, can’t you?” he asked so casually that you wouldn’t have believed that he’d almost made you cum, just seconds ago. the only thing that gave anything away was the evil, evil smirk on his face. you just sat there dumbfounded, trying to catch your breath in disbelief. he snickered. you felt rage blossom across your chest, replacing the heat that he’d left across your skin.

“you fucking prick.” your voice was hoarse, reminding him perfectly of the way he’d just had you writhing beneath him.

“see you in canada.” he winked, and then he was gone.

-

you arrived in canada with a vengeance about you, strutting into the paddock out for blood.

perhaps this was all your own doing, the frustration you felt. in fact, it absolutely was, but you were an ambitious woman, used to getting what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. last weekend, you’d ignored him, but this weekend, you would be so unbearable that he’d just have to fuck you, teach you a lesson or whatever. you would take anything at this point, and you’d do whatever you needed to get it.

however, as the weekend progressed, you realised that he’d taken the games you played in the paddock into his own hands. you’d barely seen him, only catching flashes of him as he smiled deviously at you and ran away. you were getting a bit sick of him, to be honest, and if you weren’t so pathetically horny, you would never have chased a man like you were chasing george. you hardly even liked him, but you knew his endgame and he knew yours, and hopefully, it would include a bed.

the race came and went, a chaotic strategic mess that proved to be highly entertaining. you ignored the little celebratory butterflies you felt when george had finished the race in p4, and quickly did your media rounds in the pen. when the end of the scheduled press was nearing, and you still hadn’t seen him, you took matters into your own hands. you began to wander the paddock, followed by your camera crew as you rounded up the weekend, eyes peeled for the driver that had been on your mind nonstop for a week.

when you caught sight of him, slyly attempting to leave the merc suite without drawing your predatory attention, you sprang into action, not ready to let him get away that easily.

“george, a quick word? give the people what they want?” you tilted your head to the side persuasively, widening your eyes just the way he liked. translation: give me what i want.

“anything for you.” he replied, tone light and jokey as he fell into step beside you. your stomach twisted. you would let him do anything to you.

“not quite the podium you promised me last weekend, but a good weekend nonetheless?” you smiled coyly, trying to keep your cool, at least while you had a camera crew following you.

“guess i’ll just have to make it up to you,” he turned to look at you as he spoke, your eyes not missing the way his darkened. “we had a good weekend, couple of small errors but good progress overall, especially with lewis.” he carried on as normal, as if he wasn’t flirting with you in 4k. you were definitely going to be hearing from your bosses.

“how did it feel yesterday when you put the slicks on? do you think that compromised your session or were you looking at that kind of grid position anyway?” you asked the questions you were hired to ask, wondering how he’d undoubtedly steer the conversation back to the inappropriate territory that you’d led the pair of you into.

“it felt very wet, slippery. i enjoyed it a lot more than you might realise.” he grinned and you felt yourself throb. “sometimes the position that you’re in doesn’t matter, it can still feel good… to race from.” he cleared his throat, trying to hold back laughter at your agape mouth and glazed over eyes. “sometimes taking a gamble pays off.” he raked his eyes over your body and you felt a blush spreading across your face, leaving you pink and dazed.

“thank you for your time, george, good luck at silverstone.” you said quickly, a tight smile painted on your face, desperate to wrap things up so that you could find out what his mattress felt like beneath you. you knew that by now, you were both too far gone, pushed too far and desperate for more.

you wrapped up your segment, closing the show and ending your broadcast, enduring a quick debriefing with your team before you were released and sent on your way. your flight wasn’t until tomorrow evening, so you had plenty of time to kill and you knew exactly how you were going to spend it. when you arrived back at the hotel, you didn’t even go back to your own room, making a beeline straight for his on one of the top floors. you knocked furiously on his door, relentlessly tapping away at the wood until the door swung open and you were being dragged inside.

his lips were on yours before the door had even clicked shut, teeth clashing and tongues battling. his hands were everywhere, your hips, your waist, your ass, pulling you impossibly closer.

“you better fuck me, george. need it so bad.” you muttered, lips brushing against his as your hands pulled at his t shirt.

“always knew that you’d be like this, such a needy slut for me.” he replied. you moaned at his words.

“i just want to see if you can actually make me cum.” you whispered. he froze. you’d hit a nerve and it filled you with excitement.

“oh, darling, i know what you’re trying to do.” one hand grabbed harder at your ass, pulling you tightly against him, while the other gripped your jaw between his fingers. “i made you cum so hard on that yacht you couldn’t even stand without my hands all over you.” he peppered some kisses up the other side of your jaw between words.

“couldn’t do it in baku, though.” you breathed.

“didn’t want to. you didn’t deserve it.” your pussy was definitely soaked by now.

“of course you’d say that.” you scoffed.

something within him snapped and your tight dress was removed in a flash, thrown dramatically into a heap on the floor.

“take your underwear off.” he demanded, his hands completely leaving your body. you just stood there for a second, trying to catch your breath, whilst also trying to anticipate his next move. “now.” you quickly did as you were told, body tingling at the way his voice dropped. you were left standing completely naked, panties strewn carelessly, your bra thrown calculatedly at his head. you should have felt shy, maybe even a little bit embarrassed, but that was impossible, the hungry look in his eyes making you feel more powerful than you ever had.

“get on the bed.” he commanded, your body quickly moving of its own accord. “spread your legs, sweetheart. wanna see how wet you are for me.”

you quickly obliged, arranging yourself how he wanted, body aching for his touch. he gazed between your legs unabashedly, watching the way you squirmed on the mattress with sheer need.

“george, do something.” you demanded, trying to usher him along. he sighed, making his way onto the bed until he was slotted perfectly between your thighs.

you reached out a hand to thread it through his hair, only to be caught off guard when he swatted it away, slapping your outer thigh. you gasped, not expecting the jolt, which had definitely gotten you even wetter.

“don’t know what gave you the idea that you were in charge, my love.” his fingers massaged your thighs, working inwards until he was spreading you apart for him. “why can’t you ever just behave for me, hmm?”

“wanna be good for you, george.” you whimpered at the feeling of his fingertips skimming your folds, body relaxing into the mattress as the sounds of your wetness filled your ears.

“but you’re so bad for me, darling. so,” he ran his tongue over your cunt, “so,” he repeated the action with his tongue, kitten licking at your clit this time. “bad.” and with that final word, he buried his face in your pussy, tongue moving rapidly through your wetness. he moaned into you, sending your eyes rolling backwards in your head. his tongue worked through your folds over and over, special attention paid to your throbbing clit, which he sucked into his mouth.

you could feel your orgasm beginning to build, doubting whether or not he’d actually give it to you. his actions got sloppier, messier, the brit pulling back briefly to spit on your cunt, before nibbling at your clit with his teeth. you were getting louder and louder, moans tumbling uncontrollably from your swollen lips. finally, he allowed your fingers to thread through his hair, your grip firm, keeping him close.

“george,” you whined. “i’m gonna- i need to cum, fuck.” you cried out. somehow, his mouth sped up, but only for a second. he pulled away, barely any centimetres between his lips and your centre.

“say please.” he looked like the devil, grinning at you from between your legs. his mouth was covered in you, hair a mess, he was so pretty.

“fuck you.” you could feel tears building in your eyes as his breath fanned over your heat, your thighs trying to close but his grip on you didn’t allow them to.

“i know that’s what you want,” he winked, “and we will get to that, my love, but first, you need to say please.” he kitten licked at your clit a couple of times, before pulling himself away again. you shuddered at the sensation, but still, you held out. he sighed. “i’ve got nowhere to be, i’ll happily spend the rest of the night edging you.” his lips moved to the crease of your inner thigh, running the tip of his tongue across the sensitive skin. “i know you want me, darling. i know how desperate you are. so just,” he placed a kiss on your thigh. “say,” his tongue swirled over the skin. “please.” his lips closed and he sucked hard, marking you up for him, where only he would see.

“please, please, please.” you chanted. there was no use toying with him anymore, not when you were the only one suffering. he might have ached for you too, but he was enjoying this enough not to care. “george, please make me cum. please.”

he stood from the bed and you almost burst into tears, until you took notice of his belt buckle clinking as he quickly removed it. his trousers were gone only seconds later, and he was left in his boxers, a wet patch painfully noticeable. your hips bucked into nothing at their own accord.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’m gonna give you everything you want.” his boxers dropped to the floor and he was on top of you, barely giving you the chance to salivate over how ready he was for you. he was so hard, dripping and pink, all for you. you reached down between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock. a couple of pumps and he was hissing, slapping your hand away. he lined himself up with your entrance, head of his cock slapping against your clit a couple of times. you were so fucked out, so needy for him, arching your back to try and get him inside of you.

when he finally sunk in, your entire body went slack, eyes fluttering shut as a loud moan tore from the back of your throat. you’d been waiting for this for over a year, and god, was it worth it. he felt perfect, the weight of him resting hotly; you could feel him everywhere. he’d moved slowly at first, eyes trailing over your face, carefully searching for a tell as to how you were feeling. he quickly deduced that you felt good, the way your eyebrows creased, mouth slightly agape, the corners of your lips slightly upturned. he sped up, hips hitting yours. his thrusts were hard, hitting places deep inside of you that had never been touched. you were boneless beneath him, aside from your arms wrapped around his back, your nails digging urgently into his pale skin.

“you’re so good.” he mumbled, dipping down to kiss you. it was messy and untameable, passion flowing like champagne. he never slowed down, as desperate to fuck you as you were to be fucked.

everything tightened, your stomach, the grip on his back, your eyes. the pressure was building so quickly that you barely had any time to react to his fingers pressed to your clit, rapid circles being traced into the nerves. you thrashed helplessly, held down by his warm body thrusting restlessly into you, and you were cumming, pussy clenching around him as you unravelled. your moans were met with his own, but he wasn’t done quite yet. he kept going, fucking you further and harder into the mattress.

“george, i can’t,” you cried. “too much, too good.” you slurred your words, your orgasm leaving you fuzzy.

“too good?” he laughed. “i think you’ve got another one for me.” he pulled out of you, quickly flipping you onto your stomach. he arranged you just as he wanted, pushing one of your knees up the mattress until you were spread out and ready. he lined himself up once again, his warm skin pressed firmly against your back making your head spin. “you can tell me to stop.” he whispered into your ear, pulling the hair away from your face. he kissed your jaw, awaiting your response, giving your hip a squeeze. you were melting.

“more. please give me more.” your voice was as quiet as his, and you saw him nod from the corner of your eye, a sweet kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

he was inside you again in an instant, the delicateness of the moment fading away as he rammed himself into you. with his body covering yours, he was so incredibly deep inside of you that you felt every single twitch, pulse, drag of him, and it made you shake. you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

you ground your ass back to meet his thrusts, chasing your second orgasm, and he got the message, speeding up slightly. his lips moved over your neck, your shoulder blades, anywhere he could reach, leaving soft kisses and harsh bites that reminded you that you’d started this. you could feel him faltering, his rhythm changing, thrusts shallower. you were so close to another orgasm and the change in pace sent you over the edge, quickly spiralling. you clamped down on his cock and he was ruined, burying himself inside of you one last time as he came.

you were both exhausted, one messy, intertwined heap on his mattress. he chuckled breathlessly, and you could have sworn you heard him mutter a finally under his breath. as you both recovered, he slowly pulled out of you, flopping beside you on the mattress, brushing your hair off of your cheek again.

“so was it worth it?” he asked cockily, sitting himself up against the headboard, hands folded behind his head. you glared up at him playfully, still laying on your front, trying to keep your smile at bay.

“was alright.” you half shrugged, rolling your eyes. “not like you need me to over-inflate that ego of yours.” you teased. he laughed again, a joyful sound as you relaxed.

“are you gonna keep giving me a hard time in the press?” he asked, keeping up his banter, that you gladly returned, enjoying this lighter side of your relationship. there were no stakes right now, no cameras, no cruel jabs. it was easy.

“if you’re gonna fuck me like that, i think i’ll keep it up.”

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppetangelika @wmaximoffz @starlightoctavia @japanesekel @stardustinggold @vinvantae @chaoticallypan @ashleyo1611 @ggaslyp1 @poofy-baby-unicorns @dr3lover @smiithys  @turningxstrange @lees0015 @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @1missglum1 @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @shinydragondelusion @alexk2002 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @f-1-fan @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @f1thirsttraps @canyouseethesainz

i am once again reminding you that my taglist is a big ol mess!! happy to add you or remove, all you gotta do is ask ;)

[cowyolks]

ok but what if tf141 x reader

---

like reader simply being paid for stress relief/sex

doesn't have to be sex all the time more like a fwb type thing

like they use reader as an outlet when they need it

like they made a 'contract' of sorts for this and heavily stated that there's no feelings attached

you're only there as an outlet for emotions whenever and wherever

it's what they're paying you for

but when you have quiet and intimate moments of just talking there's just such a calmness you bring to them and they just don't want to let you go

eventually someone catches feelings (probs soap or gaz)

and they just disregard the contract all together and just live with you how ever they can

and eventually you just become an unofficial part of the group

you're still the primary source of stress relief don't forget that

but this time you can show and share the love

okay let me shut up now lmao

Oh word? I’m eating this up

Also too lazy to proof read. Minors DNI

Simon was the designated lightening strike of your service. He came to you only late at night, never one to talk much. He’d take care of business, releasing any built up adrenaline and transferring it to you instead. He’d turn you on your stomach, best not to catch any feelings to just someone he pays for. It’s better not to see your face as he plows his cock inside you. But there are times, after he’s spent all of his energy into you, that he’d lay in bed for a few minutes longer than necessary, listening to you ramble about your day as if you weren’t just begging his name. He knew you were nothing more than a paid release, but he couldn’t help the soft smile against his mask at your useless spiels.

Soap’s one for being playful, as if he was actually your long time partner. He’d full on joke with you as he’s burrowing deep into you, making funny faces just as way to hear a laugh instead of screams from the wounded. Soap’s a big ball of energy, so it’s no surprise as to why he paid you to take his cock for a couple short hours during the week. Unlike Simon, he has an established relationship with you. After he’s finished blowing off steam, you’ll go back to witty banter and laughter as if you were lifetime friends, almost always a cheesy movie would be played afterwards, and you’d be found bunched into his side.

Gaz picks up on his two teammates use of you rather quickly (and unfortunately since the base has such thin walls). He wasn’t one to offer himself often, but when he did it was more towards comfort. He’d seek you out often after nightmares or days he feels self conscious of his capabilities. Sometimes it’s as simple as asking you to stay and read a book with him, or have a drink of whiskey and talk. Other times he’s satisfied with you above him, warming his cock and telling him praises until the tips of his ears are red in appreciation. He’s never one to deny his cock being ridden, and he’s never shy to give his thanks afterwards in the form of pleasing you.

Believe it or not, it’s the captain that falls for you. Not in the way you’d think. He admired your closeness with all of his teammates, how you fit in the huddle of 141 like a glove. He was a simple man, at first he’d offer you a drink, or a puff of one of his precious Cuban cigars (something he did for no one). He was shy, completely different than his commanding demeanor during work. It drew you to him, like a bee to pollen. He was one for passionate affairs, always kissing you breathless and putting you first before his own needs. To someone else it would seem you was paying him. He never confessed his feelings, and he didn’t have to. You knew, and you stayed, always looking forward to the next time you’d see him.

[fashion-runways]

Do you ever post things that you think are tacky, or do you try to only publish pieces and work that you admire? Like are you publishing just fashion that you like or trying to stay up to date on the fashion world, regardless of your feelings and taste? Thanks for running this even while you're going through a hard time right now 💜

kind of but not in a bad way? like there are a lot of collections that are tacky but fun or interesting, so ugly that it becomes interesting and weird and pretty. so, you know, yes but also not really. i post stuff that i like and stuff that i think my followers will like, i try to post variety so it's not all the same pretty princess dresses stuff and everyone can see something new or interesting or use stuff for their different characters not just the hyperfem red carpet gala looking ones, since i know a lot of people use this blog for art or writing references, but i'll never post something that i genuinely don't like or don't find cool. like if there's an ugly collection or a boring ass collection i'm not going to post it, even if i think some people might like it. i mean idk maybe im too full of myself because i genuinely think that if i think something is ugly or boring then everyone following me will too lmaoo but you know! there's a lot of stuff i post that i think looks cool and people really do not give a fuck, so there's that too.

i stay up to date, yes! i actually have a doc with all the links of every collection i want to post and i keep adding on as fashion week keeps happening, i check on a few sites and on instagram every day, i watch the shows on livestream if the designers do livestreams even, i just really love fashion lmao this blog is an outlet for that and a way for me to share what i love with people, hopefully show them fashion is more than just one thing and one style and one body shape and one popular designer and so on. idk, i have a billion things i want to post from the recent fashion weeks but my mouse kinda works like shit and i can't afford buying a new one right now, i have other things i have to pay, and i can use the pad in my laptop but it makes my hand hurt so i'm putting off making all the edits i want to make lmao i probably should soon, but i have enough things drafted still that i'm procrastinating that process. i'll give myself carpal tunnel eventually, i guess lmaooo

thanks for this question!! and for loving the blog!

[copias-girl]

Hey. I saw you deleted all the excitement/nonsense from the other day, wanted to check in on you. I realized that while I've been on this hellsite for 12 years and seen and experienced a great deal of my own anon drama, I forget how overwhelming & terrible it feels when it first happens to you.

I failed to notice that, in addition to being very new to this site, you're also only 18 (please note that this is not meant to sound condescending - tone is impossible to convey via text). I was a couple years older than that when I joined here, and I carried just as much excitement and energy into everything I posted and reblogged and quickly gained a reputation for myself. From what I've observed from your blog though, mine was decidedly...less fun & positive, so I got a LOT of anonymous messages telling me what they thought of me. I would spend a lot of time thinking about those anons and the terrible things they said to me, constructive or not, objective or not. It didn't matter how many support messages I got from friends or mutuals, or how much we mocked the anons or made light of the situation - I was angry, embarrassed, felt like nothing I did would fix it, and sometimes didn't want to log onto this site anymore, despite it being the only outlet I had to express myself in this way.

It is normal to focus on the small negative in spite of the overwhelming positive - healthy? No. But normal.

My point is: Please do not let this nonsense deter you from being you. Not everyone is going to like you, and that is totally fine. Not everyone is going to like how you post/reblog on your blog. Speaking solely for myself, I generally keep a more contained dashboard I can scroll through quickly at work, so I don't follow your blog, but I don't translate my personal feelings on how you blog into my personal opinion of you as an individual. Everyone blogs differently on this site, which is what keeps it interesting. I'm also not so chronically online to go out of my way to send you a 5-paragraph essay about consent or being hypersexual in a fandom for a gay Satanic band. Instead I'll send you a 8-paragraph essay trying to comfort you and to tell you not to despair, lmao.

I LOVE your enthusiasm about how you express yourself in your posts & reblogs, and it seems there's a shit ton of blogs around you that feel the same way & express themselves the exact same way. Don't lose that spark! Don't let them rain on your parade! [Insert another cliche phrase here]!

Take time if you need a break, but please understand you did nothing wrong. Everything said to you was someone's opinion they wanted to force on you to control how you behave because they themselves are terrified of the world around them and don't understand they cannot control others. Hopefully one day they'll realize how sheltered and, quite frankly, stupid they are. I did.

My advice: if you ever reopen anons and start getting those messages again, delete them and don't engage. Most of the time they're just looking for attention, to rile you up. Classic bullying tactics.

Or print out their messages and use them as firewood. Or toilet paper. Whatever works.

Lastly, you don't have to acknowledge this or publish this message if you don't want to. Genuinely, I just wanted to reach out and make sure you're okay and to attempt to longwindedly impart some advice from my own experiences over the decade.

You do you, dude. Fuck the haters.

Thank you so so much for this incredibly kind and comforting message ♥︎ I really appreciate it more than you could imagine, it even made me cry reading it. I feel like this message is a good closer for this situation, so I’m also going to use it as an opportunity to give a little PSA about how my blog will be operating from now on.

First of all, just thank you again. I’m honestly astonished because every single thing you mentioned is exactly how I feel. The hurt of it all despite getting so much support, the empty feeling of not wanting to go on tumblr anymore despite it being my only outlet. Tumblr was supposed to be my safe space, my escape, my home, and it really sucks because it honestly doesn’t feel like that anymore.

I think the thing that hurts the most is that literally no one reached out to me as a friend in the dms to tell me that I was bothering them. I’m not a mind reader, so if no one says anything then I assume I’m not bothering them. But I do pride myself on always being approachable, I’m ALWAYS open to people messaging me with their concerns.

It’s different when it’s some faceless anon who comes off as slightly passive aggressive. If someone would have just DMed me, I definitely would have put more thought into it and taken their suggestion. Since I haven’t been on tumblr long, I didn’t even know the difference between reblogging with a comment or reblogging with tags until literally just now during this whole situation.

I just feel like I’ve been serving spaghetti every night for dinner. 9 people say they absolutely LOVE it, but then I come to suddenly find out the 10th person doesn’t. But they never said anything all this time, so how was I supposed to know?

I’ve had two people block me who I thought were my friends. One who, during this situation, even said she’d always be there for me. Basically, she informed me that our mutual friend had been upset about my comments and apparently never said anything before this, so I reached out to that friend and apologized. She apparently got triggered by my apology, and they both blocked me. That hurt. A lot. And if I’m being honest I’ve been fighting so hard not to self harm during this time.

I feel like I’ve been treated like a malicious criminal over this, when in reality everyone should know damn well I’ve never done ANYTHING to deliberately make people feel bad.

And don’t worry, I definitely did not take the comment about my age to be condescending. In fact, I wish more people would have taken it into account. And the fact that I’ve only been on tumblr for 6 months, so I don’t really know much about it.

I have a life outside tumblr. I’m a student, and I’ve had to be a full-time caretaker to sick relatives who have now unfortunately passed away. I’m grieving. My father abandoned me and my mother, so I’ve had to take over doing all the things that he used to do.

I come on tumblr, I scream about everyone’s favourite satanic antipopes, I post some fics, and then I close the app and go about my life. I don’t research the history of tumblr and what’s deemed acceptable by certain groups of people. I’m a human. I’m a real teenage girl, with feelings. I’m able to be hurt, and triggered, and everything else. I know I’ve created a personality for myself on here, and I think people often forget that I’m a real girl.

I wish I could say I’m okay, but right now that spark definitely feels dampened into a sad little ember. Since this has happened, I’ve almost stopped eating entirely, and when I do eat, I immediately throw it right back up. My Mom took me out to eat and I threw up in public. This has honestly had my stomach in knots.

Today was the first day I actually didn’t feel nauseous. So hopefully time will heal this wound. I wouldn’t wish this on ANYONE, but I’m glad to see you got through it and made it out ok. I’m hoping for the same outcome for myself too.

Now for the PSA portion of this message (everyone please read):

Will I stop being unhinged? Hell no. But I will be moving any horny comments into the tags, as suggested by the people who had complaints. The absolute last thing I want to do is alienate people and make people uncomfortable. (I still have questions about reblogging with comments tho, for example, if I say something not horny should I still put that in the tags or is it ok to comment that?)

Secondly, my best friend suggested that I should just start taking my unhinged comments and making them into posts of their own, so I’ll probably do that too. I think I might tag them with some cheesy tag, probably a pun on nsfw (not sugar for work?) so that if you’d like to blacklist that tag, you can, and then your dash will be safe for scrolling at work or wherever. And you can just click ‘view post’ if you want to view it.

So, rest assured, the horny party will never stop! But since I’ll be putting my stuff in the tags, you probably won’t see it circulating as much as reblogged comments, so if you want to see me being unhinged, just come to my page and scroll through!

Also, I’ve gotten so many other supportive messages and I want to thank everyone for sending them in. I won’t be answering them, because I don’t want a lot of stuff about this situation on my blog. And this is going to be the last time I talk about this situation on my blog. But the supportive messages really do mean a lot to me, so thank you all ♥︎

I feel malaise, so I might still be absent for a little while, but I’ll try to get back in the saddle as soon as I can. I haven’t been in the best mindset to write, but I’m really going to try because posting fics and running this account genuinely make me happy.

Thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope to see you all again very soon

Love always,

Sugar <3

[nelliesfics]

October in The Bunker (Dean Winchester x reader)

WARNINGS: none, this is pure, unadulterated, spooky-themed fluff. no pronouns used for reader. written with self-indulgent, romantic intent, but can be read as platonic. 400 words. A/N: hii friends! this is my first ever fanfic/one-shot and I'm really nervous about posting it lol. I've always said that I would never write fics because I feel like I have no idea how humans interact (lmao), but I need a creative outlet and I'm currently trapped in my bed with an injury, so I figured this was the perfect time to give it a shot. prompt is from this list!

"Oh, honey! I'm home!" you beamed, entering the bunker with arms full of bags. "I thought you just went out for bread," Dean responded, brows furrowed. You carefully placed the bags on the table in the center of the room, a huge grin sprawling across your face. "I did, but I may have gotten a bit sidetracked," you said as you pulled a purple Jack-O-Lantern out of one of the bags. "I wanted to decorate the bunker for Halloween. Make it feel more… homey, I guess." Dean mirrored your grin. He loves Halloween. Sam never understood it - he always says that it's no different than your everyday life. Dean was happy to finally have someone else who shared his love for the holiday, and with it being the first holiday in the bunker, you wanted to go all out. Dean excitedly started going through the bags of décor you had placed on the table. There were pumpkins, skeletons, candles, fairy lights, the whole nine yards in an array of different colors. He held up one of the neon pink skeletons you'd purchased, sporting a somewhat disgusted look. "What's this?" he inquired. "A skeleton," you stated plainly. "No, the color. Pink isn't a Halloween color!" "Who said that?" you protested. "I said that!" he retorted. "Well," you laughed, "I'm the one who bought the decorations, and I say it is a Halloween color!" Accepting his defeat, Dean continued sorting through the bags, pulling out each individual item and placing them on the table. Once he was finished, you asked him to hang the fairy lights on the railings as you placed the tabletop decorations around the other living areas. You even bought Sam his own Jack-O-Lantern for his room, despite the fact that he's not a fan of the holiday. You made your way back to the front of the bunker and were greeted with beautiful, sparkling lights in orange and purple with interwoven spider-webs. "How did I do?" Dean asked proudly from the top of the stairs. You couldn't contain your joy, squealing "It's perfect, Dean! Thanks for helping me!" He made his way back down the stairs and engulfed you in a hug. "No problem, sweetheart. But you know Sam is gonna kill you when he gets back, right?" he chuckled. "Eh," you responded, still wrapped in his warm embrace, "he's outvoted, anyway. 2 to 1, baby."

[n7punk]

Hey! Just got into The fandom (binged The show) (wait this is about she-ra I should have led with that). As a reader, you impress Me- it's partially your Fault I watched The show. As a writer, you terrify me. How do you complete stuff so fast, and so frequently? Is it a skill you learned, or did you give your true name to a fae (and can you give me their number?)

(sorry for sitting on this ask so long, work has been eating my spoons like they're secretly made of chocolate) thank you <3 honestly it's slowed down a lot lately (see above) but mostly its just that i am a Creatively Hungry person and writing is my main creative outlet. I would wither away without it lol. I do other stuff too (drawing, sewing, been getting into mixed media a little bit) and on days when i do that stuff i dont feel the need to write, but like, so far i have written something, even if it's just editing one scene, every single day this year. so i guess being heavily motivated by Data and Numbers helps lmao. i'm on day 344 of my writing streak. there have been tons of days where ive been like eh i dont really feel like writing but i dont want to lose my streak. so i get a few words or a few hundred words down and keeping that progress going keeps me interested + adds up word count over time + self-perpetuates. and of course sometimes i sit down and write 10k words in a day if im super feral for an idea (see: basically half my fic ideas this year). so yeah. mix of making the time, needing the outlet, and having ideas im excited about. hope that makes sense I'm still half asleep 👍

[ikroah]

Wherever I have gone, wherever I've been and gone, wherever I have gone, the blues are all the same —“Blues Run the Game,” Jackson C. Frank (1965)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #23 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding II

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Let’s talk about two things.

The first thing is burnout. It’s hilarious in retrospect that the notes on the previous issue open with an apology that it’s been three months since the preceding issue, which given that this current hiatus lasted six months, lmao. As I’ve mentioned before and elsewhere, shortly after completing the previous issue of IKROAH, the toll of working on it and other projects so industrially for two years finally caught up with me, and by May I basically had a kind of flip turn where suddenly, I could not stand my own art. More than that, I was repulsed by the very act of drawing, of making. Too many self-imposed deadlines, too many long nights churning comics out in as few sessions of work as possible, too many other things that I wasn’t giving myself enough time for. Something had to give, and when it did, I could barely hold a pencil for months without just getting really angry. I wish that I could say that there was something specific that I did to overcome this feeling, but there wasn’t: I can only attribute wanting to draw again to spending a long time not drawing at all, a time in which I tried to basically forget through disuse all of the bad habits that I’d ingrained about making myself make art. Art is an important hobby and creative outlet to me, but sometimes, you really just need to step away from something for a relatively long time so that you can come back to it with a much healthier mindset. And that’s what I’ve done. Thank you all for being so patient with me during IKROAH’s first real hiatus. There have been “hiatuses” in the past but, for example, one thing that I definitely had to strip out of myself was the anxiety and the guilt that I would feel when IKROAH would go on “hiatus” because more than three weeks or so passed between issues. I had myself on an absolutely insane production schedule for no reason except believing that getting every issue out as fast as possible was paramount. When I first began this comic with issue #1, I thought I could do one issue every two weeks. This was colossally stupid and going in as naive as I did with this mindset was like ingesting a slow-acting poison. IKROAH issues come out whenever they come out and that’s that from now on, and I feel silly because no reader of the comic has ever acted entitled to anything but that anyway.

The second thing I want to talk about is my art itself. My burnout had a point, especially with IKROAH, which is that there are some things about my art that is very frustrating. Did you know that the reason that IKROAH pages are the size that they are (1080 x 1678 px) is because I draw them two-per-sheet-of-paper at 13cm x 21cm each, and 1080 pixels is twice the width of the (possibly outdated) maximum display width of an inline image on the dashboard, and a height of 1678 pixels matches the aspect ratio of the best way that I could digitize my images at the time, which was by taking a picture of my art the best that I could with my phone in good lighting? This was the standard that I set for myself in summer of 2020 and for some reason I decided that it was etched in stone. I made some small improvements over time, such as finally buying a scanner sometime around IKROAH #12, and then changing IKROAH’s dialogue font and switching to digital paneling in #22, but this is going to be the final issue that abides by that old, absurdly small page size. I have finally reached my breaking point in this issue with how it completely prevents me from drawing fine or distant detail, so this is the final issue that is going to be at this size. Were it not for the fact that pre-burnout I hadn’t already drawn the first two pages of this issue and had formatted the paneling and lettering already for this specific size, I probably would have gone bigger already!

IKROAH has been, for the most part, an artistic playground where I’ve honed my skills and experimented with the comic book form gleefully. Compare the art from the first few issues with the more recent ones to see that development in action. But for all of this development and experimentation, why have I felt like page size is unassailable? I can’t tell you for sure what the “new” page size is going to be, because while I have a larger size in mind, it’s another experiment, not a promise of consistency. I used to think that it was easier and faster to work small because smaller art meant less art, but I’m finally sure that it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Now, I’m extremely excited for what a much larger canvas will mean for the look of the comic, and for the rest of Volume 2, I’m sure that you’ll be able to see me experimenting artistically in some way with every issue.

Original Pencils

Unfortunately, due to the way in which this issue was inked, I don’t have the complete original pencils to share with you! I would draw and ink panels one-by-one instead of penciling the whole page first. This is because I my burnout was actually triggered, essentially, by fucking up the inks on the first page after penciling it and feeling sure that I would have to redraw it, and that making me so mad that I couldn’t bear to reapproach my art at all. I didn’t want to make that mistake again, so I went through the rest of the pages with a lot more caution. Still, I can show you some scans.

One major thing that made working on all but the first two pages was finally investing in real non-copy blue pencils instead of blue colored pencils. Real non-copy blue pencils lack the waxiness of colored pencils, making them draw much lighter, erase much cleaner, and generally behave much more like regular pencils that just happen to be blue. It’s been a godsend for my ability to ink more expressively, and I’m experimenting with inking and coloring styles are going to be my favorite part of the rest of Volume 2, because I think that that is something that I want to overhaul the most.

Also, one funny thing: if there was a significant reason why I made Benny’s suite number 1007, I have forgotten it. Just like how I must have forgotten in the writing and penciling of this issue that Benny’s suite is canonically on the thirteenth floor. Oops! Well, not in this canon it’s not.

I do have one complete pencil sketch to show you: IKROAH’s first ever two-page spread! Bang!

Transcript

EXT. THE TOPS CASINO, NEW VEGAS. The Tops’ signature sign shines brightly outside the entrance, brightly even for Vegas.

INT. THE TOPS CASINO, NEW VEGAS. Casino guests hustle and bustle around the main floor, checking in, heading to and from the cashier on the second floor, and mingling. Leaning against a rail overlooking the slightly sunken gaming area is AGNES SANDS. She stares intently and furiously toward the back of the room, where an older man is laughing with a younger man. The younger man is drinking a martini, wears a black-and-white checked suit jacket, and is oblivious to her presence.

AGNES thinks to herself as she watches him.

Hello, Benny.

Her eye narrows.

You’d think that getting shot in the head would be the worst thing to ever happen to somebody, but at this point in my life, I’m genuinely not sure.

On the casino floor, a RED-HAIRED WOMAN seems to accidentally bump into BENNY from behind, knocking his drink out of his hand. It shatters on the ground, and he turns angrily to face her.

When I was six years old, my father died from a bad fall. He was a caravaneer, so they never shipped his body home.

ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stands in front of Benny, clutching a nearly empty glass of whiskey. She raises her hand up to her faced, shocked and embarrassed. BENNY is just as surprised, and even more so when CASS takes his face in one hand and suggests that he come with her to refill her glass.

My mom was our town’s doctor, so after that, she decided to apprentice me as her nurse. I was still just a kid.

She was right to do it. It takes a long time to learn medicine, and it’s a useful skill. She knew it’d do me good.

CASS hurriedly leads BENNY by the hand toward the casino bar. As the pair brush past AGNES, she pickpockets BENNY’s key, and holds it up to glean the room number from its tag: 1007. Satisfied, she drops the key on the ground, and heads for the elevators. Just behind her, CASS points out that BENNY seems to have dropped his keys, and he reacts with relief.

But she was hard, as a teacher. Maybe even more so as a mother. Maybe she had to be.

AGNES’ elevator slowly ascends. First floor to the tenth.

Maybe I wouldn’t have started messing around with locks if I didn’t get it in my head to act so damn rebellious later on. I broke in somewhere I shouldn’t have. Found something I shouldn’t have. I was thirteen.

I had to put my own face back together right there on the concrete floor. Held it in place with duct tape, and two-hundred year old bandages. Pre-war.*

*As depicted in IKROAH #7 and the IKROAH Vol. 1 Special Delivery companion story, “Scar Tissue.”

Ding! The elevator arrives and the door opens.

I still can’t even shave without getting a cold sweat.

Back on the casino floor, CASS and BENNY have it it off. They’re smiling and laughing at the bar, several drinks deep.

Meanwhile, AGNES stalks toward Room 1007.

My mom was happy I was alive, but didn’t care whether I was okay, if that makes sense. She was always like that.

It’s why we fought when she found out about...me, when the changes from the hormones I’d been sneaking got...unignorable.

The lock is easy to pick for practiced hands. It opens with a CLICK. The door swings open and AGNES stands in the doorway, assessing the area.

I wonder what your mother would think of this. What she must have been like. Whether she’s even alive now. I wonder if she loved you, her baby boy, a killer in cold blood.

Eventually, we fought. Physically, I mean. It was a long time coming. I hit her hard, once, and that was it. It was over.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that felt like. Maybe I’m not one to talk.

Time passes.

BENNY returns to his suite and puts his keys in the lock.

I ran away to the NCR after that. I was an adult now, and had to start over. And I needed skills that my mom couldn’t have taught me. I thought I’d be a combat medic, out in the field. But no. No, no. Of course not.

BENNY opens his door, looking exhausted and covered in kiss marks. Looks like somebody really wore him out. He shuffles over to his bedroom.

They shipped me to some do-nothing recon station way up north in California, near Gecko. And from the minute I set foot there, my C.O. fucking hated me.

He abused me, berated me, blamed me, because I took his old friend’s position or something. Stupid petty bullshit like that.

I think that he was sabotaging my medical supplies. Messing with my work, trying to get me discharged.

There’s no other way he could have found my estrogen from home.

BENNY undresses in his bedroom, and then flops onto his bed.

Just another thing for him to scream at me about. Or it would have been.

AGNES enters the bedroom.

Never got any military police after me when I attacked him with a scalpel that night and ran.

Maybe he couldn’t cover up his own bullshit well enough, so he just kept his mouth shut. Doesn’t matter. Lucky me.

AGNES rifles through BENNY’s jacket, which he hung on a coatrack near the door.

I ran to New Reno. I’d deserted. The only job I could get was at a charity clinic run by one of the crime families there, and it was dismal. I couldn’t afford to live.

So I started picking locks again. Pockets, too. Got real good at it, too. You’d know.

AGNES’ eyes fixate on something. She’s pulled it out of his coat.

I was stealing to survive. Same dance, different song. Nevermind my hormones, I needed food and shelter. I’d never felt lower.

The Platium Chip.

I was casing one of the casinos there when I saw a man get glassed. I was still a doctor. Still had that oath. So I went to work, and saved the man’s life right there. His name was Yancy Bishop and he made my life a living hell for six long years.*

*IKROAH #12.

Until I killed him.

Something else catches AGNES’ attention in BENNY’s bedroom. Something on his nightstand. A gun.

He came to me helpless in surgery and I ripped him apart from the inside out, thrilled, exhilarated, terrified of myself.

AGNES approaches the nightstand. She picks up the gun.

And after that...I ran away again. Ran until I got to the Mojave. Ran until I fumbled into being a courier. Making deliveries, always running, but not a doctor anymore, not stealing to survive, just some stability in my life for once. For once. And then:

It’s the same gun that BENNY shot her with.

She turns to face BENNY.

You.

AGNES removes the 9mm bullet that she has been wearing around her neck since she left Goodsprings; a bullet made partly from the lead that was fished out of her own skull.

You are not special.

She loads the gun. As quietly as she can.

I’ve been dealing with people like you my entire life. My mother. My C.O. The Bishops...

...your Khans, McLafferty, the Van Graffs...have I killed more people in the last week than you have in your whole...

AGNES approaches BENNY’s bed. She gets one shot.

...was I the only one, Benny? And you couldn’t even do it right. I clawed out. An ugly life, too ugly to kill, even with a gun to my head. Your gun. This gun.

She raises the gun. She aims with both hands. Bodies are easier to hit than bottles.

Rigged from the start—is that what you’d said? You piece of shit. You look like you have everything, have been given everything. So you just had to rub it in, that night. Didn’t you.

AGNES scowls. Her brow furrows with rage.

Always been too big of a target. Too tall, too wide, too mannish. Never been beautiful. Never even got to be handsome, like you. Then you shoot my eye out, butcher me even more—and all for what? A mail-order tchotchke!?

The gun gleams in the sparse light.

I’m going to fucking kill you.

AGNES’ expression shifts.

I’ve killed so many people to get to you.

Her hands start to shake. The gun is heavy in them.

And...and now I’m going to kill you.

Sweat is beading on her face.

Because of what you did to me. Because I can’t sleep at night. Because of you. I don’t sleep, most nights, because of you.

AGNES grimaces as her whole body trembles.

So I’ll kill you, with the fucking gun you killed me with, then I won’t be so...

The gun. The gun. The gun--

I’ll...I’m—

Her eye is wide with terror.

Oh God.

AGNES stands alone in the dark in the bedroom of the man that she has planned to kill. The gun is in her hands. Tears stream down her face, frozen in grief. The gun is in her hands.

BENNY is awake. He has been awake. He is sitting up in his bed. He is staring at her staring at him.

The gun is in her hands.

AGNES fires the gun.

SFX: BANG

[psychoticallytrans]

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that as a case manager in a local emergency homeless shelter. I work / have worked with several clients who have anger issues.

I saw your post containing the "pencil trick" a while ago, and since then, I don't go to work without a small handful of unsharpened pencils in my pocket. My fiancé and coworkers think I'm crazy, but teaching my clients the "pencil trick" has diffused a few tense moments, even with clients who DON'T tell me they have anger issues. Sometimes they're having a panic/anxiety attack for other reasons, or they're simply (justifiably, given their circumstances) angry about something.

"I really don't mean to interrupt, but it seems like you need a minute. Let me go [make a phone call / talk to my supervisor / make copies or printouts of that paperwork you asked for]." I pull out my handful of pencils, explain that having a physical outlet has always been helpful for me (I'm on the autism spectrum and pencils are great stim toys, too! Having an excuse to keep four of them on-hand is a win!), break one with my thumbs, and then offer them a snack or a glass of water as I give them a few minutes to do what they like with the pencils.

Usually, the person really did just need a snack, a drink, and/or a few minutes alone. Less often, they've left the room while I was gone, which tells me I probably wasn't getting much more progress from that conversation anyway. Sometimes, one or two more pencils have been snapped. One time, ALL of them were snapped, multiple times each (I offered her more pencils and another few minutes alone, but she already felt a lot better lmao).

Anyway, I came across your blog and realized you were the one who taught me that trick. It gets me some funny looks, but when it works it WORKS. Just wanted to say thank you! 😊

Sometimes, you just need to break something, and pencils are both cheap and satisfying. I'm glad my trick is spreading!

A bit of fun backstory on it for anyone who's wondering. I invented it in art class. Another student was getting really agitated that their piece, which they were hoping to enter in the county fair, was not turning out. They'd tried pacing, but were just getting more and more worked up.

Now, at this point, my strategy for myself was "go into the woods and break sticks." This was art class, so there were no sticks. There was, however, an abundance of pencils that had been mistreated by years of middle schoolers.

So, I offered one to them, explained my reasoning, and they pretty much snatched it out of my hand, snapped it clean in half, and then blinked at me. "How are you feeling?" "...much better, actually."

They won second place in their age category. Not strictly related to the above, but I love a happy ending.

[genericpuff]

I hope you won't mind this in particular because I have no way of posting this anonymously to the critical community outside of making a burner account but I'm hoping that maybe you could share this as you're well respected in the community and may understand where I'm coming from.

It has become increasingly uncomfortable the way I've seen some people in the community comment on Psyche's design. I'm Black, and while I have my issues with the way she's been introduced, her entire character arc, or the fact that she was made into a token character for diversity points, I still find the way part of the community discusses her increasingly uncomfortable and nearing anti-Blackness at times. Really all I want is for non-Black criticals to please be more mindful of their criticisms when it comes to her character. That's all. Some comments are starting to become hurtful, like her current hair being called ugly (which I get isn't done in more creative styles but puff ponytails are a thing Black women wear often) or just the fact that she's Black now at all, she was always brown, the only thing that really changed was her hair texture and eye color. And repeatedly seeing things like "She looked prettier before" when she isn't ugly or "I liked her hair before" it's...uncomfortable, which hurts because I really enjoy this community full of creative and intelligent people. 💔

That's all, thank you for taking the time to read this.

Ouu, this is a great post with some great points, thank you for sharing! I don't mind people sharing their takes through my inbox if it gives them a safe outlet to do so, just so long as y'all don't mind me responding to them!

CW: this is mostly just a very sensitive post regarding race and culture representation in LO so just be aware that this one miiiight be heavy and/or triggering, please please please if anyone has anything to share in response to this just let me know, these discussions are important to have but they can still be emotionally draining and I don't want to make anyone feel upset or invalidated by this lil' essay post!!!

So obviously I can't speak on this as a black person BUT as an Indigenous person, I feel like I would be in your same boat if Psyche were being drawn with Indigenous/Mi'kmaq traits and I saw people going "well she looks UGLY now and she was PRETTIER before." So I can empathize with you there in that regard, people's takes can be a little rough around the edges with this kind of topic.

But I'm willing to give people the benefit of the doubt most of the time when these topics do come up because a lot of the criticisms aren't aimed at Psyche specifically being black or having textured hair, they're aimed at Rachel for suddenly retroactively retconning Psyche from being a dark-skinned/brown Mediterranean woman into a black woman.

Like, straight up, what pisses me off about how Psyche is treated is simply how she's been drawn as 4 different women of color over the course of the comic. Having a hairstyle that changes often is one thing (literally every character in LO lacks consistency) but her hair texture and length is constantly changing (which isn't something you can just change on a whim unless you're Persephone LMAO) AND her skin tone has flip flopped between, again, dark-skinned/ woman and black woman. In some panels she's outright orange which is... ech.

Now, take this with grains of salt because I have no source on it, but I've seen claims that RS once stated she "always wanted to draw Psyche black, but didn't know how to." Besides the fact that this sounds outright lazy (it's not hard to learn how to paint skintones that are not your own, Google exists) it also seems like RS trying to paint herself as "progressive" which she's done for a LOT of things beyond just POC rep (ex. fat rep, mental health rep, etc. all things that she's butchered or misrepresented entirely but still pretended like she was doing well).

Again, I'm giving a lot of benefit of the doubt here and I'm sure I'm gonna be proven wrong on this (I welcome it if there's something I've blatantly missed here, educate me in the comment section below pls) but when I see people say Psyche's hair is "ugly" in the newer panels or they "prefer her old design" I don't see it as them saying the hair style or texture itself is ugly or that she, in and of herself, is ugly. Often times people will short form it to "it looks ugly" especially in the faster-paced discussion circles, but really more often than not they mean "I think the way RS is trying to draw her just isn't good." Especially considering how low effort and lip service-y it feels. Like, Psyche's hair rn is literally just a giant texture brush pressed onto the screen and her skin tones are just brown + brown set to Multiply.

And that design is a far cry from where Psyche started.

Like, these are LITERALLY not the same women and while some might say "well maybe it was after she became a Goddess-" nope, she looked like her S3 version when she turned back into a mortal from nymph form, except she had an entirely different hair texture and skin tone.

None of this is to invalidate anyone's feelings regarding this criticism and how it's delivered. There doesn't need to be an intent to hurt for something to be hurtful. The purpose of this post is more so just to explain my own interpretation of where these criticisms come from (as someone who's had them myself) and how I interpret them as a POC. I don't think anyone's trying to be intentionally malicious to people from the POC community (though they can be blasé) especially considering a lot of the people talking about it are black themselves. No one person is a monolith for the entire community so while some are fine with how Psyche is being drawn, others aren't, and I think both are valid in their own ways. Often times it can come down to individual experiences and what people are used to seeing in media when it comes to POC rep and that's something that will vary per person. I've definitely seen conversations revolve around something being racist towards the Indigenous community that I couldn't care less about because it just wasn't something that I found offensive due to my own upbringing or what I'm used to seeing in media. Doesn't mean I can't still be educated on why it's hurtful to others, though!

All I'm gonna say on it is that, personally, I don't find anything inherently wrong with any of the designs on their own, there's nothing ugly with any of those looks. If they were all each their own character, I'd be down for it, absolutely. It's just the fact that all these designs are for ONE character. It's a shame to see Psyche robbed of any consistency even more so than every other character in the plot, and it very much feels like a case of a white New Zealand woman trying too hard to win representation points (and yes, that's a hot take, but it's a small hill I'm willing to die on because we all know RS' history with this sort of thing at this point, she's not good at hiding it lmao). It feels very low effort and obligatory, like Psyche is just there to check off a list of mandatory representation rather than be her own character with her own goals or traits or motivations.

And, REAL hot take, though it isn't really related to the majority of this post, I have to point out that it gets even weirder/ickier when you remember the fact that nymphs are treated as lower class in the narrative and Psyche... becomes a black-coded nymph... who works for Aphrodite as a servant...

(sigh how was this any better than just doing the OG myth, Rachel?)

Anyways, that's all I'm gonna say on that. That is, again, my personal take on it but I obviously can't speak on behalf of the black community or people in it, most of what drives me nuts just has to do with the lack of character consistency and the feeling that RS is just phoning shit in. The designs on their own independently from one another are fine and I don't think that's what most of the criticisms out there are annoyed about anyways - we're all just tired of seeing Psyche morph into different POC rep characters every other week.

Thank you for taking the time to write and voice your opinion on it, it's definitely a topic that can veer into nasty territory if not treaded carefully but it's one that interests me in talking about because POC rep is important to me, whether or not I belong to the specific culture that's being represented. I know I would be in the same boat if it were concerning Mi'kmaq characters.

And by all means, if y'all think I'm just spouting shit out of my ass or speaking completely out of turn, tell me in the comments or in my asks, this isn't a discussion with one simple clear cut answer or solution so I'd love to hear your own takes o(*￣▽￣*)ブ

[multi-kpop-fanfics]

The drink is on me (I want your body on me too)

pairing: bartender!Chan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint hard enough

warnings: strangers to lovers(?), alcohol consumption (just for the fun, nobody is tipsy), implications of sexual activities

summary: you find yourself in a bar during New Year's Eve, single as fuck. But would you look at that, the hot bartender in front of you is single too.

Author's note: I don't know how this exactly manifested but here we are lmao. A big thank you to @flowerwonu and @bitchlessdino for giving me the necessary push to not drop this idea😩 with possibly a part two​

Your eyes scan the space around you, noticing the awkwardly hanging garlands, colorful lights and the semi-drunk people dancing around, mindlessly waiting for the countdown to begin.

And you're sitting on the barstool, your finger dancing around the edge of your glass, the blood moon cocktail resting in it.

Not a very slayful main protagonist moment of you, to be honest.

"Cheers to me, I guess", you sigh and raise your glass in the air, downing the alcoholic remnants in one go, setting the now empty glass down on the marble counter.

"For a New Year's eve party, you don't look very happy and jolly".

The source of the voice attracts your attention and you raise your head, your eyes widening at the very much pleasant sight in front of you.

You can only see the torso of the bartender, but the white collared shirt, along with the straps around his shoulders and the undone bowtie is enough to show that he's broad as fuck.

And don't even start about his face, God.

"Um, hello? Do I reach you?", he speaks again and you shake your head lightly, snapping yourself out of whatever trance you were put in.

"Y-Yeah, I'm good", you stutter, "Just...weird thoughts". "Weird thoughts or did the cocktail hit you right in the head?", he jokes, cleaning a glass with a towel. "There's two scenarios: One, that your cocktail isn't of good quality and two, that your bartending skills aren't the best", you retort and the man scoffs, letting out a low laugh.

"Or three, your alcohol tolerance is childishly low", he looks straight in your eyes, "But you don't seem to feel dizzy, so I guess it's not the case", he adds, setting the glass down and the towel, "So, what's the real reason?".

"I broke up two weeks ago", you start talking, "I had no intention of getting here today, some of my friends dragged me because according to them, I 'needed an outlet' after what happened", you keep talking, all while the bartender's hands are busy mixing another cocktail.

"Are you even listening to me?", you ask him, but he doesn't reply - he just puts another blood moon cocktail in front of you, a grin plastered on his face.

"Conversations like those need two things to continue: alcohol and a faithful listener", he leans over the counter, rolled up sleeves revealing his toned forearms, "and I can give you both", he grins, making your stern facade break into a grin as well.

You reach for your purse to fish out a couple of bucks to pay for the drink, but his hand softly rests on your wrist to stop you. "The drink is on me, beautiful", "Is that what you tell to all the single girls you're serving?", "Only the ones who look like they could murder people on the spot during a New Year's eve party", he adds and the both of you share a hearty laugh, lightening the atmosphere.

He pours himself a drink, carefully listening to your story, some details similar to his own case, although he has been single for a longer time than you. The moments pass in a blur, far more interesting and....fun than you thought they would be - maybe this party isn’t as terrible as you made it out in your head.

“The countdown is starting!”, you hear the dj yell through the microphone and people start swarming towards the deck, getting ready for the big moment, the end of the year and the beginning of the new one nearing close.

Ten.

“Aren’t you going to join them?”, he asks, “Nah, too many people gathered in one spot”, you laugh.

Nine.

“Besides....”

Eight.

“I’m having more fun here with you”.

Seven.

“Hmm, is that so”, he leans over the counter, eyes studying your face.

Six. Five. Four.

“Are you having second thoughts?”, you raise your eyebrow teasingly and he smirks.

Three. Two. One.

As soon as the crowd screams “Happy New Year!”, his lips are on yours, slowly moving against each other, his hand cupping your cheek. Your eyes shoot up in surprise, but the butterflies dancing in your stomach and the fast beating of your heart coax you into enjoying the moment, blocking out any other source of sound from your environment.

The bartender pulls away, taking into your flustered state as you sit frozen on the bar stool.

“You-”, “Too soon?”, “Y-You literally kissed a stranger”, you stutter. 

“Chan. My name is Chan”, the bartender finally introduces himself, “Your turn now”.

“I’m Y/N”, you reply, “Pretty name for a pretty girl”, he grins. “It’s not the only pretty thing about me”, you smirk and Chan raises his eyebrow playfully, his finger playing with his bottom lip.

“Is that an invitation?”, “Depends on whether you have to work all night”, “I get off in fifteen”, “Your house or mine?”, “I’d say the hotel across the street because both of us have had a drink”, “But I’m not drunk!”, “I don’t wanna risk it either way. Plus, they serve nice breakfast there”, “How would you know that, Chan?”, “A friend of mine works in the reception, he’ll give us a wonderful room”.

You take a few seconds to consider Chan’s proposal, but to be completely honest, you were sure about him since he bought you that second cocktail.

“Hope you’ll live up to your words, mister hot-shit bartender”.

[somethinabouttwistedwonderland]

Hello! I saw that matchups were open and thought I'd send in a request for Twisted Wonderland.

Appearance-wise I am a 165 cm tall, average build, Bangladeshi woman (She/her but also cool with they/them). I have wavy black hair that just reaches below my shoulders and I usually dress in South Asian attire, usually salwar-kameez plus a hijab. I also wear glasses. I don't really feel comfortable going out without them 😅

My MBTI and enneagram: INTJ 5w4

Star sign: Sagittarius sun, Virgo moon and rising (I act more like a Virgo, allegedly)

Sexuality: demiromantic asexual (demisexual?)

Personality traits: Calm, collected, polite, quiet, shy (but that can easily be mistaken for being aloof or done with everyone's shit (they aren't entirely wrong about the latter) (someone told me I radiate black cat energy), not very facially expressive (I'm the most emotional emotionless person I know. I do feel things more deeply than people give me credit for), a good listener, hardworking (I often bite off more than I can chew and end up burnt out), intelligent (especially with numbers. RIP impostor syndrome + gifted kid burnout syndrome. As much as I love my major, electrical engineering is kicking my ass). I am also the oldest of three sisters, so I'm good at handling kids (I'm also expected to be the perfect daughter, so... yea). Someone also told me I'm wise, but all that wisdom came from all the books I read + watching Avatar: The Last Airbender lmao. The same person also said my presence was therapeutic (paraphrasing, of course. Also, this is alleged)

Hobbies: Making art, making jewelry, reading, writing, animating (I'm relatively new to animation. I don't know what I'm doing most of the time, but I'm still having fun), basically anything creative. I especially like to draw and paint things that radiate a sense of comfort, nostalgia, and serenity. Someone also told me that my artworks also hold a sort of innocence in the composition of the shapes, colours, and overall vibe of what I draw/paint. I also make jewelry from time to time

Likes: Classical music, lofi hip-hop, indie rpgs (Yume Nikki and Off have me in a chokehold, though not as tight as Obey Me, Court of Darkness, and Twisted Wonderland), tea, creative outlets. I also like to learn psychology

Dislikes: Cruelty, anyone who would dare to threaten my family or friends, loud noises, red meat (The texture is too much for me to handle), bright lights. I also dislike strong smelling things and being in crowded, noisy and bright environments for prolonged periods of time

What qualities do you look for in a partner? It may not look like it on the surface, but I'm a huge softie, I'd like anyone who I can feel safe talking to. They don't need to be perfect, I just need them to put effort into helping me with my emotional needs. I already do that a lot with others, so I'd like it if they turn the tables on me. I also would not tolerate it if my partner belittles me or if they're just mean or rude for no apparent reason.

My love languages include making art for them and spending quality time

How do you want to receive affection? As I stated before, I would like them to put effort into helping me with my emotional needs. I already do that a lot with others, so I'd like it if they turn the tables on me. I would also like physical touch and words of affirmation, but I can't guarantee I'll know how to react to that at first 🥲. It's gonna take some time for me to get used to it

I hope this is enough information. Thanks in advance if you choose to write this

I match you with...

KALIM AL ASIM

When you spoke about being an older sibling, it immediately reminded me of Kalim, and eventually I thought he might work!

Kalim, in all honesty, needs to work on how he handles himself around more reserved people. However, I think that the way you described your ideal partner lead me to think that Kalim was the best option.

Kalim is kind, generous, and is always looking out for the people he loves (even if he can be a tad dense at times.)

Kalim might be rather... erm... how can I say this in a polite way. stupid? Stupid in an endearing way. He'd always find time to make you happy and attend to your needs, however. He often says that teamwork is a valuable thing, and that's even truer in a relationship.

Despite often being unaware of the people around him, I think that after Jamil, Kalim is much more patient when it comes to listening to others, and is better at pulling his own weight. So, Kalim makes an effort to better make you comfortable since he knows your introverted nature can contrast with his own more extroverted one.

Kalim would always make time for you, ask your preferences for things, and generally try to make you as happy as possible. Kalim loves to have fun, and he has the most fun when he's with the people he loves, and that's you!

Receiving personally made gifts from you would make him incredibly happy, and to him they would be worth more than all of the treasures his family has.

Oftentimes, Kalim can treat you like a younger sibling moreso than a romantic partner, however, it's because he loves you and doesn't entirely get romance.

Speaking of younger siblings, he can relate to you by being an older sibling himself, and he's happy to introduce you to his many, MANY, younger brothers and sisters.

Now onto the part that made me unsure about Kalim for you. Kalim is VERY extroverted. He throws large parties and banquets quite often, and leaves Jamil to bear the weight of a lot of it. I assume that the stimuli from these events would be.. difficult to deal with for you, and Kalim would very much want you to go, however if you tell him, he'll understand how you feel (even if he's sad about it.) However, if you think of Kalim like the extrovert who adopted an introvert (you) it's much more endearing.

Kalim does anything he can to see you happy, feeling at peace when he sees you able to laugh and smile.

Thank you for requesting a matchup! Sorry if it isn't to your liking!!

Other character(s) I considered: Silver, Lilia.

[total-drama-takes-the-squeakquel]

i dont think i should have to justify my hatred towards joe but i will anyway. it sucks. im gonna stop using he and just say it bc i hate joe so much like just thinking about it makes my blood boil and my toes curl and heartbeat go faster and almost sends me into cardiac arrest bc i hate it so much. truly a waste of character and a waste of space. if i was kira and i had that damn death note id put the name jane lynch in there so ms lynch wouldnt be alive to play sue sylvester in glee and therefore there would be no inspiration for joe, therefore, it would no exist and ROTI would be a little less shitty. only good thing was sam and dakota but sams probably a very sad lonely 4chan user who browses the anime boards every thursday night because he has nothing else to do with his fucking life.

the thing is about joe is that its just a pcik me. "ermmm i hate girls!! LOL im not like other girlssss XDDD im one of the boys!!!" 😐😐😐😐😐. then it gets mad at lightning for thinking its a boy but who rlly gives a fuck girl.... its not that deep onggggg. and its always an asshole to brick and for what???? only time it was nice was when it helped brick would of that grave and then right after it just slaps him across the face???? like why would you do that...... cringeball. god ive been seeing so much ROTI appriciation kately that ive been thinking of leaving this fucking fandom because I HATE YOU ALL!!! been considering writing fanfiction but its just joe being bullied by all the other cast members (esp anne maria) bc ughhh i wanna see it suffer so bad. it deserved so much mroe karma than what it go on canon. like it just casually throws cam onto an active mine like BROOOO ur actually done for that one!!!!

im sorry but i cant see the appeal for jock at all. its just such a shit ship like how joe probably stanks of axe deodorant. they hate each other like whats even the appeal. i dont rlly give a shit about brick anway bc hes such a fucking simp and constantly rides joes dick. like bro how tf r u gonna abandon ur code just to make JOE happy..... like girl bye you would never catch me being that down bad.

how alienon felt after submitting this take (https://www.tumblr.com/total-drama-takes-the-squeakquel/744065650843058176/about-to-start-a-fire-lmao-hey-jater-why-are-u?source=share) 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥😎😎😎 omfggggg shut the fuck up like ur not cute babe. ur not cute.ur the cringest ho on this sight. catnon is the only real one of this fucking blog FRRRRRR.

anyway back to why jock is so bad. idk LOLLLLL joe doesnt deserve love and every time i see jock fanart i wantt to kill myself bc yall suck lollll.,,,,, umm idk what else to add? theyre so toxic and normally i eat up toxic and unhealthy ships but theyre so mid i cant see the appeal at all. the only ROTI ships i approve of are like?????? bruh idk. they all suck and zoke can kiss my fatass bc theyre so lame too.

mod ripper i am so thankful for this blog because i can finally have an outlet for expressing my burning hatred of jo. idk why it dislike it so much!!! its just so annoying ughhhh. and jomaria and jock r bad ships. trying to think of what else i can add hmmmm...... umm yeah thats it. stay homophobic

-jater

-

[nardos-primetime]

HEY CAN YOU TELL ME MORE ABT BROKE A MILLION DOLLAR BOX??? SOUNDS RLLLLYY INTERESTING IWOULD LOVE TO HEAR THAT!!! BIG FAN BTW I ADMIRE YOU A LOTTT <33333

FIRST OF ALL WAAAH THANK U!!!! Idk how to feel about having fans but it's definitely not a negative emotion haha! Also I decided I'm keeping the million dollar box name now, ill just use it along with the villain mikey tag lmao.

Overall, the main idea of the story is already out there, it's just an unedited ramble of when I first created it. The fic will be those ideas but more cleaned up.

Broke a Million Dollar Box specifically is going to be before the "Extermination" section of his timeline, coming in around the point where Donnie drops the ball so to say and joins in on Raph and Leo's arguments, effectively giving Mikey no in-house positive outlets, seeing as Splinter is neglectful of the problems as per usual.

Mikey starts getting unhealthy coping mechanisms and his brothers (semi unknowingly) and up feeding into them until it's too late to fix things and Mikey does something really bad called murder!

Now (extermination arc) he hunts the multiverse to kill alternate versions of his brothers if they fuck up in hopes to protect other Mikeys! He also imagines a "perfect" Leo, Donnie, and Raph when he's lonely on his journeys and to keep him motivated!

He is TOTALLY not a hypocrite and TOTALLY not making things worse and TOTALLY not traumatizing people with human flaws because he never resolved his own problems!

After I finish it, I might focus on his extermination arc w more various oneshot style stories, since there's a whole multiverse situation going on.